“Doing great!” she called out as Sasha carefully lowered a few more inches, with Sawyer advising her to ease right, plant this foot.

It surprised everyone when ten feet down it was Annika who lost her handhold as a rock gave way under her fingers. She teetered, nearly overbalanced. Riley braced, dragged up slack, then breathed again when Sawyer pulled Annika back.

“I’m apology!” she shouted. “I mean sorry.”

“Climb now,” Riley called back. “Swim later.”

With her own heart drumming still, Riley continued down.

She looked up once, saw the ravens perched on the wall above.

“Fire in the hole.” She let go with one hand, toes digging in hard, pulled her gun. She managed to hit two before the others took wing.

Below, Sasha lowered to the ledge. “She’s watching. I can feel it.”

“Nearly there.” Doyle gestured. “Just watch your footing.”

Even as Riley reached the ledge, she saw him ease into the cave. Getting back up again was bound to be more complicated. So she’d think about it later.

She moved carefully over the ledge, followed the others into the cave.

“Tight fit.” She squeezed in between Sasha and Annika.

“It’s pure, like the boy. Can you feel it?” Sasha wondered.

It echoed with the sea, smelled of sea and earth, and when Bran held his hand over a rock, Riley saw the old wax pooled there liquefy and glow so the cave washed with soft gold light.

“I’d’ve made a fort in here,” Sawyer commented as he looked around. “Irish cave version of a tree house. What kid could resist it?”

“It was for him, the boy, the boy who dreamed of being a man. It is for him, the man who remembers the boy.” Sasha reached out, laid a hand on Doyle’s back. “It waits, and its time is now. The time of the six. Of the guardians. See the name, read the name, speak the name.”

He saw the name he’d carved into stone so long ago, above the dragon symbol. He read the name, his own name, so it etched in his mind as it did on the wall.

And he spoke the name.

“Doyle Mac Cleirich.”

The light changed, burned from warm gold to ice white, and with it the air went cold as winter.

The name, his name, blazed in the rock, each letter spilling fire. The dragon roared with it.

Heart at a gallop, blood all but singing, Doyle dropped to his knees, reached into the flame. And from the mouth of the dragon took the star.

It blazed like the fire—but pure and white, blinding bright. Cupped in his palm, its power sprang free.

“It’s not cold.” Doyle stared at the beauty in his hand. “Not now. It’s warm.”

And so was the air.

“We have it.” He pushed to his feet, turned, held it for the others to see. “We have the last star.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

As he spoke, the ground shook. Loose rocks tumbled in front of the mouth of the cave, fell into the sea.

“I’d say she knows.” Riley tried to angle around, face the mouth of the cave. A beam from Annika’s bracelet struck the first bat that swooped in.

“I’d say that’s our cue to get the hell out of here.”

“But not the way we came in.” Sawyer pulled out his compass. “Hold on.”

The shift shot them into the light, the wind. Riley heard a hammerblow of thunder, saw something streak and flash. Then she felt herself falling helplessly, tumbling.

Not thunder now, she realized, but the waves crashing on rock. And she fell straight toward them.

The cold, the wet slashed across her face. Her hand groped for her knife. Cut the rope, cut the rope before she dragged the others with her.

Then her body jerked as that rope snapped taut. She flew up again, fighting to breathe, and landed in a wet, boneless heap on the lawn.

“Anni, everybody. Is everybody all right?” Sawyer’s hoarse voice clawed through her stunned mind. “Sash— Jesus, Riley.”

She waved away the hands that tugged at her. “Okay, not hurt. What the hell, Sawyer?”

“Inside! We can’t risk the star in a fight.” Doyle scooped Riley up. “Run,” he ordered, and charged for the house as what had poured into the cave poured over the seawall.

Ignoring, for the moment, the indignity of being tossed over Doyle’s shoulder, Riley reached back for her gun. “We’re secured to the damn tree.”

“Not anymore.”

She got off a few rounds before Doyle shoved into the house.

He swung her off his shoulder, dumped her onto the kitchen island so they were eye to eye. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m wet.” She shoved him back. “Again, what the hell, Sawyer?”

“She walloped us. Best I can say.” He shoved his gun back in his holster. “Knocked me off balance. I lost my grip, so to speak, for a couple seconds.”

“I was falling, toward the rocks.” Riley pushed at her dripping hair. “I think I almost hit.”

“Would have,” Doyle told her. “Without the rope to haul you back.”

“I don’t know what she threw at me,” Sawyer added, “but I bet she’s been waiting to do just that. I’m sorry. I lost it.”

“Not your fault, and you got it back.” Steadier, Riley looked to the window into the deep gloom, the lash of rain. “The storm.”

“No.” With a shove at her wind-ravaged hair, Sasha shook her head. “That’s just anger. She’s gathering more. Right now, Riley needs dry clothes, and as grateful as I am for the ropes, they have to go.”