by Ally Condie
Opal frowned. Like Tyler, she thought Nico was getting sidetracked, but she understood the disappointment of feeling like you’re onto something and no one else caring. Nico had backed her wild hunches before, even when she was the only one hearing Thing’s voice inside her head. “That does seem strange,” Opal said, making her tone interested. “Especially the part about the sulfur pools. You think it might connect to the rotten-egg stench in our pond?”
“I dunno, maybe,” Nico said seriously. “We know that sulfur bubbled up because the Rift was out of control. Maybe this is something like that?”
Opal formed a thoughtful expression. “Could be.”
Nico grinned, gave her a grateful nod. Opal felt better. Nico hadn’t been smiling a lot lately. It was good to see one sneak up on him.
He also hadn’t gotten a haircut recently, and his brown hair was curling over the edges of his ears. He looked kind of cute. Opal’s heart ticked an extra beat. Why am I still looking at him?
“Wait,” Tyler said sharply. “The name you said earlier was ‘Yvette Dumont’?”
“Yes, Tyler. The name of the founding member of the Order hasn’t changed.”
Tyler spun his book around. “Well, you’re welcome then. Because I found her.”
“Seriously?” Opal rushed over and bumped Tyler aside.
He chuckled, rubbing his shoulder in mock agitation. “That sentence doesn’t use a full name, but it says that the first Torchbearer was also the first Beastmaster. And look at these initials here—Y. D. I didn’t notice before because I forgot French people use the wrong letters in their names. Who doesn’t spell E-vette with an E?”
Opal quickly read the page. Flipped to the next.
“Careful,” Tyler warned. “That book’s an original.”
“What is this?” Opal pointed to the middle of a paragraph.
Tyler shrugged. “I can’t tell, because your finger is over it.”
Opal grunted in annoyance and read the words aloud. “The Order’s founder also originated the position of Master. Perhaps because both had suffered a great loss at the moment of the Tear, Lotan and Master were bonded for the extent of her life. After Y.D. died, years passed with no accepted Master, until the Lotan itself chose a replacement, an event that was of considerable astonishment to all.”
“A great loss,” Opal repeated, chewing on the end of her braid. “You think that refers to Dumont’s shipwreck?”
Before anyone could answer, three phones buzzed at once. Nico glanced down reflexively.
Shook free. I’m outside the Custom House. Need help!
“Emma!” Tyler scrambled to his feet. “What’s happened now?”
“Only one way to find out,” Nico groaned, rising and striding for the door.
With a sinking feeling, Opal was right behind him.
3
NICO
Nico slipped from the alcove beneath the marble staircase.
“The coast is clear,” he whispered, scanning the empty lobby of the Custom House.
Behind him, Tyler stood with his back pressed to the wall. Inside the alcove, Opal swung the trapdoor shut, hiding the stepladder Logan had lowered into the underground hallway accessing the Torchbearer office. This was the riskier way in and out, but it was later in the day, and no one wanted to go back through the sewer if they could help it.
“Hurry up,” Tyler said. “If Emma was followed here, we might have a serious—”
“Nico Holland!”
The voice rang across the reception area, freezing the startled trio like department store mannequins. Heart in his throat, Nico turned to face the ancient bank of elevators a dozen yards farther down the wall. His father, Warren Holland, was standing there with his arms crossed, having obviously just exited. What did he see? Did he notice me coming out from under the stairs?
Nico swallowed. “Oh, hey Dad. What’s … um, what’s up? We were just playing hide an—”
Warren straightened to his full towering height of six-and-a-half feet. “My office. Now.”
From the corner of his eye, Nico spotted Tyler skulking toward the exit, trying to remain unnoticed. Opal was still huddled in the recess underneath the stairs. Nico watched as she tripped the secret catch, scrambled onto the ladder, and climbed back down into the hidden passage. Shrugging guiltily, she closed the trapdoor with a soft click. Coward.
“Tyler Watson!” Warren Holland called out.
Tyler stopped dead in his tracks, then pivoted slowly. “Oh, hey there, Mr. H. How’s the uh … the environment today?”
