Emily Windsnap and the Siren's Secret - Liz Kessler [56]
“I know — I agree, but it isn’t here. Whatever ‘it’ is.”
Aaron chewed a fingernail. “I just don’t get it. What was she trying to find?”
I stared out to sea, seeing nothing but blue ocean stretching out in a huge flat expanse, as it always did. As it had done for years and years.
Years and years . . . ? Of course! “Aaron,” I said. “Morvena told us the sirens had been down there for years.”
Aaron tilted his head. “Yes? And?”
“So Melody must have had the shell for years. Whatever she’s looking for . . .” I let my sentence trail away. I didn’t want to say the rest of it out loud.
“It might have gone,” he said, finishing it for me.
I nodded. “That makes sense.”
We sat in silence for a while, staring out to sea. I picked up handfuls of sand and let the grains trickle through my fingers.
“We’ll have to get back there,” Aaron said. “Tell Morvena what we found.”
“What we didn’t find, you mean.”
Aaron’s forehead crinkled into a frown. “I just don’t see what else we can do,” he said.
“I know. But if we leave, does that mean we’re giving up on Shona? Giving up on any possibility of getting her out of there?”
Aaron took hold of my hand. Wiping the sand from my palm, he stroked it gently. “Of course it doesn’t,” he said, smiling at me. “We’re not giving up on anyone.” He stood up, pulling me up with him. “Let’s get back there, tell Morvena and Shona everything, and we’ll work out a plan together.”
And I don’t know if it was because we were walking along the beach hand in hand or because Aaron’s words had given me a bit of hope, but as we walked, I felt lighter and more positive. He was right. We weren’t giving up at all. I’d never give up on Shona. We’d get her out of there!
“Wait!” Aaron said, letting go of my hand. He was looking down and patting his jacket pocket. “Oh no!— But it can’t have!” he mumbled. His face had turned white.
“What’s up?” I asked.
He looked blankly back at me. “It must have fallen out while we were scrambling on the rocks,” he said, glancing rapidly all around us. “How could I have been so careless?”
“What?” I asked.
“The shell,” he said, panic cracking the edges of his words. “It’s gone.”
“What do you mean, the shell’s gone?” I asked, staring at Aaron: his outstretched empty hands, his pale face.
“I mean it’s disappeared,” he said flatly. “I’ve dropped it somewhere. We’ve lost it. We’ll have to retrace our steps.”
“Across the whole island?” The next moment, I heard a noise above us in the rocks. A tiny avalanche of stones ran down the hill.
“What was that?” I asked.
“The wind, I imagine,” Aaron said absently.
“Aaron,” I said, “there isn’t any wind. I’m going to look.”
“Wait, I’ll come with you.”
We climbed the small hill, dodging loose stones, slipping on gravel, and searching for the shell as we climbed. The top was as deserted as the beach.
“Nothing,” Aaron said. “I told you it was only the —” He stopped. His mouth open wide, he slowly raised a hand to point across to the other side of the island.
“What?” I asked. “What is it?”
Aaron raised a finger to his lips. “Look,” he whispered. “On the beach down there.”
I followed the line of his hand. He was pointing to a large palm tree on the beach. It was bent over so that its top was almost touching the ground.
“I can’t see any —”
“Behind the tree,” Aaron hissed.
And then I saw it. Something moved. A figure. A person. And then the person moved again, and I saw who it was.
“Mr. Beeston!” I gasped.
Without stopping to think, I tore down the hill. “Hey!” I yelled as I ran. “What are you doing here?”
Mr. Beeston heard me and looked up. He stood up just before I reached him, shuffling with something in his pocket. And I bet I knew what it was. The shell!
“What are you doing here?” I asked again. I was breathless and panting, but I didn’t care.
Mr. Beeston brought himself up to stand as straight and tall