The cold makes the tremors of my body more violent, and I realize my clothing is soaked. I drop back onto the ground as quietly as I can and maneuver into Erik’s arms.
“You okay?” he murmurs, his eyes still shut.
“I think so.” But as I speak, my teeth chatter, the chill curling into my fingers and into my core.
Erik snaps to and stares at me, his eyes wide with concern. Then a moment later he starts unbuttoning my wet jacket.
“What are you doing?” I demand, trying to find the strength to pull away.
“Stop fighting me,” he says as he strips off my jacket and starts on my shirt.
“Erik,” I begin, but the shuddering stops my tongue from forming words.
He doesn’t speak, just tugs my shirt off. I’m too cold and too tired to feel self-conscious or awkward. And then he starts stripping himself.
“Erik!” It’s more of a shriek than a name.
Erik wraps his arms around me, drawing me closer until I’m cocooned in the heat of his body. My skin wakes and warms to his, and we stare at each other until I feel heat rising everywhere.
“I thought I lost you,” he murmurs.
“You didn’t,” I say.
“Adelice, I—”
“I know,” I stop him.
His lips are on mine, full but gentle, and I feel liberated by his kiss. The want of it. The need of it. We crush against each other. I explore every bit of his mouth—the subtle bow in his top lip, the softness of his bottom lip, where the two crease. When we pull apart, he’s breathless and wide-eyed, and I see myself, equally excited, reflected back in his irises.
After a few awkward pants, I laugh, and his mouth splits into a wide grin.
“We have horrible timing,” I say.
“No,” he says, showering me with dozens of tiny kisses. “Better late than never.”
He hovers over me, and I know we have to go. We have to find the others.
“We’ll have our time, Ad,” he promises me.
I reach up and brush his hair behind his ears, noticing that my fingers still tremble even though I’m no longer cold. I want to believe him.
* * *
The terrain onshore is difficult to navigate. The wild grass can’t be counted on for help. One handful might give me enough leverage to hike up higher, but the next betrays me. Erik pauses for a moment, farther up the hill than me.
“You know, Ad,” he calls over the bursts of wind off the water, “I could carry you up.”
“Like a sack of flour?” I ask in mock interest.
“Nah, like a newlywed,” he yells. “Over the threshold into a prison of lies.”
“What every girl dreams of,” I shout back. I don’t stop climbing, although a good part of me would like to see Erik trying to carry me up, and the wicked part of me has other reasons for wanting to be in his arms.
Erik loses his grip and slides back several feet, but I keep going. My effort is rewarded when my hand finds flat, solid ground, and hoisting myself up, I discover a road. Scrambling over the side, I sit and wait for Erik, feet dangling over the precipice I’ve surmounted.
He takes one look at me and groans. “You’re looking smug, Miss Lewys.”
“I’m feeling it,” I admit, kicking my feet back and forth.
“Mind taking a moment from your superiority and giving me a hand?”
I pull myself to my feet and lean over, arm out wide. “Benevolence is one of my many superior attributes.”
Erik uses me to balance, but I sense he’s trying not to put too much force on me.
“For Arras’s sake,” I swear, latching on to his hand more tightly and pulling against his weight, but then he pulls back and I stumble forward under his weight. A small cry escapes my lips before I realize he’s already on the road. He’s merely pulled me into his arms.
He radiates heat against me, his hair clustered in thick waves from the moisture in the air. In the night, his eyes are silver-gray and wild as the ocean below us.
“I know,” he says before I can protest, leaning closer to me, “we don’t have time.”
I’m caught in the moment. The waves thundering against the rocks, the piercing cries of seagulls, the thick darkness that wraps us in a haze of fog.
“I could make the time. It’s another perk of my superiority,” I remind him. But before I close the gap between his mouth and mine, light blinds us.
“Ad, this is your father,” I hear Dante yell from a distance. “Let go of that boy before you make me vomit.”
“I need to speak with him about invoking his parental claims,” I mutter, but Erik chuckles.
