Of Poseidon 02: Of Triton

  “Was the explosion her fault?” Galen said as an afterthought. He regrets the question as soon as it leaves his mouth. But Grom doesn’t seem affected.

  “Oh, I’m sure she thinks it was. But it was my fault. Only my fault.” His brother laughs, a sharp gust that sounds more like disgust than humor. “You know the irony in all this, little brother? The whole reason we were arguing that day was because she wanted to explore land. She had a fascination with humans. And as soon as she opened up to me about it, I took it upon myself to crush her dreams. To protect her.”

  The silence that follows is noisy with the past, with memories that belong solely to Grom and Nalia. Their last day together. Their last words. The explosion. Galen can tell his brother is reliving the emotions, but still storing the details inside, where he’s kept them all these years. It feels like seeing a shipwreck from afar through murky water. The outline is there, the damage is visible. But the specifics of how it sunk, how it came to sit on the bottom of the ocean, are still unknown to all except those who experienced it.

  Then all at once, Grom clears the murk. “I refused to explore land with her. But I didn’t just stop there. I also forbade her from doing it anymore.”

  “Anymore?”

  “She’d been keeping a supply of human clothes on an island close to land. She changed into them on the island, then took a rowboat to land and actually walked among the humans. She even brought things back to Mother, for her collection of human relics.”

  Galen’s mouth almost drops to his lap. “Mother knew she was breaking the law?”

  Grom snorts, then shakes his head. “She knew and encouraged it. You know how she loved her human relics.”

  Galen did know. She’d left behind an entire cave full of them when she died—and Rayna had picked up where their mother had left off. Are daughters always so much like their mothers? Rayna takes after their mother in almost every way. And apparently Emma takes after Nalia in many aspects. For instance, Galen knows forbidding Emma to do anything is the best way to get her to do it. “So that made her angry and she fled from you,” Galen says, almost to himself. He imagines Emma doing the exact same thing. And it almost chokes him. “Into the mine.”

  “Oh, not directly into the mine. She allowed me to chase her all over the territories first. Of course, I could have stopped. I could have let her go, let her calm down for a while. It might have saved us from making such a Royal spectacle. But the look in her eyes did not settle well with me. The disappointment there clearly said I’d failed an important test.” Grom adjusts in his seat, so he can face Galen. “And you should know that she didn’t set off the explosion in the mines. The humans did. At the time, it seemed humans all over the world were at war with one another, and they brought their disagreement to our territories. They built giant ships that could go underwater instead of skim on top of it.”

  Galen already knew this. When he’d first told Rachel about what happened and how long ago, she’d researched it for him. According to human history records, Nalia had disappeared in the middle of what came to be called World War II. It was not a good time to be human. He wonders if Nalia knew the condition of the human world at the time before she decided to become part of it.

  “But she knew that going ashore with the humans was against the law. She should have known you’d be upset.”

  Grom raises a brow, taking care to scrutinize his surroundings, starting from the clothes on his own body, to the window and everything outside it, and finally resting his gaze on Galen’s hands clutching the steering wheel. “Tell me, brother, how concerned were you about the law when you were so busy amassing such an extensive collection of human things?”

  Galen grimaces. “Good point. But you should know that I was always concerned about the law, even if I was breaking it. I still am concerned about the law.” Especially about certain aspects of it.

  His brother does not miss his meaning. “The law regarding Half-Breeds has been in place for many centuries, Galen. It is deeply entrenched into the hearts of our kind.”

  “That’s not the answer I was looking for.”

  “I know.”

  “I won’t be without her.”

  “I know.”

  By the look on his face, Grom does know. But what can be done? If there was a way around the Half-Breed law, wouldn’t Grom ease his mind by offering the solution? So even though the law is what it is, is Grom giving his unspoken consent for Galen to be with Emma regardless? Or is he given an unspoken command that Galen end his relationship with her?

