Vicious Deep (25 page)

We sit in a straight line, our feet dangling over the edge of the pier. This is where Coney Island turns into Brighton Beach.

“That was awful,” Layla says, her voice catching in her throat.

“The merrows.” Kurt says what I've been thinking but don't want to admit to.

I remember when Layla would curl up in bed because she didn't want to touch the edges, as if whatever was in the dark would reach up and snatch her. This is the same, except now we're all scared and pull our feet away from the water and set them firmly on the ground.

“Is this all because of the nasty sea witch who's out to get you?” Marty has a way of making even the worst things sound harmless.

“Yeah, that one. Apparently she might have an army of mutant merpeople called merrows.”

I wait for a smart comeback that doesn't come. Marty tosses the bottle cap into the water. It skips once, twice, sinks. “Aw, sh
iii
t.”

“What?” Layla gets ready to stand and run.

“I forgot the hot wings.”

She sucks her teeth and smacks
him
for once.

“What? I paid for them.”

“I'm falling behind,” I say. “The other guys are halfway down the Pacific, and I'm still on land, watching people die around me and not doing anything about it.” I punch the wood and regret it. The scabs over my knuckles crack and bleed. I look at Marty. “That's where you come in.”

“Me?” Marty tilts his cap from side to side.

“You know everyone.”

“Not every—”

“What do you know of a psychic who teaches at my school? Ms. Pippen.”

“Wait, wait.” Marty dusts sand off his black jeans. “Olivia Pippen?”

I stand to face him. “So you know her?”

Marty hesitates like he shouldn't have said anything at all. But he can't take it back.

I repeat, “Dude, do you know where she lives?”

He holds his hands up in the air as if he can conjure up a force field between us. A few more steps back and he'll fall off the pier. “Guys, I'm neutral. I can't—” He looks to Kurt. “You
know
I can't put anyone in danger that is part of the alliance. Besides, we used to have a thing.”

“She's my teacher. I'm not going to
hurt
her. I'm just going to ask her if she knows of any oracles and where their locations might be.”

Marty relaxes but doesn't look like he's going to cooperate.

“Hold up. You guys had a thing?” I can't help it; I sound super impressed.

He shrugs and smiles at the clouds. “Man, she's an incredible woman. But the seeing thing freaked me out. I mean, I'm not a dog or anything. I wasn't afraid she'd see me doing something I wasn't supposed to do. But check this: I have a lot of friends in dangerous jobs. Every time I'd introduce her at a party somewhere, she'd run out crying because she'd see them
die
. It puts strain on a relationship.”

I give him a well-deserved hand slap and hook. “You're kind of the Man.”

“Hello?” Layla knocks at the air. “Murder, mermaids, mayhem? We can talk about Marty's sexcapades later.”

Kurt raises his hand. “I vote
Not
on that last bit. But any information would be helpful. If not,” he says to Marty, “I hope you're a good swimmer.”

I wasn't about to make the threat, but Kurt's voice is steady, borderline deadly. I'm even afraid of him a little bit. Marty twiddles his thumbs nervously, taking one last look at the rippling water below. Sure, it's not exactly making him walk the plank, but after what we've just seen, the water doesn't look very appetizing.

He deflates and says, “I'm not going to tell you where she lives. But I will tell you where she's going to be tonight.” He rubs his hands. I still don't know
what
he is, but I hold up my hands to shield myself in case he ends up being some kind of wizard who shoots fireballs when he rubs his hands together. If things like that exist.

Which they probably don't.

Probably.

Hopefully.

“If it's another overnight trip, my dad's going to shit bricks.”

“Actually, it's a club.” He winks at her.

A club doesn't seem so bad. “Where is it?”

Marty flicks the beak of his cap. Now that he knows we're not going to torture him for an answer, he's all chummy again. “Let's just say, it's
right
in the middle of everything.”

The middle of everything is at Bowery and Twelfth Street.

Between Arcade Island and a long stretch of graffiti-covered wall is a door I've never noticed before. There's a black and red star over the metal door, which looks like it's been hit with a hammer too many times.

“What is it?”

“Like I said, a special club, lounge, bar. Whatever you kids are calling them these days. We call it Betwixt. Ground rules: try not to look people directly in the eyes, bump into anyone, spill anyone's drink, or make out with a girl who is someone else's date,
Tristan
.”

Layla elbows me a little too hard on the side.

“So it's just like being in the school cafeteria,” I say, and reach for the handle. Only there isn't a handle to reach.

“After me.” Marty bangs his fist on the metal once.

Nothing happens.

“Nothing—”

Marty puts his finger to his lips. “Shh.” He makes like he's going to reach for a handle that isn't there. And then his hand goes
right
through, followed by the rest of him.

“Ohm—” Layla starts and finishes with a shriek as Marty's head pops right back through. “Someone has to hold Layla's hand because, well, it's not her fault she's all human.”

Layla scowls at him. I reach for her hand, but she grabs Kurt's instead. He's standing closer to her, I guess.

Marty looks to me. “Knock once, wait for the knock back. A headless monkey could do it.” He disappears.

