Of Neptune (The Syrena Legacy) (21 page)

The thought of us being so close to each other in the woods has me reeling. Did he see me? Is he running from me? I practically bulldoze that thought out of my head. Still, why would he run from the search party?

What am I missing here?

30

JUST PERFECT.

It’s been a long time since Galen has found himself caught in a net. But caught he is. Which is not a little embarrassing.

At least, he reasons, it’s probably not a Neptune net. For starters, it’s human made, probably by a machine. There are tiny flaws in the knots and weaves, flaws that were made because of industrial-grade bends and tangles in the line, not because of someone’s handiwork gone awry. He’s seen this kind of net before, and Galen can’t imagine that any citizen of Neptune would choose a factory substitute over the fine art of weaving quality nets they’ve no doubt passed down from generation to generation.

Plus, the good people of Neptune do not need fishing nets. Not when the Gift of Poseidon swims so rampantly through their veins.

No, it’s a human fisherman’s net that caught Galen fairly and squarely. He was paying attention to all that happened behind him—and to the way he moves his tender fin so as not to hurt it more—instead of all that lay ahead of him. He’s not sure what triggered the trap to spring, or really, what the fishermen intended to entangle. He hasn’t seen anything in these waters that would warrant such a large net. But now he must wait for the fisherman to come back and retrieve his prize.

And Galen intends for that prize to look a whole lot like a dead body when the unsuspecting fisherman finally gets around to reeling him in from the north riverbank. That’s the direction the line is coming from anyway. But how long he’ll have to wait to shock the poor guy is the true question. If Galen is right, and he didn’t spend too much time at Tyrden’s mercy, then it should be close to the weekend, though he’s not sure exactly which day it is.
Any good fisherman checks his net on the weekend, right?

In the meantime, he should at least pass the time by trying to tear through the netting—with what, he’s not sure. His teeth already proved no match for the commercial-grade rope and he’s still berating himself for dropping Tyrden’s knife in the woods. Stretching each square only makes the net tighter—as it should. The idea is to make the space tinier and tinier—and clearly, it does its job where that’s concerned.

The good news is that he’s well out of range of any of Tyrden’s search parties. Even now, he senses no one. Of course, he’d made sure of that as soon as he hit the water. Though possibly injured and sore, his fin is still faster than that of most other Syrena.

From this spot in the river he tastes more salt in the water than he did upstream, which hopefully means he’s getting that much closer to the ocean. Getting caught in a net is a setback—and humiliating—but it’s exponentially better than getting caught by Tyrden or his men again.

Galen settles in for the wait, willing his body to let go of some of the tension of the past few hours. He has to concentrate on getting back to Neptune. There’s a good chance that the Royals are already on their way. An ominous directive like, “Don’t come to Neptune,” is the perfect way to get Grom to do just that. He should have known better than to leave clipped phone messages like that without further explanation.

They must be so confused now. As is Galen.

Clearly Tyrden wants an attack on Neptune, but why? And if Tyrden wants an attack, what does Reder want? Galen doubts that Reder had anything to do with his abduction.

Galen shakes his head.
If Reder truly wanted hostages as Tyrden said, he could have taken me and Emma the night we came to his house for dinner.

“Emma,” he says aloud, changing the subject in his head. The sound of her name sends a refreshing jolt through his body. He thinks of how she must be feeling right now. Confused. Abandoned. Angry. Probably regretting coming on this road trip with him.
I’ll make it up to you, I swear.

Trying not to focus on the new, deep ache battering his chest, Galen massages the tip of his tail where the most damage was done by the ropes. The corners are slightly bent and will take some time to fully heal, to take their original shape. It reminds him of how a dolphin’s fin might become misshapen if kept too long in captivity. The bridge where his fin turns into tail is tender; he’s careful not to twist it. In fact, he’ll have to be careful for a long time. He’s hoping Nalia will know how to help it mend faster. If not, he’ll make a trip to see Dr. Milligan after they’ve put all this behind them.

If
we put all this behind us.

All at once, there’s a tug on the net, and Galen feels himself being slowly pulled toward shore. Given the lengthy process, he assumes there is only one person on the other end of this line, which would be the best-case scenario. The net drags the bottom through several strong currents, and Galen is tempted to help it by swimming along and keeping it unstuck. But he saves his energy and his fin.

