Undertow (30 page)

“Someone's coming,” Bex says, peering down the beach. I stand and look, overcome with a hope that it is Fathom. He hasn't been here to see me. I begged Ghost to let him know I was in trouble. Nothing came of it. Unfortunately, as the figure grows closer, I recognize its outline.

“It's Arcade,” I say.

“You say that like it's a bad thing.”

“She's Fathom's fiancé,” I explain.

“Uh-oh,” Bex says. “Just be cool and apologetic for trying to steal her man, but if she starts taking off her heels and earrings, then we should run.”

“Is it true?” Arcade snaps. “You are a Daughter of Sirena?”

“Busted.”

“You realize you've dishonored him?” she says. “You manipulated him, deceived him, spied on him—”

“I did not spy on him,” I say.

“You have been attempting to seduce him since the moment you met, human. I've seen it with my own eyes, all to feed his secrets to your traitorous mother and your policeman father!”

“It's not like that.”

She stares at me, not in disgust, which is what I would expect, but rather like I'm a dangerous threat, something that might need to be put down before it hurts anyone else.

“He and I are selfsame, united, and destined. You were nothing more than a carnal outlet for a spirited Triton male—”

“Did you just call my friend a whore?” Bex says.

“Just stop. There was nothing approaching carnal. It was just a little crush I had, it was stupid and meaningless and clearly it was all me, and I am sorry.” The words sting my tongue and lips like they're made of vinegar, but what hurts most is that they are true.

“Your apology means nothing to me,” she snarls.

“You have to—” I'm seized with pain, brass knuckles punch my gray matter, and I cry out in both agony and surprise. It's so bad, I nearly fall over.

“What is your trouble, land walker?” Arcade snaps.

“I get headaches.”

Arcade raises a curious eyebrow, almost as if she doesn't believe me.

“Lie down,” Bex says. “She's been getting them since she was a baby. She just needs some quiet, maybe something to eat.”

“Find someone else to serve you, bottom feeder,” Arcade says, and then she's gone.

“You are the queen of awkward encounters these days,” Bex says. “Did you know they were together?”

I nod. “I didn't think it would go anywhere. The whole thing sort of came out of nowhere.”

“But when you realized it was happening between the two of you, there was no little voice in the back of your head shouting about the swords that come out of her arms?”

I groan. I really don't need a lecture right now, but I know I deserve one.

“No lectures,” she says, seemingly reading my mind. “Can you just stop keeping secrets? Because it sort of blows up in your face every single time.”

I frown. “What was I supposed to say to you, Bex? I'm half mermaid and I have the hots for Edward Scissorarms?”

“I guess I'll never know,” she says. “You didn't trust me enough.”

“I'm so sorry, Bex.”

She shrugs. “Is there anything else I need to know about you?”

I shake my head.

“Are you pregnant?”

“NO!”

“Don't act all offended. You're a notorious slut, Ms. Carnal Coney Island.”

“Don't make me laugh. It hurts my head,” I say.

“Is anybody else in your family a fairy tale character? Is Leonard a hobbit or something? Is he an ogre? Is he Shrek?”

“No other secrets.”

“Do you love him?”

“Yes,” I say, with the rain rolling down my face and neck. I don't want to cry about the stupid, impossible daydream I allowed myself to live in for a couple weeks. I can't be heartbroken by my own dumb decisions. But it sucks. It really, really sucks. I let the sky cry for me.

When the rain stops, Bex sleeps and I practice yoga. I'm rusty, and surprisingly un-flexible. My arms and legs are stiff, my tendons tight, but I do my best. It helps the migraine, gets it down to a more manageable level, and I start feeling better, just in time to hear a Selkie barking from the wall.

“There are humans gathering outside,” he shouts. “Hu­man soldiers with guns. They seek an audience with Lyric Walker.”

“Me?” I say. The noise wakes Bex and pulls me out of my meditation.

“Ignore them,” another guard shouts.

“One calls himself Doyle.”