“Here goes everything.” I knock. The wait seems even longer than when Marty did it. Or maybe it's because I'm afraid it's not going to work for me. What if half of me gets stuck because I'm half human? And if so, which parts—

Then I hear it. The knock back. Only I can't seem to make myself move. I feel someone's hands push me forward at the same time I take a step in. For a moment, I feel weightless and cold. Two heartbeats later, the warmth rushes back. I stumble and trip down the steps. At least I land on my back and not my face.

Marty's talking with a guy who's almost seven feet tall. His red spikes graze the ceiling. He glances at me with a set of red eyes and a nose that looks like he gets into a lot of fights. “More convenient than a buzzer,” I go.

The red-haired giant looks away, bored.

“Tristan, that's Ignacio.” Marty nods at the red-haired giant. “And this is Lisbit, my future wife.” He leans against the wooden podium toward a girl with a slender pale face. Everything about her is pointy, from her chin to the upturned tip of her nose to the black points she's painted over her eyelids.

“The little merman,” she says. Her voice is deep and smooth. “It is wonderful to meet you. Hang on.” A second knock echoes in the room. It feels like it's coming from everywhere all at once. She opens a silver box in front of her and pushes the red button. I stand aside, waiting for the tumble that never comes. Kurt takes one step in, balancing perfectly at the top of the steps. He holds on to Layla's hands as she passes through. I can see her shiver with the sudden coldness of the metal door. She gasps when she looks down the short steps. She pulls herself up straight and they stand facing each other, holding hands.

“How did you know not to fall down the steps?” I say, unsuccessfully keeping the annoyance from my voice.

He shrugs. “It's only logical not to rush right into unfamiliar territory.”

Naturally.

Lisbit's eyes flare as she stares at Kurt. She glances at Layla, who lets go of Kurt's hands and stuffs them in her back pockets. Layla looks from Ignacio to Lisbit's gold shorts to the lights floating all about. They're like the ones on the island but smaller. She reaches out and touches one, then pulls her finger back with a jerk. “Ouch, they're hot.”

The corners of Lisbit's plum-painted lips lift in a sly smile. “Curiosity killed the human girl. Be careful you don't go doing that in there.”

Ignacio unlocks the door behind him. This one does have a knob. He steps aside. I hold on to the knob, tense at the thought that my hand might go right through.

I turn it.

I push it.

The music blares.

First thing's the stage. Red velvet curtains are draped open to frame the band. Hundreds of floating lights cluster above a four-girl band. They are red and black and white versions of the Beach Boys—but girls. In skin-tight polka-dot dresses, they
ohhh
and
ahhh
to the swaying crowd. Their logo, “The Vampirettes,” is centered on their bass drum, enclosed by a set of red lips with two glossy fangs.

“Are they really vampires?” I hear Layla ask behind me. Her voice is a mixture of wonder and dread.

“What do you think?” Marty answers suggestively.

To the left are seating areas of couches and tall circular tables with barstools made of a curling black metal. To the right there's a bar with hundreds of glass bottles in all heights and shapes. None of them have labels on them. Some are full of a familiar fizzy green liquid. A thin green girl with paper-thin wings retracted against her shoulder blades pours a goopy red liquid and what must be champagne into a tall, skinny flute glass and slides it to a girl about my age.

“That's a bloody mimosa.” Marty puts an arm around me. “That's Rhine, the bartender. She's a pixie. The guy bartender, Adam, is just human. He's part of the Coney freak show upstairs.” He points to a guy covered in tattoos, from the top of his bald head, down his shirtless torso, and down to the tips of his fingers.

We weave across the dance floor. Behind me, a girl with feathery wings and owl eyes is bouncing around and twirling Layla under her arm in that cute way girls do when they dance together. Kurt hunches and scowls more and more with everyone who bumps into him.

Layla dances around me now. We're on the outside of the dance floor. Something slimy brushes against my hand, but it's too dark to really make out anything that isn't right in front of my face. I feel a pinch on my butt. “Hey, now.” But my insides are bursting because it's Layla. She cocks her head to the side, moving her shoulders up and down to the poppy guitar rock. She traces her finger along my cheek, and I can't help it: I wrap my hands around her waist. Maybe it's the atmosphere, or maybe she sneaked something to drink while I wasn't looking, but she laughs in my ear.

Then something in my gut turns. I breathe in her hair, and it doesn't smell like anything. It smells clean, like air conditioner. I hold her face, and a grin that is very un-Layla spreads on her face. Her eyes aren't the honey I'm used to. I look around. What if something is possessing her? Behind me, Layla and Kurt finally pull through the jam-packed dance floor.

The Layla in front of me cackles in a way that sounds so wrong coming from her pretty face. The Layla behind me stares, eyes wide. She closes the gap between the three of us so that the two of them stand facing each other in front of me. I grab the other Layla's ponytail and bring it to my nose. Lavender.

“What the—”

Layla touches un-Layla's nose. “Does my nose really do that when I smile?”

The un-Layla starts stretching, her hair shortening and darkening, jaw squaring, shoulders broadening until Marty's form returns. I jump back.

