It was still dark outside, the stars thick like a blanket the sky put on at night to keep warm.
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then squinted ahead. There was an island that ran across the entire horizon.
“It doesn’t stop for miles,” Engle said, shaking his head. “It’s like…a wall. Blocking us from sailing any farther.”
Vesper opened her shell, the colors pooling around their feet lazily, as if they, too, had been asleep. “It’s not on the map. Not anywhere.”
Tor scratched the side of his head. The island was long, but not far across. It looked plain, just a stretch of golden sand. Not much more than a sandbar. “I suppose we’re going to have to walk over it, then,” he said.
Engle turned to look at him with a strange expression on his face. “Tor, what do you see?”
“What?”
“What do you see on the island?”
He frowned. “Nothing, it’s just sand.”
Captain Forecastle laughed beside him. He shook his head. “We see gold, boy. Mountains of it. And jewels the size of potatoes, growing from the ground.”
Melda sighed. “It’s clearly Isla Pomme. It’ll show you whatever it thinks will tempt you to make a deal with it.”
Vesper was very still. “I see my brother,” she said.
They went below to change out of their nightclothes. Tor thought about Melda’s words—the island would show him what he wanted most.
Then why did he see nothing?
Melda and Engle were waiting for him in the hall. “We need to talk,” she said, craning her head to make sure they were the only ones still below. “Going across Isla Pomme isn’t a good idea.”
Engle gave her a look. “Of course it isn’t! It wasn’t our first option, was it?”
She glared at him. “You heard Vesper. She saw her brother, which means the island will try to make a deal with her to save him.”
Engle shrugged. “That would be good, right?”
Melda gaped at him. “The island is bloodthirsty, and she said, very clearly, that she would do anything to save her brother.”
“So what do we do?” Engle asked.
“We make sure she doesn’t sign a contract,” Melda said steadily.
Dressed for the day ahead, they gathered on the deck, and Vesper made the boat smaller around them, until it was just larger than a dinghy, tiny enough to calmly wash ashore. When they disembarked, Vesper clipped the ship onto her bracelet.
“Whatever it offers, don’t take it,” Melda said sternly.
Captain Forecastle surprised Tor by nodding, seconding Melda’s warning. “Anything the sea gives, it takes back twofold.”
Tor still saw nothing. The island was smooth and flat. Not even a tree in sight. He began the short walk across it, wondering what everyone else saw. What could possibly tempt Melda? Tor watched her as she walked, her gaze catching on things he couldn’t see. She shook her head, then held it high, walking past whatever had appeared.
Captain Forecastle rolled around the sand, laughing and filling his hands with invisible treasures. He howled like a wolf at the moon, and continued to splash around, sliding on his stomach along what Tor imagined might be an avalanche of diamonds.
Engle looked miserable, arms across his chest as he was forced to walk through what was no doubt the most delectable spread of food imaginable. Melda had made him read the Isla Pomme story before they left, and he knew that taking just a bite of the food offered would mean entering into a deadly bargain.
Still, he looked like he was considering it.
Vesper had tears rolling down her face, falling straight into the sand. She walked silently as she cried, not turning to look at Tor when he asked if she was all right.
He was going to ask again when he saw that his island was not empty after all. Something sat at its very edge, so close to the other side a large wave could have swept it away.
An oyster. It flipped open to reveal something that made Tor sink to his knees.
A pearl.
The Pirate’s Pearl.
“It’s yours,” the breeze said into his ear. “If you want it.”
A piece of parchment appeared from nowhere, unraveling beneath his nose.
Tor read the contract.
The Pirate’s Pearl is a treasure of the highest value. In exchange for it, we ask the following:
Tor Luna, heir to the Night Witch’s power, will forfeit all of his inherited gifts, properties, and power.
Tor Luna will never return to Estrelle.
These terms are nonnegotiable. The term date is ten thousand years.
At the end, there was a place for his signature.
He looked over his shoulder. Melda was now staring intently at her feet, scowling. Vesper was still crying.
Tor asked for a quill. One immediately appeared in the air, and he dug its sharp metal tip into his palm without hesitation. Crimson broke through skin.
Before his blood could pierce the page, the parchment went flying, landing in the shallow water.
He turned to see Captain Forecastle there, arm raised. “Have ye lost yer head?”
Melda rushed over. Tor realized they might not have been able to see the illusion of the pearl, but they could see the very real contract, wet in the water, an arrow sticking it into the sand. She gaped at him, furious. “Were you going to sign that?”
Her eyes found the blood dribbling from his palm, and a hand found her mouth.
He ground his back teeth together. “It’s worth it. It’s a deal I’ll make.”
Tor had never wanted the Night Witch’s powers to begin with. He would gladly give them all up, especially if it meant saving his people by getting the pearl. Being banned from Estrelle would hurt, but he would live anywhere if it meant stopping the Calavera from destroying his home and harming his family.
Melda stormed over to the contract and tried to read what was left of the parchment. She scoffed. “Did you ever think to wonder why this terrible island
