Page 45 of Philippa Flynn’s Year of Panic and Piracy

Monday morning at 8:30 a.m., I take a seat at Grams’s big rolltop desk, centered in the windows that face the ocean and provide a view of the Zephyr’s Revenge II at the end of the dock. Dylan’s the more obvious choice to do the actual writing, but after years of paralysis on that front, he prefers to pace, lie on the floor, or do anything but set his hands on the keyboard.

I open a blank Word doc, create a title page, and type Chapter One.

“Okay. So,” I say while Dylan rests his hands on the back of the chair and leans over my shoulder. He’s in the bulky cardigan I still covet, looking very writerly. “When we left Zane and Euphoria, she was tied up and drowning in the sea, and he’d leaped in to save her after refusing to reveal the whereabouts of the Island of Diamonds and Desire. Zane suspects Balbo and Euphoria have been meeting up behind his back, but he has no proof, only suspicious glances and missed assignations. He knows there’s history between Balbo’s and Euphoria’s families, and he wonders if Balbo’s blackmailing her into sneaking him information she gets from Zane. While he hates the idea, he’d be far more distraught to discover Euphoria is actively trying to betray him because her heart lies elsewhere. He still loves her, even if his trust is tenuous.”

Dylan pushes off the chair and begins to pace, linking his hands behind his neck.

“We start with the sea,” he says. “Then zoom in on Zane. He struggles to find Euphoria. Only when we think he might fail does he see her.” He returns to his spot behind me. The wood creaks as he rests his weight on the chair back again. “Maybe start with The sea was cold. We can change it later, but it’ll get us going.”

And so it does . . .

The sea was cold. The shock of entry made Zane’s body snap to attention, rigid, tense, but only for an instant before his arms were stroking and his legs were kicking as he swam down, down, down toward the ocean floor, probing the depths—

“Is probing the depths too suggestive?” I ask.

Dylan raises a brow. “You’ve read the other books. What do you think?”

I snort out a laugh. “Probing the depths it is!”

—probing the depths for a hand, a foot, a strand of hair, a swish of silk from the hem of Euphoria’s gown where it escaped the confines of the ropes that bound her. She was down here somewhere, and he either left the ocean with her or not at all.

The sea swallowed his attempts to call out to his beloved as he used the reeds around him to pull himself left, right, forward, and back again. She had to be here. He’d seen her fall, her cry of terror muffled by the gag Balbo had tied around her mouth when he’d threatened Zane with her death if he didn’t reveal everything he knew about the island rumored to hold the greatest treasure known to man. Gold. Jewels. Spices. Enough riches to set a man and his crew up for life, and plenty beyond.

But what were riches if Euphoria lay at the bottom of the sea?

Stroke, kick, stroke, kick.

Nothing. Only reeds, rocks, and dark, frigid water.

His chest tightened. His lungs burned.

One more stroke. One more kick. One more pull to the right.

Nothing. Still nothing.

His vision, what little he had so far from the surface, pinholed, and all too soon, he was forced to kick off the ocean floor and propel himself upward.

He broke the surface, gasping for air as he made a quick scan of the shore. Balbo was no longer on the clifftop, but Zane caught a glimpse of raven hair and emerald-green silk disappearing through a narrow fissure in the cliffside.

His heart swelled with hope.

Euphoria had a fondness for emerald green.

In fact, she’d selected a dress of that very color when she left his bed that morning.

“She must be a hell of a swimmer,” I say. “The average weight of a woman’s dress at the time was around six pounds when it was dry. Her stays would be either steel or whalebone, so that would weigh her down further. And don’t get me started on the panniers and petticoats.”

Dylan suppresses a smile. “I think we can take a little license.”

I settle into a frown. “A little license or a complete sidestepping of reality?”

“You do recall that he’s half immortal, the last book included a ship made of bones and crewed by bloodthirsty ghosts, and she wears a magic amulet that allows her seven deaths?”

“That doesn’t mean she can swim like Esther Williams in multiple layers of clothing.”

The smile Dylan’s attempting to suppress breaks free, which suggests I’m at least as amusing as I am annoying. It’s not my ideal collaborative energy, but it’s something.

“She has to get away so she can link up with Balbo while Zane’s in the water,” he says.