FINNED (The Merworld Water Wars)

by Sutton Shields

  The Merworld Water Wars

  FINNED

  (Wave One)

  By

  Sutton Shields

  Copyright © 2012 Sutton Shields

  All Rights Reserved

  Further Information: http://suttonshields.blogspot.com/

  http://twitter.com/SuttonShields

  Cover Art by The Brilliant Claudia McKinney at phatpuppyart.com

  Cover Design by The Amazing Ashley at bookish-brunette.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons—living, dead, merperson, or non-merperson—business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, scanned, recording, or otherwise, without written permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s rights. Please only purchase authorized editions.

  Kindle Edition.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return this to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  For my mama, the fish lover and true believer in the unbelievable

  For my daddy, the fish hater and living encyclopedia

  Thank you for being you

  Table of Contents:

  Chapter One: The Hoodoo Council

  Chapter Two: Jeepers, Creepers

  Chapter Three: Butt of the Joke

  Chapter Four: A First Date with Tricks & Treats

  Chapter Five: Halloween Freak Outs

  Chapter Six: Visits with Mr. Campbell, Troy, & a Seal Pup

  Chapter Seven: A Christmas Eve Gathering

  Chapter Eight: Bite Me

  Chapter Nine: History…Not Always Boring

  Chapter Ten: The Cave & the Man

  Chapter Eleven: The “V” Stands for Vomit

  Chapter Twelve: Ballerina Interrupted

  Chapter Thirteen: Sprinkles or Showers?

  Chapter Fourteen: A Fair to Remember

  Chapter Fifteen: Under the Sea

  Chapter Sixteen: Royal Flush

  Chapter Seventeen: Misty Eyed

  Chapter Eighteen: The Race

  Chapter Nineteen: Rundown

  Chapter Twenty: Prehendo Animus

  Chapter Twenty-One: Invisible Transportation, Familiar Faces, and One Red Stone

  Chapter Twenty-Two: 2 + 2 = 4 Watery Graves

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Lie To Me

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Tyranny

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Independence Day

  Chapter One

  The Hoodoo Council

  I sat on the moldy floor of holding cell three, unbuttoned my blouse, and retrieved my forbidden deck of cards. Thank God for push-up bras and small boobs—they really make the perfect hiding place. This will be my fifth time before The Hoodoo Council.

  “If my latest read doesn’t get me out of evil Helena’s institution of militant suck, then I’m screwed,” I said, flourishing my worn cards.

  When I shuffle a deck of cards, I’m really shuffling lives. It hasn’t endeared me to the Imperia, a relatively new branch of government dedicated to ridding the world of oddballs like me. According to the Imperia Canon of Peculiar Malfunctions, people with certain abilities tend to taint world order. And here I thought we oddballs made the world a little bit safer…but maybe that’s the problem, at least for some.

  One. Two. Three. Three simple shuffles and I’ve created a path. I could have stopped there—I could always stop there—but my left hand already split the deck, and the familiar yearning for the unknown begged the cards for an answer. This hunger gave the path a dead end with no U-turn. Slowly, I counted off seven cards and placed them face down on the grimy floor. My fate rested under those seven cards, cemented, unchangeable.

  Don’t flip them. My annoyingly rational conscience loves to act as boss.

  “This will be my last read until I can get another deck, since the Head Hag will probably confiscate these today. So, I’m flippin’ them,” I said, answering my inner goody-goody.

  Two of spades—an unexpected path. Okay, not bad, totally part of the plan.

  Four of clubs—major setback or great misfortune. Crap.

  Jack of hearts—male, young, light eyes, light hair. Promising.

  Two of clubs—minor disappointments. Color me shocked.

  Eight of spades—tears of sorrow and self-pity. Fan-friggin’-tastic.

  Three of clubs—duration of time; something will happen in approximately three days, weeks, months, or years. Next card determines what that something will be.

