Les had touched her once, like this, and Jenny had wanted to run. But Perrin’s touch didn’t feel oppressive, or like she was caged in. All she felt was . . . held. Safe. Warm.
“Witches,” she said. “Beatrix Weave found witches. They taught her things even they didn’t want to teach, but they had no choice. She could reach into their minds. From them, she learned how to summon . . . creatures.”
“Creatures.”
“I don’t know what to call them.” Jenny felt nauseous, and swallowed hard. “Demons? Bad spirits? No clue. But they gave her power. And she learned how to do other things with that power, like make people immortal.”
Jenny hadn’t realized she’d stopped looking at him until she felt him go very still. She tipped up her chin to search his face, wondering uneasily what she’d find.
Perrin was staring at her, but with distant eyes. Memories had taken him elsewhere. He came back to her, slowly, but with a hard glint in his gaze that made him look especially forbidding. So much so, Jenny suffered a quiet shiver of fear.
“That is very bad,” he said.
“Worse than an earthquake that’ll destroy the world?”
Perrin’s jaw tightened. “Yes. Some doors should not be opened.”
There were certain things she hadn’t allowed herself to think about over the years, but hearing him say that, with such grim certainty, made her feel like a little kid hiding in the dark from monsters.
“Beatrix is dead,” Jenny said. “But she taught others what to do. She infected others with the . . . darkness . . . that she summoned. I’m not saying that the pirate you killed was one of the infected; but if you felt something off about him, and he’s working for the Consortium, it’s possible something was . . . done to him. Or he could just be strange and psycho all on his own. There are plenty like that, too.”
The dog whined. Jenny reached out and patted its head. “There was an unofficial truce after the family war. Everyone agreed to stay out of each other’s way.”
“You wouldn’t have agreed to that.”
“No. I wanted them dead.” Jenny gave him an unapologetic smile. “Dead, burned, rotting in hell. I would never have stopped. But I’m not in charge of the family, and now I’m afraid they’ve waited too long.”
None of the stiffness left Perrin’s shoulders. “They want you. That’s no truce.”
“I’ve been out of the loop. I heard rumors that the truce was broken several years ago. My grandmother’s sister, the one who left A Priori, lost some of her people to the Consortium, and that was the beginning of it. As for me . . . I’m nobody to them. No powers, no influence. They could have had me a long time ago.”
“But they waited until now.”
“The timing is strange, considering everything else that’s happened. I don’t know why they want me. Leverage against my grandparents, maybe. Which would never work.”
Again, the dog whined. Perrin’s hand tightened against her face. “Explain.”
But she was tired of talking about her family. Dead tired.
And the parasite in her skull was twitching again.
I’m going to tell him, she thought. Right now.
“You said there were two things about the open sea,” Jenny said instead, unable to squeak out even one syllable about the parasite. “What was the second?”
“It can wait,” Perrin said, and Jenny found him to be a terrible liar. She liked that.
The dog jumped down from the couch and padded to the open door that led out on deck. Its tail wagged. Far away, Jenny heard the low drone of a plane. The sound faded after less than a minute, and the dog sat down, staring at the sky.
“You’re only safe when you’re dead,” Jenny murmured. “My grandfather taught me that. He and Maurice.” She shook her head, throat thick. “Supposed to make you brave, I think. But it never worked for me. We’re not safe out here, and it scares me.”
Something else scared her. Her big mouth. She had never told anyone so much about her family, for good reasons: shame and danger and disbelief. Who would believe her? Who could be trusted?
Jenny slid away from Perrin’s touch, suffering a strange, aching hunger in her heart as she did: homesickness, maybe. But not for any home she’d ever had.
“I don’t know how to make anyone feel safe,” Perrin said, resting his hands on his knees. His voice was low, rough, but she was listening hard and caught the faint catch and break in his words.
Jenny didn’t know how to answer him, except with the truth.
“Dreams,” she told him. “Those dreams were safe. You made me feel safe there.”
Feeling like a coward, she stood and walked away, past the dog, out on deck. She kept her distance from the spot where the dead man had lain. The outline of his body was still visible, clear as day: a man-sized stain of blood and other sticky fluids that smelled like rot and death.
The boat was dark and silent, rocking gently in the waves. Clouds had cleared, and stars glittered. Peace, she thought. This was the peace-time of night that she had always loved. Silence and water, and her heartbeat, as though the world was made only of those three things—and starlight.
We do not suffer by accident, Jenny thought, dredging up more Jane Austen; and then a line from an old Nat King Cole song filled her head, and she hummed to herself as the parasite twitched and a raging thirst filled her, an overwhelming need that was too powerful to acknowledge except that she turned from the rail, walking around the bloody stain in the deck, toward the ladder that led down to the sea.
“ ‘Sometimes I wonder why I spend the lonely night, dreaming of a song,’ ” she sang softly to herself, terrible pressure building in her chest, as the parasite burned hot, hot in her head. Her legs were moving and she could not stop them. All she could do was sing to herself, her voice growing more strained, desperate, her throat drying up like leather.
Jenny could not stop herself from climbing down the ladder into the dark water. Her voice broke as she clung by one hand to the rail—surrounded, cocooned.
