I press the open book to my chest. True love. Do I believe in such a thing?
“Are you even listening to me?” Ebony elbows my rib cage as the train lurches forward.
I snap the book closed. Set it on my lap. Sigh. Nod.
“I said we need to go to Coney Island. If Ky was headed to the Fourth, that’s where he would’ve sailed from.” She crosses her legs. Smooths her sweater dress over her knee. “You need to brush up on your Reflection knowledge now that you’re queen, FYI. Everyone knows the nearest entrance to the Fourth is in the Atlantic.”
Maybe she can help me. I smile my thanks, trying to communicate my gratitude with my eyes.
She ignores the gesture. And why wouldn’t she? This is business, not friendship. We both want to be as far away from each other as possible when this is all over.
Don’t we?
It’s at least an hour before we reach the Coney Island stop at the south end of Brooklyn. Since it’s the dead of winter, Ebony and I are pretty much the only commuters to exit the train. This area of the city is mostly deserted. Dusty apartment buildings and hotels constructed of brown brick tower over us, casting wide, frigid shadows. The rides, games, and other attractions are closed for the season. Crushed soda cans, discarded cotton candy cones, and empty popcorn buckets litter the ground. I kick one and it hurtles into a vacant hot-dog stand.
I’ve only been here during the summer, when the wait to get on the Wonder Wheel is at least forty-five minutes long. When the cacophony of voices and music and Cyclone rider screams is so loud, I can’t hear myself think. But in the winter it’s a ghost town. Lively carousel music is nonexistent. No laughing children or popping balloons. Gone are the stilt-walkers, weight-guessers, and strongmen. We walk in silence, the sound of our shoes clap, clap, clapping the pavement.
Eerie.
When we’re nearly to the beach, I freeze. A single Coast Guard boat bobs just off the shore. Odd. Out of place. I veer toward it. Why would the Coast Guard be all the way down here this time of year?
I grin and slip beneath the railing separating concrete and sand. We’re close.
Ebony groans, staggering and sinking across the dunes in her unpractical ankle boots.
I’m faster in my black Converse sneakers. Moving, running, sprinting for the shore. I’m paces ahead of her now, but I can’t wait. He’s here. I feel it.
A wisp of another Ky memory returns. Standing on a much grander vessel with him, trying to escape a mob of Soulless. Me asking if he knows how to drive a ship. Him looking at me with one eyebrow raised, almost laughing as he replies, “You don’t drive a ship.”
There’s so much more to him than I’d allowed myself to believe.
Sand flings against my calves with each step. The shirt around my waist loosens and I cinch it tight. Almost there, a few more feet—
Someone grabs my arm, yanks me back, says in a thick Scottish brogue, “Well, what do we have here? A spy, is it?”
I twist and stare into the face of a dude with two missing teeth and an eyebrow piercing. Ratty dreadlocks frame his tan, leathery skin. Blue eyes so light the blacks almost seem to touch the whites glare at me.
Where did he come from? He just . . . appeared.
I lurch away. Ha-ha, very funny, El. Without your voice you’re nothing but an insignificant, five-foot-nothing girl.
His grip tightens. “Feisty, are we? We’ll see what the cap’n has ta say about tha’.” He lugs me through the shallows, then up, up . . . up? A ramp? This wasn’t here. I crane my neck. My mouth forms an O. Gasp.
Not the Coast Guard. A ship. A pirate ship. Holy Verity, it was hidden by a façade. I hang my head. I couldn’t even see it.
What is happening to me?
Dreads pitches me onto the deck.
Ouch. I back away crab-walk style. Brainless cretin.
“Who’s this, Streak?” a tinny female voice asks above me.
I glance up, squint. The clouds part and sunlight shines into my eyes. I shade them. A girl who can’t be much older than I am moves to the side, blocking the rays. Teased, fiery hair is pulled off her face into a half pony. Jet-black liner edges her robin-egg eyes. The corset-like bodice of her dress curves over her torso, feathers out into a colorful skirt made of ripped fabric scraps in shades of turquoise, mauve, and gray. Her body language suggests she has no doubt just how gorgeous—and intimidating—she is.
“Spy by the looks of it,” Dreadlocks—Streak?—informs Red. He withdraws a pocketknife, digs beneath his dirt-encrusted fingernails.
Gross.
“What do you reckon we do with her, Charley?”
“Throw her in the brig with the other spy, of course.” Charley nudges me with the toe of her boot as if I’m something she fished from the ocean. She whistles and two more men appear over the ramp, Ebony captured between them. “Captain Warren doesn’t tolerate spies,” Charley says. “He’ll deal with them once we’re out at sea.”
Brig? Sea? Captain? What have we gotten ourselves into?
TWENTY-ONE
Joshua
What do you mean she’s gone?”
Preacher wrings his cap in his hands. The poor garment should have unraveled by this point.
“I mean, she left and took the Troll’s daughter with her.”
“Where did they go?”
He shrugs. “Beats me. We’ve scoured the grounds and the castle. Secret passageways as well. They’re gone.” He coughs and tugs his cap on over his ears. “They were in here and then they just . . . vanished.”
My mouth turns down. Everyone may know El is the vessel of the Verity and a Mirror, but not all are aware of the specific capabilities a Mirror possesses. Even I was in the dark until she shared my mother’s “Mirror Theory” with me.
“Thank you, Saul.” I brace myself against the desk, my knuckles like paste against the dark grain. “That will be all.”
He lingers, moving in a ruler’s breadth. “Is it true what everyone’s been saying?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “And what is that?”
“Eliyana and Rhyen shared a Kiss of Infinity, and now her soul is tied to the Void.”
I heave a sigh. “Might I suggest you ignore rumors, Saul? Speculation gets us nowhere.”
With a nod he takes his leave, and I welcome the snap of the closed door. My answer wasn’t a lie, not really. The people carry no proof of El and Ky’s bond. They merely go off what they hear. If I don’t confirm their assumption, it’s still a rumor. And I’d like to keep it that way.
The night has dragged on, but the blue-gray haze of dawn has finally begun to break. I swivel in my desk chair and rest my head against my thumb and forefinger. What I would pay to remain in solitude for a day, to recharge before accomplishing what I must. Of course, that isn’t an option. It never is these days.
I can give you rest.
My head jerks and cocks, a gun’s barrel ready to fire. “Who goes there?” My sword hand hovers above the weapon at my side. “Show yourself. Enough Dragon games.”
But there is nothing aside from the furniture-cast shadows.
Have I misplaced my mind? Lack of sleep will do that. I’ll stop by the kitchens on my way to the dungeons. Regina’s coffee will be just the thing to get me through the day ahead.