Oceanborn

by Amalie Howard

  “I don’t. Have you done it to anyone I know?” she persists. God, she’s annoying when she wants to be, but I know that if I don’t answer, she’s not going to back down.

  “Kevin.”

  “Our boss, Kevin? From the Marine Center? What? When?”

  “When I needed the boat in the middle of the night last year,” I say. “And I didn’t do anything other than to suggest that he hadn’t seen me. Satisfied?”

  She nods and reassumes her position, staring at the puffy white clouds floating above us. “So you can glimmer anyone you want?” she asks after a minute. “How come you can’t just glimmer Cara into permanently shutting her trap? That would be all kinds of awesome.”

  “Because it’s not technically allowed.” I see her frown. “We aren’t allowed to influence human will for our own gain. It kind of has to be approved in advance by the High Council in Waterfell, unless it’s a life-or-death situation.”

  “But you just did, with Mr. Andrews.”

  “For you. Worth the risk, and totally life-or-death situation.”

  “Oh.” Jenna chews on her lip and turns her head to me, barely cracking a smile at my lame joke. “Thanks...for looking out for me, I mean.”

  “I’ve always got your back, Jenna. Just like you’ve always got mine.”

  She flushes and looks away, as if embarrassed by the compliment. At that moment, the bell rings, announcing the end of class. It doesn’t take long before our sliver of courtyard heaven is no longer vacant. Jenna waves Sawyer over, but before he reaches us, Lo in tow, she leans toward me, her eyes shaded.

  “So, are you going to do it?” she whispers. “What we were talking about before? Summoning your mother?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure that’s the right thing to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I sigh, watching one of the white clouds morph into an ominous gargoyle shape above me. Maybe it’s my imagination or maybe the silhouette is a total coincidence, but I can’t shake the sudden shiver that makes gooseflesh erupt all over my skin.

  8

  A Kiss Is Just a Kiss

  “Absolutely not! I will not have you knowingly put yourself at risk.”

  “Echlios,” I say softly. “I’d rather have you by my side than the alternative.” I squeeze his shoulder, meeting his furious gaze with an unbending one of my own. “You are my adviser and I trust your judgment. But I am your queen, and you must trust me that this is the right thing to do. We have three months left. Time is ticking, and Lo’s memory loss is becoming more permanent by the second, which means the more we delay, the less chance we have of him remembering who he is. Summoning her is the only way to find them...to get them to come to us. We need to get on the offensive, not be on the defensive all the time.”

  “I cannot agree. It’s too risky.”

  “It’s all we have.” I can sense him vacillating between his protective instincts and knowing that it’s a valid option. “I’ll meet her in a public place, with you and Soren there. If she refuses to cooperate, the silver lining is that you’ll be able to track her when she leaves.”

  “You’re going to let her leave?” Speio blurts out.

  “I’m not going to kill her, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

  “But...that’s the law. She’s an exile.”

  “We’re not in Waterfell, Speio.” I swallow hard, aware of the sudden ugly feeling swimming in the pit of my stomach. It was easy to fight Ehmora—an enemy of my father’s court and a traitor. It would not be so easy to fight the woman who had brought me into this world, regardless of her disloyalties. “Look, I want to find Cano, deal with him and figure out how to fix Lo. If we kill her, we can’t do any of those things. Right, Echlios?”

  “Agreed,” Echlios says after a while. The tension leaves my body on a slow, relieved exhale. Despite my earlier bravado, I wouldn’t want to face my mother alone and without Echlios’s blessing. “But we do it my way. I will send for more of the guard.”

  “Echlios, soon,” I urge. “We can’t afford to wait.”

  “Yes, my queen.”

  I walk out to the patio. The sky is a pale blue color without a swatch of white marring its perfection. Sitting on the edge of the pool, I dangle my legs in the warm salt water, watching the sun shimmer across its surface. I can’t believe it’s already been a few weeks since we’ve been back. On the one hand, it feels like we never left and that the entire summer never even happened. But then I think about Lo, and everything comes back in a wild, uncontrolled rush. I left him here at the mercy of Cano and my mother. Cano’s end game still isn’t clear—he hurt Lo, probably to get to me and to destabilize the Waterfell courts with my absence. But to what gain? Is he trying to align with Ehmora’s old court? Build more hybrids? Expose Waterfell?