Down. Go down, whispered that dry voice in her head.
No, Jenny told it, even as she let go and sank underwater. I’ll die.
You will not die, replied the voice. Death will not transform you. Just life.
She had no choice. Her mouth opened, and the sea rushed in.
The sea tasted good, which surprised her, almost as much as it terrified. Salt water flowed down her throat like silk, filling her belly with a sweetness that made her feel full and cool, and strong.
No, part of her thought desperately. Salt water will kill you. You will dehydrate, you will risk seizures, brain damage. Your kidneys will shut down.
But she opened her mouth again, swallowing, inhaling—
A strong hand grabbed her braid and yanked upward.
Jenny broke the surface, choking. Perrin was there, huge and solid. He hauled her hard against him, shouting at her, his hand painfully tight around her waist. She couldn’t understand a word of what he was saying. Her ears were ringing, and her heart thundered.
“—what were you thinking?” she finally heard, and buried her face against his chest, clinging to him, suffering the same tremors that raced from his body into hers. He had not changed shape—his legs bobbed against hers, and his free hand gripped the bottom ladder rung.
“I wasn’t thinking,” she whispered hoarsely. “Something came over me. I had to be in the water.”
I had to. I was forced. There’s something living in my head, and it won’t let me tell you—please, please, let me tell him—
Perrin pressed his lips hard against her forehead.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I’m sorry this is happening to you.”
“Not your fault,” she mumbled. “I wish I could tell you why.”
But he d
idn’t pick up on that like she hoped he would. Perrin, trembling as badly as her, placed her hand on the ladder. “Can you climb?”
“I don’t know,” she said. Her teeth were beginning to chatter. Shock, she thought. The ocean felt warm, and so did the night air. She was still thirsty for salt water and licked the remnants off her lips before she realized what she was doing.
Fear settled like a fist in her gut. She felt faint. Perrin, watching her face, growled. Jenny tried to reassure him with a smile, but it felt more like a grimace—teeth gritted against the sudden, incredible urge to vomit.
Which she did, halfway up the ladder. All that salt water, pouring out of her in one heaving, bitter rush that left her, again, faint.
What is happening to me? What is happening to me?
Perrin held her around the waist while she vomited, holding her close so that she didn’t fall back into the water. When she was done spilling her guts, he hauled her up the last few feet to the deck and pushed her on board with a hard shove. Jenny lay there, exhausted. A warm tongue licked her face, accompanied by a whiff of bad breath and dog. Perrin scooped her up into his arms.
He was talking, but Jenny could barely hear him. No more buzz, but her ears felt plugged, stuffed with cotton, and her vision darkened. A tremendous sense of pressure overwhelmed her, as though her entire body was being squeezed to death. She saw rock, and felt heat, and heard the grind of rocks shifting deep in the earth’s crust.
And in that crust, a claw.
A claw. A long, coiled body. A golden eye, shifting open.
Where are my dreams? rumbled a terrible voice, and the parasite twitched like a flexed muscle.
Here, said that dry voice, soothing and gentle. Your dreams are here.
No, Jenny thought desperately. I’m here. Me.
But the earth shifted again inside her mind, a wild ripple, and she rode that pulse of released energy, tumbled and breaking, clawing inside herself for anything to hold her steady.
Until hands caught her. Strong hands, strong arms.
Jenny snapped back into the real world, thrust from that dark place. Her heart raced. She felt nauseous again. The base of her skull throbbed.
She was sitting on the floor inside the yacht, and sagged forward, gulping air. Her lungs ached.
Perrin sat behind her, a warm, solid wall of muscle. Her head leaned against his shoulder, her arms resting against his bent legs. He held her snug around the waist, his hands pressed over her stomach. Holding her upright. Just holding her. She was more grateful for that than she cared to admit.
“You scare me,” he said quietly. “I think you terrify me.”
“Yeah,” she whispered raggedly, closing her eyes. “Did you feel that? Tell me you felt that. What I just saw in my head.”
Possession, visions. She wasn’t sure which one she was asking him about, but that golden eye filled her mind again, and she shivered.
Perrin’s arms tightened. She thought he would say no, that he had no clue what she was talking about. Which would mean that she really was losing her mind. The parasite, wreaking delusions, turning her brain to mush.
But he did not say no.
“I felt it,” Perrin said, his warm breath stirring her hair. Speaking like a man on death row, resigned and afraid. “I saw the golden eye, and felt its body shift. I shouldn’t have. But neither should you. It means there was another earthquake.”
Another one. Jenny wanted to ask him if he had heard the monster ask about its dreams, but she had a feeling he hadn’t—and besides, when she tried to voice the question, her voice stuck.
The dog padded close, pawing at her arm. Jenny found enough energy to pat its sleek head, and it sat back, staring at her with large brown eyes that were sad, and far too intelligent. “What is down there, Perrin? What did I see inside my head? Is it the beast you and the sea witch spoke of?”
Perrin was silent a long time, reaching up to rub the back of his head. Jenny wanted to do the same, to touch the parasite. The urge made her uneasy, and afraid. Some bad instinct. Something, in her gut, beginning to brew with meaning.
