The Vicious Deep

by Zoraida Cordova

  “I can’t—you guys—I’m trying to save our skins and that’s the thanks I get.”

  Dad laughs, a real chuckle like I haven’t heard in a long time.

  •••

  Arion’s ship bobs in the steady water. Layla stands talking to him. I can see her from here. My stomach tightens in that nervous way before you see the person you’ve been thinking about for days, the person whose face you see right before you think you’re going to die. Because that’s what it was like. Before the wave hit, before the merrows attacked each time, before Elias had a death grip around my windpipe, I saw her face.

  Kurt stands at the deck, waiting for us. He holds out his hand, and I look at it for a second too long before realizing that he’s trying to take my bag.

  “Are you angry with me?” His violet eyes scan my face for any lies. His mouth is tight. “For letting—”

  “My mom packed some beef jerky and a clean pair of shorts.” I give him my best smile, because I know that I need Kurt on my side. I hand him the bag, but first I take out the piece of the trident. I don’t want to let it out of my sight. “Where’s Thalia?”

  “Below deck, sleeping.” I don’t know if the tension across his forehead is because we both know there’s nothing we can do to help Thalia feel any better, or because he notices Gwen standing behind me. They nod at each other without saying a word, and we gather around the ship’s captain.

  “Lady East,” Arion says, bowing to Gwen.

  “Not anymore, I think,” she says.

  Arion looks confused, and I offer, “I’ll give you all the riveting details later.”

  “I see you’ve acquired the quartz scepter. I’ve sent word to Toliss. Soon everyone will know you are not to be trifled with.”

  “Oh, thanks.” Really, you shouldn’t have.

  “Where to, Tristan?” Arion steadies his arms, ready to steer us in any direction.

  Layla folds her chin on her hands and stares out at now-dark Coney Island. The rides have probably been turned off for hours. The only light comes from the sliver of moon that hits the deck and from the oil lamps that are hung around the ship.

  “The Florida Keys,” I say. It’s an amazing feeling, this is. It’s different from being captain of the swim team or just a good lifeguard. It’s having people look to me for real answers. The sudden shift of the boat takes a second to adjust to.

  “The Florida Keys it is.”

  I hold on to the hilt of the trident.

  Layla laughs. “It’s like a giant rock candy.”

  “I wouldn’t try to put my mouth on it,” I say. I can feel the glow of it down to my bones. We step back, surprised, as it shoots sparks of light.

  I look to Arion, who laughs the way he does at my clumsy humanity. “Don’t worry, sire,” he tells me. “It is always good to have a little more light when heading into such dark seas.”

  This book would not have been possible without Adrienne Rosado, friend, agent, and were-mongoose. We are the proverbial little-engine-that-could.

  My mother, Liliana Vescuso, the most selfless and hardworking woman in the world. Thank you for having the strength to leave your homeland to start a new life in New York City. For giving me everything I ever wanted, even when I didn’t always deserve it.

  Para mi Mami Aleja, por ser el corazón de nuestra familia y porque siempre ha creído en mí.

  Joe Ponytail, Tio Danny, Tio Rob, Ne, Adrianna, Ginelle, Adrian, Gastonsito, and my awesome little brother, Danny. I couldn’t ask for a better family and support system.

  The wonderful staff at Sourcebooks Fire—the Duo of Awesome, Leah Hultenschmidt and Aubrey Poole; Kristin Zelazko and the production peeps; Tony Sahara for the breathtaking cover; and my publisher, Dominique Raccah.

  Mr. David A. Johnson, the best teacher in New York City. You teach more than social studies. You teach us that we can be our very best selves. Yes, the train is moving.

  To the awesome English department at Martin Van Buren High School (2001–2005) for letting me express myself, even if it meant painting on the department walls.

  Meg Kearney, a lover of words and writers. Thank you for all the writing opportunities you’ve given so many of us over the years. You are a goddess to the writing community.

  Ann Angel for reading my very first manuscript and showing me what to look for when self-editing.

  Sarah Jane Jaramillo for the beautiful photography portraits.

  Kelly, TS, Hannah, Steph—who were my cheerleaders, outline readers, and playlist givers.

  And to the real Röaan Recklit for every nugget of inspiration I’ve taken from you. But especially for knowing I could do this, even though I always threatened to quit.

  Write on, like,

  Zoraida

  Zoraida Córdova was born in Guayaquil, Ecuador, where she learned to speak English by watching Disney’s The Little Mermaid and Michael Jackson’s Moonwalker on repeat. Her favorite things are sparkly, like merdudes, Christmas, and New York City at night. She is currently working on feeding your next mermaid fixation.

  You know you want to visit her at www.zoraidawrites.com.