the island had two warriors. The rest—humans who did not go in the water and trainees who did not know basic skills—were liabilities.
If this was all they had to combat the Lusca, Dannika’s fear about being turned away at the mainland border would never come true.
Because they would never get off the island.
The sunset dinner was delicious.
Dannika crunched seaweed chips, savored grilled pawpaw and crisp green purslane, and filled her belly with finely sliced sashimi drizzled with sweet salsa.
And then the fish came out.
Sizzling with juices, seasoned to perfection. Mmm. Dannika had called them living in privation, but this was a proper feast.
Val awakened and limped to the table. She lifted Meg’s miniature heart-shaped basket loaded with flowers. “I feel like I’m on an episode of Survivor. Any second now the host is going to pop out of the bushes and hand us a challenge.”
“What’s Survivor?” asked Meg.
“A TV show that sticks people on a tropical island and makes them compete for a million dollars.”
“We’d definitely win. For one thing…Oh! For the love of—” Meg jumped to her feet and brushed two massive black tarantulas off her lap.
Itime calmly shooed the hairy spiders away.
Her middle sons on the other side started giggling.
She whirled on them. “Kids. How many times do I have to tell you? No pets at the dinner table.”
“Sorry, Mom,” one said, sing song, and the other echoed it, still giggling.
“Sure, you are.” Meg rolled her eyes and sat again with a shudder. “You know I hate it when they sneak up on me like that.”
Dannika scooted back and peered under the table. The sun had already descended beneath the horizon and dark shadows hid the recesses of the table, but she only saw crossed legs and feet. No one else reacted. The others continued eating as if it were no big deal.
Val shielded her face. “I did not just see that.”
“Are you afraid of spiders?” Angie asked.
“Not yet.”
“Don’t worry. They only flock to me.” Meg patted her chest. “It’s my Disney princess power.”
“Well, call me a Pixar fan, but I don’t remember any Disney princesses with spiders.”
“Then they just haven’t expanded enough creatively.” Meg waved over her shoulder at the hidden tarantulas. “Aside from Alvin and Simon over there, I am frequently tripped up by iguanas, beetles, birds, you name it.”
“Alvin and Simon?” Val peered into the darkness. “What happened to Theodore?”
“We’re not a hundred percent sure, because we only came upon the scene after the incident…but we think Alvin ate Theodore.”
Val blinked. “I don’t remember that scene in The Chipmunk Adventure.”
“Yeah, you probably don’t remember them all being hairy brown spiders, either.”
“Here, Meg.” Angie carried over a small clay vessel. “Maybe this will help.”
“Ooh, is it the newest wine?” Meg held her cup for her mother to pour. “I’ll have a little. It’s strong.”
Angie lifted the vessel for Dannika. “Can I offer you Sanctuary grand cru? It’s our finest vintage.”
“Our only vintage, you mean.”
“Meg.” Angie shushed her playfully, and Dannika accepted the offer. Their premier wine tasted of coconut and citrus, sharp and sweet, with a definite kick.
Nuno held out his cup.
Angie snorted at her son. “Have tea.”
“But I killed a razor-mouth today.”
“Tea is good for warriors.”
He grimaced and stabbed his third heaping plate of food. “That would be great if I ever got the training to become a warrior.”
Konomelu and Itime exchanged meaningful glances, then both looked at Ciran.
He straightened on the mat beside her and finished his meal.
“I’m surprised you don’t know Survivor,” Val said, filling the quiet gap. “That show’s been on forever it feels like. Hasn’t it been on twenty years? Huh.”
“Oh!” Meg folded her empty plate, tossed it into the firepit, and rummaged in the raised platform. “Yes. Oh, yes. The date.”
“Ah,” Itime said.
Konomelu’s brow lightened, Angie clapped, and the kids hooted excitedly. Meg dragged out a woven shoulder bag, unrolled a small square of fabric that contained a feather pen, and opened a bound journal. She dipped the quill in a pot of ink and poised over a page. “What is today?”
“Thursday,” Val said.
“No, the date. What’s the date?”
“January twenty-seventh,” Dannika said.
“Are you sure?”
“The twenty-seventh,” Val agreed. “Is it still the twenty-seventh? This morning feels like a million years ago.”
“The twenty-seventh…” Meg noted it carefully in swirly, artful pen, blew on it to dry, carefully capped the ink and stowed the quill, and then jumped up. “We were three days off.”
The younger kids scrambled to their feet and bounced around the smoky firepit, dancing and shrieking. Konomelu grinned broadly.
Angie waited