“Get home, Tyler,” Nico’s father said curtly. “This isn’t a place to goof off. You know that.”
“Got it, sir. Good, um … good day!” Tyler spun and double-timed it toward the front entrance.
“Tell your parents I said hello,” Warren called after Tyler’s retreating form. Tyler waved a hand in acknowledgment as he pushed through the doors.
And then there was one.
Me.
Ugh.
“Let’s go, Nico.”
“Yes sir.”
Nico joined his father in the elevator, standing stiffly at his side as Warren mashed the button for the third floor. Didn’t he just come down? What was he doing in the lobby? It occurred to Nico that either he was about to get the scolding of his life, or his father had been looking for him just now. He didn’t even ask why I’m here.
They reached the level occupied by the National Park Service. Nico’s dad spent most of his time working in the field—the real job of wildlife protection, as Warren Holland saw it—but everything required paperwork. Warren had a small office at the end of the hall.
Nico stepped inside and sat on a plain chair facing an equally drab desk. The walls were bare except for a large map of the greater Timbers region tacked up with pushpins. A lone window provided a surprisingly good view of the waterfront. But Nico was staring at his hands, worried that his father was about to unleash on him for violating the sanctity of his workplace.
“I have b—” Warren paused, then sighed. “I have news.”
He slumped heavily into his chair, which creaked under his burly frame. Warren Holland interlocked his fingers on the top of his desk. Nico felt his father’s eyes and looked up to meet that steely gaze. Time seemed to slow.
“I’m being reassigned,” Warren said, in somewhat of a rush. “To Portland. It’s a promotion, actually. I’ll be managing the regional subbranch. Lots of … of time”—he waved an ineffectual hand …“managing.”
Nico’s heart stopped. The walls closed in around him. His vision narrowed to a pinprick, with his father’s frowning mouth the sole object in focus. “You’ve been transferred?” Nico asked dumbly. “Like, for real?”
Warren nodded. “The paperwork came through this morning. We’re off to a new challenge.”
Nico’s brain was struggling to catch up. “How? When?”
Warren spoke with care, his voice echoing strangely in Nico’s ears. “My start date is the first of next year, which is helpful. We won’t have to rush out of town right away. You can finish the current semester here in Timbers without disruption, then start fresh at a new school.”
Nico stood so fast the chair beneath him flipped over. Both hands rose to grip his hair. A thousand protests expanded in his throat, then wrestled each other into silence. He felt like he was choking.
“Son, I know this isn’t what you wanted, but—”
Nico turned and fled. He needed away. Needed this conversation to end. To be a dream. He ran down the hallway and pounded the elevator button. His father’s head appeared in his office doorway. Sad, helpless eyes regarded him.
Nico abandoned the elevator and fired into the stairwell, racing down three steps at a time. Reaching the ground floor, he streaked through the lobby and burst out into the fading afternoon light. There he paused to catch his breath, but found he couldn’t. His heart was pumping madly, like a horse galloping out of control. Sweat slicked his palms, his forehead, his w
hole body.
No. No no no no no no no no.
But it was true. It was real.
He would have to leave Timbers.
“Nico?”
His head rose to see Emma Fairington on the sidewalk across the street, her cell phone perched on a selfie stick. Tyler stood beside her, arms crossed, a scowl twisting his features. A second later Opal rounded the Custom House, gasping in fresh air. She’d obviously come out through the sewer pipe.
Nico tried to collect himself. In a snap, he decided not to say anything about the transfer.
He couldn’t. Not yet.
“Emma, what’s going on?” Nico said, swallowing the lump in his throat.
“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” Tyler bit off, nodding sharply at Emma. “Her emergency was needing help with her next YouTube post.”
“Don’t be such a buzzkill,” Emma said lightly. “I need some man-on-the-street stuff to spice up the footage. I want to record you guys doing funny Beast impressions.”
All the anger Nico had bottled inside at his father’s news exploded at once. “More attention on the Beast? Emma, did you learn nothing from what happened with Freakshow? Stop making our job harder!”
