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Chapter 39

My father danglesinside the massive narcovine pod that Liam pulled in through the window. I peer down to the beach, then glance in the mirror.

Lila and Aurora have transformed me into someone I barely recognize. My auburn hair gleams down my back in a cascade of dark red and copper. My deep olive skin glitters with a dusting of gold powder. The dress made of tiny crystalline flowers shines like it's woven from stars.

They may have turned me into an island princess, but no amount of makeup can hide my swollen, red eyes. I stare at Dad in his seed pod and can't help but think it's his coffin. Swallowing down my fear, I try to calm myself—but here I am, dressed for a party and about to lose my father all over again. About to hurt the family that's suffered too much already by delivering more devastating news.

Tyler—or Fionn—how long should I wait?

But there's no answer, just a warm breeze off the ocean.

Down in the cove, dozens of boats crowd the water. Lila takes my arm and says, "It's time."

I close my eyes and try to find equilibrium in the earth's vibrations, but it's no use. I'm a wreck.

"Don't worry," Evan says, noticing my unease. "You're more beautiful than anything I can paint."

Liam shoots Evan a look, then cuts to me, his gaze more heated than warm. I look away, cheeks flushed, and turn to Mrs. Bailey. "Are you sure you're okay staying behind and watching over Dad?"

She smiles sweetly. "I've had my fill of parties, dear. I'm sure Evan will enjoy some time away from me." Again, I'm perplexed by the change in her—how she's so comfortable with letting Evan out of her sight.

We hug and I say into her ear, "Thank you."

Evening cloaks the winding path in cobalt and violet. I try not to stare at Liam and Evan, try not to see Tyler in their tall frames. Both boys wear jackets of iridescent purple, the cloth reminiscent of Liam's seal skin. And I wonder if Evan's jacket once belonged to Calvin O'Donnell, Tyler's father.

I catch Liam looking at me. His hair falls in his face, but he can't hide the blush that colors his cheeks. I hold my head high and smile inwardly. Good. Now he's getting a taste of what watching him prance around clothed only in seaweed has been like for me.

As night descends, the five of us—me, Aurora, Lila, Liam, and Evan—squeeze into Dad's buggy along with a pot of lobster stew Lila prepared. It's a rickety, cramped ride as Liam drives us to the southwest side of the island, where a cliffside trail winds down to a crescent of sand that rims a protected cove. I'm sick to my stomach as I finally escape the buggy.

The reason the islanders selected this secluded beach for the celebration now becomes clear to me. Heavily shielded and safe from unwanted observation, this spot is nestled within towering cliffs adorned with glyph-carved rocks. As we traipse across the sand, Liam and Aurora carrying the large pot, waves of power pulse through my bare feet and surge up my legs.

The location should make me feel safer, but instead, it amplifies my sense of dread. The ocean is a calm, glittering silver as the moon rises. There are no signs of turbulence, yet I can't unspool the ball of tension coiled inside me.

Hordes of guests disembark on rafts from their moored boats and erect elaborate pavilions set with tables of food and drink. People wander the torchlit pathways from pavilion to pavilion, sampling the delicacies, laughing, and chatting. Children chase each other through the throngs. We set our own offering on a long table already piled with delicacies. It's the Salttain Island version of a potluck dinner.

There doesn't seem to be a dress code. Some men and boys wear tuxedo jackets over shorts, some are dapper in crisp white suits and straw hats that remind me of Randy, others sport t-shirts, worn jeans, and leather sandals. The women's styles range from opulent chic to practically undressed.

Fiddlers move in and out of the crowd, half-clothed dancers twirling to their frenetic tunes. Acrobats tumble. Jugglers toss flaming objects while servers from the Sea House Resort balance trays of hors d'oeuvres and precarious towers of drinks. It occurs to me that Liam must have quit—or been fired—but this isn't the time to ask.

The beating drums keep time with my thumping heart. It's a celebratory scene, reminiscent of that last disastrous party, but this time I feel like I'm on display, conspicuous as we reach the end of the path and make our way onto the beach toward the oversized pavilion that dwarfs the rest.

Lila informs me that this is the official pavilion of the traveling Council Hall. Petitioners have already begun to form a long line for their hearings, people from all the surrounding isles of the archipelago.

No one notices us at first as we tread the long-woven mat to join the queue. But then, as if in a ripple effect, the guests turn and watch us pass in silence. My stomach churns.

