Dead Girl Dancing

much as I do.”

“I guarantee you — your girlfriend won’t love meeting me.” Guys could be so dense sometimes … yet it was kind of sweet. “Now I really have to get back to my friends.”

“Five minutes, that’s all it will take,” he persisted.

There was something so vulnerable and sincere about him that I hesitated, touched by how much he loved his girlfriend. And I owed him a lot after rescuing me yesterday. If this was all he wanted in return, how could I refuse?

So with a sigh, I nodded.

I followed him down a graveled path, around a boat repair yard and down steep steps to the marina. We passed sailboats and two huge yachts, then stopped abruptly at a mid-sized boat. Dyce pointed proudly. “Here she is.”

Under the yellowy light from a nearby lamp, I looked around for a girl but only saw boats. And then I noticed the name of the boat we faced: Emmeline.

“Emmy,” I said, finally getting it.

“She’s my girl,” he told me. “And my home.”

“You live here?” I asked, surprised because the boat didn’t look bigger than thirty feet, or deep enough to have more than a cramped room below the deck.

“Temporarily,” he answered. “I don’t sleep well on land, perhaps because I come from a long line of seaman and have saltwater in my blood. Although this isn’t actually my boat. It’s a rental, but she’s still a beaut. A 1991 Bayliner Cierra Sunbridge — fully equipped galley with stove, fridge, sink, shower, digital depth sounder, pinion power steering, and AM/FM stereo with four built-in speakers.”

I nodded appreciatively, although I only understood part of what he said.

“So come aboard and I’ll give you a tour,” he invited me, with such a sexy, intriguing smile that I was sorely tempted — which is exactly why I refused.

“Can’t,” I told him. “My friends will worry if I don’t return soon.”

“It won’t take long. And I think you’ll be interested in some special things I have — a poetry book that belonged to my great-great-grandfather and dates back to the mid-1800s.”

“Wow — that’s old.”

“Leather binding and signed by the author. It’s a work of art.”

“Is it safe to travel with such a valuable book? Shouldn’t it be under glass?”

“Books are meant to be read, not hidden. Besides, I keep it in an airtight trunk, along with several others.” He cocked his head, watching me expectantly.

“No. This all sounds interesting, but I have to go now. Thanks for the rescue and everything.”

“Come on, Sharayah,” he said in a tone as lulling as a gentle surf.

“I’ve already stayed longer than I should.”

As I stepped back, he pointed behind me. “Wait!” he shouted. “Watch where you’re—”

It all happened so fast. I wasn’t sure how my feet got tangled in the thick coil of rope, but I felt my spiked heel snagging, then my arms flailing and Dyce lunging for me. As I fell backward, my shoulder slammed into a gate leading down to a dock bordering the ocean, cracking the hinges with a sharp metallic sound. Crying out from the pain, I tried to steady myself but couldn’t grab hold of anything solid, and I careened backwards …

“Sharayah! Take my arm!”

Dyce grabbed for me, only he seemed to lose his balance, too, and next thing I knew I was falling through an opening where there used to be a gate. Screaming, I tumbled and fell …

Into the ocean.

Stabbed by needles of icy water, I went down, down, shocked beyond thought. Salt water filled my mouth and pain ripped through me. I couldn’t breathe or think; the world blurred with freezing horror. Panic exploded; my own screams were drowning in my head. A voice somewhere inside me shouted Kick! Swim! Fight!

But my arms were heavy weights wrapped in fabric and my shoes anchors dragging me down. Gagging on salt water. Can’t breathe, need air, sinking … until something splashed next to me and strong hands pulled me, lifted me, and I gulped air.

“Don’t struggle,” Dyce’s words swam in my head.

I hadn’t realized I was struggling, and stopped. Then I was literally carried away in his arms. My teeth clattered with cold. I couldn’t stop shivering. Coughing, gasping, spitting salt water. Then the chill eased as we went down a staircase, out of the biting wind, and onto a boat. Emmeline, I realized.

Dyce bent slightly, opened a door, and carried me down a folding staircase into a dark but cozy and warm cabin. Then he gently lowered me onto a cushioned bench. There was a click as he turned on a wall switch and light flooded the room.

“Are you okay?” he asked, leaning over me. “I’m so sorry that happened — I tried to warn you about the rope but you fell too fast and I couldn’t stop you. Damned rope. Can I get anything for you?”

“Sooo cold,” I chattered through clenched teeth.

“Right.” In two steps, he crossed the compact room to a built-in cabinet and opened a drawer. He tossed me a striped blue towel. “Here.”

I caught the towel. “Thanks.”

Taking off the jacket he’d loaned me, I rubbed the towel over my soggy blouse and skirt, noticing with some embarrassment the dripping wet puddle I made on his bench cushions.

“S-sorry, I–I’m getting your boat all … all wet,” I shivered.

“That doesn’t matter, but you do, and you’ll catch pneumonia if you don’t put on warm clothes.”

“I–I don’t have anything else — and only one shoe.” I pointed to the single black spiked shoe. The other must have been still stuck in the rope or sunk to the bottom of the sea.

“Fortunately, I keep spare clothes in my cubby up top. I’ll be back in a minute.” He climbed up the steps and pushed through the narrow doorway.

I worked the towel over my clothes but when drops of stinging sea water kept dribbling in my eyes, I wrapped the towel turban-style around my hair.

Then I sank back on the cushioned bench, exhausted but grateful to Dyce. That made it twice he’d rescued me, like he was a superhero in disguise. I wouldn’t have drowned — I can swim — but I’d been so shocked by the cold sea and so weighed down with clothes that I’d panicked. I was lucky that one shoe was the only casualty.

Or was it?

What about my GEM?

“No!” I cried, remembering the time I’d been soaking in a bubble bath and dropped a book into the tub. The book had swelled up with water, the pages sticking together, then warping, even after I dried it with a blow dryer.

I jumped up so suddenly that my towel turban raveled to the floor. I reached into my skirt pocket and pulled out a completely dry book.

Amazed, I quickly opened the GEM and the familiar blank pages rustled with a soft flutter that seemed to chastise me for doubting their magic. A drop of sea water slid down my soggy hair and plopped onto the pristine paper, blotting only for a second and then fading until the page shone like new. My chill was fading, too, now that I was out of the cold night and warming in the cozy cabin.

Staring down at the small book, I thought of everything I’d been through in the last two days. Many things were still unresolved and I could really use some answers, but it was hard to know what to ask my GEM first:

What happened to Warren after his capture?

Will Sharayah win the Voice Choice contest?

Will Alyce forgive me for not returning today?

Has Eli noticed I’m gone or is he still dancing?

Torn between the practical questions I should ask and the emotional ones my heart longed to know, I started with the first question.

“What happened to Warren?” I whispered into the GEM.

He returned to his dwelling.

Huh? What did that mean? Maybe the book misunderstood and thought I wanted to know what happened to