“Go below,” she declared firmly. “All of you.”
James saw her intent, even if he didn’t yet understand it. He pushed away from his dad and reached for her, nearly stumbling to the deck himself. “No, Petra,” he said, reaching for her hand, trying to pull her along. She closed her hand within his, but refused to move.
“Petra,” Harry Potter said, raising his voice over the gale, managing to sound perfectly calm. “Whatever you have in mind, there are surely better options—”
“There are not.”
These words were spoken not by Petra, but Merlinus. He was still standing next to Harry, his beard streaming, his heavy robes heavier with rain. His eyes were on Petra, piercing, calculating, measuring. He shook his head, as if reading the answer on her face, in her very posture.
“There are no other options. We cannot best the storm by power. And it will indeed take us into the depths before its hunger is sated. We have bare minutes left. If Miss Morganstern has a plan—”
“NO,” James bellowed, his voice rough with shock and betrayal, his hand still clinging to Petra’s. “How can you let her do this?”
“James,” Merlin said, lowering his voice and yet somehow making himself heard over the roar of wind and lash of rain. When James glared back at him, finally looked into his eyes, the headmaster said his name again. “James… this is Petra’s hard choice. You already made yours. You let her go. Her destiny is her own now.”
“NO!” James cried again, firming his grip on Petra’s hand.
There was no connection between them anymore. He could not sense her plan, or feel her intent. And still he understood what she meant to do. He understood simply because he knew her, and loved her. “This isn’t what I meant! I won’t let her do it!”
“James,” his father said, moving closer, struggling to steady himself on the reeling deck, his glasses streaked with rain. He reached out his hand to James, to both of them. “Come below. Let us discuss this…”
Petra shook her head sadly. “You were so good to me, Mr.
Potter. I’ll never forget. Please watch over Izzy.”
“Come below and watch over her yourself, Petra,” he smiled. It was a stubborn smile, but even James saw the hopelessness of the gesture.
Remora spoke up in a shrill voice, her eyes blinking owlishly.
“What am I to understand is going on here? Does this young lady have some task to perform? Is she to be…?” She glanced back and forth between Merlin and Harry.
Barstow crooked his arm into Remora’s as the wind suddenly pushed her, nearly bowling her over the side. “Whatever she intends to do,” he called, “I say we let her get to it! We’re like to break up at any moment now!”
“Go below,” Merlin said, nodding to Remora and Harry. “I shall vouch for James’ safety, and escort him down presently. There are goodbyes to be had, I fear, and we should respect them.”
Barstow nodded robustly and led Remora to the mid-ship stairs and the door below decks.
Harry was obviously unwilling to leave his son and Petra.
“James!” he yelled, squinting through his spattered glasses, “you obey the headmaster! When he says come, you come! Understand?”
James gulped hard, reluctant to promise anything, but equally understanding that his father was one blink away from physically carrying him below decks. Haltingly, he nodded.
“This is madness,” Harry called to Merlin. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“No indeed,” the headmaster declared, still observing Petra.
“But Miss Morganstern does. And we shall not underestimate her, methinks.”
Clearly warring with himself, Harry glanced back at James, frowning with consternation. “Your mother will kill me if anything happens to you!” he said, raising a stern finger in his direction. “Bear that in mind, son!”
With that, he turned, groped to the stairs through the driving rain, and worked his way down, clinging tight to the bannister.
The ship turned sluggishly, trapped in a raging, circling cyclone.
Rain beat the waves into froth all around, even as the wind drove them into ragged peaks, seemingly as tall as the clouds.
“James,” Petra yelled to him, still holding his hand, her hair now plastered to her head in shining ribbons. “I told you about this. In the Time Between the Times. Do you remember?”
He shook his head firmly. Refused to look into her eyes. He grabbed her other hand and looked down at them, at their clasped hands between them.
He did remember, but refused to admit it.
Petra went on. “I told you that you wouldn’t like the end. But I asked you to accept it. I hope you do, James. Because I have to do this now, no matter what. Only, it will be easier knowing that you don’t hate me for it.”
He wrestled with his emotions, squeezed his eyes shut, tried not to burst out in rage, or pleading, or tears. He couldn’t look at her.
“We’ve been through this!” he cried, his voice strained. “Judith wanted you to die. But you don’t have to!”
“It’s one thing to die for weakness,” she said, grasping his hands tighter, begging him to meet her eyes. “It’s another thing to die for love.
And payment. It’s why we were sent back to this time. Not for Judith’s and Donofrio’s plan. I know that now. I’ve killed, James. Long before you or Lucy asked me not to, I gave in. I murdered. Blood calls for payment. If I don’t make up for that now, even if I live another thousand years, I’ll never repay the debt of guilt. This is my one chance.”
“We can outrun the storm!” he demanded, panic straining his voice. “We did last time!”
“You stopped the storm last time with this!” she yelled, raising his right hand in hers. “Your love, my power! You paid the price that I was meant to, but only for a time! That’s why we’re right back where we started. Because fate has a bigger story to tell! This isn’t losing to Judith. It’s my chance to balance the scales!”
James refused even to consider Petra’s words. He shook his head, cascading rainwater from his blowing hair.
The storm surged lower. Waves pushed the ship into a disastrous list, washed over the bow and battered the galley walls. The hull twisted and splintered, groaned deep in its very bones as the tempest condensed around it.
James had no words. Still he could not look up at her. He sensed Merlin standing back, observing, but not interfering. He would neither stop Petra, nor compel her. She would make her own choice, and he would respect it. No matter what.
The storm would claim its own.
Petra let go of James’ hands. She stood back from him, lowered her arms weakly to her sides, waited just a moment longer.
James finally raised his eyes to her face. She was watching him, risking everything for one final moment.
He said the only words that came into his mind. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”
She seemed to accept this, and to nod agreement. Raising her voice, she asked, “You don’t hate me?”