Don’t go back . Jillian saying, Don’t be stupid , and Talla whispering, Be fearless .
Kiera challenging, You don’t have an accent.
You don’t know me , I thought.
Who does? the sea hissed.
I couldn’t answer the ocean’s question. The person I’d been 243 days ago was slipping away, leaching from me like my time on Nil. Lately I’d even questioned myself. I questioned my motivation, my insane need for answers driving my moves with a compulsion I couldn’t fight. I didn’t know whether it was selfless, or selfish.
I held the crescent moon carving as the real crescent moon shone high. The horizon was lost to the night. Each wave rolled like a shadow, inky black, toward me. Above the water, stars huddled in brilliant groups.
I closed my eyes and the mental dots exploded into shapes. The waves. The moon. The constellations.
The ink on the boy’s arm.
Lines of black waves, the single crescent moon, the interlocking diamonds. Shapes in the sky, shapes on his arm. Shapes in the cavern. All a crisp match.
Then I had epiphany number two.
I strode to the backside of the Wall, where most marks weren’t crosses or checks, but a mysterious mix of suns, stars, and crescent moons—exactly like the moon I held in my hand.
Get ready, mystery man, I thought, squeezing the wood. It’s time to turn the tables. Because I’m not just coming for Nil, I’m coming for you too.
I buried the thought that ever since I’d woken under the Nil sky, time had never been on my side.
And then somebody screamed.
CHAPTER
17
SKYE
DECEMBER 5, MORNING
As I drove toward Charley’s house, I was as nervous as the morning before a final exam. We’d flown into Atlanta last night, and today I’d talk with Charley if all went according to plan.
To be honest, my plan was a little weak.
I’d decided the best way to approach Charley was to catch her on her way home from school Friday afternoon. Dad didn’t teach on Fridays, so he enthusiastically went along with my idea. Suddenly I was the one steering the crazy train.
At least I knew what she looked like.
The international press ran pictures of her with each article, which helped, and having read each one, I had to admit her story was freaky. Star athlete, star student, heavily recruited by major universities to play volleyball, Charley was that girl who had it all going for her, then she disappeared without a trace, only to pop up months later in a foreign country, with no explanation given for her absence. According to the articles, she didn’t even have a passport.
Weird.
Like Uncle Scott weird.
I wondered if she had a journal.
Unfortunately, Charley didn’t have school on Friday, or maybe she just ditched. She never left the house. I lurked in our rental car in a creepy teen version of a stakeout, while Dad hung out in the hotel. I wondered if I’d missed her, guiltily thinking of the few times I’d zoned out. I returned to the hotel Friday night empty-handed except for Uncle Scott’s journal.
Saturday morning I woke with a new plan. Okay, “plan” was generous; it was more like a default. I’d just walk up to her house and introduce myself. Lay it all out and hope for the best.
I’d just pulled onto her street when Charley blew by; she wore tights, a long-sleeved shirt, running shoes, and a fierce I-will-take-you-down look. Her long ponytail whipped behind her as she passed.
Crap.
At least I was dressed similarly, for stakeout comfort rather than running, but still. I parked, grabbed Uncle Scott’s journal, and took off after Charley.
Holy cow, the girl was good. It took me four blocks to catch her.
“Charley!” I called.
She whipped around, wary. She hadn’t even broken a sweat.
“Do I know you?” Her light eyes were sharp.
“No,” I said, catching my breath. “And I know this is weird. But please”—I held up both hands, one of which held Uncle Scott’s journal—“just give me five minutes.”
She glanced at the journal, her entire
Kiera challenging, You don’t have an accent.
You don’t know me , I thought.
Who does? the sea hissed.
I couldn’t answer the ocean’s question. The person I’d been 243 days ago was slipping away, leaching from me like my time on Nil. Lately I’d even questioned myself. I questioned my motivation, my insane need for answers driving my moves with a compulsion I couldn’t fight. I didn’t know whether it was selfless, or selfish.
I held the crescent moon carving as the real crescent moon shone high. The horizon was lost to the night. Each wave rolled like a shadow, inky black, toward me. Above the water, stars huddled in brilliant groups.
I closed my eyes and the mental dots exploded into shapes. The waves. The moon. The constellations.
The ink on the boy’s arm.
Lines of black waves, the single crescent moon, the interlocking diamonds. Shapes in the sky, shapes on his arm. Shapes in the cavern. All a crisp match.
Then I had epiphany number two.
I strode to the backside of the Wall, where most marks weren’t crosses or checks, but a mysterious mix of suns, stars, and crescent moons—exactly like the moon I held in my hand.
Get ready, mystery man, I thought, squeezing the wood. It’s time to turn the tables. Because I’m not just coming for Nil, I’m coming for you too.
I buried the thought that ever since I’d woken under the Nil sky, time had never been on my side.
And then somebody screamed.
CHAPTER
17
SKYE
DECEMBER 5, MORNING
As I drove toward Charley’s house, I was as nervous as the morning before a final exam. We’d flown into Atlanta last night, and today I’d talk with Charley if all went according to plan.
To be honest, my plan was a little weak.
I’d decided the best way to approach Charley was to catch her on her way home from school Friday afternoon. Dad didn’t teach on Fridays, so he enthusiastically went along with my idea. Suddenly I was the one steering the crazy train.
At least I knew what she looked like.
The international press ran pictures of her with each article, which helped, and having read each one, I had to admit her story was freaky. Star athlete, star student, heavily recruited by major universities to play volleyball, Charley was that girl who had it all going for her, then she disappeared without a trace, only to pop up months later in a foreign country, with no explanation given for her absence. According to the articles, she didn’t even have a passport.
Weird.
Like Uncle Scott weird.
I wondered if she had a journal.
Unfortunately, Charley didn’t have school on Friday, or maybe she just ditched. She never left the house. I lurked in our rental car in a creepy teen version of a stakeout, while Dad hung out in the hotel. I wondered if I’d missed her, guiltily thinking of the few times I’d zoned out. I returned to the hotel Friday night empty-handed except for Uncle Scott’s journal.
Saturday morning I woke with a new plan. Okay, “plan” was generous; it was more like a default. I’d just walk up to her house and introduce myself. Lay it all out and hope for the best.
I’d just pulled onto her street when Charley blew by; she wore tights, a long-sleeved shirt, running shoes, and a fierce I-will-take-you-down look. Her long ponytail whipped behind her as she passed.
Crap.
At least I was dressed similarly, for stakeout comfort rather than running, but still. I parked, grabbed Uncle Scott’s journal, and took off after Charley.
Holy cow, the girl was good. It took me four blocks to catch her.
“Charley!” I called.
She whipped around, wary. She hadn’t even broken a sweat.
“Do I know you?” Her light eyes were sharp.
“No,” I said, catching my breath. “And I know this is weird. But please”—I held up both hands, one of which held Uncle Scott’s journal—“just give me five minutes.”
She glanced at the journal, her entire
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