Chapter 24

Hours later,I drift up to the balcony where Dad is reading the newspaper. Our barbecued chicken dinner sizzles on the grill. Though my anger is a constant, it's moments like these I find I'm grateful for his presence. For the solidity of him.

"Can I ask you a favor?"

He looks up at me, glasses perched on his nose. "To do what?"

"I want you to convince Evan's mother to let me help him."

Dad rubs the bridge of his nose and clears his throat. "No. Sorry. It's a damn shame. I understand how hard it is to accept after losing your best friend, but Clarice has tried every treatment known to medical science and all it did was extend his suffering. What could you possibly do to help?"

I consider admitting that I believe I have the power to heal him, but realize how insane it will sound, even on this illogical island—even with Dad's stated faith in magic. "Evan shouldn't have to stay caged up in that room. Maybe if you just ask her, Mrs. Bailey will let me take him outside one last time."

"Rosie," Dad says, "I have to abide by Clarice's wishes. I'm just the help."

"What about Evan's wishes?"

Dad rubs his chin. "If those are his wishes, I can always ask Randy to talk her into it."

My hands go cold. "Not him. Please."

Dad peers at me over his reading glasses. "Why not? He's the one she's most likely to listen to."

"He's the island autocrat," I say. "And you're scared of him, too."

Dad stands with such force, his water glass teeters then crashes to the floor. "Don't speak about Mr. Lambert like that. I'm indebted to him." His voice rises, then lowers. "Listen, I understand about the poor boy, but I'm…there's nothing I can do."

He gets slowly to his feet and, retrieving a broom and pan, begins to sweep the broken glass into a pile, then stops. "If you don't mind finishing up, I've got a splitting headache."

Just like Liam said he would.

* * *

I stormdownstairs and out to the front porch. The air is sweet with the fragile scent of roses, the evening sky a span of crimson and gold edged by deep indigo. The Lady Skirts blink and glow at the fringes, an audience of accusing eyes.

If I hadn't discovered the salttain, I'd be waiting out the inevitable. But knowing that Evan's salvation might depend on me is overwhelming. Where the hell is Liam when I need him?

I step onto the damp grass and drop to my knees, hands pressed to the earth. I focus on Liam, forming a picture in my mind, feeling the unknown rock and soil that lies between here and wherever he might be in the tingle of my fingertips.

I'm stunned as the symbols on my palms pulse with a low-frequency ache. A faint matrix presents itself in a mesh overlay, a net of woven light. My surroundings recede, smearing to a blur, the latticework map the only thing visible. It's as though it's connected to me, as though the island and I share a common circulatory system.

I'm midway between two blinking points of light on the matrix, both moving toward me. Sound reduces to a murmur, the terrain beneath my feet gone.

I find myself on the beach, unsure how I got there. A lone seal leaps beyond the waves—and suddenly, it all makes sense. The idea that flickered at the edges of my consciousness earlier coalesces, all the puzzle pieces coming together.

The way Liam survived for so long after Wade and his buddies chased him into the water. The creature that guided me back to shore the night I saved Evan. How he keeps showing up, wearing only seaweed, immune to the cold of the ocean. The nicknames. The way he told me he could take me to talk to the seals, because they liked him.

My heart jumps in expectation. Recognition draws me into the surf.

It's him. I'm sure of it. Everything I've seen, despite the insanity of it all, points to this. He's been trying to tell me there's something different about him. Something he doesn't think I could accept or understand.

"Liam!" I call, splashing fully clothed into the water.

The seal dives forward into the waves. Then, Liam, the boy, breaks the surface, cutting through the surf with powerful strokes. He stops a few yards away, treading water.

"You came."

"You called," he says.

Liam closes the gap between us. One hand raised above the water, he presses his palm flat to mine. I cry out from the flash of heat that passes between us, scaffolding our veins and nerves together in a fiery web.

Liam wrenches free and dives below the surface, then emerges, crouching at the shoreline, seaweed wrapped around his middle like a loincloth. I wade over and sit beside him.

God, he's beautiful. But so, so sad.

