“Some.” Austin’s mouth twisted.
“Where did you stay?”
“There’s a city a few miles from the Tear. I stayed in that.”
“Where exactly? Not on the street.”
Unbidden, Austin’s cheeks heated. He turned sharply away from Liam. “None of your business.” As he spoke, he swore he smelled sweet hay, felt its itchy dust in his nose.
Liam’s stare was pointed. Austin shoved the volume dial up again. He was out the front door and halfway to the path leading to the ocean before Liam called out after him.
“There’s leftovers in the fridge for you whenever you’re hungry.”
Austin stopped on the path. He turned, a niggling thought that had been bothering him finally surfacing. “Go give someone from Connor’s family a heads-up.”
Given that Liam had helped abduct Connor from his house in the past, that was likely to be a very awkward and tense conversation, and still probably far more productive than if Austin tried to do it.
“I’m here to guard you.”
“Go warn them,” Austin snapped. “It’s not as if I can call them, is it? They live twenty minutes from here, and I’ll be in the ocean the entire time you’re gone.”
If Liam was reluctant, it didn’t show on his impassive face. “Fine. I’ll be quick.”
Austin waved him off and continued down the path.
At the shore, Austin shrugged off his clothes, venturing into the choppy waves. The sky was filled with clouds, and the ocean was dark, only the lines of white foam breaking up the impenetrable blue. Austin swam out far enough that when he dove to the ocean floor, the crush of the sea was close to pleasurable against his joints. He sighed, little air bubbles slipping from his nose and racing to the surface. Austin was filled with a strong urge to breathe in deeply, to invite the ocean inside his body.
Austin knew he needed air to breathe. He didn’t have gills like the mermen infesting the oceans did, but despite that, he didn’t think a lungful of water would drown him: the ocean wouldn’t dare.
The matriarch slid forth from a cluster of rocks to Austin’s right, gliding seamlessly over the sand, two limbs raised in a greeting curl. Austin hummed a greeting of his own, and against the current, the water rippled. Sand lifted from the seabed and resettled in a new pattern, concentric circles radiating out from Austin. The matriarch’s arms ventured out, exploring the contours he’d made in her territory.
Austin neatly kicked off the seabed, rising to the surface for air. When he returned, the matriarch was in his spot, several limbs raised as she cycled through poses. Austin hovered above, watching smaller octopuses emerge from beneath rocks and water weeds to admire the matriarch’s new throne. The natural current was already pushing against the sand, trying to correct the orientation.
Austin left her to it, swimming several feet deeper into the ocean.
An hour of cycling through dives later, Austin felt he could survive a phone call to Connor if he needed. He didn’t bother putting on his clothes and walked up the path, shells shifting beneath his bare feet. He crested the hill to the cottage. A black BMW with no licence plate was parked next to the front door.
An old man stood beside it, gazing thoughtfully at the cardboard window. He wore the same sailing outfit as he had in the photo Tammy had shown Austin yesterday: Wilbur Riley.
“Are you sure this is the right spot?” He had a thick Boston accent.
“Positive!” someone around the corner of the cottage called back. “How many people in Ireland even own a Lexus?Though I’m pretty sure this is rusted in place… Shoot, maybe it’s abandoned?” The other man had a Boston accent too, though not as pronounced and with a youthful bounce.
Wilbur raised a gloved hand and knocked on the front door. “Hello? Mr Cessair?”
The name lanced through Austin’s lungs. A thousand memories whipped through his head at breakneck speed: Needles. Lab coats. Sterile walls. Restraints. Inescapable punishments. Being a subject, a thing.
A young man came around the corner of the house. “Should we try—oh.” The man’s eyes slid past Wilbur to where Austin stood, stark naked on the path. Austin glimpsed a younger, better-looking Wilbur before his features blurred together as Austin whirled on his heel and bolted.
“Wait!” the younger man called.
Barbed branches struck Austin like whips as he rocketed down the path, dropping his clothes as he went. He heard the pursuit behind him, rustling punctuated by cries of, “Dang it”, “Curses” and “Oh bugger this.”
“Help me,” Austin ordered the beach and the ocean, the fear in his blood striking out at the elements.
The ocean surged forward to meet him as the razor shells shook free of the stony beach, readying themselves to strike. Austin dove while knee-deep, letting himself get caught as the ocean surge drew him away from the beach in a swift, powerful current. He twisted to watch his pursuer fall down the path, landing on a bed of razors.
The yelp of pain followed Austin out to sea.
