When he looks at me, his eyes are pleading—desperate for me to understand.
“She should,” I say. “This matters to you, so it should matter to the people who care about you.” I swallow. “It matters to me. I think it’s really cool that you’re so passionate about writing music. I wish I had something I was that passionate about.”
“When we talked the other day, I figured out I’d been shying away from sharing my music for too long. Composing music is what I’ve always wanted to do with my life, and I can’t let go of that just because my dad’s not around anymore. If I want to be able to lead an entire symphony one day or write the score to a movie that whole audiences will hear, then I can’t be afraid to play my music now.”
Hearing Clay talk about his goals stirs something inside me. I want him to have the chance to accomplish everything he’s ever dreamed of. “It must’ve really hurt when Mel didn’t want to listen,” I say, “but you can’t let that change your mind. I bet your music is phenomenal.”
“You’re about to find out,” he says.
“What?”
“I—can I … play my song for you?” Uncertainty laces his words. He’s afraid I’ll reject his music the way Melusine did. Not a chance.
“I’d love that.”
A genuine smile spreads across his face, and he’s never looked so handsome. He pulls out his guitar from its shadowy hiding place under his bed.
“C’mere.” He gestures me over, and I sit beside him on his bed as he places the guitar on his lap. The wood is worn and old, but it’s polished to a high shine. There’s something intimate about seeing Clay’s most prized possession.
“This is a song I’ve been working on for a while. It’s the only one I’ve finished and I think it really captures … well, just listen.”
His long, callused fingers strum the first few melancholy chords, and the room—the world—shrinks to the two of us on that bed as his music encompasses us.
“Think that there’s a forever?
Or is that just a dream?
Don’t think that I’ll find it.
Hearts are not what they seem.”
Clay’s voice is deep and rough. It makes me feel things I can’t name. After not singing in front of anyone for so long, Clay could be self-conscious, but he’s not. By the second verse, he’s lost in the music.
“Wish mine was laid open,
All its secrets laid bare.
In a bond of forever.
But I just haven’t dared.”
His fingers strum faster against the chords and his voice picks up volume as he starts the chorus.
“Come, come, come to me
Let’s explore eternity.
Come, come, come to me
I want you irrevocably.
Come, come, come to me
And promise that you’ll stay.”
Then Clay begins an instrumental section that I can only describe as a cross between rock and classical symphony. No wonder he dreams of being a composer. His talent seeps into my skin.
As he sings, the raw emotion in his voice tells me I’m watching something private. I’m the first person he’s played this song for, and it’s like he’s let me into a part of himself that no one’s ever seen. When he finishes the final verse, his eyes lock on mine, and they’re shining with both sadness and hope.
I’ll stay. I promise. And I’ll figure out how to save you.
But my promise starts to seem impossible to fulfill. Every day after school that I don’t spend with Clay, I spend researching at the Foundation. I sort and input just enough shells to keep anyone from getting suspicious and spend the rest of my time searching through any konklilis that might mention sireny, but I haven’t come any closer to finding a way to stop Melusine.
In school, I’m tempted to run up to her and beg her to let him go, but I’m afraid of what she’ll do if I confront her. No, my only advantage is she has no idea I saw her siren Clay. I might need the element of surprise later—if I ever find anything relevant in my research.
Then, one afternoon, after hours upon hours listening to the same facts over and over until my exhausted brain is spinning, I finally hear the words I’ve been waiting for.
“The siren Atargina held a sultan under her power for months until she was forced to let him go.”
Forced to let him go? It is possible! My breath quickens.
“Another darker, far more powerful siren stole him away with her own deadly song. Like male sea lions fighting over a female, sirens living in groups have fought violently over mortals to prove rank and supremacy. In that far-off region of the Arabian Sea, few ships ventured and the competition for mortal slaves was fierce. The sultan was a prize to be won. Shell recordings from other sirens who bore witness to the event claim that no fewer than seven sirens sang to him at once in Mermese and he was bound to the one with the most powerful song, who was undoubtedly far more evil than her companions.”
No. No, no, no! As high as my hopes were a moment ago, now they crash just as low. If I need another siren to stop Melusine, I’m lost. As far as I know, Melusine is the only siren since Caspian’s great-great-aunt. And even if there were another—which I hope there’s not—siccing her on Clay would only put him in more danger. I let my head sink onto my folded arms. Another dead end.
I make myself listen to the rest of the shell and three others like it, but I find no more references to stopping a siren. I’ve gone through every shell I can find on restricted magic, sorcery, music, crime, and Mer history—both the ones on the shelves and in the crates full of recent acquisitions—and I’ve found nothing. Heart heavy with disappointment after yet another fruitless research session, I decide to head home.
I came to the Foundation straight after school again today and I have my backpack with me, so I have to walk home instead of swim through the tunnels. If I wait for Em to drive me, I might blurt out everything and beg for my big sister’s help. But she can’t help. If searching through the best land-based collection of konklilis hasn’t turned up an answer, she certainly won’t be able to.
