Raging Sea (Undertow, #2)

“I’m trying. I’m so cold.”

After x-rays, Calvin and the nurse enter and wheel me to another table. They transfer me to it, then slide the table, with me on it, into a tiny hole like I’m entering a casket.

“The MRI takes an hour, so lie still,” Calvin snaps.

“I have a lot of electricity in my brain,” I say as I fade. “When I was little, the doctors said so.”



I don’t know how long I was out, but it was long enough for them to put me back in my cell. I feel groggy and soft. Chemically induced sleep must not be as good as the real thing.

They’ve given me a bath and put me into a black jumpsuit with the White Tower logo on it. There’s something on my head, too—a bandage, and when I reach up to see if they’ve stitched the wound, I realize my head has been completely shaven. All that’s left is stubble.

I sob. I know it’s stupid. My hair is the least of my problems right now, but I can’t help myself. It’s not from vanity. It’s the vulnerability, the helplessness, that crushes me. These people can take whatever they want from me. I have no control over anything, not even a single strand of hair.





Chapter Twelve


I’M ON THE SHORELINE IN MY BARE FEET, and the cold Atlantic water swallows my toes. Stretched out before me is a turbulent brew, spinning in the sky. A storm is coming, one that promises to wipe Coney Island off the map.

“Are you finally ready?” Fathom says, materializing by my side. He slips his hand in mine, and I hold on to it tightly.

“To do what?”

“To fight.”

Suddenly, the black wave that destroyed my home is hanging over me. Ghost, Luna, Thrill, and Arcade appear, all of them whole and alive. Ghost takes my other hand in his long, white spindly claw and turns his bulbous eyes to mine. His mouth is grim.

“You are not allowed to give up, halfling,” he hisses to me.

“I can’t do this.”

Black figures break through the wall of liquid, but they are not Rusalka. They are soldiers in White Tower Securities uniforms. Their claws shift back and forth from sharp talons to M-16s.

“Fight them, Lyric!” Luna begs. The scales on her neck are fiery red.

“You have to let loose whatever power is inside you,” Thrill demands.

“But the glove doesn’t work!” I try to explain.

“You don’t need it,” Arcade says. “You have other weapons.”

I turn to find my mother. Her raven black hair cascades down her shoulders. She’s in her jean shorts and her flip-flops and she is as beautiful as I have ever seen her. She steps into the warrior pose, a staple of her class, and something she taught me to help fight my migraines. Her arms extend from either side of her torso. She looks at me and smiles.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

The buzzer shocks me awake just in time for me to see a bowl slide in from under the door. I crawl over to it and stare down into the slop. Today is the worst yet. I wonder if Spangler is cooking these meals for me personally. I’m tempted to fling it at the wall, but I’m afraid of what the punishment would be, so I leave it where it sits and crawl back onto my mattress. I lie there, looking at my light bulb, and consider the dream.

Tick—tick-tick—tick—tick-tick.

Eventually the slot opens and I hear the hum of the magnet that steals the bowl away. I watch it skid across the floor, but this time it doesn’t line up properly. It bangs against the lip of the door, then tilts upward, eager to heed the magnet’s call but unable to get through. I’m tempted to help out the idiot on the other side and move it to where it should go, but then the hum fades away and he starts cursing. The bowl falls to the floor and is still.

The voice crackles on the speaker. “Inmate 114. Stand in the circle.”

I do as I’m told, then hear another buzz, followed by the clank of a lock. The door slowly opens, and on the other side is a guard I’ve never seen before. He’s carrying a keycard about the same size as a credit card. I realize this is how he locks and unlocks the door.

“Don’t move,” he says. His eyes are wide and his gun is out. He looks like he’s twenty years old, too young to have a job like this.

“I promise.”

He leans down without taking his eyes off me, snatches the bowl away, then slowly backs out of the room.

“Give my compliments to the chef,” I manage before he slams the door again. I hear the clank of the lock and then his footsteps. I lie back down on my mattress, but face-down, because I don’t want the cameras to see the gigantic smile on my face. I just discovered a crack in the system. I think I’ve found a way out of here.





Chapter Thirteen


MY MOTHER’S VOICE IS DRIFTING THROUGH MY thoughts when I wake up the next morning.

Fight like a wild thing.