Page 32 of Summer L.A.W.

Payne stood at the front, jaw set, with Rayna beside him. Her witch’s poise was a sharp counterpoint to the brass bristling in their pressed blues. Mason loitered off to the side, arms folded like he hadn’t quite decided if he belonged here or not.

“This sketch,” Payne said, holding up Lioness’s rendering of the sea witch, “comes from a trusted civilian source. Their intel is unconventional, but accurate.”

A rear admiral flipped the paper with a scoff. “Civilian source? Looks like something out of a comic book. We have sonar, satellites, drones… Do you really want the United States Navy to take cues from hobbyists with crayons?”

Rayna’s smile was all ice. “Hobbyists didn’t stop the mimic that nearly took Manhattan last month.”

The admiral blinked. “The what?”

Before Payne could redirect, Mason pushed off the wall and said, “The witches. The League of Amazing Witches. They’re the reason Long Island isn’t a smoking crater right now.”

The silence was instant and heavy. Heads turned.

Payne’s glare could have cut glass. “Mason.”

Mason faltered. “What? It’s not like it’s top-secret. Right?” He looked between them, suddenly realizing it was very much top-secret.

Rayna arched a brow, clearly enjoying herself. “Well. Now that the cat’s out of the bag…”

The admiral leaned forward, frowning. “League of what?”

“You have their help, or you don’t,” Rayna said smoothly, sliding the map across the table. “Your sonar pinged something east of Montauk. Our intel tells you what it is. You can keep throwing ships at the problem, or you can listen to how we can help you.”

Payne seized the moment, his voice clipped. “Joint ops. Your firepower, their wards. It’s the only way to contain this.”

Uneasy glances passed between the officers. Finally, one muttered, “God help us, we’re taking orders from witches.”

Rayna’s smile sharpened. “Don’t worry. Nobody will know.”

“If your loose lips over there don’t sink our ships.” The admiral tipped his head toward Mason.

“Don’t blame him,” Rayna said. “You probably needed to know and would eventually, especially if you opposed us. Of course, we could erase the whole thing from your memories…”

The admiral’s eyebrows almost hit his hairline. Then his lips thinned, and his eyes narrowed. “Leave our minds alone.”

“Not a problem, as long as our identity doesn’t leave this room. We don’t take requests from every Tom, Dick, and Harry, unless they can pay for our services, and we don’t come cheap.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s this going to cost the government?”

“Nada,” she said. “We have a personal stake in this one.”

Crystal jolted awake with her sheets plastered to her skin. Not sweat. Salt water. The briny tang clung to her lips, her hair damp as though she’d been pulled from the ocean itself. She shoved herself upright, heart pounding. Water pooled across the mattress, running in rivulets down to the floorboards. Her dream was fading now, but something oceanic.

“No,” she whispered, dragging the soaked blanket away. “Not me.”

The mirror across the room caught her reflection: hair clinging to her shoulders in ropes, eyes darker than usual, almost black around the edges. For a heartbeat, she swore it wasn’t her at all, but the Sea Witch from her dream, staring back.

A knock at the door. Mason’s voice. “Crystal?”

“Go away.”

Of course, he didn’t. The door creaked open, and he slipped inside, pausing at the sight of the dripping floor. “Jesus. Did the fire sprinklers go off in here?”

Crystal yanked the blanket tighter around herself, though it didn’t do much against the chill. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Yeah, well, tell that to the hall that looks like a Slip ’n Slide.” He stepped closer, crouching so his face was level with hers. “What happened?”

Her throat tightened. “I dreamed her. And when I woke up, it was like I’d brought the ocean with me.”