“Coincidence, then,” Perrin murmured, and another chill raced through her.
“What are you talking about?”
He rubbed his face, but she thought it was less a gesture of weariness and more like another way to stall. Jenny waited, not entirely patient, moving so that she could see his face more clearly. Close enough to crane her neck and feel the heat rising from his body.
She wanted to touch his arms again and feel his strength beneath her hands. She wanted him wrapped around her.
Don’t be afraid of me, he had said.
When I stop wanting you, she thought, and stifled the urge to flinch at herself.
You don’t know him, one side of her protested, while another part of her, just as strong, whispered, You do. You’ve known him since you were twelve years old. Dreaming every night of his hands holding yours.
“Perrin,” Jenny said.
He drew in a hard breath, like he was steeling himself for a blow. “I told you I was exiled. I returned because I had a vision. Something terrible. The earthquake we felt is only the beginning.”
“Beginning of what?”
Perrin met her gaze, and his eyes were empty, cold. “Destruction. The earth’s axis will shift. The shapes of continents will change. Millions will die.”
Jenny grimaced. “No.”
“Yes. Human mythology still remembers a great expanse of water that covered every land in the world. A flood. The last time was to stop a war. There have been breaks in the intervening millennia, but not many. This will be different. The waters will surge inland—”
He stopped himself. Jenny stared.
“You don’t believe me,” Perrin said.
“I don’t know,” she told him. Les had lied his ass off for years, and she’d bought it. Except Perrin looked like each word he spoke made him die a little.
You need this kra’a to stop what’s coming, she wanted to say. That was clear when you spoke with the sea witch. You need this thing inside me. I would give it to you. I would give it to you if I could.
Let go of me, she thought. Let go.
But the parasite did not respond.
Perrin bowed his head, and this time when he rubbed his face, she knew it was weariness, bone deep. “By murdering Pelena, this event was caused deliberately. I don’t know if it can be stopped. It’s possible, even, that A’lesander had help. He might have wanted the kra’a, but others would be just as pleased with human deaths.”
A sharp pain stabbed through the base of her skull. “Are we so terrible?”
“No,” he said, almost growling the word. “But there are many of you, and just as many who aren’t careful with the sea. And there are many of my kind who have never been overly fond of humans, and who believe that when we mix with your kind, we dirty our blood.”
“So it’s a mess.”
“Few Krackeni have lived amongst humans as I have. If more did, perhaps they would understand that we are all one kind of people, no matter what we breathe.”
“Idealist.”
“No,” he said, with particular bitterness. “Just tired.”
She sat back, studying him. Seeing hooks in each of those scars. Ropes, binding him. Trapped. Helpless.
“Perrin,” she began. “What do you want?”
He shot her a strange look. “What do you mean?”
“What’s kept you going all these years?”
Something vulnerable entered his eyes, and he looked away from her. “I don’t know. I was still alive. That was a miracle in itself though it wore on me. Being human was so difficult in some ways, but I kept going. Maybe for no reason. But sometimes, sometimes I suppose I hoped . . .”
Perrin stopped, and rubbed his mouth. “You? What were your . . . aspirations?”
To find you, she wanted to say, but that was only part of it.
“To do good,” she said truthfully. “I had no lofty dreams. Nothing grandiose. I just . . . wanted to find a way to make the world a better place, in some small way. In my own way.”
“Did you?”
She smiled sadly. “I’m not sure. I worked with children for a time, teaching them about the ocean. It was wonderful. Kids are born with passion, and it makes you feel bigger inside when you’re the one shining the focus on something that captures their imaginations. But after . . . after what happened in my family, I couldn’t go back to that. I focused on . . . other things.”
“Searching for oddities,” he said, grim. “Like me.”
“You’re not odd,” she said gently, and smiled. “Not even a little.”
He stilled, giving her that vulnerable look again, so at odds with the scarred, hard lines of his face and body.
“You’re my other miracle,” he said, but before Jenny could respond to that stunning statement, he added, “Why do your relatives want to hurt you?”
It took Jenny a moment to collect herself. “I don’t understand the timing, or reasons. I’m just the granddaughter. I’m nobody. I like it that way. I keep to myself. Do my work. I never go home.”
“Why?”
“Why were you exiled?”
Perrin stared at her. Maybe he would have told her—maybe—but leaves crackled loudly, beyond their small ring of light.
Jenny flinched. Perrin turned, searching the shadows, and glided away from the fire. He signaled her to stay behind. Jenny ignored him, but kept her distance: watching, and listening.
And then, not even that.
Dizziness struck her. She almost sat down. A hollow ache sank from the base of her skull, down her spine, into her chest. Her lungs hurt. Her heart hammered harder, then slowed. For a moment, all Jenny wanted to do was lurch on unsteady legs to the sea.
Several steps later, she realized she was doing just that.
Parasite, Jenny thought, chilled to the bone.
It wouldn’t have been the first time that parasites had been found influencing host behavior, but never so extreme. Of course, nothing like the parasite latched to her spine had ever been documented.
