Page 21 of The Otherworld

The Search

ORCA

I’ve never seen Papa scared. Not even in the blackest storms, when the wind blows so fiercely it seems like the waves could reach up and swallow our lighthouse whole. When I was younger, I would run from the loud cracks of thunder, run to Papa. He would hold me and tell me stories about the orcas, how they watched thunderstorms from under the waves. He would secure the shutters and wait out the storm with me. And never once did I catch a glimpse of fear in his eyes.

Until today.

I sit in the living room and watch Papa slide his last few supplies into his messenger bag. Dark clouds of anxiety gather in his eyes as he scans the room.

“I’ll be fine, Papa.”

“I know you will,” he says, but the fear still lingers on his face. He checks his pocket watch. “The boat should be here in ten minutes.”

I nod solemnly. “Okay.”

I’m not afraid to be alone. I feel wholly capable of managing things while Papa’s away. The lighthouse, the chickens, Lucius, the shutters if it storms. I know it all so well, I could manage it in my sleep.

No, it is not the fear of being left alone that has twisted my stomach into a knot—it’s the fact that I haven’t told Papa about Jack Stevenson or the lost pilot or the strange treasures that drew me into this bizarre predicament.

I have three very good reasons for not telling him.

First, because Jack asked me not to. And the strange boy sounded so desperately sad, so out of his mind with grief and fear—I couldn’t deny him my secrecy. I know nothing of the foreign ways of the Otherworld; perhaps his people really would have forbidden the search for his brother if I’d told Papa.

Second, I don’t want to burden Papa with anything else. If he knew about the missing pilot, he might call off the whole trip to the mainland, invoking some nonsense about my not being strong enough to handle a stranger from the Otherworld.

Which leads me to my third and most important reason:

The search for Adam Stevenson, if successful, could be the solution to all my problems. Nothing would make Papa see my true strength and capability quite like rescuing a stranded pilot, completely on my own with no help from anyone.

This, I decide, could be the true test of my fortitude. The proof that I am strong enough to handle the Otherworld. So I keep it a secret.

I follow Papa out to the beach, where a boat pulls up ten minutes later. The man on the boat is gray-bearded and half-hidden behind sunglasses. Papa wraps me in a fierce hug, and I breathe in the scent of rain and salt and hard work.

“Goodbye, Papa,” I whisper.

His strong arms hold me a moment longer, then fall away. “I will come back to you as soon as I can, my sweet girl.” He smiles softly, but the fear still lingers in his gray eyes.

It’s not until Papa is on the boat, streaking off across the waves, shrinking smaller and smaller as the fog spirits away the small craft—

It’s not until he’s gone that I wonder:

Perhaps it isn’t me he’s afraid for, alone on the island.

Perhaps he’s afraid for himself.

Alone in the Otherworld.

* * *

“Lucius, come!”

The sound of dog nails scrabbling on wood echoes through the house as I tie my cloak around my neck. Lucius skids to a stop beside me, eager for food.

“No, you already had your breakfast. Now listen.”

He sits. Ears perked.

“We’re going out to search for Adam Stevenson. He looks like this.” I hold up the photograph I found in Adam’s wallet. “He’s the one on the right”—indicating the older one, with the dark hair and the sharp jawline—“and he smells like this.” I open the sack and let Lucius take a long sniff of the interior.

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