Vicious Deep (24 page)

“Because Thalia and I are here to help Tristan. They're here to play.”

“So here I am with my school full of mermaids, an oracle to find, a throne to win, and the person who stands between me and the oracle is my ex-girlfriend, who says she lost the
one
thing
I've got going for me as far as offerings go.” I rub my face with my palms, unable to stop the feeling of premature failure from spreading through me. “Anyone have any spare cattle?”

“No way did she lose it,” Layla says. “She was still wearing it the day of the storm.”

I didn't notice. I never notice. That's my problem.

“You could always—” Thalia shifts uncomfortably and puts her fry down. “You could always
woo
her again.”

“No!” Layla's punches me hard on my shoulder.

I think of Maddy's face when she asked if I wanted her back. Despite everything I'd done, she'd still say yes. I think about Jessica and Deanna in the hallways. Until they approached me minutes ago, I'd totally forgotten about them. I figured they'd move on to someone else. How was I supposed to know I affected them that way?

A cheer erupts at the other end of the table. Angelo picks up Kai, a pretty little thing with shimmering pink lips and eyes like a powder-blue sky, and her long blond curls curtain around his shoulders. He sits her on his arm just so he can prove how strong he is.

“I thought
she
called them off,” Layla says.

“Jealous?” I snort.

“You wish.”

I do, and she knows it.

“He's acting on his own Angelo dumbassery right now,” I go. “So, Plan B. The oracle you visited was in the Fancy Corals or whatever?”

The familiar Kurt sneer is back. I was starting to miss it. “
The
Great
Coral
Caves
. And yes. She's there. You and I can go together. If we leave now, we'll be back by morning.”

“
No!
” Thalia shakes her head. “The merrows are out there looking for Tristan. It would be unwise to swim alone through the channels. They're dangerous enough.”

Kurt considers this. I don't think he's ready to fight those things again any more than I am. “Perhaps you're right. What about the landlocked waitress from the diner? What if beneath her enthusiasm for you as king, there was something else. What she said was curious.”

Layla raises her hand. “Some of us weren't at breakfast.”

“She told me her kid, the little turtle boy, is rooting for me.”

Thalia stifles her laughter. “Honestly, Tristan. It was just this morning. What she said was:
You'll find our kind is all around you, not just in the seas
.”

I'm so hungry I can't even think. “I thought she was just being nice.”

“We're never just nice,” Kurt says. “Our kind never says what they mean to say directly. It's vague, but what if she was telling us there is an oracle right here in New York?”

“Hold on,” Layla says. “How do you know she's not tricking him and making him look around the city when there isn't even an oracle here? Why would she care? Kurt's right. There are tons of people like her, right? What if she's one of the bad ones?”

There
are
tons
of
people
like
her.
That thought is enough to silence us all, because we know it's a long shot, and I'm going to just have to take it anyway. I don't know if it's the vibes coming from the rise in mermaid activity around me, the power of the dagger in my backpack, or what. But something in there is clicking. I wish I could tell everyone,
Look, I'm not just a pretty face
.

“There are tons of others like her!” I point to Kurt, who looks surprised that I point to him. “Use your mighty-merman powers for a sec. How do you think the other champions are finding the oracles?”

“Same way we are: hearsay, family witches, hired guides, seers—” He pauses and catches my eyes with his violet ones. “Of course.”

“You said Ms. Pippen's a seer,” I go, a little too smug that I've come up with it before him.

“She hasn't been in school for two days,” Thalia says, bursting my cloud of mojo.

“That's not a coincidence.”

Layla scrunches up her nose. “Ms. Pippen's a what?”

“A psychic in your world. I noticed the first day we were here.”

“Oh—”

“So then, let me give Maddy one more try—” Before Layla can punch me again, I add, “I'm just going to talk to her, not
woo
her. That's where you come in, Thalia. You stay here with Ryan and convince him he should throw a party.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

I try to keep the sly grin off my face. “I'm sure you'll think of something.”

“Really, a
party
?” Layla gives me attitude.

“There's a madness to my method. I've got this. You, me, and Kurt, we're going to have a little search party on the boardwalk. There's someone I think can help us. And if that doesn't work, we'll have to find a way to get us all to the Coral Conclaves.” I point to the swim team table, where Angelo is the center of attention. “Because I am
not
going to share my school with a bunch of bored, wannabe mermaid queens, and especially because I
never
,
ever
want to see Angelo do
that
again.”

Do you think this is a good idea?” Layla asks. We're feet from the entrance to the school. Behind her, Kurt squints against the sun.

