As the sun lowered enough to touch the eerie surface of the ocean, Nadia appeared at the boathouse. Her figure was all but obscured by the heavy fleece top and sweatpants she wore.
It wasn’t like Mateo hadn’t noticed before then that Nadia had an incredible body. He was a guy. There was no chance he’d miss that. But he hadn’t realized he was already in the habit of checking Nadia out every single time he saw her. Maybe he should think about that some more later, he decided as he straightened up. They had a job to do.
“You got a boat?” she said. “Good work.”
“No big deal. Pretty much half the population of Captive’s Sound has a boat.”
“How come you guys don’t? No time, with the restaurant?”
Mateo hesitated. “We had one. Mom took it when she—when she drowned herself. Dad never bought another.” He’d never known what became of the boat. Had it washed up, been found and disposed of by some neighbor quick to burn something that had touched the Cabot curse? Or did it drift out to sea? It might still be there, floating in the middle of the ocean, empty and alone.
Nadia’s hand briefly rested on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up. I should’ve thought.”
“You didn’t know.” He took a deep breath. “Come on. Let’s get going.”
“Hey, do we have an assignment in chemistry?”
“No homework I can remember. Why?”
“Huh. No reason.”
The motor gunned on the first yank, and soon they were skimming across the shining black water. Going out at dark like this was risky, he knew, but they couldn’t be seen; diving was way more dangerous than boating, and if anybody caught them at it, they’d get hauled back in.
Besides, he figured—they were heading straight for the lighthouse.
It still ran most nights, its golden beam sweeping around the water in wide circles. As the sky overhead darkened, the lighthouse turned on; the first time the beam swept over their boat, it was as if they momentarily dissolved in brilliance.
“Will the lighthouse keeper see us?” Nadia shouted over the roar of the engine. Her black hair streamed behind her in the wind.
Mateo shook his head. “It’s automated. We’re safe.”
Then his eyes widened, and he didn’t feel safe anymore.
Because once again he saw the magic burning bright beneath the water.
Finally the sky was dark enough for Mateo to take it in as he had before. The steady, greenish glow was a few dozen feet from the lighthouse. The churning surface of the waves, this close, meant that the illuminated water leaped and moved as though it were alive somehow, twisting and writhing as if to enclose them.
He cut the motor. Their boat continued forward propelled only by momentum. Nadia frowned at him. “Why are we stopping?”
“We’re almost there. Can you not see it?”
“No. Tell me.”
Mateo pointed at the heart of it, only a few feet away now. The light seemed to form a wreath around their boat, as if they were caught in its net. “Right there. That’s where I need to dive.”
“You mean, where
I
need to dive.”
He turned toward her, startled. “Nadia, are you crazy? I can see it. You can’t. Being in the ocean—it’s not like being in a pool, you know.”
“But it’s not that different from being in Lake Michigan,” she insisted. “I’m a good swimmer. Even did Red Cross lifeguard training.”
She had him there; Mateo had never been a great swimmer, and he’d given it up altogether after Mom’s death. But he said, “I should still be able to dive for it if I can see it.”
Already she was peeling off her sweatshirt; Nadia gasped softly, probably from the cold air hitting her skin. Next came the thermal undershirt, and then he could see the slim black one-piece she wore beneath. It was a lifeguard’s suit, or a competitive swimmer’s, not the usual brightly colored bikini girls wore to show off on the sand. And yet something about the purposeful way she moved, the simple grace of her, captivated him more than bare skin ever had.
Oblivious to his distraction, Nadia said, “Mateo, whatever is down there is powerful magic. There may be enchantments protecting it. Nobody but a witch would be able to do this. Besides—you’re my Steadfast. You make me stronger. That’s why I need you up here.”
“I don’t like it,” he said, but if what she said was true—he was stuck with it. He tossed the anchor over the side; cold water splashed his arms as the chain snaked down behind it. Fifteen feet deep, maybe a little more: That wasn’t too bad. “Okay. Just—work as fast as possible.”
“Trust me, I intend to.” Nadia had kicked off her sweatpants and shoes, too; she wore only the swimsuit and hugged herself as she looked over the edge. Mateo tried not to stare, at least not to drool like that jerk Jeremy Prasad would, but it was hard not to—she was so close to him, close enough to touch.
