My pet tornado collapsed—no great surprise, they always were fragile constructs, by the very nature of the physics that drove them—and the waves that battered the Grand Paradise, heeling her violently from one side to the other, eased to merely heavy instead of psychotic. I felt the waves’ pounding rhythms begin to ease, like a racing heart slowing as adrenaline faded.
“You can’t stop it,” I told Cho, who was taking advantage of the breathing space to stare into the heart of the storm. “Everybody dances with the devil.”
I knew the storm was watching too, this monster of a thing that Bad Bob had imbued with life and cunning and cruelty, and a particular kind of insanity. I could feel it gathering itself, studying us. Planning.
It could feel that I was an ally, if only it could reach me. I could have done more, but I felt lazily content to wait.
No hurry. I was enjoying the panic too much to end it quickly.
The ship lurched—not side to side, but down, as if a giant hand had suddenly grabbed the hull from beneath and pulled it straight down. The ship sank like an express elevator, and I watched the ocean pour in over the railings on the decks below, then come for us in a foaming, deadly rush . . .
. . . and then the force let us go, and the ship’s buoyancy popped us violently straight up like a cork from a rubber band. I don’t think the Grand Paradise quite came out of the water, but there was a sickly sense of utter stillness as momentum fought gravity and gravity’s patient pull won.
The ship crashed back into the water and settled. We were sprawled like ninepins all over the deck—Wardens, crew, staff, hapless passengers. The screaming sounded thin and lost.
“We’re loose!” one of the Wardens shouted. “Get everybody on the lifeboats!”
“No!” Cho snapped. “We’re getting control! We’ll stand no chance at all in the smaller boats!”
“Are you?” I asked. “Getting control? I don’t think so!” It felt like the kind of adrenaline rush you get from hurtling down a mountain on skis, straight for a killing drop, knowing it may destroy you but there’s nothing so beautiful as that moment when death means nothing, nothing at all . . .
The Warden holding me down—I realized it was Kevin, as I focused on his face—gave me a solid right cross, trying to put me out.“You’ll have to beat me harder than that,” I told him, very seriously. “Come on, Kevin, dig deep. Hurt me like your stepmother taught you.”
He went pale, and I felt his grip on me loosen. Too easy. I threw him off, not particularly caring where he landed, and stalked to Cho.
Before I reached her, we all staggered as a massive subsonic boom rocked the decking.
Far beneath the Grand Paradise, the seafloor collapsed into a massive trench, sending a crush of seawater flooding downward to fill the sudden mile-deep gap. For a moment, a significant section of the sea dipped into a concave bowl—not by much, distributed over such a huge and adaptable area, but enough.
And a wave formed, rushing over the depression, gathering strength and speed and energy.
Rushing straight at our port side. It would take a minute to get to us, maybe more—not much more, though. We were in deep water, not shallows; that was the only thing that might save us. To survive, the ship had to turn into the wave.
I needed to stop it from turning.
“Jo.” That was Cherise, laying her hand on my shoulder. “Jo, stop.”
I turned to look at her, and I saw fear ignite in her eyes. “Oh God,” she breathed. “Oh my God—”
She was so fragile. So easy.
Cherise’s fear was like incense rising on the air, and I wanted more of it. All of it.
Every last, red drop.
She raised her chin, and the fear faded.
“This isn’t you,” she said. “And I think you can stop it, Jo. You’re the hero.”
She was wrong. I wasn’t the hero now—if I ever had been. What I’d done to Lewis was proof of that. What I’d tried to do with the tornado.
Part of me still liked Cherise, but it was a small part, and it was getting smaller all the time, like a tiny island of color in an inky flood.
I didn’t hurt her. I’m not really sure why.
I felt the shudder beneath my feet, as the Grand Paradise’s enormous bulk began to make its ponderous, city-blocks-wide turn toward the wave that was sweeping closer.
I looked up, drawn by a pulse of power, and saw Lewis and David standing on a balcony above us. Arguing.
David tried to turn away.
Lewis grabbed David by the fabric of his shirt. His lips moved.
David disappeared. No misting, no sense of transition, just . . . gone.
And Lewis didn’t look surprised. I was—not just by David’s sudden vanishing act but by the sensation that rippled through me, liquid and hot and wrong.
What just happened?
Lewis shoved something in his pocket as he vaulted the balcony railing. He landed flat-footed, keeping his balance on the still-lurching deck with one hand on the railing. “Get everybody inside!” he yelled. “Everybody!”
Cherise turned and began pushing people to the nearest entrances. People seemed more than motivated to follow instructions, for once—in fact, there was a traffic jam until officers began funneling people to other doors.
I didn’t follow. I stood at the railing, hands folded, calm and content. It was all unraveling around me.
All I had to do was enjoy the ride down.
The ship had managed to slew around at an impressive rate, but the waves kicked up as the Wardens’ fears eroded their concentration. It significantly slowed our progress.
Lewis joined me at the railing, far enough away that it indicated he knew what a risk it was to be near me.
“Where’s David?” I asked. I looked over at him, noting the healing burns on his hands. I wondered if it hurt. I certainly hoped so.
“Where you can’t hurt him,” Lewis said. “I know what’s happening to you.”
I shrugged. “So you know,” I said. “Can you stop it?”
“Do you want me to stop it?”
I laughed. That was probably enough of an answer.
On the horizon, there was a mountain. One big rising mass, heading for us. At this rate, we didn’t have another minute. Maybe thirty seconds, I was guessing.
Maybe less.
“The ship will capsize,” I said. “You can’t turn fast enough. Where are the Djinn?”
“Gone,” Lewis said. “For their own protection. We’re all alone now.”
David wouldn’t have run, not to save himself. He was foolish that way. “You’ve done something.” He didn’t deny it. It was big, whatever it was; it was more than likely an unforgivable sin. But Lewis was the sort to make that choice, if he had to. Or thought he had to. “Something to David?”
He didn’t answer me directly. “We’re going to capsize, even if that wave doesn’t hit us broadside.” And it probably would. We just didn’t have enough time to hit it bow-first.
“You could turn it,” I remarked. He locked stares with me, and his eyes were bleak, tired, and frightened.
“No, I can’t,” he said. “You can.”
I smiled. “I won’t.”
I felt the front of the ship dipping down, and then rising, more like a speedboat than a giant of the seas.
Lewis seemed very calm. Very tall and still, hair ruffling in the wind. There was a glow about him, a power that I couldn’t remember seeing before.
As the mountain of water roared down at us, I turned and walked calmly toward the nearest door.
Cherise and one of the white-coated officers waved me urgently on. Cher grabbed my arm and pulled me over the high threshold, and the officer slammed the door shut and turned the locking mechanism.
“Hatch twenty-three sealed!” he shouted into his radio, in the high-pitched voice of utter panic. I took a moment to look around. It was a bar, large and casual, but all the bottles and glasses had been stowed away, and the place had an unfinished look to it. The room was packed with refugees, some of whom were gazing longingly at the bar as if they wondered where all the rum had gone. I spotted Cho Wing and three other Wardens, all seeming tense and expectant. They knew what was coming. The civilian passengers seemed confused and a little bored.