This was Perdido Beach, after all, not Sam’s Beach.

“Heard another kid, this is like the fourth, say he saw Drake Merwin during the fire,” Quinn said.

Albert snorted. “There’s a lot of bull going around.”

Quinn looked at him long enough that it almost made Albert uncomfortable. Then, Quinn said, “I guess if it turns out to be true we better hope Sam decides to come back.”

“Orc could take care of Drake. And he’d do it for a pint of vodka,” Albert said dismissively.

Quinn sighed and got up to leave. “Sometimes I worry about you, man.”

“Hey, I’m feeding people in case you didn’t notice,” Albert said. “Astrid talks and Sam pouts, and I get the job done. Me. Why? Because I don’t talk, I just do.”

Quinn sat back down. He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Man, don’t you remember taking tests in school? Multiple choice: A, B, C, D, or E, all of the above.”

“Yeah?”

“Dude, sometimes the answer is ‘all of the above.’ This place needs you. And it needs Astrid. And it needs Sam. It’s all of the above, Albert.”

Albert blinked.

“I mean, no offense,” Quinn said quickly. “But it’s like Astrid’s yapping away about how we need some kind of system, and you’re counting your money, and Sam’s acting like we should all just shut up and get out of his way and let him fry whoever messes with him. And the three of you aren’t really stepping up. You aren’t working together, which is what all of us regular people need you to do. Because, and really, I’m not trying to be a jerk or whatever, but duh: we do need a system, and we do need you and your ’Bertos, and sometimes we need Sam to just come along and kick some ass.”

Albert said nothing. His brain was clicking away, but it occurred to him after a minute that he hadn’t said anything and that Quinn was waiting for an answer, and cringing a little like he expected Albert to lash out.

Quinn stood up again, shook his head ruefully, and said, “Okay, I get it. I’ll stick to fishing.”

Albert met his eyes. “Cookout in the plaza tonight. Spread the word, okay?”

THIRTY-FOUR

7 HOURS, 2 MINUTES

DIANA STARTED TO cry when Sanjit put the bowl of Cheerios in front of her. He poured from a carton of shelf-stable milk and the milk was so white and the cereal so fragrant, so wonderfully noisy as it sloshed around in the blue bowl.

She reached for it with her fingers. Then she noticed the spoon. It was clean. Bright.

With trembling fingers she dipped the spoon into the cereal and raised it to her lips. The rest of the world disappeared then, for just a few moments. Caine and Penny wolfed from their own bowls, Bug completely visible as he did likewise. But all she noticed, all she felt, was the cool crunch, the rush of sugar, the shock of recognition.

Yes, this was food.

Diana’s tears ran down her face into the spoon, adding a touch of salt to her second bite.

She blinked and saw Sanjit staring at her. He held the industrial-size box of cereal at the ready in one hand, the carton of milk in the other.

Penny laughed and spilled cereal and milk from her lips.

“Food,” Caine said.

“Food,” Bug agreed.

“What else do you have?” Caine asked.

“You have to take it slow,” Sanjit said.

“Don’t tell me how to take it.”

Sanjit did not back down. “You aren’t the first starving people I’ve seen.”

“Someone else from Perdido Beach?” Caine demanded sharply.

Sanjit exchanged a look with the younger boy, Virtue. He’d told Diana that was his real name.

“So it’s pretty bad on the mainland,” Sanjit said.

Caine finished his cereal. “More.”

“A starving person eats too much all at once, he gets sick,” Sanjit said. “You end up puking it all up.”

“More,” Caine said with unmistakable threat in his voice.

Sanjit poured him a refill, then did the same for the rest of them. “Sorry we don’t have any Cap’n Crunch or Froot Loops,” Sanjit said. “Jennifer and Todd are into nutrition. I guess it wouldn’t do for them to be photographed with fat children.”

Diana noted the sardonic tone. And as she gulped the second bowl she noted, too, that her stomach was cramping. She made herself stop.

“There’s plenty of food,” Sanjit said gently just to her. “Take your time. Give your body time to adjust.”

Diana nodded. “Where did you see starving people?”

“Where I grew up. Beggars. Maybe they’d get too sick to beg sometimes, or just have a run of bad luck, and then they’d get pretty hungry.”

“Thanks for the food,” Diana said. She wiped away tears and tried to smile. But she remembered that her gums were swollen and red and her smile wasn’t too attractive.

“I also saw scurvy sometimes,” Sanjit said. “You have it. I’ll get you each some vitamins. You’ll be better in a few days.”

“Scurvy,” Diana said. It seemed ridiculous. Scurvy was from pirate movies.

Caine was looking around the room, appraising. They were at a massive wooden table just beyond the kitchen. It could have seated thirty people on the long benches.

“Nice,” Caine said, waving his spoon to indicate the room.

“It’s the staff table,” Virtue said. “But we eat here because the family table is kind of uncomfortable. And the formal dining room…” He petered out, fearing he’d said something he shouldn’t.

“So, you’re like superrich,” Penny said.

“Our parents are,” Virtue said.

“Our stepparents,” Sanjit corrected.

“Jennifer and Todd. ‘J-Todd,’” Caine said. “That’s what they were, right?”

“I think they preferred ‘Toddifer,’” Sanjit said.

“So. How much food do you have?” Caine asked bluntly, not liking that Sanjit wasn’t quivering with fear.

It had been a long time since anyone had faced Caine without fear, Diana realized. Sanjit had no idea what he was dealing with.

Well, Sanjit would learn soon enough.

“Choo? How much food do we have?”

Virtue shrugged. “When I figured it out, it was enough for the two of us to last maybe six months,” he said.

“There’s just the two of you?” Diana asked.

“I thought J-Todd had, like, ten kids or whatever,” Bug said.

“Five,” Sanjit said. “But we weren’t all here on the island.”

Diana didn’t believe it. Right then, as soon as the words were out of Sanjit’s mouth, she didn’t believe it. But she kept silent.

“Diana,” Caine said. “Have you read our two friends here?”

To Sanjit, Diana said, “I need to hold your hand. For just a moment.”

“Why?” Virtue demanded, defending his brother.

“I can tell whether you have any strange…mutations,” Diana said.

“Like him,” Sanjit said, nodding toward Caine.

“Let’s hope not,” Diana said. Her stomach was settling down enough and now she really, really wanted to know what else was behind the pantry doors.

Sanjit gave her his hand. Palm up. Like he was making a gesture of peace. Open-handed. Trusting. But his eyes were not.

Diana held his hand. His hand was still. Hers was shaking.

She closed her eyes and concentrated. It had been some time since she had done this. She tried to remember the last time, but memories were scattered fragments, too tiring to make sense of.

She felt it work. She squeezed her eyes tight, both relieved and afraid at the same time.

“He’s a zero,” Diana said. Then, to Sanjit, “Sorry. I don’t mean it that way.”

“I didn’t think you did,” Sanjit said.

“You next,” Diana said to Virtue.

Virtue held his hand out like he was shaking hands. Fingers curled in as if he was thinking of making a fist. Diana took his hand. There was something there. Not a two bar, not quite. She wondered what his power was, and whether he was even aware of it.

The mutations occurred in different degrees, at different times. Most kids seemed never to develop powers. Some developed powers that were pointless. Only twice had Diana ever read a four bar: Caine and Sam.