What appears to be a stone arch juts from the middle of the ocean. Jagged rocks loom just beyond, blocking our path. But then the fog parts. Yes. I see it now. The arch leads to something else. It’s a gateway. Those aren’t just rocks.
They’re stairs.
Tide flanks my right. He and Khloe exchange grins. Together they say, “Welcome to the Bermuda Triangle.”
THIRTY-ONE
Cross the Bridge
I’ve seen an underground lagoon hidden beneath the subway. Witnessed humans morph into beasts and vice versa. Walked through mirrors. Fashioned a façade. Transformed into a butterfly. Taken on the Verity. But this? A stairwell in the middle of the Atlantic? At the brink of the Bermuda Triangle?
This is the stuff of legend. Unreal.
What else is there to discover beyond what I’ve seen? There’s so much I don’t know about all of this—the Reflections, the Callings, the Void, and the Verity.
But I want to know. I inhale a sharp breath and glance at Ky, braced against the upper-deck railing, elbows locked, knuckles white as latte foam. He could be a statue for how granite-still he stands, expression unyielding. In this moment, he looks more like the stately, cautious Joshua rather than the passionate, take-action guy he is. I don’t know why, but the idea turns my saliva to acid.
Weird. I used to loathe Ky. But then . . . I didn’t. He’s not who I thought he was. He’s not who others think he is. But I doubt he cares what they think. Ky isn’t the type who allows opinions to define him.
His gaze flashes to mine and a muscle in his jaw twitches.
My breath hitches against my will.
A demi-plié smile bows his lips. Flint skirts the wheel, drawing Ky’s attention away, and both men bend their heads together. Their hair color is so similar—like caramel-streaked honey. They could almost be brothers. Same peachy skin tone scarred by acne. Same height and build. It’s possible. Ky was adopted. Who knows if he has biological siblings he’s never met.
I squint, trying to find other similarities between the two. Their lips barely move as they converse. Ky shakes his head. Flint pinches the bridge of his nose. I strain to hear, but the task proves futile. They’re too quiet. In fact, it’s all too quiet.
Something is offbeat.
I scan my surroundings, take in the subtle changes. Normally, the sea’s playlist loops at random—lap, whoosh, spray . . . whoosh, spray, lap. Seagulls squawk during the commercial break. Wood tick-click-creaks in the background. But now? It’s as if the layered tracks have been muted. The absence of sound unnerves me.
A hand claps my shoulder. I look right and Streak stares down at me. “Are ya ready, Butterfly?”
I wink at him as if to say, “Aye.” Since the crew has seen my Mask, they’ve gained a new respect for me. I feel less like an outsider and more like . . . well . . . one of the crew.
Streak tromps past me, followed by Charley and Gunner. All three traipse up the steps to join the captain and his pilot. Before I can follow, invited or not, Tide’s hand squeezes my bicep. I’d almost forgotten he and Khloe were here. Ebony joins us, turning our trio into a quartet. Her gaze finds Tide and rests there. Is that admiration I see?
Tide leans into me, slides a hand to the far corner of his mouth. “This is bad.” His peppermint breath gives me the sudden craving for a candy cane.
“You think?” Khloe twists a frizzy curl around one finger. Despite my younger sister’s snarky words, not a trace of sarcasm laces her tone.
Maybe she’s like Ebony. But perhaps Khloe and I have some things in common as well.
Tide shifts and laughs, a rich, rumbling sound that reminds me of Kuna. And just like my old friend, Tide finds a reason to smile at a time no one else can.
I miss you, Kuna.
“I mean, worse than bad,” Tide says. “This is a problematic situation of epic proportions.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.” Ebony flips her hair.
“My brother will know what to do.” Khloe floats away, head held high, not a worry weighing her petite shoulders. Her faith in Ky fills me with unexpected warmth, spreading across my chest, traveling the length of my arms.
Ebony and I exchange a glance. We’ve fulfilled our Kiss of Accord. She’s helped me strengthen my abilities, and I helped her escape. We’ve no obligation to one another now. No reason to stand so near.
But neither of us moves away. Ebony reaches over, sticks her fingers into the collar of my sweater.
I eye her.
“Your tag was sticking out. You’re welcome.”
Then I smile. And she smiles. Different from when we were fake friends. This is authentic. Real.
A beginning.
Ebony looks away as if it’s too much too fast, so I peek sideways at Tide. Chew on the inside of my cheek.
He shoves his hands into his pockets. It must be obvious what I wish I could ask because he says, “The stairs.” He jerks his head, directing my attention toward the rocks. “They’re not supposed to be above the surface. The arch isn’t either, just its crown. Most of what you see now is usually hidden by ocean, only visible through a window belowdeck.”
I yank my cardigan tighter around me. Hug my chest.
“The entire ocean won’t drain,” he continues. “Because of its unique source in the Verity, Threshold water is comprised of energies rather than elements. You follow?”
I shake my head.
“Hard to explain. Basically, if a Threshold is part of a larger body of water, and the source of that Threshold’s energy is cut off . . . only the Threshold water would drain—vanish. It would create a wormhole”—Tide withdraws a hand from his pocket and slices a circle in the air with his open palm—“in the end, leaving a circular waterfall in the middle of the larger body of water. An opening leading to who knows where. You could end up at the far corners of the Seventh or loop back here. Got it?” Fascination shadows his trailing voice.
Whoa. Not only did Tide flip the switch from laid-back surfer dude to all-knowing professor, but my mind has literally bent. Backward. Twice. Nope. I’m thinking about what he said again . . . and . . . make that three times.
That’s when Ky joins us. I feel him before I see him. The heat at my back. Breath at my neck. His sudden nearness arrests my pulse. I avert my eyes.
Ky clears his throat. “Change of plans. We eat now. Take no extra weight or supplies. What do we have prepared?”
Lyrics to a popular eighties song scream across my brain. “Don’t stand, don’t stand so, don’t stand so close to me.”
“I can reheat the pot of chowder from last night.” Tide is already stepping away, moving toward the galley. “Give me fifteen minutes.” He’s gone then, disappearing beyond the galley door.
“I’ll help, I guess.” Ebony takes reluctant steps after Tide.
Helping someone without getting something in return? She’s changed. Softened. There may be hope for my sister after all.
I half expect Ky to leave as well. Instead he shifts closer. Our shoulders touch. Neither of us acts to break the connection.
“Change into something you can easily move in.” The hands clasped behind his back release and his arm swings, his knuckles brushing mine. “We no longer have a need to maintain formalities for Countess Ambrose’s sake.”