Jenks eyed him, then darted to the door where Trent had pasted the last of the gum on the door that led to the hall. A curious sliver of green dust slipped down, and, arms over his chest, he dramatically snapped his fingers.
A tiny wave of force exploded out of the lock, making Trent duck and Ellie gasp. Jenks rode the bubble of air like a surfer, grinning as he spun to a stop in front of Trent’s nose. From the hallway came muffled, alarmed voices. “You might want to duck,” the pixy said saucily. “I put ten times that between the drywall and insulation over the window.”
“Right.” Glancing at Ellie, he shifted his weight to resettle Lucy in her baby sling. “Everyone cover their eyes.” His hand went protectively under the little girl, and she gurgled happily. Trent couldn’t help his proud look down at her. He’d known her for only five minutes, and he already liked what he saw: grit, determination, acceptance of excitement. He didn’t have much experience with babies, but how could this be a bad thing?
“Here we go!” Jenks said as he tucked in under Ellie’s ear, then made a chirp with his wings, the two-toned sound like tinfoil on Trent’s teeth.
A flash of sound and light boomed through the open archway. Orange and green mixed like auras against his vision, blending with the memory of thunder. The floor shook, and Trent met Ellie’s eyes, seeing the pain of Jenks’s wing noise still in her expression. It turned to shock as they all stumbled, even crouched on the floor as they were, and Trent put a hasty hand on the stone to keep from falling.
“My God . . .” Trent breathed, absently patting Lucy as she stared horrified at him to see how she should react before finally giving up and beginning to wail. “Oh no, it’s okay, Lucy,” he said as he stood, his free hand extended to help Ellie rise. Bob and Megan were still unconscious, and Jenks took off from Ellie’s shoulder, his passage making twin whirlwinds in the dust now spilling into the outer room along with the muted sounds of the ocean and a bright white light.
They’d done it. The amount of light coming through was substantial, and Trent tried to quell his growing excitement. Taking a huge breath, he shoved it deep under a thick layer of hard-won boardroom protocol. “Are you okay, Ellie?” he asked calmly, even as he stifled a tremor at the moist smell of ocean. Lucy’s wailing had become loud, and the pounding from the door even more frantic.
“Fine,” she said, letting go of his hand and bending to brush the dust from Megan’s face. “I wanted to redecorate the baby’s room anyway.” Her brow pinched, and she looked away.
Guilt tugged at him, even as he clenched his jaw resolutely.
“We got a hole! Let’s go!” Jenks shouted from the other room, and Trent leaned into motion, patting Lucy through the carry mesh when her furious, red-faced wailing cut off sharply as she coughed.
“That’s a good girl, Lucy,” Trent said, smiling down at her and giving her a jiggle. Distracted by her cough, she forgot what she was crying about and her complaints subsided into a tear-streaked pouting. “See at the sunlight on the ceiling!” he said as he looked into the demolished room, and even though she had no clue what he was saying, his tone soothed her.
“Wow.” Trent blinked at the destruction, thinking he’d never used the word before, but Jenks was right. They had a hole. A bloody big hole with the sky and water beyond it, blue and sparkling. A fresh breeze eddied in to dispel the last of the powdered rock, replacing it with the scent of salt and seaweed. From her sling, Lucy squinted at the bright light, fussing when he shifted to put her in the shade.
Trent half turned as Ellie came in, exhaling in dismay. The desk was a mangled mess of rock and wallboard. The crib was broken. “Don’t let Ellasbeth see this without knowing that Lucy is safe first,” he said, and Ellie’s feet scuffed.
“I won’t,” she breathed. “Trenton . . .”
It was time to go. He could hear a power tool whining at the door. One hand under Lucy, he peered down the drop-off. He was too practical to be afraid of heights, but his stomach clenched as he saw the perfect unmarred water and then looked at his watch. Where’s the boat? Feeling his tension, Lucy kicked.
“You got a hot date or something?” Jenks asked, darting in and out of Lucy’s reach to make the little girl squeal. “You keep looking at your watch.”
“Something like that.” The boat wasn’t there, but it could be just around the spit of land, and they’d never see it until it was almost on them. “Let’s go.” Fingers fumbling, he brought out a mountaineer pin. If it worked in friable cliff rock, it would work here. Kneeling, he hammered it into the floor, his strikes mixing with the blows to the outer door in a harsh discord.
