Wrecked (32 page)

A
S SOON AS
C
HRISTIAN DOVE BELOW THE SURFACE
,
HE
could no longer hear the whining sirens that he knew were for him, a warning sign that he’d overstepped and gotten too involved. But he had a sinking feeling that it was too late, that Sephie had a plan in place. Because why would those policemen be looking for him? It seemed like one of Sephie’s designs.

He still had one more day.

Sephie wouldn’t go back on her word. Because her word became law, and that meant that he still had some agency, some way to right everything. But he realized she wanted him to fail. She never thought he could take Miranda’s soul. In the end, she clearly planned to get both hers and his. He couldn’t do this alone. He needed his brother.

Valentine greeted him with a question Christian both anticipated and dreaded: “Have you done it yet, brother?”

Christian shook his head.

“You need to kill her,” Valentine said firmly.

“I know,” Christian said. Except he knew that he and Valentine were talking about very different people. Christian had always heard that Sephie could live Up Above, and could transform herself wholly into a human, even though her Down Below self was a mermaid. He’d heard of her occasionally heading Up Above to make humans fall in love with her, only to dash their hopes and their boats against the rocks. But he thought that was long ago, in the time before now. Now, he’d always—naively, stupidly—assumed that Sephie, too, followed the code of the ocean, that Up Above and Down Below didn’t mix.

But he’d been wrong. And now, if he didn’t save Miranda, he’d be wrong again. And either Sephie would kill him, or he’d have to live the rest of his life knowing that he was responsible for Miranda’s death. Or Sephie would kill him, and he’d be one more tragedy in Miranda’s life. That was what he hated. No matter what, he’d pulled Miranda into this web of evil and there was no way she’d ever get out untouched.

M
IRANDA WOKE UP TO
L
OUISA PLACING A WARM COMPRESS
on her forehead.

“I’m fine,” Miranda said, pushing it away. It was a remedy Louisa swore by for bad dreams, and something she’d often done for Miranda when she was a child. But last night hadn’t been a bad dream, and Louisa’s caretaking provided little consolation to Miranda.

“You’re not fine,” Louisa clucked, her large brown eyes filled with concern. “Your grandmother’s worried about you and I’m worried about you. And if you know what’s good for you, you should be worried about yourself.”

“What good would that do?” Miranda mumbled. Her leg ached and she had a splitting headache that only became more
intense when Louisa opened the blinds. Miranda dove back under the covers and tried to fall back to sleep. But whenever she closed her eyes, she thought of Christian. She’d never see him again. And that made her heart hurt.

As Miranda burrowed further into the comforter, willing sleep to come, she heard the strains of a lullaby. She continued to listen, realizing that the humming sound wasn’t coming from her subconscious. She pushed the comforter off her face and turned to see Eleanor. She’d taken Louisa’s seat and was sitting, a cup of tea in one hand.

“Miranda,” Eleanor smiled slightly. “How are you?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Miranda said honestly. “Tired.”

Eleanor nodded. “Of course you are,” she said quietly. “I worry so much about you and your brother. I’ve always tried to protect you both and now . . .” Eleanor trailed off. “Tea?” She asked abruptly, holding out the bone china teacup toward Miranda.

Miserably, Miranda took the cup, which was painted with images of mermaids beneath the sea. They’d been Miranda’s favorite teacups when she’d been a child, and she’d always begged to be allowed to use them for the elaborate tea parties she’d create for her teddy bears. Now, they seemed to be mocking her. She took a small sip and coughed. Even drinking tea felt too hard.

“Here,” Eleanor said, taking the teacup back and balancing it on her lap.

“Thanks,” Miranda said shakily as she struggled to sit up.

“I’m just so glad you’re okay, and that
boy
didn’t do you any harm. But don’t you see why Arizona is what you need? It’s the best for all of us. I can’t lose you, too,” Eleanor said, a quiet longing in her voice.

Miranda nodded quietly. This was the longest conversation she felt like she and Eleanor had had in forever. But instead of feeling closer to her grandmother, she just felt more estranged. Eleanor thought she was unmanageable. And she was most likely right.

“Good,” Eleanor said, awkwardly patting Miranda’s hand, which lay on top of the pink cover. “But first, tonight is the gala. I’m not sure if you remember our conversation from yesterday, what with all the excitement, but we’re going,” she said.

“But . . . ,” Miranda protested, shaking her head against the pillow. She felt awful, and the last thing she could imagine doing was facing everyone from the accident.