Angelo runs past us as if his pants are on fire, which, given today, they probably are. “I also invited all of your hot cousins to come to Coney Island. Why aren't you being more hospitable, bro? Plus, they say they packed more bikinis than actual clothes.”

Layla rolls her eyes. “Now that you put it
that
way.”

Angelo presses his palm over his chest. “Don't worry, Layla. You'll always be my first love.” He puts out his cheek so that she can kiss it.

“Gee, th
aaa
nks.” She stops an inch short of pressing her lips to his face. “On second thought, I don't know where that cheek has been all day long.” Laughing, she walks right past him, stepping from the shadow of the school into the light.

“Oh, come on!” He runs out after her. “It's not like I'm
Tristan
.”

“Not cool, bro! Not cool!”

“See you suckers at the Wreck!” He takes the steps three at a time. It's surprising he doesn't miss a step at the speed he's going. He crosses the street, where a bunch of cars honk at him. He throws his middle finger in the air and howls at them, jumping into a red car with black flames painted on the side.

“Are werewolves real too?” I wonder. “'Cause that's just not normal.”

“He's euphoric,” Kurt says. “He's had the most exposure around the princesses other than—well—you.”

Layla looks surprised that he points to her and then blooms into a playful smile. “I guess mermen just have no effect on me.”

I stick my hand out in the air and go, “To the subway, Merman!” in my most dramatic cartoon superhero voice. It's wasted because the only one who laughs is Layla. Kurt watches me with the curiosity I give rats on the subway, and I wonder if we'll have enough time to introduce him to my comic books.

•••

The train station is aboveground. Across the platform is a wall of graffiti that stretches all the way down to Coney. We weave through the late beach crowd, the kids with red, sticky Italian ices, girls reading while two guys try to beat box battle beside them. Watching Kurt fumble with the turnstile and having it hit him on the back is the highlight of my day.

The car we board is fairly empty. A group of extremely loud kids hang out on the opposite end from us. They swing on the metal bars and dare each other to race between cars when the doors open.

“What are you thinking,
Kurtomathetis
?” Layla stands beside him, holding on to the bars with both hands so she looks extra long.

Even his shrugs are proper. “It's amazing really, the way these lines represent your city. It's like the channels under the sea, the veins in our bodies connecting everything.”

She looks like something is caught in her throat. Her hand goes right to the protective shell that hangs just under her clavicle.

I could be all poetic and stuff. If I wanted to.

At the next stop an older lady sits beside us in our corner, clutching her frilly purse. She snarls her thin lips at me, just like the old lady in the elevator at the hospital. Unbidden, Nieve's face comes to mind. Her irises, like the white of lightning, her blue lips and bloody gums. My temples burn as if someone is holding hot pokers on either side of my head and digging in.

“Tristan!” Layla kneels in front of me. She puts her cool hands on my face. Even with the air conditioning pumping from the vents, I'm sweating.

The old woman pushes past us and gets off when the train stops and the doors open. Well, that was that. The sensation subsides.

“I wish I could stop seeing her.”

“Nieve?” Kurt looks around the car as though we'll be attacked any moment.

What I don't say is that I can feel her getting stronger, that the white of her eyes pulls me in and I need all the strength I have to shut it away.

The conductor shouts, “West Eighth, New York Aquarium! Next stop, Coney!”

“This is us,” I go.

The kids on the other end of the car shout over something funny someone says. The doors chime open, and we leave them to their unbridled, unworried laughter.

The last time I showed up at the Wreck was the week before the storm. Ryan wouldn't let up about my making an appearance, because if there's someone you want as your wingman, it's gotta be me.

The owner's son, Jimmy Haggerty, mops the bar with a rag that looks like no amount of bleach will ever get it clean. He nods at me in that way guys do, while drying a glass with the same rag.

The Wreck is the coolest place on the boardwalk, hands down. Angelo and the guys have taken over an entire corner of the place. There is a Mount Everest order of hot wings so red they almost glow.

Kurt takes in the room and says, “Thalia would enjoy this. It reminds me of Tortuga Cove. Except that there are no pirates here.”

A man in full pirate costume walks in. Pirate Pete and Captain Loveday are part of a tour about the heyday of Coney Island, when the streets were cobblestone and lit up like Vegas. When there was a hotel shaped like an elephant, and the best rickety roller coasters in the entire United States.

“I retract my statement,” Kurt says, breaking into a rare smile.

“Were you really so hungry you had to make a pit stop?” Layla asks, taking a seat closer toward the entrance.

“Relax,” I say. “I have a good feeling about this.”