  “Hey, Riss.” Speio crouches down beside me, his white-blond hair falling into his face, one eye screwed shut against the sunlight. “There’s a pool party at Jack’s for his birthday. You want to go?”

  I lie back on my elbows and shake my head. Jack Ryan is a loud, outgoing boy from our advanced math class, and he runs with some of Cara’s crowd. “Think I’m just going to stay here.”

  “Jenna isn’t going?” Speio asks.

  “She has an away game. The hockey team left yesterday.”

  Speio cocks his head. “How come you didn’t want to play? I mean, you loved field hockey. It’s not like they don’t need the extra help, especially since Sarah Winters had to quit.” Apparently it had been a Dover-wide scandal at the start of the year. Our goalie Sarah’s parents got divorced over the summer—her father had an affair with her tutor—and she kind of lost the plot, big-time. She almost dropped out of school, but her grandparents forced her to come back. Needless to say, being down a goalie wasn’t doing much to boost team spirit.

  “I don’t have time for field hockey, Speio. You know that. It’s already been a month. We’re here for Lo, and that’s it. Either way, we’re gone in three months.” I stare at him. “You go, though. It’ll be fun.”

  “You sure? Echlios sort of said that I had to stay with you. But I guess I want to go.”

  “Oh,” I say, squinting, wondering why he’s gone such a dark shade of red. “Right. So, who are you going to see at this party that’s putting you all into a tizzy?”

  “No one.”

  “Doesn’t sound like no one to me,” I tease.

  If possible, Speio flushes even redder. “Yes, well, I’m friends with Jack, and, um, Rian’s going to be there.”

  “Who?”

  “New girl, remember? She’s in my English group. She’s...new,” Speio says in a choked voice. “Anyway, she asked me if I was going and I said yes, so I guess I’m going.”

  “So I guess you’re going,” I say, watching as tiny blue lights burst in pinprick fireworks along his arms. “Wow, that bad?” I vaguely remember the new girl from class—a slim, quiet-looking brunette—but at the time, I was too caught up in other things to notice any other details about her. Although it seems that Speio certainly did.

  “What? No. I mean, she’s a nice girl. That’s all. And she has no friends here. She’s from New York, staying with her relatives while her parents are building wells in Indonesia for a year.” He shoots me a sidelong glance. “She seems nice.”

  “You said that,” I say, grinning at his discomfort. “As long as Echlios cleared her, I’m fine with you doing your thing.”

  “I’m not doing anything.”

  “Wow. You must really like her,” I say. “Well, here’s some free advice that a good friend of mine once gave me—humans can fall for us hard, so be careful.”

  Speio purses his lips. “Who said that?”

  “You did, dummy. Last year, remember? When I was asking you about Dvija? Coming of age and b
onding?”

  “It’s not like that,” he says, standing abruptly. “So, you sure?”

  “Yes,” I say. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I singsong as he walks around the corner. I can’t see him, but I can feel his answer pulsing back to me along the wind. I laugh to myself—it would be funny if I could translate that particular Aquarathi swearword into its English equivalent.

  Leaning back on the cool concrete tiles, I close my eyes. A whole afternoon to myself...what more could I ask for? I finished all my homework, already read The Importance of Being Earnest as well as the three other books on the curriculum, and I wrote out a detailed proposal for my ocean-cleanup drive coming up in a few weeks. I’d busied myself just so I wouldn’t have to think about anything else, namely my mother. Now that the idea about summoning her is in my head, I can’t stop thinking about it. And waiting on Echlios to coordinate an army of protection is killing me, but I promised him that I would wait.

  My cell phone buzzes on the table, and my heart does a little flip-flop at the name on the screen. It’s Lo.

