by Jade, Elsa
“No alcohol for me,” Lana said. “Makes me too giggly.”
Ridley wasn’t sure that was the alcohol’s fault. “I’ll have that Casa Dragones there, neat, please.” No one would question her nursing a single glass of the upscale tequila for most of the night.
Thomas gave that little bow again, perfectly from the waist, which must be how he managed to keep that starched white shirt so unwrinkled despite the late hour. “Miss Lana, perhaps a sparkling mocktail?”
“Oh, if you could? Fun.” She clasped her hands together before turning that might-as-well-be-a-giggle to Ridley. “Want to see the seahorses while we wait?”
With a dubious shrug, Ridley followed her to the aquarium. A saltwater tank of such size took more than money; it needed expertise and endless care. Mandarinfish, pipefish, and neon gobies eased over the corals, avoiding the sea stars and small hermit crabs. The stubby tentacles of star polyps waved gently in the circulating water. The lights brought out the colors in the coralline algae and the fish.
“There.” Lana pointed into a stand of gorgonians and maidenhair algae where the little creatures were holding fast with their curled tails. “Aren’t they cute? I think the male is pregnant.”
Unable to stop herself, Ridley pressed one fingertip to the glass. It wasn’t a tropical tank, so the glass was cool. Not as chilly as the fountain outside, of course, and nowhere near the deadly cold of deep ocean.
God, how she missed it.
“Miss Ridley? Your drink.”
She jerked back from the aquarium to face Thomas. His expression was bland as he handed over the tumbler with not quite two fingers of the crystal-clear tequila, so pure the upper curve was as mercury-silver as the fountain pond outside was dark. She mumbled her thanks as he leaned past her to hand Lana a brimming champagne tulip glass.
The pink and orange concoction had a tiny dollop of whipped cream, a sugared rim, and effervescent bubbles. It was a perfect summation of the other woman, right down to the wide curve of the crystal.
“Remember—no touching,” Lana said, an edge to her voice that wasn’t quite sharp but hinted at some crack in her composure. Without comment, Thomas scooched his fingers down the stem so that she could accept the glass without risk of contact.
When Ridley arched an eyebrow at her, Lana flushed and glanced away. “I’ve been having some troubles,” she murmured.
Ridley looked down at her own glass. “If you’d rather I didn’t drink in front of you, I don’t mind. I’ve had friends get sober, and I’m happy to support that.”
Lana shook her head, brown curls flying. “It’s not alcoholism,” she said in an apologetic tone. “It’s electrocution.”
Ridley took a sip of her drink to hide her confusion. “Uh…sorry? You electrocute people?”
“Not on purpose,” Lana hastened to assure her. “But in the last year, my body seems to have changed polarity in a way that results in some rather painful shocks, to me and anyone else.” She kicked out one foot from beneath the hem of the kaftan, rotating the rubber Croc. “For a while, insulating myself kept the worst of it at bay. But this last year, it’s only been getting worse.” She let the skirt settle down again, and for the first time her bubbles seemed entirely popped. “If it keeps going like this, I could kill someone.”
Ridley had never been a hugger, but Lana looked so sad, a sudden urge to embrace the smaller woman overwhelmed her. Figured, it was typical of her interpersonal relationship luck that the one time she wanted to hug someone would be the time it could kill her.
She contented herself with another drink from her glass. “I’ve never heard of a person becoming so electrically charged, not worse than zapping yourself on fuzzy carpet.” In fact, she wasn’t sure she could believe it, or anything else in this house. “Is it because of this Wavercrest Syndrome thing?”
Lana clutched the thin stem of her glass with both hands. “That’s what I’m hoping to find out.” Finally, she looked up again. “And you?”
Ridley shook her head. “I guess I can’t complain now.”
“Someone else’s pain doesn’t negate your own. Seems like you don’t want to talk about it, at least not yet, but if you change your mind, I’ll be here.”
Ridley studied her with a new attention. “That’s nice of you, considering your situation is pretty dire.”
“Well, we’ll ask the guy who I end up zapping to death whether he appreciates my Zen-like calm.” Her grin this time was grim.
