by Anna Banks
After a few minutes of watching the gore, Galen pulls off his shirt. “What are you doing?” Toraf says.
“We should head toward shore. If Rayna’s smart, she’ll lure her to the water where she has the advantage.” They can already see that Rayna is doing exactly that. She’s made it past the pool, her arms roped around Emma’s neck, dragging her as she kicks and bites.
“But what advantage does she have over Emma, if Emma’s one of us and of Poseidon, on top of that?”
“Rayna knows what she is. Emma doesn’t. But I think now’s as good a time as any for her to know.”
A bolt of lightning strikes close on the beach, startling the girls from the melee. Emma recovers first and fills Rayna’s left eye with her knuckles, then slams a knee into her gut. When Rayna hunches over, Emma throws an uppercut to her chin, toppling her backward in the mud. Rayna rolls over and crawls toward the tide.
“What if Rayna gets her in the water and takes off with her?” Toraf says, peeling off his shirt in the rain.
Galen rolls his eyes. “She’s almost as slow as you. I’ll catch her.”
They plod down the waterlogged beach. Emma thinks she has the upper hand by dragging Rayna by the hair to the water. “Looks like Emma’s toying with the idea of drowning my fragile little princess,” Toraf says, frowning.
“Why don’t you ever call me my prince?” Galen says, feigning insult.
“Shut up, my prince. There, is that better?”
Galen laughs, but Toraf insists on defending his love. “I think everyone just misunderstands Rayna, you know? Sure, her passion sometimes comes off as—”
“Viciousness?” Galen offers.
“I was going to say, ‘rude.’”
“So, accusing Emma of killing her best friend was rude?”
“Among other things, yes.”
“It was evil and you know it.”
“I admit she could have been more tactful. But she was just trying to goad Emma into telling the truth—” Toraf stops short when they hear a splash. The dark head surfaces first, then the white one. The girls struggle to find their footing, bracing themselves against waist-high waves in knee-deep water.
The look on Rayna’s face is all he needs to see. Galen shakes his head. “Well, here we go.”
“You are one of us!” Rayna screeches, pointing at Emma. But Emma doesn’t notice the index inches from her eyeball. She stares into the water as if searching for something.
Toraf sticks his big toe in and nods to Galen. He can sense Emma.
Emma stays frozen as wave after wave smacks into her. She glances around her at the beach, past it to the house, then up at the storm. She wraps her arms around herself, settling her stare on Rayna as if she’s seeing her for the first time. As if she doesn’t know where she is or how she got there.
Rayna’s lip quivers. She hugs herself like Emma. “But … but if you’re one of us … that means you really could have saved…” Rayna shakes her head. “You didn’t even try! You let her die!”
“I tried!” Emma sobs. “He wouldn’t let go. It was just a game to him! He wasn’t even hungry!”
Galen gasps. She’s right. The way the shark writhed and pulled. The way it latched on to Chloe’s leg, instead of going for more meat. That shark tried to play with Emma. Chloe was just a means to an end. A sea-grass rope in a game of tug. Did Emma realize it at the time? Could she read the shark’s intentions, or did she think about it later? He shakes his head. These questions will have to wait—Emma is wavering like seaweed in high tide.
He sloshes into the water, wraps his arms around her. “It’s okay, Emma. I’ve got you.”
“What’s happening to me? Is it my head?”
He presses her cheek against his chest. “Shhh. Calm down, Emma. It’s not your head. This is your secret. What I know that you don’t.” He strokes her sopping hair, sets his chin on her head. When Rayna’s mouth drops open, he flashes her a warning look. Her eyes go wide. “What are you doing?” she mouths. He rolls his eyes. I wish I knew.
“What secret? I don’t understand. Not any of it,” Emma whimpers into the sanctity of his chest. Her whole body wracks with the force of her sobs.
“Emma,” he murmurs against her hair. “I’m sorry. This is a lot to take in. But this isn’t half of it. I want to show you the rest. Will you let me?” He strokes her cheek with the back of his hand. After a few deep breaths, she nods. He turns her around, wraps his arms around her waist, moves them away from Rayna.
