by P. C. Cast
“Running!” Matthew made a show of laughing and wiping his eyes. “Luke, you crack me up.”
“Shut up. Both of you,” Eve said. “Let’s go get him.” She paused. “Luke, Matthew, there’s a bag of zip ties in the kitchen pantry. Get them. Grab some rags and rope, too.”
“It’s damn handy that old man has a stash of tie-’em-up crap,” Luke said.
“Just do it,” Eve said. “Come on, Mark.”
Beside Eve, Mark descended the front porch stairs.
“They’re wrong,” Mark told his sister.
“No, I was wrong. Letting you handle Bowen was my mistake. You’re too softhearted for this. I should have gone out there with him myself.” Eve was obviously annoyed, but she touched her brother’s shoulder reassuringly. “He won’t be hard to find, and then I’ll handle him from here on out.”
“You’re not understanding me,” Mark said as he led her around the side of the garage to the abandoned cane and the tracks. Mark pointed down at the sand as Luke and Matthew jogged up to them. “He’s not limping. He’s not a frail old man. These tracks don’t just say he walked away. They say he ran.”
“Well I’ll be damned,” Luke said, peeking around Mark at the tracks. “Like Matthew and I said—the old bastard’s a pain in the ass.”
Eve looked at Mark and in her eyes he saw a hardness that before had been liquid, flowing around the fringes of her expressions. This morning it solidified, choking out the gentle, broken, compassionate sister he’d loved for as long as he could remember.
“We’re going to get Bowen and bring him back here, and if we need to break his hip to get the old man to stay when we tell him to stay, then so be it. He brought this on himself.”
Mark heard his brothers high-five each other, but his gaze didn’t leave Eve’s.
“I won’t do that, Eve. He doesn’t deserve it. I won’t hurt that old man.”
“I’m aware of that, Mark. I don’t expect you to. That’s why Luke and Matthew are coming with us. All I expect you to do is handle water. Bowen thinks he can run away from us on the beach when we control water? Let’s show him how mistaken he is. You don’t need to hurt him. You only need to slow him down. Make it rain, Mark. Now.”
Mark bowed his head and reached for his element. It was a simple thing, especially right there on the beach. He was so close to the vastness of the ocean that he could feel it calling to him—feel it drawing him into it where he could finally lose himself—finally give in to the Frill that lurked just below the surface, circling, calling, anticipating …
“Mark! Snap out of it!” Eve’s voice shredded his concentration and he blinked several times before he refocused on her face. “I didn’t ask you to call a hurricane. Just some rain, that’s all. It’s really the least you can do.”
“Okay, yeah, fine.” Mark followed the connection with his element—not out to sea as he so longed to do—but up, up, into the atmosphere where he coaxed droplets to condense from vapor and then he made them become heavy enough to fall under the pull of gravity. Warm rain drifted lazily downward, caressing Mark’s skin and causing polka-dot patterns in the sand.
Eve barely acknowledged him with a nod. Instead she smiled warmly at Matthew. “Now, air, please take those sweet, soft little raindrops and make them troublesome, but if you start disappearing I’m going to be very angry with you.”
Matthew took a step back from Eve’s intensity. “Hey, no worries! Whipping up a little wind is no biggie.”
“Then stop talking about it and do it,” she said.
“Okay, okay. Sheesh, everyone’s a critic,” Matthew muttered. He lifted his face and his arms to the sky and shouted, “Blow, baby, blow!”
Wind responded instantly, blowing from the ocean in a growling rush of briny air—causing the otherwise tame droplets to slant, elongate, and pummel against them with enough force to be uncomfortable.
“Luke! Not now. Save it. We might need fire later and we don’t have time to haul a case of Gatorade with us so you don’t flame out,” Eve snapped at her brother.
Mark glanced at Luke. Heat waves had begun to lift from his skin, evaporating the rain before it touched him, but at Eve’s command he made an abrupt motion with his hand, and suddenly he was getting soaked like the rest of them.
“I fucking hate getting wet,” Luke said. “Well, what the hell are we waiting for? To be totally water-fucking-logged? Let’s go get the old man so we can dry out and eat our cold breakfast.”