“Trent,” Ellie tried once more when Lucy, frightened at the rough motion and sound, began to cry again, but he ignored the older woman. It was clear Ellie wanted to hold her one last time, but he was afraid to let her. Here, at the literal brink, she might change her mind. No wonder Ellie hadn’t wanted him to touch Lucy. Something had shifted in him when he had. Without warning, he had become witness to something that stretched back through the eons, ties both elastic and enduring, surpassing death, surpassing life. She was his child. It was that simple and that complex.
Head down, he fastened the cord to lower himself to the pin, then the pulley on his harness. It looked too thin. His jaw tightened when Ellie came close, and then he looked up. The noise from the hall was furious, but words needed to be said.
“Thank you,” he said simply, hoping she would understand. “If not for you, I would have had to . . .” His words faltered, and understanding broke over him. If Ellie hadn’t come in, he might have had to storm the hallway. He would have done what was needed, killing not just the men in the hall, but his last hope of being something he wanted. I think you saved me, he thought, but he couldn’t say it.
“You’re welcome,” she whispered, tears slipping from her as she smiled. Ellie gave them a hug, her breath catching as Lucy squealed happily at the contact. “It would have been messier, perhaps,” she said, glancing to the hallway, “but you would have done it.”
She didn’t understand the narrowness of where he had been balanced, and he turned away, ashamed that he could have failed so easily. Perhaps he owed the Goddess a little more faith. “Thank you, Ellie. Knowing you accept this means more to me than you will ever know. Don’t let Ellasbeth silence you. That tradition dies tomorrow.”
The older woman, nodded, her sad smile becoming more intense as Lucy grabbed her finger and tried to stick it in her mouth. “I’m still going to hold you to our nine-month agreement. You’d better go. That door isn’t going to last much longer.” She leaned forward and gave Lucy a kiss on her forehead and disentangled her finger. “Bye, sweet pea. It was good to see you smile.”
Jenks’s wings were a harsh clatter as he darted back in, his dust edged in red. “Ah, I hate to break this up, but they’ve got a blowtorch . . .”
Nodding, Trent turned away. Feeling protective of Ellie, he picked his way through the rubble to the edge. Still no boat. Checking his gloves, he winced at his bare feet, and started to descend.
“Be careful!” Ellie said, and he looked up, unable to wave back.
Then the wind hit them, and he looked down to pay attention to what he was doing.
It was shockingly cool, the wind coming up from the water cutting right through his tattered biking tights. The hiss of the specially designed rope was a steady shush-shush as he bounced away from the rock face and found it again. Practice kicked in, and muscle memory took over. Lucy protested at the wind and brighter light, looking as if she was considering crying again.
“Jenks?” Trent called, his legs and arms aching. “How far down is it?”
The pixy dove from somewhere, the cheerful sound of his wings drawing Lucy’s attention like a magnet and cutting her whimpering off. “You’re about a third of the way,” he said, bobbing up and down, his wings making music as he struggled to stay in one spot in the stiff wind.
Trent’s brow furrowed. He had asked that the cord b
e made to the height of the cliff, but it did tend to shrink in the cold.
The sudden ping of shattered rock struck Trent, as he kept one hand on the wire, one on Lucy.
“They’re shooting at us!” Jenks shrilled indignantly, looking up and darting sideways as Trent pushed out again, making his swing more erratic.
Angry, Trent pulled Lucy’s blanket over her head, making the already fussy baby begin to wail. Faster now, he pushed the lowering mechanism to its limits, starting to shake as two more slugs shattered the rock where he had just been. If he fell, they would both be dead. Was Ellasbeth truly insane?
“Talk to me, Jenks!” he shouted, the cord beginning to hum in the wind. He knew it was because of the distance and how fast he was moving, but he couldn’t help but wonder if they might cut the cord. Again he pushed out from the wall, his jaw clenched and his knees flexing to absorb the impact. He looked down, blanching. Almost there, but still too high for his liking. The rocks were wet with spray. There was no beach here, just jagged corners and pounding waves.
