“I never say no to a drink.”
Taking Riley’s answer as assent all around, Bran ordered a bottle. Sasha thought of the Bellinis as she looked at the menu. She’d take a couple sips of wine to be polite, and stick with water. And food—God knew she needed some food in her system.
She felt empty and quivery and out of place.
She’d go with fish, she decided. They were on an island after all. She studied her choices while Riley and Bran talked starters, with Riley making suggestions.
Reading Sasha’s questioning glance, Riley shrugged.
“First time on Corfu, but not my first time in Greece. And when it comes to food, my stomach has a endemic memory.”
“Then I’ll leave it to you.” Bran turned to Sasha. “Take a risk?”
“I was leaning toward fish,” she began.
“Got you covered. How about you?” Riley asked Bran.
“I’ve a mind for meat.”
“Done.”
Once the wine was tasted and served, Riley rattled off several dishes in Greek. Sasha’s own stomach shuddered at the prospect of strange dishes.
“Have you traveled much?” Bran asked her.
“No, not really. I spent a few days in Florence and in Paris a few years ago.”
“Maybe not much, but you chose well. I thought you’d been to Ireland.”
“No, I haven’t. Why did you think that?”
“The painting I bought. I know the place, or one very like it, not far from home. So, where is your forest?”
She’d dreamed it. She often dreamed her paintings. “It’s not real. I imagined it.”
“The same way you imagined me, and Riley, and the others we’ve yet to meet?”
“Lay it out, Sasha,” Riley advised. “The guy’s an Irish magician. He’s not going to bolt over a little strange.”
“I dreamed it.” She blurted it out like a confession. “All of it. All of you. I dreamed of Corfu—or I finally figured out it was Corfu, so I came. And I walked out onto the terrace of the hotel, and saw Riley. Then you.”
“In dreams.” He drank some wine, watched her with those dark, hooded eyes. “You’re a seer. Are your visions only when you sleep?”
“No.” It struck her that he didn’t react—nor had Riley—as others usually did. With skepticism, smirks, or with giddy questions about their own futures. “They come when they want to.”
“Bloody inconvenient.”
She let out a quick laugh. “Yeah. Bloody inconvenient. They’ll come here, the other three. I know that now. Or maybe they’re already here. But they’ll find us, or we’ll find them. Once that happens, I don’t know if there’s any going back.”
“To what?” Bran wondered.
“To our lives, to the way they were before.”
“If that’s what’s put the worry in your eyes, it’s always better going forward than back.”
She said nothing while the waiter served the starters. “You both want to find these stars, and your reasons probably matter, but all I know is something wants us to find them or we wouldn’t be here. But something else doesn’t want us to have them. That something is dark and dangerous and powerful. It may not be a matter of going forward or back, but of not existing at all.”
“Nobody lives forever.” So saying, Riley dug into her eggplant starter.
Bran brushed a hand over Sasha’s, lightly. “No one can make you do what you don’t want to do. It’s your choice, fáidh, to go forward or back.”
“What does that mean—what you called me?”
“What you are. Vision-seer, prophet.”
“Seems to me a prophet should see things more clearly.”
“I’ll wager others with your gift have thought the same.”
“If I go back, I don’t think I’ll ever find peace again.” While that was true enough, she knew a deeper truth. She couldn’t walk away from him. “So it looks like forward. I’ve never had dinner with two people who just accept what I am. It’s good.”
She sampled the dish Riley had called tzatziki, found the smooth yogurt, the bite of garlic, the cool tang of cucumber went down easily after all.
“And so’s this.”
The food settled her. Maybe it was the wine, or the fragrant night, or the fact that she’d finally fully accepted her decision, but the raw edges of her nerves quieted.
When Bran cut some of the meat, put it on her plate, she stared at it.
“You should try it,” he told her.
To be polite, she told herself, she did—but the act felt ridiculously intimate. To distract herself from the heat that had nothing to do with a bite of grilled lamb, she picked up her wine.
“How do you know about the three stars?” she asked Bran. “They’re why you’re here. Why we’re all here. How do you know about them? What do you know?”