The Serpent in the Stone - By Nicki Greenwood Page 0,91

the amulet hidden inside her shirt. “I’ll have to be. What do we need to do?”

“I read the bowl.”

Sara gripped her sister by the shirt. “You did what?”

Faith pushed her hands away. “I’m fine. I’m here, aren’t I? There are some incantations. We know they needed blood to open the ley line, and we’ll need blood to close it. And—”

“And what?” Sara prompted.

Faith shot a glance at Ian before adding, “I’m going to use my blood.”

“The hell you are!” snapped Sara.

“Hakon said gifted blood can close the ley line,” her sister said.

Ian stepped forward. “Faith, I said we’ll find another way. This isn’t it.”

Sara turned on him. “You knew she was going to try this? When were you going to tell me?” she demanded.

He bristled and came forward another few steps. Every hair on the back of her neck stood on end in response. “If you want to talk about telling people things,” he said, “why don’t we start with Golden Boy out there?”

Her skin prickled as though a mass of ants were crawling down her spine. Surprised, she backed toward the door.

“We haven’t got time for this.” Faith stood up and planted herself between them. “Ian, I need you to help me reconstruct the map from your dream. I need to know exactly where everyone stood. Think you can help me with that?”

“Why didn’t we do it earlier?” he shot back, still glaring at Sara.

“Just help me. The more prepared we are, the better. Sara, the amulet?”

Sara touched the leather lace at her throat, then nodded.

“All right. I have the sword,” added Faith. “Let’s hope that’s enough.”

Sara backed out of the tent before either of them said anything further.

****

Ian sat beside the campfire with Faith, who picked at the last of her dinner. He cast a suspicious glance at the twilight sky. The moon rode ever higher, full and yellow as ancient bones. Everyone around the fire went about their business as if it were a typical night.

He pulled his journal from his coat pocket, then flipped it open, angling it toward the fire to see it better. The first several pages overflowed with birding notes and sketches. He flipped ahead and came upon a shadowy silhouette of Sara as she’d looked the night they’d made love at the inlet, with her hair blowing around her shoulders and the curves of her body outlined by the moonlit water.

Even on paper, she made him crazy to touch her.

Tonight, she had flopped down as far from him as possible, still furious at him for not telling her of Faith’s ridiculous plan for shutting down the ley line.

Worse, she sat beside Flintrop. Ian wanted to jump across the fire and pummel the son of a bitch just for looking at her. He saw Flintrop brush her knee, and all but growled. She didn’t seem to notice. What the hell was wrong with her? She hated him...so she said.

Ian set his jaw and turned to a fresh page, then started sketching a rough outline of the ruin.

Faith leaned toward him, whispering, “Where was the one with the bowl?”

He turned his attention back to the page long enough to put a star at the correct position, then looked back across the camp. Since waking up, Sara had avoided coming any closer to him than shouting distance, but Flintrop seemed to have an all-access pass.

Bastard.

Michael and Callander went by behind them. Ian closed the book and set it down beside him. “What else do we need?”

“Nothing, I hope,” Faith answered. “I’ve done everything I can think of. Now, all we can do is wait.”

Wait. For a death sentence.

Flintrop’s laughter brought Ian’s gaze back across the fire. He and Sara had stood up. Flintrop’s arm curled around her back, and he made a sweeping gesture in the direction of the ruin. She smiled at something he said, and then caught Ian looking. Ian held her stare. Her expression went flat, as though she were looking at a stranger, and then she looked away. Flintrop touched her arm, and she headed away from the fire to her tent.

Flintrop’s gaze slid away from her to Ian...and he smiled.

A white-hot surge of fury hijacked Ian’s senses, and before he knew it, he was on his feet.

“What are you doing?” Faith demanded.

“Settling this,” he snapped, marching toward Sara’s tent.

She’d already disappeared inside. Ian crossed the moor at a fast walk and burst into the tent with his blood boiling.

Sara shot up from her cot, knocking a stack of books off