“The Kraken,” he whispered, finally. “We call it the Kraken.”
“There have always been the Kraken,” Perrin said. “No one knows when they came to exist, and no one really knows what they are. But they are old. And when the seas were even vaster than they are now, they lived in the deep, and bred there, and fought.”
“Big?”
“Large as mountains. Just as tough. The sea allows a weightlessness that doesn’t constrain size.”
“I assume there’s a good reason no one’s ever seen one.”
“No one human,” he corrected her. “The Kraken are a danger to my kind, too. Their appetites are . . . large. They eat anything, even stone, though they prefer flesh. They made the sea . . . a very dangerous place. Not much could survive there. But long ago, my people found a way to . . . quiet them. Make them sleep. Fill their heads with dreams that would make them want to sleep.”
It sounded too strange to believe—more strange, even, than mermen—but she had seen enough oddities in her life to make the leap. “This one is waking.”
“Slowly. But not slowly enough. These most recent tremors are the result of its body shifting. When it is fully awake and conscious, it will break free of its nest.”
“The earthquake that you say will destroy everything.”
“A Kraken sleeps deep in the heat of the earth’s crust, and its waking is not gentle. It will . . . explode . . . from its nest. The shock wave from that explosion will carry unimaginable power, and the displacement of the sea as the Kraken travels . . .”
Perrin stopped and took a deep breath. “Keeping the Kraken asleep requires constant vigilance, and determination. A . . . connection . . . with the individual beast itself. Not everyone is suited to the task.”
Jenny studied him, trying to steady her heartbeat, her nerves, which were screaming after hearing him talk about sea monsters exploding from the earth. “But you were.”
Perrin tensed. “Imagine what I was running from when you found me on that beach.”
“You were chosen.”
“I was born. You either have the skill in your blood, or you don’t. There’s always more than one candidate, but one is usually better than the others. I was better. I had no choice in the matter.” He paused. “It’s supposed to be an honor.”
“Sure. You were so honored you swam screaming.”
Perrin grunted. “My father was ashamed. My entire family wanted little to do with me, afterward. What I did was a disgrace. I didn’t care, though. I endured my punishment. My training. I had . . . my own dreams . . . to sustain me.”
“Dreams.”
He shrugged. “You know.”
Jenny knew. Made her glad to be sitting down. “Why were you exiled?”
“I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Fair enough.” Jenny studied him. “Do you trust me?”
“This has nothing to do with trust.”
“Does it have to do with Les? Is he the reason you were exiled?”
Perrin met her gaze with such sharpness, she flinched. “Were you close?”
“You asked me that already. Would it matter?”
“Tell me.”
“We were friends. I thought we were friends. And no,” she said coldly, rubbing her sore arms and wrists, “I never slept with him.”
Perrin looked down, still tense. He rubbed a narrow white scar that covered the length of his biceps. “A’lesander was my friend, too. A long time ago. He and Pelena were my companions, when I was allowed to have any. All of us, from other clans, other seas. Outsiders.”
“Why?”
“Tradition. Circumstances. Krackeni send their children away to be raised by other
s. It prevents inbreeding and promotes . . . good will.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“It’s a cold practice,” he replied. “Pelena and I were sent to our foster clan for a special set of reasons having to do with the kra’a. Some of our family came with us, and that eased our lives. But A’lesander had a harder time, which always made things strange between us. He was part human, which I envied . . . but that was nothing to be proud of amongst the Krackeni we were living with, and he was sometimes treated poorly for it. He wanted to be more like me. Pure blood.”
Perrin said pure blood with venom in his voice, like it was a dirty word. Jenny said, “What happened?”
“Jealousy,” he whispered. “A’lesander was obsessed with becoming a candidate for the kra’a. It would have done him no good, but that was what he wanted. To be one step closer to having . . . power, perhaps. Acceptance. He should have known better.
When he was not chosen to become a candidate—as I knew he would not be, because those decisions are made very young—he blamed his human ancestry. Then he blamed me. We fought. He drew my blood, and that was . . .”
Perrin stopped, sighing. “You do not harm Guardians. His only defense was that he was young, no older than sixteen or seventeen of your human years. I suppose that’s why he was allowed to remain in the sea after his exile.”
“He didn’t just stay in the sea,” Jenny said. “Close to it, though. What little I know, and it was confirmed by others, is that he found jobs on oceanic science vessels, first doing grunt work and then making a name for himself finding artifacts where no one else could. He could have been famous for it, but always stayed out of the limelight. Professional exploration has been his work for the last ten years.”
“I still envy him,” Perrin said quietly. “Maybe I would have been as resourceful had I been allowed contact with the sea, but I have my doubts. A week ago I was working as a janitor in a Chicago Aquarium, and I was grateful for it.”
“You were in Chicago,” she said, numb. “Before that?”
“Indianapolis. St. Louis. Detroit. New York City. I took odd jobs, anything I could get. Most of that work involved construction, heavy lifting. My friend, the one I told you about . . . his name was Tom. He helped me get fake papers—birth certificate, a social security number. After my arrests, I suppose I would have been deported without those things.”
In the Dark of Dreams Page 24