Mark moved forward as if he would take the lead, but Eve’s sharp words halted him.
“No. All of you follow me. I’m not chancing any more screw-ups.”
Mark said nothing. He fell into line last as Luke and Matthew jostled past, making mean, childish faces at him.
Why is this happening? Why is my sister changing from my best friend into some who … someone who …
And then it struck Mark like a tidal wave, drowning him in despair.
Eve is turning into someone who reminds me of Father, and not the father who cared for us and seemed to love us so much when we were children. Eve is turning into Rick Stewart, the mad, cruel man who broke us and stole our lives away.
As if jealous of the rain that slicked his skin, Mark’s tears spilled down his cheeks while he ran behind his two brothers and the monster his sister was becoming.
28
EVE
Eve jogged, head down against the wind-whipped rain, and tried to get her temper under control. She didn’t know what to do about Mark. He’d almost screwed everything up. Again. Just like in Missouri when he let Tate and Foster get away. It caused her pain, but it was becoming more and more clear to Eve that for the first time in their lives, she and Mark weren’t on the same page.
She tried to convince herself that wasn’t too terrible. Mark had always been softhearted, the kindest of all of them. Luke was a jerk. They all knew it. Like his element, it took nothing for him to combust. Matthew was undependable. His moods blew from good to complete asshole as quickly as the wind changed.
But Mark had always been different. She’d grown up using him as a feelings gauge. When she wondered if she should be sad about something, she turned to Mark. If he was very upset, well, then it was time for her to get sad. Mark felt things too deeply, and she’d been quick to protect him, especially after Father had changed.
Only now it was Mark who was changing, and Eve found she couldn’t convince herself that wasn’t terrible.
Why can’t he understand that I’m doing all of this for us—so that we can be free? So what if that means eight teenagers are inconvenienced? The four of us have served our time. It’s someone else’s turn now.
Eve’s legs were jelly. The sucking sand was hell to jog through, but it fueled her anger at Bowen. That old bastard was exactly what Luke and Matthew had labeled him—a pain in the ass. Well, she was going to deal with him from now on. She’d lock the old troublemaker in his room, without that damned dog, and as soon as Tate and Foster showed up she’d let Matthew and Luke handle the cleanup. Leaving Bowen behind to tell stories to the police was a mistake she wasn’t going to make. Perhaps there should be a tragic accident that involved a candle and Bowen’s house going up in flames with the old man and dog inside.
Mark wouldn’t be able to handle that, so Mark simply wouldn’t know about it.
Suddenly, someone grabbed the back of Eve’s soggy shirt, causing her to almost fall back on her butt. She rounded on Luke, whose hot hand still had a hold of her.
“What the hell?” she snapped at him.
“Hey, open your ears! I told you to stop.” Luke pulled her behind a big clump of sand and grass. Matthew and Mark jogged up to them, breathing heavily and sending the two of them questioning frowns. Luke jerked his chin in the direction they’d been heading. “Am I the only one of us who is actually looking while we run?”
“We don’t have time for theatrics, Luke,” Eve said, jerking her shirt from his grasp.
“It’s Bowen. Ju
st ahead. I don’t think he saw us. He’s talking to two kids. His stupid dog is there, too. Matthew, be sure you keep wind coming at our faces so that mutt doesn’t scent us.”
“Good eye, Luke,” Eve said while her brother preened under her praise. “You three stay out of sight. I’m smaller than any of you. I’m going to get closer and check out what’s going on.”
Eve slipped around the far side of the mound of sea grass and sand. Crouching, she sprinted for another, smaller concealing dune closer to the people on the beach. She waited, catching her breath, and then, on her hands and knees, Eve crawled until she had a clear view of the beach.
Eve almost had to cover her mouth to smother a shout of victory. Retracing her path, she rushed back to her brothers, smiling with relief and pleasure.
“It seems Mark did a good thing letting Bowen get away. He’s led us directly to Charlotte and Bastien.”
“What?” Mark gasped before peeking carefully around the dune.
