“It wasn’t invisible, but it wasn’t visible, either. It was a wave moving independently from the other waves, a sovereign force of darkness. I tried to fight it, but I didn’t know how to fight such a thing. I pity Brooks, now that I know what he endured.”
“The coral dagger carves a gateway for Atlas to enter Waking World bodies. It is so sharp because it is dead.” Solon leaned back in his chair. “I’ve never known Atlas to inhabit two earthly bodies at once, let alone a Seedbearer body. He grows bolder all the time. Or perhaps he isn’t working alone.”
Who else would he work with? Eureka wanted to ask. She sensed from the fear that flashed across Ander’s face that he knew whom Solon meant.
Solon handed the coral back to Ander. “Hold on to this. We will need it.”
“Am I possessed?”
“How would I know?” Solon asked. “Do you feel possessed?”
Ander shook his head. His arm twisted behind him to trace the gills. “But they won’t heal.”
Solon took a drag from his cigarette and said, “Worst-case scenario is your possessor lies dormant within you for now.”
Ander nodded miserably.
“On the bright side,” Solon said, “you should be able to breathe underwater. You could swim away and save Eureka the trouble of pretending she doesn’t love you.” Solon swirled the golden liquid in his glass. “Of course, there is the Glimmering.”
Eureka felt like an arctic wind had crossed the cave. She’d known the moment Esme spoke about her history that she would have to face the Glimmering, that it was part of her preparation for Atlantis. She would do it alone. She didn’t want any of the others going near it again.
Ander leaned closer, hanging on Solon’s words.
“It looks like an ordinary pond,” the elder Seedbearer explained, “but it’s the masterwork of the gossipwitches. One’s reflection in the Glimmering is said to reveal who one ‘truly’ is, as ridiculous as that sounds. You could try it. I don’t believe in identity, reality, or truth, so there’s no reason for me to take the narcissistic peek. Which is ironic, because I’m extremely narcissistic.”
“How do I get there?”
“It isn’t far—south of the Celans’ caves, through a series of what used to be valleys before your girlfriend grew a conscience. Rapids likely roar there now. A gossipwitch could escort you, but”—his face twitched worriedly—“their help is costly, as you know.”
“You think I should go, even if it—”
“Burns your face off?” Solon finished Ander’s thought and stared sadly into his empty glass. “That depends. How badly do you need to know?”
The sky outside the Bitter Cloud was rusty gray, signaling dawn. Ander had spent his life watching Eureka from a distance—but that morning she was the voyeur.
She lagged behind, stalking him like a coyote stalks a deer. He moved quickly over dark rocks, through stands of dying trees. The orichalcum spear’s sheath gleamed in a belt loop of his black jeans.
He looked different at a distance. When they were close, chemistry got in the way, making Eureka’s body buzz, clouding her vision so that all she saw was the boy she wanted. But out in the wild diluvian dawn, Ander was his own person.
She was so focused on her subject that Eureka hardly noticed the path they followed. It was different from the path Esme had illuminated that night. When Ander arrived at the Glimmering, Eureka crouched behind a boulder as the sky lightened in the east. The wind was cold, its chill bone deep. As always, Ander stayed dry in the rain.
Her arms wanted to hold him. Her lips wanted to kiss him. Her heart wanted … to be another kind of heart. She thought the person capable of yearning and love had died with Seyma and Dad. But the physical need lingered, undeniable.
She looked for Brooks’s body in the pine tree. She didn’t see him there, or anywhere.
Ander’s eyes looked sunken. She sensed the fear in him, like a hunter senses it in prey. He paced the shore, ran his fingers through his hair. He inhaled deeply and pressed his hand against his heart. He stood where the water lapped the shore, closed his eyes, and hung his head.
“This is for you, Eureka,” he said.