Thank God for Rayna. People like Rayna get things done. People like me watch people like Rayna get things done. Then people like me round the corner of the counter as if they helped, as if they didn’t stand there and let everyone they love beat the shizzle out of one another.
I peer down at the three of them all tangled up. Crossing my arms, I try to mimic Rayna’s impressive rage, but I’m pretty sure my face is only capable of what-the-crap-was-that.
Mom looks up at me, nostrils flaring like moth wings. “Emma, I told you to run,” she grinds out before elbowing Toraf in the mouth so hard I think he might swallow a tooth. Then she kicks Galen in the ribs.
He groans, but catches her foot before she can re-up. Toraf spits blood on the linoleum beside him and grabs Mom’s arms. She writhes and wriggles, bristling like a trapped badger and cussing like a sailor on crack.
Mom has never been girlie.
Finally she stops, her arms and legs slumping to the floor in defeat. Tears puddle in her eyes. “Let her go,” she sobs. “She’s got nothing to do with this. She doesn’t even know about us. Take me and leave her out of this. I’ll do anything.”
Which reinforces, right here and now, that my mom is Nalia. Nalia is my mom. Also, holy crap.
“Emma, you can’t ignore me forever. Look at me.”
This startles me. I pull my gaze from the decrepit ceiling and settle it on my fruitcake mother. “I’m not ignoring you,” I tell her, which is the truth. I’m aware of every infinitesimal move she makes. Since I woke up, she’s crossed and uncrossed her legs six times while sitting at the mini-table by the door. She’s tightened her ponytail eight times. And she’s peeked out the window twelve times. I figure it’s my duty as a captive to keep tabs on my kidnapper.
Mom crosses her legs again, and leans forward on her forearms, resting her chin on one hand. She looks tired when she says, “We need to talk about all this.”
At first, I snort. Then the absurdity of the statement—the understatement—really takes hold, and I start to laugh. In fact, I laugh so hard that the headboard taps the wall with each out-of-breath giggle. She lets me go on for a long time, clutching my own stomach, filling and emptying my lungs until I reach a natural pause in my amusement. I wipe away the tears of unjoy before they stain the hideous, stiff bedspread.
Mom starts to shake her leg, which is her sitting-down version of foot tapping. “Are you finished?”
I sit up, rippling the bedspread around me like a flash-frozen lake. The room spins, which is on my top-ten list of unpleasant scenarios. “With what, exactly?”
“I need you to be serious right now.”
“Probably you shouldn’t have drugged me, then.”
She rolls her eyes and waves in dismissal. “It was chloroform. You’ll be fine.”
“And Rayna?”
She knows what I’m asking, and she nods. “She should be waking up right about now.” Mom sits back in her chair. “That girl has the personality of a mako shark.”
“Says the nut job who chloroformed her own daughter.”
She sighs. “One day you’ll understand why I did that. Today is obviously not that day.”
“No, no, no,” I say, palming the air with the universal “don’t even” sign. “You don’t get to play the responsible parent card. Let’s not forget the little matter of the last eighteen-freaking-years, Nalia.” There. I said it. This conversation is finally going to happen. I can tell by the expression on her face, by the way her mouth puckers in guilt.
Nalia, the Poseidon princess, folds her hands in her lap with irritating calm. “And it would appear that you’ve been keeping a few secrets yourself. I’m ready to show and tell, if you are.”
I lean back on my elbows. “My secrets are your secrets, remember?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m not talking about what you are. I’m talking about who you’ve been with. And what they’ve been telling you.”
“Galen told you everything before he left to get Grom. You know as much as I do.”
“Oh, Emma,” she says, her tone saturated with pity. “They’re lying. Grom is dead.”
This is unexpected. “Why would you think that?”
“Because I killed him.”
I feel my eyes get wide. “Um. What?”
“It was an accident, and it was a long time ago. But I’m sure your new friends don’t believe that. Galen and Toraf didn’t leave to get Grom, Emma. I’m positive they were bringing a Syrena party back to arrest me. Why else would they leave Rayna behind to guard me?”
