Joseph and I dragged Dad back down to his bed, and with a bizarre feeling of being out of place, I pulled the covers over him. My heart hung like a stone in my chest, and I had lost all feeling. Unlike my mom, I couldn't cry, but the anguish inside of me was no less than hers. Everything else, all the worry and anticipation of the future, the quest for the remaining Gift, the battle against the Ka and the Stompers—it all sunk to the bottom of my thoughts.

My dad was turning into a monster, and he could do nothing about it. We could do nothing about it. Any semblance of hope that had lifted within me was now gone, as sure as a feather in the midst of a hurricane.

Mom kept trying after I'd tucked Dad in, although we all knew it was useless. She shook him, poured water on his face, tried her best to talk to him without breaking down in sobs. I couldn't bear to watch, and stumbled into the Mess Hall, slumping into the closest chair. I then put my head in my arms and wallowed in despair.

A world without Dad suddenly didn't seem so important to save.

Joseph made Captain Tinkles double our efforts to reach Japan. After the initial shock wore off, we were able to compose ourselves enough to discuss any possibilities for helping my dad. But there was nothing we could do, and the truth of it hurt like never before. So it was decided that our only choice was to make it back to land, and find a doctor. Surely there was some physiological explanation for how the Shadow Ka stole a human life—and maybe a doctor could somehow cure my dad.

But it was only a flippant hope, something to keep us from going completely insane. If we threw our efforts into running the ship around the clock, and keeping the boat in good shape, there was less time to sit and groan and weep and whine.

In the movies, they always have that cheesy line about how things could not possibly get worse, and then it starts to rain or something. I can honestly say that looking at my dad, miserable and silent in his bed, you could never have convinced me that circumstances would worsen.

But one day before we reached Japan, two things happened that made us long for the good ole days when Dad only had black orbs in his eye sockets.

That morning I was helping Rayna clean the decks up above. It was baffling to me how quickly dirt and greenish grime could build up on the surfaces of the ship, but it was good to have something to do. Rusty was fascinated with driving the ship itself, and he mainly helped in that regard. The captain had really taken him under his wing, and kept telling us that one day Rusty would make a fine skipper. Everyone else found their own ways to help, and we had stayed very busy for several days, trying our best not to think of our ship as a Shadow Ka incubator.

I was on my knees, scrubbing a spot that was determined to remain filthy, when Mom burst through the door from the cabins below. The look on her face was all we needed.

Something was wrong—more wrong—with Dad.

“What is it, Mom?” I asked, even as I was running past her to go downstairs.

She turned and followed me down, with Rayna right behind us.

“His skin,” she said, “his skin is … changing.”

Her words made my stomach turn, and I knew what I was going to see before we even got there. I reached their room and moved through the open door. By that time, Joseph had noticed the commotion and joined us.

“What's wrong?” he asked, dreading the answer.

I ignored him and ran to Dad's side. Something was wrong with the skin on his face. I pulled back the covers, grabbed his right arm, and pulled up his sleeve.

“Turn the light on!” I yelled.

My fears were realized. It still hit me with a sickening punch.

A spider web of black lines infiltrated his skin like a nightmarish tattoo. It was still faint, nowhere near what we had seen on the other Shadow Ka, but it had begun to spread over his whole body.

And then a thought of horror flashed in my mind. I didn't want to do it; I didn't want to see if I was right. But it had to be done, and even as I did it, I knew there was no way that I could be wrong.

With a grunt of effort, I pushed Dad over onto his side and felt around the back of his shirt, damp from sweat.

There were two large bumps on the upper middle part of his back.

They were not shoulder blades.

Dad already had eyes of black emptiness, was lost in an endless sleep, and had black lines invading his skin.

Now he was growing wings.