He’s thought about this moment for days, trying to anticipate how Emma will react, how he should handle it. The possibility that she’ll be disgusted is very real to him now and more painful than he could ever imagine. She said she wouldn’t reject him anymore, but that was before he grew a fin. This could be the last time he holds her, the last time he feels the fire of her touch. He wants to savor the moment, to make the moment so much more, but Rayna is looking at him like he’s grown an extra head. He sighs, tightens his hold on Emma. No turning back now.
“Hold your breath,” he whispers in her ear.
“Hold my breath?” she gasps, peering down at the water.
He nods against her cheek, appreciating the silkiness of her skin, almost iridescent in the storm. “For now. But not always. Are you holding it?”
She nods.
He catapults backward—and under.
11
THIS CAN’T be happening. With his arms around my waist, I can’t see his face as he pulls me deeper and deeper. We slice through the water so fast I shouldn’t be able to keep my eyes open—but I can. We’re too far down to see the storm on the surface anymore, to hear the thunder reverberate. I should be freaking out. But just like earlier on the couch, Galen’s arms feel like a rope, a lifeline, all knotted with muscles wound tight around me.
The deeper we go, the darker it gets, but my eyes seem to adjust. In fact, they more than adjust—my vision sharpens down here. At first, it’s like someone turned off the lights—everything is just a shadow. But the shadows take shape, turning into fish or rocks. Then everything appears plain as day, as if someone turned the light back on. But we’re moving deeper, not closer to the surface. Where is the light coming from?
And where are we going? We pass schools of fish that dart out of our way. Larger ones ease to the side as if we’re driving a sports car on the interstate. How is Galen doing this? He’s got his arms full of me, so he’s not using them to swim. Even if he were, no one can swim this fast. I peer down to our feet—only, our feet aren’t there. Just mine. And a fin.
“Shark!” I scream, gulping down water, hoping he understands through the garble. We stop so fast, my hair whips ahead of us.
“What?” He tightens his grip and whirls us around in place. “I don’t see a shark, Emma. Where did you see it?”
“Down there—wait.” I look behind us, but it’s gone. Peering around Galen to see if it swam ahead of us—though I’m pretty sure a speedboat couldn’t pass us—I begin to question the real strength of my vision down here. No shark. “I guess we scared it away—what the?… How are you doing that? How am I doing it?” This isn’t how underwater sounds. Every word we say is clear, as if I’m sitting on his lap in his living room. It’s not muffled, like when you’re soaking in the bathtub and all you can hear is your heartbeat. There is no thrumming, no pressure in my ears. Just quiet.
“Doing what?” He faces me to him.
“I can hear you. You can hear me. And I see you, clear as day—but it’s not day, not even on shore. What’s happening, Galen?”
He sighs. How can he sigh? We’re underwater. “This is the secret Emma.” He nods toward our feet.
I follow his line of vision. And gasp. And gulp. And choke. The shark is back—and it has swallowed Galen’s entire lower body, all the way to his waist! It flicks its fin, fighting to stay attached to him.
“Not you, too!” I scream. I kick it as hard as I can with bare feet. Galen grimaces and releases me.
&nbs
p; “Emma, stop kicking me!” Galen says, grabbing my shoulders.
“I’m not kicking you, I’m kicking … I’m kicking … Ohmysweetgoodness.” Galen is the shark. The shark is Galen. What I mean is, there is no shark. There’s only Galen. His upper body is still there, big arms, chiseled abs, gorgeous face. But … his legs. Are. Gone. Not bit off, not swallowed. Nope, just replaced by a long silver fin. Nofreakingway.
I shake my head, wrench from his grasp. “Not happening. This is not happening.” I propel away from him, but he follows.
“Emma,” he says, reaching for me. “Calm down. Come here.”
“Nope. You’re not real. This isn’t real. I’m ready to wake up now.” I look to the surface. “I said, I’m ready to WAKE UP NOW!” I scream to myself, who must still be sleeping on Galen’s couch. But myself doesn’t wake up.
Galen glides closer without moving his arms. “Emma, you’re awake. This is your secret. What makes your eyes that color.”
