Raging Sea (22 page)

“I’ve got it,” Riley says as he closes his eyes tight.

I turn to Spangler. He smiles and nods approvingly. I want him to think he’s tamed me, at least until I can get off his leash.

“All right, now, here’s where things get tricky,” I say, turning my attention back to Riley. “It’s not your imagination that makes the ripple. It’s your spirit.”

“I’m confused.”

“I’m talking about you—the big, awesome force that is Riley. The stomping giant that hides in your heart. That’s what fuels your Oracle. It’s the same thing that makes that sarcastic grin.”

The children laugh.

“So it’s like the Force?” Cole shouts from the crowd.

Riley’s face lights up, and he smiles at me. He’s always smiling at me. Why?

“No, not the Force. This is about raw emotion, not calm meditation. The person who taught me to use this told me that if I wanted to make it work, I had to be a force of nature, like a hurricane, all turmoil and raw emotion.”

“Show us,” Finn begs.

I’ve got more than my fair share of raw emotion, and letting some go will do me good. Best of all, I know just who to unleash it on.

I turn to Fathom. He hovers in the shadows, watching my lesson and doing his best to keep his distance. I raise my fist and his eyes widen. When my entire arm explodes and light flies upward to illuminate the rafters, his mouth opens in shock.

“Watch and learn, kids,” I shout, and at once all the water in the pool is in the air. It sails across the room until it is directly above Fathom, and then it swirls into a bubbling whirlpool, spinning faster and faster until his hair and clothes flap in an angry wind. Then I send it crashing down on him. He’s caught in my churning heartbreak, and his body flails about as he struggles to free himself. He’s not quick enough for my attack and his body slams into the floor over and over again, until he comes down in one bone-cracking slam. I direct the water back to the pool and watch Fathom struggle to stand, fighting with his lungs for a breath. He shoots me an angry and frustrated expression but I turn my back on him and face the children.

“Don’t worry, kids. He’s not hurt. In fact, Fathom can’t feel anything. That’s how he’s made,” I say.

I expected the kids to be shocked and afraid, the way they were when I attacked Spangler the day before, but they are smiling and eager, if a bit intimidated.

“I don’t think I feel anything that powerful,” Chloe says.

“My ability is fueled by loss and betrayal, something I’m sure all of you have experienced. But you don’t have to feel pain to do what I can do. Happiness is just as good. Fear, anger, love—”

The word feels dry and tough in my mouth. I’d spit it out if I could, right here on the grass. I’d step on it and squish it into nothing. Fathom has recast its very meaning so that it feels unwelcome and foreign. I can recall the feelings, but they are covered in so much despair, like the sudden loss of a person. Like how I feel about Shadow. All I can do is mourn. Put it aside, Lyric. Lock it up in a box and shove it deep under the bed. Don’t let him see what he’s done to you. Don’t turn and look. Don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he had power over you.

“Lyric? Are you all right?” Doyle asks.

“Sorry. I was saying you don’t need to feel something that intense. It could be something as simple as a happy memory or the secret wild thing inside you.”

“I’m lost,” Harrison admits.

“Have you ever read
Where the Wild Things Are
?”

“Riley reads it to me,” Chloe says, giving him a wink.

“Remember when Max wins the staring contest and the wild things bow down to him and make him their king, and then they do that crazy dance?”

“The wild rumpus,” she says, standing tall and proud for knowing the answer.

“Is there a wild rumpus inside you?”

Doyle crosses the room and stands close.

“Maybe I can help,” he says. “What is it that you want them to do? Give me the instructions, and I can help them understand.”

“There aren’t instructions,” I snap. “This isn’t a microwave. It’s fueled by feelings, the more powerful the better. It doesn’t have to be happiness. It can be aggression or arrogance or rebelliousness or even overconfidence. It’s like punk rock. It’s like a first kiss. It’s like a fistfight. They need to tap into something that rocked their world. This stupid park you’ve created for them is—”

Doyle looks at me skeptically.

“He’s doing it!” Priscilla cries. I turn to the pool and watch the water rippling back and forth until it becomes a violent wave that sloshes over the sides.

“I can’t believe it,” Riley says.

“You made it move! What did you think about?” I cry.

He gives me that grin again but keeps the answer to himself.

