For Jess Lanigan, who has hand-sold this series, talked it up to anyone who will listen and makes me feel like a superstar. Thank you for your incredible enthusiasm and for reminding me what it feels like when the future is full of nothing but promise. You break my heart, girl, and I love you to bits.
For TS, probably the sweetestâand tallestâeditor Iâve ever had. Thank you for getting behind this series, and thank you to everyone at my publisher (Natashya, Lisa, Mary) for being so fabulous to work with.
For Miriam, my agent and my friend who believes in me no matter what. You rock, my dear.
This book is also for Steve, because he lets me sing when we play Rockband, never blinks when I dye my hair or asks me, âAre you really going out in that?â A long time ago I made a wish and then you came true. Thanks, babe.
London, Autumn, 1897
A giant tentacle slapped the front of the submersible, driving the small craft backward in the water. A crack no wider than a hair split across the view screen as suckers the size of dinner plates pulled free.
âMary and Joseph,â Emily OâBrien muttered as murky water from the Thames began to seep in through that crack. A sound like breaking ice followed as pressure from the outside pushed against the glass, demanding to get inside like a rowdy drunkard at a tavern door.
âGoinâ up!â she yelled. âThe control roomâs been breached!â She shoved hard on the guiding lever, forcing the vehicle to rise quickly.
The crack grew.
Emily held her breath.
The glass poppedâanother crack shot downward.
She should have covered the glass with a protective metal grid.
Water spilled onto the control panel. Sparks flew. Emily pulled her goggles down over her eyes and shoved against the lever, as though she could make the craft move faster with sheer force of will.
Well, actually she could probably do just that.
Water ran onto her boots. The glass was a spiderweb of cracks. Any second the entire thing would burst inward, cutting her to ribbons before she drowned.
Her jaw set stubbornly. Fear was for the weak. âThis is not my day to die!â She tore off her gloves and set her bare hands against the subâs control panel. She took a deep breath, ignored the tiny trickles of icy water that ran beneath her palms and commanded the craft to rise. The mechanized workings of the craft recognized the order and jumped to do her bidding.
The sub shot upward so quickly she lost her footing, landing hard on the wet floor. Daylight flooded the cabin as the glass shattered. Daylight, not water.
âEmily!â cried a voice in her ear. âEm!â
âIâm all right,â she replied. Later sheâd smile over the worry in Samâs voice. With the amount of time sheâd spent worrying over him, it was nice to have the tables turned.
Her enjoyment was brief. She rose up on her hands and knees only to slip on the wet metal beneath her boots. Pain exploded in her chest as she hit the metal floor. A tentacle as thick as her waist whipped the air where her head had been not two seconds earlier as she rolled to her back. Suckers attached to the ceiling and pulled. The submersibleâs nose pitched down, cold, pungent water spilling inside the jagged hole left by the shattered glass.
Emily grabbed hold of the foot of the ladder to keep from tumbling through that hole. Her chest hurt from the fall, and from her heart pounding against her ribs. Were they broken or just bruised? Would one pierce her lung?
It wouldnât matter if the beastie pulling her under the water succeeded in killing and probably devouring her. Sheâd take her chances on a punctured lung.
Cold, dirty water sloshed over the tops of her boots and soaked through her woolen trousers as she pulled herself to her knees. Clinging to the ladder, she rose to her feet and began to climb. Her sodden clothes and sloshing boots worked against her, keeping her movements slow and awkward.
She turned the wheel on the ceiling hatch, arms straining as she pushed against it. The Thames rushed into the craft over the jagged opening in the front of the craft. She had but seconds before it was completely pulled under. A tentacle brushed her leg. She shuddered, heart racing. Emily put all of her strength into opening the hatch, ignoring the burning in her chest and arms.
The lock disengaged with a thunk. She pushed the hatch open and scampered up the ladder as the tentacle reached for her once more. The rubbery flesh looped around her boot, but she yanked her leg up before it closed around her leg like a vice. She climbed onto the top of the submersible and slammed the hatch on the slick, gray appendage, amputating the tip. It slid away, leaving a bloody trail.
A roar escaped from the water. Emily looked up in time to see the Kraken rise out of the river. And though it had been a long time since sheâd been to church, or even believed in God, she crossed herself.