What have they heard about me?

Liam walks beside me, his black hair catching the firelight. He beams me a bright smile and my heart beats even faster.

The closer we get to the Council Hall pavilion, the thicker the crowds. The fragrance of garlands combined with the smoke of cookfires and spices makes me dizzy. Stiff-backed sentinels holding long spears ring the exterior of the massive tent. The scene is medieval, from another time and place.

My heartbeat ramps up when I get a quick glimpse of the creepy hooded figures seated in a semi-circle within the candlelit tent.

"We're here to petition the Council like everyone else," Liam whispers into my ear. "You're not on trial. Stay calm. Just be glad," he adds with a wicked grin, "that they can't read our minds."

I flash him a scowl. He's enjoying my torment a little too much. It occurs to me that maybe this is how Sirens get their kicks.

The shorter the line, the drier my throat and quicker my pulse. The people waiting are excited and jittery, but my dread escalates to sheer terror, as if I'm a condemned person awaiting execution. Maybe they'll punish me for healing Evan, even though I saved Wade—since, after all, I'm the one who hurt him in the first place.

It takes the better part of an hour for the waiting crowd to plead their cases before the Council. Eventually we're at the head of the line and I have a clear view of the seven seated figures, each one garbed in dark robes and hoods topped by wide-brimmed hats, their faces obscured in shadow.

When it's our turn, Lila takes her place beside me, her arm linked in mine as we walk slowly forward. The Councilwoman at the center of the semicircle rises and pushes back her hood. Under the wide hat, firelight reveals a fragment of face so carved with deep grooves that it reminds me of Aunt Millie's petrified features. Though she speaks out loud, the woman's voice reverberates inside my skull. The six other Council members, their faces still obscured in the shadow of their hoods, rise as one and dip their heads in a synchronized bow.

"Daughter Rosalie," the woman intones as I kneel before her. She rests a bony hand on my shoulder, sending a jolt of power sizzling through me. "Your feats are well known to us, Daughter. Now, a choice must be made."

The voice cuts off, leaving me to stare at the intricate weave of the floor mat, the words rebounding inside my head.

"Rise!" she commands and releases her grasp on my shoulder. Unseen hands lift me to my feet. Words and images sift into my mind, most of which make little sense. The noises settle and soften until, at last, I can understand. According to Liam she can't read what's in my head, but she sure can deliver a direct message into my brain.

"I am Cressida Voland, Second Tier Magistrate of the Eastern Sector Council. You, Daughter, may address me as Magistrate Voland. Throughout our long history," she booms, "our kind have abandoned the fold and settled among the population, forsaking their precious birthright—one that has been kept alive and nurtured by this governing body for eons."

Magistrate Voland watches me, eyes luminous in their sunken hollows. Vibrations from the ground, from her voice inside my mind and all around me, work their way up my spine into my teeth and jaws. I'm certain my skull is going to crack open if I have to endure another minute.

"However," she continues, "many to whom the earth speaks loudly are drawn back to the fold. Had your latent powers not manifested so forcefully, you, too, might have been able to live happily apart, drifting further and further from your origins."

The Magistrate pauses to let her words sink in. "Your mother, the sister of one of our most powerful daughters, eventually realized the folly of keeping you from us."

What is she talking about? My mother never encouraged me to come to Salttain. She had eighteen years to tell me about my heritage, and never said a thing.

"She ultimately agreed to let the Earth call you. And so it has. But the decision to rejoin the fold, to return to your rightful place among The People of the Hand, is a decision only you can reach."

My head spins. I'm blind and deaf to everything except the voice that flows through my arteries, pumps from my heart to the capillaries in the tips of my fingers. "It is a momentous decision, Daughter," the Magistrate says. "But the choice must be voluntary."

Voluntary, I think. As voluntary as a plant leaning toward the sunlight. Now that I've tasted it, without the power that flows through me like sap in a tree, how will I live?

"The Council hereby recognizes you, Daughter Rosalie, as a lost member of the People of the Hand and extends the invitation to join us. You need not decide now."

And if I choose to leave, will they really let me go free?

"Once you join, you will be bound by our laws and rules. You will undergo the same education all Children of the Hand receive. But if you opt to leave us," she says, as if reading my thoughts, "we will neither seek you out nor hunt you down."