“Let’s let someone else give it a shot,” Doyle says.

“Riley, are you okay?” Chloe whimpers, then points to his face.

Blood is trickling out of his nose.

“Amy!” Spangler shouts, and from his mob of groupies comes everyone’s favorite nurse, urging the boy to tilt his head back and pinch his nose. She leads him away while Spangler stares at me like I’m mold.

“It’s okay. That happens to me sometimes too. He’s not hurt.”

Spangler punches a couple of buttons on his tablet.

“Is he sick?” Emma asks.

I shake my head, but to be honest, I don’t know. These gloves could be killing us all.

“Let’s take a break,” Doyle says.

He takes my arm and walks me out of everyone’s earshot.

“You’re confusing and scaring them,” he says. “They don’t need to know the Rusalka were mistreated. You don’t tell a soldier to empathize with the target. You tell them they eat babies and will kill us all in our sleep.”

“I’m not trying to scare them. They need to understand what they’re getting into and why they’re fighting,” I argue.

“That’s not your job,” he says with a sigh. “You’ve also got to get specific about how to make these things work.”

“I can’t be specific. I’ve tried to explain this the best I can. The glove is fueled by their spirits.”

“We don’t have time for spirits!” he says. “And what’s this about the nosebleeds?”

“Hey, look!” someone shouts from the crowd.

Doyle and I turn toward them, only to see Chloe hovering near Samuel. She slips her glove onto his hand, and it clicks into place.

“Chloe, no!” Spangler shouts, but it’s too late. Samuel’s eyes glow and then dim.

“It wasn’t fair he didn’t have one,” she tries to explain. “I want everyone to play.”

Samuel lowers his head and looks at the glove on his hand, then looks up at me. For a moment, he seems like his old self again, but then it fades.

“That is a very big problem,” Spangler says to me.

W
HEN I GET BACK TO MY ROOM, IT
’
S FULL OF NEW FURNITURE
—someone has even patched the holes in the wall. But Bex and my parents are gone. The soldier who escorted me has no idea where they are but uses his radio to find out, while I have a panic attack.

“They’re okay, Lyric,” Doyle says when he finally shows up. “Your dad is in the infirmary getting x-rays on his ribs. Bex is eating lunch with your mother. They’re safe.”

“Spangler is going to hurt them. He thinks I made Riley’s nose bleed.”

“I told him you didn’t, and he believes me,” he says.

He reaches out to take my hand, but I swat it away like it’s the mouth of a rabid dog. “There won’t be any repercussions, but what happened with the little girl has made him apoplectic. We don’t have any more Oracles.”

“Stop calling them that!” I snap. “It’s not some fancy gadget you buy at the Apple store.”

“I’ve offered a solution that he’s going to consider. I hope it makes everyone happy. In the meantime, you’re making your life harder every time you open your mouth. Stick with what you’re supposed to do, and keep your opinions to yourself. Get smart, Lyric.”

He turns to leave, but then stops.

“Tomorrow you’re starting your combat training,” he adds.

“I don’t want your help.”

“Spangler is going to drop you into a pack of Rusalka and heaven knows what else. You’re going to need to know how to fight and defend yourself.”

“I’m from Coney Island. I know about fighting.”

“Your first class is after you train the kids. If you don’t show up, I’ll have you dragged there,” he threatens.

The next day, Calvin arrives to take me to the park. He’s nervous and keeps reaching for his gun. His nose is still swollen.

“Hey, old friend,” I say, enjoying the panic I create in him.

“Don’t talk to me. Just keep moving,” he orders.

In the park, the children gather around me, but they don’t have the same excitement as yesterday. Riley’s nosebleed shook them up, and now they have trepidation about me as a teacher. This is not good news, Doyle tells me.

“Where’s Samuel?” I ask, scanning the room for his wheelchair.

“He’s with the doctors,” Spangler explains when he enters the room. He’s busy tapping on his tablet and doesn’t even look up. “Well, get started.”

“Yesterday Riley had a nosebleed. Did it scare anyone?”

Chloe and little Geno raise their hands, and even Dallas admits her fear, but when Riley raises his, everyone explodes with laughter.

“There’s no need to be afraid. The nosebleeds are normal,” I say.

