by Tobie Easton
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.
Copyright © 2019 by Tobie Easton
IMMERSE by Tobie Easton
All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Month9Books, LLC. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-948671-23-1
ePub ISBN: 978-1-948671-24-8
Mobipocket ISBN: 978-1-948671-25-5
Published by Month9Books, Raleigh, NC 27609
Cover Designed by Beetiful Book Covers
Praise for the MER CHRONICLES
“This is a fresh and exciting new story that addresses realistic themes set in a fantastical world. Teens will be able to connect with Lia and be immersed in Easton’s world-building.”—School Library Journal
“We love this book about the descendants of The Little Mermaid! EMERGE has romance, humor, adventure and an amazing setting among the mansions of Malibu!”—Justine Magazine
“A tale so engulfing that it will have you on the edge of your seat … I would recommend Emerge to anyone who enjoys reading a tale about true love and of course, Mermaids. This is a fantastic read of what happens to Merpeople after the Little Mermaid’s story ends.”—San Diego Book Review
IMMERSE
“Immerse transports readers into an ocean of beautifully crafted words and riveting storytelling. It is a wonderful end to a truly magical series.”—Sasha Alsberg, #1 NYT bestselling author of Zenith
“Easton’s incandescent finale to her Mer Chronicles sparkles like the glittering scales of a mermaid’s tail. When you dive into her world under the sea, you won’t want to come up for air until you’ve read every last magical word. Fans will love this final installment of the Mer Chronicles!”—Jennieke Cohen, author of Dangerous Alliance
“A triumphant conclusion to the Mer trilogy. This is a series finale that has it all: sigh-worthy romance, nail-biting adventure, and a gripping story of two very different girls navigating the shifting tides of family and societal expectations.”—Kathy MacMillan, author of Sword and Verse
SUBMERGE
“Romantic, enthralling, lyrical. Submerge is nothing short of magical.”—Adriana Mather, New York Times bestselling author of How to Hang a Witch
“Expansive world-building and heart-thumping romance combine to make Submerge a delightful and gripping read. Fans of Tobie Easton’s Emerge won’t be disappointed, while new readers will love jumping right into the deep-end.”—Jennifer Brody, award-winning author of The 13th Continuum
“Tobie Easton is a master at creating compelling and vivid underwater worlds. Following her lovable heroine through another addictive mermaid tale was a pure joy.”—Emily France, author of Zen and Gone, and Signs of You, an Apple iBooks Best Book of the Month.
“Submerge dives deep into exploring right from wrong, good from evil, and the depths of eternal love. Readers will be hooked by the rich and believable Mer-world Easton creates.”—Jennifer Bardsley, author of Genesis Girl and Damaged Goods
EMERGE
“Romance, fantastical lore, and adventure—the most fun I’ve had reading in a long time!”—Wendy Higgins, USA Today and New York Times bestselling author of the Sweet Evil series
“Clever, well-written and insanely unique, Emerge brings us deep into the lives of mermaids, where coming of age has never been so magical.”—Award-winning author Jennifer Gooch Hummer
“An unforgettable siren song of characters who will hook your heart”—Skylar Dorset, author of the Otherworld series
“This clever twist on an old tale will hook readers with its humor and lure them in with its heart. A charming story filled with rich world building, authentic characters, and an irresistible and surprising romance”—Lori Goldstein, author of Becoming Jinn
To Daniel, who is an anchor, and who could teach us all a thing or two about being forever young.
Table of Contents
Praise for the MER CHRONICLES
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Etallee Leedis (Pronunciation Guide) for Clay
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Other Month9Books Titles You Might Like
Chapter One
Lia
I can almost pretend I’m at home. Even though the curtains are drawn, I’ve left the window open a crack, and the sea air breezes in off the Pacific Ocean. If I breathe deep and focus on my laptop screen, I can almost trick myself into believing I’m back in my room at home, working on some homework assignment. But I’m not. I’m hiding out. This isn’t my room—it’s the den at the back of an abandoned mansion, which is the only place secret enough for me to visit the love of my life. And the document on my laptop screen isn’t just some homework assignment—it’s my college application.
Well, one of them.
I stare at the glowing screen.
Philosopher and humanitarian Hubert Hill once said, “Uniqueness is the salt of life, for without it, human interaction would be without flavor.” Please explain how you feel your upbringing has made you someone who stands out from other applicants, and tell us what “flavor” you believe you would add to the campus community of our university. In short, what makes you unique?