“Because you were acting like a psycho?”
“If only it were that.”
It takes a few minutes to process this and Mom gives me some space from the conversation to do it. Over and over, I repeat to myself that Mom thinks Grom is dead. Like, really and truly believes that he is. Which forces me to reconsider a few things.
I’ve never actually seen Grom. All I know about him is what Galen told me. Thing is, Galen has lied to me before. My gut somersaults with the realization that he could still be lying. But why would he? To make sure I didn’t help Mom escape?
Could Galen and Toraf be so terrible that they would trick me again, in order to have my mother arrested?
On the other hand, I can’t forget the fact that my own mother lied to me, too. For eighteen-freaking-years. Then she drugged me, kidnapped me, and planted me in some dumpy motel that smells like 1977. Still, it’s the middle of the week, which means I’m missing school and she’s missing work. She wouldn’t just haul us out of our lives if she didn’t think the situation was serious.
More than that, her confession seems to ripen her to old age, to drag down her mouth and eyes and make her whole body sag in the chair. She truly believes Grom is dead.
When she doesn’t say anything else, I shrug at her. “Could you please just tell me everything? This whole one-tidbit-at-a-time thing is killing me.” Seriously.
“Right. Sorry.” She tightens her ponytail for the ninth time. “Okay. Since you know about Grom, I’m assuming you know we were supposed to be mated.”
“Yes. And I know about your argument and the mine explosion.”
My mother’s bottom lip quivers. Mom is not a crier. It’s hard to believe that something that happened so long ago still affects her like this. And I kind of resent it, on behalf of my dad. After all, she’s mourning another man. Well, mer-man. She doesn’t get like this when she talks about my dad, and he’s only been dead for a little more than two years now. To her, Grom has been dead for decades.
“Let me guess. They told you Grom lived through the explosion, right?” She’s almost shaking with anger. “Well, I’m telling you that he didn’t. When I woke up, he was gone. I couldn’t sense him anymore.”
“That’s exactly what Galen said about you. That you were nowhere to be found.”
She mulls over this for a minute, then says, “Emma, when a Syrena dies, you can’t sense them anymore. Grom and I could sense each other half the world apart, sweetie. We were just … connected in that way.”
This hurts me. Galen had said Grom and Nalia seemed meant for each other from the very beginning. I thought it was ridiculously romantic. But that was before I knew Nalia and my mother were the same person. Did she not care about my dad at all?
“So you didn’t even look for him? You just assumed the worst and headed toward land?” Somehow, it makes me feel a little better to say it like that.
“Emma, I didn’t sense him—”
“Did you ever stop to think the explosion might have messed up your sensing abilities?” I blurt. “Because Galen said Grom’s were screwy for a little while after the explosion. But even the Trackers stopped sensing you.”
She blinks at me. Opens her mouth, then closes it. Then her face gets all red, and I can see the proverbial dead bolt slide into place. So much for show-and-tell. “Grom is dead, Emma. Galen used you to get to me.”
I fling my legs over the side of the bed. “What do you mean?”
> “I mean, Emma, that Galen developed this whole little romance with you to earn your trust, to turn you against me. Galen is a Triton Royal, sweetie. There’s no way he would attach himself to…”
“A Half-Breed,” I say, anger and hurt roiling in my stomach. By Syrena standards, Half-Breeds are abominations. I think of all the kisses, the touches, the tingles that passed between me and Galen. The absolute fire I feel when he simply brushes against me by accident. Could he really be capable of acting that way toward someone he truly loathed? He did lie to me before. Could this be another lie? Did he just change his story to keep me hanging on?
All I can really count on right now is that someone I love is lying to me and there’s only one way to find out who it is: get them face-to-face.
I know for a fact that if Galen went through all this trouble in seducing me to get to my mother, he will certainly send his hound dog, Rachel, to sniff us out. Galen will come for us, I’m certain of it. And when he does, he’ll either bring Grom with him like he claims, or he’ll bring the Syrena party to arrest my mom.