“Stay right there.” I point at him in warning. “In case you haven’t noticed, I didn’t turn into a fish, you did. That would be your secret then, don’t you think?”
He smirks. “We have the same secret.”
I shake my head. Nope, nope, nope.
He nods, thoughtful. “Well, I guess that’s it then. The beach is that way,” he says, pointing to the abyss behind me. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Emma.”
My mouth drops open as he swims away. As his silhouette disappears from sight, I start to hyperventilate. He’s leaving. He’s leaving me. He’s leaving me in the middle of the ocean. He’s leaving me in the middle of the ocean because I’m not a fish. No, no, no, no! He can’t leave me! I whirl around and around. How can I find the beach when I can’t see the surface or the bottom? My breathing becomes more erratic—
But … but … how can I hyperventilate underwater? For the first time since leaving shore, I become aware of my oxygen. That I should have run out of it already. But I haven’t. Not even close. During my meltdown, I just snorted air out of my nose—and not a lot of it. Like when I talked. Just enough air to make sound. Dad always said I had a good pair of lungs, but I doubt this is what he meant.
And now I’ve attracted an audience. There is nothing hazy or dream-like about the wreath of fish that surrounds me. As schizo as it sounds, I know this is real. None of these are fish I can name—except the monster of a swordfish lingering on the outskirt of the gathering. Textbook pictures are deceiving—swordfish are much scarier in person. Still, one big fish out of the hundred-or-so small ones is pretty good odds that I won’t be eaten. They must realize that I would never, not ever, eat one of them because they move in on me like paparazzi on a celebrity. Some of them are brave enough to brush against me. One of the small red fish zips through my hair. I realize how not-normal it is, especially under these circumstances, for me to laugh. It’s just that it tickles.
I reach out, my hand splayed open. Fish take turns darting in and out of my fingers. It reminds me of when Chloe and I visited the Gulfarium back in Destin. Chloe ditched me at the hands-on tank in favor of the cute guy working in the gift shop. Every time I put my hand in the water, the stingrays flitted to me, nuzzling against my fingers as if begging for me to pet them. They created a traffic jam in the tank to get to me. Even now, a stingray pushes through the halo and flits past my face, as if to play.
I shake my head. This is ridiculous. These creatures aren’t here to play with me. They’re just curious. And why shouldn’t they be? I don’t belong here any more than Galen does. Galen.
It’s the first time I realize I can still … well, feel Galen. Not the goose bumps, or the pure lava running through my veins. No, this is different. An awareness, like when someone turns on a TV in a quiet room—even if it’s on mute, a crackling sensation fills the air. Only, this sensation fills the water, and with Galen, it’s much stronger, like a physical touch pulsating against me. Rayna’s was noticeable, but Galen’s is overwhelming. I knew the minute he stepped foot in the water, as if the pulse concentrated on the space between us. And I’ve felt it before today. This same feeling buzzed around me when I fought to free Chloe from the shark. Was he there? Is he here now?
I pivot in place, startling my spectators. Some scatter then return. Others keep going, not willing to take their chances with my skittish behavior. The swordfish eyes me, but still saunters at a distance. I check in every direction, pausing with each itty-bitty turn to squint into the underwater horizon. After circling twice, I give up. Maybe this pulse thing works over long distances. Galen could be swimming up to Ellis Island by now for all I know. But just in case, I give it another try.
“Galen?” I shout. This startles more of my neighbors. Fewer and fewer return. “Galen, can you hear me?”
“Yep,” he answers, materializing right in front of me.
I gasp, my pulse spiking. “Ohmysweetgoodness! How did you do that?”
“It’s called blending.” He tilts his head. “Couldn’t help but notice you’re not dead yet. Kind of nonhuman of you.”
I nod, a cocktail of relief and anger swirling in my stomach. “Then you will have also noticed that I don’t have a big fin swallowing my butt either.”
“But you do have violet eyes, like me.”
“Huh. So … Rayna and Toraf ?”
He nods.
“Huh. But what about your mom? She doesn’t have the eyes.”
“She’s not really my mom. She’s my assistant, Rachel. She’s human.”
