Emerge (33 page)

I make a decision right then and promise myself to stick to it no matter what: I will leave him alone tonight so there’s no doubt the spell has completely worn off. Then, tomorrow morning, I will tell Clay I love him.

I don’t remember what time I finally fell asleep. It was all I could do not to summon my legs, jump from my sea sponge bed, and run to Clay. Now that I’ve decided to tell him how I feel, I can’t think of anything else. Does he feel the same? Will he tell me he loves me, and mean it? Will he flat-out reject me?

I spent hours last night reliving each of our conversations and trying to decipher what his real feelings might be. All I managed to do was stoke my own anticipation.

But I stayed put. I forced myself not to go to him. If I want to know his real feelings, it’s crucial that I give the spell time to totally leave his system.

Now, pre-set music drifts down into the grottos to wake us up in lieu of sunshine. Usually, I’m one of the last ones up, especially on a Saturday. But today, as the lights embedded high in the cave walls brighten on their timed dimmer, I’m already swimming out of bed. Is Clay awake yet? What’s he thinking? Is he thinking about me? Does he hate me for running away?

A somber mood plagues our house this morning. In my anxiety over seeing Clay, it takes me a moment to remember why. It’s the anniversary of the curse. It’s harder for my parents than for my sisters and me, but no one brings it up. It’s not something you talk about. Community policy is to resist spending the day in mourning; instead, we’re supposed to carry on with the lives we have. That’s what I intend to do.

When my entire family is awake and upstairs, I tell my parents all my homework is done and Caspian invited me to spend the day in his pool. Fresh pain stabs into me at the thought of Caspian. At the disgust on his face, at the hurt in his eyes, at the determined set of his shoulders as he walked away from me last night. As he left me. Saying his name out loud hurts. But it’s the only way my parents will let me leave the house after catching me with Clay just three days ago. So, I smile big and hope they buy it. They do—hook, line, and sinker.

I put on one of my favorite outfits: A t-shirt that’s just the right combo of clingy and casual, and a short but not too short white canvas miniskirt. I need to look better than I’ve ever looked. This day may be the day Clay tells me he loves me. If he does, I want to look beautiful for him. Tides, just thinking about it makes a whole school of butterfly fish circle in my stomach.

If he does the other thing … if he rejects me … says he doesn’t love me and never did … well, I’m hoping the outfit will help me feel beautiful for
me.
Maybe it’ll keep me confident enough to stay on this side of a breakdown. Either way, by the time I leave my house, I feel powerful.

By the time I reach Clay’s house, I’m back to terrified. But I push myself forward. Step by step, I make my legs carry me up his walkway to his front door. His doorbell has never sounded so loud, so resonant.

But he doesn’t answer. His car’s in the driveway, so I know he’s home. I ring again. And wait.

And ring. And wait. He must still be sleeping. I fidget with my t-shirt. Should I risk waking him up? I pull my cellphone out of its waterproof case and call his number. The blaring rocker beat of Clay’s ringtone blasts into the street from his open window. His phone plays note after note, but he doesn’t answer. When I call two more times, he still doesn’t answer.

Disquiet replaces my giddiness. Clay never goes anywhere without that phone. He’s probably just in the shower. Yeah. Or he hates me and isn’t taking my calls. Maybe it’s a sign I should save myself the heartbreak and just go home.

But something feels wrong. I’m like a fish that just smelled danger.

I go around to the side gate. It’s unlocked, as usual. The backdoor is also unlocked—that’s unusual.

“Clay?” I call as I enter, trying not to sound nervous.

When there’s no answer, I head to the bottom of the stairs. “Clay?” I say again, louder.

I go up the stairs, my anxiety escalating with every step.

Then I’m standing at his bedroom door. I listen for running water from the bathroom beyond. Nothing. “Clay? It’s Lia. I just want to talk for a minute.”

The door isn’t fully closed. I push against it, and it opens with a creak. And reveals a scene from a nightmare.

My heart plummets to my stomach. Ritualistic symbols line the walls in a translucent, sickly blue ink. They’re the ones Caspian found in Mr. Havelock’s office. The ones he scribbled on his hand to show me. The ones that were so old, even Casp couldn’t translate them. Melusine and her father have been here—in Clay’s room.

The biggest symbol glares down at me from the wall above Clay’s bed. Then my eyes shift to the bed itself.

“
NO!
”

I’m barely aware of my own scream. All my attention fixates on the sight before me. The bed sheets hang off the bed, as if someone dragged a body across them. As if someone dragged Clay’s body across them. Whatever happened here, it was violent.

Staining the sheets are several drops of blood. I fight to swallow down my terror.

They’ve taken him. They’ve taken Clay.

I bang on the Havelocks’ front door. I pound my fists against it to no avail. I can’t get around to the back, and their underwater entrance is sure to be even more heavily fortified. I glance up and down the quiet, tree-lined street. No dog walkers. No children playing hopscotch. Not a person in sight. Good.