Eve let him get an eyeful before she spoke. “Take a good look. Those two kids are your salvation from the Frill and from Father.”
Mark turned back to her, slumping against the sandy dune. “We’re going to ruin their lives.”
“No. We’re going to teach them about their powers and give them an opportunity to use them,” Eve corrected him. She reached out and took his hands, hating how cold they felt, wishing she could get through to him. “Mark, we’re not going to hurt them, but we have to do this. If we don’t it’ll be the end of us.”
“And we’re not ending because you’re soft,” Luke said.
“It’s three against one. You’re outvoted, bro,” Matthew said.
“Yeah, I get that. I’m part of this family and I’ll help you so that we survive, but unlike the three of you, I won’t like it, and I won’t hurt them—any of them.”
Eve read the hopelessness in Mark’s eyes, and for once it didn’t make her sad. It made her victorious. I’ll make it right with him later, after we’re back on the island, she told herself.
“Good. Okay, Bowen is going to be a problem, but remember we still need him to get to Tate and Foster,” Eve said.
“But we don’t need that damn dog,” Luke said.
“True,” Eve agreed. She caught Mark’s gaze. “Hurting a dog isn’t like hurting a person. Remember that, Mark.”
“That old man loves her like she’s a person,” Mark said.
“Not our problem,” Luke said.
“If we have to hurt a dog to show those kids and that old man that we mean business, then so be it,” Eve said. When Mark opened his mouth Eve said brusquely, “It’s the dog or Bowen. You choose.”
Mark closed his mouth and didn’t say anything.
Eve nodded. “So, use the dog. Matthew, be ready to get air involved. Mark, whatever Matthew does you should assume rain will be needed with him. This place looks deserted, but we can’t chance being seen, and we already know the old man is a pain in the ass. Even if the kids come willingly with us, we’re going to have to tie him up.” She gestured at the zip ties and rope her brothers were holding. “No one needs to witness that. Be ready to shield us from watchers. Okay, follow my lead. Oh, and Mark—tell that tropical storm it’s time to come to land.”
Standing straight and tall, Eve strode out from behind their concealment with her brothers following her.
Bastien
“Am I on speaker? Can both of you hear me?”
“Yes, Josie. We can both hear you,” Dickie replied, switching on his turn signal as he guided the Jeep onto Highway 87 East.
“And I’ll take that snippet of silence as Bastien telling me he can hear me, too.”
Dickie punched Bastien’s shoulder and Bastien let out a grunt.
“Good,” Josie continued. “Now, I told Richie last night, but he obviously didn’t listen, that you two cannot surf today.”
“We’re not,” Dickie grumbled, looking expectantly at Bastien.
“Yeah, no, just out for a drive, us.”
“For some reason I don’t believe you. Either of you.” Josie sighed. “It’s been downgraded to a tropical storm, but can intensify back to hurricane status in a blink. Come home, both of you. Bastien, you’re staying with us until this storm passes. I don’t want you out on the beach. It’s not safe.” Josie’s concern was audible, and Bastien was glad he didn’t have to lie to her face. “Promise me you’ll turn around right now and come home.”
“We promise, Josie,” Bastien said, reaching over and ending the call.
“What the hell, man? You can’t hang up on a woman, especially not my sister. Now she’s definitely going to freak out on us.”
“Here,” Bastien jabbed his finger against the windshield as they neared the exit to Cobb’s Cove. “Turn here.”
“Jesus!” Dickie hissed, the Jeep fishtailing slightly as he abruptly turned onto the sandy road. “A little notice next time would be good.”
But Bastien couldn’t have given Dickie notice any more than he could have predicted that on his eighteenth birthday he’d be bumping along the road to a nearly deserted beach parking lot next to a guy who still hadn’t figured out that his nickname stemmed from his dickhead personality.
Dickie pulled in a few car lengths away from the only other car in the lot. “You sure about this? Josie’s right. The storm is one thing now but,” he hiked his bony shoulders, “it could turn bad real quick. You can surf better than anyone I’ve seen, but…” Bastien followed Dickie’s gaze out the open window, to the thrashing, white-capped swells. “Those waves look brutal.”