“It’s for the best. It’s keeping up appearances. You have just as much right to be there as anyone. If you don’t go, people will talk, and when people talk, they never tell a good story.” Eleanor set her jaw, and Miranda knew she was thinking of all the rumors that still surrounded her parents’ death.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to,” Miranda said in a small voice. “Please let me stay home?” she asked.

Eleanor smiled tightly. “Unfortunately, we all have to do things we don’t want to do. You can do it, and you will do it.

It’s not a choice,” she said. “I can’t have people say you’re being sent away from Whym against your will, or that there’s something
nefarious
about your departure. And especially since
that boy
is wanted by the police, I feel if you skip the gala, you might look guilty by association.” Eleanor paused and narrowed her eyes. “You
aren’t
guilty, right?”

“Of course not!” Miranda snapped. It was just one more piece of evidence that Eleanor didn’t—
wouldn’t—
trust her.

“Good,” Eleanor said, visibly relaxing. “But I did have to ask,” she said.

“We’ll go to the event, and you can say good-bye, and tell people that it’s the best thing for your health to go to Arizona for a year. Because it
is
good for your health,” she added, standing up and leaving the room.

Miranda dove under the covers and tried to fall back to sleep. But whenever she closed her eyes, all she could see was flames dancing against the blue water, a terrible flashback to the accident. Finally, she got out of bed and dove into the pool to swim. But the pool felt too safe, too enclosed, and too lonely for the swim to do any good.

C
HRISTIAN WOKE WITH A START, SWEAT DRIPPING FROM HIS
forehead. His body was wedged between two fallen oak trees, in the woods that separated the beach of Bloody Point from the road. Dangerous, yes, but no more dangerous than being Down Below. The truth was, there was nowhere he could go and be truly safe. He sat up and yawned. His face was wet. He touched it experimentally and started when he saw blood on his hands. He must have fallen when he was running last night and lost consciousness.

He headed toward the water, with no sense of time and dove in, hoping the water would help him come up with a plan.

Just then, he spotted a disturbance beneath him. Instinctively, he dipped below the surface of the water and opened his eyes. But once his senses were restored to him, all he could see was his brother, his hair wild and askew, his eyes bloodshot.

Christian resurfaced. A second later, Valentine’s head popped above the surface. His teeth were chattering uncontrollably, and he looked miserable.

“Sephie knows you broke her rule,” Valentine said urgently.

“Shhh,” Christian said instinctively, glancing around. “Let’s talk on land.”

Valentine followed Christian onto the shore.

Christian sat down on a piece of driftwood and fished out the matchsticks from his pocket. There were still plenty left, still dry in their plastic bag.

“Look, brother,” Christian said, taking one of the matches and swiping it against the side of the box as Miranda had done. A small flame blew back and forth in the wind. Christian watched it, entranced, feeling the heat on his fingers. Maybe this would work. It had to.

“I’m not in the mood to see magic tricks!” Valentine said hysterically, kicking up a cloud of sand. “Did you hear me? Sephie knows. I spoke to her. I begged for mercy. Someone needed to do something. You haven’t been Down Below for days.”

“I know,” Christian said. The flame continued to dance in the wind before he snuffed it out on the sand. Even though the
flame was tiny, he felt powerful in controlling the elements. Was this how Sephie felt when she controlled the ocean?

“You know?” Valentine said sarcastically. “Do you know she’s planning to kill your Miranda herself? Tonight?”

“Tonight?” Christian repeated. “She had a plan?” Valentine nodded. “The girl is going to die either way. And if you deliberately disobeyed her orders, you’ll die as well.”

“Not if she dies first,” Christian said. He didn’t have any more time to come up with a plan. “You don’t know about this, and from now on, you don’t know me. If this doesn’t work, Sephie will go easy on you. She knows you’re not a traitor. Only me.” He locked eyes with his brother as he put the matches in his pocket. “Do we understand?”

Valentine shook his head. “No. You won’t try to kill her. It’s not just foolish, it’s suicidal. And you’re putting me, and every other betwixtman, in danger. Have some loyalty.”

“I do. But not to Sephie,” Christian said.

“Christian. Please,” Valentine pleaded.

Christian glanced at Valentine. He didn’t want to put his brother in danger. He sighed. “I will only kill if necessary. That’s as much as I can promise.” Then, without looking back, he dove into the water to search for the
Sephie
.

He didn’t have to look far. As soon as he popped up above the surface, he gasped at the sight in front of him: The boat rose majestically from the water.

Thousands of lights, which Christian instantly recognized
as part of Sephie’s soul collection, snaked up the masts of the boat. A single flag flew from the crow’s nest, with Sephie’s signature emblem: Two black two-headed snakes, coiled around each other.