The rest of the group is on the next bend of the road winding up the side of the island, so Erik and I race toward them. When we reach them, Dante gives me a hug, catching me by surprise. I’m transported back to the night of my retrieval—the last time I felt a parent’s arms around me. When he drops his arms, he backs away, not meeting my eyes.
“We thought you both drowned,” Valery whispers, looping her arm through mine. “But Jost and Dante wouldn’t stop looking.”
Wistfulness flashes across her face, but can’t settle onto her drawn, tired countenance. I hook an arm around her waist and her head sinks onto my shoulder.
My eyes fall to Jost, but he turns away, not even offering a hello. If he’d had doubts about where my relationship with Erik was heading, he doesn’t anymore. I don’t blame him for not looking at me. I can’t change any of it though, so I trudge forward. Dante nods awkwardly at me. He might be able to pull out his parental feelings in jest, but he can’t express them now.
“Have you found the entrance to the prison yet?” Erik asks.
“We’ve been looking for you,” Jost says. His voice, though weary, lacks recrimination.
“You’ve found us. Let’s go,” I say, finding myself energized by proximity to our destination.
“Ad.” Jost catches my arm and draws me to the side. “I’m glad you’re safe. Both of you.”
We shift awkwardly and I think he might hug me, but he doesn’t. Instead he gives me a small smile before he turns back to our mission.
The island is dark, no light shining from the wind-beaten watchtower. Without the sun, the only light comes from the stars and a crescent moon perched in the dusky sky. The silhouette of the fortress grows larger as we draw nearer. It should intimidate, but all I feel is the tug of familiarity. Stone walls that reach to the sky, a well-placed turret. It’s not so different from the Coventry, except this prison has windows—something the Guild didn’t permit us. But even with windows, it looks impossible to escape this place.
A variety of buildings dot the perimeter, but they are as silent as death. Save for the occasional dancing light that disappears as soon as I turn to follow it, there’s no sign of life.
“What if no one’s here?” I ask Dante.
“Then we keep looking,” he assures me, but there’s doubt seeping into his words. Perhaps he’s starting to understand the role of a father after all. He’s trying to offer me comfort and assurance even if it’s a lie.
If Alcatraz is abandoned, where we will start? I know it will come to a decision: keep looking or reenter Arras through the loophole to save our families. For the first time, standing on the brink of discovery, I face the possibility of returning. I know I can’t—won’t—go back. I can’t choose Amie over an entire world, and I buoy myself against the ache of that realization, because if I let myself feel it, I’ll shatter on the spot.
The yard is enclosed by a concrete wall and foreboding-looking wire loops across the top. We circle the perimeter for a long time before we find a loading dock that leads us to an entrance.
“I thought there would be more security,” Jost notes. He takes a few steps forward so the handlight’s beam travels to the front of the prison.
“Yeah, this place looks dead,” Valery says in a small voice. “Maybe we should turn back.”
“No,” I say firmly. “This place is huge. We won’t know anything until we get inside.”
Valery whimpers her acquiescence. Dante draws a gun from its holster and hands it to Erik. Jost already has one.
“If something happens, the best thing you can do is warp us some safety,” Dante tells me.
The thought stops me cold. Even with practice, I’ve barely been able to control my grasp on Earth’s wild strands. If I choose the wrong one, I could sever one of them. I could bring Alcatraz tumbling down on us.
Dante stops and places a hand on my shoulder. “You can do it, Adelice. You’ll have to.”
We snake through the entrance, looking for a way inside the prison. We’re about to give up when a creak puts us on high alert. No one moves in the group, but as the seconds tick by it seems more likely that we’re dealing with the wind and nothing more. The entrance empties into a small sally port like the ones used in the Icebox safe house. The door on the other side is unlocked. If the Whorl was here, they wouldn’t allow such lax conditions. My heart sinks right as a gunshot whistles by and buffets along the walls behind me. I’m so taken aback that I don’t react until Dante shoves me to the ground, his other arm swinging his gun into position in front of him. The crack of bullets bounces around the large concrete enclosure and I snap to, willing myself to see the wild fabric of the universe. To my surprise it comes into focus easily and I realize we’re not dealing with a vacant, decrepit building. The prison has been reinforced against both nature and time.
