I’ve seen an underground lagoon hidden beneath the subway. Witnessed humans morph into beasts and vice versa. Walked through mirrors. Fashioned a façade. Transformed into a butterfly. Taken on the Verity. But this? A stairwell in the middle of the Atlantic? At the brink of the Bermuda Triangle?
This is the stuff of legend. Unreal.
What else is there to discover beyond what I’ve seen? There’s so much I don’t know about all of this—the Reflections, the Callings, the Void, and the Verity.
But I want to know. I inhale a sharp breath and glance at Ky, braced against the upper-deck railing, elbows locked, knuckles white as latte foam. He could be a statue for how granite-still he stands, expression unyielding. In this moment, he looks more like the stately, cautious Joshua rather than the passionate, take-action guy he is. I don’t know why, but the idea turns my saliva to acid.
Weird. I used to loathe Ky. But then . . . I didn’t. He’s not who I thought he was. He’s not who others think he is. But I doubt he cares what they think. Ky isn’t the type who allows opinions to define him.
His gaze flashes to mine and a muscle in his jaw twitches.
My breath hitches against my will.
A demi-plié smile bows his lips. Flint skirts the wheel, drawing Ky’s attention away, and both men bend their heads together. Their hair color is so similar—like caramel-streaked honey. They could almost be brothers. Same peachy skin tone scarred by acne. Same height and build. It’s possible. Ky was adopted. Who knows if he has biological siblings he’s never met.
I squint, trying to find other similarities between the two. Their lips barely move as they converse. Ky shakes his head. Flint pinches the bridge of his nose. I strain to hear, but the task proves futile. They’re too quiet. In fact, it’s all too quiet.
Something is offbeat.
I scan my surroundings, take in the subtle changes. Normally, the sea’s playlist loops at random—lap, whoosh, spray . . . whoosh, spray, lap. Seagulls squawk during the commercial break. Wood tick-click-creaks in the background. But now? It’s as if the layered tracks have been muted. The absence of sound unnerves me.
A hand claps my shoulder. I look right and Streak stares down at me. “Are ya ready, Butterfly?”
I wink at him as if to say, “Aye.” Since the crew has seen my Mask, they’ve gained a new respect for me. I feel less like an outsider and more like . . . well . . . one of the crew.
Streak tromps past me, followed by Charley and Gunner. All three traipse up the steps to join the captain and his pilot. Before I can follow, invited or not, Tide’s hand squeezes my bicep. I’d almost forgotten he and Khloe were here. Ebony joins us, turning our trio into a quartet. Her gaze finds Tide and rests there. Is that admiration I see?
Tide leans into me, slides a hand to the far corner of his mouth. “This is bad.” His peppermint breath gives me the sudden craving for a candy cane.
“You think?” Khloe twists a frizzy curl around one finger. Despite my younger sister’s snarky words, not a trace of sarcasm laces her tone.
Maybe she’s like Ebony. But perhaps Khloe and I have some things in common as well.
Tide shifts and laughs, a rich, rumbling sound that reminds me of Kuna. And just like my old friend, Tide finds a reason to smile at a time no one else can.
I miss you, Kuna.
“I mean, worse than bad,” Tide says. “This is a problematic situation of epic proportions.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.” Ebony flips her hair.
“My brother will know what to do.” Khloe floats away, head held high, not a worry weighing her petite shoulders. Her faith in Ky fills me with unexpected warmth, spreading across my chest, traveling the length of my arms.
Ebony and I exchange a glance. We’ve fulfilled our Kiss of Accord. She’s helped me strengthen my abilities, and I helped her escape. We’ve no obligation to one another now. No reason to stand so near.
But neither of us moves away. Ebony reaches over, sticks her fingers into the collar of my sweater.
I eye her.
“Your tag was sticking out. You’re welcome.”
Then I smile. And she smiles. Different from when we were fake friends. This is authentic. Real.
A beginning.
Ebony looks away as if it’s too much too fast, so I peek sideways at Tide. Chew on the inside of my cheek.
He shoves his hands into his pockets. It must be obvious what I wish I could ask because he says, “The stairs.” He jerks his head, directing my attention toward the rocks. “They’re not supposed to be above the surface. The arch isn’t either, just its crown. Most of what you see now is usually hidden by ocean, only visible through a window belowdeck.”
I yank my cardigan tighter around me. Hug my chest.
“The entire ocean won’t drain,” he continues. “Because of its unique source in the Verity, Threshold water is comprised of energies rather than elements. You follow?”
I shake my head.
“Hard to explain. Basically, if a Threshold is part of a larger body of water, and the source of that Threshold’s energy is cut off . . . only the Threshold water would drain—vanish. It would create a wormhole”—Tide withdraws a hand from his pocket and slices a circle in the air with his open palm—“in the end, leaving a circular waterfall in the middle of the larger body of water. An opening leading to who knows where. You could end up at the far corners of the Seventh or loop back here. Got it?” Fascination shadows his trailing voice.
