“There's a reef between here and Block Island. Normally, oceanographic activity there is fairly predictable. I've just been reading some old journals, and it seems that when the conditions are right—usually midway through hurricane season, like now—the winds and tides can conspire to send huge waves, ‘Ghost Hills,' over the reef.”

“It sounds more like galloping horses,” Lily said, standing still, listening.

“I know. The waves can be sixty feet high—rogue waves. The surfers love them—they get towed out to the reef by motorboats or Jet Skis. The problem is, when Ghost Hills come, so do the sharks.”

Lily hugged him. She knew about Liam and sharks. They stood close to the seawall, and felt the salt spray mist their faces. The beach smelled like fish, from the influx of bait. This was the food chain at work: Ghost Hills changed the whole marine environment. They pulled southern organisms in from the Gulf Stream and attracted northern species from the Labrador Current.

“Is this why Nanny came south?” Lily asked.

“I think so,” Liam said. “Partly, at least. The rogue waves create a food source for large marine animals that wouldn't normally be there.”

“Rose thinks Nanny followed us—that she was looking out for us.”

“That can also be true—I'm sure it is,” Liam said, smiling at Lily, wishing she would never leave.

“I just hope she's safe,” Lily said, gazing out over the flashing, churning sea. In the distance, a large trawler made a long, slow turn, coming from the northeast. Silhouetted by the stars and the glowing waves, its familiar profile made Liam stare more closely.

“It's late,” Lily said. “I want to go see Rose for a little while, but then I should be getting back to Hubbard's Point.”

“I don't want you to go,” Liam said, turning away from the dark boat, kissing her as star followed star through the night sky, as if holding her could make everything right, keep them safe and together. Then they both walked into the small house, to sit with Rose for as long as they could before Lily had to leave again.

Liam wished he could keep her from going back to the place where she'd been so afraid. Not even the dark waters where his brother had been killed had made him feel as powerless.

Patrick held himself back from calling his contacts in Baltimore. Marisa had asked him not to try tracking her sister. He told himself to stay out of it. As much as he wanted to take action, she had been very clear.

Instead, he began to have dreams of the North. They were filled with dark pines growing on craggy cliffs, mirror-smooth bottomless bays, ice blue skies, golden-eyed bobcats in the woods, broadtail hawks on the wing, and Marisa.