  Galen wants to ask, wants to settle things now before they get any more complicated—and while Grom is in a vulnerable, divulging mood. But Galen hasn’t been responsible in looking for road signs since this conversation first started. Even now, another exit—maybe theirs—zooms by them. He’s in a bit of awe of human drivers who seem to be able to conduct all sorts of business while driving. Apparently, Galen isn’t capable of carrying on a simple conversation while watching for road signs. The worst part is, they should be reaching their exit any time now. But then again, Galen hasn’t been able to drive the speed limit. Every time he gets up to speed, Grom tenses up and scowls at him until he slows down. Old people.

  Abruptly, Galen sees their exit and takes it. He slows down to a crawl around the curve, which appears to irritate the driver behind him. But the driver behind him doesn’t have hundreds of years left to put up with Grom.

  Galen scans the main road for a sign with directions to the Budget Motel; Rachel said Nalia used her credit card to check in there earlier. A wave of excitement courses through Galen when he sees the dilapidated sign. The lights are burnt out behind the g and an m, and to Galen, it looks like a smile missing some important teeth. The hotel is one story, L-shaped. It looks even more neglected than the sign. Some of the windows have masking tape across them. Other windows have blankets instead of curtains hanging in them. Galen wonders why Nalia would choose such a place.

  As they near the entrance, it occurs to him just how crestfallen he was not to find Emma at her house where he’d left her. The churning disappointment of not seeing her when he’d expected to, of not wrapping her in his arms the way he’d planned. He glances at his brother, trying to imagine what exactly it was like for him to lose Nalia all those years ago. If Grom felt for Nalia the way Galen does for Emma, then it must have felt like a living death. Every single day.

  He should know that I can’t allow a tiny law to separate me from her.

  Galen pulls into the dark parking lot of the motel as Toraf and Rayna wake up like twin monsters. “Are we there yet?” Rayna says around a yawn, her words almost indiscernible because of her cracked voice.

  Galen nods. He creeps the vehicle past room after room, holding his breath, paranoid that Nalia could somehow identify the sound of the SUV by the way it crunches gravel beneath the tires. But he could be beeping his horn to the tune of the radio and Nalia couldn’t care less. Because Nalia’s car isn’t here.

  Where are they? He grabs his cell and dials Rachel, then waits for her to call back. When she does, Galen tries to extract the frantic out of his voice. “They’re not here.”

  “Oh, she’s good,” Rachel says. “Hold on, sweet pea. Let me look at something and I’ll call you back.”

  Ten minutes later, she does. “Okay,” she says, all business. “She took out some cash at an ATM in Chesterfield about half an hour ago. She definitely knows you’re looking for her.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because she’s using cash now, sweet pea. She might have even checked into the hotel to throw you off. Cash is harder to trace, and she took out enough to get by for a couple of days if she’s careful. If she’s smart, she’ll get off the interstate, too, and take the back roads to wherever she’s going. That’s what I would do. Your best bet is to get off the interstate when you get to Chesterfield. Then keep your eyes peeled.”

  “Peeled?”

  Rachel laughs. “Peeled, as in everybody
needs to be looking for that car. Gas stations, restaurants, rest stops. She has to stop sometime, and she won’t stray too far from the main road, not if she’s as smart as I think she is. Still, if she’s stupid enough to use her credit cards, or make another withdrawal, I’ll let you know.”

  “We’re never going to find them.” Galen leans his forehead against the steering wheel. Grom stiffens beside him.

  “Sure you will,” Rachel says. “Tell you what. I’ll fly to Kansas, rent a car, and start working my way back toward you. We’ll ferret her out that way.”

  Galen grins. He’s not exactly sure what “ferret” means, but he’s seen dolphins use Rachel’s technique sometimes to trap fish. They come at them from all sides. “Okay. Thanks.”

  “No sweat.”

  As soon as Galen hangs up, Grom is pelting him with questions. “Why aren’t they here? What did Rachel say? Is Nalia okay?”

  It’s weird for Grom to be asking about Rachel. Those were two worlds Galen thought would never have anything in common. But they had something in common all along. Him.

  “Whoa,” Toraf says. “When’d he start talking?”

  “I have to relieve myself,” Rayna says. “Right now. This place looks nasty. Find a clean gas thingy.”

