Children of the Sea 02 - Sea Fever

run a fever. In the morning, if I’m still having . . .” She swallowed against the constriction of her bruised throat. “Problems, I’ll come back.”
     
    So reasonable, her voice. Nothing in her words betrayed the small animal panic stirring inside her like a mouse spooked by the shadow of an owl.
     
    For a moment, she thought the doctor was going to argue with her, and the panic grew claws that raked her gut.
     
    Donna sighed. Shrugged. “I can’t keep you here. Let me just make a few notes, and then I’ll drop you at home.” She pursed her lips. “Unless there’s someone you want to call to pick you up?”
     
    Half the island had turned out to help in the search for Nick. And her mother was waiting at home by the phone.
     
    Regina gave a quick shake of her head, feeling oddly let down and relieved. “A ride home would be great. Thanks.”
     
    While Donna scrawled on her chart, Regina eased off the end of the exam room table, reaching for her pants.
     
    “I’ll be just a minute,” Donna said and disappeared through the door.
     
    Regina released her breath. Her hands were shaking, she noticed in surprise. Well, it had been a long day. Stressful. And it wasn’t over yet.
     
    The doctor’s words came back to her. “There’s no evidence that stress can cause an abortion.”
     
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    Regina straightened slowly, one hand at her back.
     
    “All set.” Donna bustled back into the room carrying a big quilted bag and a paper medicine cup. “These are for you.”
     
    Regina looked down at the white pills, six-sided like little stop signs.
    Her stomach rolled. “What are they?”
     
    “Antibiotics.” The doctor’s smile did not waver. “In case of infection.”
     
    No, Regina thought instinctively. And then, Why not?
     
    She half extended her hand to take the cup.
     
    The spiral tattoo on her wrist glowed with a faint blue light.
     
    Donna hissed and recoiled.
     
    Regina’s heart lurched to her throat. Her pulse hammered. Carefully she turned her hand to hide the glowing mark. If she could just pretend . .
    . If she could get away . . .
     
    She crumpled the paper cup between her thumb and forefinger.
    “Thanks,” she said again. Her voice rasped. “I’ll take them as soon as I get home.”
     
    If she got home. She sidled along the edge of the table.
     
    Oh, God, get me out of here.
     
    Donna stepped between her and the door, her eyes glinting weirdly.
    “You really should take them now.”
     
    “I . . .” Shit. “I just want to go home.”
     
    “Take them.”
     
    “Later.”
     
    “Now.”
     
    “No.”
     
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    Their gazes locked. Regina’s stomach pitched. She was warded, she reminded herself. Protected. The thing looking out of Donna’s eyes couldn’t force her to take them. Couldn’t stop her from leaving.
     
    Donna— or whatever alien being possessed Donna— recovered itself enough to smile slowly. “Your choice. But I think you’ll stay and take your medicine. Or you’ll never see your son again.”
     
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Eighteen
     
    THE FOG ROSE FROM THE WATER, SWALLOWING the sea and Dylan’s sails, drowning the hummocks of land. Dylan gave himself up to the dripping twilight, letting it film his skin and bead on his eyelashes, wrapping himself and his boat in mists and shadows to follow the pull of his personal star.
     
    He was very near to Nick. He could feel it. As if they played a game from his childhood: cool, warm, warmer . . .
     
    His senses heightened— an animal’s on the hunt. An island loomed out of the sea like a kraken, smooth and dripping, covered with knobs and weeds, dotted with eyes. His heartbeat quickened. His muscles tightened.
     
    Warmer . . . HOT.
     
    Nick was here. Alone? Alive?
     
    The rounded shape resolved into a long, curved wall. The eyes became a row of windows, square and blank. A fort. The coast was dotted with them, abandoned bunkers of brick and stone built to protect harbors and towns from the Spanish, the English, the Nazis.
     
    Dylan snarled silently as the scent of ash blew to him on the wind.
    Or maybe not abandoned after all.
     
    *
     
    Regina’s mouth dried. The edges of her vision grayed until all she could see were those bright, knowing eyes and that horrible, taunting smile.
     
    “Nick,” she whispered.
     
    Holy Mary, Mother of God, not—
     
    “Nick,” the thing with Donna’s face confirmed with a nod. “Sucks for you, doesn’t it? You have to decide which child you want to save. The