Emerge (24 page)

Last year, when I first started at Malibu Hills, I caught a human strain of the flu. It was essential that I stay warm and dry, so my parents bundled me up in my upstairs bedroom. I wasn’t allowed in the ocean for a week. By the fifth day, the call of the ocean was so strong that my every thought was consumed with swimming out as far as my fins could take me. By the seventh day, my family members had to take turns supervising me so I didn’t escape into the waves. By the time I was well enough to resume my daily swims, the call had been deafening.

Now, it’s louder. I have no doubt the roaring sound I heard when I closed my eyes was the call of the ocean, but it was stronger, deeper than ever before. Only one explanation makes sense: This is the call used by the siren spell. My siren spell. Bracing myself, I close my eyes a third time. The roaring waves, interlaced with their tempting whispers, return. I force myself to focus, to reach into them and latch on to that tugging rope. Following the rope with my mind, I sense safety and warmth before an image of Clay blossoms behind my eyes. He’s sitting in front of the fireplace in his living room, reading a book. I innately know he’s not in any danger, just as I know he’s alone, he’s comfortable, and his book is about music theory. He shifts his feet underneath him as he turns a page.

Shocked by how real the image is, I lose focus and the roaring fills my ears again as my consciousness crashes back into my own body, my own skull. I wrench my eyes open, panting. At some point, without even noticing, I splashed from my lounger into the salt water of the pool. But it isn’t enough. With the call of the ocean ringing in my ears, my skin itches for the sea.

It takes all my control to wait out the rest of the sunset. I need to get in the ocean. Now.

“Relax, Lia,”
Caspian says, from where he wades near the opening of our cave.
“Just because I haven’t found anything yet, doesn’t mean I won’t.”

“But you’ve been inside her house. Three times!”

“
In Mermese, please
,” Caspian reminds me. He doesn’t sound condescending, just insistent. I grumble. I’m sitting on the cave’s rocky platform and both our heads are above water, so we don’t need to use Mermese. But since I don’t go to Mer school like he does and my parents don’t make my sisters and I use Mermese around the house, Caspian insists I practice sometimes when we’re together to keep my language skills sharp. I can’t fault him for it; it’s for my benefit. He certainly doesn’t need the practice. Still, English is so much easier.

At the determined glint in his azure eyes, I relent. “
But you’ve been inside her house. Thrice!”
He nods approvingly at my formal, academic wording.

“
And you what? Expected that I’d instantly find evidence that Melusine and her father are udell?”

When he puts it like that, I sound stupidly optimistic. Maybe I let my hope run away with me, but I thought that as soon as Caspian got into the Havelocks’ home and had some alone time to poke around, he’d at least find a few dark artifacts or contraband
konklilis
. Something …

“
Where have you looked thus far?
”

“
I’ve been all throughout the public rooms of their grottos, and I’ve been spending most of my time doing research and filing in Mr. Havelock’s office.”

“And there’s nothing in his office?”
There must be. I don’t trust that oil spill of a man.

“Just way more than I ever wanted to know about some of the ocean’s most disgusting potion ingredients. If I told you what was in the tonic for children’s scale spots
…
”
He shudders.

“
What? I took that a few times as a kid.”
I hold up my hand.
“On second thought, don’t tell me.”
I slide off the platform and into the water, hoping it will soothe my anxiety. Not only am I worried about the Havelocks, but—despite the three hours I spent in the ocean last night—I’m still worked up from tapping into the siren bond. My need for the ocean feels deeper than ever.
Submerging myself in the waves helps dampen the call so I can focus on our conversation.

“Where else is there to look?”
I ask.

“Mr. Havelock hasn’t left me unsupervised yet, so I haven’t been able to wander around. I haven’t been to the aboveground levels at all, but I doubt anything’s up there. The two of them seem to go up into the human part of their house even less than my family does.”

That’s not suspicious by itself. Sure, it fits with
udell
behavior, but it could also describe any Mer family that just got to our Community and is still adjusting to life Above.

“My bet,”
Caspian continues,
“is that if they are hiding something, it’s in the sleeping chamber caves. Those are at the very back of the grottos where the private rooms are. I haven’t had a chance to go back there.”
He swims closer to me, levels me with a serious gaze. “Hey, Lia?” He switches back to English. It’s a gesture of goodwill; he doesn’t want his next words to offend me. “Before I invade this family’s privacy, just tell me you’re sure about this.”

“I’m sure.”

“Then your wish is my command,” he jokes.

“Don’t say that.”

I try not to think of them as commands. When I tell Clay to avoid Melusine, to go straight home after school, to say whatever he’d normally say in his classes and around his friends. I try to think of these as ways to protect him, to keep his life as safe and normal as possible. He follows these instructions happily and never thinks to question me. Well, almost never.

“Why don’t you want me to kiss you?” Clay’s face is so open, so vulnerable. I’m not sure if he’ll remember this conversation, but I don’t want to hurt him either way.