“Surprised?” Marty the shape-shifter asks me.

“Dude, you pinched my ass.”

“You've got that whole merman prince thing going for you. What can I say? I'm a social climber.” He walks backward down the tight table aisles. “I've got some people I want you to meet.”

“Is the seer going to be one of them?” Kurt asks, all business all the time. I'm having fun down here. I can't remember the last time I felt fun. Like reliable Tristan Hart who'd take any dare, who could get any girl. Me. Fun. Before the storm, those two things were supposed to be synonymous.

“One thing at a time,” I say, following Marty and letting my friends fall in line.

•••

In a corner where there are not twinkling floating lights, but brass gas lamps fastened on the walls, is a group of guys who look like they should be on the cover of one of my dad's '80s rock records. They have the long tousled hair, the leather, the ripped jeans, and the perpetual look of amused boredom. I feel awkward here, the uninvited kid at the party who just stands there. I have never been that kid until right now, and it sucks.

Marty walks up to a tall blond guy who wears a white undershirt and a black leather vest. They talk to a guy who looks about my age, maybe eighteen. Although that doesn't mean much in a place like this if Kurt is 103. The second guy has brown hair that comes to his shoulders. He wears a Hawaiian shirt and has a predatory slouch. The sunny outfit contrasts with his pale skin, and my senses scream—
vampire
.

“Why does everyone seem so serious?” Layla asks.

Marty shrugs. “You try being immortal. You get to be seventeen and human, and your problems are bad enough. Then when you're seventeen forever, you have bigger things to worry about.”

The vampire in the Hawaiian shirt focuses on me. His eyes aren't exactly a spectacular color. I'd think they'd be red or super black, but other than the pale skin and dark circles under his eyes, I'd figure he was just a really white kid who never slept.

He lifts his chin at me and holds out his hand. It's like grabbing something out of the freezer.

“Frederik Stig Nielsen,” he says with a slight accent. Not British, but from somewhere over there. “I heard your grandfather liked my asphodels.”

I look to Marty with my best
what
-
the
-
fuck
-
is
-
he
-
talking
-
about
face.

Marty pats Frederik on the back. “You found a name you liked! Good for you, buddy.”

Frederik shoots a menacing look at Marty. Then again, his pronounced brow makes him look like he's always scowling.

“Oh, yeah, he thought they were awesome.” I'm not exactly lying. He did seem interested in them, but what else am I supposed to say to him?
Hey, is there any Type O on tap?

Frederik points to the tall blond guy watching us with bemusement. His eyes twinkle in the kind of way that musicians' do. “How rude of me. This is Röaan Recklit.”

We shake hands.
Good
grip, good grip.

“Sorry,” he says, releasing my hand. “I forget my own strength.”

“Tristan,” Frederik starts, “the boy today at the beach, the disappearing boys around the city. It's not human-related, but it has nothing to do with us either. I don't want the alliance hurt because there is no Sea King until the next full moon. I don't know anything about you, but Marty deems your character worthy. I trust him implicitly.” He turns to Marty with a grave face. “You forgot my order of Andes Picante.”

“Bro, there was a mangled human body on the boardwalk. We can go back for it, but Tristan's looking for someone right now.”

“My teacher, Olivia Pippen.”

Marty rolls his eyes when Frederik shrugs. “You know, the seer who can read voices? She has the decade of bereavement at Thorne Hill? Is it too much to ask that you pay attention to my ex-girlfriends?”

“Oh
her
. I saw her dancing a minute ago. She doesn't like me much.”

“How come?”
Since
you're such a charmer.

“Because she can't read me.”

And
hopefully
also
not
a
mind
reader.
“Why?” I feel like I'm two again.

“I'm a man of few words.”

Right, glad I asked.

I turn to plead with Marty once again. “Do you know where she would've gone?” He holds his hands up, and I know what he's going to say.
I'm neutral.
My heart beats a little faster. I'm fucking this up utterly. “Kurt, let's try—”

“Kurt's gone,” Layla says.

“What do you mean, Kurt is
gone
?”

She shrugs. “I mean, he was standing right behind me, and now he's not there anymore. He's gone.”

I scan the crowds for him, but it's so dark. Where would he have gone? Why now? I mean, I know I'm a little hard to get along with, since he's all serious merman guy, but come on. I thought we were getting past that.

The Vampirettes have put away their instruments and are walking toward us, shaking hands with some people. They smile with ruby-red lips and fangs that glisten in the gaslight.

“Frederik,” one says in her high soprano voice. “You up for some moonbathing?”

Frederik shrugs. “Sure.”

Two of the girls jump up and clap their hands. “Röaan, you coming?”

“Nah, I have some scouting for next Friday's show.” Röaan turns to me. “I hope everything works out. We're playing next Friday. My band's Low Key. I'll introduce you to some smokin' hot Valkyries. Oh, and”—I brace against his hand, slapping my chest in what
he
probably considers a friendly pat, and I consider a heavy beating—“bring some of those sea princesses I heard were in town.”