Wordlessly, Ridley raised her glass. As awful as her own issue was, at least she’d only kill herself if she panicked underwater. After a moment’s hesitation, Lana did the same. With the gentle chime of crystal—and no accompanying shock—Ridley let out a silent, relieved breath. Like rubber, glass was a poor conductor of electricity, but whatever minor risk she’d taken, Lana’s tremulous smile of gratitude was worth it.
They both drank deep.
Savoring the third sip of the tequila—she was going through this glass way faster than she’d intended—Ridley considered whether whatever she was going to learn about this Wavercrest Syndrome was worse than not knowing at all.
Chapter 2
Maelstrom Amyth threaded through the flooded tunnels of the limestone labyrinth back to the Bathyal. They’d submerged the ship in the lake closest to the Wavercrest compound after mapping its underground access. With the cruiser’s mimic shield engaged, it was almost undetectable by this planet’s oblivious inhabitants. But the energy cost was substantial, so they couldn’t stay long.
Not to mention his planet couldn’t afford the delay.
But now delay seemed inevitable. He scowled as he arrowed through the tight passageway, using the powerful ripples of his swim muscles—and a judicious assist from his fin jets. The flavor of the Earther water past his gills was both familiar and utterly alien. If they hadn’t confirmed that this Earth was compatible with their basic biology, he might’ve been suspicious that there was some hostile substance in the elements that left him feeling so on edge.
Or maybe it was her fault.
He’d been told to retrieve the Wavercrest bride, and instead he’d almost revealed his errand to a clearly uninformed Earther female. Growling at himself, he let out a few bubbles of irritation. He’d almost babbled their secrets to someone who had no place in their quest. Curse the Unspoken Name of the Deeps, he might as well have dropped the mimic shield right in front of her.
And yet the fragrance of the First Waters clung to her, even if she was as confused by his presence as he was by hers. Something had gone astray in their mission to save Tritona, but he’d sacrificed everything to bring them this far, so he couldn’t be stopped by her confusion—or his own mistake.
After threading the flooded labyrinth, he emerged into the open water of the lake and sped across the distance to the ship’s submerged hatch. When he rose through the hatch, shaking off droplets of cold water, Coriolis Kelyre was waiting for him. Of course the former commander of the Tritonyri western fleet would’ve been watching the perimeter sensors they’d set. The war might be over, but they all still slept with their nictitating membranes dried wide.
His commander’s watchful gaze flicked to the submerged hatch and then back to Maelstrom. “Where is she?” Before Mael could answer, Coriolis said flatly, “There’s been trouble.”
Mael grimaced. “Isn’t there always?”
“Just for the last couple hundred years or so.” Coriolis sucked in a harsh breath, so deep that his gills flared even though the interior of the cruiser was dry. The secondhand ship was calibrated for air-breathing species, and they didn’t have the resources to retrofit for their own comfort.
That had been another painful truth for the last hundred years.
“The mate you purchased was not at the drop point,” Mael reported. “There was only an ignorant Earther female unaffiliated with the house. I lingered, but the only one who returned was an armed Earther male who left the house locked tight.” He gave his commander a grim lo
ok. “I believe you’ve been swindled, sir.”
Coriolis dragged one hand down the back of his neck, settling the riled waves of his dark hair and smoothing his gills at the same time. “I didn’t purchase anyone,” he said through gritted teeth. “Marisol Wavercrest signed an agreement that she would return to Tritona with me—with us—to found a new dynastic lineage. The agreement through the Intergalactic Dating Agency was very specific and took a long time to negotiate. Too long. We can’t stay here while we find a suitable replacement. And we can’t return to Tritona without one.”
Mael didn’t know the specifics of the IDA arrangement—he’d just been promoted to captain in the western seas fleet when the war was declared over—but everyone left on Tritona understood how crucial this duty was. “With your permission, I’ll return to Wavercrest. I checked the security systems of the house and it is seriously lacking. I can take your mate tonight and we’ll be on our way back to Tritona before sunrise.” As for the other female… Mael squelched the surge of possessiveness, as wasted as fin jets on a sea slug.
