"Skip ahead, skip ahead, skip ahead," yelled Peaseblossom.

Moth signaled the orchestra, and unseen musicians launched into the tango.

Bertie's lower intestine tied itself into a knot, but she followed her stage directions and stood up. "Shall we dance?"

Nate pulled her close. "I think it's customary for the man to lead."

"So lead on, pretty boy."

Bertie wished one of the trapdoors would open up and swallow her, but Nate-as-Ariel led her into a fluid tango, as full of grace as the original but without the hallucinations of Spanish buildings or jetting fountains.

The scrimshaw's bone-magic seeped into Bertie's chest, except she wasn't sure she needed it this time. Though Nate had a.s.sumed Ariel's demeanor and his words, though his eyes got progressively darker, he'd never stood before her so completely unmasked. He twirled her out just when he ought- I may hold ye at arm's length. . . .

-and pulled her back when the music called for it.

But I want ye t' be mine an' mine alone.

"Are you ready for the finale?" Nate's voice tightened as he dipped her.

"No!" She tried to twist out of his grasp.

He held her fast and shook his head. "That's not yer line."

"Nate-"

The light poured over his shoulders. "I'm not Nate right now. I'm a spirit. I'm th' wind."

"You're not him."

"I am, in this moment. Just for now. Just long enough."

Nate-as-Ariel lowered Bertie onto the chaise, but the lips that met hers were only Nate's, light at first and then more demanding. Bertie twisted his shirt up in her hands and tried to shove him off, but either he didn't realize or didn't care.

"No," she said into his mouth. Some other time, some other way. But not like this.

He pulled back to contemplate her, expression unfathomable, then held up the crumpled piece of paper. "It says here that ye pa.s.s out. Would ye like some help wi' that?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Then close yer eyes an' pretend. Pretend it very hard."

Bertie squeezed her eyes shut. She heard Nate crumple the script and drop it, felt him slide to the floor to reach a hand under the chaise.

"Is it there?" she whispered.

"That," he said, "was not in th' script."

Neither was the finger that touched her lips as the lights dimmed to a blackout. When the house lights faded up, Nate was gone. The fairies sat in the audience, stunned.

"She kissed Nate!"

"Yeah, we were all sitting right here when she did it."

"But that means she kissed Ariel, too."

"Yuck! That's disgusting!"

"Just how many boys have you played tonsil hockey with in the last two days, Bertie?"

"Never mind that," she said. "What about The Book? Did Ariel take it?"

Nate reentered holding a large, leather-bound tome. "Aye, he did."

He held it out, and Bertie's heart gave a tremendous thump. "You found it!"

"No, la.s.s. 'Tis but a prop." He handed it to her. Only then could she see that it lacked the proper weight, that the gilt edges were worn and the leather false.

Bertie tossed the false Book aside and turned over the chaise for the second time that day, but this time, not even dust decorated the floor. Rage ignited in her chest, and before she thought twice about it, Bertie pulled her foot back and kicked a hole through the bottom of the chaise.

"Oh, Bertie!" Peaseblossom said. "That's hardly the right way to get back into Mr. Hastings' good graces."

"I don't care." After the next swift kick, her shoe got stuck. Nate reached out to steady her, but Bertie abandoned her Mary Jane and her dignity to leap away from him. "You keep your hands to yourself!"

"Perhaps," he said, pausing for effect, "ye should have said that t' Ariel."

"You shut up." Bertie took her other shoe off and threw it at his head.

Nate ducked, and it bounced harmlessly in the wings. "I will not." He picked up the "Drink Me" bottle from the stage. "That little scene was an eye-openin' lesson in how ye spend yer free time." A muscle in his jaw clenched as he turned. With a fluid movement of his arm and a grunt, he hurled the bottle into the wings after her shoe.

Crystal smashed into an unseen bit of scenery and Bertie flinched, at both the noise and his angry display. She thought she could smell whatever was left of the magical elixir, and the scent made her stomach clench. "Feel better now?"

Nate turned around with an expression that said he wasn't done breaking things. "Not yet."

"Look, I know you're mad at me-"

"That goes wi'out sayin'."

"But I really need your help right now!"

"Ye need somethin'. A good dose o' reality, mayhap."

Bertie wished she had more ammunition, but she was out of shoes. "And you need to get over yourself!"

Nate threw words instead of punches. "Ye were thoughtless. Reckless. Ye've put everyone in danger wi' yer stupidity."

"I don't need you telling me what I did was wrong." Bertie couldn't rid herself of the lump of anger lodged in her throat, though she swallowed again and again.

"I'll go get th' Theater Manager." He headed for the wings.

"No, Nate, please!" Bertie gave chase, nearly falling over him in the half-light backstage when he paused to pick up his personal effects. "Give me a while longer to look!"

"He needs t' be told!" Nate jerked on his coat. "Perhaps he can set things t' rights."

"But he'll cancel the performance!"

"Are ye addled in th' head?" The look he gave her said he clearly thought it was so. "There's not goin' t' be a performance wi'out The Book in th' theater. Ye'll be lucky t' see out th' day here, much less th' week."

Anguish stabbed at Bertie's vitals. To hear it so p.r.o.nounced was harsher than any blow, and hot tears poured out of her eyes.

"Bertie, no!" Nate dropped his sword belt to s.n.a.t.c.h at her, at the medallion, but too late.

