Of Poseidon (26 page)

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with the water running full blast. Of course, the unidentifi able 0—

chunks from lunch don’t help either.

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“Don’t worry about it, Galen,” Dr. Milligan whispers, handing him a paper towel. “I’ll take care of that later.” Galen nods and pools water from the faucet into his mouth to rinse out the leftovers. Drying his face and hands with the paper towel, he stalks back to the table, but leans against it instead of hoisting himself back up. Just in case he has to make a run for it again.

“Still sick from the fl ight?” Emma whispers.

He nods. “Dr. Milligan, you were saying?” The doctor sighs. “Thirty- two beats per minute.”

“And in years?” Galen says, his stomach tightening again.

“Roughly? Right around one hundred and seventy- fi ve years, I think.”

Galen pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why? Why does her heart beat faster than other Syrena?”

“I wish I could tell you, Galen. But we both know Emma is diff erent than you in other ways, too. Her hair and skin, for instance. Maybe these diff erences have something to do with her inability to change into Syrena form.”

“Do you think it has anything to do with her head injury?” Galen says.

Emma shakes her head. “Can’t be.”

“Why is that, Emma?” Dr. Milligan says, crossing his arms thoughtfully. “Galen said you hit it pretty hard. I’d say it’s at least reasonable to consider the possibility that you may have damaged something.”

“You don’t understand, Dr. Milligan,” she says. “I didn’t

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have any Syrena abilities before I hit my head. Hitting my head

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is what changed everything. Besides, I’ve been white as the moon all my life. That’s got nothing to do with a concussion.”

“That’s true,” Galen says. “But you could hold your breath for a long time before you hit your head. And you had the Gift before that, too. Maybe the abilities were always there, you just never knew to test them.” Stupid, stupid. The hurt on her face confi rms his mistake.

“You’re talking about the day Chloe died,” she says quietly.

Slowly, he nods. No point in lying about it. Even if he wasn’t talking about Chloe, she’s already thinking about it, already traveling back in time to that day, torturing herself with if only.

If only she had known about her Syrena blood, if only she had known about her Gift of Poseidon. Chloe would be alive. She doesn’t need to say it. It’s all over her face.

“Everyone wrote it off as adrenaline,” she says. “I should have known better.”

Dr. Milligan clears his throat. “Just to be thorough, let’s take some X-rays before you go tomorrow. Is that all right with you, Emma?”

She nods, but Galen can tell it’s just a refl ex.

Galen calls for a cab to drive them back to the hotel; he can’t subject Emma to another walk on the beach where her best friend died. Especially since he’s not sure how long he can stay in the same room with her without using his arms— or his lips— to comfort her.

It’s going to be a long night.

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19

DR. MILLIGAN taps the X-ray lit up on the screen. “See here, Galen, this is where your bones thicken to protect your organs.

Where people have ribs, you have an enclosure of bone plating, like a shell, really. And this is Emma’s X-ray,” he says, fl ipping on the light behind the other image on the white box. “See how hers looks like ribs at fi rst? It barely shows up, but if you look closer, you can see that thin layer of bone plating connecting the ribs. Not quite as thick as yours, though. In fact, none of her bones hold the same density.”

“But what does that mean?” Galen says, frowning. I’m glad Galen’s not the only one having a diffi

cult time following Dr.

Milligan. My thoughts keep vacillating between the draft that feels more like a gust in this sizes- too- big hospital gown, and Dr. Milligan’s proposal that I’ll live to be 175 years old. This is

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getting a little weird, even under the circumstances. I’m hundreds

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of miles from home, half naked in a room with two guys I barely know. Taken out of context, I’d have to question my common sense. Heck, even in context.

Dr. Milligan shrugs. “I’m not sure. Could be a few diff erent things, I guess. There’s still so much about your kind I don’t know, Galen. Growth patterns, for instance. Maybe since Emma spent her life on land, her bones didn’t develop fully. Like her coloring. Maybe the Syrena body reacts to something in the water that triggers pigmentation development. That’s just a guess though. Really, I have no idea.”

Galen looks at me, concern lurking in every crevice of his expression. I know it bothers him when I’m quiet. He’d probably be surprised to fi nd that I’m usually quiet, just not around him. “Emma, do you have any questions for Dr. Milligan?” I bite my lip and pull the hospital gown tighter around myself. “How can I talk to fi sh? Why do they all understand English? And don’t say it’s magic.” It’s not the question I want to ask, but it’s a good one nonetheless, and the answer will give me more time to sponge up the confi dence I’ve been hemorrhaging since changing into this gown.

Dr. Milligan smiles and takes off his glasses. Wiping them with his lab coat, he says, “Well, my dear, Galen is convinced that’s ge ne tic as well. If it is ge ne tic, I hardly think it could be magic. And I’m not convinced they could understand a language as complex as En glish. If they did, there’d be no point in baiting a hook ever again, right? A fi sherman would simply drop a bucket

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in the water and tell his catch of the day to swim into it.” He 0—

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chuckles. “If I had to guess, I’d say it has to do with the sound of your voice. We already know that many species of marine life communicate between each other with sound. Whales and dolphins, for example. It’s possible your voice has a one- size- fi ts- all frequency, or some special infl ection that they understand. It’s possible that what you want them to do translates not in what you say but in how you say it. Unfortunately, I don’t have the equipment to test that theory, or even the ability to get my hands on it right now.”

