“You look pretty, and you feel better.”

“Thanks, and I do. Were you hurt?”

“Only a little, and Bran gave us a salve that smells very nice. Don’t have mad at him.”

“I’m working on it. Where’s . . . I can’t remember his name.”

“You mean Doyle. Doyle McCleary. Riding his dragon is fun. He came down, and he wanted to walk around the villa, to see the lay of the land.”

“Can’t blame him. Annika, thank you for helping me when I was hurt.”

“We’re here to help each other.”

As simple as that, Sasha thought. “You’re exactly right. Let’s have some wine.”

“I like wine.”

“I’ll get it.”

She went into the kitchen, where Sawyer flipped the last of the sandwiches onto a platter, and Riley pulled beer from the fridge.

“Dead-Eye here has hidden depths,” Riley said. “He made salsa.”

“Everything was here.” Sawyer turned. “Ready to eat?”

Sasha hadn’t thought she could face food, and now found the opposite true. “More than, and those look great. We’re missing Doyle and Bran.”

“They’re doing a walkabout. Snooze you lose,” Riley announced. “How’re you doing?”

“Fine now. How about both of you?”

“Bumps and cuts, and nothing a hot shower and Bran’s magic salve didn’t deal with. Probably shouldn’t have said magic,” Riley realized.

“It is what it is. Annika and I are having wine.” She chose a bottle, got glasses, and took them out with her.

“She came around quick,” Sawyer observed.

“Men.” Pitying him, Riley screwed a half dozen beers into a bucket she’d filled with ice. “She’s pissed, cutie. Down to a smolder maybe, but pissed—and trying to figure out how she feels about the fact that she was locking lips a few hours ago with a guy who turns out to be a sorcerer.”

“Oh, yeah? Lip-lock?”

“Talk about smoldering.” She winked at him, hefted the bucket. And noticed when she carried it out, Bran and Doyle rounding the side of the villa. They struck her as pretty easy with each other already.

“Order up!” she called to Sawyer, then plucked out a beer, dropped down into a chair. She waited until Sawyer brought the food, until others had taken wine or beer. Then lifted her own bottle.

“Here’s to a damn good fight.”

When Sasha just stared, Riley gestured with the bottle. “Any fight you walk away from and polish off with a cold beer is a good fight.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Doyle took a sandwich. “Got beer, got food—and appreciate it. But I still don’t have answers. Mr. Wizard’s being vague. Let’s get specific.”

“Mr. Wizard.” Riley snorted out a laugh. “That’s a good one,” she insisted as the others kept silent. “Sash, you should start rolling the ball, seeing as you got things going.”

“I don’t think I got anything going, but all right.” She took a sip of wine first. “I’m an artist.”

“I could see that from the sketch.”

“I live in North Carolina, now. I’ve always had . . .”