For the first time since I saw Melusine sirening Clay, I’m faced with the very real possibility that I may not be able to help him. This realization hits me like a steamship, and it’s as if all the oxygen has left my body. This entire time, my anger at the injustice of what she’s doing to him has propelled me forward, but now a deep, overwhelming fear overtakes it: What if I don’t ever find a way to free Clay?
I keep my face impassive until I’m out of the lobby. As soon as I exit the green-glass doors, I break into a run. Passersby stare as I dash gracelessly by, but I don’t care. For once, I’m grateful for my flat shoes as they slap against the concrete. Tears well up behind my eyes and burn to be let free. It’s only through years of practice that I keep them from running down my cheeks and forming fat, sad pearls. Clay’s song plays in my mind, as it has at least three times a day since he sang it, but even that doesn’t comfort me.
I run until the blurred office buildings become boutiques and frozen yogurt shops, run until they become houses, then bigger houses. When I reach the white and glass of my own house, I don’t stop.
I go in the side gate, rush through the backyard, and clatter down the wind-worn wooden steps to the beach below. When hot sand fills my shoes and impedes my progress, I slip out of them and leave them behind.
I don’t know how to stop Melusine. I don’t know how to save Clay. I don’t know what else to try. All I know is that I need the ocean.
I need it to envelop me. I need its constant, steady call to drown out the endless questions in my head. It’s not fully dark yet, and I’m not allowed in the open water, but the pool won’t soothe my desolation. There’s no one on our private strip of beach to see me and, for the first time, I’m past caring anyway. I run straight into the waves.
My favorite Capri pants, now sodden with salt water, rip beyond repair as my tail bursts forth, wrenched fro
m my body at the same time as my tears. Pearls drop to the ocean floor as I swim farther and farther out to sea. The call is strong and so is the current. I relish the unforgiving push and pull of the water against my arms and tail. It gives me something to focus on. Something to fight against. I dive down deeper, swim faster. What else can I do?
I can’t stop. I can’t think. I can’t—but then I have to. The blue phosphorescence of the Border comes into view. Desperate not to stop—not to feel—I swim along the Border, back and forth, my tail whipping from side to side, my heart pounding. But I can’t outswim my fear or my helplessness.
I’ve gone as far as I can go, escaped as far as I can escape. On the cold ocean floor, right next to the blue coral Border built to keep me safe, I curl my tail around me and sob.
My dad wakes me from a fitful sleep at 4:30am. I have to get to school early for today’s biology field trip.
“Are you sure you’re up to going?” he asks.
“I’m sure.”
It’s a boating trip, and it’s mandatory for the entire eleventh grade. My parents offered to get me out of it. They’re worried about me venturing onto the open ocean with a boat full of humans, but we’re not going far from the coast and certainly not out past the Border line. I assured them my leg control has been strong enough to handle it since last year; I also pointed out that Melusine’s father has enough confidence in his daughter to let her go.
That’s my real reason for not bailing. If Melusine will be there with Clay, then I’ll be there, too. I know I have no recourse to protect him—a thought which makes me feel just as helpless as it did yesterday—but I can’t desert him.
We’re out on the ocean in time to watch the sunrise. Partway through, I’m distracted by movement to my left when Melusine pulls Clay’s arm around her shoulders. She’s wearing his leather jacket, which leaves him in only his thin t-shirt. The pale pink light plays over his profile, and I hope he’s not too cold in the morning chill.
The science teachers work with the crew to catch various specimens of fish and other small sea creatures. They put some that we’re allowed to touch into sectioned off tubs filled with salt water. The sight of fish flopping their tails in the nets fills me with sympathy. Some of the other girls display disheartened looks that match my own, so one of the crew assures us the salt water will keep all the creatures alive until we’re ready to throw them back in. I feel better until the nets pull up old shoes, a tire caked with filthy oil, and even a neon orange shopping cart. What humans do to the oceans disgusts me if I let myself think about it.
Still, as the day wears on, the field trip turns out to be pretty fun. I’ve seen all of these creatures on my swims, but the undiluted sunlight allows me to make some observations that I never could under the waves. It’s also a boon to both my confidence and my grade when I can answer so many of my bio teacher’s questions. With the waves rolling under the boat, it’s challenging to keep my legs in place, but with Clay walking around in that t-shirt, his arms shining with sun lotion, I manage it.
I call him over whenever possible to come examine a starfish or a crab. He seems only too happy to leave Melusine’s side, which must mean that she hasn’t sirened him yet this morning.
“You know, your song’s stuck in my head,” I tell him with a smile.
His face lights up. “Of course it is, Nautilus.” His voice has a cocky lilt, but his eyes tell me my words mean something to him.
“I keep singing it in the shower without even realizing it.”
“That’s a nice image.”
I blush. “Thanks again for sharing it with me.”
“Thanks for listening.” This time, nothing masks his sincerity.