The strands of time don’t flash with the inconsistency I’ve grown accustomed to. They aren’t wild, but rigid and set, making them easier to see and harder to manipulate. But it’s amazing what adrenaline can do and I wrench a long, thick strand from its locked position and ruffle it in my hand. The effect is instantaneous, the warp blocking a shot just in time. The bullet ricochets off the strands, skittering across the floor. From a distance I see the guard who’s shooting at us peek out from behind a concrete pillar, confused by what’s happened. It’s the opening we need, and Dante fires around the warped spot, hitting him in the shoulder. The guard’s gun clatters to the floor and he falls back. Alive, but stunned.
Scrambling to our feet, we rush at him. Erik grabs his gun, tucking it into the waistband of his pants.
“Where are the others?” Dante demands, pressing the muzzle of his gun to the wounded man’s temple.
“There are none,” the guard splutters. “Only me.”
“We’ll find them,” Dante threatens.
“Only my family. Please don’t hurt them,” he begs, clutching his bloody shoulder.
“We won’t hurt your family,” I say softly. “I promise. We need to know if there are other guards.”
“No one else is here but the scientist,” he says quickly.
“The scientist?” Dante repeats, daring a glance at me.
“Are you going to kill him?” the guard asks in a tremulous voice.
“We’re going to save him,” I say.
The guard’s eyes dart to each of us, trying to make sense of who we are and why we’ve come. “They don’t keep him here.” He nods to the silent cell block behind him. “He lives in the old warden’s house.”
I’d expected to steal a machine, not stumble upon a scientist tucked away on a prison island.
“If you’re smart,” Dante says, his gun still on the guard, “you’ll get your wife to tend to that wound and then you’ll get off this island. If you come back for us, she’ll be burying you. Do you understand?”
The man groans a yes, clearly torn between his duty and his life.
“I can’t promise they won’t hurt your family if you attack us again, Lucas,” I say, reading the name tag on the guard’s antiquated uniform.
Dante doesn’t lower his gun as the man shuffles toward the exit and I wait, dread pulsing through me, to see if he’ll shoot him. As soon as he gets to the door, Dante calls out and I freeze expectantly. “Lucas, I wouldn’t bother contacting your superiors—not if you want to protect your family. I’d hide if I were you.”
“Where?” Lucas asks in a hopeless tone. “There’s nowhere to hide from them.”
“The Icebox,” Dante answers.
“That’s four hours from here.”
“You better get moving then,” Dante says. “And don’t look back.”
He nods once at us, revulsion and shame mingling in his features.
“Why would they keep a scientist on the island but outside the prison?” I ask. “They have all these cells.”
“Prisoners are happier when they forget they’re in a cage,” Erik reminds me.
“But if he’s not locked up, why doesn’t he leave?” Valery asks in a shaking voice. Her features are pale with fear.
“Look at this rock,” I tell her. “There’s no escaping.” I keep my thoughts about the composition of the prison to myself. If the Guild has artificially altered it, I need to study it more to understand how and why they’ve used such resources, although I have a pretty good idea already. Whatever secrets the Guild keeps here are locked not only on this island but also in time, like the moments I warped to guard my rendezvouses with Jost at the Coventry.
“Actually, it’s a good thing that he’s not locked up,” Dante assures Valery.
She gives him a blank look. I’m not sure I know what he’s getting at either.
“The scientist will have food,” Dante says, making for the exit. “I’m hungry.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
THE WARDEN’S HOUSE LIES BEYOND THE PRISON—far enough to be both convenient to it and secluded from it. Its stone façade sweeps into elegant lines and a tiled roof. Light glows from several of the oversized windows as we make our way to the door. The boys keep their guns raised, and I catch Dante looking back over his shoulder.
We congregate on a worn porch, and I rap on the door. Then we wait, barely breathing, for an answer.
When the door swings open, I can’t stifle my surprise. I know the scientist. He’s the man from the news clipping in the Old Curiosity Shop and from the propaganda film I watched at Kincaid’s estate.
Kairos
. He’s no older now than he was then. He has the same aging skin and shock of unkempt white hair. His eyes are ancient and tired.