Vast and Brutal Sea

by Zoraida Cordova

  “A lot of demons and solitary fairies call the sewers home,” Marty says. “There’s plenty of room, and they’re mostly undisturbed by humans.”

  He shines an industrial flashlight on the ceiling, and tiny, decrepit winged creatures scatter.

  “I can’t believe I’ve lived here sixteen years and never knew this existed.”

  “There are entire worlds in the in-betweens of human cities,” Frederik says.

  “Not everyone can pass for human aboveground, you know,” Marty says.

  “Then what’s the point of coming here?” I ask. “If all you’ll ever do is hide?”

  Our feet splash in the trickle of water that seems to run down every tunnel. Whispers and strange clucks echo around us, and every now and then, heads peek out of their hiding places to get a look at us before going back to their business.

  “Some of these people—and I use the term lightly—come from different war-torn dimensions. We call them demons because our world has no name for them. The fairy courts have their own banished and solitary fey. Runaway witches. Lone werewolves and vampires. They seek refuge in the shadows of this city to try to make a new life.”

  “What about you, Frederik?” Kai asks. “What were you seeking refuge from?”

  Then Frederik moves right beside her. “My job is to keep the peace. That’s why the Thorne Hill Alliance exists.”

  No one points out that he totally evaded the question.

  Kai shakes her head. “I can’t imagine what keeping any sort of peace is like when there are so many different folk.”

  “I’m not saying it’s perfect,” Frederik says roughly. “Make a right.”

  We stop at a lightless tunnel. Even the flashlight is useless. Frederik reaches out into the black wall. The doorbell sounds like it’s announcing the end of a basketball game. A shape molds out of the door, like it lives inside the metal. Filmy skin clings to the large skull. It sniffs the air deeply. Then again. And again.

  When it opens its mouth, a black tongue slithers out.

  I whisper to Marty, “What. Is. That?”

  The skeleton thing growls at first. It sucks its teeth, long strings of saliva clinging to the lips like a cat’s cradle. “Ah, Frederik. I’m so glad you’ve finally accepted our invitation. However, I regret that we are about to begin.”

  “I’m sorry, Qittar,” Frederik says, taking on his slow, friendly tone, “but we’re here for Shelly. It’s a matter of life—”

  The skeleton man sucks in his breath again, and this time he chokes on it. “Why, Frederik, are you here to interrupt the sacred ritual of Selene?”

  “Not exactly—” I say.

  The voice becomes huskier, deeper. “Do you think this is a trivial thing? Some of our candidates only have a hundred years left before they can no longer breed, and you have the gall to stop this from happening?”

  “Wait a minute, time-out,” I say. “Is this, like, a make-out party?”

  Qittar gulps down more air and pushes himself further out of the solid door, bony hands against the black film that allows him to protrude from the strange metal. “I smell something fishy.”

  “That’s racist, bro.”

  “Tristan,” Marty says, “now’s not the time to be charming.”

  Though let’s face it, I’m always pretty charming.

  I step between my friends. “Listen, Mr. Qittar. I’m sorry we’re late. I really need to speak with Shelly. She’s important to our cause.”

  “I know you,” he says.

  I’m not so sure what he means by that. “This is the first time I’ve taken a stroll down this neck of the sewers.”

  “No, I’ve heard your name. Yes, yes! You, the Sea Prince fighting for the land he loves. For the girl he loves. You, betrayed by your own blood. I have heard of you. What a delectable candidate.” Qittar traces a bony finger along his jaw. When his white eyes settle on Kai, he can barely get a sentence out. “I do…I do believe there’s still time!”

  A second figure pushes its way through the door. He has a small, long skeletal head with pointed ears and two sharp front teeth. His voice is high pitched as he shouts, “Qittar! We must begin while the moon is in place!”

  “Don’t remind me of things I already know, Qamir!”

  The skele-bros pull themselves out of the door.

  “They’re not buying it,” I tell Frederik. “I’m going to break down the door.”

  Before he can stop me, I slam shoulder first into the metal. The pain blinds me. I swallow a scream and stand back up.

