Carter
Thanatos—death—can’t see him, either. He’s small. Obscured in the deep inky pool of shadows right between Sorin the Magnificent in his billowing cloak, and the hulking, silver-faced form of Death himself.
Thanatos surges swiftly forward. Any sound he makes is swallowed by the rumbling hum of engines, the windy clank and clatter of lifeboat ropes, the groans and creaks of the swaying ship.
Thanatos moves with intent—wholly focused on Sorin, who still has his back to the promenade, and his Dracula collar turned up against the wet, salty wind.
The little Satyr screams into the wind.
“Run, Sorin! Help! Stop!”
Thanatos whirls to face Carter in the shadows. Carter pees in his pants. His bowels turn to water. He shakes like a leaf as the silver face stares at him. At the same time Sorin the Magnificent swings around with a whirl of his thick, velvet cape. The bloodred lining flares.
Everything slows to syrup.
The mentalist’s mouth opens wide. His arm jerks upward, and his vape pen clatters onto the damp deck. The ship pitches. Carter falls. He scrambles to his hands and knees, gets up—but before he can run, the mentalist lunges toward him, grabs his backpack, and yanks Carter hard against his body.
“Don’t!” Sorin shouts. “Stop right there! Move one fucking muscle and the kid goes over!”
Thanatos scans the deck—quick, calculating.
As he does, the mentalist lifts Carter up by his backpack straps and forces the top half of his body over the railing. Carter’s head dangles above the sea.
Stories below—far, far, far below—the shiny black water heaves and sucks and surges. Waves veined with luminescent foam crash against the hull.
Carter’s Satyr mask catches the wind, flies off his face, and spins through the air like a silver disk sparking moonlight . . . all the way down to the hungry waves.
His left shoulder begins to slide out of the backpack strap. He realizes Sorin’s grip on the pack is the only thing keeping him from plunging all the way down into the sea, like his mask.
Fear clamps a vise around his throat, so tight he can’t even scream. He hears the mesmerist yell.
“Stop right there! I swear, I’ll kill the kid!”
Carter feels himself being lowered—farther over the rail. His left shoulder slips free of the strap. He feels the other begin to slip loose.