The Night Witch looked over her shoulder at him, head tilted. Her toes lingered just inches from the sharp edge of the cave. She opened her mouth—but before she could speak again, a scream barreled through the air. Her eyes widened.
And she plunged off the cliff once again.
Tor sat up in bed, the candle flickering immediately on. His shadow cast against the wooden wall, long and bobbing along with the rhythm of the sea.
His heart beat fast as an Eve drum. The thin sheets stuck to him in a sweaty layer. He stepped out of bed, and that’s when he heard it.
A scream through the darkness. The same one that had interrupted his dream.
Tor rushed out of the room, into the narrow hallway. Melda was already there, eyes wide. “It’s Engle,” she said, and a moment later, they swung his door open.
Engle thrashed across his bed, the blanket tight in his fists as he moved violently from side to side. A prisoner trying to escape his chains.
But his eyes were closed.
Melda rushed to him, then hovered there, uncertain of what to do. She turned to Tor. “He’s still asleep.”
Engle screamed once more, and Tor took him by the shoulders. “Engle,” he said firmly. His friend kept moving, head going from side to side, eyes scrunched tightly closed.
“No,” Engle wailed. “It hurts, it hurts!” Suddenly, Engle gripped his own torso, and yelled again, then whimpered, chest concaving as if he had been wounded.
“Engle!” Tor yelled into his face, but his friend didn’t wake. “En—”
Melda grabbed the glass of water from Engle’s bedside and threw it into his face.
Engle gasped and straightened immediately, nearly knocking heads with Tor. His chest rose and fell as he panted, eyes wide, water dripping from his light brown hair, down onto his freckled cheeks.
He looked around, blinking furiously, then gaped at Melda. “Did you just throw that at me?”
Melda put down the glass with shaking fingers and raised her chin. “I did.”
“Why in the world did you do that?”
“You were moving like you were possessed!”
Engle pressed his palm to his forehead and winced, like it hurt. “Oh. Sorry about that. Did I wake you both?”
Melda and Tor shared a look.
“Does this…happen a lot?” Tor asked gently.
Engle scratched the back of his head. He shrugged. “Kind of. Ever since…ever since the Lake of the Lost.”
A chill snaked down Tor’s spine. That was the worst day of his life—but he hadn’t even considered it was Engle’s as well. His friend hadn’t spoken a word about it afterward.
The image flashed in his mind—Engle being snatched away by the bonesulkers and pulled deep below the Lake of the Lost’s gray waters. Engle had been a whisper away from death that day, would have died if it wasn’t for Melda.
Tor blinked, and there was Melda, just inches away from Engle, gripping his hand. “I have nightmares about that, too,” she said softly. “Do you…do you want to talk about it?”
Engle stared back at her intently. Squeezed her hand back.
Then, a moment later, he shook her grip away and grinned deviously. “I hope you’re not trying to get me to forgive the fact that you threw a glass of water at me. Let’s see if you like being awakened like that tomorrow morning!”
Melda’s gaze narrowed, and she didn’t say another word before leaving the room.
Engle shrugged. “No sense of humor. Goodnight, Grimelda!” he said loud enough for her to hear down the hall, grinning at Melda’s full name. He stretched his neck to the side with a satisfying crack, and turned back to Tor. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me. Go back to bed. Can’t have Captain Tor bleary-eyed tomorrow, can we?”
Tor wanted to stay and make Engle talk about it. But he stood and smiled for his friend’s benefit. Once in bed, he stayed up late, wondering how the three of them were going to succeed on another deadly quest when they hadn’t even gotten over the last one.
* * *
In the morning, Vesper was gone.
“Your screaming probably scared her off,” Tor said lightly, though his stomach was in knots. What if Melda had been right? What if they couldn’t trust the waterbreather, and she had disappeared in the night?
They searched every room, closet, and corner of the brig.
“I hate to say I told you so,” Melda said as they reached the deck. Just like below, it was empty. “But I did say—”
“Anyone fancy some sea-foam for breakfast?”
Tor, Melda, and Engle raced to the edge of the boat and found a bobbing silver head in the water. Vesper. She was holding a curved oyster shell filled with something sparkling.
She seamlessly climbed up a ladder carved into the side of the boat, shrinking the bowl, and making it large again once she was seated in front of them. Her hair was plastered against her head and shoulders, her scaled dress glimmered in the early-morning sun. She produced a spoon from a tiny purse—one of the many charms of her strange bracelet—and motioned toward the sea foam. “If you get it fresh, just after sunrise, the salt hasn’t gotten to it yet, and it’s delightfully sweet.” She offered the spoon to Engle, who took it without question.
He tried the foam, and his eyes bulged in approval. “It’s like spun sugar mixed with shaved glacier ice!” He took more and offered it to Melda. “Here, try it!”
Melda regarded him with coldness. “No, thanks,” she said. And whether it was because she was still upset at Engle from last night or because she didn’t want to accept anything from Vesper, Tor didn’t know.
“Did you go for a swim?” Tor asked.
Vesper nodded and glared up at the sky. “Wanted to find some seaweed to help with the burns.”
Engle raised an eyebrow, taking a break from devouring the entirety of Vesper’s sea foam. “Burns?”
“My skin isn’t accustomed to the sun,” she explained, motioning toward her pale complexion. “It’ll burn easily. I’ll have to take precautions.” She tilted her head at
