“If West's plane doesn't win the Rydon Cup, then it's mine,” Sammy said over his shoulder. “That was the bet.”
Chase paused.
If the plane doesn't win…?
He threw back his head and laughed, long and loud. Griff stared at him as if he'd started barking. Sammy paused mid-step.
“Oh, Sammy.” Chase chuckled. “You have no idea how glad I am you said that.”
Sammy turned around again, folding his arms across his broad chest. “And why might that be, son?”
“You just said that the bet is on the plane, not the pilot.” Chase grinned at him. “West's plane is going to race. I'm going to fly it.”
Sammy's eyes narrowed. He didn't otherwise move, but the group of shark shifters surrounding Chase and Griff started to circle them, drifting closer.
“And if you think West is good,” Chase added, “you should see me fly.”
“Now why,” Sammy said softly, as the circle of shark shifters closed in like a trap, “do you think you're going to be flying anywhere? This is the open sea, boys. You're a long way from the Phoenix, or the Parliament of Shifters, or any of your dry-lander laws. We have our own rules out here. And you two are way out of your depth.”
Chase's grin widened. “Funny you should say that.”
The yacht tipped to one side as a massive, scaled head erupted from the water. Sammy's shark shifters scattered in panic as a long, sinuous neck arched into the air, dwarfing the boat. Seawater streamed from indigo scales, falling like rain onto the yacht's deck.
“I think that you'll agree that he is very much not out of his depth,” Griff murmured.
Sammy lost all traces of his smile at last. “Ah,” he said, looking up.
“That,” Chase said conversationally, “is the Walker-Above-Waves, Emissary to the Land from the Pearl Throne, Oath-Sworn Seeker of the Emperor-in-Absence, Anointed Knight-Poet of the First Water, and… you know, it's so tricky to remember all these titles. What was the last one, Griff?”
“Firefighter for the East Sussex Fire and Rescue Service,” Griff supplied, grinning himself.
“Oh, yes, that was it.” Chase turned back to Sammy, who had gone as pale as his suit. “His real name is a little tricky to pronounce above water, so we just call him John Doe. Say hello, John.”
The sea dragon rumbled, with a sound like continents colliding. The shadow of his great, fanged head fell over the shark shifter.
“So you see, Sammy, I will be flying West's plane in the race,” Chase said. “And I'm going to win.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Connie stared numbly out of the bedroom window of her cheap rented apartment. From up here, she could just about make out the colored lights of Shoreham Airfield. Even in the dark, she knew exactly which speck of light marked the location of the small hanger that housed her plane.
Her mother's plane.
Connie had only been twelve when her mom died. But she remembered her mother's strong hands, wrapped over hers on the handle of a wrench, showing her how to disassemble a wheel assembly. She remembered the comforting smell of engine oil mingling with her mother's floral perfume. She remembered her mother's delighted laugh when a repair went well, and her inventive cursing when it didn't.
And she had a distant, dreamlike memory of being very small, small enough to curl on her mother's lap as she worked on restoring the plane's controls. Small enough to be perfectly happy, cocooned in the cockpit with her mom, utterly secure and safe. Because mom could fix anything.
“I wish you were here, mom,” Connie said softly to the distant, hidden plane.
She drew in a deep breath, scrubbing the back of her hand across her face. There was no time for tears. For a long time now, she'd had to be the one who fixed things. She would fix this now.
She wouldn't let anyone touch her plane.
Chase's head appeared, upside down, at the top of the open window. “Good news!” he announced cheerfully. “I'm going to fly your plane!”
Connie leaped backward with a strangled yelp. “Chase, what are you doing?”
“Hanging by my knees from the guttering.” He flashed her an inverted grin. “It was the fastest way down from the roof.”