Shane took a deep breath. “What do you see?”
She glared at him before taking a closer look. It wasn’t until she was almost nose to sharp edge with it did she realize that, inside the ball, the curves were smooth, glistening, reflecting the figure inside over and over again. The face of the figure was serene, if vague in its features, as if Shane couldn’t quite see the person’s face well enough to sculpt it. “Whatever this ball is, it’s protecting the person inside.”
“Yeah. I thought you’d see that too.”
She shook her head. “What does this mean?”
He lifted his head wearily. His eyes were bloodshot. He must have been up all night working on this. “Follow me.” He led her over to another pedestal. “See this?”
“Yeah.” It was magnificent, but whereas the last sculpture sent shivers down her spine this one evoked a sense of loss and loneliness. A lone figure stood in shining silver, head bowed, shoulders bent. Flowing down its back, a long sweep of metal she presumed to be the figure’s hair crossed over the figure until the tips blended into glass and metal waves. The “foam” of the broken waves brushed the feet of the figure, and how Shane had gotten that effect she had no idea. The figure had no face, but even without it was obvious something dear had been lost, maybe never to be found again. One glistening hand reached toward the waves, either tossing something away or summoning something back. “What are you calling this one?”
“Incomplete.”
She blew out a breath. “Wow. Hell of a name.”
He chuckled. “No. I mean it’s not complete. The rest of the vision hasn’t come to me.”
Vision? What was he talking about?
He pointed to a small spot in the middle of the sculpture. “Right here. Something is supposed to go right here, but I don’t know who or what yet.”
Things finally clicked into place. How he’d known where she was going to be the night before, if not why. How he’d known who she was even before she set foot on his father’s land. “You have seer’s blood in you.” It was rare to find, rarer still not to find an accompanying madness underneath. Her mother’s people hadn’t exactly been prolific before they were wiped away in the war that split the Courts.
Those sapphire eyes, bloodshot though they were, pierced through her. “Where, and on what side, I don’t know, but yeah.” He shoved a filthy hand through his hair, dislodging what had to be more glass dust. “I finished the ball one last night, but this one has been plaguing me for a while now. Until I know what goes in the center, it remains incomplete.”
She turned her attention back to the glass and metal ball. “What do you call that one?”
“What would you call it?”
Dear gods, she did not want to name who it was. Shane didn’t just create art. He created people, their essence flowing through the piece with shattering results. “Please don’t make me.”
His hand reached out to her, but he pulled back. “You know, Akane.”
She walked back to the jagged ball. “Do you know who she is?”
“Are you so sure it’s a she? It could be Oberon.”
She shook her head. “I know who this is, and I know what that figure represents. It’s a she.” She pointed back to the forlorn figure. “Just like I know who that is.” She shivered. “You’re playing with dangerous visions, Shane.”
“Playing? Like I have a choice in this? Unlike you, I don’t get to pick and choose what visions come to me. I just get to watch them come alive under my hands.” The water in his tiny bathroom started up, and it wasn’t long before a pair of damp arms circled her waist. “Akane. Do you know what happens if the figure falls?”
She closed her eyes, but when she opened them, somehow Shane had toppled the figure. Thanks to the way he’d constructed the ball, now the inside only reflected the jagged edges of the outside over and over until there was nothing left but chaos and death. The position of the figure’s arms when standing were perfect for a figure lying on the ground as well, and if that happened the world itself would be in danger. “Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“We should tell Robin.”
He turned her around, his big hands gentle. “Can you take a look for me? Maybe I’m missing something.” His eyes strayed back to the fallen figure before spearing into her once more. “If this can be avoided, it has to be.”
She sighed. “Do you know what happened the last time I tried to get a look at him?”
“No, what?”
She leaned against him, trusting him with her weight, for once not caring that her clothes would be covered in grime. She needed his strength after seeing those two pieces of art. “Once, a long time ago, I saw my mother talking to a pretty, pretty man.” His arms tightened and she wriggled in protest, turning once more to study the jagged ball. “So I wondered who that pretty man was, but my mother refused to tell me. So I opened my vision, because damn if someone was going to tell me that I couldn’t know something.” She ignored his belly laugh. “When I woke up, Robin Goodfellow—”
“Who was the pretty man, I presume?”
“Yup. He offered me a job.”
“Because he likes that kind of crazy, huh?”
She elbowed him, pleased when he gave a soft grunt. “Do you know who she is?”
“No, and that scares the shit out of me.”
“Why?”
“We can’t protect her if we don’t.” He touched one of the jagged edges, his blood welling up, red on silver. “If we don’t know…”
“The world will be awash in blood.”
“I think so.” His hand returned to her waist, cuddling her close. “I think this might be the one thing that could drive him to do something that would make Tunguska look like a cherry bomb.”
“Wonderful.” The 1908 explosion over the Tunguska region of Russia was had been horrific in its destruction. Scientists believed a meteor or comet fragment exploded roughly three miles above the spot that had been decimated, but there was no solid proof of what had happened. It had the impact of roughly ten to fifteen megatons of TNT. Nothing had survived intact. The fallout from that explosion was seen around the world. Strange light could be seen as far away as England, where people reported that it was bright enough to read the newspaper by. When an expedition was finally sent by the Russians in 1927, the pictures of the devastation had been humbling. And she knew for a fact the scientists had it wrong. No meteor had done that. Robin had, and to this day only two people knew why: High King Oberon and Robin himself. “We need to find out, then.”
“I’m thinking of calling your mother.”
She winced. “Please don’t.”
“She’s helped me before, when I couldn’t interpret a vision. How do you think I got her number?”
She sagged in his arms. “Please not my mom. Please?”
He picked her up like she actually was the dainty little human most people believed she was. His strength never ceased to amaze her…or turn her on. “Man up, Akane. World-wide destruction or talk to your mother.” When she didn’t answer right away, he shook her.
“What? I’m thinking about it.”
With a hearty laugh he carted her out of the studio and back to the tiny attached bedroom, her muttered curses drifting on the air around them.
A glowing pair of green eyes appeared next to one of the pedestals. They stared at the lone figure, waves lapping at its feet, before turning to the jagged ball of glass and metal. A black boot heel clacked on the concrete floor, and Robin Goodfellow materialized out of the nothingness to stare at the fallen figure. The words of the two hybrids echoed in his ears.
“Interesting.”