Page 24 of Summer L.A.W.

Mason arrowed down, reaching, but the current shoved him back. Pressure built in his ears, his chest. He could just make out their bodies twisting: Crystal driving a hard kick into the witch’s ribs, the Sea Witch coiling around her like an eel, too long and too strong.

Then… hell. The thing ripped her regulator free. Bubbles exploded upward in a frantic silver spiral, her only air rocketing away.

“Crystal!” His shout went nowhere. He swallowed seawater—he had to breathe. Surfacing just long enough to gulp air, he dove again.

She thrashed once, then steadied herself, shoving her forehead against the witch’s and baring her teeth in defiance. He saw it even underwater, that stubborn, infuriating refusal to quit.

The Sea Witch shrieked a word. It sounded like ‘Sister” bubbling underwater. A threat that punched through Mason’s bones. He had almost reached them when a wall of water rose from nowhere, as if the Atlantic itself had been ordered to move.

The surge grabbed him, tore him away from the fight, and hurled him upward like a rag doll. He broke the surface, coughed up saltwater, and before he could suck in more than one breath, the wave crested.

It slammed him shoreward with the force of a truck. Sand and shells scraped his arms, his back, his pride. He rolled helplessly in the surf until finally the ocean spat him onto the beach like unwanted cargo.

Drenched, half-blind, lungs on fire, Mason pushed himself up on shaking arms. The male siren had stopped his lulling tune and disappeared underwater. Out beyond the floating driftwood, the water heaved and churned. Crystal was still down there. And without help, he couldn’t get to her.

7

The Tennessee air was heavy with honeysuckle and heat, but inside the mansion, tension had its own weight. Joell strode down the hallways; Crowe shadowed her in silence, while the others fanned out to search.

“Crystal?” Magda called from the solarium. Nothing but the rustle of potted palms answered.

Sahara checked the garage, the kitchen, and even the pool house that had come along with the jump. “She’s not here.”

Joell returned to the library, eyes narrowed. “She came with us when the house shifted. She should still be within the wards.”

“She isn’t.” Victoria pressed her hand to the cool glass of the big window, sensing the magical pull of the ley lines. “The wards say she’s gone. She broke the boundary.”

The mansion seemed to tremble. The chandeliers rattled, and the scent of brine crept into the air where no ocean existed.

“Back,” Joell ordered. “Now. Take us back.”

The walls buckled, the floor lurched, and in an instant the green Tennessee hills dissolved into rolling blue. Salt wind blew through the open windows. The mansion re-rooted itself in its Long Island cradle, surf booming just beyond the dunes.

The front doors crashed open.

Mason staggered in, dripping seawater across the marble floor, sand clinging to every cut and scrape. He braced himself against the doorframe, chest heaving.

“Crystal’s out there.” His voice was raw, stripped to the bone. “Sea Witch came for her. Ripped her gear away. I couldn’t—” He swallowed hard. “I couldn’t stop it.”

Every witch froze, the words striking like cold iron.

Then Joell snapped into motion, her tone sharp as a whip crack. “To the beach. Everyone.”

“Wait,” Mason held up one hand.

“Before you all go running heroically into the surf, grab earplugs. Stuff cotton in your ears, I don’t care. We’ve got a male siren out there crooning like he’s auditioning for America’s Got Shipwrecks. You don’t want to end up dog-paddling your way to a watery grave because your playlist got hijacked.”

Victoria arched a brow. “Did the ex-SEAL just give us a safety briefing?”

“Yes,” Mason shot back. “And you’re welcome. Don’t make me draw a PowerPoint.”

That was all the pause they got. The mansion shivered, the floor tilting as if the house itself couldn’t wait another second. Salt air slammed through the open windows, briny and wild.

Joell snapped her fingers. “Beach. Now. Earplugs in the surf shack. Bring your boards too.”

And like that, they were in motion: hair flying, familiars bolting ahead, a mismatched stampede of witchcraft and barely-contained chaos. Mason limped after them, because damned if he’d sit this one out while Crystal was still fighting in the dark.

Above, Crystal’s familiar cut across the sky. The white seabird with silver-tipped wings sliced through the salt wind. It let out a sharp, keening noise that sounded more like a war cry than a gull's.