Of Neptune (The Syrena Legacy) (10 page)

Reed’s eyes widen. “Son of a biscuit eater. That’s brilliant.”

I almost tell him that Rachel thought of it first, but then I’d have to explain who she is—and what happened to her. And that feels more like a betrayal of Galen than anything else.

And that’s when I remember something that Galen said last night.
You won’t be as fragile as humans.

“Oh, no,” I groan, burying my face in my hands. I’ve been so selfish. I should have seen this coming. I should have known that his change in attitude is all because of Rachel. He wants me to live in the ocean so that I’m safe, so that I’ll live longer. So that he doesn’t lose me, like he lost Rachel. I’m such a moron.

“Reed, before we go, I need to make a quick phone call,” I say as I unbuckle.

“Is everything okay? You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” He places his hand over mine on the seat between us.

I relinquish my hand, open the door, and slide out. “Everything will be okay. And I’m not having second thoughts. I want you to take me around town. I want to see it all. In about ten minutes, okay?” Actually, I am having second thoughts because of my sudden revelation. But how rude would it be to tell him to get lost? After all, he was going to take
both
of us around town today. It’s not like he singled me out.

I find a quiet corner in the lobby of the B and B. Feeling too unsophisticated to sit in one of the fancy French-silk parlor chairs, I pull out a metal seat from the breakfast nook. Then I dial Galen’s number. Of course, he doesn’t answer. I don’t expect him to.

When the digital lady advises me to leave a message, I do. “Galen. I’m so sorry. I just realized how selfish I acted. I didn’t listen, didn’t hear what you were trying to tell me. I’ll listen now, I promise. Please … Please just call me back.” I squeeze my eyes shut, not allowing any tears to escape. My throat feels raw, as if the words I just spoke were miniature blades leaving behind tiny incisions. But it’s not that I don’t mean every word. I do.

It’s that I’m terrified that he won’t call me back. That it’s too late. That I blew it.

My feet feel like anvils as I make my way back to the truck. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Reed.

“Are you sure you want to venture out today? You probably didn’t sleep last night, huh? Maybe you should—”

“That’s nice of you, Reed,” I say, buckling back in. “But I need to get my mind off things for a while. I was hoping you could help me with that.” Which isn’t untrue.

“Ten four,” Reed says, and the worry all but melts from his face. “I was going to take us to the market first. That’s where everyone who’s anyone gets their open-faced roast beef sandwich for lunch.”

I nod. “Lunch. Roast beef. I’m in.”

*   *   *

Reed is right! Everyone in town comes to the market for lunch. Mismatched tables skirt the street, people line the serving buffet set up on the sidewalk, and steam clouds rise in smoky ribbons over the buffet itself. My stomach gives off a vulturine growl.

Reed laughs. “So you skipped breakfast, huh?”

I nod.

He does, too. “Well, I’ve got a trick up my sleeve. Come on.”

We make our way to the line, and all I can think is that I’m going to start eating my own arm if people don’t start moving. Then Reed rolls up his proverbial sleeve.

“Excuse me, Trudy?” he says, tapping on the woman’s shoulder in front of us. Trudy turns around, then eyes me with surprise. I remember that Reed says they don’t get many visitors here. “This is Emma,” he continues, wrapping his arm around me. I can’t decide if it’s harmless or not. “She’s a descendant of Poseidon, and she’s visiting us from New Jersey. Do you mind if we cut in line so I can introduce her to everyone?”

Trudy grabs my hand and shakes it. “Emma, is it? So lovely to meet you! I had no idea we had relatives in New Jersey. Oh, you’ll want to meet everyone, for sure. Go ahead and cut, Reed. It’s okay by me.” That’s it. No questions asked. I’m immediately and wholly accepted.

I wonder where else they
do
have relatives. Because meeting a Half-Breed from Jersey doesn’t seem like the marvel I would have pegged it for.

And that’s how we make it to the head of the line—Reed introducing me to other Half-Breeds, and the other Half-Breeds greeting me and being all unsurprised.

A server plops roast beef and peas and a piece of white cake onto my Styrofoam tray. When we sit at one of the wrought iron tables, a few people pull up extra chairs, and it becomes quickly overcrowded. But I don’t care. I have food and good—if not a tad overwhelming—company.

These people know what I am, and they accept me because of it. It’s like I’ve been a part of their secret society since the day I was born.