I reach for him, but he pulls away, the same dance we've been doing from the moment we met. But now, maybe I understand. Still, watching him examine my face as if he's trying to commit it to memory, as if this is the last time I'll let him get so close to me again, what I feel for him is undeniable. I don't care what he is, or what he becomes. I'm not going to make the same mistake I made with Tyler. I'm not going to second-guess my instincts. If Liam has taught me anything at all, it's to trust them.

"Liam," I say. "I think it's time you tell me the truth about yourself."

He stares at me, silver eyes fringed by wet black lashes. And then he speaks. "When I told you I'm only here summers," he says at last, "that was the truth. The rest of the time, I live three-fourths of my life as—as…"

"I already know. When you're not on Salttain," I say, gazing down at him, "you're a seal." The words sound absurd as they leave my mouth, but watching his face as I speak, I'm sure they're true.

Liam swallows hard, but he doesn't deny it. "I'm cursed," he says. "Me, Aurora, and Lila. We're all cursed."

Shock radiates through me. I want to scoff at such a preposterous statement, but something in his expression stops me. Whether it's true or not—he believes it is. "What did you do?"

He stands, half-turned to me, the sharp planes of his face cut in the light and shadow of the glowing blossoms. "It wasn't what I did."

Liam's jaw moves as if an invisible wire holds it shut. This is clearly painful for him, and I wish for a moment I could take my words back. But if he feels the same pulsing hunger for me that I feel for him, I have to know what's stopping him from acting on it. What Aurora meant when she told me there was no cure.

His gaze fixes on mine. "I think it's time that I tell you a little bit about the dark history that binds us to our past."

The moon hovers, a massive white disc too large for the sky. The stars press into me like a thousand needles. I'd like to scream, but instead I pull in a calming breath. "I want to know about our past—because that's what you mean, right? Yours and mine? But more than that, I want to know…you said it's a curse, right? A punishment? Does it hurt you—to change that way?"

His gaze flicks to mine, and one side of his mouth curves in a rueful smile. "No. It doesn't hurt."

"But then—when I've seen you, you choose to…to change. The other nine months of the year—when it's not the summer—you're stuck that way? And Aurora, too?"

He shakes his head, and crouches to trace an image in the sand with one long finger. After a moment, I realize it's one of the glyphs I saw on the rocks that surround the Garden. "Aurora has more time on land than I do. Lila, too. I'm…a special case. As you might have noticed, Randy hates me."

Randy again. I clench my fists, wishing I could make Randy pay for the way he's hurt Liam and his family. "He did this to you?"

"Sort of." He glances around. "I don't feel safe talking to you about it, even here. You never know who's listening."

I sag, more confused than ever. "Are you doing this on purpose? Being all mysterious again?"

"No!" He jumps to his feet and paces the sand. "You think I like talking in riddles instead of explaining myself? Or acting like I hate you, when I really—" He stops talking. By the light of the moon, I think I see him actually bite his tongue.

I stand, my heart picking up speed, pounding in my core, my wrists, my throat. "When you really…what?"

He kicks at the image he's drawn in the sand with one bare foot, so particles go flying everywhere. "It's not safe for you to ask. You need to stop."

"Liam," I say, reaching for him, "I think I know my own mind. And I get to decide what risks I take, not you. Besides, what else could you possibly have to tell me that's worse than that?"

Liam slides back, away from me, and lets out a bitter laugh. "You have no idea, Rosalie. Don't push me about this. Not now. Please."

It's the ‘please' that breaks me. If he's a Sphinx, he's a reluctant one.

"Fine," I say, heaving a sigh. "Then tell me about that ‘long, dark history,' or is most of that off-limits, too?"

"No," he says, going still. "Not really. Everyone else on Salttain—the People of the Hand, anyway—they know. And Landsiders, well, they don't stick around. But you did and I…I wanted you to know who I am, even though I was worried you'd be..."

"You were worried I'd be repulsed by you?" I can't help but grin. "You're a seal, Liam, not a...I don't know, a rampaging, rabid beast."

When he speaks again, his voice is empty, devoid of inflection. "I wasn't worried you'd be repulsed by me. If you were…maybe I'd feel better."

