Jamyria: The Entering (The Jamyria Series Book 1) (16 page)

A hand
, she realizes before surrendering. She shuts her eyes knowing that it’s over.

*

Her lungs rasp as they fill with smoke. Seeing, too, is difficult as it grows thicker along the road. Her eyes sting in protest.

She wishes to lie down. She wishes to disappear. To reverse the last twenty minutes and still be heading home talking to her sister, arguing even if it means a better alternative to this unsightly night. But she can’t. She can’t even find the will to look away from the scene laid out in front of her.

The man in the faded red t-shirt skids to a stop as he reaches the car. He gives an unsuccessful attempt to fan away the smoke before searching for a way of entry. Bending over the flashy Mustang that hit Margo’s side, now a totaled mess of scrap metal, he peers in the window. The seconds tick by like hours. The ache of waiting overcomes the pain of her crippled arm. She would sacrifice her heart, if it means the survival of her family.

Finally, his head reappears, but Margo isn’t prepared for the mortified expression he wears. Her body numbs, and she can’t help but think the words: which one?

She kicks herself immediately. They’re both fine. They have to be. The Grisbys are fighters. There’s never a burden they can’t surpass. Haven’t they struggled together as a family the entirety of her life?

The man pulls himself through the window Margo must have climbed out of. She wouldn’t know; her body acted on its own accord. He disappears for another twelve heartbeats, and then emerges dragging her mother out behind him.

A knot of tension releases from Margo’s back. Though disoriented, her mom is alive. Her head falls back as he cradles her in his arms, and she loses consciousness. People shout as he staggers away with her limp body, but Margo can no longer hear them. The only thing she’s aware of is her mother.

He drops her to the ground next to Margo, panting. “You good?” he asks her, turning away immediately for phasing that question so carelessly. How can she be ‘good?’ Her mother’s alive, yes, but unconscious while Kylie is… Where is she? “Look after her… Keep her breathing. Lot of…smoke…” He coughs, hardly able to breathe himself.

Rising to go back to the cars once more, Margo notices him sway as if he can barely carry himself. She doesn’t see how he can possibly manage to carry her sister.

Her eyes follow him all the way to her sister’s side of the car where he pulls himself onto the hood of the black SUV. He curses, falling back to the pavement and patting his hands on his pants violently as if he’s been attacked by a swarm of bees.

The black SUV ignites, the flicker of flames slowly licking at the car. This time Margo hears the screams of the people in the streets. Dozens leave their cars behind and run to the safety of the nearby fields.

The man reaches through the broken window grasping toward the front seat.

“What are you doing?” It isn’t the voice of Margo’s rescuer but another man from the streets. He doesn’t dare get any closer to the cars. “That’s gasoline. Get away from there!”

Margo clasps her face with her hand when she spots the orange flickering reflection under the man in the faded shirt’s feet. Gasoline, pools of it.

He curses again, reaching further into the car until the hot metal sears his skin. He snarls in response.

“Get back!” the other shouts. He signals for everyone near the vehicles to evacuate. Sirens blare in the background. But they’re too far off.

He can’t ‘get back,’ not with her sister still stranded in the car. His strained face is proof that he is indeed giving up, though. Margo’s eyes widen knowingly. Tears spring to life without her permission, streaking lines through the grime on her cheeks.

The man leaves Kylie behind, weaving through the scattered cars, now assisting the panicking people flooding through the streets. The sirens pierce through the shouts cutting through Margo’s heart like a white-hot knife.

Margo pushes off the ground and runs back toward the burning cars.

*

Death is free of pain, a weightless void of thick, yet breathable air. Margo’s legs and arms are spread out around her as if she is a floating dandelion seedling awaiting the chance to be born into a new life. Maybe a second chance is what she needs; she has failed her first.

A pair of whispers caress her ears. Her eyes gently crack to see herself surrounded by indigo night. The air is heavy and thick to breathe, but it tastes as pure as the cleanest air of the Real World. The nearest tree is black and squishy looking, a school of fish swimming through its branches.

So death has not yet found her. But something stranger has….

The whispers grow more urgent; it requires much strain to hear through the murkiness of the water. A lantern is hung in a nearby tree, catching every floating speck in its rays, and beyond it are two boys whispering. No, arguing. Their voices are muffled, but a few words (“turn her in”, “arms”, and “seems lost”) are enough to clue Margo in on what they’re discussing: her marks.

Pop
! Water suddenly rushes deep into her ear canal, flooding every nook and crevice. In that moment each of the boy’s word becomes clear as ice.

“Well, what do you suggest we do with her?” says one of the boys in a hushed growl.

“I’m not sure, but —”

“But
what
?” he barks.

A pause. “We can’t just leave her here.”

“When are we ever supposed to leave someone unattended?” This one has a bit of an accent, and an attitude that doesn’t match his boyish face. He has smooth, creamy skin and dark hair that would have grazed his shoulders had it not been swept away in the current. The outraged look on his face hides any sign that he’s attractive. But he
is
attractive, Margo notes before quickly looking away.

“My point is,” the other continues. He has dark skin and long hair twisted into locks. She can’t make much else out since he’s floating furthest from the lantern. “
I’m
not going to be the one to turn the Marked One in. That’s suicide for us all.”

“What’s suicide is having to face the Queen after setting her free. Trust me.”

“
Look
!” the other shouts. “I have a promised mate to think about. It’s dangerous to let the Mark go, yes, but I gave her my word I’d do anything I could to get her out of this place!”

The younger one softens at these words but doesn’t speak.

“I can’t break that promise,” the dark one whispers.

His expression is black, but the younger one doesn’t protest. “She’ll kill us both.”

“I know….”

Their sudden silence is ominous. The Water Forest is dangerous. Cameron is dead right about that. The Queen, being killed — two terrifying phrases wrapped up in one conversation. Margo has to get out of there. Fast.

Slowly, she pulls her arms closer to her chest, as if to cover the truth of her identity that has already been exposed. In unison, they whirl around to face her. The roll of current from their movement slaps Margo in just a fraction of a second, sending her flying into the trunk of a tree which stirs up a cloud of black muck.

She gasps, losing all the water in her lungs from the blow. A black silhouette towers over her. She clutches the pinch in her chest when a second whirl smacks her back into the tree and holds her steady there.

“Don’t even think about moving.” The voice comes from the shadows of his face, sharp as needles. Margo cowers against the tree.

“That’s enough.” The darker one holds the lantern out allowing the light to hit his face. He has a scar under his right eye and a hook piercing his septum. “We won’t hurt you if we don’t have to.”

“We don’t know that yet,” the boyish one growls.

“Give it a rest!” The darker one swims closer lowering the light. Margo’s eyes drop to his lower half. “I’m Derek,” he says calmly. “And you can ignore the jerk.” He nods in the other’s direction.

“It’s
Ian
.”

“What’s your name?” says Derek.

“Margo Grisby,” she says automatically. Her head is too busy spinning as she takes in the man in front of her. His caramel skin travels down past his chest and slowly shifts to dark green scales. Where his spine meets his tail, a sharp fin juts out. His tail is nothing like the interpretations Margo’s seen but more flexible like an eel’s. “You’re a…mermaid?” she blurts.

“Does he look like a girl to you?” Ian barks, muscles tensed. Margo notices he doesn’t have a tail but legs wrapped tightly in seaweed.

“We’re Waterpeople.” Derek doesn’t seem as offended as Ian. “Some of us more transformed than others,” he adds smugly.

A quiet
tsk
comes from Ian’s direction.

Margo gulps a mouthful of water, recalling her first thought. “How can I breathe?”

“We did a partial transformation,” Derek explains. “Not sure how permanent your stay in the Water Forest would be.”

“Why are you here anyway?” Ian huffs. She finds it odd for him to ask this considering they’re the ones taking her hostage. But before Margo can answer he cuts her off again. “And how did you manage to get caught up in the forest?”

“Cut it out, already!” Derek turns back to Margo. “Where are you heading? We’ll be happy to guide the New Mark as best as we can.”

The two of them are like yin and yang. One hot-tempered and spewing over, the other exuding kindness. Both are overwhelming under the circumstances.

“My friend and I are heading for the Witch. He said the Water Forest wasn’t out here the last time he traveled through.”

Derek nods knowingly. “We were ordered to extend it just four months ago.”

“Bloody job that was,” Ian puts in.

“But we can lead you through, no problem. It’s a straight shot.”

Margo is shaking her head. “My friend’s still back there.”

Ian rolls his eyes impatiently.

“We can change him, too. This is the fastest way to the other side,” Derek urges.

Margo remembers Cameron’s warning about the Water Forest. She’s certain he won’t be willing to come inside, no matter how kind this Derek guy is. He’d rather take the long way around the strange sea than go through it. “I think we’ll take our chances.”

“Suit yourself.” Derek shrugs.

Ian is silent, the gentle current swirling his long hair around his face. “Your promised mate…” he says to his comrade. “She would want us to do whatever it takes for freedom, wouldn’t she?”

Derek stares into the dark waters as if longing to see further into its depths. It’s the same saddened expression as Janie’s when she told Margo of their imprisonment in Jamyria. “You’ll go for me?”

A smile plays at the corner of Ian’s lips. “Do you even have to ask?”

Derek slaps him on the shoulder, exchanging a brief but meaningful look. Margo is confused by the change in conversation. They speak almost as if they’ve forgotten she’s there.

“Go home to your mate,” says Ian suddenly. “Swim her away from here as fast as you can. They’ll know.”

“‘Course they will,” Derek snorts humorlessly. He turns to Margo and points at her chest. “We’re risking everything for you.”

She nods nervously, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt to keep it from floating up.

“
You’re
the New Mark?” Ian says it as if he just realized how absurd she is.

“You see the marks, don’t you?” she retorts.

A crooked smile spreads across his face.

“Then why don’t you keep stupid comments to yourself and just let me figure out what I’m supposed to do in this place.” Margo doesn’t know what made her say this. The boy is speaking out of line. He doesn’t even know her. How dare he judge her?

Derek burst out into laughter. “Well, you’ll have your hands full with this one, Ian. Sounds like I shouldn’t worry too much about you being too hard on her.”

“A firecracker.” Ian laughs, too, slipping his arms around Margo’s waist.

She cringes at his touch. “What do you think you’re doing? Don’t touch me!” Margo tries to push away in protest, but he easily cradles her closer like she’s nothing more than a kitten pawing at his chest. She thinks about pulling at his hair but doesn’t get the chance.

“See you around,” he says, nodding in Derek’s direction. A whirl of branches shoot by within inches from them. The sudden speed sends Margo’s stomach to her feet as they ascend toward the top of the trees, bubbles spinning wildly past. The sea shifts from ink black to indigo and finally to its extraordinarily clear turquoise. Sunlight greets them like diamonds glittering atop the water’s surface.

They break through with a wave as high as the cliffs of the Central City are deep. A thousand droplets splash down across the sea. None hit Margo or Ian’s head. She wonders why.

“Oh,” Margo splutters. “You’re a fast swimmer.”

Ian releases her with a smirk just as the shouts start. Dangling from one of the treetops is a worried Cameron. He swings precariously from branch to branch trying to get as close as possible to where Margo is. She dog-paddles carefully in his direction, embarrassed that this is the only swim technique she’s mastered after Ian’s display of aquatic talent.