The Poet’s elbow dipped beneath the Glimmering, as if something gripped it from below. Then his wrist was level with the surface. Cat screamed; Eureka held on. By the time the Poet’s fingers disappeared beneath the Glimmering, the fight had left Cat’s body. She slumped forward, dropped to her knees.
“He was kind to me when I needed a friend. He wouldn’t hurt a soul.…” Cat trailed off, looked at Eureka, then looked away.
Eureka knew they were both thinking the same thing: if the Poet’s reflection had killed him, what kind of horror would Eureka see if she looked inside?
The Glimmering was still for a moment. Then three iridescent bubbles rose above its surface. One at a time they popped, leaving the faintest amethyst-colored shimmer in the air.
18
FEVER TO TELL
“She’s not there.”
An hour later Ander’s frantic voice traveled up the waterfall from Solon’s workshop. Eureka had finally dragged Cat back to the Bitter Cloud, where her friend collapsed on her pallet, pushing Eureka away when she tried to comfort her, crying silent tears until she slept.
Cat had wanted to stop at the Celans’ caves to tell them about the Poet, but it was too dangerous to risk. The Celans already had Seyma’s death to avenge. There was no telling how they would respond to losing one of their young.
“Not at the pond,” Ander said. “Not with the Celans. I’ve looked everywhere. She just … disappeared.”
“What do you want me to do about it?” Solon asked.
Eureka moved toward the stairs leading to his workshop. Now that Solon knew she’d snuck out, both boys would be furious with her. She had to tell them she was back.
“Come with me,” Ander cried. “Search for her. Atlas is out there. I know it.”
“All the more reason for you and me to stay home. We’re no match for him.”
“And Eureka is?”
“Let’s hope so,” Solon said. “If you were to meet Atlas in these mountains—”
“Maybe he’s already done the worst thing he can do to me,” Ander muttered.
Eureka paused at the top of the stairs. Embers of a fire glowed below.
“What do you mean?” Solon asked.
“There’s something I should show you,” Ander said.
Eureka peered over the staircase railing. Solon straddled a low-backed leather chair, drinking prosecco out of his broken glass and smoking a cigarette. Ander stood with his back to Solon. He looked thinner. Eureka was used to him holding his shoulders straight, but tonight they slumped as he lifted his shirt, revealing the muscles on his bare torso—and two deep gashes in his flesh.
Solon whistled under his breath. “Does Eureka know?”
“She has enough to worry about,” Ander said. He sounded intensely lonely.
Eureka knew about the gashes—she’d discovered them the first time she kissed Ander—but she didn’t know what they meant. There had been so much else to process the night her fingers found those strange slits in his skin. The intoxicating taste of his lips, the storm her tears had begun, Brooks lost in the bay, and the last, most haunting translation of The Book of Love.
“There’s this, too.” Ander held a long piece of white coral shaped like an arrowhead. “It was inside me. I pulled it from the wound.”
Solon placed his glass on the floor with a soft clink, his cigarette dangling from his lips. He examined the coral, whipping his finger away when he touched its sharp point. “How long have you had this?”
“Since the day before the storm began.” Ander flinched slightly when Solon’s fingers probed his back. “Eureka went sailing with Brooks. I knew she wasn’t safe, so I followed her in the water. I saw the twins fall overboard”—he closed his eyes—“and her dive after them. But before I could do anything to help, something tore into me.”
“Go on.” Solon ashed his cigarette.