I turn and walk away, feeling the weight of his gaze with every step. The image of a wounded wolf stains my mind as I rejoin Vector in the auditorium, our usual seats in the backrow offering less entertainment than usual.
The desk in front of me stays silent and empty, Christopher’s absence adding to the solemn mood of the morning.
Solemn, that is, until my phone pings with the message I’ve been waiting for.
MARLIN: Be at the Seaborn Mansion tonight.
Chapter 22
CHRISTOPHER
The first red flag was the lack of cameras.
For a house as grand as this one, it’s not normal for there to be a blatant absence of security. An air of ignorance for thinking no one would dare to enter the oceanfront mansion while nobody is home.
Makes me wonder what kind of monster lives here.
And why the fuck one of my crew members brought a harpoon to a break-in.
“It’s for the tentacles.” Gripping the spear tight to his chest, the middle-aged man looks at me with wonder and fear, “The Sea Witch swims along these shores, you know.”
I stare at him, wondering whether it’s too late to trade this one in for a smarter model.
“You know she’s human like the rest of us, right?”
“That’s what she wants you to believe.” Swivelling his head from either side, he looks over each shoulder conspicuously, “A woman waiting to lure you to her torture chambers. And once she gets you there, that’s when her true form emerges.”
“Her... true form?”
“An octopus.” Making the cross with his harpoon, the man shakes his head solemnly, “Most terrifying sea creature you’ll find in these waters.”
Right.
Turning from the rambling storyteller, I survey the rest of the crew. It’s a mismatched bunch, a couple of old men I found at the pub, a fisherman who can’t keep his mouth shut, and a guy just a bit younger than me.
The young one seems the most promising of the bunch, although his wrecked shoulder leaves him useless in terms of the pulley system.
A pulley system we crushed the fuck out of, might I add.
Drilled into the marble columns, two rope hoists sit silently beneath the upper balcony of the Seaborn Mansion. Heavy duty ropes hang from the metal additions, the harnesses around our hips snug and ready to do some serious lifting.
It’s a simple setup, one that I’ve used too many times to count.
Though I’ve never used it on a setting quite as beautiful as this one.
“You won’t find a better view in Wolf Hollow.”
The one guy speaks up, stepping apart from the crew to join me by the edge of the shore.
“Not sure you’d find a better view anywhere.”
My response gets swept away by a sudden breeze, the sweet tang of saltwater teasing my cheeks with a brush of humidity. Moonlight shines down on the glistening shore, the crashing waves doing their best to rock the shoreline in its entirety.
It’s a serene sort of beauty, one that takes your breath away just as easily as it replaces it.
An ancient dock catches my eye, and I turn to see a rusty old thing clinging to a rope tethering it to shore. It bobs along with each passing wave, the withered planks rough and sandy beneath the glittering night sky.
The dock Tristan Seaborn jumped from.
