Chapter 30
Chapter thirty
Mandie
The eggs on my plate had gone cold, the yolk congealing as I pushed them around. The kitchen was quiet, filled only with the scrape of silverware and the low hum of the fridge. It was comfortable. Too comfortable.
Beside me, Donovan’s thigh pressed against mine under the table, a steady line of warmth through his black denim.
His sketchbook was open, but he wasn't drawing. I’d caught glimpses earlier, chaotic lines, shadows, a half-finished portrait of me where the tattoos looked like they were bleeding off the page.
He hadn't let me look properly, but his fingers twitched toward the pencil every time I shifted.
Roger cleared his throat, leaning forward enough to break the rhythm. He looked polished as always. Hair perfect, smile practiced.
"We’ve got a surprise for you, Mandie," he said. His voice was smooth, like he was handing me the keys to a Porsche rather than whatever this was. "A little something to say thanks for the help."
I dropped my fork. It hit the plate with a sharp clatter. "A surprise?" My voice was flat. Years of bad luck had taught me to check for wires before opening a gift. "What kind of surprise?"
Johnny, sprawled across the couch like a discarded jacket, grinned wide enough to show his dimple. "It’s a field trip," he drawled, kicking his boots up onto the coffee table. "Pack a snack. You’re gonna need the carbs."
Sebastian didn’t look up from his tablet. "Johnny is being dramatic. It’s not an ambush. Or a prank." He tapped the screen, scrolling through something I couldn’t see. "Though, given the current company, I feel obligated to clarify it is also not a trap."
Matt was leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest like a bouncer. He smelled of pine soap and damp hair. "Just trust us," he rumbled.
I exhaled through my nose, shoving my cold plate away. "Fine. But if this is some weird superhero hazing ritual, I’m throwing one of you off the roof."
Twenty minutes later, I stood on the deck attached to a private island, wind whipping my hair across my face. The island appeared on the horizon like a fever dream. There was white sand, swaying palms, and a skyline of rides that looked like they defied the laws of physics, because they did.
A coaster loop hung in the air with no supports. A river flowed uphill.
I turned to the guys. "You just happen to have a fancy theme park sitting on an island?”
"Not at all," Johnny said, leaning against the railing. "We built it. Took us two days.”
Johnny wrapped an arm around me. “I know it’s not Disneyworld, but we can’t bring you out in public right now. And since you have never been to a theme park before, we thought we could build one.”
Donovan stepped forward. His black nails glinted as he pointed toward a crooked, gabled structure near the center of the island. "That one’s mine."
The sign read “The Hollow.” It was a Victorian-style nightmare, but the angles were wrong. The roofline seemed to breathe, expanding and contracting.
"You made a haunted house," I said. "For me."
His gray eyes flicked to mine. "I thought you’d appreciate the aesthetic."
Roger clapped his hands. "Mandie gets first pick. Where to?"
I pointed at the nightmare house. "Start there."
Inside, The Hollow didn't just smell like ozone; it felt unstable. The hallway we stepped into was ten feet long. Then Donovan twitched a finger, and the walls stretched. The wood groaned as the hallway elongated to fifty feet in a blink, the door moving further away.
"You’re warping the building," I realized.
"Elastic architecture," Donovan murmured. "Watch your step."
The floor rippled like rubber under my boots. We walked through a mirror maze where the glass didn't just reflect—it bent reality. My reflection stretched and snapped back, showing me with different tattoos, different scars. It was disorienting, terrifying, and brilliant.
In the final room, the walls pulsed in time with my heartbeat. Sketches of Donovan’s art were drawn directly onto the stretching material. As the walls expanded, the drawings moved. A sketch of me laughing widened into a grin; a sketch of the team fighting grew until it surrounded us.
I traced a line of ink on the wall. "Donovan," I said softly. "This is insane."
He looked pleased, ears turning pink. "It’s just a little structural manipulation."
We exited into the blinding sun. Matt was waiting, arms crossed, standing next to a tower that rose three hundred feet into the air. There were no motors. No hydraulics. Just a heavy iron seat attached to a massive chain.
"Gorath’s Gauntlet," Matt grunted. "Strap in."
I looked at the chain. It ran through a pulley at the top and came back down to… Matt’s hand.
"You’re the engine?" I asked.
He grinned, eyes flashing blue. "I'm the only thing strong enough to lift it."
He strapped me and Johnny in. Johnny looked pale. "I hate this part."