Whoa. Not only did Tide flip the switch from laid-back surfer dude to all-knowing professor, but my mind has literally bent. Backward. Twice. Nope. I’m thinking about what he said again . . . and . . . make that three times.
That’s when Ky joins us. I feel him before I see him. The heat at my back. Breath at my neck. His sudden nearness arrests my pulse. I avert my eyes.
Ky clears his throat. “Change of plans. We eat now. Take no extra weight or supplies. What do we have prepared?”
Lyrics to a popular eighties song scream across my brain. “Don’t stand, don’t stand so, don’t stand so close to me.”
“I can reheat the pot of chowder from last night.” Tide is already stepping away, moving toward the galley. “Give me fifteen minutes.” He’s gone then, disappearing beyond the galley door.
“I’ll help, I guess.” Ebony takes reluctant steps after Tide.
Helping someone without getting something in return? She’s changed. Softened. There may be hope for my sister after all.
I half expect Ky to leave as well. Instead he shifts closer. Our shoulders touch. Neither of us acts to break the connection.
“Change into something you can easily move in.” The hands clasped behind his back release and his arm swings, his knuckles brushing mine. “We no longer have a need to maintain formalities for Countess Ambrose’s sake.”
Why? Thump, thump, thump. Drum line in my ears.
He wiggles his fingers and they collide with the backs of mine. An accident? I twitch but make no effort to back away. “Because,” Ky says, “we’re not entering the Fourth as her guests at this point.”
I wait.
“I’m not sure what we’ll find in the Fourth, but we enter expecting the worst.” His voice changes key on “worst,” bordering on baritone. He looks at me then, and I turn my head, searching his eyes. His face. He seems to do the same with me as his Adam’s apple dips. “I don’t suppose I can ask you to remain here?” An arched eyebrow.
The tiny hairs on my hand—the one touching his—raise. I shake my head. I’m in this.
He nods. “Good. We need you. But be prepared. With the Threshold this low I can’t even guarantee the Fourth is where we’ll end up.”
I return his nod, and then, before I know what I’m doing, I entangle my fingers with his, squeeze his hand in silent thanks.
And there it is. There he is. That smile. The mischief behind those two-tone eyes. Ky is Ky. Not a trace of Joshua in sight.
Before the whole Kiss of Infinity-slash-mirrormark-slash-Verity’s vessel thing, I’d never been chosen for anything. Granted, I never cared when it came to sitting on the sidelines. Why whine about not getting picked to play PE soccer? More time to do homework at school, which meant more time with Mom—and later on, Joshua—at home. Back then, I’d rather write a report than participate any day.
But that was then. When I never knew what it was to be part of a team. To belong. To have people need me.
Is this what I’ve been missing?
My stomach is full and warm from Tide’s leftover chowder. But the comforting sensation doesn’t last as Streak and Flint work on opposite sides of the lifeboat to lower us into the sea. Some of the crew remain on board the ship. Normally we’d take the Seven Seas straight through the Threshold. I guess it sort of sucks the ship through and pops it out the other end.
I’ve only been through a Threshold once before, and the memory is hazy. I thought I was being dragged through from one side to the other, but was the Threshold actually propelling me? I wouldn’t be surprised, given the glowing green light that made the water seem alive. The light—I can only speculate—was a result of the Threshold’s source in the Verity.
I gaze through the stone arch and toward the stairs, searching for the same green light in this Threshold. Nothing. With each jerk of the boat my stomach drop, drop, drops and then settles as we hit the water with a splash. I’d much rather stay aboard our much safer and sturdier ship, but Ky explained it’s safer to leave it here until we know what we’re walking—i.e., swimming—into. I’m surprised Khloe isn’t remaining back as well. She’s just a kid. Surely she’d be safer if we left her here.
Sea sprays my back, squirts into my ears. I lift my arm and swipe at my damp cheeks with my sweatshirt sleeve, burrow down into my hooded collar. Dimitri’s journal, wrapped in cords and thick plastic, presses against my rib cage. I couldn’t leave it behind. I need to know more about mirrorglass and, well, anything else that might aid us on our journey.
The boat rocks one way, then the other. It’s impossible not to lean against the person beside me for support, who just so happens to be Ebony. She doesn’t seem to mind, though, because she leans into me too.
Flint and Streak grab oars and row toward the stone stairs. Heave, lift, slap. Heave, lift, slap.
I should be terrified of what lies beneath those steps. But, strangely, a little thrill jolts through me the closer we get. Ky said they need me. Whatever we find in the Fourth, or wherever, we’ll find it together.