“Jenks!” he shouted again, wondering if the pixy had gotten himself killed. Lucy cried and kicked, and he tried to calm himself. She is like a little barometer, he mused as he pulled her blanket back enough so she could see him, and her cries ebbed into angry fussing. She saw Jenks before he heard his wings, and relief spilled into him even as he pushed off and descended another few feet.
“I really like Mrs. Withon,” Jenks said as he landed on top of the pulley, a silver dust falling from him as they pushed out and down again.
The rope seemed to give way, and Trent panicked, reaching for it as it spun through the pulley and Jenks darted off. But it had only been Jenks’s dust lubricating it, and he frowned when the pixy came back when they hit the wall again, having descended almost three times the usual amount. “How that nice woman ended up with a kid like Ellasbeth is beyond me,” Jenks added as if nothing had happened.
“Yeah?” Trent panted, unable to make himself push off again.
Jenks grinned, his wings pinned to his back in the stiff wind. “She just threatened to throw the next man who shoots at you out the window. Megan is awake. She offered to help. God, Trent, what is it with you and women?”
Trent looked down again, smiling past Lucy. Her diaper had gone heavy against him. That drop had been scary. She hadn’t cried, though, and he gave her a comforting pat as he pushed away in a series of short hops to reach the end. A wave of something passed through him, chased by panic. Lucy trusted him? She trusted him to keep her safe? God help him, he could not fail her.
Swallowing the emotion back, Trent slowly descended the last few feet. The sound of the surf was loud, and the smell of dead things strong. He exhaled loudly as his bare feet finally touched the spray-wet rock. Knees trembling, he put a hand to the rock face. It was not over, though, and he looked out past the crashing waves. Still no boat.
“Look out!” Jenks shouted, and Trent shied as a weird sort of swallowed sound schluuped through the rising and falling water six feet out.
Scowling, Trent looked up the line. They were shooting at him again, and concerned, he put a hand to the cord to feel it humming from more than the wind. They were coming, not afraid to shoot him dead now that he was on the ground.
“I think you’re okay,” Jenks said, peering up as three more bullets cut through the water, the closest too far to be a worry. “The angle is wrong. But you got three minutes before they show up, rappelling down your rope.” Jenks landed on an outcrop, his hair blowing wildly as he held his wings to his body. “I know you said there was a boat coming to pick us up, but how are you getting out to it? You elves got gills?”
“Something like that.” Head down and fingers fumbling from the spray, Trent shimmied out of the harness, leaving only the one that kept Lucy snuggled close to him.
“Seriously!” Jenks said, hovering between him and the wall as he tried to keep out of the wind and away from Lucy’s frustrated reach. “You can swim, but what about her?”
“Boat,” Trent said shortly, glancing up briefly to see that it still wasn’t here. It wasn’t a holiday, was it? It would be just like the Goddess to decree that his entire plan, haphazardly implemented and disastrously flawed, would end here at the end with his goal in sight but just out of reach, devolved by a slipped timetable or obscure holiday. A goat. I’ll give you a Goddessblessed goat. Just get me out of here alive.
“I don’t see no boat,” Jenks said, and Trent finally got his tiny knife and lighter from his belt pack. He’d brought it to blow the gum, but it would also burn the rope, and Jenks whistled in appreciation as Trent cut the cord, exposed the flammable core, lit it, and it smoked and burned like a fuse, shaking slightly as it burned upward.
“Nobody is going to make it down here on your rope now!” Jenks said in appreciation. “You just bought yourself ten minutes, you little cookie maker!” Jenks landed on his shoulder, his wings cold on his neck. “Ah, your boat going to be here by then?”
“Yes.” Two goats, he thought as he kicked the harness into the water. Crouching with Lucy before him, he inflated the little cockleshell boat using the compressed air that he’d brought to inflate a blown bike tire. In two seconds, one ounce of specially designed plastic became a small boat for one.
“That takes care of Lucy,” Jenks said, peering upward again. The bullets had stopped, but they’d start back up the instant they moved from the lee of the cliff. Trent doubted they would shoot at the little boat, so obviously carrying Lucy, but they’d try for him, even if it meant she might dash against the rocks. Maybe he had promised to revisit the custody arrangements too soon. This was insane. He’d gotten her, gotten out of their stronghold. Enough was enough.