I nod, unsure how I’m supposed to react to that. To any of this.

“Is there anything else bothering you, Emma?” Galen says, surprising me. I wonder why we bothered with the X-rays at all, when Galen can apparently see straight through me, into my deepest parts. Like last night, in the hotel room. When I got dressed after my forty- fi ve- minute cry- a-thon in the shower, I found a box of chocolate- covered strawberries on my pillow and Galen folded up on the ugly love seat, sound asleep.

I clear my throat. “Dr. Milligan, I’m not sure if Galen told you or not, but my father was an MD. He took care of my runny noses, my scrapes, my immunizations. When he died, his friend Dr. Morton took over. How could they miss my bone structure, my slow pulse? You’d think they’d notice my heart is on the opposite side of my chest. I mean, are you sure you’re reading this right? You’re not a human doctor, you’re basically a veterinarian, right? You could be wrong.”

Galen seems antsy, shifting in his chair. While metal and

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polyester aren’t exactly the ingredients for coziness, I get the feeling it’s my question unsettling him instead of any physical dis-comfort.

Dr. Milligan pulls the rolling stool up to where I sit on the exam table. Refl exively, I lean toward him, crinkling the thin strip of paper separating me from the vinyl. He reaches out to pat my hand. “Emma, my dear, it’s natural to feel that way. And you’re right, I’m defi nitely not a human doctor, like your dad was. But it doesn’t take a human doctor to see the diff erences between my X-ray, Galen’s X-ray, and yours.” For emphasis, he inclines his head toward the wall where our bones are illuminated on the screen. Then he double- takes. “Good grief.” Jumping to his feet, he sends the metal stool toppling behind him.

Galen and I watch as Dr. Milligan rearranges the images in a whirlwind of warbling plastic: Dr. Milligan’s X-rays of himself, mine, then Galen’s. “Is this really possible?” he says, peering over the rim of his glasses at us, concentration knitting his brows together like kissing caterpillars.

Galen stands and crosses his arms, cocking his head at the lighted screen. Finally, he says, “I guess I’m not following, Dr.

Milligan. What do you see?”

Dr. Milligan looks at me, his excitement making him appear years younger. I shake my head, unable to off er an intelligent guess. Dr. Milligan doesn’t miss a beat. “The fi rst one, mine, is human. The last one, Galen’s, is Syrena. This is Emma’s, here in the middle. It’s obvious. So obvious, I’m ashamed. She’s defi -

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nitely not human. But she isn’t Syrena, either.” 0—

I’m not liking the sound of this. I can tell Dr. Milligan

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thinks he’s already explained himself clearly; he’s looking at both of us like were opening a gift he gave us, and he can’t wait to see our reactions.

Galen saves us. “Dr. Milligan, you know as far as these things go, I’m pretty ignorant. For my sake, could you just give us the idiot version?”

I don’t like being impressed with Galen. Just when I had him sculpted as a snobby royal in my head, he turns all humble on me, smashing the image.

Dr. Milligan chuckles. “Of course, my boy. Emma is neither human nor Syrena. She appears to be both. Though I’m not sure if that’s even possible. Syrena DNA is very diff erent from human DNA.”

Galen steps back and takes his seat again. I’d do the same, if I weren’t already sitting. We both scowl at the lighted screen.

As I stare at it, playing musical X-rays with my eyes, I see it. The three sharp images become a single blurry one. Human and Syrena bones melt together until there’s only one image on the entire screen: mine. A combination of the two.

“It’s possible,” Galen says quietly.

Dr. Milligan leans against the wall, curiosity lighting up his face. “It’s happened before,” he says, lacing his fi ngers together, probably to keep from fi dgeting. “You’ve heard of it, haven’t you?”

Galen nods. He turns to me. “It’s the main reason for the Great War. The reason we have two territories,” he tells me. “Thousands of years ago, Poseidon decided to live on land

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with the humans. Interaction wasn’t outlawed then, just sort of

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frowned upon. The humans revered him as one of their gods, sacrifi cing animals to him, making ridiculous fl attering statues of him. They even built a city for him, and the Syrena who joined him on land. Tartessos, they called it.”

“Atlantis?” Dr. Milligan breathes, a hand over his chest.

Galen nods. “Some humans called it that at fi rst.” He turns back to me. “Poseidon enjoyed living with the humans. He per-mitted his followers to mate with them. Even Poseidon chose a human mate, against his brother Triton’s wishes. Triton believed the humans were poisonous and destructive, and that mating with them was unnatural. As a show of his disapproval, he divided the territories; the Triton territory became home for those who didn’t approve of humans, the Poseidon territory for those of the opposite opinion. Poseidon ignored his brother and continued as he saw fi t, using his gift to feed the growing population of Tartessos. Unfortunately, the human mate he chose belonged to someone else, a human king.”