  “It’s solid steel molded by fairy fire,” Frederik says.

  Then the door opens and the skele-bros stand beside it. They’re the same height with skin that clings to their bones without the imprint of muscle. They’re walking, talking mummies. Without the door standing in our way, they smell like it too.

  Qittar ushers us into a dimly lit room with plush, black velvet walls and elaborate chandeliers. A quartet of blue-faced men fill the room with deep, vibrating music that gives the room a pulsing effect.

  Two dozen or so tables are lined up in rows of three. A silver bell and a long-stemmed black rose sit in the exact middle of each one. Different men—of sorts—take empty seats. A hard nudge shoves me toward an empty table.

  I nod at the fellow beside me. He has small tusks protruding from his square jaw. His hair is down to his back in a thick, black twist. He winks a silver eye and fixes the front of his T-shirt.

  “First time?” he asks.

  In front of me, a large slime-man passes gas and I hold my hand to my nose, nodding. “Yep. You?”

  “I was here last month,” Tusks says.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you doing underground speed dating? You’re a pretty good-looking dude.”

  He points to the small tusks on his chin. “My mom says it was by the mercy of the Blood Goddess Hecinda that I didn’t inherit my father’s nose.”

  I snort then apologize.

  “It’s quite all right. I’m just doing this for my parents. Our dimension was turned into a black hole by a nasty conjurer. Now most of us live in the Bronx. White Plains. But my mom’s all like ‘You need to bring home a nice Vasiki woman.’ I’m related to all the women in my clan. What about you? What’s wrong with you?”

  There’s an essay I don’t want to write. “I’m Tristan.”

  “Ewin.”

  Then his eyes fall on someone, and when I turn to see, he’s got his eyes fixed on Kai. She sweeps her hair over one shoulder and twists one end over and over.

  “Oh,” Ewin says. “Oh, I like her.”

  “Welcome!” Qittar says to the crowd. He has the charm of a used car salesman with a lot full of lemons and a one-way ticket to Mexico in his pocket.

  A man covered in hair from head to toe takes a mustache comb out of his back pocket and combs the hair on his neck.

  I glance at Frederik one table across from me and hope that my alarm is conveyed in my eyes. He shrugs and holds out a hand that is meant to pacify me but only makes me fidget in my seat.

  “Don’t be nervous,” Ewin says to me.

  “Gentlemen,” Qittar says. “Ladies. Welcome to the tried and true tradition that is the ritual of the Goddess Selene.” He pulls the microphone cord to move with him as he walks through the tables like a game-show host.

  “For millennia, our order has created trusted matches. Helen and Menelaus. Catherine and Henry. Brad and Jennifer.”

  “Those are not very good examples,” I whisper to the guy on my right.

  “Now! These are the rules. The rotation starts when the lights flicker. Qamir, my apprentice, will hit the buzzer. You have one minute to be sure this is the mate for you.”

  A nervous rustle of clothes suggests that his challenge has been accepted.

  “And when you kno
w she is the one, you give her the black rose. If she takes it, then our work here is done and done. Nothing makes me happier than matches made underground. Sí, me gusta, xi huan, ani ohev! ” His chuckle drags on but stops abruptly. “If she doesn’t—then, not to worry! You get two more nights, not refundable of course. Yes, you with the fur?”

  Furry Man twiddles his fingers nervously as everyone turns to look at him. “This is my first time. I know there are three nights. But what if you don’t find your match in these three nights?”

  Qittar clenches his teeth in a fake smile. “Under the rare and extremely improbable chance that our beauties are not to your liking, then have no fear! We are a monthly ritual. Please see Qamir about a yearly discount at the door.”

  Someone else raises a hand, but Qittar acts like he doesn’t see it.

  Then, among the girls, I see her—Shelly! She’s in one of her oracle shrouds that remind me of the saris our neighbor Mrs. Patel wears. I know it’s Shelly—the pale white of her skin, the deep black eyes so much like those of the Tree Mother in the Vale of Tears. Except Shelly looks different. I only saw her two days ago. Is she taller? Did she lose weight? She sees Marty and Fred, and when she settles her eyes on me, it’s like I asked her to smell my armpit.

