“Mari,” he said, his voice a thunderous caress.
“Finn.” His name felt like knives sliding up my throat, cutting me from the inside. The urge to leap off the grotesque’s back and throw myself into his arms was so strong it felt as if I were a sheet of paper being ripped in half.
My hands curled into the stone fur of the grotesque. Finn’s navy eye sparked with lightning, while his hazel eye was the cool green forest on a summer night.
“I heard from the wind,” he said, watching me carefully. “It told me . . . Do you know what it said?”
I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I couldn’t.
“Did you kill Philoneas?” I asked, sidestepping his question.
His expression shifted. Guilt. As clear as day. Behind him, Darin whooped. He’d nearly struck Jacob.
I narrowed my eyes. Quick as a flash, I leaned over the grotesque’s side and grabbed a bit of the concrete rubble the creature had broken off the lighthouse when it landed. Then I leaped off the grotesque’s back, dove around Finn, and slammed the concrete into Darin’s head.
He dropped to the ground.
Finn grabbed me from behind and spun me around. I kicked him. I slammed my head into his. I went to punch his throat and jab my fingers into his eyes.
He held me immobile. “Stop. Mari. Stop.”
It was almost exactly what he’d said to me right before I stabbed him in the heart. We both held still, imprisoned by the memory.
“I’m not Mari,” I said, shaking my head—shaking all over. At least, I wasn’t the Mari he thought I was. “Touch Jacob, and I’ll kill you. Touch Griff again, and I’ll kill you. Touch me, and I’ll kill you. Now, undo this tsunami, or?—”
“You’ll kill me?” he asked, an odd expression on his face.
“Yes.”
“I thought we already did that. It didn’t stick. Do you remember?” His voice was low, and he looked at me like he did when he used to leave daisy chains and packs of bubblegum for me, just hoping I’d pick them up.
“Undo the tsunami, Smith.”
“Finn,” he corrected. “Did the wind tell the truth? Was killing me an accident? Do you remember who I am?”
“A conjurer. The Smith. Undo it. Now.”
His brow wrinkled. I wanted to reach up and smooth the lines away. Why had he killed Philoneas? Had he really gone after Griff? He hadn’t denied it.
The grotesque, tired of waiting, snapped its stone teeth at us.
Finn stared at me for a moment longer, indecision in his gaze. “Don’t unravel my illusion, no matter how it looks.”
“You want me to trust you,” I said, laughing.
He shrugged then held his thumb to his second and third fingers. He twisted his hand.
A thousand knots flew together. Reef knots and bowlines. Half-hitches and figure eights. The abyss formed again, but this time, it was a hundred times bigger. It slipped like a net beneath the column of water and the giant mosasaur.
The wave was shorter now, twenty-five feet instead of thirty. The monster had been eating the waves. Every now and then, the boatmen threw plumes of steaming water at Jacob, and he batted them aside with a sharp gust of wind.
So the men were with the Smiths. It made sense. They used simple overhand and bowline knots. They were probably one of the dozen mercenary cousins still in the city.
Finn ignored them. His brow was covered with sweat as he carefully slid the black abyss below the water. Then his lip curled, and he twisted his hand again. The column of water spun. At first, it was a slow clockwise rotation. But then it sped until it was as swift as a whirlpool being sucked down a drain.
Jacob threw his hand out, shock splashed over his face. He twisted his fingers and conjured a giant mechanical bird. It grabbed him and lifted him into the air.
The boatmen’s cries were swallowed by the roar of water draining into an endless abyss. The boat was swept up in the violent current and then swallowed by the waves. At the last second, the boat was lifted into the air and soared free, crashing through water and disappearing into the fog.