  Galen eyes his sister in the rearview. “Since when do you need a human toilet to relieve yourself?” She can—and certainly does when the notion strikes her—squat anywhere for that kind of thing. As much as she loves all things human, some of their customs do not appeal to her impatient side.

  She shrugs. “I want some cookies, too. Seems more efficient to just make one stop.”

  Galen pinches the bridge of his nose. Nalia owes me. Huge.

  5

  THE TOWNS start to look alike. Dilapidated fences, ghostly barns, tiny grocery stores whose one car in the parking lot might belong to the owner. And not a single pay phone. You’d think, with how much other ancient stuff these towns keep around, they’d at least have rescued one obsolete pay phone from extinction.

  I’m not even sure why I want to use a pay phone. I still don’t have a plan B for how I can get my mom and Galen one-on-one without risking our safety; if Galen is the one lying and he did bring a Syrena party with him, I’d be putting Mom at risk for arrest and me for … I don’t want to think about what they’d do to a Half-Breed like me. And even if I had a plan B for escape, executing plan A—getting them face-to-face—is pretty stinking difficult since Mom knows I already tried to stall her once. There’s no way she’d let me get away with it again.

  Still, the bigger part of me is not convinced that Galen is lying. Maybe I’m in denial or whatever, but he seems too real, too open with me to be lying. Not that I think Mom’s lying, either. I could tell that she truly believes that she killed Grom and that our lives are in real danger. But it could be that she’s mistaken somehow. Maybe Grom really is alive and maybe they really did leave to go get him. Maybe there is another crazy explanation for why they each thought the other was dead for half the century.

  The thing is, I can’t take the chance. I can’t just stand around and keep my mom prisoner with lies when I’m the only one she can really trust. I feel bad about calling Galen. But I feel bad about ditching him, too.

  I’ve just got to figure out how to get to the truth without endangering anyone. And until I do, there’s no point in even calling Galen.

  Which is good, because obviously it’s more important to these townsfolk to salvage things like fire-hazard gas pumps that still have the rolling-dial numbers instead of preserving something more useful, like pay phones.

  And at least the interstate had decent fast-food choices. In the backwoods route Mom opted for, we’ve got to choose between mom-and-pop diners with mismatched tables and hot sauce bottles for toothpick holders, or fast-food chain knockoffs with questionable health standards.

  My stomach growls for the eleventeenth time. With Mom’s urgency to put as much distance between us and Galen as possible, I’ve now skipped breakfast and lunch.

  “I’m hungry, too,” Mom says without looking at me. “I think we’re just going to have to tough it out at one of these little hole-in-the-wall places.” When I roll my eyes, she says, “Remember when we took that road trip to Atlanta, and we found that dumpy little diner right outside the city? You said they had the best peach cobbler in the world. Maybe we could get lucky here.” But her expression doesn’t look quite as hopeful as she scans the roadside for options.

  She chooses a stucco building that boasts “We Serve Breakfast All Day” with a huge sign in the front window. When we open the door, a velvet sash tied to the handle and overwhelmed with jingle bells alerts the five patrons that we’ve arrived. We take a booth by the front window and Mom orders coffee.

  I peer over my menu, watching as she dumps sugar into the steaming cup. It’s something I’ve seen a million times; she’s always had a little coffee with her sugar. But I’ve never seen it knowing who and what she is. Before, she was just Mom with a caffeine addiction. Now, she’s Nalia, the Poseidon princess. There is no sugar in the Syrena world. There is no coffee. Galen dry heaves at the first taste of either.

  Mom notices me noticing her. “You might as well ask,” she says, as if any amount of stirring could dissolve the pound of sugar she’s dumped in her cup.

  I unroll my silverware. “I was just wondering how long it took you to get used to human food.” I eye her cup for emphasis.

  “Ah.” Just then, the waitress, whose name tag says “Agnes,” returns for our order. As if to promote irony, Mom orders pancakes with extra syrup. I get a burger. Restaurants like these usually build a decent burger.