“Here you go, sweet pea,” he found himself saying as he inexpertly wiggled Lucy out from her sling, the little girl’s eyes drooping. The stimulation of wind, water, and motion had begun to take their toll, and she frowned at the sudden cool breeze against her. “You can sleep in the boat,” he whispered, tucking her blanket in around her and drawing the thin plastic top over her to protect her from spray.
He felt funny talking to her with Jenks listening, but the pixy only nodded at the care he took, seeming to be satisfied. Perhaps he’d done better than he ever dreamed, bringing Jenks along with him. The pixy was a seasoned parent, and if he deemed the precautions he took adequate, then perhaps he wasn’t doing badly.
“I still don’t see a boat,” Jenks said as Trent carefully picked up the floating basket, wincing as the rocks cut into his feet.
Saying nothing, Trent waded out into the water. One bullet whizzed past him, then another, making Jenks swear and Trent’s eyebrows rise. The cold was breathtaking, and the bike suit soaked it up, holding it to him. Six steps put him to his chest, the waves jostling him until he gave up and pushed off, holding Lucy before him. He should have had the engineers fashion a way to tie her to him, he mused as he began to swim, the schluups of the bullets making his jaw clench. If not for the erratic bobbing of the waves, he’d likely be hit by now. It only made him angrier, and he kicked harder, falling into an awkward but effective rhythm. Shove the boat, stroke, stroke—shove the boat, stroke, stroke. Where is the bloody pickup boat!
“Boat?” Trent sputtered when they finally got far enough from the rocky edge so that he wasn’t fighting waves coming from both directions.
“Sure! Got it!” Jenks’s wings hummed, and Trent started when the smooth shape of the rocking cockleshell boat pulled away from him.
“No!” Trent said, his reaching hand smacking into it to make it rock violently. He panicked, thinking he had gotten Lucy wet, but she didn’t make a sound, apparently asleep. “I meant, do you see the pickup boat yet?” he asked as he began to tread water.
Jenks darted off, flying a good five feet above the water to make Trent wonder about sharks. If they had fish that would snack on Jenks, then there would be sharks, eating the fish, right? The cold was beginning to get to him, and he began swimm
ing to generate heat, pushing forward going nowhere. He’d once pulled Rachel out of the frozen Ohio River. She’d been suffering from hypothermia after only a few minutes. He hadn’t had an issue with the cold, but he’d been in the water here for at least twice that. The bullets had stopped, and he was thankful. But maybe that only meant they had their own boat out here and didn’t want to hit it.
Doubts tugged at him, and his thoughts began to slow. He’d been awake almost three days in a row getting out here, and he’d asked his body to perform far beyond what he had prepared for. Jenks was gone, maybe eaten. He’d brought his daughter out of her safe home and for what? To die a cold and frightening death in the middle of the ocean?
The sound of Jenks’s wings brought his head up, and he leaned his body into treading water, the cold seeping into him. He peered up at him, squinting into the sun as the pixy landed on the edge of the cockleshell boat. “No boat,” Jenks said, making Trent’s heart sink. He’d been a fool. A fool to believe he could do this. The Goddess was laughing at him. He should have promised her more, but doing this without killing anyone had been his greatest sacrifice. Perhaps he should have tried harder not to kill the man with the knife. It had been instinct. Instinct had caused his downfall. He was not enough. He should turn around and take her back to them. He would die, but Lucy would live. Rachel would be furious with him. She was expecting his help, and a feeling of guilt swept through him. Just one more broken promise. He was no better than his father.
“Unless you’re talking about that nasty-looking whale-watching boat,” Jenks said, his expression pinched as he bobbed on the water and looked into the distance.
Trent’s head slipped under as shock stilled his slowly moving legs. “That’s the pickup boat!” he sputtered, kicking violently and steadying Lucy.
“That rat trap?” Jenks blinked, his wings turning an embarrassed red. “Oh man, I’m sorry,” he said, rising up and looking to the north. “Damn, I’m sorry, Trent. I though you had some sort of fancy-ass speedboat arranged to pick us up. I’ll go get them. They can’t see you from here. Hang on. I didn’t think you’d rely on something as chancy as a whale-watching tour boat!”