“She just ran off? By herself?” Bridges swore. “I knew she’d freak. Crap. We better find her.”
Pearl didn’t turn or slow down, ignoring all three of them as she pressed forward, running her free hand along the wall to keep from slipping. The floor was noticeably wet now; the tide was coming faster, little streams running along the rocks, soaking her already numb bare toes.
Pearl tried not to think about the water rising higher and higher, about what it might be like, trying to get out of here with it up to their waists, their chins, over their heads. The passageway sloped upward, curved left. They walked on. Pearl sloshed through water now ankle deep, and when she glanced up, it was into a white face, all sightless eyes and keening mouth.
It fell on her, clinging, fingers digging into Pearl’s arms. Pearl gasped, her mind registering a moment too late that it was Hadley, of course it was, and she dropped back against the wall to keep from collapsing under the girl’s weight.
“Had, it’s okay—it’s okay, we’ve got you.” Bridges tried to pry her free. Hadley was shuddering uncontrollably, her fingertips ten icy pinpoints, her breath gusting against Pearl’s neck.
Tristan said nothing, watching as the rest of them, even Akil, tried to talk Hadley down. Finally, her hyperventilating became sobs, and she let Bridges put his arm around her.
Once they reached the cave entrance, rising water was sloshing over the outcropping beyond the arch. It was a struggle to get back into the boat, and Hadley had to be carried. She sat hunched beside Bridges, refusing to speak as he rubbed her back and asked repeatedly if she was okay, to please say something. There was blood trickling down her shin from a gash on her right knee, and her palms were scraped. Akil sat across from her, watching the scene uneasily.
Pearl, meanwhile, still gripped the flashlight. She didn’t let go until Tristan moored at the yacht club landing, at which point it dropped from her stiff fingers and rolled across the deck.
Bridges looked up at Tristan. “I think maybe she needs a hospital.”
Tristan turned, folding his arms over his chest, studying Hadley. Then he went to the storage box, brought out a first-aid kit, and knelt to apply alcohol to the cut on her knee. She winced, her eyelids fluttering. “It’s shock.” He opened an adhesive bandage and applied it, then reached into his pocket and handed Bridges his car keys. “Take her home. She’ll be fine.”
Bridges looked at him for a long moment, finally saying quietly, “Don’t you even care?”
Tristan gazed back. “Any sensible person would’ve followed the sound of running water to the chamber. She could’ve been out of the tunnels in minutes.” He tilted his head slightly, regarding Bridges. “You managed to figure it out. Didn’t you?”
Hadley watched as Tristan walked back to the bow, her eyes wide and wounded.
Pearl got off the boat, leading the way down the dock, too furious and half-numb to look at anyone. She only glanced back when she heard the Rivelle’s engine roar to life. Tristan, going out again by himself, onto the bay.
Fifteen
THE FOUR OF them drove through the streets in the Bentley, Hadley and Pearl in the backseat, both staring out their respective windows. Hadley still wasn’t speaking.
They went back to the club to pick up the Mustang. Akil took the Bentley keys from Bridges, glancing at the girls. “Listen, dude, do you—I mean, you got this?”
“Yeah. See ya.”
When Bridges and the girls reached the Spencer compound, the big house was dark, but the porch lit up with motion-sensor lights as they drove in. Bridges parked, came around to open Pearl’s door, but she let herself out, her gaze following the line of lampposts leading down the driveway to the cottages. She’d been in that living room with Bridges just hours ago, touching him, talking around the subject of going upstairs together.
Now she said, “I need my car,” in a tone that made him glance up from Hadley’s wan face.
“Pearl—”
“I want to go home. Now.”
He made a quick call on his cell phone, presumably to the same manservant who’d taken her keys. His call was answered right away, despite the late hour. Apparently, a middle-of-the-night summons wasn’t unusual in Spencerville.
She could feel Bridges’s gaze on her, waiting for her to turn to him, but she wouldn’t. The headlights of the Civic appeared around the bend in the drive. Bridges said, “Come down to the cottage. Just for a couple minutes.”
The Civic stopped beside her, and the manservant stepped out; same neatly pressed clothes, as if he’d slept propped up in a closet. “No.” Pearl glanced at Hadley. “She needs you.” Then she got into her car and left.
Dad’s truck was in the driveway when she got there; he’d left a couple of lights on for her. His snores were audible even from the living room. There was evidence of how he’d spent his evening after coming back from Yancey’s—a half-empty bag of corn chips on the coffee table, Bud Light empties, remote wedged between the couch cushions—and she felt more than guilt. It was a genuine longing for how things had been before she’d decided to make herself absent this summer. Not perfect, maybe, but predictable, a routine. She switched off lamps as she went and shut her bedroom door behind her.
Someone in black stood by her closet. Her heart slammed into her throat before she recognized herself in the full-length mirror, still wearing Tristan’s oversize jacket, creating a distorted, elongated reflection. She yanked off the jacket, then the rest of her clothes, and kicked the damp heap away.
Pearl curled under the blanket in her underwear, still feeling chilled. She thought of her phone, tucked in her purse, and the one person she wished she could call right now. When she closed her eyes, the strange half-light of the chamber pool was there, waiting for her, and the rhythmic, hypnotizing motion of the ctenophores.
It was relatively quiet for a Saturday morning at Dark Brew. The weather was gray and drizzly, raindrops dewing Pearl’s face and eyelashes after the dash from her car to the air-conditioned confines of the coffee shop. As she pushed her hood back, she scanned the seating area for Reese. No sign.
Jovia was behind the counter, putting cinnamon buns into the case from a parchment-lined baking sheet. She noticed Pearl and said, “Oh. Hey, hon.”
Well, much better than what she’d expected. On the drive, Pearl had imagined Jovia treating her coldly, asking what had happened at the ball last night to get Reese fired, or maybe ignoring her completely. Pretty ridiculous. Reese was so cagey about his personal life that he probably hadn’t told Jovia a thing.
Jovia stopped what she was doing, scrutinizing her. “Are you okay?”
“Are you? You look . . .” Pearl examined Jovia’s red-rimmed eyes. “Did you call Reese’s dad or something?”
Jovia made a rueful face. “That obvious, huh. You want the usual?”
“Two coffees this time.” Pearl hesitated. “And two chocolate croissants.”
Jovia didn’t remark, filling the order with deft movements. “Yeah, the conversation was typical. Things are a little tight for him right now, but he’ll be sure to catch up on what he owes us just as soon as he can.” Jovia snorted softly. “Must be behind on his Porsche payments. Don’t ask me what the hell I was thinking, not making him sign something legal in the first place. Anyway.” She shrugged, fitted lids on the to-go cups, and put everything into a cardboard carryout tray before making Pearl’s change.
“Has Reese been down yet?” She failed miserably at sounding casual.
“Nah. He’s off today, probably won’t stick his head out of his man cave until eleven or so.” Jovia pressed her lips together for a moment. “If you see him . . . well.” She gave a lopsided smile. “He’ll talk to you. He won’t talk to me. Good luck.” She slid the tray over.
Weighed down by the words, Pearl went out the back door, across the yard, and into the shadows of the carriage house. She could hear Reese’s music playing upstairs, and she steeled herself as she knocked on the door at the top of the stairs.