Seawater sloshes into the boat as the weather awakens. Clouds swirl and lightning blinks beyond the gray, though I can’t hear thunder above my pounding heart. My seat is now soaked, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll be sopping in a minute anyway. The stairs aren’t for walking down. They’re simply a swimmer’s guide. In a larger body of water like this, I imagine it’d be easy to go off course once beneath the surface.
It takes longer than I expect to reach the stone arch. The air isn’t cold, but the water saturating my clothes makes it seem colder than it is. At least I changed into a hoodie and jeans. Not as if it makes much difference. Wet is wet, dress or not.
We pass beneath the arch, and the boat dips down a mini waterfall, the air shifting around us. I breathe in, relaxed by the scent of wood smoke drifting on the night air. I’m suddenly warm again. And dry. Blink, blink. Gasp. A hurricane-ready sky no longer looms above. Instead, thousands of twinkling stars dome the atmosphere, dot a Yankee-blue sky.
Joshua would love this, and not just because the sky’s color is reminiscent of his favorite baseball team. He loves stars. As long as I’ve known him, his gaze has never failed to drift skyward at night.
What would it have been like to be raised in the Second with him? Would we have played music on top of his trome back at the Haven, rather than on the roof of my Manhattan brownstone? What if our lives hadn’t been so complicated? What if he hadn’t kissed me as a baby? Would we still—somehow, someday—have fallen in love?
And it’s that single question that makes me realize, no matter what, I will always care deeply for Joshua. Choice or not, a part of me will forever belong to him. Nothing can change this simple truth. It’s as set in stone as Excalibur was.
“Until the right person came along and removed it.”
I sweep my gaze diagonally across the boat, toward Ky. His right arm circles his sister’s shoulders, but he’s not looking at her. He’s looking at me. A frown draws his entire face, from eyebrows to lips.
My heart wrenches. Why does this have to be so hard?
His gaze lowers, eyelashes that shouldn’t belong to a boy brushing the tops of his cheeks.
I long to know what he’s thinking. And I can, if I really desire it. For the first time I will his thoughts to be heard without him sending them toward me. I focus. Listen.
Ky grins at his knees. His thoughts become clear.
And. Now. I’m. Blushing.
You thought that on purpose. I’m scolding him, but also not.
He shrugs. “Can’t help it, Em. It’s only natural to want to—”
I cover my mind’s ears. Stop. Don’t go there.
“As you wish.”
Sigh. My favorite line from The Princess Bride.
Wait, no. Stop. Not now. I will not think of Ky as Westley. I will not think of Ky as—
The boat bumps the stairs, and the invisible link between us vanishes. Streak heaves a coil of thick rope over the boat’s edge and loops it around the top step. He leans back, pulls the rope tight, and nods toward Tide.
The boat rocks as Tide rises and leaps into the water. He dives out of view for a full minute before reemerging. When he does, I’m smiling, reminded of Kuna once more. Tide’s a Mask, and a water creature at that. I shake my head at the dolphin and think of Stormy. She should be here. My heart aches for my best friend. I wish I could’ve brought her with me. Is she back to her old, spunky self? I hope so.
Ky moves to follow Tide, but Flint stops him. “I’ll go first. Better a pilot captured than a captain. Just in case.”
It looks as if Ky might protest, but Flint stares him down. After a second Ky leans back and Flint jumps in the water, grabs hold of Tide’s dorsal fin. They dive together while we wait. Ky doesn’t look my way again, and no one else makes eye contact either. Everyone is on edge. I feel it in the tension of Ebony’s shoulder against mine, in the awkward, deafening silence.
Several minutes later, Tide returns with a thumbs-up. He takes Sam—er, Gunner—down next. Then Charley, followed by Ebony. Member by member, the boat empties. A few are people I’ve seen around the ship but don’t know by name. In the end only Streak, Ky, Khloe, and I are left. Ky is next, but before he enters the water he locks eyes with mine and thinks, “See you on the other side.”
See you, is all I can think. Why is my stomach in knots?
When he’s gone, I begin counting in my head. So far the longest it’s taken Tide to make a round trip has been four minutes and thirty-nine seconds.
At two minutes I take a deep breath. Still plenty of time.
At three minutes I lean forward, peer over the boat’s edge. Khloe mirrors my move.
At four minutes I swallow. Where are they?
When we hit the five-minute mark, I glance between Khloe and Streak. The way he flexes his jaw tells me he’s nervous too. Khloe, whose faith in her brother could move mountains, even shows worry in the tightness framing her brown eyes.
Then a sensation like a punch to the gut brings me to my knees. My face feels as if it’s been pummeled and the skin at my neck stings. My sudden agony is the first sign something is wrong. Because the pain is not my own. It belongs to him, but we’re separated by Reflections. Again.
Six minutes. Seven. Eight.
Tide does not return.