“I do want you to,” I answer, and it’s the truth, “but—”

“Then why do you always pull away or turn your head? Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“No. I just … I want to kiss
you.
”

“Huh?” His thoughts are already all mixed up, and I’m just making things worse.

“Never mind. Let’s go to the pier.”

At the Santa Monica pier, I can distract him with funnel cake and shooting games and oversized stuffed animals. When we ride the Ferris wheel, my head resting on his shoulder, I can distract myself into almost believing it’s real.

“Once she’d achieved fame throughout Denmark for her voice, Astrid Ostergard was invited to court to sing for the royal family,” Clay says, pointing to the opera singer on our display board. “Once she moved into the palace, she was reported to have numerous affairs, which must have been true because by the time she left court, she’d given birth to a son and I couldn’t find any record of his father. So,” Clay says, crossing his arms across his chest and raising one cocky eyebrow, “we can conclude I’m destined for musical greatness and sexual debauchery.”

The class chuckles.

“Okay, Mr. Ericson,” Mr. Reitzel admonishes lightly. “Let’s not digress.” Even he sounds amused.

I jump in and discuss the (largely edited) details about my ancestry, careful to make them sound more like a family tree and less like a family coral reef.

“And so, Clay and I discovered that we both have some family from Denmark who immigrated to the United States before World War I,” I finish.

“Yep,” Clay says. “Who knew we’d have so much in common?” He winks at me, and I hope I’m not blushing in front of the entire class.

“I did!” Kelsey shouts from her seat. Everyone laughs but Melusine. Her glare is downright dangerous.

“All right, you two, excellent work,” Mr. Reitzel says. “Next up, Laurie and Mel.”

I’m quick to return to my seat. I’ve been looking forward to Melusine’s report for the last few weeks. Maybe, just maybe, it will reveal something useful.

Laurie begins the report and, in her usual exuberance, talks so fast that Mr. Reitzel has to remind her to slow down twice. She tells us the entire story of her family’s immigration from Ireland in five minutes flat. At least I don’t have to wait long to hear from Melusine.

“My family immigrated here, too,” she says. Is it only by comparison that she seems to be speaking so slowly? Her voice seeps out like thick honey. “From … an area near the coast of France. I come from a long line of … seamen.”

A few of the boys snicker, and one of the water polo players shouts, “I bet you do.”

She pins him with a look so icy, it silences him faster than any threat of detention ever could.

“As I was saying,” she continues as if she’d merely paused to pinch a bothersome flea between her fingernails, “you could say my ancestors hardly ever stepped foot on land.” She laughs, the sound tinkling around the room. “Sadly, war drove my family from their home, first toward America and eventually right here. Until this year, I’d never been among any … Californians.”

“When you say war, you mean World War II? That’s what drove your family out of France?” Mr. Reitzel asks.

“Sure,” she replies with an indulgent smile. I guess people hear what they expect to hear.

Laurie chirps up again, and the two of them spend the rest of their report discussing Ellis Island. Melusine doesn’t actually say her family was there, but no one else notices. It never occurred to me to be that honest in my presentation. It’s so ingrained in me to hide all the Mer parts of myself; I never considered another alternative.

Still, Melusine’s transparency hasn’t helped me get any closer to useful information. I should have known she’d be too smart to let anything slip. Evil? Yes.
Udell
? Probably. Stupid? No. My stress creeps into the muscles of my neck and shoulders, tightening them with tension.

The thought has barely swum to the surface of my mind when Clay’s hand reaches up behind the back of my chair and messages my neck in slow, deliberate circles. My tension dissipates under his talented fingers. Is it the siren bond informing him of my desires, or is it just him? Either way, his touch sends electricity tingling down my spine. My whole body hums with it.

I can still feel it hours later when I’m out with the twins. I’ve bailed on hanging with them after school a lot lately, and I really miss talking to them. Sure, their antics can sometimes be eye-roll worthy, but if anyone knows about guys, it’s them. Plus, spending time with the twins means giving myself some much-needed space from Clay’s hands. His warm, strong, wandering hands …

“Have you ever … ” I pick up a bar of soap from a nearby shelf and smell it, an excuse to collect my thoughts. It smells like peppermint and cake batter. Lazuli’s taken us to a specialty shop that sells bath products handmade to look and smell like desserts. “I mean I know you’ve … ”

“You know we’ve what?” Lazuli asks, opening a tester of shampoo and holding it under my nose. Caramel apple. Not exactly what I want my hair to smell like.

“This place is like a brothel dipped in bubble gum,” Lapis says, cringing as she sniffs a bottle of strawberry frosting face wash.

“Hey, I endured that vintage record store you dragged me to last week. Besides, where else could I buy this many chocolates without adding to my waistline?” Lazuli asks, brandishing a pink and black box of two dozen small soaps, each carved to look like a decadent chocolate truffle. “Nothing’s worse than a Mermaid with a muffin top. Now, stop complaining. Lia was trying to ask us something.”