Matt’s skin began to shift, hardening into blue granite. He grew, his shirt tearing at the seams as he transformed into Gorath. With a roar that shook the sand, he grabbed the chain and yanked.
We shot upward so fast my stomach stayed on the ground. The wind screamed. We hit the top, dangling three hundred feet up, the ocean sprawling endlessly below.
"Hey, tiny!" Gorath bellowed from below, his voice like grinding rocks. "Catch!"
He let go.
We plummeted. Freefall. The ground rushed up to meet us. I screamed—a genuine, adrenaline-fueled shriek. Just before we hit the sand, Gorath caught the chain, his massive muscles straining as he brought us to a smooth, impossible stop inches from the dirt.
I stumbled out, legs shaking, laughing breathlessly. "Again."
Matt shrunk back down, human and smirking. "Next time."
"My turn," Johnny said, vibrating with energy. He pointed to the rollercoaster.
It was a sleek, silver track that vanished into a tunnel. But there was no chain lift. No gravity drop.
"The Sonic Boom," Johnny announced. "Get in the car."
Roger, Sebastian, and I climbed in. Johnny didn't. He stood behind the car, cracking his knuckles.
"Keep your head back," he warned. "Whiplash is a bitch."
Before I could ask, he blurred.
He slammed his hands against the back of the cart, and we didn't just accelerate—we teleported.
One second, we were still, and the next we were screaming through the loop-de-loop at supersonic speeds.
The world blurred into streaks of color.
Johnny was a lightning bolt running alongside us, pushing the cart through turns, keeping our momentum at a breaking point.
We hit the tunnel, and red sparks flew as he engaged the brakes with his own heels, skidding us to a halt.
My hair was standing on end. "That," I wheezed, "was illegal."
Johnny leaned against the cart, not even out of breath. "That was fast."
"And wet," Sebastian interrupted, gesturing to his attraction.
It wasn't a dome. It was a river. A canal of water suspended in mid-air, held together by surface tension and Sebastian’s will. It wound through the palm trees like a translucent snake.
A small boat waited. I got in, and Sebastian stepped onto the water beside it. He didn't sink. He dissolved, his lower body becoming part of the stream, propelling the boat forward with a gentle current.
"This is… quiet," I said, trailing my hand in the water. It felt cooler than the ambient air.
"Look down," Sebastian’s voice echoed, sounding like it came from the water itself.
I looked. The water beneath the boat wasn't clear.
It was forming shapes. Memories. Liquid sculptures rose and fell in the current.
A water-sculpture of the team playing video games.
One of me sparring with Matt. Another with us snuggled up on the sectional watching a movie then dissolving into bubbles.
It was beautiful and incredibly intimate.
"You remember everything," I whispered.
The boat docked gently on the sand. Sebastian reformed on the beach, looking damp but composed. "Water has memory," he said simply. "I thought you should see the good ones."
"Alright, grand finale," Roger said. He pointed to the night sky.
"There’s nothing there," I said.
"Exactly." He scooped me up.
I didn't have time to protest. He launched us into the air, his flight smooth and powerful. We rose higher than the drop tower, higher than the coaster. The wind rushed past us, but he shielded me with his body, creating a pocket of calm.
"This is the ride?" I asked, gripping his shoulders.
"Look," he said, pointing down.
From up here, the island wasn't just a random collection of rides. The lights from Donovan’s house, the glow of Sebastian’s water, the floodlights on the coaster formed a shape.
A serpent wrapped around a dagger.
My tattoo.
"You guys are ridiculous," I choked out, my throat tight. I was trying not to cry.
"We try." Roger shifted his grip, holding me steady as we hovered among the clouds. "You always watch our backs, Mandie. We wanted to show you we’ve got yours."
He lowered us slowly back to the beach where the bonfire was already crackling.
Johnny was roasting a marshmallow at super-speed (it caught fire immediately). Donovan was sketching the firelight. Matt was opening a cooler with one hand.
I landed in the sand, feeling unsteady, but not because of the flight.
"So?" Johnny asked, tossing a burned marshmallow into the dark. "Verdict?"
I looked at them. The monster, the speedster, the artist, the doctor, and the flyer. My team.
"It’s perfect," I said. And for once, I didn't add a sarcastic qualifier.
I sat down between Matt and Donovan. "Now," I said, grabbing a beer. "Who’s ready to do it all again?”