  The lights flicker and suddenly there’s a giantess sitting in front of me. She has one blue eye lined with a double cat’s tail and a huge fake eyelash. She bats it and takes my hand.

  “Una,” she says.

  “Dos-tres,” I say nervously, trying to pry my fingers from her viselike grip.

  “Strange name.” She smiles. Her dress is Pepto pink against her blue skin.

  “You look nervous. Do you want a massage?”

  Something about the cock of her single eyebrow has me blurting out, “No!”

  The buzzer hits and then we switch. Marty does his best penguin impression for a goth girl who doesn’t know which way to run. A lady in white skips me completely and goes straight to Frederik’s table. The vampire glances at me with a smug-ass smile.

  Off to the side, Una and the slime man have made a match. There’s radio applause from the DJ station where Qamir pushes buttons.

  “Kai!” I say when she sits across from me. “Thank God. Okay. Plan—When Shelly sits here, I’ll give her the rose. Then we make a break for it.”

  “I don’t think the skeleton men are going to be too happy about that.” She bites her lip. She’s still and keeps a hand over the hilt of her sheathed sword. “They take this very seriously.”

  “Then they should’ve just sent out Shelly when I asked.”

  The buzzer makes us both jump, and she gives me a warning glance.

  Finally, Shelly is at my table.

  “You look beautiful,” I say genuinely. “Did you do something with your hair? Not that you don’t always look nice.”

  A lion’s grumble sounds in her stomach. “You shouldn’t be here. This is an invasion of privacy.”

  “Shelly, you have to listen to me. I went to your sister, the Tree Mother, and she showed me things. I need you to put up a barrier so Nieve and Kurt can’t see me coming. We’re all connected. Even Kurt, that son of—Shelly, they could be looking at us right now!”

  She purses her lips and glares into my eyes. “They’re not. Not this moment, at least.”

  “Then you see?” My voice is on the verge of squeakiness. “I need you to help me make it stop.”

  “The oracles are not supposed to interfere.”

  I laugh. “Tell that to your big sister Lucine.”

  Bzzzzzzzz.

  She stares at the face of the black rose I’m extending. She knows that I’m right. She reaches out and takes it. The radio applause cheers as another couple gets together. Then I realize people are clapping in our direction. I nod my head at Marty and Frederik, who give each other a black rose. Frederik holds his hand out to Kai.

  Kai makes it halfway across the tables when a demon man grabs her by the wrist.

  “Hey!” I yell. “Let her go.”

  The demon man points a triangular nail at Qittar. “This is my match.”

  “I think it’s supposed to be a two-way street,” I say.

  Qittar shrugs and mumbles something that sounds like, “No refunds.”

  Demon Guy turns to me and I take a step back, fighting my gag reflexes when I see his face. Dozens of holes with worms sinking in and out like a stitch pattern.

  “Seriously?” I ask. “Even with this thing, how do you expect to get a date?”

  He growls, spit hanging between his lips like cobwebs blowing in the wind. A knife materializes in his hand. I lift my dagger to block his, but something—someone—grabs him from the back and flings him across the room.

  Ewin from the Bronx.

  The rest of the crowd lunges at the skeleton men, demanding their money back.

  Ewin motions to the door.

  “That’s solid metal,” I warn him, “forged by f—”

  He rams right through it, the door snapping out of its hinges. He winks a silver eye and holds out his hand to Kai.

  “All right,” I say, waving my hands between them. I lead the way out of the sewers, our feet marching to a synchronized rhythm mixed with the haunting echo of the blue-man orchestra behind us. “We have a barrier to put up, an attack to plan, and two worlds that need saving. Everyone, this is Ewin.”

  Marty laughs. “Just a regular Friday night.”

  We march down Surf Avenue past stores covered in graffiti tags and groups of people who wouldn’t evacuate if you told them a meteor was headed straight at their homes. They sit under the glass bus stops, drinking booze out of paper bags. When we pass by, they stare, blinking and rubbing their eyes, wondering if we’re real or if they’re just real drunk.