  Ace of spades, apex pointing up—Death. *&#@

  Then, like countless times before, everything around me became a blur of colors; my instinct silenced my mind and awakened my inner vision. Buried within flashes of blue lightning, I saw my fate behind the cards: calendar…New Year’s Eve…water…no air…a boy watching me fall into nothingness.

  Dear God. On December 31st, I’m going to die. Well, that really blows. Still, it was rather remarkable what a plain deck of cards and a funky, Cajun card-reading gene can uncover…remarkable and seriously crappy. Hey, if I die, I die. Anything would be better than being stuck here, where they try to inject away our talents or brainwash us into normality.

  The heavy boots of a Retriever echoed in the distance.

  “Reader seven, you have been summoned.” I was half-ass stuffing my bra with cards when he approached. “Drop the cards!” He unlocked the cell, pushed me aside, and scooped up my cards.

  I threw up my hands and backed off. “Oh, was I not supposed to have those? Gee, I had no idea.”

  “Sarcastic freak. Walk,” he said, thrusting a net gun into my back.

  The dark, snaky corridors finally ended at a purple door covered with iron bolts. The Retriever forcefully placed my palm against the middle bolt. One by one, the locks clicked and snapped open, and the heavy door slid out of sight. Courtroom eight looked like a giant billiard rack, its glowing amethyst walls providing the only light. White spindly seats rose on each side of me. Ahead, at the apex, were six silver thrones occupied by the council members.

  “Reader seven,” said a cold voice, “in the chamber.”

  I stepped into a wooden box located directly in front of the council and quickly straightened my hideous purple and lime plaid uniform. Before the hearing began, the Retriever handed my cards to an elderly council member with cotton candy blue hair, and she promptly passed them to Madame Helena Hambourg, Head Hoodooess. Madame Helena reminded me of an evil fairy tale witch, only with lime hair, bright orange eyes, and a nose as long as the Chesapeake Bay Bridge.

  “Before The Hoodoo Council this thirtieth day of September is case five hundred and fifty-three, Marina Jayne Valentine, occupant of The Helena Hambourg House for Maladies,” said Madame Helena. “The accused is charged with three counts of minor reading, two counts of murder prediction, and one count of aiding terrorist mentality, the latter being the most recent. Councilman Deef, please detail the counts.”

  A squat man with elephant ears and a mousy face waddled towards a glittering podium on the far right of the apex. He had to use a footstool to see over the top, and I had to muffle a snort.

  “Ahem. Reading count
s include seeing Malorie Gullivan’s allergic reaction to chocolate covered strawberries, Montezuma’s Revenge ruining the council’s annual cruise, and one Helena Hambourg’s face-plant into a pile of manure.”

  Yeah, I laughed.

  “Silence from the accused!” Councilman Deef frowned at me before continuing. “Two counts of murder prediction include the assassination of former council member Fargson LaVent, as well as the strangulation of George Valentine, father of the accused.”

  “It must have been a difficult loss for you,” said Madame Helena, stroking the bridge of her nose.

  I glared at her. “You could’ve saved them both, Madame Helena. It’s not like I didn’t personally deliver the predictions to you about a zillion times. For some reason, you just wouldn’t listen. Curious.”

  Though some of the council members squirmed in their seats, Madame Helena’s gaze remained glacial. “We cannot act on tips that were illegally obtained. Carry on, Deef.”

  “Finally, the accused has aided terrorist mentality by seeing a day where the United States of America will be flooded by otherworldly means.”

  Drumming her black and silver nails along her greasy nose, Madame Helena said, “How do we find the accused?”

  “Guilty.” It was unanimous.

  I slammed my hands on the railing of my little chamber. “If you can’t act on illegally obtained tips, then how could my reading possibly aid terrorists? You’d have to actually reveal it to a big, bad terrorist dude, and that would be acting on it, which is—wait for it—illegal!”

  “Guilty!”