If I let it slip to Mom that he’ll give chase, she’ll keep on fleeing. She thinks she’s in danger and she thinks I’m in danger. She won’t ever stop. And somehow, I’ve got to find a way to bring them together and keep us safe at the same time.
Life just got sucky.
Real tears well in my eyes, but not the kind Mom is hoping for. She nods, misled sympathy etched into her features. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I know you really cared about him.”
I nod, too, and force the next words out of my mouth. Words that may or may not be true. “I’ve been so stupid, Mom. I believed everything he said. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
Mom gets up from the chair and sits next to me on the bed, pulling me to her with one arm. “Sweetie, you don’t have anything to apologize for. It was your first taste of love, and Galen took advantage of you. I’d like to say that’s only a Syrena trait, but it could have happened with any human boy, too. I’m here for you. We’ve got to stick together, you and me.”
The sincerity in her voice makes me feel as big as a thimble. Not only is she hurting for herself, and reliving Grom’s loss, but she’s hurting for me, and what she perceives as my loss of Galen. Whether it really is my loss of Galen remains to be seen, but I let her hold me anyway because I’m not brave enough to look into her eyes. Finally, she says, “I’m going to take a shower and wash the travel off me. Then we’ll see about dinner, and make a game plan together. Sound good?”
I nod and she squeezes my shoulder. She smiles the “mother smile” before she goes into the bathroom. When I hear the shower curtain close, I pick up the phone.
Galen’s wary voice answers. “Hello?”
“Hi,” I tell him, just as wary. In the background I hear a muffled hum and wonder where he is.
He breathes a sigh into the phone. “Emma.” The way he says my name hurts me and excites me at the same time. Hurts, because what if Mom’s right, and he’s using me? Excites, because what if she’s wrong, and he really does care about me enough to sound like my calling him completed his life? “What happened?” he says.
Before I can answer, I hear Rayna in the background. “I already told you what happened. Her mother is crazy as a caught fish.”
I snicker, but then peek at the bathroom in guilt. Lowering my voice, I say, “Yeah, pretty much. We’re at a hotel in…”
I fumble through the nightstand drawer as quietly as I can, looking for the usual motel stationery. Picking up the notepad, I tell him, “I’m in Uptown. At the Budget Motel.”
“I know,” he says. “Rachel tracked you down by your mom’s credit card. We’re on our way.” Of course Rachel found us. Being an ex-mobster makes you a Swiss Army knife of Skills People Shouldn’t Know. I just didn’t realize she would do it this fast. I won’t underestimate her again.
It sounds like Galen covers the phone with his hand. I hear something clink in the bathroom and I shove the notepad back in the drawer. “I don’t have a lot of time,” I whisper into the phone. “Mom’s in the shower, but she’ll be out soon.” I realize Mom takes short showers, not because she’s a busy ER nurse who’s eternally on call, but because, like me, she can’t enjoy the luxury of hot water. Her Syrena skin is too thick to feel the heat. For her—and for me now—showering is just a matter of hygiene. There is no lingering for enjoyment anymore.
“Galen,” I blurt. “Mom thinks Grom is dead. She thinks you’re going to arrest her for his murder.” I’d meant to keep that a secret until I could see his reaction in person, but the bigger part of me couldn’t keep it in. Now I’ve given him a chance to come up with a good story and make it sound believable. You know, if he’s not already telling the truth.
Silence. Then, “Emma, Grom is sitting next to me. He’s not dead. Why would she think that?” There’s a weirdness to his voice though. Something feels off. Or does it? Am I being hyper-paranoid?
“I don’t have time to explain. I think she just turned the shower off.”
“Do you think she’d believe it if she talked to him on the phone?”
I think about that for a second. It’s possible we could end this madness right now. Put Grom on the phone and have him chitchat with her until she’s satisfied it’s him. But Mom’s so adamant that Galen can’t be trusted that she’d probably just write it off as a trick. Then she’d know that I called Galen, and she wouldn’t trust me anymore, either. And she’d know Galen has a way of tracking us. The best way is to bring Grom to her in the flesh—if Grom really is alive.
