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This is what it is to be a Noble, Liam thought dourly. It meant being lucky, and resented for it. And being unlucky in love, and pitied for it. Well, he didn’t need validation or opinions of any sort from anyone. What he did need was answers. And after two long years of following this trail, at last it looked like he was getting somewhere.
He always thought he’d been onto something. But if it really was true, if his theory of some kind of dark force out there in the Bay was right all along, the reality of what that might have meant for Gina was...horrifying.
And if it all added up, and if Daniel Sebastian’s ramblings were actually sane documentation of real events, there was a chance - he tried to control the hope that almost overpowered him - that Gina was still alive.
He took a shuddering breath, and blew it out slowly the way he’d been taught. And another. In through the nose, out through the mouth, he heard his therapist’s voice echo. Better. He felt his heart rate slow, become easier. He had to stay sharp, and he had to stay calm. Don’t get ahead of yourself, he thought. Because the other thing about being a Noble was making sure things went his way. And then making someone pay.
He strolled across the road, jogging the last few steps to avoid traffic, and down the stone steps to the sand, moving casually towards the waterline in case Ethan did a U-turn and came back. After reading Daniel’s excerpt, getting caught by Ethan heading straight for the surf would make him look like an idiot who believed in fairy tales.
Besides, the fewer locals in on this the better, at least until he had more of an idea what he was up against, if anything. The face of the Lauders’ newest staff member rose up in his mind again, superimposed over an old sketch of someone eerily alike. So alike that, given what he’d just read in Daniel Sebastian’s notes, the hairs stood up again on the back of his neck. A bit like the way they had at the unnaturally cold touch of the guy’s hand. That had been freakin’ weird.
He’d hoped to get a little more out of talking to him than he had, but his usual persuasiveness hadn’t seemed to make any impression. Can’t win ‘em all. You catch more flies with honey his dad had always taught him. But if that failed, grab a swat.
Looking up and down the dark beach, Liam blessed summer nights. The evening sky glowed with the rising moon, ocean below it a disc of dark blue, every ripple on the surface as stark as scribbled black crayon. But the dark beach would surely hide him from anything out there. Perfect.
Strange how everything had fallen into place like this. Or maybe it was just a matter of patience and focus. Being ready when opportunity came knocking. Ethan. And before him, Amber.
He smirked. He’d not given her much credence at first, basically shutting the door in her face. He owed her a drink and an apology.
“Look at page twelve,” she’d called through the door. He had. An old sketch of swimmers. He’d let her in again.
“And this interests me because...?”
“Seriously?”
He shrugged, “Let’s hear it.”
“My grandad put this together. Stories about the Bay. Myths and legends, you know? And that sketch? It was drawn by someone who’s been dead for eleven years. Ellie Sebastian.”
“So what?” He’d played down his interest, the skin at the back of his neck prickling.
“So how could someone who’s been dead that long make a drawing of a guy who only just turned up in the village a month or so ago and hasn’t aged a bit?”
“How can you be sure it’s the same guy?”
“Well, I can’t be. But the guy who looks exactly like this drawing? Hunter? He’s dating Skye Sebastian. Or was until she forgot everything including him. Total black out. But they both disappeared around the same time, and she was missing at sea for three days. Now she’s back. And Hunter is too. He’s following her around.” Her glare was a challenge, and he’d studied the delicate pencil marks, his heart thudding. And just hours later, Ethan had brought him Daniel Sebastian’s reminiscences about Ellie.
All of it was a trail leading Liam to the dark water of the Bay.
When he reached damp sand, he noticed the black shadows of a small set of footprints crossing his, and a heavier set of sneaker tread running on top, partially obscuring them. If they were walking together, wouldn’t they be side by side? So – maybe sneaker shoes was following bare feet. Curious, he looked along the line of them and saw that they made straight for Lithus Rock
Lithus Rock. The stuff of legend. Well, today was all about legends, he thought. Trusting his luck, he padded along the footprint trail to the low wash of the incoming tide. From here, the sneaker prints returned alone, more or less towards The Towers.
Ethan had been wearing sneakers. Along with just about every other teenager in Bannimor. But only one possessor of said footwear might follow a particular possessor of bare feet to this place.
He moved slowly along and eventually found more; two sets of bare footprints leaving the water. One pair of footprints was the same small pair he’d been following. Skye? The other was bigger. His pulse sped up.
Ethan had come to see him, furious and wanting to talk, but never got to any point Liam could see. The papers he’d kept hidden until accidentally dropping them. Except there was no such thing as accident. Liam was sure the papers were why Ethan had come to see him. He’d wanted Liam to see them. And Liam had.
Sneaker feet could have been Ethan, following Skye, and seeing her come out of the water. Or watched her heading out to find Hunter...on Lithus rock. Now why would someone look for anyone on Lithus rock? His father had joked to him more than once about the small island being a symbol of the Noble power. When Liam had said ‘but it’s just a broken piece of rock,’ his dad had grinned. Exactly, son, he’d said
Liam gazed at the island. It had a dark reputation, but it was just a nondescript remnant of old coastline. He walked further along the beach and stopped, searching the ocean surface just as he had a thousand times before. Always looking for one thing. One girl. His girl.
Sometimes he’d look for her body bobbing in the waves, imagining the sound his shattering heart would make if he ever did. Or he’d picture her clinging to driftwood or draped over a dinghy, waving to him for help, exhausted but alive. Imagined the feel of her in his arms, reviving as he held her close.
But mostly he clung to the local tales of sea spirits. Those village stories may have been fool’s talk to others, but to him it was the lifeblood of his hope. He was unable to shake the idea that something unhuman out there taken her. And that one day she would rise up from beneath the waves, beckoning him to her.
And now there was Skye Sebastian, her boyfriend Hunter, her father’s papers, her mother’s drawings, all shouting that he was right. Hope surged through him, and he sensed the Noble luck on his side. He could feel it, feel her. She was coming for him. At last. He took a fiery swig from a hip flask.
His breathing deepened, his heartbeat speeding up, adrenaline kicking in, taking over. Let it.
He kicked of his shoes and opened his arms wide to the universe, willing his readiness to the endless rippling surface. Come to me, I beg it.
His nerves were a writhing mess of anticipation and euphoria as the rippling shadow of a girl took shape in the low surf before him. Gina. At last. He staggered forward.