Melusine waltzes over and slips her hand into the back pocket of Clay’s jeans possessively. A look of annoyance passes over his face, but he doesn’t stop her. “Hi, Lia,” she says in her melted-candy voice. “What are we talking about?”
A gray cloud moves in front of the sun, blocking its warm rays.
“I was just telling Clay how much I dislike people who insinuate themselves in conversations they’re not part of.”
“I hate that, too. But you know what’s so much worse? Girls who throw themselves at guys who are already taken. It just doesn’t get any more pathetic.”
The air between us tightens with tension. I’m about to retort when Clay speaks up.
“Isn’t this octopus cool, Mel?” He lifts a small brown and yellow octopus from the tub in front of us. Clay’s still standing close to me, and the octopus wraps a tentacle around my arm. “Look! He likes Lia.”
“Apparently he’s not the only one,” Melusine says with a pointed look at Clay.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks. The wind picks up, and it’s chilly again. The waves roll more sharply beneath us.
“I think you and I haven’t spent enough alone time together today. Come on, let’s go to the other side of the boat.” She makes her tone sultry and adds, “There’s no one else over there.”
These words are meant just as much to bother me as to tempt Clay. But knowing what I know, instead of making me jealous, they scare me. The second Melusine gets Clay alone, she’ll siren him—I just know it.
Clay must not want to be alone with her, because he gestures to the creature that’s now suction-cupping its way up my arm. “I want to get some pictures of the octopus.”
Melusine glares first at me, then at the eight-tentacled creature. “Oh, please. It’s a common California two-spot. Any idiot would know not to waste time on it. Now come on.”
“Why do you think it’s okay to talk to me like that?”
She must be used to keeping him under her spell, because she’s taken aback by his question and disobedience. She recovers quickly and puts on a baby-faced pout as she sidles up to him.
“I’m sorry, handsome. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” Just then, the boat lurches to the left, and a few students around us gasp and grab onto the railings. “I’ve just been feeling so seasick,” Melusine continues, taking advantage of the choppy water. “I think I’d feel better at the other end of the boat, but I don’t want to be alone. Please come with me?” Seasick? Melusine? Yeah, right.
Clay hesitates.
I want to beg him not to go, but I can’t give him any good reason. I shiver, and I’m not sure if it’s from the now-biting cold or my own foreboding.
“I feel so awful,” Melusine says, bringing a hand to her forehead.
“I’ll come with you.” Clay guides her toward the other end of the rocking boat, throwing me an apologetic look over his shoulder.
I’m about to follow them when one of the science teachers steps in front of me, blocking my path. “All marine life must remain in the designated area.”
It takes me a moment to realize she means the octopus now wound around my upper arm and shoulder. I start pulling him off, but he’s stuck fast to my skin and it’s not an easy task. By the time the octopus rests safely back in his tub and the teacher has rushed off to stop another student from trying to bounce a blowfish like a basketball, Melusine and Clay are out of sight.
I head toward the stern, moving as fast as I can. I walk against the salty wind, and it pushes me back, but I fight it. As I move around the other side of the ship’s cabin, Clay’s voice reaches my ears, and I duck back so I won’t be seen. Relief floods me; if he’s using that harsh a tone, she must not have sirened him yet.
“ … and you don’t seem sick now. You just wanted to get me over here and you didn’t care that I was doing something else. Why is it always about what you want?”
“Maybe letting you get this out of your system will do you some good,” Melusine says, sounding bored. I can barely hear her indifferent words over the howling wind.
“I’m serious, Mel. When was the last time we had an actual conversation? Or did something we’re both interested in?”
“You always seem interested.”
“Is that what you wanted to get off that chiseled chest of yours?” she asks in a condescending voice. “You won’t feel that way in a minute. You may not love me now, but you will.”
She takes a step closer to him and sings in Mermese.
Clay’s eyes glaze over and his face, so resolute a moment before, goes slack. She’s carving him out, leaving him empty, and I can’t stand it. My insides are on fire. Fury at what she’s doing to him rises up in me, wild and hot.
“Stop!” I cry, stepping out from behind the cabin.
But she doesn’t hear me. She’s lost in her own magic. The frigid air is thick with it. The waves crash against the side of the boat. I don’t know what sound to focus on—her sickening song or my own blood rushing in my ears. I have to stop this. When I open my mouth again, it’s not a scream that comes out.
“Come, come, come to me
Let’s explore eternity.”
The words rise almost unbidden from my throat. Melusine snaps her head around to look at me, and in her moment of distraction, so does Clay.
“Lia?” His voice sounds far away.
Melusine realizes her mistake and sings again, louder. Clay sinks back into a trance, his expression dead. I do the only thing I can think of. I sing, too.
“Come, come, come to me
I want you irrevocably.
Come, come, come to me
And promise that you’ll stay.”
As my volume increases, so does Melusine’s. Our words are whipped up by the sea wind that scrapes against both our faces. The magic of our two songs crackles and clashes, ricocheting off the surrounding waves.
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