Book Seven: Chapter 112

“Yes and no. I created this place, but I did not tuck it away.” She turned and walked toward the cabana. “That would be the work of the one you call the Architect.”

“Naturally.” If something weird had been built across time and space, he could count on it being the Architect’s work. “So does this mean that you are the host?”

Pelé paused and cocked her head. “Host?”

“The divine being used to create such a place.” He frowned. “Actually, that wouldn’t make sense. You created this island yourself, right?”

“I did. The Architect altered it for our needs. Come.” She took Mike to the cabana. Wicker chairs hung from braided ropes looped to the ceiling with a king-size bed in the back. Flower petals had been laid in a circle at the foot of the bed.

“It’s beautiful,” he said.

“Yes,” she replied. “But that is not what I wanted you to see. This way.” She held out a hand, and he took it. Her skin was soft, and he felt his magic resonate in response to her touch