"Thanks a lot," I snap, offended. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I just—it's something I'd rather not get into now." He waves a hand, as if to erase his words. "You wanted to know about our history, right? Do you know your family's origins?"

Warily, I regard him. "Way to change the subject. But, sure. The Bouchard family has roots in France, Ireland, and Switzerland. My great-grandfather came to New Orleans in the 1920s to start his science foundation, then my parents settled in California. The Gatells, my dad's family, are Sephardic Jews from St. Croix."

"All known outposts of the People of the Hand." Now he flashes me a brilliant grin. "Have you solved the riddle yet, Science Girl?"

"What riddle?"

"This one." Liam grabs a clamshell half and scrapes the island's name in the sand in capital letters. SALTTAIN. "It's an anagram."

He smooths the sand and writes another word.

ATLANTIS.

I stare at the writing, the name swimming in my head. Atlantis.

"Apply all the scientific methods and theories you want," Liam says, "then throw them out the window. In ancient times, a cataclysm forced the inhabitants of Atlantis to leave their homeland. Hence, the diaspora of a great people. We've hidden for centuries, preserving our customs, facing persecution, witch trials, burning at the stake. Many left the fold, blended into society. Others found their way here to Salttain and other convergences. Lost people of the Diaspora stumble on us occasionally. Maybe that's how your family ended up here."

"Like my Aunt Millicent?" I ask, and Liam nods.

My unknown aunt is a celebrity on this strange island. Symbols like the ones on my hand were found on a submerged landmass called Doggerland.

Atlantis was real.

The magnitude of it all hits hard. "Convergences," I repeat. "My father said Salttain sits on something he called a ley line. A place where magic seeps out through seams in the earth. I-I didn't believe him–I kept looking for other explanations—and…"

Liam nods, grimly. "Guess you're fresh out of them. The ley lines account for most of the weird stuff you see on this island. Our inherited abilities are stronger here–—amplified by Earth's own natural energies."

"The descendants of Atlantis. Holy crap," I mutter, almost to myself.

Part of me wants to laugh out loud, to dismiss the whole thing as utter nonsense, some kind of mass hallucination.

But it's hard to deny magic when your crush spends three-quarters of his life at sea as a seal. And you have performed feats of it yourself. "So that's why they settled on this little chunk of rock? And this stamp on my hand means I'm one of you? I can harvest a miracle plant. Hear the island speak."

"You are, and you're not," Liam says. "Your family hasn't lived on Salttain for ages, except Millie. And I'm beginning to think they had the right idea. You should go back to California while you still can."

How can I unknow what I know? Tyler wanted me here. He knew I belonged here. I'm certain of this now. "I can't cut and run. You're the one who asked me to help Evan. Maybe there's something I can do to help you."

Liam gets to his feet. I don't know whether to be grateful or disappointed that his seaweed boxers remain firmly in place. "Much as I appreciate the thought, Rosalie, you can't help me. Not Aurora or Lila, either. The only thing you can do is get yourself in massive trouble. And that, I won't be responsible for."

I open my mouth to argue that I'm responsible for myself, not him, but he fixes me with a glare and keeps steamrolling onward.

"Evan is a different story. He's an Outsider, so we could both get in trouble for trying to heal him. The Council would go easy on you, since you don't really know our ways. Plus, you found their miracle plant, like you said." He paces the sand. "I want to help him, more than anything. But with Wade missing, I'm the first person to be blamed for everything on this island. I can't risk going behind Mrs. Bailey's back."

Anger swells inside me. "The Council? What the hell is that? It was all well and good for you to use me to find the salttain for Aurora. But now that it's time to help Evan, you're backing out?"

"That's not fair," Liam says. "You don't know what you're asking."

"If I don't," I say evenly, standing to meet his gaze, "it's only because you won't tell me the entire truth."

He grumbles in exasperation, running his hands through his hair. "You don't give up, do you? But, fine. If you can get him out of the house," he says after a long pause, "maybe we can get him to where he needs to be."

"To heal him…or watch him die?"

Liam closes his eyes. "Whichever is required."