They crept out the back way and down the road toward the beach, careful to avoid the night patrol. Livvy whispered to Kit that Ty was holding a hair clip that Zara had left on a table: It worked as a sort of homing beacon, pulling him in her direction. She seemed to have gone down to the beach and then walked along the sand. Livvy pointed to her footprints, in the process of being washed away by the rising tide.
“It could have been a mundane,” said Kit, for argument’s sake.
“Following this exact path?” Livvy said. “Look, we’re even zigging and zagging where she did.”
Kit couldn’t really argue. He set his mind to keeping up with Ty, who was practically flying over the dunes of sand and the boulders and uneven rocks that dotted the coastline more thickly as they moved north. He scaled an alarmingly tall wall of pitted rock and dropped down on the other side; Kit, following, almost tripped and landed face-first in the sand.
He managed to regain his footing and was relieved. He wasn’t sure who he least wanted to look like a fool in front of, Livvy or Ty. Maybe it was an equal split.
“There,” Ty said in a whisper, pointing to where a dark hole opened up in the rocky wall of the bluff that rose to divide the beach from the highway. Tumbled piles of rock jutted out into the ocean, where waves broke around them, casting silvery-white spray high into the air.
The sand had given way to rocky reef. They picked their way carefully across it, even Ty, who bent to examine something in a tide pool. He straightened with a smile and a starfish in his hand.
“Ty,” said Livvy. “Put it back, unless you’re planning on throwing it at Zara.”
“Waste of a perfectly good starfish,” muttered Kit, and Ty laughed. The salt air had tangled his arrow-straight black hair, and his eyes glowed like the moonlight on the water. Kit just stared, unable to think of anything else clever to say, as Ty gently placed the starfish back in its tide pool.
They made it to the cave opening without any other stops for wildlife. Livvy went in first, with Ty and Kit following. Kit paused as the darkness of the cave enveloped him.
“I can’t see,” he said, trying to fight his rising panic. He hated the pitch dark, but then who didn’t?
Light burst around him like the sudden appearance of a falling star. It was witchlight; Ty was holding it. “Do you want a Night Vision rune?” Livvy asked, her hand on her stele.
Kit shook his head. “No runes,” he said. He wasn’t sure why he was insisting. It wasn’t as if the
Whatever that plan might be. Kit tried not to brood on it as they advanced deeper into the tunnels.
“Do you think this is part of the convergence?” he heard Livvy whisper.
Ty shook his head. “No. The bluffs of the coast are riddled with caves, always have been. I mean, anything could be down here—nests of demons, vampires—but I don’t think this has anything to do with Malcolm. And the ley lines are nowhere near here.”
“I really wish you hadn’t said ‘nests of demons,’ ” said Kit. “It makes them sound like spiders.”
“Some demons are spiders,” said Ty. “The biggest one ever reported was twenty feet tall and had yard-long mandibles.”
Kit thought of the giant praying mantis demons that had ripped his father apart. It was hard to think of anything witty to say about a giant spider when you’d seen the white of your father’s rib cage.
“Shh.” Livvy held up a hand. “I hear voices.”
Kit strained his ears, but heard nothing. He suspected there was another rune he was lacking, something that would give him Superman hearing. He could see lights moving up ahead, though, around the curve of the tunnel.
They moved ahead, Kit staying to the rear of Ty and Livvy. The tunnel opened out into a massive chamber, a room with cracked granite walls, a packed-earth floor, and a smell of mold and decay. The ceiling rose into blackness.
There was a wooden table and two chairs in the middle of the room. The only light came from rune-stones placed on the table; one chair was occupied by Zara. Kit pressed himself instinctively back against the wall; on the other side of the tunnel, Livvy and Ty did the same.
Zara was examining some papers she’d spread on the table. There was a bottle of wine and a glass at her elbow. She wasn’t dressed in gear, but in a plain dark suit, her hair drawn back into an impossibly tight bun.
Kit strained to see what she was studying, but he was too far away. He could read some words etched into the table, though: FIRE WANTS TO BURN. He had no idea what they meant. Zara didn’t seem to be doing anything interesting, either; maybe she just came here to have privacy for her reading. Maybe she was secretly tired of Perfect Diego and was hiding. Who could blame her?