Water stinging her eyes—ugh, she should have brought goggles, but what a time to think of it—Nadia reached the trunk. She couldn’t pry the lid up, but no need: The side of the trunk fell away even as she touched it, and a crab scuttled out. Nadia hoped for no more crabs but put her hand in half expecting to be pinched.

Instead, she pulled out—yes!—a book. A Book of Shadows.

It was huge—so big she could hardly wrap her hand around it. Despite its centuries of immersion in water, the book remained intact; when she opened it, Nadia suspected, the pages would remain dry.

No charms showed themselves; no more spellwork was required. And only one breath! Triumphantly, Nadia began kicking toward the surface—only to feel seaweed winding around her legs.

Tight.

So tight it was like being tied down.

Nadia kicked, then thrashed, but the seaweed only increased its hold.

The Book of Shadows had been protected after all—and by magic she didn’t know how to break.

11

FIRST, MATEO FELT IT—A QUIVER ALL AROUND HIM, as if the air itself were twisting away. At that moment, the unearthly glow beneath the water changed; it brightened sharply, then dimmed like someone had covered it. The darkness around them seemed almost complete, as if it were the dead of night instead of just after sunset. Without understanding how he knew, Mateo knew that a boundary had been crossed.

Again he thought of Nadia in his dream, floating, frightened, and trapped—

—and he had to trust the dream. It might be part of his curse, but it was also his only chance of keeping Nadia safe.

He was stripping off his sweater even before he saw the tiny beam of the flashlight go on, off, on, off. Nadia was in danger, and he had to get to her, now.

Mateo dove in. The biting cold that surrounded him, sliced into him, was less important than what he saw. Nadia struggled underwater, one arm wrapped around an enormous book, the other clawing at the seaweed tangling around her ankles. But even as she would pull one tendril loose, two more would writhe along her foot and hold her even faster. Her eyes were wide and desperate; she had been down for a while now. Way too long.

Quickly he broke for the surface again, took in the largest mouthful of air he could hold, and plunged in. Mateo kicked toward her, caught her shoulders in his hands. The panic in Nadia’s eyes was terrible to see. He pressed his mouth to hers, opening it—then blew the air into her lungs, giving Nadia precious oxygen. As he did, he felt Nadia realize what he was doing and inhale deeply; for a moment they remained tangled like that: two people, one breath.

Then he let go of her and kicked downward. His Swiss army knife had been in the exact same pocket of his jeans pretty much every day for the past five years; his fingers found it instantly, and he flicked out blades at random, the better to hack at the seaweed. Slash, rip, tear—his hand around Nadia’s calf, the seaweed still trying to twist around her but increasingly unable to. Then Nadia finally wriggled free, and Mateo followed her, both of them racing toward the surface.