Besides, a smooth transition to shore just wouldn’t coincide with the behavior of the dead body he’s pretending to be at the moment. He shifts from fin to legs to make the haul more realistic. Minutes pass and the net slowly but surely moves closer and closer to shore. Galen nestles into the bottom, going limp as he’s pulled to the surface.

Several maddening seconds pass by as Galen allows his unfortunate fisherman to behold the corpse he caught. He has to wait until his unsuspecting victim actually loosens the net before he can make his move—which means the poor guy will be close enough to touch.

But the net doesn’t loosen. And then there is a sharp pain in Galen’s thigh, so sharp he’s forced to cry out. His eyes fly open and to his leg. A long metal rod protrudes from it, with a red feather at the end.

Galen jerks his head toward the fisherman standing over him with a dart gun. And there stands Mr. Kennedy. His face is blank, calculating, garnished only by the hint of a satisfied smile.

Galen’s vision suddenly swirls into a tunnel, then disappears altogether.

31

FOR THE
second time in my life, I find myself in the back of a police car. “Where are you taking me?”

Grigsby barely makes a show of glancing in the rearview at me. I wish I could sit up front; I feel like a criminal all slouched in the back. “We’re going to Reder’s. You need to tell him what happened to Reed.”

What kind of backward country-bumpkin town is this? Shouldn’t the sheriff be hauling me to the station and getting a witness report and calling Reed’s parents and all that? Or am I a victim of watching too many reality shows? But then again, while Grigsby is the sheriff, Reder is the obvious leader.

The car pulls into the driveway of Reed’s house. Grigsby opens the door for me, only to grab me by the upper arm again and all but escort me up the porch steps and to the front door.

“Um. Ow,” I tell him.

He lets go immediately. “Sorry. Habit.”
Just how many arrests does it take to make a habit out of grabbing someone’s arm?
Neptune didn’t seem like the kind of town that would have need of a seasoned sheriff.

Reed’s mom answers the doorbell. “Emma, so good to see you! Oh. Sheriff Grigsby. Is … Is there a problem? Where’s Reed? Now what has he done?” I can tell she’s trying to discern if Reed is really the problem, or if I am.

Grigsby’s face is grim. “Reder home? We need to speak with him.”

She grabs the dish towel she’d tucked into her apron and wipes her already dry hands on it as she calls over her shoulder for Reder. “You’ve got visitors, honey.” The tightness in her voice is noticeable even to an oblivious being like myself.

Reder’s heavy footsteps fall on the stairs, and when he reaches us at the bottom, he takes one look at me and ushers us into the adjoining living room. The weird thing is, Grigsby’s hold actually gets tighter once we’re seated on the couch.
What does he think will happen here? I’ll tell Reder that his son has been kidnapped or worse and then I’ll lunge for his jugular?

But I know it must be nerves. After all, Reed disappeared on his shift,
while he was in the woods close by.
It’s kind of humiliating, being the sheriff and all.

Grigsby clears his throat when Reder’s heavy glare falls on him. By Reder’s expression, he’s already heard through the radio grapevine what has happened. “We were in the woods looking for the boy,” the sheriff starts. By that, I assume he means searching for Galen, just as we were. “The dogs caught his scent, and we were on him until we got to the river. He wouldn’t stop running from us.”

Reder turns to me, surprised. “Why would Galen run from our search parties?”

“I … I don’t know.”

“He could have been running from Kennedy,” Grigsby says. “Maybe Kennedy got to him first.”

Ohmysweetgoodness. The thought hadn’t occurred to me but makes perfect sense now. If Kennedy has a habit of kidnapping people, and Galen disappeared almost as soon as we came to town …

“Go on,” Reder says.

Grigsby swallows, nodding toward me. “Emma says she was in the woods with Reed, looking for the boy. Says Kennedy pulled a gun on them and took Reed.”

“He took Reed and shot at me,” I blurt. “We’re wasting time here. We’ve got to find them.”

Reder stands. Panic washes over his face. I wonder for an isolated second if my hysteria is contagious. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Reder unnerved. “Are you okay, Emma?” he says.

