Spirits of Ash and Foam by Greg Weisman

Author:Greg Weisman
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

ORDER SIRENIA

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 14

Primed and ready, Rain staked out the lobby and intercepted the elder Kims, who sent their kids ahead into the dining room. Mrs. Kim, with only the slightest edge of desperation in her voice, said, “Is everything okay? Are we still on?”

“Of course. I just want to make sure we’re clear on … things.”

Taking the hint, Mr. Kim asked the going rate for a day’s babysitting on the island.

Rain pretended to consider this on the spot—though, in fact, she had thought about little else since arranging the gig the night before. “Hmm. Three kids for about eight hours? I’d say a hundred and forty dollars’ll cover it.”

He balked. “A hundred and forty?”

“Plus, I’ll need expense money to pay for their lunch and dinner.”

Mrs. Kim said, “We’ll be back in time to take them to dinner tonight.”

“Oh, well, then I’ll only need twenty for lunch. But I need that in advance.”

Mr. Kim stared at his wife. She stared right back, giving him a clearly legible do not mess this up look. He agreed to Rain’s terms.

Rain smiled, quite pleased with herself and more than a little relieved. The going rate on San Próspero for three tourist kids was twelve dollars an hour. At eight hours, that meant ninety-six dollars, but Rain had correctly estimated the Kims would go for the one-forty. If Rain also cheaped out on lunch, she could toss in most of the extra twenty. Add in the forty she already had, and just like that, the camera was paid for. Or it would be. All I have to do is get through this one day, and all my problems are solved.

(Of course, it seemed to me Rain had a host of problems neither money nor a camera could possibly solve. The way humans prioritize has always confounded my sensibilities.)

Just to make conversation—and to move Mr. Kim’s mind off the unexpected cost—Rain asked Mrs. Kim how she and her husband were planning to spend their day.

“We’re going to a place called Smuggler’s Cove,” Mrs. Kim said. “It sounds very mysterious and romantic.”

“It’s very a lot of things,” Rain said. She felt a little guilty for not warning them away from the biggest tourist trap on the Ghosts, but she couldn’t risk them canceling altogether. And who knows? They might like it. Someone must. Or else tourists wouldn’t go there, right?

The Kims entered the dining room to join their children at breakfast. Rain followed. Though Wendy, John and Michael had only been alone for a few minutes, their table was already a disaster area. Michael had spilled his milk, and some of it had splashed into Wendy’s lap, causing her to throw a fit of the hissy variety. John thought it all quite funny, until Wendy picked up his cereal bowl and turned it over in his lap right in front of their parents and Rain.

This action was, perhaps, extreme, even for a Kim kid, and it was followed by a moment of stunned silence. Even Wendy looked a little shocked over what she had done.

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