“Look, all I can go by is the book. I can’t even pronounce most of it. And it goes on and on, maybe this, could be that, I mean, I don’t see how anyone understands it.”
“Leukemia,” Sanjit said.
“Hey, don’t act like that’s what I said, okay? It was just one possibility. I probably just thought of it because I can actually pronounce it. That’s all.”
They both fell silent. Sanjit stared down at the yacht and more specifically at the helicopter.
“We could try to patch the lifeboat from the yacht,” Sanjit said, although he knew Virtue’s answer already. They’d tried to launch the lifeboat. A rope had snagged, and the lifeboat had landed on a spur of rock. The wooden hull had been punctured, the boat had sunk and was now sloshing in between two rocks that slowly, gradually widened the extent of the damage. The lifeboat was a pile of sticks.
“It’s the helicopter or nothing,” Virtue said. He was not a touchy-feely kid, Virtue, but he squeezed Sanjit’s thin bicep and said, “Man, I know it scares you. It scares me, too. But you’re Sanjit, invincible, right? You’re not that smart, but you have amazing luck.”
“I’m not that smart?” Sanjit said. “You’d be flying with me. So how smart are you?”
Astrid settled Little Pete in a corner of her office at town hall. He kept his eyes focused on the long-dead handheld and continued pushing buttons, as if the game were still on. And maybe in Little Pete’s head, it still was.
It was the office the mayor had used back in the old pre-FAYZ days. The office Sam had used for a while.
She was still seething from the fight with Sam. They had argued before. They were both strong-willed people. Arguments were inevitable, she supposed.
Plus, they were supposedly in love and sometimes that brought its own set of disagreements.
And they were roommates, and sometimes that caused problems.
But they had never, either of them, fought like this.
Sam had taken his few things and moved out. She supposed he would find an unoccupied house—there were plenty of those.
“I shouldn’t have said that to him,” she muttered under her breath as she scanned the giant list of things to do. The things that needed doing to keep Perdido Beach functioning.
The door opened. Astrid looked up, hoping and fearing that it was Sam.
It wasn’t. It was Taylor.
“I didn’t think you walked through doorways, Taylor,” Astrid said. She regretted the edgy tone in her voice. By now the news that Sam had moved out would have spread throughout the town. Juicy personal gossip moved at the speed of light in Perdido Beach. And there was no bigger item of gossip than a breakup between the first couple of the FAYZ.
“I know how cranky you get when I pop in,” Taylor said.
“It is a little unsettling,” Astrid said.
Taylor spread her hands placatingly. “See? That’s why I walked in.”
“Next you could work on knocking.”
Astrid and Taylor didn’t like each other much. But Taylor was an extremely valuable person to have around. She had the ability to instantly transport herself from place to place. To “bounce,” as she called it.
The enmity between them went back to Astrid’s belief that Taylor had a crush of major proportions on Sam. No doubt Taylor would figure she had a golden opportunity now.
Not Sam’s type, Astrid told herself. Taylor was pretty but a bit younger, and not nearly tough enough for Sam, who, despite what he might be thinking right now, liked strong, independent girls.
Brianna would be more Sam’s style, probably. Or maybe Dekka, if she were straight.
Astrid shoved the list away irritably. Why was she torturing herself like this? Sam was a jerk. But he would come around. He would realize sooner or later that Astrid was right. He would apologize. And he’d move back in.
“What is it you want, Taylor?”
“Is Sam here?”
“I’m head of the council, and you’ve just come bursting in and interrupting my work, so if you have something to say, why don’t you just say it to me?”
“Meeooow,” Taylor mocked her. “Cranky much?”
“Taylor.”
“Kid says he saw Whip Hand.”
Astrid’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“You know Frankie?”
“Which one?”
“The one who’s a boy. He says he saw Drake Merwin walking along the beach.”
Astrid stared at her. The mere mention of Drake Merwin gave Astrid chills. Drake was—had been—a boy who proved all by himself that you didn’t have to be an adult to be evil. Drake had been Caine’s number one henchman. He had kidnapped Astrid. Forced her with threats, with sheer terror, to ridicule her own brother to his face.
He had burned down Astrid’s house.
He had also whipped Sam so badly that Sam had almost died.
Astrid did not believe in hate. She believed in forgiveness. But she had not forgiven Drake. Even with him dead, she had not forgiven him.
She hoped there was a hell. A real hell, not some metaphorical one, so that Drake could be there now, burning for all eternity.
“Drake’s dead,” Astrid said evenly.
“Yeah,” Taylor agreed. “I’m just telling you what Frankie is saying. He’s saying he saw him, whip hand and all, walking down the beach, covered with mud and dirt and wearing clothes that didn’t fit.”
Astrid sighed. “This is what happens when little kids get into the alcohol.”