I nod, wrapping my arms around myself as if to the contrary. He puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. The alarm is gone from his expression, replaced by a look I know well. It’s the face Mom makes when she’s acting like a nurse—the face of an emergency responder. Calm, collected, courageous. “Did Kennedy say anything before he took Reed?”

I nod, then tell him word for word what went down. I’ll never forget that conversation for the rest of my life. When I’m finished, Reder looks at Grigsby. “Escort Emma to the basement of city hall. Put two guards on her. It sounds like Kennedy was targeting Reed, but he could be after Emma as well. He could have been holding Galen, too. Obviously he’s not hiding them in town anywhere or they would have been spotted.”

Grigsby nods. “He supposedly goes to the woods every day looking for his plants. That’d be the first place I’d check.”

“Take every warm body you can find and go back out there. Spread out, but no one goes alone. Make sure everyone who knows how to use a gun has one.” Reder shifts his gaze to me. He is all business now. “Emma, go with Grigsby. You’ll be safe with him. In the meantime, I think it’s time you called your mother, don’t you?”

32

GALEN COMES
to, his pulse heavy and threatening to pummel through his temple. He can’t open his eyes gently enough. First one, then the other. The light of day lances through his line of vision, and it feels like a thousand grains of sand are stuck to his eyeballs.

Each pound of his heartbeat seems to shake the room around him. As if that weren’t enough, the new hole in his leg throbs with the pain of being recently moved. He groans.

“Hey, man,” a voice says in front of him.

Galen squints into the sunlight streaming in through the window on the opposite side of the room. Reed sits under it.

“Hey, Galen,” Reed says. “Are you okay?” Reed is in the same position as Galen. Sitting on the floor, chained with hands above his head, legs stretched out in front of him.

Galen nods. “You?” The word feels tangy in his mouth.

“I’m good. Well, as good as I can be, you know.” Reed swallows. “So, um, where have you been? We’ve been looking for you everywhere. Everyone has. And what happened to your face?”

Everything,
Galen wants to say. “I’ve been Tyrden’s guest the past few days.” Galen waits for a false reaction from Reed. Delayed remorse, counterfeit shock. Any sign that he or his father could be in on his imprisonment.

But Reed’s eyes instantly go round as lily pads. “Tyrden did that to you? What did you do to piss him off?”

But Galen is distracted—the hands of grogginess haven’t quite released him yet. Reed is supposed to be with Emma, not tied up and held prisoner in a dingy old house in the woods.
Where is Emma?
is all he wants to know, but right now, his mouth won’t move to make the words. Because what if she’s not okay?

Galen scans their surroundings. A wood building made with logs—which explains the damp musty odor he smelled before he could open his eyes. A lonely wooden stool sits in one corner, and a full table and chairs sit off to the left of Galen. A pair of muddy rain boots stands guard at the only door in the cabin. And none of it matters. Because he’s ready to ask now. The only question that matters is the one Galen finally forces out: “Where is Emma?”

“I don’t know. She ran away, but … I don’t know if she … But the best I can figure is that she did escape, because if not, he would have brought her here, too.… But I swear he was a horrible shot, actually. I’m not worried.” His voice speaks volumes to the opposite.

The idea of Kennedy shooting at Emma makes Galen’s stomach feel like a self-contained waterfall, roiling and raging. “Why is he doing this? Where is he now?” The thought
What else could possibly happen
crosses his mind, too.

“I don’t know. He’s not the only one, though. I mean, I haven’t seen anyone else here, but he keeps talking to someone on the radio.”

“Radio?”

“He has a satellite radio, so I figure we’re well out of town if his phone doesn’t have a signal. He must have been planning this forever.” Reed’s voice is tainted with a begrudging sort of admiration. “I thought he was just a crazy scientist,” he grumbles. “We all did.”

“Planning what? You said he was interested in plants.”

“I said what he said. Which was obviously a lie, don’t you think? He did say, ‘mermaid,’ to whoever he was talking to on the other end of that radio. We’re screwed.”

Nice. A botanist turned mermaid enthusiast? To Galen, that’d be the best-case scenario. But Mr. Kennedy has an air of knowledge about him. A familiarity. The way he set the trap in the river, for instance. Galen had wondered what river fish he’d been trying to catch with such an odd net arrangement. The net was large; obviously the prey was, too.