“Absolutely,” Foster said.
Side by side, they sprinted to the beach.
Foster
Foster ran after Tate, silently praying that he kept a handle on his temper.
“Tate! Son!” His g-pa shouted. Matthew had been approaching the old man and the waterlogged, giant dog, but at the sound of Tate’s voice the big dog’s ears and tail went up, and with a happy bark, she dashed past Matthew and ran to meet Tate.
“Good girl! Good Bugsy! What happened to you, old girl? You look terrible.” Tate crouched to greet the dog.
“Oof!”
Foster glanced down the beach in time to see Tate’s million-year-old g-pa lower his head, sprint at the Matthew man, and like he was playing college ball, knock the younger man smack on his butt as he raced past him straight to Tate’s side.
“G-pa!”
The old man pulled Tate into a fast bear hug, speaking urgently and quickly. “Eve’s bad news. She’s got the water kids Charlotte and Bastien over there with Luke, the second worst, and Mark, who doesn’t want to hurt anyone. Matthew is a follower.”
“Welcome, Tate and Foster.” Eve strode away from the two strangers standing knee-deep in the roiling waves. Her brothers stiffened as she walked past, their heads swiveling between the sets of teens. “I’m so glad we’re all together now.”
“Hello, Eve,” Foster pinned her fists to her hips and planted her feet in the sand. “You bitch.”
“Is that any way for family to speak to each other?”
“I don’t have any family. They’re all dead, and I’m no part of whatever twisted thing you have going on.”
“All dead? Oh no, my sister, our father is alive and well and wants very much for us to be reunited.”
“A father doesn’t kidnap his children,” G-pa said with a disgusted shake of his head.
“We haven’t kidnapped anyone, old man,” Luke shouted.
“Fire boy, you’re a jackass,” G-pa spoke to him dismissively. “And I’ve listened to your lot scheme and plan for the past twenty-four hours. You’re here to take these kids from their lives—to steal them away to fulfill some fantasy your father has brainwashed you into believing. That’s not a family. That’s a delusion.”
Foster said nothing as she squinted against the wind and rain, her eyes following Bastien and Charlotte’s slow retreat toward the heaving waves.
Wait! Foster’s mouth formed the word, but it lodged in her throat. They should leave—sink beneath the storm and swim, swim, swim. Now she and Tate knew their names, had seen their faces. With Sabine’s help, they would find them again.
“Mark! Stop them!” Eve’s shout split the howling gusts.
Foster’s focus shattered, her hands tingling as air currents flickered to life around her. She had to do something. She wouldn’t be a spectator, not if it meant the Fucktastic Four would win.
A sharp blast of wind caught Eve and she turned, her features softening slightly as she closed her eyes and steadied herself. But there was something about the fullness of her cheeks; her wide-set, almond eyes; and the way she held her mouth that ghosted over Foster’s subconscious, haunting her with a familiarity that made her step forward, closer to Eve, closer to …
Cora?
Foster’s fists relaxed and the shimmering currents dissipated as she stared at a younger copy of the woman she called Mother.
Eve shifted, snapping her attention back to her brothers, and it was gone. Cora’s soft lines cracked like dry earth, exhuming Eve—hard and mean and ruthless.
“Mark, wake the fuck up and do something right!” Luke sneered.
With a commanding sweep of his arms, Mark directed the churning seas, “Bring them back!”
The water rippled and flexed, lifting tongue-like from the sand as it lapped toward Eve, cradling Bastien and Charlotte. He clutched her against him as he rode the wave and pointed at the shore, at Foster. “Take us there, you!” The wave seized a moment as if weighing its options before changing course and heading toward her, Tate, Bugsy, and G-pa.
The wave slid closer, and water rushed around Foster’s feet. “Merci, ami.” Bastien bowed slightly as he and Charlotte stepped from the swell that had rolled out to present them.
The girl tripped and almost fell into Foster. Righting herself quickly, she brushed back a soggy, blond strand of hair and held her hand out as if she was at a cotillion.
“Charmed to meet you. I’m Charlotte and this is Bast—”
“Look around, Scarlet O’Hara. This is not the time for Southern charm.”
“But we’re glad we found the two of you,” Tate added.
“Goddamnit. Bugsy found ’em. But Foster’s right. Southern charm later. Let’s get out of here now,” G-pa said.
“Seriously?” Eve faced their group, her brothers tightening the defensive line behind her. “I know the four of you are special, but Jesus you’re stupid. Or shall we all just have a tea party here and become, wait, how do you say it—BFFs?”
Foster swiped at the droplets clinging to her lashes. “Are we done yet with the tight-ass-bitch routine? I’m pretty fucking tired of standing in a hurricane.”
“And you’re crazy, you,” Bastien muttered.
“He’s right. You’re insane. And we’re going home. Now.” Foster started to back away, and the group moved with her.
“So, are you all children and Foster is your mommy who makes decisions for you?” Eve’s voice filled with sarcasm.
“You were going to tie Mr. Bowen up and drag him down the sand after you told that horrid fire person to burn up his dog. I don’t need a mama to decide for me that I’m not going anywhere with you,” Charlotte was the first to speak up.
“Foster and I are together on this. We want nothing to do with any of you,” Tate said.
“Leave these kids alone and crawl back under whatever rock someone was stupid enough to lift off you,” G-pa grumbled.
“Old man, I have had all I can take of your mouth!” Luke raised his hands and as they began to glow, he started forward.