For a moment he found himself remembering last summer at the beach, and the girl who’d hooked up with him on a dare. But now, in his mind, he imagined that this time it was Nadia lying on the towel with him beneath the pier, her fingers tangled in his hair as he ran one hand along her bare leg—
Jesus, she’s about to do something seriously dangerous, could you concentrate for a second?
Mateo handed her the wrist flashlight he’d brought for his own use. “Here. And if you run into trouble, flick the light off and on really fast, okay?”
“Good idea.” Nadia slipped it on, tested the switch, and took a deep breath. “Point to where you think it is—exactly where.”
He leaned next to her, so that they were shoulder to shoulder, their foreheads touching. Nadia took one sharp breath that made the boat seem to rock and bob even more strongly beneath them. Lifting her hand with his, he made it so that their fingers pointed together to the core of the greenish fire. “Right there.”
“I’ve got it.”
Nadia turned to him as she spoke, and for one moment they remained like that—face-to-face, only inches apart.
Then she said, “Wish me luck.”
Before he could do that, or say anything else, Nadia gulped in a breath and went over the edge, diving into the chilly sound without hesitating. The boat rocked beneath him.
And then—only then—did Mateo remember the dream of her floating overhead, writhed in the murk, her hair flowing around her. He’d thought she was suspended in midair, amid the fog.
But what if the dream had showed her underwater?
The cold stabbed into Nadia through every inch of her skin, and it took all her will not to open her mouth and gasp water into her lungs. She slapped on the wrist light, pointing the beam ahead of her—and thanks to Mateo’s guidance, she saw it almost immediately. In a nest of seaweed lay a chest, half-dissolved by time and tide, its ancient boards warped free of the metal framework. A crab scuttled by in the murk, the light glinting off its shell.
With a few strong kicks, Nadia propelled herself toward it. With any luck she could grab whatever was in the chest right away and get back to the surface within seconds. Then she could put on her clothes, dry her hair, and be warm again—be ready to explore this thing—
Water stinging her eyes—ugh, she should have brought goggles, but what a time to think of it—Nadia reached the trunk. She couldn’t pry the lid up, but no need: The side of the trunk fell away even as she touched it, and a crab scuttled out. Nadia hoped for no more crabs but put her hand in half expecting to be pinched.
Instead, she pulled out—
yes!
—a book. A Book of Shadows.
It was huge—so big she could hardly wrap her hand around it. Despite its centuries of immersion in water, the book remained intact; when she opened it, Nadia suspected, the pages would remain dry.
No charms showed themselves; no more spellwork was required. And only one breath! Triumphantly, Nadia began kicking toward the surface—only to feel seaweed winding around her legs.
Tight.
So tight it was like being tied down.
Nadia kicked, then thrashed, but the seaweed only increased its hold.
The Book of Shadows had been protected after all—and by magic she didn’t know how to break.
FIRST, MATEO FELT IT—A QUIVER ALL AROUND HIM
, as if the air itself were twisting away. At that moment, the unearthly glow beneath the water changed; it brightened sharply, then dimmed like someone had covered it. The darkness around them seemed almost complete, as if it were the dead of night instead of just after sunset. Without understanding
how
he knew, Mateo knew that a boundary had been crossed.
Again he thought of Nadia in his dream, floating, frightened, and trapped—
—and he had to trust the dream. It might be part of his curse, but it was also his only chance of keeping Nadia safe.
He was stripping off his sweater even before he saw the tiny beam of the flashlight go on, off, on, off. Nadia was in danger, and he had to get to her, now.
Mateo dove in. The biting cold that surrounded him, sliced into him, was less important than what he saw. Nadia struggled underwater, one arm wrapped around an enormous book, the other clawing at the seaweed tangling around her ankles. But even as she would pull one tendril loose, two more would writhe along her foot and hold her even faster. Her eyes were wide and desperate; she had been down for a while now. Way too long.
