Gage strides away and enters the black den. The guards don’t bat an eye.
“What’s he doing?”
“Grabbing some collateral.” The unexpected female voice approaches from behind.
I twirl. Face-to-face with a young woman not a day over twenty-five. Boy-cut hair sticks out in every direction from her pixie-like head. She’s just the kind of girl they’d cast as Peter Pan on Broadway. Petite. In the dark I assumed everyone here was male. Her face, though, is anything but masculine.
“Collateral?”
“Gage has his reasons.” Samoan Dude steps up beside me, the reflection of the moonlight on his bald head a soft halo. Wow. Those are the fleshiest lips I’ve ever seen.
A breeze picks up, sending the scents of peppermint and tobacco my way. I cough, covering it up with the back of my arm.
“Move back a little, Kuna. You’ll choke her to death.” The woman laughs, then addresses me. “You’ll have to excuse my husband. We all have our vices. Tobacco is his. He thinks he can hide it by rubbing peppermint leaves on his skin. I always say that makes the stink more pronounced.”
Husband? These two are New Yorker and country bumpkin opposite.
“Appearances can deceive.”
Ky’s words haunt me. Why did I let him get to me?
“Sorry, Stormy.” Kuna widens the gap.
Thank you. “No problem. I’m from a big city. I’ve smelled worse.” The words flow free before I realize what I’m saying. I peek at him. Is he offended?
He hoots, bends over, and slaps his knee.
“Shhh,” Stormy hushes through her own lightweight giggle.
Here it comes. I’m laughing. Not because anything is particularly funny, but because Stormy and Kuna’s fit is viral. Ow, ow, ow. It hurts. I can’t stop. I’m shaking so hard I’m crying. I can’t see through my squinty eyes. Robyn’s gonna kill me for not being careful. Any minute my insides could rip apart.
“What the crowe? Are you three looking to get us all killed?” The gruff voice from earlier hisses through the gloom. Saul.
We freeze, though Stormy lets out one last snicker.
I inhale deep, slow breaths. Man, my middle aches, but it was worth it. I haven’t laughed that way in—
What am I doing? I shouldn’t be laughing. It isn’t right. Not when Joshua’s death is so fresh.
I’m sorry, I think to no one.
“Watch your mouth, Preacher. We weren’t that loud.” Kuna’s attempted whisper emits at a normal volume.
Saul—Preacher grits his teeth. With his knit cap and unkempt beard, he’s a hobo’s clone. “Crowe has scouts everywhere.” He waves skyward. “You may be willing to put your life on the line. Do not be so careless with mine.” He faces the tomb again, his body rigid against the bow and arrows on his back.
Stormy rolls her eyes and murmurs past her hand, “That’s Saul Preacher, but most everyone calls him the latter. Don’t mind him.” She winks. “We’re still within the Haven’s boundaries. He’s just paranoid.”
“The Haven?” I lean in.
“That’s what we call the island. From shoreline to shoreline is rebel territory. People who remain loyal to the Verity.” Her eyes alight with passion. The same light Wade and Robyn carried when they spoke of King Aidan.
I’m about to ask more, but her eyes shift and her casual demeanor switches back to that of a silent soldier.
Gage returns, a young man walking in front of him. So these are the Crypts.
I clench my fists. What’s Ky doing here?
My pulse accelerates when he looks at me.
Probably because I want to strangle him.
They pass Preacher and stand before Kuna. “Keep an eye on him.” Gage clutches Ky’s shoulder. “And you. No Dragon games. You’ll find I hold no value for the life of a traitor.”
I lean close to Stormy and whisper through the side of my mouth. “What are Dragon games?”
“It’s an expression,” she says under her breath. “Dragons are cunning tricksters. Never turn your back on a Dragon.” She juts her chin toward Ky. “Or a traitor.”
“Did you hear me, traitor?” Gage shakes Ky.
After another moment Ky nods, his face drawn. Black and blue shrouds his green eye on all sides. Blood trickles from his temple, stains his busted lip. Is this the same boy who held a knife to my side a mere day ago?
The caravan continues, everyone careful to avoid Ky’s gaze. Hands tied behind his back, he ambles between Preacher and Kuna. Any minute he’ll turn the tables. He’ll fight or run. But he doesn’t. What, or who, broke him?
Before long we pause again. A dead-end wall of ivy looms. It stretches left and right, curving through the trees. “Does this border the entire island?”
“Yes,” Stormy says. “One of the best façades I’ve ever seen.”
Façades. Ky mentioned something about them. They’re illusions, like the gap in the Broken Bridge.
Gage strides to the wall and . . . walks right through.
And the door at the Threshold beneath the subway. That must’ve been a façade too. One by one, we follow suit. When it’s my turn I hold my breath, whirl when I reach the opposite side. Nothing but a wall of gray, ivyless rock. Weird.
“It looks so real,” I say.
Stormy shoos me on. “That’s because it is. The wall is perfectly solid, but there are chinks in the armor. Gaps for entering and exiting that only Guardians know about.”
Wow. I take one final glance at the wall before shuffling forward. Salty air enters my lungs. The crunch of leaves dies, our footsteps muted.
We’re near a beach. My heart does the arabesque my klutzy legs and arms never could. The forest thins. The ground changes from dark soil covered in twigs and needles, clover beds, and mushroom patches to soft shore. The rippling sand beckons a memory.
For my twelfth birthday Mom took me to Nantucket. Being November, it was freezing, the water stinging, salted ice against our naked shins. We got hot chocolate at this little mom-and-pop joint. I don’t even remember its name, just the jar of M&M’s by the register. The vase of yellow silk flowers in the window. The tinkling brass bell over the door. Despite our frostbitten toes and the bitter wind, I never had a better birthday.
I close my eyes and imagine kicking off my boots, burying my soles in the sand. I’m on that island again with Mom, our fingers interlocked as we run through floating foam. A breeze lifts my bangs. I can almost hear our hearts leap through peals of laughter—feel the warmth of the to-go cup against my palm.
The moment drifts as I open my eyes to reality. Mom’s not here, and she won’t be unless we hurry. At the water’s edge a large rowboat awaits, Gage and Preacher already aboard. Ky climbs in next, and Stormy and I do the same.
The unsteady vessel rocks. I take the bench behind Ky. He doesn’t look at me again.
Stormy straddles the rear seat as Kuna pushes us off and dives underwater. I whirl. “What’s he doing?”
“You’ll see.” Stormy’s fingers brush my arm, her brown eyes twinkling. Away from the shadow of the trees, the colored tips of her brown hair shine. They’re flames of neon purple. Dancing. Licking the night air.
I could never pull that off.
When we’re several yards out, a tumultuous splash pierces the tranquil sea. Kuna reverse-melts up from the water, shirtless, a tattoo identical to Wren’s looks miniaturized on his exaggerated pec. He smiles, pearly whites and all. There’s a secret in his eyes.