Her face becomes an instant smile, the way she used to smile at me before—everything. She squints, and the black fringe of her lashes looks like it's nestling the gold of her eyes. The sun breaks behind me and lights up her cheekbones and the rich browns in her hair. I smile back, even though I don't know what we're smiling about.

Then she says, “Marty!” and her chair flies back as she practically flies to him.

Marty pulls up a stool beside me. He shakes Kurt's hand and avoids my eyes when he holds out his hand to me.

“Fancy seeing you here,” I go, leaning casually against my chair. “On land. Out here in the world.”

He slumps down. “Dammit! Shouldn't you be in school right now?”

I sit up straight. “Guess today's just my lucky day.” I add, “
Na-na-na, boo-boo
,” in a hushed voice so just he can hear it.

Marty fixes his cap from side to side. “Okay, I promised I'd tell you what I am.”

I'm unable to keep the smugness from my face. “Let's have it.”

“Not here, bro. It's one of those believe-it-or-not things.” And even though he says that, he leans into Layla's ear and whispers. She stares at Marty with a sort of wonder that is rare for her lately. It was the same expression she had when she saw the Sea Court, when my grandfather gave her the shell around her neck. I wish she'd look at me that way, but all I get is
Tristan
Hart, her best friend, who kissed another girl while he already had a girlfriend.

I turn to Layla. Trusted lifetime best friend. “Come on, spill it.”

Kurt comes to my defense. Trusted merman sidekick. “Now, that's hardly fair to Tristan. He's been very patie—” Layla cups her hands around his ear and whispers to
him
!

“Interesting.” Kurt tilts his head at Marty, who in turn takes off his cap and bows like he's just finished an encore. “I never would've guessed. Though it completely makes sense.”

“That's not cool, guys,” I say.

Toward the back of the bar, Angelo and the guys have massacred half of their wings. The princesses look at them with something that crosses between hunger and disgust. Maybe with a splash of fascination. I wonder how come Gwen isn't with them.

“Trust me. You're new to this world. You have to see it to believe it, dude.” Marty puts his cap back on. I'm about to argue that Layla isn't
even
part of this world and is more human than I am, but I don't feel like getting her right hook again. Marty calls out to the bartender, “Hey, Jimmy, let me get five bucks of the Rocky Mountains to stay and the Andes Picante wings to go.”

I pull out the black leather wallet my dad gave me when I turned fifteen. Behind my ten-dollar bill is a photo-booth picture I'd forgotten about. It's me and Layla from the summer before high school. I'm holding my finger in my mouth like a hook. My face totally is leaned into Layla's. She couldn't even hold her funny face without cracking up. I push it down before she can see me looking at it.

“Put your pretzel monies away, Little Prince,” Marty goes. “This round's on me.”

Kurt, the rigid MerWonder, scratches the back of his neck and glances carefully around the room. I hate when he does that. He says, “This is all great, but we have some pressing—” But he doesn't finish. The distinct sound of a gunshot jolts us. We duck, but the screams come from the boardwalk.

I grab my backpack and run out the door, pushing past the crowds of onlookers. Straight ahead, where there are scattered rainbow-colored beach umbrellas, people grab hold of their things and run away from the beach. Memories of the day of the storm fill my head. I realize it's just a world of people who run the other way.

I search the clouds for a bit of black, anything that might suggest it was thunder and lightning and another wave. But the sky is an endless blue.

Emergency 4x4s honk at the traffic of people on the boardwalk. Farther away, police sirens wail. The crowd parts for a man with a bald head that's been slicked with suntan oil. In his arms is a heap of tattered bloody clothes.

He's struggling with the weight of a boy, and when he almost trips, a hand breaks loose from the pile of clothes and dangles, cold and blue.

The man's leg goes weak, but he balances on one knee. I reach forward to help, but I'm not fast enough, and the boy hits the ground with a wet thump. The corners of his lips are white and cracked. His eyes are open, staring at the sky. The smell of copper and salt hit me like a sucker punch. Down where the boy's leg used to be is a mess of sand and bone and loose skin.

The man leans down and uses two fingers to shut those dead, gaping eyes.

“What happened?”

When he speaks, his voice is a low growl. “I was just sitting. Reading. Beats me if I'll find my book in that mess now. Saw the top of a shark. But it was deformed.” He hovers, his palm over his head to signal where the dorsal fin might be. “Then the boy—” He breaks off and stares back down at the dead boy. I realize my hands are shaking at my sides.

A set of hands comes down on my shoulder. It's Marty. He leans close to my face and whispers, “Come on, man. We don't want to be here when five-o shows up.” My body is numb as we weave along the Coney Island boardwalk, away from the mangled body on the ground.