The tension in my body, coiled and tight as a spring, unwinds. I'm lightheaded, my head about to float free of my neck. But she's not finished. Her voice breaks through my daze, a hot dagger pinning my focus back to her. "Know this. If you do choose to turn your back on us, you will be shunned. You will be unable to call on us for aid should you find yourself threatened. However, if we deem the People are at risk in any way, we will act in our best interest. The world is a dangerous place, Daughter, and we, the People of the Hand, have long been its targets. It is the reason we huddle together. Not for power, or pre-eminence. For safety."

By the time the world has tumbled back together, clearer and brighter, the sounds sharpened, the Magistrate has already returned to her seat. I rise to my feet as all seven Council members watch me from beneath their shadowy hoods.

Lila, Liam, and Aurora are with me. Shaking hard, I say nothing, but I'm left with little doubt of the threat hidden in her lofty speech. She may be promising an out, but I don't believe her for a minute. My joining the Hand may be offered as a choice, but if I turn them down, I'm not getting off this island alive. Not with the power I wield.

Someone offers me a sip of warm broth to stop the tremors. Magistrate Voland rises again, but this time when she speaks her voice is warm, melodious, and not inside my head. "In the meantime, Daughter, we are here to celebrate your wondrous feats. You have located a miraculous plant we believed extinct and thus restored many souls to health. The People are grateful and wish to acknowledge your accomplishments."

A roar goes up, and the crowd hoots, yells, and tosses flowers at me. People encircle me, kissing my cheeks and shaking my hand. None of it seems real. I want to run and hide or burrow deep into a hole in the sand.

"We trust your true heart will guide you to the correct choice. Until then, Daughter Rosalie, you are not fully bound by our laws. You have one month to decide, though I caution you, without the Council's full protection you are at risk."

"Thank you," I murmur, absorbing the ominous words. I think about Aunt Millie's fate—life as a tree—and wonder if that's my only other viable option. Definitely not an enticing one.

"It is our belief," the Magistrate continues, "that you have temporarily neutralized a great threat to this settlement. One of our own who has distorted and warped our power for his own ends."

Another loud cheer. They mean Randy, of course.

"The danger has not passed, friends. There are those among us who have abetted the traitor in the vain hope of ushering in a new age." The woman looks to her fellow Council members, then back to the crowd. "We must remain vigilant."

The crowd roars, and I can"t shake the fear of what's coming. Lila is next to face the Council alone. Liam and Aurora help lead me from the pavilion, leaving Lila inside as the sides drop down, obscuring the occupants from sight.

The crowd parts to allow our passage. The truth sinks in. I've got exactly one month to decide if I want to become a part of this weird magical cult. I glance down at my glowing palms and out at the ocean. My heart sinks. How can I return to the life I once knew before I tasted the Earth's power? Before I knew Liam?

"There's much to celebrate," Lila says as she finally emerges from the pavilion. She unfurls a small scroll tied with twine.

The Council, it appears, is willing to grant a pardon in the matter of Evan's healing and will recommend all potential charges issued from the court of the Eastern Sector Council Elders be dropped. My head throbs. "Can that be reversed? If I sign on the dotted line and join, can they decide to throw the book at me?"

"It's possible," Lila says. "But the Elders generally abide by the rulings of the Regional Magistrates. And leniency is always granted to unwitting Outsiders. At least, in my experience."

I study her. There's more she's not telling me. And I doubt if it's the good news part. "What did they say about your family? About Liam and the curse?"

Lila lowers her gaze, then looks up again, a sad smile on her lips. "Nothing. Which means it is as it has always been. But there will be no further additions to Liam's sentence. Which is cause enough to celebrate."

I breathe out. "Right," I say. From the corner of my eye, I spot Liam and Evan laughing at each other's jokes. "Three months of life on land is a great reason to rejoice."

"You're finally done," Evan says, joining us. "Time to party!"

Lila smiles, her eyes crinkling with warmth. "Good thing that's over with."

I sigh, happy for the distraction but far from relieved. My father is unconscious, left to dangle inside a seed pod, and I'm about to sell my soul to the lost descendants of Atlantis. Liam will soon leave me to swim the seas as a seal. But, hey, why not party in the meantime?

"Come," Lila says, urging me along. "There's dancing and music and so much food. You don't want to miss out on the fun, do you?"