Seriously, who comes up with this stuff? And what could I possibly say?
I grew up as a Mermaid who had never lived in the ocean. Being a part of Malibu’s hidden Community of land-dwelling Mer means that, for years, I had to keep a huge part of myself a secret from the kids at my human high school. Hiding all the time made it hard to get close to my human classmates, but it was worth it to live in
safety on land while the Mer world in the ocean was embroiled in war. This unique upbringing has given me an acute understanding of, and appreciation for, the interplay between cultures as well as the importance of adaptability and self-discipline, both of which I’ll apply to my academics in college. On campus, I’ll share the “flavor” of my heritage with the student body by hosting Mermaid-style galas, teaching my fellow classmates to make necklaces out of traditional nassa shells, and hosting Mermese sing-a-longs at alumni events.
Yeah, that’ll work. I roll my eyes, rein in my wandering thoughts, and stare at the blinking curser on the still-blank page. If I can’t be honest, how am I supposed to get these finished in the next … I glance at my computer’s clock … three hours?
“Why don’t you write about your family for that one?” Clay asks, reading the question over my shoulder, the worn toe of one of his Doc Martens pushing against the wheel of my chair. “Something about how being the middle child with a lot of sisters means you’ve, um … ‘grown adept at understanding the perspectives of others and learning from their strengths’?” He rests his chin right in the spot where my shoulder meets my neck, and the light stubble on his jaw grazes my skin.
My fingers fly across the keyboard, taking notes on what he’s said before the words disappear out the window on the salty ocean breeze.
“Pretty good, right?” he says, tone cocky.
I know he’s smirking before I even turn around.
When I do, I try to suppress my own smile. “You think you’re pretty smart, huh?”
“I don’t think—I know.”
“You’re ridiculous.” I keep my tone teasing, but now that I’ve turned to face him, he’s so close I have to hide the catch in my breath. He must hear it anyway, because his smirk widens to a full grin that lights his hazel eyes.
My gaze darts to the door. It’s closed. And locked. No one knows we’re here, but we’re being extra careful, just in case. We can’t get caught together.
Clay places a hand on either armrest of my swivel chair, and suddenly his strong frame surrounds me on all sides, enclosing the two of us together in our own private world. A world bordered by tan, muscular forearms. My gaze moves from the thin cotton of the vintage band T-shirt covering his broad chest up to the expression on his face—one filled with want. For me, I realize with a rush of excitement. The same rush I get every time he’s this close to me. Within seconds, he’s leaning in, his mouth taking mine in a kiss that makes my college apps a distant memory. His denim-clad legs press against my bare ones as his lips press firmly against mine. I wrap my arms around his neck as our kiss deepens.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Lunch time,” I murmur against his lips, then lean in for just one … two … three more kisses before I rise from my chair.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“I hear you, I hear you,” I say to the microwave before popping open its door and taking out the steaming bag. I pull the corners away from each other, and a whoosh of warm, buttery goodness hits my nose for the first time since I started living beneath the waves three months ago. Tides, I’ve missed popcorn.
Clay has settled onto the floor, so I join him there on the pile of blankets and couch cushions we’ve built in front of the fireplace. It’s more comfortable than making ourselves at home on some stranger’s furniture. I barely knew the family that used to lease this house from the Foundation. All I do know is they moved back Below as soon as the wars ended. Since then, most of the other families on this street have done the same. But every time we sneak here—me from the newly renovated palace under the ocean, Clay from his mom’s house in another neighborhood of Malibu—I worry someone will see us. If anyone from the Community catches me within sixty yards of Clay, I’ll be thrown in prison for fifty years. Longer if they find out I’ve restored his memories of me—his memories that I’m a Mermaid. Still, not sneaking here, not seeing Clay as often as I possibly can, that would be worse. When we’re in this little den, with its pine-paneled walls and thick-woven rugs, I want time to freeze.
I hold the open bag out to Clay, but he gestures for me to go first. I grab a kernel and pop it into my mouth. Yum. Definitely better than college apps. Once I’ve grabbed a few more, Clay reaches in for a handful.
“Want some water?” he asks as he munches. I nod, and without getting up, he leans back, his T-shirt riding up his toned stomach as he swings open the door of the mini-fridge and grabs a water bottle. A couple weeks ago, I found the fridge up in the attic and brought it in here. We knew if we kept wandering around the house, we’d up the odds of someone seeing us; camping out here is safer.