Terrance approaches, looking tired. “Do you want to talk to him?”

“I want to know about my mom,” I cry.

“She's being held and awaiting trial. She's safe and they are not mistreating her,” he says. “It's all I know.”

“Fine,” I say, feeling slightly relieved. “Yes, I'll talk to Doyle. He might know something about my father.”

Ghost uses his glove to make a door. Water rushes up the beach and swirls around the base of the structure. A tire, a pogo stick, a cardboard box, and an antique baby carriage are all swept aside, revealing an arch large enough for us to walk through. I pass under, only to be met by soldiers pointing guns right at my head. I see Bonnie among them.

Doyle is with them. He peers through the arch, then looks back at his soldiers. They all lower their weapons.

“I brought you your homework,” he says, then smiles.

“I hardly recognize you without the coffee cup.”

He nods. “Are you okay?”

“I need to know my father is okay,” I say. “I think he broke a rib.”

“Your father was arrested, but his paperwork was never processed. At the moment he is missing.”

“Missing?”

Terrance sighs. “They've taken him to the camp.”

“Tempest,” Doyle says.

“You knew about that place?” I cry.

“A conversation for another time. Right now, you have another crisis. I don't know if you've noticed what's going on behind me,” he says.

I peer beyond and see hundreds of jeeps, tanks, soldiers, and what look like rocket launchers on the boardwalk. All of them are pointed at the wall.

“I thought I'd give you the heads-up,” he says. “They're going to attack sooner rather than later. I'd really like to try to get you off this beach if I can, especially before the Alpha Cavalry show up.”

“What?” Terrance says.

“A British submarine detected more of your friends in the water, about a thousand miles off the coast,” he says. “Bit of an international screwup, but they've got photos. It's making a lot of the Alpha's friends in Washington into former friends. They're not going to sit around and wait to be invaded.”

“More Alpha?” Terrance asks. “That's not possible.”

“Unless there's another race of people who can breathe underwater and swim a hundred miles an hour.”

“The Rusalka,” he says, then turns and sprints back into the camp.

“How is your mother?” Doyle asks.

“They're putting her on trial as a traitor,” I say.

“Damn, kid, trouble really does seem to find you. How about Becca?”

“She's surviving.”

“Her stepfather is missing. Think she knows anything about it?”

I shake my head, but I know she does.

“I'd get out of here, kid,” he warns, then he's gone.

Terrance shakes me awake. I struggle to focus my eyes. The purple sun is kissing the horizon, but it is still dark.

“Gather your things. It's time,” he says.

“Time for what?” I ask.

“Your mother's trial.”

“Wait! What?” I cry.

“You have to hurry,” Terrance says as he urges us to follow. With stiff legs and arms, Bex and I do our best to keep up with him. He leads us through the newly built camp. The roads and tents are back, magically recreated in the night. It makes no sense to me how Ghost's glove works, but the results are awe-inspiring.

“I have spent the night talking to anyone who will listen about your mother. Alpha law is not my specialty, but this is what I know: Justice is swift. Once the trial begins it can end at any moment.”

“Any moment?” I cry. “What does that mean?”

“It means when the prime feels he's heard enough, the trial is over. Now, the high accuser is sort of like a prosecutor. He will state his case against your mother and she will defend herself.”

“She doesn't get a lawyer?” Bex says, seemingly as bewildered as me.

Terrance shakes his head and winces. “I know, but that's how it works. No one accused of a crime against the empire is given a defender. She will argue for her life, so she needs to be fierce. After everyone has made their arguments, each speaking member of the ten remaining tribes will vote on her guilt, and then the prime will choose a punishment that pleases him.”

“Like a jury?” Bex asks.

“Yes, but they will make their decisions in the open, in front of us all, and quite frequently, they become part of the trial themselves. Now, when they find her guilty—”

“When?”

“Lyric, I don't want to give you false hope. There is very little chance that she will be found innocent. She did what they are accusing her of.”

“She did it for me,” I cry.