Emma’s face dropped. She blinked rapidly, as if holding back tears. “I just thought it would be funny,” she said in a small voice. “And that you guys could be on TV.”
Opal darted forward and snagged Emma’s hand, shooting a glare at Nico for good measure. “We know, Emma. It sounds like a cool idea. Maybe we can film it later?”
Nico’s face burned, but he held his tongue. Tyler, however, wasn’t dissuaded. His eyebrows formed a disapproving V. “Nico is absolutely right. Not only are you risking Torchbearer secrets, you’re putting the Beast in danger, too.” He actually stomped a foot. “We don’t need people even thinking about Timbers. Or its legendary sea monster. That’s too risky for everyone!”
Nico felt his irritation surge to match Tyler’s. “I know you like making your show, Emma, but another Internet sensation drawing eyes here is the exact opposite of helpful. We should be laying low and waiting for some other goofy town to seize the spotlight. But you keep fanning the flames.”
Emma’s head rose, and she jutted her chin. “Half this town personally saw rampaging figments on Halloween night. The story is out, Nico. It’s not going away. Maybe we should tell the truth about what we know, and not hide everything like the old Torchbearers.” She yanked her phone off its stick. “It’s not like they were such great people. The Order held Thing prisoner for over two centuries.”
“Tell the truth?” Tyler squawked. “Then what do you think happens to the Beast?”
“What happens if a bunch more Takers show up without warning?” Emma fired back. “We don’t even know if the Rift is secure. What if we only delayed the problem, or buried it under that oil platform? Did you ever think about that?”
“Do you really trust the adults around here to handle something as dangerous as the Darkdeep?” Nico said. “We were pretty careful, and things still spiraled out of control. You want Mayor Hayt making decisions about a volatile interdimensional vortex? Or some army unit sent up from Seattle?” He caught and held Emma’s eye. “And Tyler’s right. What do you think they’d do to the Beast, if they knew it was real?”
“They’d hunt it down,” Opal said quietly. “They wouldn’t try to understand.”
Emma’s grimaced. The corners of her mouth sank. “I wasn’t trying to risk anything,” she mumbled. “And I won’t do an episode on the Beast.”
“But you can do something else,” Opal said quickly, squeezing Emma’s shoulder. “After all, your subscribers always want more Emma-mazing!”
Emma nodded, wiping her nose. “I have an idea about frogs that’s pretty solid. Or I could live stream an investigation into whatever freaked out my fans in the woods yesterday.”
Nico frowned in frustration, but tried to hide it. He didn’t want Emma doing anything that attracted notice, but he couldn’t ask her to abandon her show completely. Emma loved it too much. And it really was successful—Nico had to admit he was impressed at how quickly her channel had gained a huge following.
Tyler sighed. Checked his watch. “I gotta get home. I’m only allowed short stints out by myself. My parents decided I’m not to be trusted, and they aren’t playing around.”
Opal glanced at Nico. “I’m free for another few hours. We could check on Logan. Anyone up for a ride out to Still Cove?”
Nico was about to agree, but then his father’s terrible words came back to him. Suddenly, he just wanted to be alone. He couldn’t keep up this front for long.
“My dad sent me home,” he lied. “Maybe I can catch up with you later.”
“I’ll go,” Emma piped, already regaining her good spirits. “I need landscape shots for an episode I’m composing. I’m going to edit in my stuffed tiger, and make it look like …”
She trailed off at the pained expressions on the boys’ faces.
“I’m out,” Tyler huffed. “So long.”
“Gotta run,” Nico said. “Later, guys.”
Fighting a wave of swirling emotions, he turned and hurried up the block.
4
OPAL
Opal clawed an old spiderweb from her face.
Blech. Uck. Tunnels are so freaking disgusting.
“I’d never put the Beast in harm’s way,” Emma muttered sullenly, oblivious to Opal’s distress as they tromped along the midnight-dark passage running under Still Cove. “How could Ty say that?”