And deep down inside me, I think I have.

14

THE ROOM
has two metal chairs including the one he’s tied to, a blanketless cot, and a card table boasting a small lamp that has seen better days. No carpet. No pictures. No windows—which Galen is grateful for at the moment. Any kind of substantial light would make his head pound twice as hard.

He can only remember fragments of how he came to be here. He remembers running. Tripping. Something hard and heavy connecting with his head. Nausea, angry bile rising as he was transported in the back of his own vehicle to … to … here.

He becomes aware of the cloth in his mouth. It tastes of vomit. It’s wrapped too tightly around his face and head, making his eyes bulge with pain. His hands and feet have grown numb from sitting in the same position too long. His neck feels permanently disfigured from the angle at which he passed out.

He stretches and turns and works his hands and feet as best he can to relieve some of the tension, but the rope is tight. Just as his muscles relax, just as his neck adjusts to the task of holding up his head, the single white door to the room opens.

The fattest Syrena Galen has ever seen closes the door behind him. Sure, by human standards, he’s not fat. Paunchy maybe. But by Syrena standards, the guy is obese. This anomaly swaggers to the other metal chair, scrapes it across the floor to face Galen, then plunks into it. He studies Galen for a long time, holding the vague grin of a shark who’s just supped on a school of fish.

“So. I’m in the company of a real Triton Royal,” he says. Then he spits on the floor between them. He has the same bulge in his mouth the other Syrena did. “My name’s Tyrden. You’ll want to remember that.”

Galen doesn’t grace him with a reaction, much less a muffled reply through the cloth in his mouth.

“You don’t have to play dumb, boy,” Tyrden says. “Everyone knows all about you. But just so we’re clear…” He stands and moves to lift Galen’s shirt. Again, Galen doesn’t resist. What is the point in denying it now? They believe him to be a Royal. So much so that they went to the trouble of abducting him. If anything, Tyrden is probably just curious. With a town full of Poseidon descendants, he most likely has never seen a Triton Royal.

Tyrden rests his eyes on Galen’s trident. “I’ve never seen a real one,” Tyrden says, as if reading Galen’s mind. He drops the shirt and walks back to the chair. Taking his time getting comfortable, he shifts and adjusts himself until the metal legs squeak and threaten to buckle.

Galen wonders if Tyrden is making this kind of show to build anticipation. Grom does this when he’s trying to intimidate someone. Acts like the other person doesn’t even exist. Usually it works.

But not on Galen.

When Tyrden finally looks at him, he has a smile on his face that can only be described as disturbing. “I’m here to ask you some questions, boy. And if you don’t cooperate … Well, I’m here to see to it that you do cooperate. I hope we understand each other.” He leans forward, and the chair groans with the movement. “So. How is it that you found us so far inland? What are you doing here?”

Galen huffs into the cloth invading his mouth.

Tyrden jumps to his feet and unties it. Galen flexes his jaw several times, working some relief into the joints. Tyrden sits back down, this time with much less zeal.

“Thank you for removing that,” Galen says calmly, looking Tyrden in the eye. He is perfectly capable of being unsettling, too. And of being unpredictable. Grom was a great tutor.

But Tyrden is not easily unsettled. “You’re welcome. If you scream for help, I’ll harvest each of your teeth and keep them in a jar in my kitchen.” When Galen says nothing, his captor crosses his arms. “Did you think I removed your gag for the fun of it? Answer my questions.”

Galen cocks his head. “In fact, I did think that. Surely you don’t actually expect me to tell you anything.”

“Is that right?”

When Galen nods, Tyrden rises from his chair and walks across the room to the table. Then he reaches under it, retrieving the biggest knife Galen ever recalls seeing. With ease, Tyrden removes the duct tape that secured it in its hiding place.

The blade is rusted in some places—or is that dried blood?—and the grip is well worn. Tyrden handles it expertly, spinning it in his hands as if it were some sort of toy baton. He sits back down.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Galen says, trying not to visibly swallow. “I’m not sure about you land dwellers, but we ocean dwellers tend to have very thick skin.”

