“Do you think he’s okay?” I blurt.
Reed glances at me in surprise. “Who? Galen?”
I nod. “Because he’s never left me like this. Ever. I know he was mad when he left but … This isn’t like him not to check in with anyone.” So now Toby knows he left me. And now I’m not so sure that he did.
Reed sits straighter in his seat and mindlessly adjusts his seat belt. “Anyone? Who would he check in with?”
“Well, I talked to my mom this morning, and she said he hasn’t checked in with his brother.”
“Your mom is Antonis’s daughter? And his brother is … the Triton king, right?” I can tell what’s going through his mind, the domino effect of what would occur if I told my mom about the good citizens of Neptune.
“Yes,” I say impatiently. “But I didn’t tell her about Neptune. Not the important part, anyway.” Reed and I already talked about Mom and Grom before. I decided in the beginning not to keep secrets. I didn’t think Grandfather would view my being cagey as productive in my short stay here. Still, while I sympathize with Reed’s valid concerns, Galen could be missing.
“What does your mom think about him leaving you here to fend for yourself?”
Toby looks up at me, eyes wide. “Galen actually did leave you here? You weren’t joking? Did you guys have a fight?”
Ah, hello, renewed humiliation. I nod. “We had a fight and he left, Toby.” I wish I could say it happens all the time, because that would at least be a sign of normalcy or consistency. But it doesn’t happen all the time. Galen has never done this before.
And I’m an utter simpleton for not thinking he could be hurt. For not worrying about it.
“We should look for him,” I tell Reed decidedly. “He could be broken down on the side of the road. Or … Or…” I can’t say it. Not out loud, not when just thinking it makes me want to curl into a ball.
This time Reed raises his brow at me. “First of all, cars like his just don’t break down, Emma. Even if it did, cars like his come with roadside assistance or some fancy thing like that. Plus, a Syrena is never stranded. Not if there’s water close by.”
This is all true. Still, apprehension undulates through my veins in waves. This hasn’t felt right from the start, has it? Haven’t I had that underlying feeling of … weirdnesss? And haven’t I just pushed through it like the stubborn monster that I am? “We should look for him,” I say again.
“You mean right now?” Reed says, incredulous.
“I heard ‘now’ is always the best time to look for a missing person.”
“Missing person? Emma—”
I sigh. “I know it could be that he’s missing on purpose and that he doesn’t want to be found. I get that, Reed. But just in case. We have to find him. Or at least get him on the phone somehow.”
Reed lets out a slow breath. “Okay. This is what we can do. Neptune’s sheriff is going to be at the Huddle tonight. As soon as we get there, I’ll introduce you to him, and we’ll tell him about Galen. Neptune takes it seriously when one of their own goes missing, trust me. He’ll probably form a search party right then and there.”
“I want to go with them,” I say. If Galen is really missing, then he’s been gone longer than forty-eight hours now. Even as I think it, I imagine a window shutting, the opportunity for us to find him now diminishing.
“I know you do,” Reed says. “But despite how Podunk we all look, the sheriff and his boys have had real law-enforcement training. They’re real cops, believe it or not. They know where to start looking. And they’d never let a civilian come with them. You need to trust them to find Galen—if he really wants to be found. It’s dark out. If the boys don’t find him tonight, we’ll form a town-wide search party in the morning. We’ll cover where the sheriff didn’t, I promise. But coming tonight to the Huddle will help your cause. If they know you, they’ll be more motivated to help.”
My brain rebels against all this common sense. I know it’s the right thing to do or whatever, but I know Galen would look for me if he thought something was wrong. He wouldn’t be attending any Huddle, and he wouldn’t be waiting for morning to start looking. No matter how many people were expecting him to be there.
But I feel like I don’t have a choice.
Toby shakes his head. “You have to go to the Huddle, Emma. Sheriff Grigsby will find Galen. Please don’t leave. I don’t want you to go missing, too.” The boy’s eyes are filled with raw emotion.
Reed scowls. “Toby, buddy. Emma’s not going to go missing. Right, Emma?”