“Don’t fret about me, no. Je nage comme les poissons.” I swim like the fishes. With a click of his tongue, Bastien hopped out of the Jeep and unstrapped his surfboard from the roof rack.
“It doesn’t make me feel any better when you switch languages like that,” Dickie called out.
Bastien rested his board against the car and leaned in through the window.
“You know, I didn’t much like you at first,” Dickie said, his long, skinny fingers picking at the Jeep emblem on the steering wheel. “But I guess I do now.”
“Aww, little Dickie’s sweet on me,” Bastien said with a wink.
Dickie extended his middle finger. “Fuck off.”
The phone rang, blaring through the speakers. “It’s Josie,” Dickie said, reaching down to silence it.
“Tell your sister I said thanks. For everything.”
Are you coming back? The unspoken question caught in the air between them.
“Nah,” Dickie ran his hand along the nape of his neck. “You tell her next time you see her.”
With a nod, Bastien tucked his board under his arm and slapped the roof of the Jeep. “I’ll be seeing you, podna.”
“Be safe out there, Bastien,” Dickie said, putting the Jeep into drive. “And make those waves your bitch!” With a final whoop and a few quick honks of the horn, Dickie peeled out of the parking lot.
Squinting against the wind, Bastien turned to face the ocean. Leaving Louisiana had been easy, so why was putting Dickie and Josie in the rearview so much harder? He barely knew them. Sand crunched between his teeth as his jaw tensed against a sudden memory.
“You’ll be back! This is your home! The only place anyone will ever love you!”
What his mother had said as he’d collected his board and walked out the door, it was wrong. She was wrong.
He dropped his board a few yards from the ocean’s wet stain on the shore and slipped off his shoes.
This city could be his home. People would love him here. But he couldn’t stay. The ocean wouldn’t let him. It had called him here, to this cove, the same way the indescribable wave-like crashing in his gut had called him to Galveston. It was the same feeling he’d had as a little boy, that his mother had called a grisgris—a curse, the moment in time that had ruined her life, his life, their lives, the moment that had called forth the slick and then the silence.
So Bastien had swallowed the feeling,
the curse. He’d buried it down deep under self-hate and despair. He’d tried to hide his tie to the ocean and be a better son. But his mother saw the strangeness of him growing behind his eyes. She always saw it. He was the planned mistake that hadn’t saved her marriage, and had instead left them cursed.
Twelve years later, he looked inward at that pebble of a feeling he’d covered up for so long, and saw that his curse was a blessing, a way out, a compass. And he’d followed it here.
Bastien waded out until the sudsy waves lapped against his shins. He spread his arms wide and tipped his chin to the sky as the steady push and pull of the ocean drove him deeper and deeper into the sand. Yes, this could be his home.
“You shouldn’t be out here!”
Bastien’s arms snapped down to his sides as he swiveled his head to follow the voice.
“Hello! Hi!”
Bastien squinted at the willowy young woman standing even farther from the shoreline than he was. It was her. Had he really been so lost in his thoughts that he’d missed her?
She waved her long, graceful arms to get his attention before cupping her hands around her mouth. “Sorry, but the ocean, it’s really angry. You shouldn’t be here.”
Bastien splashed toward her, his legs reacting to the sight of her, the ange, fluttering those delicate wings of hers as she warned him to be wary of the only thing in life he didn’t fear.
He slowed before reaching her, careful to not splash her pretty blue top that fit her slim body like a second skin.
“Oh,” a warm smile curled her pink lips. “It’s you.”
Bastien’s mouth hung open, his thoughts heavily clanking together like marbles. Speak!
“Neither should you.”
Wind whipped strands of her fair, blond hair from her ponytail and she tucked them behind her ear. “Neither should I what?” Quizzically, she looked up at him, but not too far up.
Bastien’s cheeks warmed as a quick look took in the length of her silky, ballerinaesqe legs. Refusing to repeat his past behavior, he snapped his gaze back to hers. “Be out here. With the ocean like this, furieux, sauvage.”