“Of course. Your assistant. Makes perfect sense.” As I try to process why a man-fish would need an assistant, I forget to tread and start sinking. Galen is a good sport and holds me up by the elbow. “But I can’t change into a big blob of water. Blend, I mean.”
He rolls his eyes. “I don’t turn into water, my skin changes, so I can conceal myself. You’ll eventually be able to, once you can shift into your fin.”
“What makes you think I can? I don’t look like you. Other than the eyes, I mean.”
“I’m still trying to figure that out.”
“And did I mention I don’t have a big fin—”
“But, you do have everything else.” He crosses his arms.
“Like what?”
“Well, you have bad temper.”
“I do not!” Chloe had the bad temper. I earned the nickname Sugar our sophomore year because only I could sweet-talk her out of a fight. “In fact, they voted me Most Likely to Work for Hallmark in our middle school yearbook,” I tell him as an afterthought.
“You realize I don’t understand anything you just said.”
“Basically, everyone thinks—knows—how sweet I am.”
“Emma, you threw my sister through hurricane-proof glass.”
“She started it! Did you just say hurricane-proof glass?”
He nods. “Which also means you have hard bones and thick skin like us. Otherwise, you would have died. Which we need to discuss. You threw yourself—and my sister—through a wall of glass when you thought you were both human. What were you thinking?”
I won’t meet his glare. “I guess I didn’t care.” Telling him I meant to murder his sister probably wouldn’t go over very well. It would definitely cancel out the Hallmark vote.
“Unacceptable. Don’t ever risk your life like that again, do you understand?”
I snort, sending little air bubbles dancing upward. “Hey, you know what else I don’t care about? You giving me orders. I acted stupid, but—”
“Actually, this is a good time to point out that I’m a Royal,” he says, pointing to the small tattoo of a fork on his stomach, just above the border where his abs turn into fish. “And since you’re obviously Syrena, you do have to obey me.”
“I’m what?” I say, trying to figure out how an eating utensil could possibly validate his claim of seniority.
“Syrena. That’s what we—including you—are called.”
“Syrena? Not mermaids?”
Galen clears his thro
at. “Uh, mermaid ?”
“Really? You’re gonna go there now? Fine, merman—wait, I wouldn’t be a merman.” Really though, what do I know about fish gender? Except that Galen is definitely male, no matter what species he is.
“Just for the record, we hate that word. And by we, I mean you also.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. But I’m not Syrena. Did I mention I don’t have a big fin—”
“You’re not trying hard enough.”
“Trying hard enough? To grow a fin?”
He nods. “It’s not natural to you yet. You’ve been in human form too long. But it will start to bother you, being in the water with legs. You’ll get the urge to … stretch.”
“Does it hurt?”
He laughs. “No. It feels good, the same way it feels good to stretch after you’ve been sitting a while. Your fin is one big muscle. When you separate it between two human legs, it’s not as powerful. When you change into Syrena form, the muscles stretch and twist back together. Do you feel anything like that right now?”
I shake my head, eyes wide.
“It’s just a matter of time,” he says, nodding. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Galen, I’m not—”
“Emma, that you’re talking to me half a mile underwater is proof enough of what you are. By the way, how do you feel?”
“Actually, my lungs feel kind of tight. What does that mean?”
Before more puny air bubbles escape, he wraps his arms around me and we shoot up. “It means you’re running out of air now,” he murmurs in my ear. My shiver isn’t from the cold.
Wait. Isn’t it supposed to be freezing half a mile deep in the Atlantic Ocean? I mean, as cold weather goes, I’m kind of a wuss. No one bundles up more than me in the winter. So why aren’t my teeth chattering into bits? It’s swimming-pool cold, not my-tear-ducts-have-ice-in-them cold. Is that thanks to the thick skin Galen mentioned? Does it work like insulation? Does it only work in water?
We break the surface. Galen nods in approval as I exhale the old air and take in the new. I gulp in a fresh lung-full and start to submerge, but he shakes his head, pulling me back up. “Let’s not push it. I’m not sure how long you can hold your breath. I guess we’ll have to keep an eye on that, at least until you figure out how to change.”