Page 150 of Harnessed in Gold

No. Wake up! I stir, my eyes flashing open. The icy water stings like a thousand needles, and all I can see is dark. I will my arms and legs to move, but they’re cold. So, so, so cold.

My joints barely bend, but it’s enough. My feet and hands push through the water, and slowly I start floating up. The further I rise, the warmer I get. I swim for the sun, certain it’s there, but when I break the surface, there’s nothing. Nothing but darkness, a pale moon, and an icy wind.

The water pulls on me again, thick and oily, dragging me down. Half a second before my head goes under, my ears pick up a shout. “Betts!”

It’s not until I’ve sunk at least twice the length of my body that I realize what’s happening. This is real. The ghost threw itself—threwme—into the fucking river!

And now I’m going to die.

I break the surface again, coughing and sputtering ice. I see the bank. It’s so close. Just a little doggie paddle, a few strokes, a kick or two. But the harder I swim, the further I seem to get from land. The current is stronger than a hurricane.

“Betts!”

I try to call back, “Leo!” but the cold grips my throat and lungs, and all that comes out is a cough.

My body drifts, heavy and tired, the water rocking me like a cradle. So peaceful. I could take a rest, just a short one.

No! I kick with all my might. A door flies open in my mind, freeing a long-lost, instinctual knowledge, and I begin to swim. The same way I swam in my meditations, alongside the fish and my friends and my lover.

Lower, a voice sings.Lower is warmer and calmer.

I dive several feet straight down, to the depth where the water hugs me from above and buoys me from below. I spread my arms wide, pulling myself forward and kicking like a frog. When my lungs scream for air, I push up to the surface, long enough to inhale and to hear the birds crying overhead. Then I dive to the deep, quiet calm again. And swim.

I should be freezing to death. Literally. I’m at the bottom of a mountain river in March, but I’m not even shivering. My limbs move with ease, my mind sharp and my lungs strong—olympic swimmer strong. It’s as though the moment I decided I would swim, I could.

When I come up for my next breath, I’m greeted by the howl of coyotes and a flash of silver mist hovering above the trees. The distance to the bank is shrinking. Only one or two more swim-breath cycles will bring me to land. I plunge below the surface, pushing the water aside with cupped hands.

I’ve progressed only a few yards when a pulse of horror hits me so hard it brings me up vertical like a seahorse. I try to swim again, determined to push through the fear, but it worsens with every stroke. Terror gives way to fury, vengeance, and ruthless cruelty.

Ember’s emotions.

I face them head-on, swimming straight for the energies. They’re in the waves and ripples that roll along my body, but they don’t penetrate to my core. The water insulates me, shielding me like my velvet cloak.

Just a little further,the voice urges, propelling me forward.Keep swimming. You’re safe.

The riverbank looms before me, a wall of shadow in the moonlit water. And above it, a ghost floats, a mere yard away.

When I break the surface to breathe, the ghost shoots out over the water, its icy breath scraping the top of my head. “Leave or die!”

I sink under again, hoping ghosts are like bees. Through the ripples, I watch as it swings above me in a frenzied panic. One second it’s an amorphous mist, the next it’s in the shape of a man. It whirls like a tornado, dives like a torpedo, but however determined it is to get to me, it refuses to break the surface of the river. He’s a guard, I realize. Browne conjured the spirits of his dead friends to watch over the bracelet.

And the fact that he’s losing his shit must mean I’m within reach of his charge.

I kick for that dark wall until my outstretched hand smacks into its muddy surface. Slimy weeds grab at my limbs as I secure my feet between the underwater rocks and hook a shoulder under a thick root. On nothing but intuition, I start to dig, clawing into the wet earth.

The ghost goes wild, his glow darting on the surface above me, and his muted shrieks penetrating my ears. The more panicked he gets, the faster I dig. It’s here. It has to be. One last breath should be enough. I tip no more than my nose and mouth above the water’s surface, sucking in air, sharp and deep, then return to the crumbling hole.

By the ghost’s light, I spot a black, oddly square shape in the wall of roots and earth. Browne’s stone house. The ghost gets louder as I shovel deeper. As does Ember’s energy. I don’t know if it’s hercraving for power or my determination that rages like a fire within me, but whatever it is, it’s fuel. My lungs and muscles hold out as I rake at the mud.

When my fingers scrape painfully against stone, I stop digging and start pushing instead. Eroded mortar and sharp-edged stones cut my palms, but I don’t give up. One hard thrust with the heels of both hands, and a whole foot or more of the stone wall collapses.

My lungs sputtering on fumes, I reach in blindly, groping in the watery cavity until I strike something rough and square. Something only a human could have made. My fingers close around the box while my blood pounds in my head and pulses behind my eyes. Panic shoots from my oxygen-starved heart to my fingers and toes.

There’s a splash close by and the force of a body displacing the water. Fuck. Is someone coming to help me or to hurt me?

The box is slippery with moss and algae. I wrestle to get a solid hold of it, the strength draining from my hands. Kick, kick, kick. Why is the surface so far away? I’m going numb, my vision graying around the edges. From behind me, an arm hooks around my chest, pulling me up.

I channel every ounce of my dying strength into my gripping hands. Cold air hits me—not just my face but my entire head and shoulders. Sensing air, my mouth and lungs open, heaving in a raking breath that burns my chest and punches my ribs.