I nod but Toby’s not looking at me. “Alexa went missing and didn’t come back.” His voice is tight. He’s trying to stop whatever’s inside him from erupting.
Reed takes a turn down a red-clay road, and we’re temporarily blinded by the setting sun at the end of it. “Alexa was a TV character, minnow. It’s not real.”
“They looked for her forever, Emma,” Toby nearly wails. “They never found her car or anything. She just disappeared.”
Reed peers at me over Toby’s head, a look that clearly says, “Can we talk about this later?”
I nod. The last thing I want to do is upset Toby. I slip my arm around him. “I’m sure she’s okay.” Because what else am I going to say?
“That’s what everyone says, but they don’t really know for sure.” Toby leans into me, lets me comfort him. I suppress a grin at his utter adorableness and try to remember what it’s like to be so innocent.
Reed gives his brother’s arm a light punch. “Listen, you let it out of the bag about my fin, little monster. Do you want to tell Emma the story, or shall I?”
20
GALEN WORKS at the ropes holding him to the chair. He wriggles and squirms but can hardly budge the expertly tied knots.
I just have to keep loosening them, wear them down somehow.
Still, the knots refuse to give even a breath of slack.
The tarp hanging above has long since run out of the saltwater, but the effect on Galen’s body stayed. His need to shape a fin burns through him like fire on an oil slick.
But timing is everything; second only to loosening the ropes, injuring himself during transformation might cost him his only chance for escape. The looser they are, the easier to break free.
Footsteps fall heavy on the dirt outside, and Galen lets his arms and legs fall instantly. Seconds later, the door swoops open and Tyrden strolls in. He’s carrying a bottle of water and a lantern. Setting the latter on the floor in front of Galen, Tyrden paces around Galen’s chair. His shadow takes turns dancing on each wall.
“Evenin’, Highness.”
Galen glares at him, which is not a little painful with swollen eyes.
“I’ve brought you more water.” Tyrden chuckles to himself, shaking the bottle. He makes several more laps around the room, circling Galen with the smell of sweat and fish. Finally, he takes his usual seat across from him. “I think we might have gotten off on the wrong foot. I’ve decided I don’t want to make an enemy out of you, Galen.” He unscrews the bottle and hands it to Galen’s helpless torso. “Oh,” he smiles. “You’re all tied up.” He leans close enough for Galen to take a sip.
But Galen hesitates. Tyrden’s newfound hospitality has all the makings of another trick. He regrets not having the ropes loosened by now.
This amuses the old Syrena. “What? Don’t trust me? Well, I guess I can’t blame you. Here, take a tiny sip. It’s fresh, I swear.”
Galen decides that a sip doesn’t make or break his plans. Worst-case scenario, this is saltwater—another mind game, plus another step toward dehydration. Best-case scenario, it’s actually fresh water, in which case Galen needs it very badly. He angles forward and tastes it. Fresh.
Tyrden stands abruptly then, and to Galen’s amazement, unties one of Galen’s wrists and hands him the bottle to hold. A small twinge of hope whirpools in his stomach.
Tyrden backs away from him slowly and takes his seat again, pulling the big knife from the inside of his b
oot. “Try anything and I’ll fillet you. Keep your hand in front of you.”
Galen nods, downing the bottle of water in all of three gulps. Now is not the time, he realizes. He won’t be effective with one hand free. But he can possibly use this as an opportunity to earn Tyrden’s trust. Something he should have thought of much earlier. He says he doesn’t want to make an enemy out of me, right? So let’s take him at his word.
Galen turns the empty bottle over and over in his hands. “Thank you,” he says quietly, without lifting his gaze to his captor. If he did, Tyrden would know how insincere his gratitude is.
“You’re welcome.” He spits on the floor between them. “Are we friends yet?”
“No.” Galen yawns for causal effect. Then a real one takes over, one so big it tugs at the corners of his cracked lips.
“How have you been sleeping?”
“In a chair.”
Tyrden smiles. “Well, you’re in luck. I’ve come to tell you a bedtime story.”
