“Go back into the water tonight,” she pleads, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Let her have her life back.”
I cross my arms, rubbing my hands down the sleeves of my coat. “But I deserve a life too,” I counter, hardening my gaze on her.
“You’ve already had a life. You’ve had the longest life of anyone. Please.”
I have stolen her daughter, the last thing she has left in this entire world—even her sanity has slipped away from her—but I can’t release this body. It’s my only chance at a real life. Surely she can understand that. Surely she knows what it is to be trapped, to be willing to do anything to escape, to crave normalcy in this tormented, messed-up town. To finally feel settled.
This is my second chance. And I’m not going to let it get away.
“I’m sorry.” I back step through the kitchen, knowing she isn’t strong enough to stop me, and I dart through the doorway into the hall, nearly bumping into a side table, then out the front door.
*
I pause on the front porch, hoping that Rose was wrong. A wall of black clouds has materialized several miles out at sea, dense and wide, laden with rain and maybe lightning.
But still no sign of boats converging toward the island.
I hurry down the porch steps, my heartbeat thudding against my ribs, and I move toward Old Fisherman’s Cottage, where Gigi is still locked up. When I reach the door, I yank the board out of the way and step inside. Gigi’s standing at the window, staring down toward the dock.
“People are coming to the island,” I tell her, breathing heavily. “The summer solstice party is happening here. Olivia invited everyone. You need to stay inside and lock the door.”
“First I was locked in, now you want me to lock you out? This is a very confusing situation for a prisoner.”
“If any of them find you in here . . .”
“Yeah, yeah,” she interrupts. “They want me dead. I get it.”
“I’m serious.”
She lifts her palms in the air. “You think I want to be hanged or strangled or shot? Trust me, I don’t want them to find me either. I’ll stay put like a good evil sister.”
I tilt my head at her—I don’t find her funny right now—but she smirks. I open the door a crack, letting in a sliver of wind that brushes my dark hair off my shoulders, and I’m about to step back outside when she asks, “Why are you helping me?”
“You’re my sister.” I gulp down the word, knowing that no matter what she and Marguerite have done, they will always be my sisters. “I don’t want you dead . . . at least not like this.”
She crosses her arms and looks back to the window. “Thank you,” she answers, and then, in a voice that reminds me of Aurora when she was younger, tiny and sweet, “Will you be back before midnight to let me out?”
I nod, meeting her stony blue eyes—like snow under moonlight—sister to sister, letting her know that I won’t abandon her. And I only hope I can keep my promise.
*
Once you’ve experienced death, living never feels quite the same.
The divide between the dark wretched sea and the bright places above the waterline begin to saturate your mind, until all you can think about is clawing your way to the surface, where you’ll suck in deep, choking breaths of air. Feel the sun on your cheekbones. The breeze against your eyelashes. And never suffocate again.
I head straight for Bo’s cottage, open the door, and step inside. But he’s not here.
I start to turn back for the door and then a hand is on my shoulder. I whip around, nearly clocking him in the face. “What’s wrong?” he asks, standing just outside the doorway, recognizing the panic in my eyes.
“They’re coming,” I say.
“Who?”
“Olivia and . . . everyone.”
“They’re coming here?”
“Olivia told them the summer solstice party is on the island. I don’t think we have much time until they get here.” Bo glances up the path to Old Fisherman’s Cottage. “I already told Gigi to lock herself inside.”
“If they find out she’s here, they’ll think you’re protecting her . . . that you’re one of them.” Hearing him say this—knowing that he’s so certain I couldn’t possibly be a Swan sister—sends sharp pangs straight into my heart. He would defend me if he had to; he would probably bet his life that I am not one of them. And he would be wrong.
“They won’t find her,” I say to assure him, but I have no reason to think they won’t. I can only hope she stays holed up in the cottage. Keeps quiet. And doesn’t do anything stupid. But it’s Aurora, and she’s always taken risks—like drowning two boys in the harbor at once.
“We have to do it now,” Bo says, his temples pulsing. “Before they get here.”
I shake my head out of reflex and grab his arm, holding him in place. “No,” I say.
“Penny, we might not have another chance. Tonight she’ll go back into the ocean; then it’ll be too late.”
“We can’t do it,” I say weakly. “We can’t kill her.” She’s my sister, and even after everything she’s done, I can’t let him take her life.
“We have to. She’s drowned innocent people,” he says like I’ve forgotten. “And she’ll keep doing it unless we stop her.” And then the worst crime, the one that nags at him for revenge. “My brother is dead, Penny. I need to end this.”
The echo of quick footsteps rattles the air, and Bo and I turn at the same time. Rose is scrambling up the walkway, Heath a few paces behind. “There’s still time,” I say in a hush to Bo. “We’ll figure something out before midnight.” But it’s only to stall him.
Rose is out of breath when she reaches us, her cheeks a fevered pink and her hair sticking out from under the hood of her raincoat, ruddy-red curls bursting to be set free. “They’re coming,” she says, the very same two words she told me on the phone, but this time she points out over the water. “They’re piling into boats back at the marina. And there’s a lot of them.”
Heath reaches us and nods at Bo, a quick hello. His dusty blond hair is plastered to his forehead, but he doesn’t make a move to brush it away.
“What are we going to do?” Rose asks, still sucking in air between each word.
“Keep Gigi hidden and act normal, whatever happens.” I look straight at Rose. “And you can’t tell anyone that you brought her here. If they find out you’re responsible, they’ll suspect you of being one of them.”
She nods, but her lips start to tremble, like she’s just now realizing the seriousness of what she’s done by freeing Gigi from the boathouse and bringing her here.
The sun is coasting low over the water, forming dazzling slivers of light that play against the choppy sea, and then I spot them: a parade of boats sputtering across the harbor, making their way to the island.
The boats thump against the dock and some anchor just off shore, casting their lines down to the stony bottom.
And then there are voices. Dozens. Excited and pitched as they file up the boardwalk. Many of them have never been to the island before, and there is a sense of curiosity that permeates the air. And leading the mob, raven-black hair whipping out behind her, is Olivia Greene.