Chapter 9
The Navy conference room smelled of stale coffee and disinfectant. A long table, too many uniforms, and not enough patience.
Payne stood at the front, jaw set, with Rayna beside him. Her witch’s poise was a sharp counterpoint to the brass bristling in their pressed blues. Mason loitered off to the side, arms folded like he hadn’t quite decided if he belonged here or not.
“This sketch,” Payne said, holding up Lioness’s rendering of the sea witch, “comes from a trusted civilian source. Their intel is unconventional, but accurate.”
A rear admiral flipped the paper with a scoff. “Civilian source? Looks like something out of a comic book. We have sonar, satellites, drones… Do you really want the United States Navy to take cues from hobbyists with crayons?”
Rayna’s smile was all ice. “Hobbyists didn’t stop the mimic that nearly took Manhattan last month.”
The admiral blinked. “The what?”
Before Payne could redirect, Mason pushed off the wall and said, “The witches. The League of Amazing Witches. They’re the reason Long Island isn’t a smoking crater right now.”
The silence was instant and heavy. Heads turned.
Payne’s glare could have cut glass. “Mason.”
Mason faltered. “What? It’s not like it’s top-secret. Right?” He looked between them, suddenly realizing it was very much top-secret.
Rayna arched a brow, clearly enjoying herself. “Well. Now that the cat’s out of the bag…”
The admiral leaned forward, frowning. “League of what?”
“You have their help, or you don’t,” Rayna said smoothly, sliding the map across the table. “Your sonar pinged something east of Montauk. Our intel tells you what it is. You can keep throwing ships at the problem, or you can listen to how we can help you.”
Payne seized the moment, his voice clipped. “Joint ops. Your firepower, their wards. It’s the only way to contain this.”
Uneasy glances passed between the officers. Finally, one muttered, “God help us, we’re taking orders from witches.”
Rayna’s smile sharpened. “Don’t worry. Nobody will know.”
“If your loose lips over there don’t sink our ships.” The admiral tipped his head toward Mason.
“Don’t blame him,” Rayna said. “You probably needed to know and would eventually, especially if you opposed us. Of course, we could erase the whole thing from your memories…”
The admiral’s eyebrows almost hit his hairline. Then his lips thinned, and his eyes narrowed. “Leave our minds alone.”
“Not a problem, as long as our identity doesn’t leave this room. We don’t take requests from every Tom, Dick, and Harry, unless they can pay for our services, and we don’t come cheap.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s this going to cost the government?”
“Nada,” she said. “We have a personal stake in this one.”
Crystal jolted awake with her sheets plastered to her skin.
Not sweat. Salt water. The briny tang clung to her lips, her hair damp as though she’d been pulled from the ocean itself.
She shoved herself upright, heart pounding.
Water pooled across the mattress, running in rivulets down to the floorboards.
Her dream was fading now, but something oceanic.
“No,” she whispered, dragging the soaked blanket away. “Not me.”
The mirror across the room caught her reflection: hair clinging to her shoulders in ropes, eyes darker than usual, almost black around the edges. For a heartbeat, she swore it wasn’t her at all, but the Sea Witch from her dream, staring back.
A knock at the door. Mason’s voice. “Crystal?”
“Go away.”
Of course, he didn’t. The door creaked open, and he slipped inside, pausing at the sight of the dripping floor. “Jesus. Did the fire sprinklers go off in here?”
Crystal yanked the blanket tighter around herself, though it didn’t do much against the chill. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Yeah, well, tell that to the hall that looks like a Slip ’n Slide.” He stepped closer, crouching so his face was level with hers. “What happened?”
Her throat tightened. “I dreamed her. And when I woke up, it was like I’d brought the ocean with me.”
“Crystal—”
“I’m not her,” she said sharply, almost a snarl. “I’m not. I won’t be.”
Mason didn’t flinch. He reached out, steady as always, brushing wet strands of hair from her cheek. “Then stop trying to fight it alone.”
Her hands trembled where they clutched the blanket. For one reckless moment, she wanted to bury her face in his chest and believe him. Believe that she wasn’t drowning inch by inch.
Instead, she whispered, “What if the ocean’s right, Mason? What if I’m both?”
He looked at her for a long moment, then pulled her against him anyway. “Then I guess we figure it out. Together.”
The Coast Guard cutter pitched hard over the waves, spray drenching them. The crew looked none too happy to have a handful of witches aboard, and even less thrilled at the silver-tipped seagull pacing across the deck.
