Vicious Deep (26 page)

As he strides back to his table with the confidence of a rock god, two guys stand and give up their seats for him. Must be nice to be so in command.

The Vampirettes look bored. “Well, the moon isn't going to stay at its peak forever. I think those stupid lights gave me a bit of a tan. What do you think?”

“You look great, really icy pale,” I say, and she gives me a girlish smile.

Frederik looks past my shoulder and, for a second, arches his eyebrow. I never thought I'd meet someone with even less of an emotional range than Kurt. He exchanges glances with Marty as Kurt walks through the crowd holding on to a girl. From far away they look like friends holding hands. Then you notice how white their fingers are from him squeezing. That and the pallor that replaces her usually blushed cheeks during class. She's in a tight black dress with her hair gathered all on one side. She does her best to keep her cool, but even though I can't seem to smell other supernatural beings, the fear is in her eyes.

Marty leans in close to me to whisper, “You need to take this outside, bro.”

“Ms. Pippen, I only want to talk.”

Her smile is hard, bitter. Not that I blame her. “Really? You hardly ever talk in my class.”

The lead singer of the Vampirettes claps her hands. “The beach?”

Frederik walks past us slowly, casually. There's something soothing about his presence, considering he could drain you dry if he wanted. I'd like to be that calm and collected during any situation. He motions straight ahead, leading the way out. “The beach.”

Right, a man of few words.

I think you left Lisbit aching for you, bro,” Marty tells Kurt, walking backward through Luna Park.

“She's not my type,” Kurt says, leaving me to wonder what his type could possibly be.

He holds on to Ms. Pippen's arm as the Vampirettes frolic through the Coney Island night with faces tilted toward the sliver of moon. One takes a pink cotton candy from a cart and keeps walking. They tear puffs in greedy bunches and let the sugar melt on their tongues.

Marty slings his arm around my shoulder. “Ooo, candied apples.” He stops and pays for one and bites into the hard red shell. I wonder how he can be so nonchalant all the time considering the things he knows, the things he must see. Maybe his shifting isn't just physical. Maybe it applies to his feelings too, because I don't see how he can walk around eating candy at Luna Park as we take my English teacher practically hostage. I hope one day I can learn to fix my feelings like him and Kurt.

“The Vampirettes, they're, like, housebroken, right?”

He takes a smaller bite, making yummy faces that rival the group of little girls not too far from us eating chocolate-covered Oreos. Suddenly I wish we hadn't put him in this situation. “Technically, New York is a safe zone. Once this is all over, and you're Sea King, I'll have to explain it to you. Right now, you have to think about your mission. If you're worried about the vampires, don't be. Frederik doesn't drink human blood. Well, not for, like, two hundred years.”

“What about the girls?”

“The girls might bite, but they don't kill. Vampire killings are easy to find, because after they feed on human blood they're basically euphoric and are pretty sloppy about cleaning up the bodies.”

“Good to know.”

We're the last to follow down the ramp and onto the sand. Up ahead the girls pull their polka-dot dresses over their heads and wave them in the air like flags. They dip their toes in the cold water and shriek. Frederik picks a spot where the tide won't hit, sits, and then leans back on his elbows.

I follow his stare at the speckles of stars. Suddenly I wonder, “Aren't you guys supposed to, like, sparkle or something?” And immediately wish I hadn't.

Frederik stands up so quickly that he doesn't disturb the sand. He grabs the front of my shirt and growls—his eyes are black as the night sky along the horizon, and red veins fray against the white of his eyes. His sharp canines are exposed.

“I. Don't. Sparkle.”

He lets go of me and becomes regular bored Frederik again, no fangs, no bloodshot eyes. Just a dude sitting on the beach at night.

Marty shakes his head all,
Yeah, I should've warned you about that.

“Tristan.” Kurt calls me. He holds my English teacher farther away from us. I make my way to them, trying to slow my racing heartbeat.

He breaks his grip on her, but says, “I won't go far.”

Ms. Pippen screams in frustration. The wind undoes her hair from its neat little tie and blows it all around her. “What? What do you want?”

“You mean you can't
see
the answer to that?”

“Funny. You really are smarter than you look, Tristan. You never talk in my class, so I had no idea what you are.”

“Welcome to my pretty exclusive club.”

“You know, isn't it enough that I'm punished by having to teach in that school for a human decade? I also have to get dragged out here by your mermaid lackey?”

“It's mer
man
, lady. And what do you mean by punished?”

She pushes her hair away from her face, the moonlight casting a silvery light on her cheekbones.

“My grandfather, the Sea King, gave me a shiny, sharp present. Don't make me use it.”

She straightens her back and crosses her arms over her chest. I look away. “You have to tell me what you want first.”

“I want you to tell me if there are any oracles in New York City.”

“If I don't, are you going to kill me?”

I hadn't thought about that. “I—”

“I don't want to get involved in your politics.”

“You're already involved.”

“You don't get it.” She shakes her head. “You may be half fish, but you're still so human.”

