It was definitely a stylized figure. The carving was crude yet beautiful, the bright blue surface covered in a delicate web of cracks. The figure’s wide eyes were inlaid with gold, and a strange symbol was embossed on a gold disk in the middle of the idol’s stomach.

“You kept it?” she whispered.

“I touched it after you did, but nothing happened.” He demonstrated with a finger. “It was hot to the touch before, but it’s cooled down. If what you saw is somehow real—”

“It was real, Bo. You have to believe me.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I believe you. You Magnussons are a goddamn magnet for the supernatural.”

In addition to Winter’s wife being a trance medium, Lowe’s wife, Hadley, was a museum curator who’d inherited a regiment of ancient Egyptian death specters from her cursed mother.

So, no, the Magnussons weren’t exactly a normal family.

But it was different to witness strange phenomena happening to someone else and a whole other thing to experience it yourself. She hoped Bo was right, and that the vision was merely an unhappy accident.

Bo folded the idol back inside the linen. “Maybe the ritual they were performing on the yacht somehow got absorbed into the idol. Like a magical memory.”

“How can we find out?”

“No idea.” He sighed heavily and looked at her with a forlorn expression. “Winter is going to murder me for letting you come on that boat.”

She handed him the empty water glass. “Does he know we’re here?”

“No, but I’ll have to tell him eventually, and he’s not going to be happy.”

“Bo,” she said, leaning closer to whisper. “Those other people I saw . . . What if the survivors murdered them?”

“We don’t even know if they exist. I believe you saw what you said you did, but let’s be practical. The owner of the yacht might be able to identify the survivors. If there are missing people who were on board, she might know that, too.”

“The boots . . .” She paused and stared up at him. “There was something funny about them, and I think I just realized what. I know it sounds crazy, but I think the boots were made of metal. Like, iron, maybe.”

“Iron boots,” Bo muttered. “How could you even walk in them?”

“What if they weren’t for walking? What if they were intended to weigh someone down? Think about it. Burlap bags? That’s just bizarre. What if the survivors threw those people overboard to drown?”

Quick footfalls approached the hospital room’s door. Astrid looked up, expecting to see Nurse Dupree returning, but two other people stopped outside the door: the police chief and a woman wearing an expensive crimson coat and feathered hat.

For a moment, Astrid’s mind jumped to the red-robed priestess in her vision, until she reminded herself that the priestess had been white-headed, and this one was blond and couldn’t have been a day over twenty-five.

“I can assure you of that, Mrs. Cushing,” the police chief was telling the blonde. “If they are fit to leave the hospital tomorrow, we will release them into your custody until their families can be notified. You are kind to offer them shelter.”

“It’s the least I can do,” the woman replied with a smile. “Whatever happened to them at sea, I can only say I’m thankful they’re still alive. And I’m grateful you called me about this matter. I know you’ll get everything straightened out.”

“That we will, ma’am,” the chief said.

The woman nodded and glanced past him. Her gaze connected with Astrid’s for a moment, and then the pair continued on their way down the hall.

“I wonder who that was,” Bo said as Nurse Dupree strode through the door.

“Mrs. Cushing?” the nurse said, nodding over her shoulder. “That’s the widow who owns the yacht.”

“Excellent.” Bo sprung from the bed and headed toward the door. “I need to speak with her about towing it off our property.”

“You can try to catch her, but I think she’s leaving with her driver.”

“Don’t move,” Bo said, pointing a finger at Astrid in warning. “I’ll be right back.”

As he strode away, Nurse Dupree picked up a wooden clipboard and jotted down notes on Astrid’s medical form. “Feeling better?”

“Much. I don’t think I need to see a doctor, especially since the hospital is so busy with the survivors. Have you seen them yourself?”

“Yes, and if you want my opinion, that poor woman is being taken for a ride.”

“Mrs. Cushing?” Astrid asked.

The nurse nodded. “One of the survivors she identified as her former maid, Mary Richards. Mrs. Cushing reported her missing last year, apparently. She’d given Miss Richards permission to use the boat over the weekend, so I understand wanting to help the girl out, but the rest of them are strangers. If you ask me, offering to let them all stay in her home is just begging for trouble. I need to take your pulse again, sweetheart.”

Astrid gave the nurse her arm. “Does Miss Richards remember who the rest of the survivors are and what happened?”

“No. She doesn’t even remember her own name.” The nurse pushed up Astrid’s sleeve and looked at a watch pinned to her apron. “Just between you and me, I don’t think all of the survivors have memory loss. I overheard two of them talking when Mary was being interrogated, and they sounded mighty familiar with each other.”