“Navy’s already filing this under ‘not our circus,’” Mason muttered, gripping a rail as the cutter heaved again. “They punted it straight to the Coast Guard.”
“Better for us,” Rayna said crisply. “Less oversight, fewer brass breathing down our necks. Just one small, easily capsized boat between her and us.”
Lioness crouched at the bow, sketchbook open, eyes narrowed to slits against the wind. “She’s close. Testing us again. Like a cat pawing at a fishbowl.”
Sahara checked the compass in her lap. The water inside pulsed darkly, beating like a heart. “East by northeast. Moving fast.”
The lookout above shouted, “Something big off the port side!”
Every head snapped toward the horizon. A swell rolled higher than the rest, not cresting but rising, carrying something vast beneath it.
Crystal felt the pull in her chest, the throb in her ears, the whisper of her name in the crash of the ocean. Her hands gripped the rail until her knuckles went white. “She’s here.”
Mason snaked his arm around her waist and held her tight to his side.
The swell broke. Something long and pale sliced through the water, kelp-hair streaming, eyes black and menacing. The Sea Witch rose with the wave. Her gaze fixed on the cutter, she grinned like it was prey.
The ship lurched sideways as the swell hit, men shouted, witches scrambled for balance. Salt water slammed across the deck.
Lioness’s pencil snapped. “Yeah,” she muttered grimly. “We definitely know where she is now.”
The cutter’s engines screamed as the captain fought the helm. “All hands, brace!”
The prow knifed into the next swell, but the wave didn’t break. It rose, coiling. The Sea Witch’s laughter rolled across the water like thunder. A wall of seawater surged toward them, taller than a house.
“Mag shields! Now!” Rayna barked.
Sahara and Joell slammed their palms together, a lattice of orange-gold light erupting over the bow. The wave hit like a bomb. Spray blasted sideways, and the shield held, but barely.
“Again!” Crystal shouted. Her own magic roared to life, a whirlpool of aquamarine light. She flung it outward, trying to turn the Sea Witch’s current aside. For one heartbeat, the ocean obeyed her. Then the Sea Witch caught her spell in both hands and twisted.
Pain stabbed through Crystal’s chest as her power was yanked taut.
“She’s using your link,” Mason realized. “Cut it, Crystal!”
“I can’t!”
The Sea Witch rose higher, dripping fury, her body half water, half woman. The air itself hummed with salt and rage. Kelp streamed from her arms like ribbons, and from her mouth poured a torrent of words in no known tongue, but every syllable sounded like a curse.
Lioness slammed a fresh page onto her sketchpad, charcoal flying. “Buy me thirty seconds!”
“Thirty?!” Rayna shouted over the wind. “I’ll give you ten!”
The witches braced shoulder-to-shoulder. Magda thrust both hands toward the sea, drawing runes that glowed like green fire. Sahara whispered something ancient, and the compass in her lap blazed white, sending a spear of light at the dark water.
The Sea Witch shrieked. The light burned a hole through her rising wave, turning it to steam.
Lioness finished her drawing with a final, vicious stroke and tore it from the pad. Hurling the page skyward, she yelled, “Fetch!” The silver-tipped seagull caught the drawing in its beak, mid-flight. The sketch became real. A storm sigil, spinning like a saw blade toward the Sea Witch.
It hit her square in the chest.
The resulting boom flattened every wave within a hundred yards. The cutter dropped hard into the sudden trough. Crewmen cursed and clung to rails as metal screamed in protest.
Steam boiled over the surface of the ocean. For a heartbeat, no one breathed.
“Is she dead?” the captain asked.
Then the Sea Witch re-formed from the mist. She was ragged, furious, but smaller now.
“Not dead,” Crystal gasped. “Just angry.”
“She’s drawing power from the current!” Joell warned. “She’ll sink us to get more!”
Mason sprinted for the deck gun. “Permission to engage!”
The captain gaped, then waved him on. “Hell, yes!”
The cannon roared. The first round detonated a geyser beside the Sea Witch. The second hit closer, scattering her into foam, but every droplet slithered back together.
Crystal shoved past Mason. “She’s mine.” She stepped towards the rail, eyes glowing the same impossible blue as the storm. The ocean recognized its daughter. The waves slowed, listening.
“Back off,” Rayna hissed. “You’ll drown with her.”
“Maybe,” Crystal said, “but she started this in my neighborhood.”
She thrust both hands toward the surge below. Water leapt up, swirling around her arms, forming a luminous helix. The Sea Witch answered in kind, her own vortex rising to meet it. Two spirals collided midair, churning into a blinding column of light and water.
