Leashing the Tempest (Arcadia Bell #2.5)(11)

“Don’t know where the lightning entered me, but it exited through my feet. My skin still hot?”

“Warm,” he said upon touching my hand. “But you were hot enough to burn me before. Jesusf*ckingchrist, Cady. You’ve never felt that way after kindling Heka. You sure you’re all right?”

I nodded vigorously to convince myself as much as him. He crushed me against his rain-soaked chest and kissed me firmly on my temple. I could tell how scared he was by how hard he was holding me. That only increased my worry, so I pushed away and turned my attention to the bigger problem—the what the hell were we going to do now issue. If the controls were fried, and we couldn’t contact the Coast Guard, then . . .

Holy whore of Babylon, it was dark. Like night. And despite the raging storm, the seesawing boat was quiet. No humming below my feet. As in no engine.

Lights on the bridge were dark. So were the ones embedded in the stairs.

All lights were out . . . including the glowing Heka that had lit up the Æthyric seal in the center of the bridge.

The protective ward was down.

I grre rkeley"ipped the rail as my eyes met Lon’s.

Jupe.

I glanced down at my hand. The bond Jupe and I shared through magick had, in the past, created a glowing thread of Heka that appeared when the kid was in danger. It wasn’t there at the moment. Hopefully that particular magick was still reliable enough for me to assume he was safe. But it didn’t matter, because Lon was already in protective-father mode.

“Go!” he shouted, herding me off the bridge.

As waves tossed the boat, we rushed down the stairs in the deluge, hardly able to stay on our feet or see the next step. My bare feet were numb with cold by the time we made it to the bottom and raced to the cabin. Jupe’s voice called out from inside. Lon wrenched open the door and we tumbled inside the darkened salon. Dim, gray light filtered in from the windows, sifting over the strewn contents of the cooler, sofa pillows, Kar Yee’s gold coat, and Lon’s camera bag.

“Jupe?” Lon shouted hoarsely.

Dark spiral curls popped up from behind the bar. “Dad!”

“Everyone okay?”

Kar Yee appeared behind him, holding up her cell phone for light. “Everyone except the captain and the boat. We moved him back here to keep him from rolling around. What happened out there?”

“Did we get hit by lightning?” Jupe asked before his gaze fell on my hair. “Cady—”

“I’m fine, and yes, we got hit.”

“Ohmygod,” he murmured, then glanced down. “Where are your shoes?”

“Melted,” I said, trying not to shiver. The boat rocked. I grabbed for Jupe to steady him.

“What about the Coast Guard?” Kar Yee asked.

Lon shook his head. “The radio upstairs is shot. We didn’t get a chance to use it.”

“Everyone check your phones and see if anyone can get a signal,” I suggested.

Nothing.

Jupe’s long arm extended and rotated as he moved his phone around, trying to get anything but a no service message onscreen. “Should we try outside?”

“Do not go outside,” Lon warned. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Okay, okay. So what do we do, then?”

“I suppose there’s not a second VHF radio around,” I said hopefully.

Lon wiped water from his face. “Should be another helm inside.”

“I don’t remember seeing it on the tour,” Jupe said.

“We’re at the back of the boat. Stands to reason that it’s past the kitchen.”

Lon was already heading for a closed door in that direction.

“Stay here,” I told Jupe anphotold Jud Kar Yee. “Watch the captain.”

The door Lon had spotted led into a hallway with a bathroom and crew quarters. One of the doors was different than the others: familiar sigils were carved into the wooden doorframe.

“Standard cloaking magick,” I said to Lon, who nodded, recognizing it as well. Unlike the exotic seal on the bridge above us, this was standard fare for medieval magicians, who used it to hide secret entrances, hoarded treasure, rooms filled with various and sundry debaucheries—whatever needed hiding.

The sigils were dead. Lightning must’ve overloaded all the magical work onboard. I slid open the door and found a small room with a built-in bed, stuffed chair, and narrow desk, over which several photos hung, including one of Captain Christie surrounded by busty bikini-clad women on the bridge of the Baba Yaga.

“Captain’s quarters.”

“The ward around the boat wasn’t enough?” Lon said, fingering the grooved sigils on the doorframe.

“He went to a lot of trouble to make himself a little bunker here.”

“Better than a state-of-the-art panic room.”

“Cheaper, too, if you know a good magician.”

He gave me a quick smile, then sniffled and rubbed his nose. “Wish Jupe could’ve asked him about all this instead of turning him into a vegetable.”

“Yeah, me too . . .”

Another door across the hall a few yards down opened to descending stairs. The scent of singed oil wafted up from below.

“Engine room,” Lon said, running his hand along the wall. “Look.”

Dark splotches with branching lines covered the paneling around a recessed light in the hallway. “Lightning went all the way down here? That’s not good.”