Aurora joins us and takes me by the other arm. "Happiness is fleeting. You have to grab it with both hands when offered, Rosalie."

The Salttain Island credo. Live for today, before tomorrow eats you alive.

Torchlight illuminates a beach packed with moving bodies. Rows of drummers weave around the perimeter, followed by laughing partygoers in flower-decked hats and garlands of blossoms. At the center of the writhing crowd is a brightly lit fountain of flowing liquid—a very intoxicating brew, from the looks of the people who fill their cups with it.

Evan, not wasting a minute, has dived into the fun…and the punch. He flits between dancers, switching from partner to partner. My heart squeezes at the sight of him. This is probably the first time he's been a guest at one of the real parties on Salttain and he's reveling in it.

I'm drawn further and further into the press of bodies too, until finally, I decide to let go and give in as the night becomes a giddy blur of laughter and color.

From within the crowd, I spot Liam watching me from the sidelines. A hush blankets my senses as the invisible thread that binds us together draws tight. I find a corridor between the dancers and walk over to him.

"Have you had enough fun yet?" he asks, not looking like he's had that much. "Let's go for a walk."

"Liam…" I protest, but he grips me loosely by the wrist and urges me toward the ocean. I don't fight him. I want to go.

We stroll in silence along the water's edge, the moon our only light. Seafoam tickles our bare feet as the cliffs give way to rocky rolling hills, the beach narrowed to a thin strip of pebbly sand. We stop and sit on a boulder that juts from shallow water and I soak in Liam's presence, the impermanence of his existence making every moment alone with him a small jewel.

"Think anyone will miss us?"

"Maybe. You don't mind that I took you away from the excitement?" he asks, flashing me a rare smile. Smiling back, I shake my head.

Maybe he's had some punch. Or maybe he's relieved we both survived the Council's judgment—no better, but at least no worse.

Seeing him like this—silver eyes vibrant, dark curls gleaming in the moonlight, the boy he could be if the burden of his troubles was ever lifted—erodes my valiant efforts at self-control. Fueled by the sea air, the burbling energy of the earth's vibration that eddies around us, I'm flushed with a sense of abandon, like I can sprout wings and fly. Tentatively, I rest my head on his shoulder and to my shock, he lets me keep it there.

"What happens if I don't sign?" Maybe it's his scent of ocean, cologne, and earth that's suddenly filled me with irrational hope. "I'd still be an Outsider then, right? And three months a year, we could be together. You could come find me."

Liam's shoulder muscles go taut. "If you don't join us, once you leave the island, your memory of me and everything that happened here will be erased. And still, you'll be in constant danger."

My spine stiffens. I didn't consider that. I can't help but wonder if they'd tried this on Tyler, but it didn't take. Anger courses through me—not just against Randy but toward the Council—and I push it away. I'm finally alone with Liam, after we've both been given a reprieve. I don't want to waste a moment.

"Maybe," I tell him. "But right now, I'm still an Outsider. I have a month to decide, they said. And no matter the risks, I want to be with you."

Raising my head, I lift my face to his and pull him closer. His heart thumps against me, and my own matches its rhythm. My limbs flood with heat, our bodies drawn together by a magnetic force so strong it's undeniable. The moon can't resist Earth's gravity. How can I be expected to resist Liam?

"I–I want the same thing," he says, his voice husky.

For a moment, I'm just stunned that he's suddenly willing to take this risk. But I don't care what happens after. I need this. I need him.

I don't know who moves first as, holding each other, we slide off the rock and into the water, my party dress made of flowers billowing around me. Seaweed gathers and clumps beneath us—Liam working his magic to weave us our very own love raft. We drift on it, out beyond the waves, entangled in moonlight.

Liam leans in to graze my jaw with a feather-soft kiss. His lips are warm, and soon his kisses grow urgent and desperate, like I might vanish if he opens his eyes. He presses me to him like I'm all that's keeping him afloat, and I curl toward him, molten and frenzied with pent-up want. Below us, the ocean floor trembles, as if feeding off our energy.

When he finally lifts his head, I see the tears that trail down his cheeks."No matter if you're technically an Outsider or not, if they catch us, they'll take more of my days on land away," he whispers against my skin. "But, Rosalie, those days won't mean anything if I can't be with you."

