Which is part of the reason why we’d taken the awful risk of attempting a breakout in the first place. It could have gone so wrong—more than it had, anyway—and we could have been killed, leaving the kids with no one at all to guide and protect them.
But I’d had no choice. Dad was a fire dragon. His death would come near dawn, as Egan’s had, but unless someone was there to pray for him—to guide him—his spirit might get lost between this world and the forever lands.
Dad had no one else but me and Mom. I couldn’t ever remember him mentioning his family or having photos of them. It was as if something big had happened in his past, something that he didn’t want to—or rather, refused to—acknowledge or remember. I knew he was American, that he’d grown up near Las Vegas somewhere, and that he had scars—terrible, criss-crossed scars down his left arm and leg, like someone had tried chopping him up with a large knife—but that was about the extent of my knowledge.
Which is why Mom had demanded I go to Maine rather than attempt any immediate release of herself and the others. She didn’t want him to die alone.
And yet, she might well have been condemning herself to a lonely death and an eternity drifting lost between two worlds. Because she was dying, too.
I blinked back the sting of tears, and tried not to think about the unfairness of it all. There was nothing I could do to alter the fact that I was going to lose both parents. What I could change was the way it happened. The way they went.
But as much as I wanted to get to Maine, it just wasn’t practical when Florence was so close. We—I—needed those codes. I’d promised little Carli and the others that I’d come back, that I’d get them out of there, no matter what. They only had Jace to protect them now, and a fifteen-year-old shouldn’t have that sort of responsibility on his shoulders for too long.
I had no idea where in Florence Marsten’s mother actually lived. All we’d really known was that she and his brother were investment partners in the foundation, as well as members of the board. It was no certainty that she actually held backups of everything that was going on at the facility, but Marsten was a careful man. He would have made sure that if anything went wrong at the foundation, he could still get to the years and years of data he’d collected. And we were also hoping that he’d included the security information in that backup plan.
But with any sort of luck, Marsten’s mom would be in the phone directory. If not, I’d have to go to plan B. When I could figure out what plan B was, anyway.
My gaze went to the dark horizon. My first priority, though, was taking care of this ring. And really, there was only one place where I could be totally sure it would be safe.
The sea.
I glanced up the street at the sound of an approaching car. I doubted it was Trae, but I broke into a run anyway, heading across the parking lot and into a side street. Trees lined the curb, blocking many of the street-lights, casting shadows across the pavement that swayed gently to the tune of the soft breeze.
Headlights swept across the night behind me. I jumped the nearest fence and dropped behind a spiky-looking shrub. The lights, and the car, got closer, and my breath caught somewhere in my throat. But the car didn’t stop.
The sudden surge of relief had me shaking my head in amusement. Here I was, having a near heart attack at the thought of being caught by a thief when far worse people were out there hunting me. It was them I should be frightened of, not some damn thief who had no intentions of looking after anything but himself.
I shoved the cash and card into the zippered pocket of my pants, then climbed back over the fence and broke into a run again, heading down the street toward the sea.
If I wanted to ask my favor, I had to be there by dawn.
I kept on jogging. I was reasonably fit despite all those years of being caged, but by the time the long blue line of ocean became visible on the horizon, I was beginning to pant. I slowed to a walk as the houses gave way to more historic-looking buildings and shops. I crossed another street paved in what looked like cobblestones, and under an arch that said Nye Beach. Old-fashioned streetlights washed brightness across the cobbles, sloping down toward the beach. I followed their lead, walking in and out of shadows, listening to the sigh of the wind and hearing nothing beyond the mournful cry of gulls and the hiss of foam across sand. My pulse rate quickened, as did my steps.
There weren’t any cars parked in the turnaround and not a soul on the beach. Of course, dawn had yet to break free. I had no doubt that when she did, I would not be alone on this beach.
I jumped the fence lining the turnaround, and dropped down onto the sand. It was cool under my toes, gritty and sharp. I took a moment to wriggle my toes in delight, but the sea, and the task I was about to ask of it, pulled me on.
The hum of dawn touched the air. Energy began to dance lightly across my skin—a crazy tingling that once again chased the chill from my flesh. My gaze rose to the horizon. Night still held court, but that would soon change. I had to be in the water by then.
I quickly stripped, dropping my clothes well out of the water’s reach before continuing on. My feet slapped across the wet sand, barely leaving an imprint as sea foam rushed up and caressed my toes. I strode on, into the water.
The hum of power filled the air with its forceful beat, flaying my skin with its rawness. The sea washed across my thighs, the chill water a sharp contrast to the warmth of the air and yet welcoming in its own way. When the gentle waves began to wash across my butt, I stopped and waited. On the horizon, slivers of gold began to breach the curtain of darkness. The energy grew frenetic, reaching a crescendo as the slivers became a river of red and yellow, flooding across the sky. As the beat of energy came to a peak, and the air came alive with the hum and power of a new day, I raised my left hand, the ring sitting in the middle of my palm and my fingers clenched around it.
“To the Gods of the sea, I call on thee.”
The words rode across the energy, held by it, shaped by it, becoming things of power and beauty and command. The waters around me began to stir, the rush of waves momentarily lost to the gathering whirl of energy. Droplets of water shot into the sky, sparkling like diamonds in the gathering brightness.
“To my brothers of deep, dark waters, and my sisters of the quick shallows, I call on thee.”
More energy touched the air—a deep bass thrum that spoke of vast, cold places. It flooded through me, filling me, completing me, in a way the warmth of the day never would.
The droplets became a water spout that glittered, spun, and danced on the rich, dark waters. I unclenched my fingers, offering the ring. In the gathering light, the dragon’s jeweled eyes gleamed like blood dripping from a wound.
“Keep this ring safe. Keep this ring unfound. Take it to the dark and secret places and let no man nor animal nor fish near it until I command otherwise.”
There was a flash of silver, the warm kiss of water across my palm, and then the ring was gone.
“Thank you.” My words were little more than a whisper, but they seemed to linger, riding the disappearing night and the thrum of power, accepted and acknowledged by the deeper energy of the sea and the sparkling, spinning spout of water. I lowered my hand. The water spout gave a final whirl, then fell away.