Page 16 of Summer L.A.W.

Morning fog clung low to the dunes, blurring the line between sea and sky. Mason’s boots crunched over damp sand as he followed the same coastal path he walked every day before coffee. It was part exercise, part habit, part treasure hunt for whatever the tide decided to spit out overnight.

Today’s prize was not on the usual menu.

A tangled mass of kelp lay high on the shore, well above the tide line, wrapped around something brassy that gleamed under the gray light. Mason crouched, tugged it free, and found himself holding what looked like a brass compass, except its face wasn’t clear glass. Swirling, inky water obscured the nav markings. Tiny motes of light drifted in its depths like algae caught in a current.

He straightened, scanning the horizon. The sea was calm. Too calm. He pocketed the thing in his rolled-up cargo pants and started up the winding path toward the mansion’s patio.

Crystal was there, leaning against one of the stone pillars beneath the overhang, mug of tea in hand, her bird familiar perched on the low stone wall. Her sweats looked like she’d dressed purely for comfort, and she’d dare anyone to comment.

“Morning,” Mason called as he crossed the flagstones. “Guess what I found?”

“Perspective?” she said without glancing over.

He grinned. “Only for you, love.” He pulled the compass from his deep pocket, letting the strange water-face catch what little light the fog allowed. “Found this tangled in some kelp. Figured a certain navigatrix might be interested.”

She took it, turned it over in her hands. “This is…” Her brows pulled together. The water inside the compass shifted toward her fingers like it recognized her touch.

Mason stepped in a fraction closer, just enough to test her boundary. “Looks like it wants you. Bit like me, really.”

Her head snapped up, blue eyes narrowing. “You’re flirting with me while handing me cursed beach junk?”

“Just trying to start your morning right,” he said easily.

Crystal set her mug down on the low stone wall. “Mason?”

“Yeah?”

She planted one palm against his chest and shoved—not hard enough to drop him, but with enough magically-boosted force to make him stumble back two steps and grab the nearest pillar.

“Personal space,” she said. “Respect it, or next time you’ll be out past the dunes before you know what happened.”

The bird let out a sharp, approving whistle. Mason couldn’t help a little grudging respect for her as well. Too bad he had the hots for a woman who could probably drown him with a look.

Mason lifted both hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No harm meant. Just thought you’d want to see it before Sahara gets her hands on it.”

Crystal studied the compass again, unsettled by the way the inky surface still tugged toward her fingertips. “You were right about that. Come, bird,” she said at last, then turned and walked inside. The bird launched from the wall to follow her, silver-tipped wings flashing before disappearing into the shadowed hall.

Mason stayed under the overhang, listening to the muted sound of the surf. “Storms and shipwrecks have nothing on her,” he muttered to himself.

Crystal stepped through the door with the compass still in her palm, but she didn’t make it three steps before her bird let out a shrill, repetitive cry. Not the usual sass, not even the “I see something shiny” note. This was sharper, a sound that cut right down her spine.

Crystal froze. “Oh, hell.”

Somewhere down the east hall, a door slammed. Then another. A draft rose up the grand staircase, carrying with it the smell of something briny. The mansion had made up its mind. It wanted everyone in the same room.

Magda appeared first, hair half-braided, eyes wide. “What was that? I was in the bath—my water was turning solid. Not ice. More like Jello.”

“Charming,” Crystal muttered. “The house is calling us. Let’s meet in the library.”

Brianna came hustling in next, still chewing on a piece of bagel. “A gust of wind nearly knocked me over. I was mid-bite,” she announced, offended. “Mid. Bite. I nearly choked.”

“Wait, was that the last of the bagels Rayna brought?” Crystal asked. “Never mind, maybe the house was doing us a favor.”

“Ha-ha. There are eleven left.” Brianna deadpanned. Crumbs were clinging to her T-shirt. Rayna tromped in looking sweaty, as if she’d been in the hot yoga studio.

Sahara brought up the rear, arms full of notebooks, looking like she’d been dragged away from her life’s work. “Did anyone else’s candles blow out in unison? Because all thirteen of mine did.”

Before anyone could comment, the chandelier above them rattled. The house itself affirmed it had decided to call them together.