Suddenly, Galen feels exhausted. He supposes that’s normal, with no food and hardly any water for days, plus the effort he’s been putting into escape. Plus, Tyrden is a taxing person in general.
“Do you know what a Huddle is?” Tyrden continues.
“No.” Another yawn escapes him. The room seems to get smaller. Or am I closing my eyes?
Tyrden seems pleased. “Go on and make yourself comfortable. Tonight, my friend, I’m going to tell you about the story of Tartessos.”
“I already know about Tartessos.”
“What you know is what you’ve been told.”
A sudden warmth steals through Galen’s body, reaching every part of him. His muscles begin to relax against his will. The need to shape a fin is no longer as urgent. His free arm falls to his side, and he feels himself slumping in the chair. Oh, no. “That wasn’t water.”
Tyrden scoffs. “Of course it was. With a little bit of something else.”
“Why?”
“I just wanted you to get some real rest, Highness. I can’t present you to your brother looking like that, now can I?” Tyrden’s face grows hard. “And not to mention, your wrists are looking awfully raw. You should have told me you were bored. I can give you plenty of activities to keep you occupied.” The chair creaks with Tyrden’s weight as he eases back. “But for now, a story.”
Everything becomes blurry. Galen squints to clear his eyes. Are the walls growing fur? Is the lantern going out?
“That’s right, get comfortable, boy. You’ll want to hear this.” Tyrden leans forward slowly, the light from the lantern casting an eerie glow on his face. “Because everything you thought you knew about the destruction of Tartessos is wrong.”
21
“TAKE OFF your clothes,” Reed says with glee.
I roll my eyes and peel my dress off. “I didn’t peg you for a perv.”
He greedily eyes my bathing suit. “Gross. I hate that word.”
“What? Peg?”
He snorts and strips off his khakis, then takes the rest of our clothing and tucks it safely into the floorboard of the truck. Toby dances from foot to foot in the moonlight, his bright red swimming trunks illuminated into an ugly brown. “Hurry up, Reed. We’re gonna be late!”
Reed grabs my hand and pulls me toward the water. I hear, but don’t actually see, Toby plunge in ahead of us. The disturbed water ripples around the point of entry, but it’s obvious after a few moments that Toby doesn’t have any intention of resurfacing. “He’s been here before?” It’s a stupid question. The kid was antsy as soon as we turned down the dirt road to come here.
“He was practically raised in this creek,” Reed says. “He knows his way around these caves better than I do, probably.”
“Maybe I should be holding his hand,” I say, pulling from his grasp. “You’re sure this is the shortest way to get to the Huddle?” The incessant need to talk to the sheriff about Galen is almost overwhelming. I fuss with the decorative strings on the hip of my bathing suit.
“I’m sure,” he says. “Don’t worry. As soon as we get there, we’ll get help, Emma. I promise.”
When we’re about knee-deep, Reed falls backward into the water, but not before he beckons me with a come-hither finger. I ease down, taking care not to forge ahead too quickly. I wasn’t raised here, and I still can’t see into the water from the surface like a full-blood Syrena can. The last thing I need is to rush, bust my nose on a rock or a log, and then greet Galen—because I will see him again—with two black eyes.
Because on my pale skin, black eyes shoot to a whole new level of hideous when they heal.
Apparently Toby has left us completely to ourselves. I stay close behind Reed, but my eyes don’t adjust well in this crummy freshwater, and I have to give in and take his hand again. He leads me through a series of what I can’t really call caves—they remind me of slides at a water park, only they’re ridged, filled with water, and we’re swimming through them instead of sliding. Sometimes the space gets cramped, and I’m forced to press my body against Reed’s to fit, or else risk bumping my head on low-hanging stalactites.
I notice that during these close encounters, Reed seems to hold his breath. Then I freak out a little on the inside, because I hold mine, too. I try to push the thought aside, and not play the “What does this all mean?” game.
Because it means nothing except Reed is a member of the opposite sex and we’re in a state of undress and I’m not totally unaware of it. We’ve got skin touching, for crying out loud. And, yes, I’ve noticed he’s attractive, blah blah blah. But that’s all it means.