  “And these are yours, I presume?” Madame Helena waved my cards in the air for all to see.

  Sigh. “Yes.”

  “Let’s see, after some rather dire reads, including, but not limited to, your Uncle John’s snowmobile accident, Grandpa Mel’s denture disaster, and Aunt Beck’s death by double chocolate éclair, we institutionalized you to break you of this malfunction, yet you continue the practice. What part of illegal don’t you understand?”

  “Probably the same part you don’t,” I said, folding my arms. “Every member of The Hoodoo Council can practice magic, read cards, or do whatever it is you do, so why can’t we?”

  The whole room gasped. I pushed too far.

  “That is quite an allegation, Marina. If you would like to involve the Imperia, I’m sure we can arrange a…meeting.”

  Yeah, that wouldn’t be good. “I apologize, Madame Hambourg.” I dropped my head and folded my hands in front of me. If the council determines I’m a rogue reader, the Imperia will order my execution. Hmm. That actually may fit with my New Year’s Eve death prediction. Crap. I needed to suck up. “Though it has been some time, I’m afraid my father’s death has affected me worse than I thought. I am sorry.” The words tasted like vinegar.

  “Apology recorded. Now, ladies and gentlemen of the council, we must decide if Marina Valentine poses a risk as a rogue reader, one that cannot be cured, and one that will not tolerate banishment. This is her fifth appearance in under a year.”

  Clutching the railing, I shouted, “Banishment? I’ll shrink to nothing if you banish me! Please, please, I can still be cured! I-I know I can! Please, don’t banish me! If you send me away, I’ll just…die!”

  One corner of Madame Helena’s pencil-thin mouth curled triumphantly. “As per rule two of the Imperia Canon of Peculiar Malfunctions, I recommend life banishment to Saxet Shores, Texas for reader seven, Marina Jayne Valentine.”

  “No! No!”

  “May I hear confirmation?”

  “Aye!”

  “No, please, no!”

  “We have unanimous confirmation, Marina. You and your mother will leave for Saxet Shores in two weeks. Hand the child her homework for day one, Deef. Prepare the assignments prior to leaving.”

  Deef trundled down the spiral staircase and shoved a yellow folder in my hand. The little prick gave me a paper cut when he did.

  “I have one more stipulation I’d like to add to your sentence, Miss Valentine. As Head Hoodooess, I enact council clause seventy-five, the blocking guard.”

  Dang it.

  “The accused is hereby blocked from any future reading. Should you touch even a single card with a bare or gloved hand, we will know, as will the Imperia. Such an offense will result in your immediate execution. Now, take the accused back to her cell, prepare reader seven’s belongings for transport, and inform her mother, Camille Valentine. Mrs. Valentine resides in Dallas, Unsuitable Zone Nine, cubicle loft number two thousand. Good travels, Marina.” Madame Helena slammed down her gavel. Case closed. “Take her away.”

  “No! Please! I’ll be good, I swear it!” I screamed, kicked, and cried all the way back to cell three.

  “Your life is over, Little Red Reading Head.” The Retriever flipped his key ring in the air and marched off.

  A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. “Nah, it’s just beginning.”

  Chapter Two

  Jeepers, Creepers

  October: Two words-candy corn

  Monthly Life Caption: Butts

  Mood: Playful

  Eating: Actual food

  Music: Iconic Halloween tunes

  After three years, two weeks, one day, four hours, fifty-three minutes, and twenty-seven seconds of watching drippy walls and smelling moldy tiles, I was finally released from Hambourg’s house of hell and placed in my mom’s arms. My mom and I were free of Unsuitable Zone Nine…banished, but free. The ride into Saxet Shores epitomized freedom: blue skies, emerald waters, white beaches, and the sound of waves crashing along the shore.

  The council transport—which looked like a tank made out of tortoise shells—delivered our minimal belongings to our tiny beach house. We weren’t allowed inside. It seems the transporters have an irrational fear that my “malfunction” may be contagious. Whatever. You can’t catch talent, and you can’t cure stupid.