“He’s upset.” Opal put a hand against the stone wall to steady herself. She didn’t love this deep-plunging path out to the island and their houseboat, but it wouldn’t help if she tripped and cracked her skull. And it was less gross in there than the sewer she’d slunk through an hour ago. “Your show is super clever, Emma. I’m sure you have a ton of other great ideas.”
“I do, actually.” Emma snagged Opal’s hand in the gloom, nearly triggering a squawk of alarm. “Like, so many. For example, what if I acted out classic horror movies using radishes? I could carve little faces on them! Make miniature sets!”
“Sew tiny outfits?” Opal joked, but she was actually kind of into it. She secretly loved playing with dollhouses, even though she was too old. All that itty-bitty furniture, the teeny plates and cups …
They reached the round chamber at the tunnel’s deepest point. Emma’s voice echoed over a hand-and-flame symbol carved into the flagstones outside the Torchbearer’s hidden vault, which was locked behind a stone wall only a special key could open. “Guess who my newest subscriber is. Just guess. You won’t believe it.”
“Harry Styles,” Opal cracked. “No, it’s Thor. You’re being followed by a Hemsworth brother. Or Natalie Portman.”
“Nope. Better.”
“Is that even possible?”
“Keep guessing.”
“I give,” Opal huffed, quickening her steps. They were in the middle of the passageway now, directly under the bay and as far from both exits as possible. She couldn’t suppress a shudder. So much ocean overhead. The dank smell of salt water permeated the air. “Zendaya?”
“No!” Emma couldn’t contain herself any longer. “It’s Happy Pig. You know—the guinea pig with the most followers ever on YouTube!”
Opal stopped in her tracks. “But … that’s not a person.”
“Who cares?” Emma clapped her hands in delight, the sound echoing eerily ahead of them. “He has a channel, too.”
Opal started moving again. “What does a guinea pig post videos about?”
“Usually dancing animal stuff. Ferrets. Monkeys. One time a bulldog was playing the harmonica.”
Opal was silent for several moments. “I really don’t understand the Internet.”
Minutes later they reached the switchbacks at the opposite end of the tunnel and began the long climb back up to the surface, emerging in a cave on the island’s northern side. Opal took a cleansing breath and stepped ou
tside. Tendrils of mist slithered across moss-covered boulders and dark, loamy earth. The foliage had turned November shades of green, gray, and brown.
She and Emma climbed from the gully to the top of a steep ridge. Opal looked down at the dark pond nestled within the island’s sharp edges. At its center, a deeper shadow was just visible inside the blanket of encircling fog.
Opal’s skin prickled at the sight of the houseboat’s weather-beaten exterior. She’d never get used to its haunting presence. The promise of danger and surprise it always sparked within her.
They descended to a short field bordering the pond and the stepping stones leading out to the boat’s front porch. Examining the inky surface, Opal realized Nico was right. There was still a hint of the sulfur stink that had assaulted them weeks before. The streaks of yellow were gone, but where the liquid had once been jet-black, it now retained a smattering of ugly brown splotches.
“What’s that sound?” Emma asked from the stone behind Opal, as they worked along the hopscotch path over the pond. A discordant pounding noise was reverberating across the water, slow and methodical. Opal realized it was coming from inside the houseboat.
“Logan must be fixing something again.”
Opal bounced up the rickety steps, opened the door, and entered the foyer. She led Emma through a green velvet curtain and into the houseboat’s central showroom. A hammering racket echoed from behind a trick wall panel that hid spiral stairs down to where the Darkdeep lurked. Logan’s jacket was thrown over a display case.
Opal stuck her head into the secret stairwell. “Logan? What’s going on?”
“I bet he can’t hear you.” Emma slipped past her, hopping down the winding cast-iron steps.
Logan glanced up as they reached the bottom. “Oh! Hey guys.”
He wore a short-sleeved button-up shirt with his name embroidered over the pocket, like one of his father’s lumberjacks, and a backward Mariners baseball cap to corral his thick black hair. An open toolbox sat beside two long planks of wood on the floorboards next to him. Then Opal realized they were floorboards, recently pried up, creating a hole in the false bottom of the boat. Logan was standing inside that gap, looking pleased with himself.
