She takes a measured breath, features tight.
“TheBlack Orchidset sail from the Port of Piraeus just three days ago, carrying over 2,900 souls on board, including crew. She was on her maiden voyage—billed as a nine-day luxury, cultural experience through the Aegean with ports of call including Crete and the Turkish coast.”
The journalist gestures toward the caldera.
“She arrived in Santorini’s moonlit caldera last night, when a gala event was underway aboard the vessel. Guests were scheduled to be tendered ashore this morning.”
A pause as she adjusts her earpiece.
“But something went horribly—tragically—wrong. Sometime during the gala event, a ‘man overboard’ alarm was triggered. It was followed almost immediately by a second MOB. What happened next remains unclear. Early reports suggest the captain attempted an emergency maneuver and struck a submerged section of uncharted volcanic reef, causing a catastrophic breach of theOrchid’s hull. The ship lost power almost immediately, and the vessel went into a blackout. Without power, the rising winds and ocean currents began to push her toward the reefs and cliffs of the tiny island of Scylla that forms part of the Santorini caldera.”
She attempts to hold her windblown hair off her face.
“Already, several bodies have been recovered from the water. We have yet to receive any kind of official count. We can see there are more deceased floating in the water, and countless passengers and crew still remain trapped on board the ship.”
Cut To Reenactment—Manolis Karamidos And His Donkey
Manolis Karamidos reaches the small cove. He quickly tethers his donkey, rolls his threadbare pants up to his knees, then drags his wooden boat across the pebbles and into the water. Manolis climbs into his boat, starts his engine on the third pull. He steers his puttering craft toward the woman’s body floating face down in the sparkly green evening gown.
As he nears, he sees a soft cloud of pink blood swirling in the hair around her head. Manolis reaches her, leans over the gunwale, grips her arm, and struggles to roll her over in the sea. But she’s heavy. It’s a bad angle, and he’s old and tired. Suddenly she turns face up in the water. Manolis gasps and jumps back.
A smooth, silver face with sightless eyes and a gaping maw of a mouth stares up at him. Shock ripples through him. He realizes it’s a mask: wide at the forehead, narrowing at the jaw. Sharp cheekbones, beakish nose. Eyes that slant outward. Brows like windswept wings. The mouth is hollow and looks hungry.
He’s seen a mask like this before. It’s a harpy—a wind spirit. Parasitic and predatory. She embodies a desperate, yearning hunger that torments and never ends.
Manolis makes a rapid sign of the cross and whispers a prayer. He glances over the ocean, toward the rising sun and the stricken ship. A chill crawls over his body. He feels as though he’s being confronted by a malevolent portent sent up from the very depths of the ancient caldera, spat out by the ancient Greek gods themselves.
He makes another sign of the cross. This woman in her evening gown is beyond saving.
He steers his boat toward a little yellow backpack bobbing on the swells nearby. He reaches for one of the straps and hooks it out of the sea. Salt water rolls off the waterproof fabric in shiny beads. It’s a child’s backpack, he thinks.
Manolis opens it and extracts a notebook. Still dry.
On the cover in bold, black Sharpie are the words:
List of Suspicious Happenings to Be Investigated by Carter J. Frost.
There’s a second book inside the bag. Manolis removes it.
Carter’s Black Orchid Passport Challenge.
Manolis squints again toward the crippledBlack Orchidin the distance. The sheer scope of it all overwhelms him. Someone has indeed angered the old gods.
He guides his old fishing boat to the next body. A blond man.
Also beyond help.
Poppy
She entered a territory of lies without a passport for return.
—Dr. Gideon Marsh, Mistress of the Naga
Three Days, Four Hours To Impact
Poppy dabs sweat from her face with a handkerchief. Damp circles are forming embarrassingly under her arms. The air-conditioning in the Greek taxi is malfunctioning, and she’s sweltering in the back seat. But the unseasonable heat wave that presses over Athens is not flattening her anticipation—she’s beyond excited. For the first time in her middle-aged life, she’s boarding a luxury cruise. Not just any cruise, but the invitation-only maiden voyage of the brand-new MSBlack Orchid.
Her mind slides back to the dreamy words on the glossy brochure that was sent to her and her boss—Lillith—in Scotland:
