Fins Are Forever (15 page)

Not that Prithi is pleased to have been caught by a human when there’s a bird and two mermaids in the room. But at least the chaos is contained.

“Is this a messenger gul ?” I ask, tucking the bird close to my body.

“No,” Aunt Rachel says with a stern look at Doe. “It’s a seagul .”

“I’m sorry, al right?” Doe says, not sounding sorry in the least. “I didn’t know there were non–messenger seagul s.

They don’t exactly hang out in Thalassinia.”

“Doe,” I sigh.

“I thought maybe Brody had sent me a message,” she argues. Her voice is tight, and I get the feeling she’s on the verge of tears.

But I know better than to show her sympathy. If there is one thing Doe cannot stand, it’s embarrassment. She tends to process the emotion poorly and turn it against others, in the most cool and calculating ways possible.

“We understand, dear,” Aunt Rachel says, way more accepting than me, as always. “It wil take you a while to adjust to life on land.”

“Life on land? There is no
life
on land,” Doe shouts, and we al jerk back at her sudden outburst. Her reactions are usual y far more control ed, far more cutting than explosive.

“I don’t want to adjust, I don’t want to be on land. I
hate
being stuck here.”

I’m stunned into shock.

Not by her statement, because I know how she feels about land. But Doe is almost always in control, never betrays any true emotions or feelings stronger than mild annoyance. No one has ever gotten this kind of raw reaction from her, not even when Kitt and Nevis cut off al her hair when she was eleven.

Maybe it’s her land temper. Most merfolk spend at least some time on land, and that teaches them how to control their runaway emotions to some degree. Since her parents died, Doe hasn’t set foot on land for more than a few minutes at a time—and then only to get to the next body of water. When she visited me and Quince on Isla Amorata for our couples-counseling chal enge, I was shocked that she stayed on the island for a couple of hours.

Her hormones must be going crazy after a whole week.

Her eyes are wide and a little wild. I’ve never her seen her quite so out of control. I have a bad feeling that things are about to go very wrong.

“I just want to go home,” she screams. “I don’t want to be surrounded by you horrible humans anymore.”

“Horrible humans?” Brody breaks the silence. “Is that what you real y think?”

To her credit, Doe only blinks once before answering. The control is back in place. Everything about her—her voice, her demeanor, her eyes—is icy cold as she says, “Yes.” She takes a deep breath, and her chest is shaking. “I hate al humans. They’re vile, selfish, dangerous creatures who don’t deserve to live when my parents are dead.” She looks Brody right in the eyes as she says, “I wish Uncle Whelk hadn’t stopped me.”

After Brody’s beachfront confession, this must feel like a swordfish to the heart. I tried to tel him what Doe is real y like, but I can’t take any joy in this particular I-told-you-so.

The tension between Doe and Brody chil s the room. If Doe had her powers, I’d think she’d chil ed the moisture in the air. In this case, though, her frigid emotion is enough to do the job.

I think Aunt Rachel, Quince, and I al sense that this does not involve us, because we al remain frozen and silent.

I knew Doe hated humans—no one who grew up with her could know otherwise—but not like this. Not enough to wish them harm. That bad feeling I had earlier? Wel , it’s back, times a thousand. Because if Doe has this kind of pure hatred inside her, I can only imagine that it has something to do with her exile. Something very, very bad.

In the end, it’s Brody who poses the question we’ve probably al been thinking. It’s Brody who counters her emotion with flat, emotionless words.

“Why did you get exiled?” he asks cool y. “What did the king stop you from doing?”

Doe is like a statue. Arms rigidly at her sides, breathing shal ow, back stiff. The only sign that she is alive is her mouth moving as she says, “I stole the king’s trident.” I gasp, shaking my head as if I can ward off the statement I sense is coming next. Daddy’s trident is one of the most powerful magical instruments in the seven seas. In the hands of someone ful of burning rage and hate… Tears sting at my eyes.

“And I tried to wipe out the East Coast with a tsunami.”