“They did some tests on me, and I’m superhealthy,” Riley says. “In fact, they told me my brain is actually working better than it did before I put the Oracle on my hand. Apparently, it’s making everything work better. By the end of the day, I’m going to be a genius.”

The kids laugh again.

“If the bleeding was hurting you, then we’d stop what we’re doing. Your health is my only priority,” Spangler says robotically. He’s still busy with his tapping.

“Keep in mind that the gloves weren’t built with people like us in mind. They were designed for full-blooded Alphas—like Rusalka. We’re only half Sirena, so maybe it’s interfering with our bodies, but I haven’t had any problems other than the bleeding. A lot of times I don’t even know it’s happening. Still, it can’t hurt to be careful. If you get a nosebleed, then you should take a break. Deal?”

I feel like a liar. I don’t know anything about the nosebleeds. For all I know, the glove could be giving me cancer or cooking my brains, but what I’ve said seems to calm their fears. It’s a powerful reminder to me that I’m not dealing with adults. As gung ho as they are to fight the Rusalka, they are still children. Even the oldest ones are sheltered and naive.

We return to our work with the water. There is very little success. Dallas, Priscilla, Tess, and Emma can’t make anything happen at all. Ryan tries again and again, and grows more and more frustrated with each attempt. A seven-year-old named Leo and his nine-year-old brother, William, are quickly bored with trying and drift off to play on the swing set. A redhead named Suzi, Breanne, and even Harrison and Finn, lose their tempers and tell me all of this is stupid. Only little Geno, who is about the same age as Chloe, manages to cause a wave in the pool. It elicits a victorious cheer from all the children, and those who wandered off come running back, begging the little boy to do his trick over and over again. Geno is so proud of himself, basking in the jealousy that even the older boys can’t hide. It spurs them all to try even harder, and by the end of our class, half the children have nosebleeds. Frustrated, I have them change into their swimsuits and practice breathing underwater.

At the end of class, the kids say their goodbyes and file out of the park.

“What am I doing wrong?” Riley asks, unsatisfied with the waterspout he created earlier.

“Riley, you’re the best in the class.”

“I’m average,” he says. “Donovan says we’re running out of time. A bunch of cities had to be evacuated yesterday. We have to get out there and fight, Lyric.”

I’m tempted to tell him the truth, that he’s being used and he’s probably going to die. I look over my shoulder. The scientists are packing up their cameras, and Spangler stands in the shadows with only his frustrated eyes illuminated. He taps on his tablet. Still, it’s too risky.

“Could you show me again?” he begs.

“Follow me,” I say, and I lead him to the edge of the pool. He stares down at the water with his glove alight and his face set and determined.

“What I’m trying to teach you is almost innate,” I say. “It’s like trying to tell someone how to paint or how to write a story. It’s something that you automatically know how to do or, in your case, something we might have to trick you into understanding.”

“How did you figure it out?”

I sit down on the edge of the pool and let my legs slide into the water. This is a question I haven’t really asked myself, and it takes me a while to sort through all the possibilities until I find what feels right.

“I didn’t know what my mother was, what I am, until I was fourteen. Until that time, I felt like the queen of Coney Island. I was young, alive, and filled with attitude. Once I found out the truth about her, I had to go into hiding. Not literally, but mentally. All those things I loved about myself—my clothes, my big mouth—everything had to be stuffed down inside me and hidden from everyone. The only way my family could be safe was for me to be small.”

“That explains a lot.”

“Meaning?”

He laughs.

“How do I put this and still make it sound like a compliment?” he asks as he sits down next to me. “The Lyric Walker I met was a hurricane who blew people away, and then one day she was a wet fart.”

“That’s lovely, kid. So we’ve met before?”

A frown flashes on his face but it quickly fades.

“Sorry. What I’m saying is I met you and you were amazing, but every time I saw you after, it was like a different person was walking around in your body. It was obvious something was different.”

“And how many times did you see me?”

He turns pink and looks into the water. “You’re hard to miss.”

“Anyway, that hurricane, as you say, was still inside me and it got so that I resented having to hide it. I suppose that’s the most powerful emotion of my life, this need to let it go, to be the person I was always meant to be. When I use the glove, I think about letting loose.”