Part 23 (1/2)

”He's lost. The dog is one of those village breeds. I see them all the time when I'm on land.” Jenny stroked that sleek warm head. ”Makes me wonder if there are people on this island. If there are, they might have a transceiver. I could get us help. Warn someone about what's happening. If the coasts are in danger . . .”

People needed to be evacuated. But even with her connections no one was going to leave their homes, businesses, entire cities on the say-so of some woman who-what? Had been told by a merman that bad things were coming? Apocalyptic tsunamis and floods? Ridiculous. Overwhelming. Even she had trouble accepting it.

Which meant it was her family, all over again. Danger and death, and no way to stop it. Except scream and scream while no one listened.

I'll make them listen, she promised, touching her stomach as it ached in sympathy to her heart. This time, someone will listen.

But even if someone did, if some explanation could be concocted that the public would understand, one that didn't involve the supernatural, what then? Panic? Chaos? People were still going to die.

Perrin looked uneasy. Jenny said, ”I won't tell anyone what you are.”

”It's not that.” He ducked his head, and stood. ”Let's go look. We shouldn't waste any time.”

The dog whined, wagging its tail at him. Jenny felt a little whine at the back of her throat, too. Surprised her, how suddenly reluctant she was to find other people-even though it was logical, necessary. She needed medical help. The Consortium was after her. End of the world was coming. Maybe.

But there was another little world here, between her and Perrin, that she didn't want to end. Fragile, desperate world. Just the two of them, and so many questions left unanswered. So much she needed to say even though she didn't know how.

”It's dark,” she said. ”We could wait.”

”I can see.” Perrin reached down. Jenny grabbed his hand. He pulled her up, but she didn't let go.

” 'Nature Boy,' ” she said, staring into his pale eyes, heart aching, unsure what was going to come out next from her mouth. ”That's the name of the song I sang to you, all those years ago. The one you've been humming.”

The corner of his mouth tilted into a faint, sad smile. ”I know. Nat King Cole.”

She wanted to ask how he knew-because the boy she'd met hadn't even been able to speak English-but he bent, swinging her up into his arms. His strength was effortless, and so was his rare smile, which deepened just a fraction.

”Good song,” he said, as the dog whined.

”The best,” she replied, with difficulty. ”What about your feet?”

He held her closer. ”Just rest, Jenny.”

”Take your own advice.”

”None for the wicked.” Perrin started walking. ”An old human man I knew was fond of saying that. He was homeless, but he taught me how to get work. No rest for the wicked, he always told me. I never heard truer words.”

”What happened to him?”

”He died.” Perrin's smile faded, and he looked down, past her. ”The dog is following us.”

Jenny barely heard him. ”How many times has your heart been broken, Perrin?”

She hadn't meant to say that out loud. She couldn't take it back, either. He faltered, arms tightening.

But he didn't answer her.

Chapter Twelve.

It was common knowledge amongst Perrin's people that to invite a lie was to invite trouble, but as subterfuge was rather difficult anyway, given the number of eyes in the sea, telling outright untruths had become a significant rarity.

Omissions, on the other hand, were something else entirely. Omissions were polite. If you hated the Krackeni in front of you with a red-hot pa.s.sion, and wished nothing more than to break his bones and scatter them for the bottom dwellers, you omitted that from the conversation. Just as you omitted any other potentially damaging emotions, thoughts, and inclinations. Humans were not much different. Except for the lying. And a.s.sholes who never omitted anything.

But that didn't keep Perrin from feeling rather awkward about the fact that he had known, before the dog appeared, that there were people on the island. And omitted that from the conversation.

He had heard their dreams. Echoes, drifting into his mind in whispers and threads, dissolving the moment he tried to see anything beyond those hints of shadows.

He hadn't told Jenny. For the simple reason that she had done exactly what he was afraid she would the moment the dog had discovered them.

Asked to go look. For help.

You are a selfish one. She needs a doctor.

That, however, would mean going on land. Real land. Not this island. And he didn't know where it would be safe. He wasn't even certain how much time was left.

And she seemed better.

”Son of a b.i.t.c.h. Look at that,” Jenny said, hunched down in the leaves, holding the panting, squirming dog against her side. ”b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. I wish I had a gun to blow all their heads off.”

A lot better.

Perrin sat beside Jenny on a rocky hill, overlooking a lush cove that curled into the island in the shape of a fist. The tsunami had struck here, but the curve of the hill below them had formed a natural seawall: high, wide, and protection enough that the rough camp that had been built not one hundred yards from the beach was still-mostly-standing. Some buildings had collapsed, torn up into strips of wood that looked like toothpicks from this distance. Several small boats, tossed on land like discarded toys, appeared the same.

None of it, though, was enough to have anyone running scared. Cookfires pierced the night, high in the forest above the ruined village. Perrin heard laughter. Dogs barked. Pop music blared.

A motor yacht was moored offsh.o.r.e, in the lee of the seawall. Not Jenny's vessel. This one was much smaller but still expensive. A pleasure cruiser.

Bullet holes marked its hull. Several windows were broken. A man's body lay on deck, but Perrin couldn't see much of him except that he wore white shorts and had fat legs. He didn't observe a guard on board, but three much smaller speedboats were anch.o.r.ed nearby, also empty. The vessels appeared remarkably similar to the ones that had surrounded Jenny's yacht.

The sea witch, Perrin thought, was devious.

A woman started screaming, sobbing-out of sight, lost inside the forest. He had been listening to her, off and on, for the past thirty minutes, and wanted very much to stick his fingers in his ears to block out the horrifying sounds she was making.

Instead, he let it sink in. Compartmentalized. All his disgust and anger placed in a box that he would open, later, if given the chance. Perrin couldn't tell just how many men were camped above the village, but he caught glimpses of them. This was not a small operation.

Jenny cursed, digging her fingers into the leaves. She wasn't looking at the camp, but the yacht. ”See the name on the hull? Templesmith? That vessel disappeared less than a week ago. Pirates blamed. The owner is Indonesian, but he rented out his yacht to tourists. A French couple.”

”You want to go down there,” he said.

”Can you listen to that woman and walk away? Even if we can't reach her, we need to find some way to call for help.”

Perrin wanted to survive. He wanted Jenny to survive more than he cared about his own life. But there was living, then there was living, and he still knew the difference, even after all these years.

”Stay here,” he told her.

”Like h.e.l.l,” she muttered, rising with him. The dog barked, and Perrin tapped it sharply on the nose.