Chapter 19

The next day, Dante was off to work, and I called Cody right after breakfast. “Hey,” I said. “Are you guys still being beach bunnies?”

“You bet,” he said brightly. “One of our neighbors has a sailboat and offered to let us go with him and—”

“That’s not quite what I had in mind,” I interrupted.

An hour and a half later, Peter echoed my thoughts. “This wasn’t what I had in mind.”

I’d convinced them to come out with me on my beach hunt. Unfortunately, the day was cold and threatened rain. As we walked along the water at Dash Point, icy wind ripped off the waves and cut across our faces. I snuggled into my jacket, thinking of how many times I’d taken the ability to shape-shift warmer coats for granted.

“Look, I know you guys think you’re on spring break, but eventually, we will get another archdemon, and I’d rather it be Jerome.”

“Yes, but it’s not like this is exactly an airtight plan,” Peter argued. “We’re pretty much going to beaches at random, in the hopes of finding white sand. Look at this stuff. It’s beige . . . is that close enough to white?”

I cut him a sidelong glance. “You once got in an argument with Carter about the difference between ‘Denim Days Blue’ and ‘Summer Cobalt.’ You tell me. Is there a difference between white and beige?”

Peter kicked sand up with the toe of his boot. “It was ‘Winter Cobalt,’ and Carter was wrong. There’s a huge difference between those two.”

Cody and I hid our grins as we continued our trek. Dash Point State Park was near Federal Way, down on the south side of Puget Sound. It had seemed reasonable to start there and work our way around the coast, back up toward Seattle. This was our second park of the day, and so far, we’d seen nothing to match the seal’s cryptic clues.

On our drive to the third place, Peter was still pessimistic. “You know, this would be a lot easier if we had your deadbeat boyfriend along. We can only go off visual clues at this point. We need someone who can actually sense the power around the vessel.”

“Dante’s busy at work,” I explained.

“Huh,” Cody mused. “I never expected to hear ‘busy’ and ‘at work’ used together when it came to Dante.”

“Be quiet,” I said. “Leave the snark to Hugh and Peter.”

“What about Erik?” asked Peter. “He’s psychic.”

“Yeah, I considered that, but he’s getting old and his back’s been bothering him. I hate to ask him to walk around and around with me . . . but well, I haven’t ruled it out.”

“And you don’t know any more psychics?”

“Nope. Not that I trust, at least.”