I cradle his head to my chest and kiss his wet lashes. Enveloped in his arms, I'm lulled by the rhythm of the rolling waves. "If I get them to curse me, too, then we'll never have to be apart."

"That's not a life I'd wish on my worst enemy," Liam says. "Well. Except Randy, maybe. Besides, they'll find a different way to curse you. Trust me. They're very creative."

I draw him closer, my heart hammering, and vow to find a way to be with him, to use my new powers, no matter what it takes. But I've got to tell him about Tyler. Even if he rejects me for lying. For letting his brother die. I can't be with him this way, without telling him the truth.

"Liam," I start. "In the boat before I flash-broiled Randy, he admitted something to me."

He nuzzles my neck, raising goosebumps on my wet skin. "Yeah?" he murmurs, voice drowsy.

I must be crazy to ruin the moment I'd been willing to die for. But he's got to know. "He told me he killed Tyler."

His lips brush my jaw and I can't help but let out a soft moan. "I thought you'd already figured that out—that they messed with your memories," he says, grazing my neck with kisses. Oh god…I am truly a masochist.

I cup his face between my palms and lift his head so his half-lidded gaze meets mine. "Listen to me. About Tyler. When you and Evan used to play together, was there another boy with you?"

Liam blinks. "Huh?"

"What you just said—about memories. You were talking about mine. But I think yours were tampered with."

"What do you mean?"

I smooth the wet hair from his brow. "I'm so sorry. I know this is the wrong time to tell you, but I think you were all made to forget something—someone—really important. Tyler's real name was Fionn. Fionn O'Donnell. Your older brother."

Liam's face goes blank. He looks through me. Past me.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you as soon as I found out," I blurt. "I just…it's all been too much."

I expect Liam to be furious with me for keeping this secret from him—from Lila and Aurora. Instead, he closes his eyes and presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose, as if struggling to hold back tears. "Shit. Fionn. Oh my god. How could I…"

I gather him in my arms as he buries his head against my chest. "I'm pretty sure my own mother made me forget things, too. It's not your fault."

He sits back, away from me. "Did he remember? Did he know his brother forgot him?"

"I don't know what he remembered, Liam. He kept so many secrets from me. But he's here with us now—helping us. I know he doesn't blame me…so he must not blame you, either."

"Man," Liam says. "I'd have given anything to have known him. I—I always had this vague sense of something missing, like a shadow cast when there was no one there. It's…I wish I could recall more."

He shakes his head repeatedly, as if trying to jog his memory. "Fionn," he whispers, as if testing the sound of the name. "Did he ever say anything about me?"

My brow furrows. I wish I could lie that he had. "He never mentioned anyone here, except Randy and Aunt Millie. He kept all of it a secret until right at the…" Without warning, the tears come. My voice sticks in my throat. "I wish I knew. I-I miss him so much."

"I'm glad you were there for him, at least. But Lila. I have to tell her. Who would do this to us?"

I hold him tight. And then it's him comforting me, kissing me again, as if the shared grief over our loss has drawn us even closer. "I'm so sorry, Liam," I force out through the lump in my throat. "He was great. The best, really."

I shiver, and it's not just from thoughts of Tyler. The warm air suddenly carries a damp chill. The rounded waves now have pointed tips.

"Oh my god," I say, terrified. "It's him. It's Randy."

"It's high tide," Liam says. But the moment's broken—by my confession about Tyler and my fear.

We let our raft disintegrate and drift back to shore with the last wave. Lying together on the small strip of sand, Liam leans over me. He bends down to kiss me again and I let my worries recede into the waves of euphoria and longing that undulate through me. That, and relief: he knows I kept the truth about Tyler from him, and he doesn't hate me. I try to ignore how the island's energy ebbs as we touch. Try to convince myself it's because I've let my guard down.

"Hey!" shouts a slurred voice. "Get a room!"

Liam and I pull apart and jump to our feet. Swaying precariously, beer bottle in hand, Evan is silhouetted against the torchlight.

"You should go back, Evan," I say as gently as I can manage. Liam steps in front of me.

"You want to be alone with him." Evan slams the bottle against a rock and points the jagged edge toward Liam.

"Evan, stop it. Please. Put that down!"

"Come on, buddy," Liam says, stepping tentatively toward him. "This isn't you. It's the drink. Let's go back to the party and we can talk this out."

"Fuck you, Liam."

"Evan," I say, my tone soft. "What's bothering you? You can tell me."

