A black, viscous cloud seeps into the water.
Air.I need air. I wave my arms like a starfish until I feel something long and rubbery . . . a hose. I pray it’s the one connected to my octopus and not to my depth gauge.
Lungs on fire, I swing the hose in front of my face. I think I see something round and black attached to it. I bring it to my mouth and almost faint with relief when my teeth close around rubber and not hard plastic. I suck but swallow water, and my chest spasms.
Choking, I scrabble to remember how to get air.The purge!My fingers graze the button in the middle of the regulator.
The well turns gray then black. Did my headlamp go off?
I press the purge button to clear my mouthpiece of water.
Air . . .gloriousair streaks into my lungs.
I breathe in long and deep, lying on the mound of coins like a crack addict sprawled on a dirty couch.
The black shadow sharpens, and I realize it’s the creature liquifying. Dark, gloppy bits curl and bloat like oil in a lava lamp.
Something shines amidst the dirty sludge.
Something gold and smooth, big as my palm.
I reach up and rake through the gunk in slow motion.
When I was a kid, I’d climb onto rooftops to hide from the terrible humans populating my world and stare up at the night sky to wish on its stars. I quickly understood that stars didn’t listen, so I stopped whispering to them.
Tonight, as I lay at the bottom of the black well, and my gloved hand closes over the falling disk of gold, I feel like that kid again, the one who looked for light in the darkness, who believed that if he reached high enough, he could pluck the stars from the very sky.
22
Cadence
My lids are bloated, and my eyes sting. Slate is dead.
Gone.
I saw his blood redden the water.
I saw the frayed end of rope Adrien fished out.
I saw the bubbles stop popping and foaming, and the surface slicken like oil.
“We can’t . . . just leave him . . .” I hiccup around a sob.
I stare at Adrien, who’s as white as the linens I lent Slate last night. Gaëlle and Papa, too, are uncharacteristically pale.
“I’ll send someone in there tomorrow.” Papa swallows. “Around noon to be safe.”
I sniffle, the arctic chill singeing my nostrils as hot tears flood down my cheeks, and glare at the rope as though it has personally wronged me. Anger replaces my grief. I want to wring the neck of the siren, even if it curses me into an early grave. I’m mad enough to believe that I could kill it before it could kill me.
“Um, guys.” Gaëlle’s breathy voice slashes through my thoughts. “Did I just—did you . . . Did you see that?”
“That?” I swing around and grip the edge of the well. A firm arm snakes around my waist and levers me away. “Let go, Adrien! I’m not going to jump in.”
His eyebrows jolt up, vanishing behind a stiff blond, wayward lock. He releases me but doesn’t step back, just to the side. I sense he doesn’t trust me not to jump in.
I focus on the well again, and sure enough, a jumble of bubbles ripple and foam.
“Cadence, don’t get your hopes up.” Adrien’s voice is quiet and gentle.