I pick up a rock that lies among the California poppies and hurl it through the window. I wrap my sweater around my arm and reach in through the shards of glass to unlock the door. Moments later, I’m standing in the Havelocks’ dark entryway.

I venture deeper into the house than I have before. An eerie stillness permeates the place. I check all the most likely hiding spots for an entrance to the grottos and find it in a back closet off the kitchen.

Down, down, down, I go, winding ever closer to the underwater caverns below. Are Melusine and her father down here? Did they not hear me up above? I keep my footsteps as light as I can. If they have Clay down here, maybe I can still catch them off guard.

The grottos in my house are welcoming. We keep them lit all the time except when we’re sleeping, and our twinkle lights reflect off the iridescent walls to give the place a warm glow. These grottos couldn’t be more different. The farther down I go from the sunlit kitchen above, the darker it gets. By the time I reach the antechamber, it’s as pitch dark as you’d expect an underground cave to be. I can still see just fine, but in the darkness, the moisture clinging to the walls makes the whole place feel dank and cold.

When I reach the antechamber, the water shines inky black. I leave my shoes at the edge and hike my skirt up over one shoulder like a beauty queen’s sash across my chest. I transform so quickly, I barely feel it. The black ripples swallow up my golden tail.

I move as fast as I dare through the large grottos meant for public rooms. Unease eats away at my insides as condensation drips off the walls and echoes through the cavernous darkness, dwarfing me. I don’t hear anyone. They must have Clay in the private grottos in back. I shiver at the thought of him down here. He won’t be able to see a thing, and for him, it will be much, much colder. I swim faster.

A hallway leads me even deeper under the house. The entrance to the next cave is much smaller—a bedroom probably or an office. I plaster myself against the wall outside so if someone’s inside, they won’t easily spot me. Then I peek my head around. No one. I do the same thing at the next room. And the next.

I’ve checked every grotto; Melusine and her father aren’t here. But they may have hidden Clay somewhere.

The blood I saw on Clay’s bed sheets scares me. Maybe they left him somewhere, and he’s hurt and needs a doctor. Maybe he’s d—no, I won’t think it.

Forget stealthy.

“Clay?” I call. “Clay?”

I check every inch of the grotto, every possible hiding place. He’s nowhere.

Back upstairs, my wet lower half drips onto the polished wood floors. I search every room here, too. Every closet, every bureau, under every bed. I even venture into the crawl space attic, but it’s empty. Clay isn’t in this house.

Where, then? Where would they take him?
Think.
What do I know? They took him from his room sometime last night or this morning. They painted creepy ancient symbols on his walls. Why? The only reason to use ancient Mermese aside from scholarship is dark magic.

They’re using Clay for some kind of spell. But what spell and why Clay? Are they afraid I’ll charge them with poisoning him? Are they planning to kill him to get rid of the evidence? That makes no sense—Melusine knows I still have other witnesses and a sample of the poison.

They’ve had him for what must be hours. Whatever they’re doing to him, they’ve probably already started. I have to find him fast.

What would they need for a spell? I’m not trained in magics—especially dangerous, illegal magics. But I’ve read about them in my sireny research. For some magic, you need ingredients, usually some kind of dried sea plants or body parts of sea creatures (yuck), but it’s different for every spell. What you always need is power. For small things like making medicines, the power comes from the ingredients and from the Mer doing the mixing. But for big spells, you’d need a bigger power source. For an ancient spell so powerful it requires long-forgotten Mermese symbols, you’d probably need the biggest power source.

You’d need the ocean.

My body erupts in goose bumps. They’ve taken Clay out to sea.

Like all Community-owned houses, the Havelocks’ is beachfront. Yanking my skirt back down from where I hiked it up across my chest earlier, I run out their backdoor. After the dark interior, the sunlight blinds me. How can the sun be this bright when Clay is hurt and in danger? I don’t wait for my eyes to adjust before running toward the waves.

Blue vastness. Water stretching as far as my eyes can see. It’s always seemed so beautiful, so infinite. Now, it’s terrifying. Clay is out in that blue somewhere, and I have no idea where. If I’d gone to him earlier, this may have never happened. If I’d kept him sirened, I could use the bond now to find him. Without it, what chance do I have?

I used the bond so many nights when I didn’t even need to—to watch him read or sleep. To feel the cozy, reassuring warmth of his contentment. Now I need it, and it’s gone.

Or is it? In all that research I did, there was never an account of what happened to a mortal
after
he was released from sireny. I guess all victims were murdered or forgotten by their sirens. No siren has ever loved her mortal. Until now. Until me. I love Clay. And I’ll try anything. Standing by the ocean, my toes nestled in the damp sand, I close my eyes and reach out with my mind to find Clay, as I have so many times before. I expect to feel the call of the ocean assaulting my senses. I expect to have to push past it like I always do. But it doesn’t come. All that raw power is gone. It must have left me when my last siren song wore off.