She pulled herself up next to him, thankful to be out of the water at last. “What are you doing here? Where’s Jack?”
Ghedi shook his head. After he had bid them good-bye at the Cinque Terre, he had seen the Venators chase after them. He’d tried to radio them a warning, but the storm had taken out the satellite signals. He’d borrowed a motorboat, and had come upon the wreckage of the pirate ship (“Black, black smoke. Bad.”) There had been no sign of Jack, and he’d taken an empty Jet Ski that was most likely left behind by the Venator who had chased Schuyler and who was probably still struggling to swim to the surface.
If Ghedi was here with this Jet Ski, then where was the other Jet Ski with the other Venator, Schuyler wondered. And where was Jack?
*
They circled the shoreline for several hours. It would be evening soon. Jack should be here by now, Schuyler thought. It would take a vampire of his speed only minutes to make it. She had managed, and he was by far a stronger swimmer. Schuyler dropped Ghedi off at the harbor, and she continued on the Jet Ski alone, as her new friend was showing signs of fatigue from their search. It wasn’t fair to ask him to accompany her on what was looking more and more like a hopeless endeavor.
The sun slipped below the horizon, and the lights of the city looked festive against the purple sky. Music wafted from the restaurants and cafés by the docks. It was getting colder, and the wind told her the storm would pick up again soon; this was just a momentary calm.
She was going to run out of gas soon, but she made one last round. The night before, she and Jack had made a promise to each other. Whatever happened today, they had agreed they would not wait for the other if they were separated. The journey must continue, regardless of who kept on the path. Whoever remained would carry on Lawrence’s legacy.
Okay, Jack, she thought. This is it. You’d better show up or I’m leaving.
She didn’t want to think of what it meant, leaving him. She was terrified of being alone, now that she knew what being with Jack was like. He would want her to continue, though. He would want her to leave him, to go ahead without him. She had already wasted enough time.
She would ask Ghedi to help her get to Florence, where Lawrence believed the Gate of Promise was located; she would hike through the mountains as they’d planned. There would be no trains, no little pensiones, no rental cars, nothing that would leave a trail. Jack would be able to meet up with her later . . . maybe. . . .
Schuyler tried not to think about it too much. She felt numb from the cold and from what she would have to do. The enormity of her task felt overwhelming. How could she go on alone without knowing what had happened to him, without knowing if he was dead or alive?
Finally she saw it—it looked like driftwood but something about it caught her eye. Anxiously, she came up on it and saw that it was indeed just a piece of driftwood. But clinging to the center of it was a white hand, while the rest of the body was submerged underwater. Schuyler pulled up next to it; she recognized those long, thin fingers, and her heart beat against her chest, the cold creeping through her entire body. Fear. Abject fear.
Jack can’t die. He can’t die, but he can be harmed. He was immortal, but if it was too late to revive his physical shell, she would have to keep his blood for the next cycle. By the time he was reborn she would be at the end of hers. Who knew if he would love her then? If he would even remember her? In any event, where would she even take his blood? They were fugitives from the vampire community.
She leaned down and grasped his hand, pulling it gently from the branch. The hand was practically frozen in place, but it returned her grasp and squeezed. He was alive. With all her strength she pulled Jack out of the water in one quick motion and positioned him behind her on the Jet Ski.
He fell against her, his body as cold as an iceberg, and she could feel the weight of his exhaustion against her back. He was barely able to keep his arms around her waist as she pushed off into the darkness.
If she had been just a minute later, who knows what would have become of him. . . . Who knew what would have happened. . . . Who knew what . . .
Stop your doubting, my love. I knew you would find me.
Schuyler maneuvered the Jet Ski between two fishing boats and harnessed her craft next to the one that smelled marginally better than the other. The boats were empty, as fishing season was over. The owners would not return until next year. She helped Jack onto the deck of the boat and into its small cabin, which held a ratty couch. How ironic that they had started their day planning to escape from a boat, only to end up in another one.