  I OWE U A DATE. YOU AROUND?

  SURE, I text back. He’s as good a distraction as any. WHERE TO?

  SCRIPPS. PICK U UP 1 HOUR.

  Scripps is a local beach break that’s perfect for beginners. It’s also way less crowded than La Jolla Shores with good wave quality. Typically more congested in the summer months, it shouldn’t be too bad this time of the year, which means less chance of a repeat entourage from our date at the Crab Shack. Already clad in a bathing suit, I don’t need to get ready, but vanity forces me inside to do a quick check.

  My human eyes look more green than hazel today, but it’s probably because of my purple-colored T-shirt. I drag a brush through my salt-tousled dark blond hair, then swipe on some lip gloss and deliberate changing into another swimsuit. Not that the one I’m wearing isn’t appropriate, but it’s more on the sturdier side as opposed to the sexier side of things. I know I’m working on winning Lo over, but there’s a fine line between sexy and stupid. I shrug and decide to leave it on. The last thing I need surfing is for a string bikini to come undone or to ride up midwave. Talk about awkward. I replace my faded cutoffs with a pair of nylon boardies and head out back to grab my shortboard.

  “Hey, Soren,” I say, poking my head into the living room. “I’m going to Scripps for a bit, okay? Speio’s at Jack Ryan’s house. I’m meeting Lo.”

  Her eyes narrow a fraction, but then she nods. “Nerissa, be careful. No risks.”

  “Of course. I think we’re just surfing.” A loud car horn interrupts me. “That’s Lo. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

  Tucking my board under one arm, I give my face one last check in the mirror before heading outside. I stack the board into the back of Lo’s black truck next to his eight-foot longboard and climb into the passenger seat. The last time I was in this car, I was squished between Lo on one side and Jenna and Sawyer on the other. Let’s just say that there was no room between our bodies whatsoever. The thought of it makes me flush, even though there’s more than enough room between us now.

  “Hey,” I say, breathless, which has nothing to do with the fact that he’s shirtless, and shoeless, too, I notice. His hair looks like it’s been combed with his fingers, and a pair of silver-rimmed aviator sunglasses are perched atop his nose. He’s the epitome of surfer-boy hotness, and even if he’s forgotten how to surf, he’s got the look down pat.

  “Hey,” Lo says, his teeth flashing white in his tanned face. I’m kind of glad that I can’t see his eyes with the complete sensory overload happening. “Figured we could start that whole getting-to-know-each-other thing. I’m glad you were around. Wasn’t sure if you were going to Jack’s party or not.”

  “Didn’t really feel up to it,” I say, buckling my seat belt. “How come you didn’t go? I’d have thought that was your scene.”

  “More like Cara’s scene,” he says. “But she’s at an away game this weekend, so I wasn’t feeling it, either.” He glances at me. I try to ignore the ensuing twinge at Cara’s name and the fact that she’s at a game playing in my place as center striker. Lo frowns. “Didn’t you used to play hockey? I mean, that’s what I heard. Someone said that you were cocaptain last year, and even though you guys lost the finals, you were single-handedly responsible for getting them there.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” I say. “Team effort, you know. And I needed a break from hockey this year. I do miss it, but I need to focus on stuff at the Marine Center while I’m here.”

  Lo shoots me a look. “While you’re here? You planning to leave any time soon? You just got back.”

  “No, not planning to leave,” I amend quickly. “It’s just that my guardian’s job is unpredictable, so we go where the work is. We’re back because he has unfinished business here, so when that wraps up, we leave again.”

  “Back to South Africa?” he asks. It occurs to me that Lo has been asking questions about me, and the thought makes me smile inwardly. But then I’m distracted as he pulls hand over hand on the steering wheel to make a left turn. I studiously ignore the way his right biceps tightens and the lean golden mass of muscle beneath his arm running all the way down to the waistband of his pants.

  “Yes,” I manage, trying to control my body’s response.

  “Well, I hope you stay.”

  “I hope we do, too.”