  When Agnes leaves, Mom corrals the mug with both hands as if trying to keep it warm. “I don’t drink coffee for the taste. But what’s not to like about sugar, right?”

  “Galen gags on anything sweet. Mostly, he gags on anything not seafood.”

  Mom smiles, as if she’s only tolerating the sound of Galen’s name for the sake of talking about sugar. “It takes some time. I’ve been on land quite a while, Emma.” She leans closer, lowers her voice. “Since World War II. If you think about it, that means I’ve been human longer than I was ever Syrena.”

  She says this as if I actually know the real date of her birth. My eyes are in danger of falling out of their sockets. I already knew that Syrena live to be hundreds of years old. That they age well. Sure, Mom has a few grays streaking her hair. Some wrinkles tugging at her blue eyes. But she doesn’t look like the moldy four years old she’s claiming.

  She presses her lips together as the waitress sets a bottle of syrup on the table. When she leaves again, Mom says, “That’s it? No more questions?”

  Oh, but there are. “How did you really meet Dad?” I realize then that I feel a sense of disconnection with my life. That if Mom isn’t who I thought she was, then Dad couldn’t possibly be, either. The story was always that they met in college and fell in love at first sight. Now that I reflect on it, the whole story sounds like a generic, all-purpose romance. Boring and cliché and BS.

  Mom nods, as if I asked the right question. “We met years after I’d come ashore. I was selling souvenirs on the boardwalk in Atlantic City, and at night I worked at a freak show.” She grins. “As a mermaid.”

  I gasp and she laughs. “Oh, not a real one, mind you,” she says, eyes full of nostalgia. “They dressed me up in this ridiculous costume with a sequined fin and had me swim around a huge tank and wave at the tourists. The ring leader—Oliver was his name—liked that I could hold my breath for a long time.” She shrugs. “It was pretty cheesy, but it was easy money.”

  “So you weren’t in college.”

  “I wasn’t, no.” She takes another sip. “Your father was though. He was visiting for spring break. I mugged him.”

  “You what?”

  “You have to understand I didn’t make very much money, even with two jobs. It hardly even paid for my food. I couldn’t fish, because—”

&nb
sp; “You didn’t want anyone to sense you in the water.” Otherwise, she could have been pretty self-sufficient.

  She nods. “So one day I see this group of cocky college students, spending money left and right. Pulling wads of cash out of their pockets to pay for small purchases, like ice cream.” She rolls her eyes. “They were flashing it. They wanted people to know they were rich.”

  “Doesn’t mean they wanted people to mug them,” I mutter.

  Mom shrugs. “No, but they were trying to attract attention from the ladies, so I made sure to act interested. Your dad was one of them. I’d seen him before. He came to the freak show a lot and just sat there and watched me. Boy, did he make me feel uncomfortable. After a while, he got up the guts to ask me on a date, and all I could think was that a free dinner sounded fabulous. He took me to a nice restaurant and a picture show—that’s what we called movies back then. Afterward, he insisted on walking me home, but since I didn’t have a home to walk to, I made up an address and let him walk me to it. That’s when he told me he’d seen me breathing underwater, in the tank.”

  The waitress interrupts then, setting Mom’s pancakes in front of her, and lowering a tower of beef and cheese and bread in front of me. “You all set, then?” Agnes says.

  Mom and I nod. “Let me know if you need anything else,” Agnes continues. “Lester just pulled a strawberry pie out of the oven, and it’d be downright sinful if you didn’t try it.” With an awkward wink, she leaves.

  “I want strawberry pie,” I tell Mom, shaking the ketchup bottle for my fries. “It’s the least you could do.”

  Mom smiles and steals a fry from my plate. “Agreed. Maybe I’ll have a piece, too.”

  I eye her pancakes doubtfully. “So anyway. What do you mean he saw you breathing underwater?”

  “Well, you know we draw water into our lungs, and get oxygen from it, right?” She lowers her voice to an almost-whisper.

  I nod. Dr. Milligan had told us that, after studying Galen. I wonder if Dad discovered this feature of Syrena lung function while studying Mom.