Page 46 of Break Out the Girl

“Have some faith, chérie,” François replies, settling onto the bench next to me.

He closes his eyes, and whispers an incantation.

The bottle glows green, and before my eyes, the water inside the bottle begins to separate. The heavy brine and microscopic grains of salt crystalize instantly, drawn outward by his magic.

With an elegant flick of his wrist, François tips the container sideways. The frozen block of pure salt slips out, splashing back into the ocean and leaving the remaining liquid completely crystal clear.

I need that magic.

But, shit, maybe that’s innate Basilisk magic and not an arcane spell that I can learn.

He turns slightly in his seat, extending the bottle toward Basil first. The kid stares at it, his eyes wide, looking at François’s display with a mix of awe and jealousy. “Thanks,” he mutters.

“Can you fill another for me?” I ask, cursing the fact my own magic is limited to spells I was taught by my tutors. Things like air-spells to dry my hair, and equally useless casts.

“Of course. I should have done so earlier,” François nods. “My apologies.”

“Where are we going, anyway?” Basil grumbles after he’s finished his water.

“A fine question,” I reply, looking at Taliesin. His golden wolf-eyes are fixed entirely on the horizon, his nostrils flaring as he tries to catch scents among the salt-spray. “Hopefully, to rescue our friend Sky. She’s probably on the party-yacht.”

Basil stiffens. “You’re going after them?”

I nod.

He looks out to sea for a moment, then back to me. “I dropped my piping. What weapon do you have for me?”

Hmm. “I guess you’re too young to shift?” I ask.

He looks mulish. “Yeah, I can’t do that yet. Fucking stupid. I heard the bad men have stopped taking older kids now. It’s cos it’s too hard to cage ‘em when they change into mice, or whatever.”

That’s interesting.

Shit. I wonder if Sky has been able to shift yet? Maybe she’s too young as well. After all, one's internal magic spark doesn’t come alive until a while after puberty.

Though that doesn’t explain why I haven’t shifted yet.

After all, I started my stupid periods at eleven.

I’d been tentatively growing my magic abilities before being thrown into Quo Reformare. But the second those heavy prison gates slammed shut behind me, the Null-Wards snuffed it all out.

My spark is beginning to work again, but, Gods, I would be so much more use if I could just fucking shift. Seriously, if I were a dragon, everything would be a walk in the park. But no. I’ve not a drop of fire in me.

“You can use the harpoon gun as a weapon,” London calls back, breaking into my downward spiral.

I don’t know if handing over that kind of fire-power to this angry kid is the best idea, but the way his face brightens is hard to resist. Basil shoves another handful of raisins into his mouth and nods. “Yeah. That’ll do.”

I sidle along the bench seat as the boat slams over a heavy chop. “Tally, I know you all seem pretty confident, but this bay is huge, the fog is intense. How do we actually find this yacht, The Carnivàle?”

Taliesin has his head held high. “We don't need eyes, Rory. I have the wind.” He takes a deep, chest-expanding breath, his nostrils flaring as he filters the air. “A boat that size carries a heavy footprint. High-grade diesel fuel, catering kitchens, the scent of fucking rich-dick cigars. The wind is blowing it straight off the deep channel. I know we’re headed in the right direction.”

“Yes, we’re all very impressed with your doggy-sense,” François drawls, “But we also have the radar.” He points to the small, glowing green screen embedded in the dash. “There’s only a couple of vessels that could be The Carnivàle, and they’re both in the same direction. Look here.”

Moving forward, I lean over his shoulder, my heart skipping as I remember our kiss. The tugging threads that emanate from my core make more sense now. One leads to Taliesin, one to London, and a third I was trying to ignore—to the beautiful, arrogant, hard-to-understand Frenchman.

“See there?” François asks, pointing at the radar. “I imagine it’s our target. At anchor and waiting for their clients’ tenders.” The solid, unmoving green blip is sitting right on the edge of the screen’s outer ring.

“Right,” I say, my stomach doing a violent flip. “Let’s talk logistics. Getting Basil out of a locked room was one thing. This yacht is going to be a completely different beast. The guards will be armed to the teeth, and we don’t know if The Carnivàle has been warned yet. Half of me thinks it might be better to wait until nightfall.”