Annika started to speak, then frowned. “It’s different to ask why not. It’s . . . conversation, and seeking answers. Not asking for an act. No one told me it’s not permitted to ask a human why not. Only not to ask them to.”
Laughing again, she grabbed Riley’s hands. “This is so smart!”
“Big brain, and some experience with human males.”
“I should go ask right now.”
“I wouldn’t.” Quickly Sasha reached over, joined her hands with Annika’s and Riley’s. “I think it’s best to wait until it’s just the two of you. Until you’re alone. Asking him in front of the men? He’d feel awkward.”
“Oh. I’ll do as you say. You’ve helped so much.”
“Girl power. The other part of that,” Riley continued, “is you tell us what happens after you ask why not.”
“It’s good to talk to females. Males must feel it’s good to talk to males.”
“You won that argument. And here they come now.”
Riley thought Sasha had been right. You didn’t need the sight to know Sawyer had a case for their mermaid. Sunglasses didn’t disguise the fact that his gaze went straight to Annika, lingered there before he put on his affable smile, sauntered across the lawn to the table.
“That looks good.”
“Then it’s lucky I made a large pitcher—and brought enough glasses out for everyone. Before I knew you three were having a summit in the grove.”
Bran walked behind Sasha’s chair, ran a hand down her hair. “We did some calculations on the best positions for the light potion when it’s fully cured. The first of it should be ready after sundown.”
He sat beside her, lifted the pitcher. “What have we here?”
“A kind of raspberry lemonade.”
“I’ll get a beer.” Noting the glint in Sasha’s eyes, Doyle hesitated. “Or not. You pissed, Blondie?”
“I might have been. Riley would have been. But fortunately all around Annika made some salient points about the male of this species and many others—and their instincts to protect their women. Even when the women are capable. And that men sometimes require or desire the company of men. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be in such amiable moods.”
“Appreciate it, Gorgeous.” Doyle dumped some of the sparkling juice into a glass.
“I said what I did because I believe you respect us. If I believed you didn’t respect us, I would be angry.”
“Not only respect. Depend on. And love.” Bran took Sasha’s hand, brought it to his lips. When he lowered it, Sasha held a rose, yellow as sunlight. Bran smiled at Annika’s audible sigh. “With love comes concern.”
“I don’t see you kissing our hands, Irish.”
Now Bran laughed, gestured to Riley. “Give it over.”
“Maybe later.”
“Meanwhile, I think I’ve worked out how to fulfill Doyle’s suggestion for the weapons. For that, I could use your help, fáidh.”
“Then you’ll have it.”
“Once it’s ready to test, I’ll need everyone.”
“For magicks?” Annika asked.
“For magicks.”
With a flick of his fingers, Bran produced a rose as pink as candy, another as white as ice. Offered the pink to Annika, who beamed over it. The white to Riley.
“And while we scouted out the grove, and the areas beyond for placing the light bombs, Sawyer had a thought.”
“You had a thought?” Riley smirked at him.
“It happens once or twice a year. We’re talking defense, offense, strategy, holding our ground against attacks. And I figure we’re going to be dealing with Malmon now, too, and his mercs. The human element. As a fellow human, if I wanted to storm the castle, I wouldn’t come at it from below. I’d . . . Can I?”
When he reached for the sketch pad, Sasha nudged it toward him.
“So we’re here. Grove here, road there,” he said as he drew a rough map. “Closest neighbors here, here. Bad strategy to send troops up from the road. Maybe a few as a distraction, but it’s wasting men and effort. You come from the flanks, but the real vulnerability is west and above. The ground keeps rising. Rough terrain, mountainous. They couldn’t come fast, but—”
“Long-range weaponry,” Riley put in, got a nod. She rose, walked back from the pergola, looked up. “Some pretty decent cover. We’d have our own cover in the grove, and with the house itself to some extent, but a good sniper—and he only uses good—could pick us off.”
“He doesn’t want us dead,” Sasha began. “Or not all of us.”
“Tranquilizers.” With her hands in her pockets, Riley continued to scan. “He knows what we are, knows he can’t kill Doyle anyway. And he’d want me