  Frederik and Marty live in the old Childs Building. It’s been a restaurant and a roller rink, and now it’s boarded up and covered in graffiti.

  Waiting outside is a group of the landlocked and the Thorne Hill Alliance.

  One of them is Penny, a hardworking mother who’s believed in me from the beginning. Her arms reach out into the rain, and she lets her hands shift back and forth between human fingers and tentacles. Each one of the landlocked is different. Some were banished because of something their parents did. Others because they made bad choices. There’s a guy with eyes the size of baseballs and a tiny fish mouth. His tank top says Hurricane Gym. Another guy the size of a sumo wrestler, with acid green skin, paces the boardwalk with his eyes trained on the waves.

  Someone whistles at me. Up above is Rachel, the demigoddess, sitting on the roof, her crossbow fully loaded. She’s flanked by men and women with black retracted wings that make me think of flying Vikings. Howls ring along the deserted beach, a reminder that it’s the night of the full moon and they’re restless, but they’re still here.

  When I was little, my dad said I was good at picking up strays because I always brought home a lost dog or a kitten. One time it was a pigeon with a broken wing. Another time, a rat with its tail bitten off. My mom didn’t like that one. But we took care of them.

  I’m going to take care of my army of strays.

  Penny shakes my hand. “I’m glad you’re back. The beach has been quiet, minus a handful of stragglers.”

  “Good. We have work to do.”

  When Penny notices Shelly, she gasps. Penny gets on her knees and takes Shelly’s hand.

  Shelly pats her hands gently, but I can tell she doesn’t like the attention. “There’s no need for that, child.”

  Shelly points a finger at me. “I hope when this is over, I don’t see you for a long time. You hear me? Central Park north of Sixty-sixth Street is off limits.”

  I scoff. “You can’t do that. Can you?”

  Frederik and Marty shrug and nod.

  “Shelly.” I kneel down to her. She gives m
e her cheek, but I’m used to her being cranky. “This is the reason you’re changing, isn’t it? Because your sister was killed in the Springs of Aurora.”

  She doesn’t have any quips for me because she knows I’m right.

  “I used to envy my sisters and their sight. Now…” Shelly’s black eyes concentrate on the space between my eyes. For a moment, she’s not there. Worry lines crease her forehead, and I’m afraid of what she’s seeing. I reach out, touch her hand, and she jumps. Then her sweet, motherly smile is back. “We’re not supposed to pick sides.”

  I kiss her cheek. “But I’m your favorite, I know.”

  “We’d best get inside. It’s getting too dark.” She pushes me away. “Draw an unbroken line of salt around the building. Not a skinny sprinkling over your shoulder. I mean a visible line. When the barrier is up, you’ll feel it.”

  “Where am I supposed to get that kind of salt?”

  “You’re the champion. Figure it out.”

  Marty pushes up the gate to let Shelly in. She whispers an ancient language so quickly that it’s like someone hit the Fast Forward button on her.

  “How are you supposed to put down salt if the ground is wet?” Kai asks.

  “It stopped raining,” I say. Then it hits me. One of the great things about being a merman who’s survived New York City blizzards. “The salt they use to melt snow. It’s the same thing as table salt. It just doesn’t clump up.”

  Marty wiggles his baseball cap. “I know where we can get some. Come with me.”

  •••

  Marty, Ewin, and I carry sacks of salt over our shoulders. Marty has a key to every building on the boardwalk. We got into the Cyclone stadium and traded the bags for an IOU favor to a vampire maintenance worker.

  “Is it clockwise,” Marty says, cutting off a corner of his bag, “or counterclockwise?”

  “She didn’t say.”

  Ewin takes a crystal from the bag and pops it on his tongue like candy.

  “That’s not—” Edible. If he can bust through enchanted doors, he can eat chemically processed road salt.

  “I’d go with clockwise,” Ewin says, “just to keep a natural flow. Make sure you’re inside the circle as you draw it, or you’ll have to do it again.”