A slim figure dressed in a hooded, shaggy onesie stood before them atop the ledge.
Chidi gasped. How did she…
Marisa Bourgeois glanced over her shoulder. She took one look at Chidi and winked.
Buckets of blood, Lenny cursed.
Oh, good… Ellie said. So you did find her.
CHIDI
Chidi tuned out the oncoming wails of police and fire sirens twinning alongside the alarms inside the Shedd Aquarium. She had eyes only for the runner prowling the veranda ledge, gazing at each of her would-be captors in turn. How did you get away?
“Hoekom volg jy my?” Marisa Bourgeois asked.
Paulo lowered both Oscar and the mousey man to the ground. His earrings flashed. Well this is a fun surprise. He gave Lenny a sideways glance. Thought you said we had her, Len.
Lenny scowled. Shuddup, Paulie. Cheeds, ya were there. What happened?
I-I dunno. I would’ve sworn—
Marisa shook off her baggy jeans. They fell to the ground. Instead of bare legs, Marisa’s hooded sweatshirt resembled a tight-fitted onesie that ran down to her ankles.
“Hoekom volg jy my?” Marisa asked again.
Lenny sneered. “Cheeds, ya understand what she’s sayin’?”
Chidi nodded. “She asks why we’re following her.”
“Foreigners,” Lenny muttered, his voice heavy with the accent of his Bostonian forefathers. “She knows why we’re here. And tell her to use words we can all understand. I like to know what’s bein’ said the first time around.”
Chidi translated his message.
Marisa’s gaze swiveled to her. She barked a laugh and continued speaking her foreign tongue. “Tell the nipperkin I speak in whatever language I choose. Just as I go wherever it pleases me. Can it be your captain does not recognize one who is free?”
Chidi translated the message word for word.
Lenny spit when Chidi mentioned the word free. Though he said nothing, Chidi noticed both his earrings, and Paulo’s, flashed throughout the exchange. Chidi also took note neither spoke to her. They plot without me…
Marisa studied each of the males. “I could help them, you know…but even now they let the Salt hold its sway.” She showed her open palm to Chidi. “Its currents bend and break the wills of many, but I sense they have not made you forget. Let me help you find strength again.”
Lenny’s earrings flashed. All right crew, I’m sick of this broad. Be ready. Paulie’s gonna rush her on my go. If he misses and she dives in, we follow. Racer!
The youngest of them sprang to life. Yeah, Len?
Ya got any speed left?
Racer shrugged free of Chidi. I’ll find some.
Good, said Lenny. Ya swim her down and hold on till the rest of us catch up.
Aye, aye.
Marisa’s lip curled at the sight of all the flashing earrings. “When will you stop hunting your own kind? You send them to slavery when it could be freedom for them and yourselves!”
Chidi translated the words with the same heated tone in which Marisa spoke.
Marisa pointed at them. “Jy wil om my te vang, ja? Sleep my aan die Sout en verkoop my? Kom dan...kom jaag my Leonard.”
Lenny’s head snapped toward Chidi. “Did that runna say my name? How does she know my name?”
Marisa’s earrings flashed, and her voice echoed in Chidi’s mind. Sê vir hom.
Chidi took a step back. She hadn’t noticed Marisa also wore the same crystal-studded earrings until now. Chidi’s jaw wordlessly opened and closed. She glanced back at Marisa for the answer. Tell him… She wants Lenny to know she’s been playing with him until now.
Marisa pointed at Lenny. Sê vir hom!
Chidi tried wetting her lips, but even her tongue felt dry. “She knows you want to drag her back to the Salt and sell her. And she says…she says…”
“What?”
Tell it true, Chidi! “She says you—” Chidi looked at Lenny. “You have to chase her.”
The dwarf’s face flushed red. He turned to Marisa. “Why me?”
Marisa smiled at his confusion. “Ek het van jou gehoor...en jou pa.”
“She knows of you and your father,” Chidi translated.
“Jy is die weghol jagters,” Marisa said.