"Don't try to reason with him," Liam warns. "It could be the ague—or what the islanders believe is the ague—though I've never known it to affect Outsiders before…but…"

He trails off without finishing his thought, thinking better of it. But the implication is clear—because of my arrival, Randy has perfected old skills and may be developing new ones.

Evan's voice rises, then cracks into a sob. "I thought I had a chance with you," he yells and staggers backward. "I thought you liked me!"

"I do," I say, filled with pity. "But not like that. I never meant to mislead you."

"Liar!" he bellows.

"Evan," I say, approaching him. "I wanted you to live. I-I never meant to…make you think that I…"

From the corner of my eye, I see Liam stoop for a rock and fling it, knocking the bottle from Evan's hand. "Easy, bro," he says. "We're your friends."

Evan slumps and folds over, crying silent agonized tears.

My gaze snaps toward the ocean. The pointy white caps peak higher and sharper. The horizon glows vaguely green. The knot already forming in my stomach twists tighter.

"Let's go back to the party, Evan," I say. "Feel free to scold me further inland."

A slick trail of moisture shines on Evan's cheeks. He straightens, his arms dangling loosely at his sides. "You should have let me die, then. Because it's coming back! He's coming back! He'll never leave me alone."

Evan lifts his t-shirt and I gag at the sight of his chest. It's covered entirely in a thick rind of growths, as if he's grown an exoskeleton. I flash a look at Liam. "When did this happen? You were fine this afternoon."

Liam shakes his head sadly, shrugs, then glances nervously at the ocean. Then, like he's been hit with an electric jolt, Evan straightens, his expression gone blank. For a split second his eyes gleam bright emerald, rivers of light rippling through him.

I scream as he picks up a stick of driftwood and advances, swinging savagely at Liam. "Stop, Evan! What are you doing?"

"Put that down," Liam says in a level voice. "You know you don't want to hurt me."

Snarling, Evan charges. Liam sidesteps and punches him in the face. Evan collapses on the sand, veins still pulsing faintly with light.

"What the fuck was that?" I ask.

"Hell if I know," Liam says. "Looks like Randy's picked up some new tricks. Let's haul him back so the Council can look him over."

That's when we hear the screams. Chaos seems to have broken loose at the party on the beach.

"Shit," Liam says.

Evan lurches upright, his face ghostly under the moonlight. "I have to go back," he chokes out, tears streaming down his face. "Don't...don"t try to stop me."

"Go back where, Evan?" I say, as soothingly as I can. But Evan is backing away.

"Damn. He's talking about the Garden!" Liam says to me under his breath. "He"ll never make it there."

Without another word, Evan whirls around and sprints towards the dunes.

"Evan! You'll lose your way!" I shout as, panicked, I lunge after him. Liam and I give chase, but Evan is too quick. My soaked gown trips me up on the rocky terrain, Liam stubbornly at my side. Before we know it, Evan has disappeared into the night as a cold gale blows in from the water.

"Let him go," Liam says, holding me back.

"No! We should go after him! What does Randy want with him?" Struggling to get free, I cry over the wind, but Liam's strength prevails.

"To use him as bait?" he shouts, the roar of the surf nearly drowning him out. "A spy? Or maybe just as fuel. All I know is that Randy won't hesitate to use whatever means available to return. Let's just pray the island safeguards hold." He turns to me, silver eyes liquid, the heartbreak evident in their brilliant depths. "Please trust me, Rosalie."

But I can't just let Evan go. Not after all we've both done to save him. Still struggling, I'm about to tell Liam we can't give up when a resounding boom rumbles, the shockwaves knocking us off our feet. Multiple geysers jet up beyond the waves. A second boom throws a green plume of water high into the black sky. The ground trembles with surging power.

Explosions rumble in the night as arteries of light spread beneath the sandy soil of the dunes like window frost. Holding hands, Liam and I race back to the party as more blasts detonate offshore.

Thunderous booms rock the island's flank. The earth shudders as its energy, visible to me as a latticework of light, is suctioned off like a giant vacuum, siphoned out to sea. I fight to grasp hold of the grid of light, but it dissolves at my touch. Crashing waves submerge the glowing matrix of energy, then recede.

The sight would be beautiful if it wasn't so terrifying.

Randy is back, apparently fueling his return by drawing power from every source within his range.

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