“Oh, dear,” Aunt Rachel gasps.

Quince, stil clutching Prithi in his arms, says, “Damn.” Brody doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t betray any reaction at al , as if Doe had said she tried to send us a rain of hibiscus blossoms. Then again, what kind of reaction should a boy have when he learns that the girl he loves tried to kil him and al of his kind? That’s the kind of situation that pretty much defies reaction.

Robotical y, his movements jerky, he turns to leave.

“Brody,” Doe cries, her ice cracking.

But he doesn’t look back.

A few seconds later the sound of the screen door clanging shut echoes through the house. Quince catches my attention across the kitchen and lifts his brows in question.

I open my mouth, wanting to say something, but no words come out. In the end I just shake my head. This is beyond my comprehension. I knew Doe was a brat and that she hated humans, but I never would have guessed that she was this malicious. To think of al the lives…

The tears spil from my eyes, and I can’t bring myself to imagine the devastation.

“Let me take the gul ,” Aunt Rachel says, her voice shaking with careful y contained emotion as she crosses to me. I hand over the bird, and Aunt Rachel disappears into the living room, presumably to send the gul out the front door.

Also, I’m sure, to get as far from Doe as possible.

Several long moments pass before I recover my ability to speak.

“Do you know,” I begin, “what kind of destruction you might have caused?”

I picture al the humans who might have been swept away in the tsunami. Quince, Shannen, Brody, and Aunt Rachel, and countless others. Tel in and I and other merfolk living on land might have survived, but only if we avoided the debris wal that would plow over the land like a bul dozer. I never knew she held that much hate in her heart.

Doe shrugs, recovering her unaffected attitude, as if it’s no big deal. A facade. I’m not a violent girl, but I’ve never wanted to slap anyone more.

“Uncle Whelk would never have let that happen,” she replies. Only the quiver of her lower lip betrays her awareness of the situation. The gravity of what she almost did. “He stopped the wave before it got half a mile from Thalassinia.”

“And that makes it okay?” I demand, crossing to her and standing toe to toe. “What if he hadn’t been able to stop it?

What if—”

I can’t finish the thought. It’s too terrible.

“He did,” Doe spits. “I don’t see what the big deal—”

“You don’t see?”

If Quince hadn’t dropped Prithi and thrown himself between me and my cousin at just that moment, I think I might have strangled her.

“Lily,” he says, sounding al calm and not nearly as homicidal as I feel. Doesn’t he know that he and his mom would have been counted among the victims? “This isn’t going to solve the problem.”

“It might,” I snarl.

“No.” He cups my chin and makes me look him in the eyes. “You know it won’t. Your father sent her to you because he thinks you can help her get past this. He wants you to heal her. It’s your duty.”

I slump. Duty. The one word that can change everything.

Al the anger and terror and fire ebb away, because I know Quince is right. Yel ing at Doe is not the solution. There’s enough hate in the room already.

“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper so only Quince can hear. “How do I fix her?”

I can’t change the past. I can’t go back in time and stop the deep-sea fishing boat that caught her parents in a dragnet, shredding their fins and trapping them until a great white came along. The kingdom was in mourning for months. Clearly, Doe blames the entire human race, and al that pain and resentment has been boiling inside her for years.

How can I make her forgive humankind? And realize that not al of them show such disregard for life?

“It wil take time,” he says. “She needs to learn to like and, eventual y, love humans. It wil take only one.” He glances over my shoulder, toward the living room. “Maybe Aunt Rachel.”

An image flashes in my mind, of Brody sitting next to me on the beach, tel ing me he thought Doe was his future.

“Maybe not Aunt Rachel.”

Sure, Brody is furious at Doe right now. So am I. So are we al , I think. But the kind of feelings he confessed don’t just disappear because of one incident, especial y one that happened before they even met. From her reaction when Brody walked out, I don’t think Doe is as indifferent to him as she’d like us to believe. There is strong emotion there on her part, too.