  Once they finished dumping our stuff inside, they drove us across town and dropped us off in front of the high school.

  “Out,” said the driver. “Your car will be waiting in the parking lot by day’s end.”

  Mom and I crawled down the side of the tank; our feet barely touched the ground before the beastly thing sped away. Standing in front of my new school with my mom, I immediately fell into foggy-brain mode.

  “Is it made of tiles?” I couldn’t figure out what the heck was up with this school.

  “Looks like it. I think it’s a mosaic of various sea creatures. Isn’t it beautiful?!” said my mom, awing over the freaky building. My mom’s a little artsy-fartsy. I’m not at all. To me, a bacon cheeseburger qualifies as a masterpiece.

  “It’s a mosaic of scaly, smelly, slimy creatures that sleep where they crap.”

  “You and your fish phobia. They won’t hurt you, peanut.”

  “Tell that to a certain person-chomping great white shark.”

  “And that was just a movie. Honestly, do you really care what the stupid school looks like? Breathe in that salty sea air! We’re free! My baby girl finally got herself banished. Your dad would have been so proud of you. He fought so hard to free you and all the Specials. Now—for him—it’s time to live,” she said, squeezing me.

  “Agree, definitely live-it-up time,” I said. “And can I just say…so proud of the ‘stupid school’ comment. Very un-parent like.”

  “I aim to shock.”

  “You have good aim. So, when can I see Trey, Polly, and Meikle?”

  Trey, Polly, and Meikle were my closest friends at The Helena Hambourg House for Maladies. They successfully manipulated the council into banishing them last year.

  “Let’s check the itinerary. Where’s my purse? I left my purse! Unbelievable!”

  “Um, Mom?” I pointed to the lump of leather sitting on the ground next to her feet. Mom tends to spaz when she misplaces her belongings.

  “Oh. Right. Just where I left it.” She picked up her worn purse and pulled out a crinkly piece of green paper from
the side pocket. “Okay, from the looks of things, you’ll see them about thirty minutes from now, during lunch,” she said, studying the itinerary. “Until then, you have your meeting with Principal Jeepers—”

  “Jeepers?”

  Mom could tell by my trademark raised eyebrow that I was on the verge of being completely inappropriate. “Marina. Not a good idea to start off on the wrong foot...but, seriously, Jeepers? Jeepers, creepers, da-da-da-da-dum!” My mom hasn’t belted a tune or unleashed one of her funky little dance moves since before they hauled me off three years ago. Mom’s the perfect balance of old-Hollywood grace and slapstick sitcom.

  “I love you, Mom,” I said, laughing.

  She smiled and kissed my forehead. “Now, I have to find a Mr. Allen Anderson to see about a job. So help me if they stick my Texas-size hair in a hairnet and slap me behind the lunch counter. There will be injuries.”

  “Mrs. Valentine!” A creepy little man skipped down the steps towards us. “I’m Allen Anderson, the vice principal of Saxet Shores High School! Welcome to Saxet Shores, Texas!”

  “Please, call me Camille.”

  “Very nice to meet you, Camille. This lovely girl must be Miranda,” he said, glaring at my jeans. “Well, you look nothing like your mother. Suppose you took after your father. And what interesting pumpkin-orange hair you have! Unusual color.”

  Rude much? That little tick of a man was one to talk—his black hair and eyes made him look so smarmy.

  “He likes my pumpkin-orange hair, Mom. Isn’t that nice?” I said as sweetly as possible. “And, it’s Marina Valentine.”

  He kept staring at my legs. Did my jeans offend him? Was there a dress code? Ew. What if he swings towards a pervy sort? Note to self: Possibly a pervy sort. Keep a watchful eye on Mr. Smarmy.

  “Please excuse our attire, Mr. Anderson. We just got here and didn’t have time to change.”