“You and he are the runaway hunters—”
“And proud of it,” Lenny interrupted. “A runna’s worse than a slave. They don’t care for nobody. They got whateva punishment’s comin’ to them.”
Marisa sneered. “Die slaaf vangers,”
“The slave catchers,” said Chidi.
Marisa donned her hood. “Is jy seker wil hê ek moet jou prooi word?”
“She asks if you’re certain you want to hunt her?”
“I don’t gotta choice,” Lenny said. “It’s my job.”
Chidi translated Lenny’s words.
Marisa’s earrings flashed. Again, she spoke only to Chidi. Daar is altyd 'n keuse.
There is always a choice.
Marisa turned her gaze back on Lenny. “Toe my jaag...slaaf vangers.”
Chidi hesitated. She glanced at her crewmates.
“What’d she say, Cheeds?” Lenny demanded.
“Then hunt me…” Chidi said breathlessly. “Slave catchers.”
Marisa waited for Chidi to finish then giggled. The tip of her hood elongated like a descending curtain over her face. She lifted her arms outward, tilted her body, and launched off the ledge in a backward swan dive.
Chidi rushed forward with her crewmates. Her hands smacked the marbled ledge to stop her from catapulting over the side. She looked down just in time to see Marisa enter the lake, her transformation already complete.
“Go! Go! Go!” Lenny shouted.
The males donned their hoods and dove off the wall, one after the other, already shifting.
Paulo went first, the gargantuan weight of his Southern Elephant Seal body creating a plume of green lake water when he smacked the surface.
Racer entered the water with more elegance. His sleek California Sea Lion body sliced through the water with all the grace of a champion diver. He went in nose first, his long flippers flatly tapered to his sides.
Lenny reached the water last, a small, chubby Ringed Seal pup following its larger cousins on an afternoon hunt.
Chidi alone had remained atop at the terrace. Um, boys…
Paulie, go deep. Lenny called out orders. Racer, find her trail.
In their haste to follow Marisa, the others had forgotten to take the unconscious two with them. They could do without the mousey man. But Oscar…
In his current state, Oscar Collins appeared like a sweet young teenager with a good strong face and a mop of brown hair. Chidi would have known him no mere slave even without his white backed and black hooded Harp Seal coat. His lack of scars and brands gave the secret away. How her crewmates had left their owner’s son behind Chidi couldn’t fathom.
The veranda now cleared of voices, the mousey man peeked a look around. His face paled when he saw one of the Selkie catchers had remained behind.
Chidi gave him no opportunity to run. She sprang forward and grabbed his shirt. In one quick motion, she threw him over the edge, then grabbed Oscar by his hood and did the same to him.
She noticed movement inside the aquarium; figures dressed in black battle gear swarmed the chaotic scene the Selkie crew had left behind. One noticed her, a lone figure outside the perimeter they created. He motioned to the others.
Chidi ran for the edge. Reaching for her hood, she flew off the side of the terrace just before the S.W.A.T. team exited out onto it. She beckoned the image of her Salt form come to mind—a female Ribbon Seal—as the Silkie hood draped over her face.
Weightless and blinded, Chidi felt the Silkie skin’s warmth wash over her extremities as her human body morphed into seal. She tucked her broad seal head the moment she hit the E. Coli infested water of Lake Michigan. The movement catapulted her right-side up. She surfaced for air.
; Nothing down here but trash, Paulo said, his voice faint.
Keep lookin’, said Lenny.
Several S.W.A.T. team members pointed to the water.
Chidi heard someone yell they had seen a girl jump. She dove before any might recognize a Ribbon Seal in an unfamiliar habitat, swimming through the green, filthy water.
She located Oscar’s body six feet beneath the surface. Chidi had half-hoped the cold shock might be enough awaken his human senses. No such luck. She swam to him, nipped his black hood in her jaws.
The men on the ledge had gone by the time she resurfaced to keep Oscar from drowning. Had they not, they might have seen the mousey man flailing nearby. Though slower without his Selkie suit, it hadn’t stopped him from swimming for shore.
Racer, Chidi said. I need some help with the other runner.