Quickly he broke for the surface again, took in the largest mouthful of air he could hold, and plunged in. Mateo kicked toward her, caught her shoulders in his hands. The panic in Nadia’s eyes was terrible to see. He pressed his mouth to hers, opening it—then blew the air into her lungs, giving Nadia precious oxygen. As he did, he felt Nadia realize what he was doing and inhale deeply; for a moment they remained tangled like that: two people, one breath.
Then he let go of her and kicked downward. His Swiss army knife had been in the exact same pocket of his jeans pretty much every day for the past five years; his fingers found it instantly, and he flicked out blades at random, the better to hack at the seaweed. Slash, rip, tear—his hand around Nadia’s calf, the seaweed still trying to twist around her but increasingly unable to. Then Nadia finally wriggled free, and Mateo followed her, both of them racing toward the surface.
When he broke the water, cold air slapped his face, burned his lungs. Next to him he could hear Nadia choking and gasping as she struggled to stay afloat without letting go of the book.
That book—the way it gleamed, like it was made of liquid metal, the lone light in the dark sound—was both one of the most frightening and most beautiful things he’d ever seen.
As was Nadia’s face, water beading on her full lips and flushed cheeks, still terrified but so determined, despite everything.
Mateo slung one arm around her and began pulling them back toward the boat.
Nadia sprawled on the floor of Mateo’s house, wrapped in his father’s heavy white bathrobe. She couldn’t go home with her hair soaked through—Dad might be preoccupied with his job or Cole, but he’d notice if she walked into the house wet as a drowned rat. But apparently the Perez men didn’t need a hair dryer. So she leaned back against the padded ottoman, hair streaming out behind her to take in the heat of their gas fireplace, as she propped Goodwife Hale’s Book of Shadows on one bent knee.
Every page was dry and fresh; the binding showed age, but only the many years it would have belonged to Goodwife Hale, not the centuries between then and now. It crackled with a pleasant, warming energy; Nadia felt as if she were between two gentle fires. Although the handwriting was spidery and strange, with old-fashioned spelling that was sometimes difficult to read, already Nadia was getting the hang of it.
The spells were going to be amazing, she could tell—but what she wanted most now was the history. And the Book of Shadows had it.
“One cup of Aztec hot chocolate coming … up.” Mateo stood in the doorway that led from the kitchen, staring at her with an odd expression on his face.
“Does the Book of Shadows look incredible to you?” vzyl She could only imagine what the world of magic looked like through a Steadfast’s eyes. Maybe this book could even teach her how it was possible for a guy to possess that kind of power.
“I—uh—yeah.”
Nadia suddenly realized how much of her leg he could see with her knee bent like that, and she tugged the robe around her snugly as she sat up and accepted the cup of hot chocolate. The water’s chill still clung to her despite the nearness of the fire, plus chocolate was
always
a good idea—but this stuff was amazing. There was a spiciness to it that made it utterly delicious. “Wow. Aztec?”
Mateo shrugged as he sat cross-legged in front of her; the warm light painted his dark brown hair. “Aztec by way of my dad inventing the recipe. A little chili and ginger to add some heat—well, people at La Catrina like it.” His hand rested on one of the fluffy towels still wrapped around her foot. “This book—this is important? The kind of thing you were hoping to find?”
“And then some. Goodwife Hale—she knew what she was doing. She has a lot of history in here, too; I’m looking through that right now. If she was a witch here when Captive’s Sound was founded, then there’s no telling what she might know.”
“History? I thought you said this was a book of spells.”
“It is,” Nadia explained, “but she has journal entries in here, too. Some witches only put spells in their Book of Shadows; others use them like diaries. Some people sketch. Most people do a mix. There’s no one right way. Luckily for us, Goodwife Hale was heavy on the diary entries. See, this talks about her fleeing Salem—this one mentions which shells she could use for spellcasting, which I definitely need to know—”
Nadia straightened. Her hand froze at the place where she’d been scanning, and her eyes read the words over and over without being quite able to believe them.
“What is it?” Mateo leaned forward to look, which spared her having to say it aloud.
Together they read the name:
Elizabeth Pike
.
From four hundred years ago.
“So her family goes way, way back,” Mateo said, which seemed obvious, but Nadia could tell even he was freaked out by finding the same name yet again. “Well, what does it say?”