It hurts to have to think in that context. That Galen could be lying and tricking me as well. Which is why physical proof—a walking blob of Grom DNA—is needed. “She won’t believe it’s him. You have to bring him to us.”
He lets out a gust of air into the phone. “Emma, listen to me,” he says, and stupidly, I press the phone tighter to my ear. “I need you to stall your mom. We’re about two hours away from you. Don’t let her take off again.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, it was stupid of me to let her drug me that last time. Really should have seen that one coming.”
I can almost hear Galen grin. “Be good, angelfish. We’ll be there soon.”
I hang up the phone and stare at it for a couple of seconds, at the dirt crusted around each number. This phone, this decaying hotel room, has probably seen a lot of things in its time. But I doubt it’s heard a conversation like that. A conversation in which a fish prince is trying to hunt down a dead fish princess and her half-human daughter using the stealth of an ex-mobster.
“I’d hoped we could trust each other, sweetie.”
I startle at Mom, who’s standing by the bathroom door, arms crossed. Fully dressed. Fully dry. The shower is still going full blast. She must have heard everything. “You don’t know for sure he’s lying,” I tell her, trying not to visibly gulp.
“Pack up. We’re leaving.”
“Grom’s in the car with Galen.” I pick up the phone again and point the earpiece at her. “You could talk to him if you don’t believe me.”
She walks over to me and takes the phone. She stares at it long enough for the receiver to start an impatient out-of-order buzz. She slams it down on the receiver. “It’s just a trick, Emma. Pack up.”
“I’m not going.”
“Oh, but you are.”
It’s the first time I realize my mom could probably take me in a tussle. She’s full-blooded Syrena. Her bones are harder, her skin ticker, her build more muscular. She fought off Galen and Toraf. Plus, there’s this look in her eye right now. A survival-instinct kind of look. A make-the-hard-choice kind of look. And she’s already proven to what lengths she’ll go to keep me “safe.”
It’s a weird feeling to size up your mom like this. I decide it’s so weird, so unnatural, that I don’t give it any more thought. So I can’t stall my mom here. The opportunity will present itself again, I’m sure. Some how, some way, I will put her face-to-face with Galen agai
n. And I will find out the truth. I stand. “They’ll find us, you know.”
“We’ll see about that.”
4
GALEN PEERS into the rearview mirror at Rayna and Toraf in the backseat. They’re leaned up against each other by their temples, sound asleep. Must be nice.
But even if Galen didn’t have to drive, he still wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not with Grom here. Grom, wearing human clothes. Grom, buckled up in an SUV. Grom, cocking his head slightly toward the speaker in his door, trying to listen to the human music without appearing too interested.
Grom, who hasn’t said a single word since they left Emma’s house.
“She thinks you’re dead,” Galen tells his brother without looking at him. “She thinks she killed you. Why would she think that?” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Grom glance in his direction. Still, he’s not expecting it when his brother actually answers.
“She’s probably blaming herself. For the explosion.”
“So, she came to land because of a guilty conscience?”
“She was always hoarding the blame for things that weren’t her fault.” Then his brother actually smiles. “Most things were her fault, mind you, but even when they weren’t, she wanted to keep the blame all to herself.” After a moment, he says, “I would have loved to see her tie Rayna up. When she was bent on something, there was very little that ever got in the way of doing it.”
This takes Galen by surprise. Up until now, Grom had always struck Galen as … well, as old-fashioned. Not that his brother ever had a choice—he was always destined to mate the firstborn third-generation heir of the Poseidon house. It didn’t mean he had to enjoy his union with Nalia, but by the looks of it, he was fairly smitten. Which doesn’t sound like the Grom Galen knows. Most Syrena males seek out docile females for their mates. It seems that noble Grom had fallen for the exact opposite. Nalia is the definition of feisty. And if she’s even a fraction of the feisty that Emma is, then Grom had his hands full all those years ago. And apparently, he liked it that way. Join the club, as Rachel always says.