No, said Lenny. Racer, stay put. We’re findin’ Bourgeois!
But, Len—
Cheeds, we’re supposed to get the girl. Not some Selkie she met with.
Maybe that runner could tell us more about her. Chidi thought to herself. Why else would he have been meeting her?
The mousey man had nearly reached the shore when an eight thousand pound seal surfaced behind him.
Paulo! Chidi said. What are you doing? Lenny said to stay put.
Paulo nipped the man’s leg and dragged him into deeper water. He told Racer to stay put. Figured I should at least catch one runner today. Come on. It’s a long swim to the rally point.
Aye, aye.
Chidi placed her foreflippers under Oscar’s armpits, spooning him. To keep his head above water would mean swimming the next twenty miles on her back.
There is always a choice. Chidi recalled Marisa’s words.
She snorted a stream of bubbles and resigned herself to the swim. With a swift thrust of her hind flippers, she followed Paulo’s lead southeast and dragged Oscar’s dead weight with her.
GARRETT
Change. Garrett pressed his feet flat against the tub wall. He waited for the slightest bit of color variance in his skin tone.
Nothing.
Garrett squinted, focused so hard his head shook. Change!
Nothing.
Sighing, he sank back into the tub and sloshed water over the edge. He punched the side. Shampoo bottles rolled off.
A knock came at the door.
“Garrett? Honey? You all right?”
Garrett rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Mom. Just…slipped is all.”
“You sure? You don’t sound okay.”
“Mom, I’m fine.”
“Okay, well…don’t you think it’s about time you got out? You’ve been in there for over an hour.”
No way. The water would be freezing by now.
“Garrett?”
“Still here, Mom.” Garrett looked at his legs and toes again. “I’ll be out soon.”
“Okay, well, when you do get out. If you need to talk…”
Garrett massaged his temples. “Yeah, thanks, Mom. I might.”
He waited until he heard her footsteps pad away from the door. He reached over the side to check the phone, put on silent to not break his concentration. Three missed calls, twenty texts. All from Johnny Hickey and Sydney Gao asking for updates. Garrett cleared the screen of them to view the time.
6:30? Garrett dropped the phone back on his towel and dipped into the water. Has it really already been an hour? He flipped his hands palm-side up. I don’t even have wrinkles yet.
He sat up. Bent to inspect his toes and the bottoms of his feet. They had no wrinkles either. What is happening? What did Kellen do to me?
Garrett unplugged the drain, watched the water disappear. He sat naked in the tub, waiting. He looked at his arms and legs; he saw no sign of gooseflesh, no hairs standing on end. In fact, he still felt warm.
His phone vibrated on the ground. Johnny again.
Garrett ignored it. There would come a time to talk with Johnny about all that happened that day, but not yet. Plus, Garrett wanted to prove himself an actual mutant, rather than hope his best friend accepted it as fact. Not feeling cold when staying in the bath for an extended time hardly seemed noteworthy on the chart of awesome superpowers.
He reached for his towel and dried off. I wonder what would happen if I put ice cubes in the tub?
Garrett pulled on his boxers and the torn up sweats his mom had begged him to throw away. He threw on an orange T-shirt from his freshman year that read Tigress Tennis in navy lettering across the chest. Below it, a tiger dressed in a mini-skirt held a tennis racket in one paw. Garrett’s last name lettered the back along with MANAGER written directly beneath it.
He pocketed his phone, tossed his towel on the drying rack, and headed down the stairs. He heard his mom long before he reached the kitchen and paused at the bottom of the steps.
“You bet I’m pressing charges! Dick, he almost murdered my son,” Cristina Weaver yelled into her phone as she paced the kitchen floor. “No, Garrett’s not okay. I’m not okay. Those boys have picked on him long enough. It’s bad enough he can’t go anywhere in this town without people spreading gossip and silly rumors about him. Now he has to deal with this too?”
Garrett smiled. Go get them, Mom. Tell that sheriff who’s boss.