She was so screwed.
Behind her, Perrin made a small sound of surprise. Jenny turned, ready for guns, knives—anything.
But nothing was there. Just Perrin, crouched low to the ground, one of his hands pressed into the leaves as he leaned forward and reached for a dark shape hunched in front of him.
Jenny narrowed her eyes. “Is that—”
“Shhh. Move slowly.”
She sank to her knees and crawled on all fours. Close, closer, until she saw a pair of glittering eyes, a wet nose, and a tiny shivering body that ended in a wagging tail.
“Oh, man,” she murmured. “Where did he come from?”
Perrin didn’t answer. Slowly, carefully, he reached out—humming an achingly familiar melody under his breath. Jenny bowed her head, fingers digging into the ground. Heart in her throat. Maybe it would stay there, for the rest of her life, and she would never be able to swallow again without feeling like she was going to cry.
Enough with the melodrama, she told herself. Enough.
She heard a brief whine, a whimper, and rubbed her eyes as Perrin dragged a squirming little bundle of fur into his arms.
Dog. Skinny, black, with a short body and thin, curved tail. Alert eyes. Almost young enough to be a puppy, but not quite. Perrin held him awkwardly, frowning as the little dog licked his hand and snuggled deeper into his lap. She heard a sigh, from the man or animal, she couldn’t tell—but it made her heart flop. Just a little. Not that she had a weakness for that sort of thing.
“You make a sight,” she said, and reached for one of the cooked fish. The dog watched her, ears perked, and tumbled from Perrin’s lap as soon as she began picking meat off the bones. He ate frantically, straight from her fingers, whining when she took lo
nger than a few seconds to debone more fish.
Perrin watched her with an unreadable expression on his face. Made her cheeks flush. Something in his gaze. Warmth, maybe.
“He’s scared,” he said.
“He’s lost. The dog is one of those village breeds. I see them all the time when I’m on land.” Jenny stroked that sleek warm head. “Makes me wonder if there are people on this island. If there are, they might have a transceiver. I could get us help. Warn someone about what’s happening. If the coasts are in danger . . .”
People needed to be evacuated. But even with her connections no one was going to leave their homes, businesses, entire cities on the say-so of some woman who—what? Had been told by a merman that bad things were coming? Apocalyptic tsunamis and floods? Ridiculous. Overwhelming. Even she had trouble accepting it.
Which meant it was her family, all over again. Danger and death, and no way to stop it. Except scream and scream while no one listened.
I’ll make them listen, she promised, touching her stomach as it ached in sympathy to her heart. This time, someone will listen.
But even if someone did, if some explanation could be concocted that the public would understand, one that didn’t involve the supernatural, what then? Panic? Chaos? People were still going to die.
Perrin looked uneasy. Jenny said, “I won’t tell anyone what you are.”
“It’s not that.” He ducked his head, and stood. “Let’s go look. We shouldn’t waste any time.”
The dog whined, wagging its tail at him. Jenny felt a little whine at the back of her throat, too. Surprised her, how suddenly reluctant she was to find other people—even though it was logical, necessary. She needed medical help. The Consortium was after her. End of the world was coming. Maybe.
But there was another little world here, between her and Perrin, that she didn’t want to end. Fragile, desperate world. Just the two of them, and so many questions left unanswered. So much she needed to say even though she didn’t know how.
“It’s dark,” she said. “We could wait.”
“I can see.” Perrin reached down. Jenny grabbed his hand. He pulled her up, but she didn’t let go.
“ ‘Nature Boy,’ ” she said, staring into his pale eyes, heart aching, unsure what was going to come out next from her mouth. “That’s the name of the song I sang to you, all those years ago. The one you’ve been humming.”
The corner of his mouth tilted into a faint, sad smile. “I know. Nat King Cole.”
She wanted to ask how he knew—because the boy she’d met hadn’t even been able to speak English—but he bent, swinging her up into his arms. His strength was effortless, and so was his rare smile, which deepened just a fraction.
“Good song,” he said, as the dog whined.
“The best,” she replied, with difficulty. “What about your feet?”
He held her closer. “Just rest, Jenny.”
“Take your own advice.”
“None for the wicked.” Perrin started walking. “An old human man I knew was fond of saying that. He was homeless, but he taught me how to get work. No rest for the wicked, he always told me. I never heard truer words.”
“What happened to him?”
“He died.” Perrin’s smile faded, and he looked down, past her. “The dog is following us.”
Jenny barely heard him. “How many times has your heart been broken, Perrin?”
She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. She couldn’t take it back, either. He faltered, arms tightening.
But he didn’t answer her.
Chapter Twelve
It was common knowledge amongst Perrin’s people that to invite a lie was to invite trouble, but as subterfuge was rather difficult anyway, given the number of eyes in the sea, telling outright untruths had become a significant rarity.
Omissions, on the other hand, were something else entirely. Omissions were polite. If you hated the Krackeni in front of you with a red-hot passion, and wished nothing more than to break his bones and scatter them for the bottom dwellers, you omitted that from the conversation. Just as you omitted any other potentially damaging emotions, thoughts, and inclinations. Humans were not much different. Except for the lying. And assholes who never omitted anything.