“You sit in class making us read aloud and what do you do? You see our futures. You keep those secrets to yourself. What else have you seen that could make a difference?”

I don't know if it's the slight chill in the sea breeze, or if she's scared, but her lips tremble. “That's the irony, right? I can see, but I can't say. That's why I got in trouble. Things were pretty bad for me a few years ago. I had two sisters and a brother to take care of, because our parents got deported back to Romania.

“One day I read a man who was going to win the lotto. I played his numbers. I changed his future, and he walked off the subway tracks. It's against the rules to use your powers for your own personal gain. So they took my sisters from me. Then they put me up at Thorne Hill High School, grading English papers.”

“That's tough.”

“You're telling me. What's the point, Tristan? What's the point of having a power if I can't even use it for the ones I love? The ones who
count
. The Universe picked the wrong girl for this ‘gift,' because me? I don't care about the greater good. I just don't get to make the rules. I didn't ask for this.”

“You think I
did
?”

“Which is why you don't have to do it.” She holds my hands in hers, a gentle plea. “You don't have to be the next Sea King. What's in it for you? Do you think you'll ever be with Layla? Do you think you won't have to use that shiny pitchfork to do things you'll hate yourself for? You're just a kid.”

The truth of her words washes over me and makes my skin itch. What is in it for me? I've never known what I wanted to do with my life. I've only wanted to swim. That's all I've ever been good at. That and, well, girls. She's right. I don't have to be Sea King. I can let one of the other champions win. They're been part of that Sea Court longer than I've been alive. They know things I don't.

Then I think of Nieve. She's going to come for me whether I'm king or not. I can feel it the way I can feel the ebb of the tide right now. I think about the boy on the boardwalk with his leg gnawed off, the bald man who
didn't
have to pull him out of the water. Because I want to. Because if I don't, my world is just going to keep crumbling.

“I need to know, Ms. Pippen. I need to know if I'm wasting my time up here.”

She grunts. “Fine, but you're getting a D in my class.”

“Make it a C minus? I have to stay on the team.”

“You can't be on the team if you're Sea King,” she singsongs.

“Just tell me what I have to do. Have I talked long enough for you?”

“It has to be continuous.” She snaps open her purse and pulls out a paper with her familiar red markings all over it. “Forget the red pen. Just read me the text.”

I read.

Full fathom five thy father lies;

Of his bones are coral made;

Those are pearls that were his eyes:

Nothing of him that doth fade

But doth suffer a sea-change

Into something rich and strange.

Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:

Ding-dong.

Hark! now I hear them—Ding-dong, bell.

“You've got to appreciate Shakespeare,” she says. I follow her eyes behind me, where she watches my friends

“Today, if you please.”

“It's your lucky day, merboy. There is an oracle in New York, but I don't know where it is. I can't see it.”

“What do you mean you can't see it?”

She shakes her head. “I mean I can't see it, okay? Either she's blocking me, or your future isn't fixed because you haven't made up your mind yet. Whatever it is, I can't get a clear reading.”

“So give me something else to read,” I shout. This isn't me. I don't do things like this. I put my hands on her shoulders and squeeze. “I'll read it over again.” My mouth is dry. My heart is racing. My temples pulse in that way they do just before I see Nieve. I shut my eyes and let Ms. Pippen go.

Footsteps rush up to us. Ms. Pippen falls backward on the sand. She holds herself with her hands.

“I'm sorry,” I tell her.

Ms. Pippen picks herself up and dusts the sand off her dress. “No. Not yet you aren't.”

Should we let her go?” Layla's voice startles me.

I don't know how long I've been sitting on the sand, but long enough that I can't see Ms. Pippen on the beach anymore. I wave dismissively. “She doesn't know where the oracle is. She says it's here in New York, but that's it.”

“That's not helpful.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Come.” Layla holds out her hand to me. When I clasp it, it's warm in mine. “Let's take a walk.”

It's been so long since Layla and I have really been alone together. I steal short glances at her. It's amazing to me how beautiful she's become in a few weeks. One day she was my best friend, one of the guys. Today she's Layla, the girl who brought me back to life. Technically, I was already alive, but still. The girl who got on a ship in the middle of the night, because she thought I might need her. What she doesn't know is that I always need her.

When I look at her now, I want to tell her that I love her. I know it like I know that I'm part of the sea. She weaves her fingers through mine, something we've done since we were little, but right now it means so much more. I need to know. I need to know how she feels too.

“How's Alex?” I say.

“Who?”

“You know, big orange Alex? The guy who chauffeurs you in the white BMW?”

“You're a moron,” she says. “That wasn't Alex. That was my cousin Nick. Also, big and orange. But eww?”

“He picks you up.”

“He works at Steele Gym by Thorne Hill Cemetery, so my aunt's been making him. You know, little ole damsel-in-distress me.”

I laugh, slightly relieved. “Well, tell her you've already got someone to save you.”