Guys at school used to tell him he had the second hottest mom in Lavere County, after Jun Gao’s mom of course. Garrett remembered those days when she used to take care of herself. He peeked around the corner.
She still wore her Gracin’s Grille waitress uniform—brown slacks with food stains on one leg, teal and white pinstriped shirt. She had even forgotten to untie her apron. Her frazzled hair had loosed itself from the bun the Grille required her to wear. She had stuck a pencil through it to stop the full-on release.
“No, don’t you give me that you’ll look into it crap,” she said. “I’ve heard it all before. I want him in jail tonight. Now.”
Garrett stepped into the kitchen.
Cristina cleared her throat. “Yeah. You call me when it's done and not before.”
She hung up the phone, tossed it on the counter. Wordless and crying already, she motioned him come over.
Garrett resigned himself to what felt like the thousandth hug she had given him since his release from the hospital. “Mom, I’m fine.”
Cristina buried her head in his shoulder and cried harder.
Garrett patted her on the back. “Really, I am. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know,” she said, her voice muffled by his shirt. “I know you’re not. Just don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”
“You don’t have to worry about that.”
“I know…I know.” She nodded, and let go. Wiped her tears away. “You hungry? We can order pizza.”
“No. Thanks.”
“No pizza?” Cristina put the back of her hand to his forehead. “Are you sure you’re all right? If not, we can go back to the hospital.”
“Mom…you’re doing it again. The doctors said I’m fine. I didn’t even need to go to the hospital in the first place. I told Ms. Morg—”
“I’m glad you did. If they had found something wrong with you…” She touched his cheek. “Don’t you worry. Kellen Winstel won’t be bothering you again. I already told Sheriff Hullinger we’re pressing charges.”
“Really?”
“You bet I am. He could have killed you.”
Garrett shivered. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay, honey.” Cristina hugged him again.
Ask her. Garrett pulled away. “Mom…did dad ever…talk to you about changing?”
Cristina’s forehead wrinkled. “Changing? What do you mean, honey, change—oh.” She took a seat at the table. “Changing, right. Well, your father told me once he was a late bloomer so it’s only natural that—”
“Mom! I’m not talking about puberty changes.”
“Well, how am I supposed to know, honey? You’re a young man, young men go through changes—”
&nb
sp; “Okay, okay,” Garrett cut her off. “Can we not talk about…that kind of changing. Ever.”
“Well, what kind of changes do you mean?”
“I-I dunno, Mom. Just, my skin…I noticed…some changes.”
“Sweetie, the doctors said that can happen. It’s common, even, for people with vitiligo.”
Garrett thought back to the pool; how his skin color had become absolute black and white, rather than the scattered tannish splotches he had grown accustomed to. “Yeaaah. I don’t think this is common.”
“Did you check the forums? The doctors said if your disorder ever made you feel alone, or curious, that you should check the forums.”
“Mom, I don’t think—”
Cristina’s phone buzzed. She glanced down at it. “Hmm. I don’t recognize the number. It could be…”
“Go ahead.” Garrett stood. “I’ll be in my room.”
“Okay.” Cristina stopped him. “Honey…check the forums. Might help.”
Garrett grabbed a bag of BBQ chips on his way out of the kitchen; heard his mom use the fake voice she had been trained to answer calls at the Grille with. He took the steps two at a time, snagged his beat-to-crap laptop from his backpack. After plopping into bed amidst a heap of dirty laundry, he booted the computer up and opened the bag of chips.
He found an old email his doctor had sent with links to various vitiligo support groups. He clicked on it, skimmed through the comments. Most threads discussed various treatments others had tried and how they had worked for a short while but the condition always returned. Some comments listed the best kinds of makeup brands for any searching to cover up the off-colored skin tones.
Garrett searched for the personal stories. He read up on bullying they had encountered, the various emotional stages that typically accompanied such treatment and odd stares from strangers.
The stories he liked best dealt with those who overcame the haters. He clicked on the give a hug option for a few, and marked others as helpful. Still, none made mention of their skin changing as fast as his did. Nor did any mention their disorder providing a better tolerance to cold water.
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