I shook my head and looked out the window. Our dark little air-conditioned cocoon creeped along through a screaming, shouting sea of angry faces. First it was unemployment and corruption, then the austerity shell game, then the referendum vote, then the run on the banks, insane inflation, and then the fight over immigration of refugees. Through the tinted windows, I saw a kid probably in his early twenties. He was wearing no shirt and had tattoos of Greek football team logos on his chest, arms, and back. He was pounding his fists against the bulletproof glass. His eyes were glazed over, stupid with raw hatred. I doubted he had a clue what he was protesting, but it was an excuse to meet girls, get wasted, and wreck stuff—oh and blame somebody else—an ideal little vacation from the shit pile of his own life. It’s sad how little history or people really change. We just keep doing laps. A thought occurred to me as we pulled free of the mob and the SUV accelerated again. All those times I saved the world with some snappy spell or daring last-second plan, I was saving it for a whole bunch of bullet-headed, mouth-breathing goons. No, that’s not true. I was saving it for me, to save my handsome ass. It may be a fucking circus on fire, but at least I got good seats.
The “boat” waiting for us at a private slip was a forty-eight-foot Cantius speedboat. Like everything else the Ankous owned, it was expensive and high quality, just like yours truly, except he was only renting me.
We headed out to sea, and I had the onboard hostess fix me up with a cold Corona. I unbuttoned and took off my shirt, tossed it in a deck chair, lit up a cigarette, and felt the sun, the cool sea air, and the spray kiss me.
“I’m sorry we didn’t think to drag the couch out here on the deck or run the Stars and Bars up the flagpole to make you feel a little more at home,” Burris said. I looked over to the knight. He was standing with his arms crossed, scanning the horizon, his eyes hidden behind his Maybach sunglasses. He looked like a cross between Othello and the Terminator.
“Expecting an assassination attempt from seagulls?” I asked, burping a little from the beer.
“The Ankous have political enemies and business rivals,” he said. “I have no doubt they all know about you since we scooped you up. They may decide to grab you to find out what you’re up to, see if it gives them a tactical advantage, or they may decide just to kill you to derail whatever it is they think you are doing for the family. So relax, get drunk, and enjoy the ride. One of us has to do his job.”
“I bet you are a fucking madman at the company Christmas party,” I said, and turned back to enjoy the breathtaking view. We were crossing the blue, glass waters of the Saronic Gulf.
Four beers, half a pack of cigarettes, and plenty more stimulating conversation from Burris later, we were slowing and making our way along the Gulf of Argolis, toward Baltiza Bay on the eastern side of Spetses. Off to our starboard was a yacht so big it made our forty-eight-footer look like a dinghy. The ship was gliding along at a leisurely pace with hundreds of beautiful partygoers hanging off its rails, drinking, drugging, and dancing on its decks. The sound system on the yacht was throbbing as it blasted “BonBon” by Era Istrefi across the bay, probably killing aquatic life with the decibel level.
To port you could see the labyrinth of the city the isle was named for. Whitewashed, boxlike buildings were stacked side by side and seemingly atop one another, rising up the hillside of the island. Tiny terraces and colorful, shuttered windows breaking the almost-geometric solidarity of the cozy homes and shops. I could see tourists and locals streaming through the crowded, winding, cobblestone streets tucked tightly between the structures. At the water’s edge were marinas with boats of every size and shape imaginable, bobbing gently in the turquoise waters, as well as seaside cafes with patrons enjoying seafood and beers under large, shady umbrellas. If thirteen-year-old me had been here, I’m pretty damn sure I’d never have left. It made me try to connect a little with Caern. Did she leave all this willingly, or was she taken? And if it was of her own free will, what had driven her out of paradise?
Our boat took us up the eastern face of the island, past crowded public beaches and pristine private ones. The sand on the shoreline gleamed like powdered gold, kissing water of liquid sapphire. I think I understood why Ankou had a home here. This place was as close to any I’d ever seen on Earth to match the otherworldly beauty of Faerie.
We went around the northern tip of the island, and I saw villas dotting the sides of the hilly island, nestled among the myrtle and pine trees. I saw groves of lemon and fig trees on terraces of land along the hills. Eventually we docked at the private pier that also housed a small and powerful-looking cigarette boat and a hundred-and-thirty-foot yacht. Men who looked more like soldiers than dock hands caught the mooring lines and helped tether us to our section of the pier. There was a winding set of wooden stairs that led up the hills to the rear of the beach house. Burris and I carried our bags up the winding staircase. Servants offered to carry everything up, but we both tacitly refused.
The house was a luxury fortress with a stunning view of the sea and the mountain the house rested at the top of. We were shown to our rooms and told that dinner would be ready around six. I dropped my single, battered, old canvas bag