“Which does not concern the high accuser. She was an agent of the prime. There's an old Alpha saying that the prime's wishes come before the beating of a heart.”

“And what will the punishment be?” I can barely get the question past the dread rising up my throat.

“Like I said, I have talked to many who have the prime's ear, and I've urged them to suggest banishment for her. He can, however, call for her execution.”

Suddenly the air is filled with shouts and warnings. Alpha run along the shore. They point out at the horizon, where a huge silver ship sails toward Coney Island. The American flag flutters on its deck. It's as big as a city, imposing and fear­some.

“What is that?” Bex cries.

“The U.S. Navy is here,” Terrance says.

“Are they going to attack?” Bex worries.

I look back at the wall of trash behind us. There's no place to run if that ship fires on us. We'll die on this filthy beach.

“One crisis at a time,” Terrance says. “Come. Your mother's trial is about to start.”

The entire nation is gathered in the massive arena I saw on the day I first came to the camp. I remember Foster telling me they rebuild it every day after the tide destroys it in the night. Now I know the gloves Ghost, Luna, and Arcade wear make it happen. Their power is startling.

Terrance pushes us through the crowd and barks something at a Selkie guard, and the hulk shoves people out of the way indiscriminately so that we can descend flights of steps made from hard, coarse sand. When we get to the bottom, we walk onto the arena floor, a wide-open circle as big as a basketball arena. Standing in the center is the priestess. She's dressed in her gown of sealskins and carries a long staff carved from what looks like whalebone.

“That's the high minister,” Terrance explains, “and your best asset in this trial. She used to look after your mother when she was a child. She speaks for the Great Abyss.”

“The what?” Bex asks.

“It's their god,” I try to explain. It's embarrassing how many bizarre things I'm going to have to explain to her about my life.

“The Great Abyss is both a god and a place, Lyric. Your mother never taught you about her religion? Oh, never mind. The high minister is the Great Abyss's priestess and the deliverer of its words,” he says. “All verdicts must be sanctioned by her, the divine speaker.”

“So she can keep my mother alive?”

“Theoretically, but a high minister hasn't challenged a prime's sentence in four hundred years. Now, about your role in the trial—”

“Huh?”

“Lyric, please just listen. You can sway the verdict. Do you see the Alpha standing on the edges of the circle? That's the Council of Ten, representatives of the ten speaking clans. Pay a lot of attention to them, especially the Selkie. He's Surf's father, Nor.”

I scan the council and spot Nor right away. He's the same Selkie I saw fighting Fathom on the beach. He's wearing an eye patch today, and the jagged wound on his chest is open to the air.

“He's the one who tried to kill Fathom?”

Terrance nods. “And believe it or not, he's the most level-headed of the bunch. He has openly defied this prime, and many think of him as a successor to the throne if things change. Nor has many friends, and if you can win him over, others may vote along with him. It's a long shot but it's the best chance we have.”

I look at the other members of the council. Next to Nor is Fathom's stepmother, Minerva, wearing a sinister smile. Next is an elderly, bitter-faced Nix leaning on a cane, and a Ceto woman who looks bored. There's a man with lavender skin and a fin on his back, and Nathan, the same pufferfish man I pissed off on my first day at the camp. A beautiful man with golden hair and raspberry-colored scales on his neck and hands is next—clearly a Sirena. The three remaining people are wildly different from the others. One has the upper body of a man but a lower body that divides into three snake tails. The second looks almost human, except for his milky-green complexion and the sharp, barbed teeth in his mouth. I know him from my mother's descriptions. His kind call themselves the Feige. He's ghastly, the stuff of nightmares. The third looks like a little man curled inside a massive hermit-crab shell. He's something out of a low-budget horror film—
Attack of the Crab People
. For some reason he's more terrifying to me than all the others.

“Is that a Rusalka?” I ask, remembering my mother's conversations.

Terrance looks at me hard. “What do you know of Rusalka?”

“I've heard you use the word, and my mom told me some things. I know they are slaves.”

“Do not mention them in this place,” he says sternly.