“You chose your new host,” Petra said, turning to face Judith, damning finality in her voice. “And thus I cannot kill you. Nor could I do so even if I wished, for history will find its way to keep happening.
All I can do is nudge it in a new direction, hope for a new ripple of events that will lead to your eventual and total defeat. You have chosen this man to be your host instead of me. His lifeblood is your root to this world. Thus, he shall also be your tether and prison. If you venture further than the sound of his heartbeat,” here, Petra reached out, twined her fist around the pale ribbon that connected them, and gave it a hard, merciless tug. Odin-Vann wrenched and screamed, clutching a hand over his heart. Petra nodded with satisfaction. “The thread will go taut, and he will die. Your key to this realm is now your ball and chain. He will be your undoing, at the hands of those who are now more powerful than you. Begone, petty creature of the abyss. Your time here is soon ended.”
And with that, Petra swept her left hand back from the shoulder, flinging Odin-Vann away like a comet. He vanished into stormy distance, leaving only the echo of his shocked scream.
Judith spared only a split second to bare her teeth before rocketing off in pursuit of him, following the thread that now bound them.
James turned to watch, but they were already vanished, lost in the heaving pall of the storm.
“Where did you send him?” he asked, still searching the clouds.
“The first of the six lost cities of Atlantis,” Petra answered, sighing with weariness. “There are air pockets there that are a thousand years old, and nothing else alive for a hundred leagues in any direction.
That will keep them busy for a little while, at least.”
He turned back to her. They still floated high over the waves, protected from the raging storm by the subtle cushion of her swirling powers. “You didn’t kill him,” he said with some wonder. “He killed you. But you let him live…”
“You asked me to,” she replied, and shrugged. “And it wouldn’t have worked if I had. Odin-Vann really was right. History can’t be changed by major alterations. We have to steer things only slightly differently, and hope for the best.”
James shook his head in happy disbelief. He reached for her, touched her hand through the swirling glow of power. “I can’t believe this is happening. It feels too good to be true.”
“It is,” she said, and her diamond eyes clouded, her knees suddenly buckled. James reached to catch her, to support her as she went momentarily limp. The cocoon of warmth and light all around them contracted. They dipped suddenly, dropping fifty feet in a second before bobbing uncertainly up again, this time barely above the hungry, mountainous waves.
“I think I used up most of what you gave me,” she gasped, clutching onto him for support. “I’m fearful that it wasn’t life force.
Only power.”
He held her up, supported her in his arms, concern darkening his thoughts. “What do you mean?”
She shook her head. Her eyes had returned to their normal blue.
James couldn’t tell if this was an encouraging or worrying sign. She said, “We’re on borrowed time. We need to get back to the ship.”
Firming her grip on his elbow, she concentrated, directing the dwindling bubble of her force through the storm, aiming for the Gwyndemere where it foundered, listing over the waves, still crusted with ice.
“Someone comes!” a voice bellowed.
“Wands up!” another commanded.
“Wait!” a third voice cried. It was James’ father, thankfully.
“That is my son and his friend, Petra Morganstern! Make room! They approach quickly!”
Petra lowered them to the ship’s stern, which heaved and rolled beneath them, shifting dozens of feet every few seconds, making landing especially difficult.
“James!” his father cried, reaching to catch him by the arm and shoulder as he stumbled to the deck. Next to him, much to James’ surprise, Persephone Remora collected Petra as she lowered, her protective bubble blowing away into the storm, her legs giving out as the deck swelled beneath her.
“What has become of the Lady?” a deep voice asked, stiff with urgency. Merlin shouldered near, his beard streaming in the gale.
“Not defeated, Headmaster,” Petra answered, recovering slightly, though still supported by Remora. “But her power is lessened. And she can now be tracked, for she is hobbled to her human host, a young man named Donofrio Odin-Vann. Find him, and she will be nearby.”
Remora nodded, although the look in her eyes betrayed her confusion. “Who was she? An ocean sprite? A siren? I have heard of such beings, though never encountered one of such malignant force.”
“She is neither,” Merlin replied gravely, though James thought he detected a certain cautious eagerness in the headmaster’s stern gaze.
He had only just learned of Judith’s existence, and yet he had leapt immediately to certain deductions about her origins, as well as a plan for how to confront her, next time in his own element, and with much different results.
“We have to get below decks,” Harry called over the roaring storm, dismissing these mysteries for the moment. “It appears that everyone is once again present and accounted for. Let us keep it that way. Headmaster, lead on…”
“No,” James said, tugging his father’s arm. “You don’t understand! This is no regular storm. It’s one of her curses—the Lady that Petra and Merlin are talking about! I don’t have time to explain it now, but it’s not going to just blow over! She unleashed the storm on us to stop us! To kill us and anyone we’re with!”
One of the sailors nodded meaningfully, clapping a hand to his head to secure his hat. “I don’t know about any lethal Ladies, but the boy’s right,” he shouted, struggling to be heard over the thunder. James was gratified to see that it was Barstow, the first mate. “I’ve seen gales all across the seven seas, and this tempest beats them all! It has intent, I tell you. It won’t let loose without sending us to the depths, this one!”
As if in response, the Gwyndemere tilted before a blast of wind, nearly capsizing to starboard, forcing those on deck to grasp onto railings and rigging and each other. Precipitously, the ship swung back again, groaning in its wallowing guts.
“James is right,” Petra shouted, standing straighter and pushing away from Remora. “This storm was summoned by the Lady before her powers were diminished. If we were nearer civilization or land, the headmaster and I might be able to dispel it. But here, on the ocean…”
She glanced aside at Merlin, who nodded, reluctantly.
“The ship already lists and founders,” Barstow bellowed, clinging to the shattered base of the aft mast with one huge hand. “If any of you has any magical idears, I’d say put ‘em to use now or prepare to meet your makers!”
Petra nodded at Barstow, and then took a step back toward the stern, somehow remaining upright on the heaving, dipping deck.
Splinters of broken mast streamed back and forth around her feet, carried on rivulets of storm water. Lightning lit her in constant strobes.