So then why do I feel ashamed of simply being aware of him?
“Emma,” Reed says, startling me from mortification. “It’s wider now. You can, uh … You can swim on your own. If you want.”
I clear my throat of the nothing that’s in there. “Oh. Yeah. Thanks. Sorry.”
My eyes are adjusted well enough to see his small, satisfied grin. Or maybe I just imagine that I see it. Either way, he knows he’s unnerved me, and I know he knows it. “It’s not too far ahead now,” he says. “And that’s the last of the tight spots. If you really concentrate, you can sense others farther down. They’re kind of the guardians of the cave.”
But all I can really concentrate on is the fact that in a few minutes we will be out of the water, away from each other and physical contact and hopefully whatever source of light is in this cave won’t be bright enough to expose the blush I know is smoldering on my freaking cheeks.
Then I remember something I can concentrate on. “Toby said you shaped a fin. Is that true?”
Reed glances at me but keeps moving. I’ve caught him off guard. “I’m going to beat the fool out of that kid when I see him next.”
“So it is true.”
He sighs and halts us. I really can see his face, though not all the details, but now I’m pretty sure I did catch a spy of a grin a few seconds ago. And I’m mortified all over again. “I didn’t do it on purpose, though, is the thing,” he says. “So I can’t show you how to do it or whatever. It just sort of … happened.”
“Tell me.”
“I was about thirteen. Doc Schroeder says it had to do with premature hormone development. He’s a real doctor, you know. He’s mated to a Syrena, Jessa, and they have a son, Fin.” He shakes his head. “Can you believe they named their son Fin?”
I take Reed by the shoulders and give him a good shake. “Hello? You in there? Tell me how it happened.” I can tell by the way he glances ahead of us that we’re close to the Huddle. And I can tell he doesn’t divulge this story to just anyone.
“Okay. Sorry.” Reed actually backs away from me then, and I almost laugh, but I’m afraid that if I do, he’ll get distracted again. “So one day I’m not feeling good, so I stay home from school. I’m not sick, not exactly, but I definitely don’t feel like going to school. Which, since I never miss school—that’s kind of a big deal—”
“Ohmysweetgoodness!”
&
nbsp; “Okay, okay, sorry. So whenever I don’t feel good, I like to go fishing. It’s quiet and relaxing and … Anyway, I stand up for something in the boat, and I notice my legs hurt. I mean they hurt, like I had the flu or something. I tried stretching it out, because that’s what it felt like I should do—stretch.” He makes a show of bending slightly to stretch his legs. “Then I remember that’s what Dad said it feels like when he’s been out of the water too long. So I jump in the creek. As soon as I do, my legs start to twist and bend, and it feels hot, like my bones are melting together, but it doesn’t hurt. Not much, anyways. It feels good, actually, in a painful sort of way.” Reed looks at me incredulously, as if it’s happening all over again. I can tell by his face that the experience would have unleashed Scared Senseless Emma. “So my skin gets real thin and stretchy, and it covers over my legs—which, by the way, twisted around themselves twice. But I don’t shape a fin. Not a normal one, anyway. It’s sickly looking. Like the whole length of it looks like the skin of a chicken after it’s been plucked. Not smooth and badass, like Dad’s. You can still see the knobs of my knees. I looked like a freak.”
“Are you sure it was all that bad?”
He nods enthusiastically. “Absolutely. It was grotesque, Emma. I’ve never tried to do it again.”
“Have you ever felt the need to stretch it out like that since?”
“One other time, a few months later. Never again though.”
I wrap my arms around myself. “So … So our skin stretches like that?”
Reed grimaces. “According to Doc Schroeder, the skin cells of a full-blood Syrena are thick and stretchy. That’s part of why things don’t penetrate their skin as well. It kind of repels it, because of the flexibility. Half-Breeds inherit half the thickness, half the stretchiness, or whatever. That’s why it pulled so thin over my legs and made me look like an anorexic chicken shark. I’m serious, Emma. You look like you’re naked. And dying of something.”