Sea Witch(71)

Nik’s hands clamp around mine again as he plants his feet to shield me from his cousin. I glance quickly to Annemette. She’s standing now, in the water. New clouds tightening, the wind has picked up, tossing her hair in long tangles, the coral comb nestled within them barely holding anything in place. There’s something in her face—fear, anger, urgency—that has hardened what had been just a resigned puddle.

“End your spell over him!” Iker’s eyes are ice. It’s as if he’s already forgotten who I am. Or that he didn’t care in the first place. I refuse to believe either—and twine my fingers around Nik’s so he’s not just holding me, I’m holding him.

“She doesn’t have a spell over me!” Nik shouts. “You know it as much as I do!”

Iker doesn’t blink. Doesn’t acknowledge him. “Witch, the king has given orders to shoot you on the spot.”

I look to Annemette. I hope she’ll understand what we need to do. That she won’t slow us down.

I squeeze Nik’s hands, willing my fingers to remember his touch, no matter what happens.

Then I whisper into his ear.

“I love you, Nik.”

And as soon as his name hits the air, I shove him onto the sand with all my might. I grab Annemette’s hand, and dive into the water.

“To the sandbar.”

As I say it I see the shadow of a wince, but then Annemette takes a deep breath and hurtles forward. Anna and I never made it to that other sandbar, but I know Annemette and I will make it to this one.

We swim out past Picnic Rock, entering the open water of the cove as Iker and the guards pull Nik to his feet, all of them shocked into inaction. They’re slow to set their rifles, bullets unchecked—no one was expecting a witch hunt tonight.

I assume Annemette will cling to me, as she did to Nik earlier in the day. But the situation has given her strength, and she has new resolve, the fear gone. She kicks her legs, swimming as if she truly knows how.

We cross the distance in a bare minute, the guards finally getting off shots, bullets pinging through the water. A single bullet grazes my shoulder, searing heat and blood draining into the water as I paddle forward.

But I am stronger than the pain.

We reach the sandbar. The moon is just right and I know we only have moments now. My heart is pounding and my left arm is awash in blood from where the bullet struck me, but I try to stay calm. I haul myself onto the thin strip of packed sand and pull Annemette up. Half the soldiers have charged into the water now, daggers in their teeth as their counterparts reload.

Placing my hands on her shoulders, my eyes go to the sky. “Ready?”

She nods, watching me, hope daring to creep into her blue eyes.

“Skipta.” I channel Urda and the power of the waves churning beneath us. Exchange this life for the soul you took.

A breeze lifts, and a flash of far-off lightning answers.

“Skipta.” A peal of thunder.

The charge of the storm seems to radiate from my hands, the zip of energy surging all the way to my heart.

“Skipta.” The wind picks up. The thunder and lightning close in. I can feel the magic in my bones. Annemette consumes my thoughts, all of my concentration on her. On shifting the sea’s hand—forcing it to deliver my request.

“Skipta.”

“Child, what do you think you’re doing?” Tante Hansa screams from the beach. I hear her over the guns. Over the men splashing in the water. Over the thunder. It’s as if she has an amplifier aimed straight for my ears. Still, I do not turn.

Annemette. I want Annemette. I want my Anna back.

“Child! Evelyn, listen to me. Listen to my age and mistakes. Magic born of pride and spite is unwieldy. It is far too much for your little hands!”

My hands are not little—they are powerful.

I am none of those things, Tante Hansa. I come from a place of love.

Thunder pounds and the magic singes my veins with every crackle of lightning above. The magic is in my palms.

This is right—it will be enough.

From the beach, Tante Hansa shouts again, though her words no longer register in my ears. The men with daggers are almost upon us, the charging waves of the storm keeping them at bay just long enough.

I order the magic a final time.

“Skipta.”

I see Anna’s face at eleven. I see Annemette in my future.

I’m focused on all of it so tightly. All of my concentration. All of my power.

Everything I have is aimed at Urda. Determined. Ready.

The storm rages. My concentration is flawless.

But then a flash of lightning rips across the sky, so bright my eyes spring open.

And I see Annemette is smiling.

Not just smiling.

Laughing.

Her hands cup my wrists and pull them off her shoulders. Her strength is surprising. Her lips twist into a smirk.

“You studied, you tested, you planned, and your solution is to simply ask the magic for an exchange? Like you want a blue dress instead of a red one?”

Magic surges until it is swirling around us. It sparks and undulates. I realize it’s not mine. Not all mine, anyway. The storm was never mine—it has the same feel as the storm on Nik’s birthday. On Iker’s boat earlier that day. The storms are Annemette.

I am blind for the briefest of moments, and then I feel her cool magic welling up from the pit of my stomach, through my lungs, and clutching at my heart. When my vision returns, a cone of water surrounds us—shielding us from the beach.