But that didn’t keep Perrin from feeling rather awkward about the fact that he had known, before the dog appeared, that there were people on the island. And omitted that from the conversation.
He had heard their dreams. Echoes, drifting into his mind in whispers and threads, dissolving the moment he tried to see anything beyond those hints of shadows.
He hadn’t told Jenny. For the simple reason that she had done exactly what he was afraid she would the moment the dog had discovered them.
Asked to go look. For help.
You are a selfish one. She needs a doctor.
That, however, would mean going on land. Real land. Not this island. And he didn’t know where it would be safe. He wasn’t even certain how much time was left.
And she seemed better.
“Son of a bitch. Look at that,” Jenny said, hunched down in the leaves, holding the panting, squirming dog against her side. “Bastards. I wish I had a gun to blow all their heads off.”
A lot better.
Perrin sat beside Jenny on a rocky hill, overlooking a lush cove that curled into the island in the shape of a fist. The tsunami had struck here, but the curve of the hill below them had formed a natural seawall: high, wide, and protection enough that the rough camp that had been built not one hundred yards from the beach was still—mostly—standing. Some buildings had collapsed, torn up into strips of wood that looked like toothpicks from this distance. Several small boats, tossed on land like discarded toys, appeared the same.
None of it, though, was enough to have anyone running scared. Cookfires pierced the night, high in the forest above the ruined village. Perrin heard laughter. Dogs barked. Pop music blared.
A motor yacht was moored offshore, in the lee of the seawall. Not Jenny’s vessel. This one was much smaller but still expensive. A pleasure cruiser.
Bullet holes marked its hull. Several windows were broken. A man’s body lay on deck, but Perrin couldn’t see much of him except that he wore white shorts and had fat legs. He didn’t observe a guard on board, but three much smaller speedboats were anchored nearby, also empty. The vessels appeared remarkably similar to the ones that had surrounded Jenny’s yacht.
The sea witch, Perrin thought, was devious.
A woman started screaming, sobbing—out of sight, lost inside the forest. He had been listening to her, off and on, for the past thirty minutes, and wanted very much to stick his fingers in his ears to block out the horrifying sounds she was making.
Instead, he let it sink in. Compartmentalized. All his disgust and anger placed in a box that he would open, later, if given the chance. Perrin couldn’t tell just how many men were camped above the village, but he caught glimpses of them. This was not a small operation.
Jenny cursed, digging her fingers into the leaves. She wasn’t looking at the camp, but the yacht. “See the name on the hull? Templesmith? That vessel disappeared less than a week ago. Pirates blamed. The owner is Indonesian, but he rented out his yacht to tourists. A French couple.”
“You want to go down there,” he said.
“Can you listen to that woman and walk away? Even if we can’t reach her, we need to find some way to call for help.”
Perrin wanted to survive. He wanted Jenny to survive more than he cared about his own life. But there was living, then there was living, and he still knew the difference, even after all these years.
“Stay here,” he told her.
“Like hell,” she muttered, rising with him. The dog barked, and Perrin tapped it sharply on the nose.
“Quiet,�
� he snapped, and the dog sank to its belly, tail dragging between its legs.
Perrin frowned, patted it more gently on the head, and said, “You could get hurt.”
“And what do you know about fighting?”
He gave her a long look. Jenny settled back on her heels, holding his gaze. Watching him with that measuring thoughtfulness that made him feel so naked.
“Sorry,” she said quietly. “I guess you probably know enough.”
“I guess I do,” he said tersely. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
He rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen his muscles. “Like I’m not . . .” Human, he almost said. Which was ridiculous, because he wasn’t human. He had never thought of himself as such. Always other. Always outsider.
He didn’t want to be an outsider to her.
“Like my humanity is in question,” he found himself saying, instead. Which wasn’t much better. The air was too hot, hard to breathe. It was getting to him. So was she. Losing his mind, after eight years of learning how to hold it together.
Jenny was frowning. “I would never question your heart.”
His heart. Perrin found his feet but didn’t stand. Just crouched, tense. “You look at my scars all the time. I understand that. I would look, too. But each one of them was a lesson learned. How to move faster, see things sharper, hit harder.” He stopped, biting his tongue, and slid away from her through the undergrowth. Needing distance.
The dog followed. Perrin tore his feet a little more, slipping down the hill, but he pushed the pain aside, listening to Jenny catch up, her breath hissing, voice muffled as she swore at him. He had not expected her to follow, and he remembered suddenly how dark it would seem to her. How dangerous that darkness would be. She couldn’t see as well as he could at night. Not that it was holding her back.
He slowed. Her fingers scraped against his hip, then managed to catch his arm.
“Stop,” she said. “Stop.”
Perrin leaned hard against a tree. His heart thundered until it was all he could hear, all he could feel—except for her touch, her fingers, tightening warm against his skin. She was so warm.
In the Dark of Dreams Page 21