Tyrden chuckles. “Not impressed yet, boy? Well, give me a chance to change your mind.” He leans back in the chair and clearly relaxes. “Have you ever seen a rhinoceros, Highness?” He rubs his shirt over the blade as if to clean it. The questionable stains do not budge. “You see, here on land, rhinos live in a place called Africa. Humans have a silly formal name for them, pachyderms, which means thick skin. Their skin is actually as thick as any full-blooded Syrena. In fact, some parts of their skin are double the thickness of ours. That’s the part we used to test our weapons. We had to make sure that if you Tritons stirred up trouble for us again, then we’d be ready for the fight. We based all our designs on the ability to penetrate rhino skin. This knife here can slice the thickest part of a rhino with one swipe, boy. Impressed yet?”

In a word, yes. Not just by the knife, but by what Galen suddenly realizes is all the time and trouble these land dwellers took in preparing for some sort of war. The defenses they’d already thought of. Making weapons just for Syrena skin. Choosing a location too far inland for Triton’s gift to do any damage. Forging bonds with humans, multiplying their numbers and respective skills.

Yes, Galen is very impressed. But giving Tyrden the answers he craves is still out of the question. Mainly because, if all the citizens are armed this way, that means Neptune seems to be expecting a conflict with the ocean dwellers, instead of just preparing for a potential attack.

When Galen’s rebuttal is still silence, Tyrden presses his lips together into what isn’t quite a grin. “Hard to excite are we, Highness? Let’s see what else I can do to convince you.”

In an instant, Tyrden is on his feet and hovering over Galen. He brings the blade close to Galen’s cheek, so close he can almost feel the knife quiver in his assailant’s hand. Out of nowhere, Tyrden raises his hand to show Galen his palm. Then he raises the knife to it. Raking it across slowly, delicately, Tyrden breaks through his own skin. The laceration is so thin, so precise it’s as if his hand has forgotten to bleed for a few seconds. But bleed, it does.

With a blank expression, Tyrden lets Galen watch the blood drip down his hand, snake across his wrist, and drop like silken beads to the floor. Strange as it may be, it appears as though he enjoys watching the blood pool at his feet. He then uses the knife to slice off a piece of Galen’s T-shirt, barely missing the flesh of his stomach. In fact, if Galen hadn’t reflexively sucked in, it could have gutted him. His reaction doesn’t go unnoticed by Tyrden.

“You see, boy, rhino skin can get up to two inches thick.” He displays an estimate of two inches between his fingers. “And this blade here? This blade can cut right through it.”

Satisfied with himself, and with Galen’s newfound attentiveness, the rotund Syrena wraps the T-shirt material tightly around his wound and sits back down. “Now, Highness,” he says, turning the blade over and over in his good hand. “Let’s talk, shall we?”

15

GALEN NEVER
called me back yesterday. I left two more messages after I got back from my afternoon with Reed. If I’m being honest, I did expect him to call by now. I expected us to be talking about how dumb we both were—me especially—and telling each other ridiculous things like how we’ll never fight again.

I can feel myself growing desperate. I don’t want to be one of those girls who can’t get over a relationship when the relationship is clearly over. Still, the relationship, how hard we worked to have it … It can’t be over. In fact, I always thought nothing could ever truly come between Galen and me. I never thought we’d have a last kiss.

It’s been two days. I’m not about to give up. I sit on the edge of the bed and dial his cell. This time it doesn’t ring but instead sends me straight to voice mail. Have I left that many messages? Or is someone else trying to get hold of him?

“Galen, please. Please hear what I have to say.” I bite my lip, because if I don’t, my voice will crack. Finally, I say, “I love you. We can fix this.” And I hang up. What else can I tell him? I’m practically begging now.

My fear is that he really is becoming just like Grom. A hard outer shell that won’t let anyone in. Except—Grom let my mother in. Surely, Galen won’t barricade himself from me. Right?

When the cell rings in my hand, I nearly fall off the bed. I scramble to answer it, but let it ring one more time when I see that Reed is calling. Reed. Not Galen. Again.

“Hello?” I say, trying to sound cheerful.

“Hey, Ms. Popular, ready to go fishing?”

Now I
am
genuinely enthusiastic. Reed introduced me to practically the entire town yesterday. I’d left the hotel room last night to walk down the street and grab some snacks and got nothing but kindness: “Hello, Emma! Good to see you again” and “Can I help you carry anything?” These people, these Half-Breeds, these humans, these Syrena. They’ve made me one of their own in the space of two days. It’s just the opposite of what I’m used to. Back home, I had to fight for any freaking tidbit of recognition or acknowledgment. Here I’m some sort of celebrity.