Of Poseidon (14 page)

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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 fi sh.
No,
no, no, no!
He can’t leave me! I whirl around and around. How can I fi nd 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 fi rst 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 fi sh that surrounds me. As schizo as it sounds, I know this is real. None of these are fi sh I can name— except the monster of a swordfi sh lingering on the outskirt of the gathering. Textbook pictures are deceiving—

swordfi sh are
much
scarier in person. Still, one big fi sh 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 fi sh zips through my hair. I realize how not- normal it

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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 fi ngers. 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 fi ngers as if begging for me to pet them. They created a traffi

c jam in the tank to get to me. Even

now, a stingray pushes through the halo and fl its 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 fi rst time I realize I can still . . . well, hair
feel
Galen.

Not the goose bumps, or the pure lava running through my veins.

No, this is diff erent. An awareness, like when someone turns on a TV in a quiet room— even if it’s on mute, a crackling sensation fi lls the air. Only, this sensation fi lls 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

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return. Others keep going, not willing to take their chances with 0—

my skittish behavior. The swordfi sh eyes me, but still saunters

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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 fi n 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 pro cess why a man- fi sh 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.”

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He rolls his eyes. “I don’t turn into water, my skin changes,

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so I can conceal myself. You’ll eventually be able to, once you can shift into your fi n.”

“What makes you think I can? I don’t look like you. Other than the eyes, I mean.”

“I’m still trying to fi gure that out.”

“And did I mention I don’t have a big fi n—”

“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 nick-name Sugar our sophomore year because only
I
could sweet- talk her out of a fi ght. “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 defi nitely cancel out the Hallmark vote.

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“Unacceptable. Don’t
ever
risk your life like that again, do 0—

you understand?”

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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 fi sh. “And since you’re obviously Syrena, you do have to obey me.”

“I’m
what
?” I say, trying to fi gure out how an eating utensil could possibly validate his claim of se niority.

“Syrena. That’s what we— including you— are called.”

“Syrena? Not mermaids?”

Galen clears his throat. “Uh, mer
maid
?”

“Really? You’re gonna go there
now
? Fine, mer
man
— wait,
I
wouldn’t be a merman.” Really though, what do I know about fi sh gender? Except that Galen is defi nitely 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 fi n—”

“You’re not trying hard enough.”

“
Trying
hard enough? To grow a
fi n
?” 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

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stretch after you’ve been sitting a while. Your fi n is one big

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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 fi gure 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

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fi gure out how to change.”

0—

He faces me forward and tucks me neatly under one arm,

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which makes me feel like some sort of pet. The moon peers down at us as we ride the swells for a little while. In the distance, we can see the faint glow of occasional lightning, but not land.

When I can’t stand the Chihuahua position anymore, I wriggle loose. He catches me before I go under and pulls me to him so that my nose just grazes his. Above water, it feels like we’re exchanging kilowatts with our touch. Below, all I feel is Galen’s “pulse,” but it feels more like a magnetic force between us. When his fi n rubs against my legs, it feels velvety, like the wings of a stingray instead of scaly like a fi sh.

He lets me squirm some distance between us, but doesn’t let go. “If I’m Syrena, then where did I come from?” I say. “My mom doesn’t have the eyes.”

He nods. “I know. I looked for that.”

“She hates the water, too. The only reason we live on the beach is because Dad loved it.” In fact, Mom talks about moving further into town all the time now that Dad’s gone. I fi nally convinced her to wait until I left for college.

“And your father?”

“Blond. Blue eyes. Not as pale as me.”

“Hmm.” But he doesn’t sound surprised. It sounds more like I confi rmed what he already knew.

“What?”

“The only thing I can think of is that they’re not your real parents. They can’t be.”

I gasp. “You think I’m
adopted
?”

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“What does
adopted
mean again?”

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“That they raised me as their child, but I was born to someone else.”

“Obviously.”

I push away from him. The waves are a lot bigger when I try to negotiate them on my own. “Well, that’s real easy for you to say, isn’t it?” I decide to swallow the next wave instead of swim over it. I’m relieved when his arms encircle my waist again.

“Emma, I’m just exploring the options here. You’ve got to acknowledge that someone isn’t telling the truth. And I don’t think you can reasonably say
I’m
lying.” I shake my head. “No. You’re not lying. But they are my parents, Galen. I have my dad’s nose. And my mom’s smile.”

“Look, I don’t want to argue with you. We’ll just have to think harder about it, that’s all.”

I nod. “There’s got to be some other explanation.” He off ers a tight- lipped smile, his expression doubtful. In silence, we let the waves drift us toward shore. After a while, he pulls my legs up and lets me lean my head against his chest. We pick up speed as he propels us gently through the swells.

“Galen?”

“Hmmm?”

“What happens when we get to shore?”

“Probably you should get some sleep.”

He’s already looking at me when I lift my chin. “You think I can sleep after all this? And anyway, that’s not what I meant.” He nods. “I know it’s not.” He shrugs, adjusting me in his

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arms. “I was hoping you’d let me . . . help you.” 0—

“You want to help me turn into a fi sh.”

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“Something like that.”

“Why?”

“
Why?
Why not?”

“Stop answering my questions with questions.” He grins. “It doesn’t work, does it?”

“Stop that!” I give his jaw a little slap.

He laughs. “All right.”

“But what I’m trying to say is, the reason you took such an interest in me since Chloe died . . . the reason you moved here, enrolled in my school, invited me to the beach . . . You were just trying to fi gure out if I’m one of you?”

Of course, stupid. When has anyone like Galen ever paid you any attention? When has there ever
been
anyone like Galen?
Still, I’m surprised how much it hurts when he nods. I’m his little science project.