The Storm King(114)

“Lower the light,” Owen said. The calm of his voice was even more disturbing than the shade of purple ripening across James’s face. The boy kicked at Owen’s shins and jabbed elbows backward into the iron of the man’s chest. He may as well have fought a mountain.

The beam stuttered as Tara obeyed.

The flashlight’s new position illuminated the floor behind Owen, where Nate noticed a semi-digested rug in the swath of its light. A corner of it was curled against an open trapdoor that seemed designed to blend into the floor’s hardwood. Another access to the hidden passages that connected to the hatchway by the dance floor.



“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, Nate.” Owen cleared his throat. Nate’s eyes began to weep from the smoke. His soft palate had acquired a harsh, thick texture.

“Let the kid breathe, Owen.”

“Don’t tell me you’re on their side. These kids”—he shook James without a hint of exertion—“must have committed about fifty crimes in the last two weeks. Some of them felonies. Hell, don’t forget that before the week’s up they might even add murder to the list.”

Nate batted aside a flash of his grandmother in the ICU, lanced by tubes and swaddled in gauze. Next to him, Tara shrank deeper into the dark.

“You’ve got to think this through.” Nate’s voice was even, but his mind raced. Both the baseball bat and the metal rod were out of reach. He’d never get to them before Owen snapped James’s neck, which was the most present danger. Tommy would reach them soon, but perhaps not soon enough. Nate knew he’d have to talk his way out of this.

He tried to imagine the texture of Owen’s mind. He knew what his old friend wanted; Nate just had to convince him that this was precisely the thing that he offered.

Smoke rippled across the ceiling, and their futures narrowed by the moment.

“Where are the other kids?” Owen asked. “I thought they were all up here.”

“They’re safe.”

“Try again.” Owen hefted James, and the boy’s face darkened. His legs flailed like those of a child’s toy.

“They’re downstairs. But it doesn’t matter, Owen, because—”

Owen took two gigantic strides toward Nate. When he did, Nate realized that he barely came up to the man’s chin. Every cell in his body told him to run, but he buried this impulse in ice. He still had two children to save.

At Owen’s approach, Tara backpedaled into the doorway, and Nate thought that it was this that had stopped Owen in his tracks.



“No, Tara. You don’t want to leave,” Owen said. “That would be very bad for your brother. Trust me on this one.” Then to Nate, “They know too much. You know that.”

“It doesn’t matter what they know. It’s what they say that counts,” Nate said. He spoke in the voice of the Storm King. A blade of confidence polished with cunning. “They’re not innocent. You said it yourself: They’re in a world of trouble. We can use that, Owen.”

Owen had maintained the upper hand during their last conversation, but that had been back in his own basement while Nate’s senses had been dulled by homemade chloroform. Now, the razors of Nate’s mind were sharpened by adrenaline. Now, they were in the Night Ship, which was his domain.

“It’s too late for that.” Owen shook his head, but Nate spied something in his eyes. Doubt? Hope? Whatever it was, it was something he could use.

“Of course it isn’t too late.” Nate sighed. For a few minutes he needed Owen to believe he was the Storm King again. “We both want each other’s silence. So we can make a deal with them. We can still get out of this.”

“I know you’re trying to get into my head, Nate. What do you mean, a ‘deal’?”

“We don’t want to go to jail!” Tara said.

Nate glanced at her, a bit surprised. He couldn’t have scripted that better.

Conflicting emotions clashed across Owen’s face. Nate could imagine the gears of the man’s mind spinning and grating. Remembering the past while trying to chart the future. Balancing who Nate was against what Owen had done. It boiled down to a single question: Was Nate his enemy or, even after everything that had happened, was there a chance that Nate might still be his friend?

The big guy loosened his grip enough for James to steal a single harrowing breath.

“We’ve got to show them that we can be trusted,” Nate said. “Then we come up with a story that works for everyone.That’s how we’ll do it.”



“And we can?” Owen asked, frowning. Nate could see him trying to keep up, trying to anchor himself to something that was true. “We can—be trusted?”

“Of course!” Nate laughed, then winked at him.

It was a kind of magic, playing the puzzle box of another’s mind to get a desired outcome. Not true magic so much as sleight of hand. A person could only be fooled if they didn’t know where to look, and if they, deep down, wanted to believe the lie in the first place.

“Get the others, Tara,” James choked out. “We’ve got to get our stories straight.”

The Bennett twins, they were quick, Nate had to admit. Just like their older sister.

“Come with me, James,” Tara said.