Brody wil come back around. Eventual y. And maybe his feelings, his love, wil transform Doe.

It’s the only way I can imagine.

I nod at Quince, silently tel ing him that my fury has worn off and he doesn’t need to protect Doe anymore. He steps aside and I walk up to her.

“I don’t know if I wil ever forgive you for what you did,” I say quietly, “but I’l try. And I’l also try to teach you that most humans are kind, wel -meaning, and wil ing to help others in need. If they had known your parents were trapped at the bottom of the ocean,” I say, not stopping when she jerks back at the mention of her parents, “they would have done whatever it took to save them.”

She shakes her head as if she doesn’t believe me. That’s fine. I already knew she was going to take convincing.

These are things I can’t just
tell
her, I have to
show
her.

Brody
has to show her.

“As much as I want to send you to the opposite side of the world right now,” I say, needing her to know how much this hurt, “I’m going to help you instead.”

“How?” she asks, and I can almost believe that she
wants
me to succeed.

I can almost believe her eyes are glowing with a sheen of tears.

In that instant I realize what I need to do. There is only one way to ensure that Brody forgives her and that she gives him the chance to prove al her past feelings wrong. I just hope they both forgive me in the end.

“The only way I know how,” I answer. Closing my eyes, I say, “I’m going to leave you bonded to Brody.” My eyes blink open at her gasp.

Beneath the hatred and the aloofness and the frigid protection of her emotions, I see something new in her piercing blue eyes. Maybe I notice it only because it’s what I’m looking for, but I almost think I see a spark of… hope.

And that spark gives me al the reassurance I need to believe that Doe can be healed. It just has to happen before her bond with Brody becomes permanent. I could never leave him bonded to someone who hates what he is. That would be too cruel. For them both.

For now, though, it’s our only chance.

rody doesn’t show to pick Doe up before school Monday Bmorning—not that I expected him to. Neither did she, apparently, since she locks herself in the bathroom and insists she’s too sick to go. But I know the truth—she’s not sick, she’s heartbroken.

While a good cousin might show sympathy and commiseration, I’m actual y thril ed. Because this means Doe cares about Brody. A lot.

I don’t argue about her feigned il ness because her staying home gives me a chance to talk to Brody first. After two mostly sleepless nights, alternately imagining what might have happened if Doe’s tsunami had succeeded in reaching Seaview and formulating what I need to say to convince Brody to help, I’m exhausted and ready to face him. This won’t be easy.

There is no news-team footage to review in the studio, so I stake out his economics classroom instead. I’m watching the hal s intently, so I see him a while before he sees me.

Which means I see him notice me, jerk back, and then, after a brief mental debate, decide to ignore me. He tries to walk right past me into the classroom, but I throw out my arm and block the doorway.

He stops but doesn’t look at me. “What?”

“We need to talk,” I say. Hurt and pain are practical y radiating off him. Not that I blame him, of course. We just don’t have another choice. “It’s important.”

“No thanks.” He tries to push past me, but I steel my arm and hold him back. I al ow myself half a second to be pleased with my own strength.

Then it’s back to work.

“Please.” I’m not above begging. This is way more important than my pride. I have to make him see that this is about more than just him and Doe. “Just give me five minutes.”

“Fine.” He final y looks at me. Then his watch. “Five minutes. Go.”

I tug him a little way down the row of lockers, out of earshot of the classroom ful of students, before I begin. “I know what Doe did was unforgivable.”

I take his snort as an agreement.

“I’m not asking you to forgive her.” Yet. “I’m so mad myself I could boil water. But you have to understand her history.” I give him a quick rundown of her parents’ death, a story that could elicit sympathy from a beluga whale, and am relieved when I see his rigid stance relax a little. Progress. “Clearly, none of the therapists she’s seen have helped. She’s stil consumed by the past. By her emotions. She’s been living with this rage for years.” I duck down and to the right to catch Brody’s gaze. “My father sent her here to learn that her