But Coriolis only shook his head. “Abduct an alien? This Earth is a closed world, with only limited communications and trade allowances. The Intergalactic Dating Agency operates under strict parameters, and Tritona would be vulnerable to worse sanctions if we flaunted transgalactic ordinances against unsanctioned contact.” The set of his jaw hardened. “And we’d be as bad as those we battled back home.”
Mael inclined his head in acquiescence. But what was the point of his commander’s Tritonyri nobility if Tritona was razed forever?
The beleaguered commander spun away toward the bridge. “I’ll contact the Big Sky Alien Mail Order Bride outpost and find out why my mate wasn’t at the rendezvous.” He glared back over his shoulder at Mael. “Do not take any random Earther females.”
“It was just an idea,” Mael muttered under his breath as Coriolis stomped away, bare feet thudding on the deck plates.
Alone in the hatch, Mael dropped to one knee to dangle his fingers in the water. Beloved Deeps, how he missed Tritona’s seas. Poisoned, septic, dying… And yet—his world. He would do anything to save it.
Even disobey his commander.
Closing his eyes, he reviewed his brief encounter with the Earthers and the Wavercrest compound. It would take time for Coriolis to connect with the IDA by approved channels, but the local outpost wasn’t far. A quick reconnaissance wouldn’t arouse suspicion, from Earthers or from the Tritonyri commander. Mael rose and padded down the corridor to his berth.
Tritonyri and Earthers had evolved along similar morphological lines—one of the reasons they’d matched via the Intergalactic Dating Agency. The only one who’d seen him as Tritonyri was the lone Earther female, but she was irrelevant.
Miss Blake, the male from the house had called her. Despite carrying the scent of the First Waters, she was everything that had ruined Tritona: suspicious, combative, afraid of the water. She must be avoided at all costs.
Although that prickly shell of hers made him curious about the soft bits she was hiding inside. Maybe he was a little hungry…
But diving too deep had gotten more than one curious Tritonyri in desperate trouble, and he had responsibilities that left no time for soft bits, hers or his. He needed to make a few changes before he left the Bathyal again, and this time he wouldn’t be cut adrift by one unsuspecting, sharp-tongued Earther female.
***
Ridley ended up adding another finger of Casa Dragones to her glass (hey, how often would she have the chance?) while listening to Lana explain how male seahorses, seadragons, and pipefish—all the same family—were the only male animals to get pregnant and give birth.
“Not including transmen who haven’t had hysterectomies,” Lana added quickly. “And then of course there are asexual females among lizards, snakes, and sharks that reproduce parthenogenically…” When Ridley squinted at her, Lana trailed off. “It’s been awhile since I had sex,” she muttered. “I won’t bore you with what my shocks do to a vibrator.”
When Thomas cleared his throat, Ridley turned toward him, perfectly ready to accept another drink. But he was focused on the doorway where a tall, willowy woman stood.
“Ladies, welcome to Wavercrest,” she said in a low, cultured voice. “I apologize for not being here to greet you. I hope Thomas has made you comfortable.”
The newcomer had to be Marisol Wavercrest. Although the most recent photographs Ridley had found online had been several years old, the Wavercrest heiress’s appearance was unmistakable. The olive hue of her skin was a startling contrast to the long fall of her hair, straight and pale as spider silk. Although she was as immaculately turned out as Ridley had imagined an heiress would be, from the coral-pink cashmere button-up turtleneck down to the matching ballet flats under the black palazzo pants, she entered the room slowly as if there were sharp tacks in the cute shoes. A furrow between her pale brows and thin brackets around her mouth made her look older, though not as old as the grandmother—also pictured until a few years ago—who had left her a fortune.
Thomas drifted up behind her with another champagne glass, although this one held none of the fun colors of Lana’s beverage. In fact, it looked like plain old water. She murmured her thanks as she faced Ridley and Lana. “I appreciate you coming all this way. I know you have a lot of questions, and I’ll do my best to tell you everything. As much as I’ve discovered, at least. Although I’m hoping you’ll be able to share with me too. It might take some time, but I’m confident we can come to some mutually beneficial answers.”
