The Storm King(69)

“She didn’t seem messed up enough to get lost and end up somewhere really random, but I’m not the best judge.”

Tom turned to look out the window.

“She’s probably just asleep somewhere. Kinda jealous, actually.”

All he got from Tom was a sound of movement that might have been a shrug.

“Tommy, that whole thing—in the forest. Don’t worry about it. Crazy night, huh?” He patted his friend on the leg. “You’re making it weird, and it doesn’t have to be. I don’t feel weird.”

Tom was silent for a few long moments before speaking. “I think I’m still drunk.”

“Well, yeah, of course. You were annihilated. Me, too. Still am. Mixing pills with everything else was a crappy idea. Lesson learned.”

It was dark in the car, but Tom seemed to nod. “Yeah.”

Nate was pleased to lay the issue of that kiss—if that’s what it was—to rest. He hadn’t thought much about it, but when he did the strongest feeling he could detect was one of mild surprise. But the Creature of Catastrophic Futures was no doubt parsing and replaying and lamenting those two seconds in the forest and imagining the devastation wrought by its repercussions. It was good to put it in the open so they could brush it aside.

“So, for Lucy, I say we get your dad to check out the Wharf and boathouse while he drops us off at Johnny’s.”

“Johnny’s?”

“Yeah, we tell the chief we’ll check there, look in the gazebo, the pool house, the dock, whatever, but we’ll really take one of the Vanhoutens’ canoes to the Night Ship.”

His eyes had adjusted to the dark enough to see Tom shake his head.

“I can’t go there. Not tonight. I just can’t.”



“Lucy’ll stumble home once it’s light out, but if the chief’s got it into his head to turn the town upside down, then we’ve got to clean out the Night Ship. Our stuff’s still there, and they’ll know we’ve taken over the place. Who knows, maybe she even crashed there for the night. Either way, we’ve got to play it safe. You’d think it’d be normal to wait until morning to start a search. I don’t know how the chief thinks he’s doing us a favor.”

“Dad will flip if he finds out we’re in the Night Ship.”

“That’s why we have to check it out first. If she’s there, we’ll wake her up, paddle her to the Vanhoutens, and tell the chief she was in their gazebo the whole time. No harm done. If not, we’ll pull our things out of the Night Ship in case anyone decides to look there before she turns up.”

“We’re done with that place, Nate. You promised. You promised Lucy, too.”

The chief exited the house and made his way toward them across the lawn.

“Christ,” Nate hissed. The chief was close enough that he couldn’t risk speaking at full volume. He hadn’t expected pushback on this. “Fine. I’ll go by myself. Just stay in the gazebo and do nothing. Perfect.”

Chief Buck pulled open the door and settled into the driver’s seat. The smells of coffee and the wet night entered the car with him.

“Ideas, boys?”

Nate answered and the chief replied. The conversation unwound in the inevitable ways and concluded in the only manner it could have: with Nate getting what he wanted. Tom would go along with him, just as he always did.

The chief dropped them in front of the Vanhoutens’ home on his way to the Wharf.

Nate thought the mansion was asleep, but when he reached the rear he saw that the conservatory was lit. This was a glass-domed enclosure that jutted from the back of the house and opened onto the veranda. They gave it a wide berth, but Nate saw Mr. Vanhouten at the room’s center, seated at a table staring at a near-empty bottle. The man had a profile that would look at home printed on currency, but he was trapped in the snow globe of the conservatory, braced against the table as if waiting for the shaking to begin.



The house and grounds were quiet as they picked through the gardens. Nate doubted Mr. Vanhouten would notice a 747 landing in his backyard, but they were still careful. A bruise of light gathered above the eastern mountains.

The Vanhoutens kept a variety of watercraft by their dock. Without a word, Nate and Tom hoisted a canoe from its rack and lowered it into the onyx water.

“What if Dad finishes at the Wharf and gets back to Johnny’s before we do?”

“If you have to worry out loud, do it quietly. My head feels like a marching band’s trying to escape it.”

The lake was choppy, and Nate didn’t like the idea of paddling across it in the dark. He prepared himself and stepped into the craft. Tom rocked the canoe as he got in, and Nate closed his eyes to help dispel a wave of nausea. Even on land, his vision had a drunken gradient to it. Half of his synapses skated the rings of Saturn. Was going to the Night Ship the right thing to do? Would it help them find Lucy? Did Lucy need finding?

A siren song of pain played in the pieces of his bad arm. It was this more than anything that called him across the water.

When they reached the Night Ship, they lowered the boat launch and secured the canoe. The undercroft was damp with humidity. The chief had given them a flashlight, though Nate could have found his way through this tangle of halls half asleep and without benefit of a single lumen. They ascended the spiral staircase to the main floor of the nightclub.