  We find a parking spot on a side street and make our way down to the beach. As I expected, the beach isn’t too crowded, even for a Saturday. Most beachgoers tend to stay near the lifeguards on La Jolla Shores. Lo spreads a blanket on the sand and starts to stretch, bending over to touch his toes and twisting his body to the side. I look away, counting the seconds between the waves and focusing on the number of incoming sets. They’re three to four feet high, so nothing big, but they’ll still be fun.

  “You’re not stretching?” Lo asks.

  “I’m good.”

  “Sawyer says you need to stretch before getting on the board,” he says. “Here, try this.” Before I can move, Lo is standing behind me, his palms sliding up my rib cage and pushing my arms to the sky. “Now bend to the side,” he says into my ear, one arm plastered against mine and his left palm like a brand across my ribs. I bend, my body on fire from the light touch. He switches hands, pushing me to the right. I can feel gooseflesh erupting beneath his fingers. “You cold?”

  “No,” I choke out. “Come on, let’s go.” I rip out of his grasp, nearly tumbling over as I grab my board and secure the leash to my ankle. I don’t even bother to see if it’s waxed—just want to put some space between us so I can breathe.

  Lo jumps in next to me, skimming across the white water with his board, and we paddle out together. His board is a little more difficult to handle in the breaking waves because of its size, but he keeps pace with me easily. The water is still balmy from summer, not that it makes any difference to me, and I love the silky, salty feel of it against my skin. Once we’re past the breakers, I sit astride my board and eye Lo, who has done the same.

  “Let’s see what you got,” I tell him.

  “Right now? What about you?”

  “You saw what I’ve got the other day at RUSH. Now it’s your turn. Come on, paddle, paddle, paddle!”

  “You’re going to laugh. I’m really bad.”

  “I’m sure you’re not,” I say. “You used to school me, put it that way.”

  “If you say so,” he says dubiously.

  “I do. Now go.”

  I watch as he flips around to lie facedown on his board and begins paddling furiously to catch an oncoming wave. He misses it as it shoots beneath him, building and then breaking a few feet out. After a second, he resumes paddling to catch the wave coming behind the one he lost and pops up deftly onto the deck of the board just as the top lip curls over. And then he’s gone, whisked
away along the face of the wave, his arms pinwheeling in midair.

  “Woo-hoo!” I yell before paddling for a wave of my own and riding it in toward Lo. “That was great! You’re a natural,” I tell him. “Even if you don’t remember, the feeling that you have when you’re on a board doesn’t go away. That’s in here.” I jab in the general vicinity of my chest.

  “Thanks. Normally I never get up on my first wave,” he says, his face glowing. “Must be your vibes.”

  We ride a few more waves, catching some and losing some, until we’re both breathing hard from all the effort. On the last wave, which we decide to take together, I detach my leash and ride my board as close as possible to Lo’s before hopping up onto the wide deck of his long board. Tandem-surfing, we’re facing each other as the board barrels across the front of the wave. Mesmerized by the delighted look in those deep blue eyes, I slip my hand around Lo’s side, my fingers slick against his wet skin, and pull him closer. My left foot is wedged in between his legs, and my right leg on the outside of his left. Every inch of my skin is attuned to every inch of his, and it’s as if time stops for a second with the wind rushing in our ears and our hearts beating in unison.

  The moment is perfect for a short time until I’m distracted by a hulking figure at the end of the pier—the same one I saw at the surf meet. I lose my balance just as the board wobbles and flips out from under us, tossing us both into the crashing surf. I dive off one side as Lo falls backward on the other, and I put my hands up to cover my head from the board. Lo’s not so lucky as a heavy thump is followed by a yelp of pain. The edge of the flying board has caught him square on the temple, and a thin trickle of blood makes its way down his hairline.

  “Oh my God, Lo,” I shout, standing in the chest-high water, and hop my way over the breaking surf to where he’s standing, blinking and touching his head as if he’s oblivious of where he is. “Are you all right?”

  “A little woozy.”