Salt.w.a.ter hit the scrimshaw. Underfoot, the stage trembled. The scenic flats and curtains swayed.

"Earthquake!" Moth cried, but it wasn't.

Every door crashed inward, and tidal waves of seawater spilled down the aisles. The fairies launched themselves at the ceiling, evading the tsunami by mere inches. Nate wrapped his arms around Bertie only seconds before the violence smashed into them.

This wasn't the gentle ocean set, with lighting specials and sparkling sand and swimming in a harness. Waves buffeted Bertie from all sides, filling her nose and flooding into a mouth opened to scream. She thrashed against the water that closed over her head, against Nate, who tried to hold her still. When the sea calmed an infinitesimal amount, he began to swim, no doubt hampered by her weight but refusing to let go of her wrist.

Through stinging eyes, Bertie saw a shadow loom behind him: a creature of purple ink, glittering scales, and creamy yellow bone.

Sedna's voice was whale song and shifting tides and the vicious sorrow of a harpooned soul. "You have something that belongs to me."

Dark tentacles reached around Nate to snake over Bertie's shoulders and around her waist. She clung to Nate, but the Sea G.o.ddess would not be denied. With hands that had starfish where fingers should be, Sedna pried Bertie from Nate's grasp before tossing him aside like a bit of rotting fish.

Her own lungs burning, Bertie knew all too well that he needed to breathe, but still Nate hesitated.

"Go!" she told him, but the words were only bubbles.

He turned and swam for the surface, and though she'd given the order, Bertie wanted to scream in protest.

"I will have the girl as payment for the tricks played upon me." The Sea G.o.ddess eyed the scrimshaw. "Bone of my bone, magical bone. You've used its power more than once."

A few seconds longer and Bertie would have no choice but to suck the water into her lungs. She could see Nate already fighting his way back toward them, held at bay by the currents under Sedna's command.

He won't get to me in time.

The Sea G.o.ddess peered at the medallion in fascinated horror. "It's been defaced! Mutilated and vandalized-" But when her starfish fingers touched the scrimshaw, churning foam and bubbles erupted all around them, shoving Sedna away with all the force of wind under water. The Sea G.o.ddess screamed, "His magic! The blood, the bones. You are his child!"

Bertie twisted and kicked, praying she was headed the right direction. Moments later, she surfaced, spitting and coughing, dragging air into her aching lungs as she treaded water. Completely disoriented, she blinked, only to realize the brilliant nimbus of light wavering just before her was the chandelier. With shaking arms, Bertie pulled herself free of the waves, clinging to the beaded chains and prisms as she shoved her hair out of her face. "Nate!"

Below her, the water formed a whirlpool, sloshing against the balconies and casting salt-spray across the painted seraphim on the ceiling. Bits of the Theatre's walls trembled and slid into the maelstrom with a series of shudders and splashes.

"Bertie!" Nate cried.

She turned to see him fighting the current only a few feet away. Without pausing to consider the madness of what she was doing, Bertie flipped herself backward. Dangling from one of the chandelier's bra.s.s arms, she reached for him. "Grab my hand!"

"I'm comin'!" Nate rasped, though Bertie could see the exhaustion in every line of his face, in every straining muscle.

"You're almost there!" She thought her legs trembled with the effort of holding on, but then the entire chandelier began to shake.

"I cannot take the girl," the Sea G.o.ddess roared as she surfaced, "but I will have something for my troubles." A riptide dragged Nate under. "Come, my brave pirate lad."

"No!" Bertie dove in, desperate to catch hold of him. Her fingertips brushed over his outstretched hand as a glowing fish rippled past them through the shifting vortex of air and water.

No. Not a fish. His page from The Book!

One last wave seized Bertie and slammed her to the seafloor as the Sea G.o.ddess caught hold of both man and page. Laughing, Sedna retreated with her prize, taking the ocean with her on an outgoing tide.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

Ill Met by

Moonlight

Bertie lay on the carpeted aisle, empty as a sh.e.l.l washed onto the sh.o.r.e. Warm blood containing the memory of salt trickled from her nose, and the weight of her sodden clothes dragged at her.

This is what Ophelia does to herself, each and every night.

As horrifying as the thought was, Bertie couldn't stop to sympathize. She crawled to the auditorium door with pain lancing through her lungs.

"Nate!" His name was a water-rasped whisper rather than a scream, but either way, there was no one to hear it. The lobby stood empty, its carpet dotted with briny puddles. Water ran in rivulets down the gla.s.s set into the revolving doors, and the occasional droplet fell from the painted Muses on the ceiling who wept for her loss.

The Sea G.o.ddess was gone, and Nate with her.

Bertie shoved the auditorium door closed and welcomed the return of the gloom. Twisting about to sit, she rested her head in her hands. There was no sound except her ragged breath and the steady drip! drip! drip! of water from every side.

The fairies rushed to join her in the back of the theater. Mustardseed touched the door as though it might vomit the sea again. When it didn't, he kicked it soundly with his boot. "And stay out!"

Bertie closed her hand around the scrimshaw and twisted her fingers through the sodden leather thong. For ages it seemed she only sat and rocked, back and forth, her shoulders shaking with shock. "It's all my fault."

"Oh, Bertie," Peaseblossom said as she pushed the wet strands of hair out of Bertie's face. "Stop. Stop it right now. How could you know that would happen?"