“Some. It’s just part of it. She’s not making him a lycan. That change is rapid, and the moon’s not full. My money’s on demon.”
“And I agree,” Bran said.
“So we’ll be fighting a god, a small army, and a demon.” Rising, Sawyer picked up the recorder. “Awesome. I’ll put this back.”
Though the recording had shaken her, Annika reached back for the joy of dawn. She held it close through talk of battle—for Sasha felt certain there would be a battle that day—and instead, slipped over the side of the boat to find what Sawyer called a tracker so Bran could send it far away.
She watched Sawyer strap on the special gun for in the water.
“Okay, this location officially takes us more than halfway around the island.” After zipping her wet suit, Riley picked up her gun. “The gods can’t accuse us of not being thorough or freaking tenacious.”
“I wish I could tell you I felt something, like I did the day we found the Fire Star.”
“It’s not all on you.” Riley slapped Sasha’s arm. “Six of us in this. I forgot, with the triple-X Malmon audio, I think I’ve picked up something on the Bay of Sighs. Need to dig more when we get back, but I think I’m digging in the right spot. So if we don’t hit today, maybe I’ll come up with something that helps. Meanwhile? Ready to rock and roll?”
“The first cave’s at two o’clock.” As he strapped on his tanks, Doyle raised his chin to indicate direction. “About fifteen feet under.”
“Then let’s hit it.” Sawyer sat on the side, rolled back into the water.
No matter how often they’d tried and failed in the search, swimming with her friends always brought Annika pleasure. Today dread clawed at that pleasure, at the joy of dawn.
She would fight if a fight came. She would never, never shirk her duty. But the image Sasha had painted kept floating into her mind.
Today, when she circled the others in the water, it wasn’t in play, but to make certain everyone stayed close.
She saw the cave, and quickly, but didn’t arrow toward it. Instead she kept pace with the others.
She went into the mouth with Sawyer, and though she didn’t need it to see, found herself grateful for the light Bran made. There was a cleanness to it because it came from the good, and illuminated the fanning plants, the small fish that darted among them.
A broken shell, a shattered home, only increased the dread.
They didn’t fan out until well inside. Even then Annika watched her friends more than searched. Riley swam up a wall, peering into crevices, small holes, while Doyle went deeper, and Sawyer pulled himself up on a narrow ledge. For a moment she nearly panicked that she wouldn’t be able to keep them all in sight.
Then she saw a starfish, red as fire, sleeping on a rock. It soothed her, the peace of it, the prettiness. She swam closer, thinking to pet it, and realized it wasn’t sleeping.
Charmed, she cupped it in her hands, felt a warmth from it, and when it swam away, toward the mouth of the cave, she smiled. It seemed as if lights had sparkled in its wake.
She wanted to swim after it, to swim in those sparkles of light. But her friends . . .
Ashamed that, even for a few seconds, she hadn’t been vigilant, she turned in the water, saw Riley tap her watch.
So she did swim through the sparkles, though she lost sight of the starfish as Sawyer went first. But she felt that joy again, and wanted to go above, talk to Sawyer about swimming through the stars.
At the very moment it struck her, she heard the sighs, heard the song. Still distant, but closer than before. A guide, of course, a guide. And the sighs and songs calling them. Calling her.
Not this cave, but another. If she could catch the starfish, the guide, it would lead them. Excitement burst through her. She kicked her legs, reached out to touch Sawyer. He glanced back at her as he swam out of the cave.
And looking back at her, at the delight on her face, he didn’t see the ambush.
The fléchette hit him high on the right shoulder.
Annika heard the terrible sound, saw the blood spill into the water. She burst out of the cave like fury, only to have Sawyer shove her back and behind him as he reached across his body to draw his own gun with his left hand.
She didn’t think, but acted, punching out light from the bracelets, ripping it through the water to send men tumbling back. And Bran’s lightning joined them. A spear sliced out and into a man’s leg from Sasha’s harpoon.
It was blood and madness. Sawyer’s blood, the blood of men.
And the sharks came to hunt, just as in the painting.