A yellow kernel arches toward my face, and I dodge away from it without thinking.
“Hey!” Clay says, scandalized. “Don’t waste it.” Luckily, it landed in my hair, so it’s not a total loss.
After popping it in my mouth, I grab another and launch it at Clay. Of course, he manages to catch it in his mouth. “And that’s how it’s done,” he says, looking very satisfied with himself. I throw the next one and he swerves to the right to catch it. Three more slam dunks, then he finally misses one. It bounces off his chin and into my lap.
“Looks like this one’s all mine,” I say, holding it up and dancing it around in front of his face before tossing it into my mouth.
“Not fair,” Clay says. He lunges toward the bag of popcorn, but I hold it back, out of his reach, a laugh escaping my lips at his mock-ferocious expression. He leans across my body as he makes another grab for it, and this time he falls (maybe not so accidentally?) against me, catching himself with his arms so that he hovers over me.
The air between us thickens with electricity. I tuck a strand of my long hair behind my ear right before Clay dips his head down and catches my lips in a kiss. Our mouths fused together, he shifts his weight so his hands are free again—free to skim up and down my arms, to my cheeks to my neck to my waist, where they hold me, firm and solid, fingers spread wide. One of my own hands runs along Clay’s back, across his shoulder blade. My other still holds the popcorn bag, which a small part of my brain finds ridiculous, but the rest can’t focus on popcorn because … Clay. So close. Hands and lips and—
“You should get back to work,” he whispers, pulling his mouth just far away enough to form words but no farther.
“Can’t. Busy,” I say, tilting my head up and kissing him again. Several minutes later, he pulls back for a second time.
“I am not going to be the reason you miss your deadline, Nautilus,” he says. This time when I tilt my head up, he covers his mouth with his hand, palm out. I try to pout but laughter spills out instead.
“Mean,” I tease. He untangles his body from mine and stands up, helping me to my feet.
“Yes, I’m a terrible, terrible person who wants you to get into college.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and steers me back to my chair.
I sit, staring again at the intimidating screen. “Am I even going to get to go to college?”
“Not if you don’t send in your applications.” Clay stands behind me, his hands still resting on my shoulders.
“I’m serious.” I’ve always pictured myself going to college. Carrying a stack of books toward some beautiful brick building. College-Lia is supposed to wear one of those cool college sweatshirts and be smarter and more mature than High School-Lia. Up until eight months ago, my post-high school plan was all set: like my three older sisters, I’d be attending Pepperdine University and making the ten-minute commute from home, so I could still relax in my tail in the evenings and on weekends. But now … “After tomorrow morning, everything will change—again—and who knows what my life will even be like by the time college acceptance letters come in spring?”
The hands on my shoulders begin a reassuring massage. “If you want to go to college next year, I’m sure your parents will support that.”
“I’m not. I didn’t want to move Below, and they made me do that.” Sure, they did it to
garner public support for our family so they could ascend to the throne and ensure Merkind didn’t fall into anarchy. But the result’s the same.
“Yeah, but after tomorrow they’ll be queen and king, officially, and they won’t have to worry so much about winning the public’s favor,” Clay says, still kneading my tense shoulders.
Tomorrow is the coronation. An image rises in my mind of me riding alongside my sisters down the glittering streets in New Meris, toward the gleaming white coral and ice palace where my parents will be crowned in a spectacular ceremony in front of thousands of assembled Mer. My shoulders creep up toward my ears even as the pads of Clay’s thumbs and fingertips skillfully try to press them back down.
“Or maybe it’ll get worse and the orstitii”—that’s Mermese for the council or parliament—“will insist I continue my education Below, and my parents will agree because they won’t understand why it’s such a big deal that I study on land next year.” It’s not like they know I want to share my college experience with Clay; they don’t even know that he remembers who I am. “After all, in their minds, I could go to a human college anytime.” Now that all Mer have our immortality back, I could go a hundred times. But Clay can’t.
His thoughts must drift to the same place mine do—what it means that he’s human and I’m not—because his hands stop moving on my shoulders as his gaze grows unfocused. I don’t know what to say to comfort him, so I tilt my head against his hand.
“Well,” he says, and I can practically hear him muster his optimism, “that’s why we have to find a way to make Project Mud work.”
I came up with the name. ’Cause what happens when you put clay in water? It turns into mud, get it? Okay, so it’s not the sexiest code name ever, but it makes me laugh.