The cutter rocked violently. Mason grabbed a line, yelling her name. Crystal’s power howled through the storm, pure will against raw tide. For an instant, she saw the Sea Witch’s eyes flicker. Her black became a light blue, but only for a second. Then the shiny onyx color returned.
“You cannot master what you are,” the creature hissed.
“Watch me,” Crystal shot back.
The column exploded.
Salt rain lashed the deck. When the glare faded, only one figure floated amid the foam—Crystal. She looked limp but alive, and the Sea Witch was gone, her essence dispersing into a thousand harmless ripples.
The ocean calmed, as if exhaling. Mason vaulted the rail, hauling Crystal back aboard. Her pulse fluttered against his fingers, weak but steady.
Rayna knelt beside them, drenched and shaking. “Tell me that’s over.”
Lioness peered at the water; her short hair plastered to her cheeks. “Depends on how you define over. Because the ocean just whispered something back.”
Sahara lifted the compass. It still throbbed once every few seconds, slower now but not still. “She’s not dead,” she murmured. “She’s waiting.”
Mason pulled Crystal closer, muttering, “Then so are we.” He looked up at the captain. “Do you have a Medic on board?”
“We do, but we’re not waiting for round two. Bring her below. I’m taking us back.”
The cutter’s infirmary was too small, too bright, and smelled like bleach and diesel. Mason hated it instantly. He’d spent enough time in tight metal rooms at sea to know how fast they could turn into coffins.
He sat beside the bunk where Crystal lay still and pale, her hair a salt-drenched tangle across the pillow. Every few seconds, the ship’s hull groaned, and his stomach answered with its own twist. He’d seen plenty of bad days at sea, but never one that scared him like this.
When the wave hit, when she’d gone over in that blinding column of light, he’d thought— No. Don’t. He shoved the thought down as if he could bury it.
A medic hovered in the doorway, looking like he’d rather wrestle a shark than treat a witch. “She’s breathing steady,” he said, more to himself than to Mason. “Just… glowing a little.”
“I noticed,” Mason muttered.
The medic disappeared, relieved to escape. Coward.
Mason leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hand still gripping hers. Her skin was cold, but she was alive. Alive was enough for now. The faint blue glow under her veins pulsed with the rhythm of the sea, and he hated how beautiful it was. The same power that nearly killed her looked almost holy.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Open those eyes. Don’t make me fish you out twice.”
She didn’t move. Just breathed shallowly, like she was listening to something far away.
He rubbed a hand over his face. You knew better than to fall for a woman who argues with the ocean.
He’d told himself he was just the muscle, the backup, the guy who could handle diving and logistics. Not the guy who gets gutted watching her fight an evil witch made of saltwater.
He’d failed to protect a teammate before. One dive too deep, one wrong current, and a good man vanished under the waves. The ocean never gave him back. But Crystal wasn’t like them. She fought the tide and won.
“Dammit, you stubborn witch,” he whispered. “You don’t get to leave me like that.”
Her fingers twitched.
Mason froze. “Crystal?”
Her eyelids fluttered open. She squinted up at him, eyes unfocused but alive. “Mason? You look terrible.”
He barked a laugh, half relief, half leftover panic. “Yeah, well, you tried drowning the bride of Poseidon, so you’re not exactly radiant yourself. Or maybe you are. You’re glowing.”
Her lips curved faintly. “Did it work?”
“Mostly. You’re the one still breathing.”
She looked down at her glowing arm. “Huh. Free nightlight.”
He swallowed hard, the knot in his throat finally loosening. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry,” she murmured, voice rough but teasing.
The cutter dipped with a gentle roll, and he steadied her automatically, one hand on her shoulder. The pulse under her skin beat in time with the ocean, steady and alive.
“Rest,” he said softly. “Rayna’s debriefing, Sahara’s poking at that cursed compass, and I’m not leaving this room until you’re okay.”
She blinked up at him, sleepy but smiling. “You stayed the whole time?”
“Didn’t trust anyone else to watch you.”
“Typical Navy arrogance.”
“Damn right,” he said.
Her breathing evened out, slow and steady, the faint glow beneath her skin dimming as she drifted to sleep.
Mason stayed there long after, watching the rise and fall of her chest. He brushed a strand of wet hair from her cheek and murmured, almost to himself, “You came back. Don’t make me test the ocean twice.”
Outside, the sea was quiet. It was his gut that was roiling.