Page 63 of Night's Reckoning
“There’s some coral, but I am guessing it’s mostly sediment, which is good.”
“That’s what I hear.” Ben looked around the bridge. “Anything you guys need? Any messages I should pass along?”
Mr. Lu shook his head.
“Any questions?”
“We have been warned about the forward hold, so my men have been avoiding it, but there are noises that the humans are probably going to notice.” Mr. Lu glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “Does she sleep?”
Ah. So that’s where they’d put Tenzin. “No. She doesn’t sleep. Does the forward hold have access to the deck?”
“You have not been on ships very much, have you?”
“I was on a freighter once.”
“This isn’t a freighter.” Mr. Lu barked directions at one of his men, and Ben felt the ship begin to turn. “Yes, the forward hold has deck access. I was told that was necessary for her. My men can avoid that area, but there are supplies stored there. We will need access at some point.”
“Let me know when you need them, and I’ll go with you. I really don’t think you’ll have an issue, but she may not like being disturbed, and I can distract her if she gets…” How to put it? “…cranky.”
“Understood.” Mr. Lu glanced at Benjamin again. “If there is nothing else, Mr. Vecchio—”
“Ben.” He lifted his hand in a wave. “Nothing from me. I’ll let you know tomorrow if there are any messages.”
“Thank you.” He glanced at the sonar screen. “We will be finished with the search grid by nightfall. Unless I see something unexpected, I anticipate they will dive tonight.”
17
Ben followed a low thumping sound to the forward hold of the ship. He paused at the hatch, wondering if she was doing what he thought she was doing.
He unlatched the door and pushed it open, leaning against the hatch as he watched her.
Tenzin didn’t sleep during the day like most vampires. It wasn’t her age—Ben knew of other ancients who slept during daylight—it was just a quirk of her blood. According to Tenzin, she’d slept once and dearly missed the oblivion it brought, though she didn’t miss the lack of control.
Beatrice, whose sire had shared blood with Tenzin, didn’t sleep much either. Much of both Beatrice’s and Tenzin’s days were comprised of finding ways to shut off their minds. Meditation helped. Beatrice practiced transcendental meditation, yoga, and tai chi for hours. Music also helped. When Tenzin was at home, she used a loom and could spend hours on end weaving. Ben had come to recognize the rhythmic thump of her weaving comb like a kind of white noise in the background of his days.
She wasn’t weaving this afternoon; she was playing basketball, or some version of it. The overhead of the hold wasn’t two stories like their loft in New York, but there was a low hoop attached to one end of the compartment, and the familiar rubber ball thunk, thunk, thunked against the metal deck. Tenzin was standing at one end of the hold, bouncing the ball before she lifted it and sent it flying with her amnis.
Unsurprisingly, the ball flew through the air and hovered over the hoop before falling directly into the basket.
“That’s not how you’re supposed to play.” Ben couldn’t stop the smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth.
“I know that.” She flicked her wrist and the ball rolled back toward her. “But if I play it the other way—”
“You mean the right way?”
“I don’t subscribe to your narrow definition of sport.” Tenzin waved her hand in a careless gesture. “What is the fun of playing if you don’t win?”
Ben hopped over the threshold of the hatch and intercepted the ball before it reached her. He dribbled in place before he walked slowly toward the small half court that had been marked on the metal deck with duct tape.
“The fun is knowing you might not win.” He stood at the foul line and lined up his shot. “You practice and practice more until you’re the best you can be.” He tossed the ball toward the basket.
The basketball flew in a perfect arc, nearly reaching the hoop before it stopped in midair, spun around, and flew back toward Tenzin.
“And you still might not win.” She caught the ball and tucked it under her arm. “What’s the point of playing the game if you can’t control the outcome?”
He walked toward her, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep from touching her. She was wearing a pair of soft black leggings and a fitted tunic that bared her arms. Her skin nearly glowed in the dim light of the hold.
“Controlling the outcome would spoil the game.”