Ridley rolled the much depleted tumbler between her fingers. “The guy out front made it sound pretty urgent. I guess I was hoping we’d not waste too much time.”
Marisol tilted her head. “Guy out front? Do you mean Thomas?”
“No. The other guy. Outside, in the fountain. The half-naked guy? Hard body and kinda hard to miss.” Ridley trailed off as they both stared at her, perplexed. When they exchanged concerned glances, she bristled. “There was a half-naked guy standing in the fountain and he told me we needed to leave right away, that he’d come to collect you”— she gestured with her tumbler at Marisol—“and the rest of your household, which he apparently thought meant me.”
Marisol shook her head slowly, the silvery fall of her hair drifting around her shoulders. “I live here alone with Thomas. I haven’t seen anyone out front by the fountain.”
“Except for the mermaid,” Lana piped up.
Marisol frowned. “Thomas, if you would please go take a look. Perhaps one of the other potential syndrome patients tracked us down but is too shy to make himself known.”
“He didn’t seem the sort to be shy,” Ridley muttered.
“Depends on which half is naked,” Lana mused. “Since my symptoms started, I’ve found guys are way more jumpy than I always thought.”
Thomas eyed them all. “I will be setting the security system before I step out, so please stay within the house until I return.”
When he’d gone, Marisol shook her head. “I apologize for that. He doesn’t mean to be alarmist, but we do live far out, and Sunset Falls has a certain reputation for…strangeness.”
“Ley lines, cryptic phenomena, strange lights in the sky.” Lana bounced on the rubber toes of her Crocs. “I manage a New Age bookstore and gift shop in Taos, and when I updated the website with all of our crystals, our Montana sapphire page had a paragraph on the magic of Sunset Falls.” She blushed. “Sorry, I thought it was just some clever marketing.”
Marisol smiled at her. “Undoubtedly. But there are some oddities that haven’t been explained. Which is why we are gathered here.”
“The Wavercrest Syndrome,” Ridley said flatly. “What is it? I couldn’t find anything about it online.”
“Not even on the most obscure chat boards,” Lana agreed. “And I know a lot of obscure.”
“That’s because I just made it up,” Marisol said. “Not made it up because it’s imaginary, but I co
uldn’t find anything either and had to call it something.”
“Why our last name?” Lana asked.
“Because it seems to afflict people of a certain bloodline.” Marisol gestured them toward the cluster of chairs near the fireplace and they all settled in the small triangle. “I tracked down as many as I could, from all over the world. Most were dead ends.” She grimaced. “Some were just dead, whether from symptoms of the syndrome or not I couldn’t always tell. Some never responded to my inquiries, and maybe they just thought I was crazy.” From her slightly elevated position on the marble throne, she looked at them both in turn, and Ridley was mesmerized by the darkness of her eyes. Even this close, her pupils and irises were indistinguishable, so dark and fathomless was the other woman’s gaze.
The hated vertigo kicked in and Ridley swallowed hard, tasting the flood of adrenaline and excellent tequila like a shock prod on the back of her tongue.
Marisol Wavercrest might not be crazy, but she was…something.
Lana wriggled attentively to the front of her smaller but still luxuriously overstuffed chair. “You found me through that DNA testing company. I can’t believe we’re related. I mean, I knew we had the same name and all. My friends tease me about borrowing some rent money whenever your—our—name comes up in the news. But look at us. You all tall and glamorous, and me…not. We might as well be from different planets.”
Marisol smiled though the darkness in her eyes never changed. “From what I’ve figured out so far, it’s our DNA that’s causing our problems.”
“You don’t have my DNA,” Ridley said. “Because I don’t know my family.”
The words popped out without her intent and had a faintly accusatory snap, which she blamed on the extra tequila. But probably didn’t hurt to let the rich lady know that mucking around in people’s history uninvited wasn’t cool.
Marisol nodded slowly. “I had an investigation service running down ever-thinning leads on anyone with Wavercrest blood. Based on an ancestral affinity for water, the service tried checking likely individuals with lives or careers around the ocean—surfers, fishermen, marine biologists, scuba instructors…Navy SEALs.” She met Ridley’s sullen gaze.