“Okay.” She ran a hand over one of the counters, the granite swirled with gold and cream and brown. “A kitchen this big should be intimidating, but it’s homey. Everything’s really up-to-date, but you contrast that with the dishes in the breakfront there, the butcher block table and island, the cottagey-style chairs, and it’s relaxed.”

“I’ll be more relaxed with food and wine.”

Sasha hunted up a corkscrew while Riley poked through an enormous refrigerator. “Big pantry over there—you could live in it. And a vegetable garden outside we’re to harvest from. We’ll work out some sort of divvying for the yard work. And the chickens. The coop’s out behind the garden.”

Riley sliced from a big round of brown bread. “That’s a commercial stove,” she added, “which means I’m not going near it.”

Though she couldn’t wait to try it out, Sasha decided to keep that to herself before Riley decided she was full captain of the kitchen again.

“The men wanted beer. Is there beer?”

Riley jerked a thumb at the refrigerator, and switched from slicing bread to slicing tomatoes.

“We should eat outside. I’ll set that up.”

She found bamboo place mats, opted for the colorful plates, cherry-red napkins, and entertained herself setting a festive table under the wooden slats of a pergola. She transferred the bowl of fruit from the butcher block to the outside table, turned back when she heard male voices.

“Let’s test it out then.”

She came back in as Bran poured a small amount of the wine into a glass. After a sip, he nodded.

“I’ll go with it.”

“Make it unanimous. You scored a hell of a place here.”

“My thoughts exactly. Sasha says we eat outside, and I’m all for it.” Riley set the last of four enormous sandwiches on a platter, dumped half the contents of a bag of chips into a bowl. “Let’s eat.”

Sasha eyed the size of the sandwiches, and when they sat down, cut one in half, put the second half back on the platter.

Bran took a hefty bite of his own. “You’re definitely the queen of sandwiches.”

Busy with her own, Riley nodded. “It’s a gift. So, Sawyer King, we’ll start with the lightning round for the fabulous prize of a stay in a fabulous villa by the sea. What’s your version of the Stars of Fortune?”

He held up a finger until he swallowed, then picked up his wine. “The way I heard it, a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away—”

“Points for the Star Wars reference.”

“A favorite. Three goddesses of the moon, to celebrate the rise of their new queen, created three stars, one of fire, one of ice, one of water.”

He told it well, seemed to have no problem being the focus of attention.

“Okay, that jibes.” Riley crunched into a chip. “For the second part of the round—”

“A two-parter.”

“Yeah. How do you know about them?”

“My Russian grandfather.”

“Is that so?” Bran poured more wine all around.

“Yeah, that’s so. It was one of his favorite stories, which is what I thought it was when I was a kid. Just a story. But he got sick a while back—we didn’t think he was going to make it, and neither did he. That’s when he sat me down, told me it was truth, and more than truth, a kind of destiny. Mine.”

“And you believed him?” Sasha asked.

“He’d never lied to me in my life,” Sawyer said simply. “ Dedulya told me the story, and the responsibility, had been passed down in the family for generations. Over . . . time, many had searched, but no luck. But, well, into each generation a seeker is born.”

“Oh.” Riley pointed at him. “Serious bonus points for the paraphrase of Buffy .”

“I like to rack them up. He said I was it, and I’d know I was on the right path when I met five other seekers.” He plucked a couple of grapes from the bowl. “Looks like three out of five so far. Dedulya —and it shouldn’t sound any more weird than the rest of this—he’s sort of psychic.”

“And was that passed down, too?” Bran wondered.

“Not to me.”

“Why here?” Sasha asked. “Why Corfu?”

Since they were there, Sawyer dumped more chips on his plate. “I’ve been at this awhile, hitting dead ends, but gathering some information. Separating the obvious bullshit from what might not be is the key. I was on Sardinia—hell of a place—and traced a lead. This story about Poseidon—not Neptune, so Greek not Roman, and I’m in Italy. Anyway, Poseidon and Korkyra.”

Pleased, Riley, took a handful of grapes for herself. “The beautiful nymph he loved, and who he brought to an unnamed island. He named it Korkyra, for her.”

“Right, and that became Kerkyra. Corfu. The story talked about a Fire Star, gone cold, hidden between land and sea, and waiting to flame again. So, I followed the lead.”

“Same lead I picked up.” Riley popped a grape in her mouth.

“You?” Sawyer gestured to Bran.

“Mine spoke of the land of Phaiax.”

“Poseidon’s and Korkyra’s son, so the island inhabitants were once Phaeacians, and Corfu the island thereof.”

“You know a lot about it,” Sawyer commented.

“She has a doctorate,” Bran told him.

“No shit? Well, Dr. Gwin, did I pass the audition?”