Twelve

Osprey Hill was across the Thames River, in a tiny little fishing village overlooking the spot where Long Island Sound, Block Island Sound, and the Atlantic Ocean converge. At the top of the hill was the town warehouse, where my grandfather had worked long ago. The warehouse held buoys and mushroom anchors for moorings, lengths of anchor chain thicker than a bicycle tire, old stop signs, orange cones for traffic control—which was a laugh, because the town of Pequod was so small and sleepy, the only busy times were weekends when seafood-craving tourists descended.

I had loved the village since childhood. But last year it had taken on magical status: I’d brought Matt here. Right before school started up again. We had gotten chocolate chip cookies from the Butterfly Café and drove to Osprey Hill to feel the salt breeze and look out to sea. We had parked up here in his Jeep, and I had loved the song playing over the Bluetooth: “Lost in the 16th” by Margot Fran?ois. The lyrics were about change, but the feeling it gave me was about love.

Now Matt drove up the narrow gravel driveway and parked behind the warehouse. The three of us got out and walked to a grove of cedars. Matt had the binoculars he kept in his glove compartment, to use for birding. From here, we were hidden, but we could see the harbor, the lighthouse, and all the way out to Fishers Island. We could also see all the roads down below, winding through the village.

Matt raised the binoculars and scanned the area.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

“Iris seemed pretty freaked out back in New London,” Matt whispered to me. “Do you think anyone could really have spotted her there? Is someone following us?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “She sounded convinced. That blue van scared her.”

“But, a blue van?” Matt asked. “You know how many of those there are around? Just think of all the blue minivans you see at after-school pickup. And that we’ve even gotten rides in.”

I glanced at Iris to see how she was doing, and she looked even paler. I noticed that she was looking at the inside of her left arm. She held it out toward me, and I saw a dark but yellowing bruise in the crook of her left elbow. I hadn’t noticed it before.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I just remembered,” she said. “He did a blood test and told me and Hayley we both have AB negative.”

I felt a jolt. Eloise and I had that same blood type, too. I had it on my license. AB negative is the rarest of the eight main blood types. Only 1 percent of people in the entire world has it.

“Who is he ?” Matt asked.

“The person who kidnapped us. Who kept us there,” Iris said. She stared at the inside of her arm. She closed her eyes and shivered. “He stared right at me and told me that if I was lucky, I would be chosen.”

“Chosen for what?” Matt asked.

“To be a hero to the goddess.”

“Goddess?” I repeated. “Like those women in the paintings?”

“I think he meant the girl,” Iris said. “The one in the bed.”

I was certain that Iris remembering who that girl was could be the key to everything.

“What was the girl like?” I asked.

“She was nice. Kind of shy, but friendly.”

“Can you remember her name?”

“Almost—I almost have it. Something about a storm.?.?.?.?I know for sure she dressed in white,” she said. “A white nightgown. It looked old-fashioned.”

“Anything else about her?” I asked.

“She had a bandage on her forearm.”

“Like a cast? Or a brace for a sprain?” I asked.

“No, she’d been embroidering something onto her sleeve, the needle had pricked her. Pretty deep, and it had gotten infected. The guy was really freaked out about that. He gave her a shot of antibiotics and kept checking the bandage.”

“What was she embroidering?” Matt asked.

“Just one word: Sibyl .” She looked up at me with wild eyes. “It’s coming back! I remember her name!”

“Tell me,” I said.

And she did.