“I don't need any saving, Tristan.” She hops onto the rocks barefoot and walks along them, arms out for balance. When we were smaller and they looked bigger than they do now, we used to pretend we were climbing cliffs in the middle of the ocean, running away from James Bond villains and saving the world.

“Whatever you say, I promise I'll always be there for you.”

“So now you're also Pinocchio in addition to a mermaid?”

“Mer
man
.”

“You have to come up with something less fruity.”

“How about mer-stud?”

“Mer
bro
.”

“I kinda liked merdude.”

I stand right behind her at the end of the rocks. The water splashes cold around us. Lavender and honey mingles with that sharp ocean smell. She leans her back against my chest, and I can feel her heart racing against mine. I trace the length of her arms with my fingertips, surprised at how warm she is despite all the goose bumps on her flesh. I kiss the bare skin of her shoulder, surprised at the heat on my mouth, the heat of her skin. The way my skin prickles everywhere as she lets herself sink against me.

“Layla.” I say her name, but I don't have anything to follow. I just want to say it. Layla, Layla, Layla. If I told her I loved her and then did something typically
Tristan
, I'd never forgive myself. So instead I whisper, “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Trust me.”

“The last time I agreed to that, you and Angelo streaked across my backyard at the same time my dad came home.”

“Just do it.”

She shuts her eyes.

I pull my shirt over my head and drop it on the rocks, along with my sandals and my shorts on top of my backpack.

“What are you doing?”

“No peeking.”

She has her hands over her eyes. Though I wouldn't mind if she peeked. I stand, close my own eyes, and breathe in the salt in the water, and then I feel the change in my veins, my legs. I jump into the water, feeling the numbness of the scales covering my legs until I kick in one motion as if I've been doing it my whole life.

There's a second splash. I swim to her, the scales along my arms glistening in the moonlight. She breathes short and shallow. Her teeth chatter when she says, “You're shiny.”

“Yeah, right. Vampires don't glitter, but I do.”

“Right? My belief system is totally shattered. I'm going to have to let my mom take me to confession tomorrow.”

I splash her a little. “Come, get on my back.”

“Said the crocodile to the monkey.”

“So let me get on your back, then.”

“Fine. Turn around, and I'll get on.”

I do, and she wraps herself around my neck, her legs around my waist. “Don't forget to hold your breath.” I make us dive a little and flick my fin until we swim out a few feet. I don't want to go out too far, because I don't know the kinds of things that are out there this time of night. I want us to be able to swim back without any problems.

I stop and flip her over so we're face-to-face. She puts her hands on my chest.

“Stop,” she says in a whisper I can barely make out over the rustle of the water. “Stop doing this.”

“I'm not doing anything.” I'm barely touching her, just trying to hold her afloat.

“Yes, you are,” she says, still pulling herself closer to me like a rope she's trying to climb.

“I'm not.”

“You're doing some
mer
-thing.”

“Layla, I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Then why do I feel this way?” She looks away sadly.

“Please, look at me.” I cradle her cheek in my palm. “What way?”

I could lean in and kiss her if I wanted to. She might kiss me back for real this time. Her hands shake in mine. I press her closer so there's no water between us. She's weightless against me. My skin is hot everywhere we're touching. I can't stand it anymore. I part my lips and lean down at the same time she lifts her face up.

The force of her mouth on mine pushes us back. I've never had to balance myself on one tail before. I push us backward, and we sink into the water. She gasps for breath once and keeps her lips parted against mine. She runs her hands all along my arms, and I trace the soft length of her spine. My gills flare as quickly as my heartbeat. I want to hold this moment, just this, for as long as she'll let me.

Then she pushes me away, holding her last breath in her puffed cheeks. I let her go, and she reaches out for the surface. She slaps the water and lets loose with an angry and frustrated scream. She swims toward the rocks. In her pink lace underwear, she pulls herself out of the water and puts her clothes back on. They cling to her in wet patches. She wrings out her hair at the same time that she walks away from me.

“What did I do wrong? I thought it was pretty stellar.”

“You know exactly what you're doing, Tristan Hart.” And there it is. She says my whole name the way she does when she's pissed.

“I told you,” I say. I feel the stinging pain that comes with shifting back into my legs. I have to paddle before the numbness on my feet goes away. I push against the tide that's pulling. There are still scales on my legs. When I brush them, they crumble into sand. “
I
said
, I'm not doing anything.”

She grabs my clothes off the rocks and throws them at me. “I don't believe you. You're putting some kind of spell on me or something. I saw how those princesses make people act. Like lunatics. It isn't
funny
to make people feel whatever you want them to. I'm not just one of those girls you pick up and then toss aside after you get bored with them. I'm not—”

There's so much fury in her voice that I'm too stunned to say anything. What can I say, other than to keep denying it? How can I make her see that she kissed me back all on her own? Her eyes gloss over, but I know she's not going to cry. She's too strong to cry.

She turns around and leaves me with my heart still in my throat, my feet sinking deeper and deeper into the sand.