Vicious Deep (27 page)

A couple runs toward Layla and me. I've followed her to the boardwalk, where the others are waiting. They weave through the rows of garbage cans, holding sizzling sparklers in each hand.

“We've been looking all over for you guys,” Ryan says. The red rawness of his lips and the sheen in his blue eyes hints otherwise. “Angelo and the guys are setting up at my house. My folks have gone to our North Carolina house for their anniversary. Who are
they
?”

Behind us, the Vampirettes, Frederik, and Marty disappear into the Luna Park entrance.

“Just new friends,” I say.

Thalia and Layla each grab Kurt by a hand and start walking away from the shops, past the parachute tower and the Cyclones field and toward Sea Breeze.

Ryan walks with heavy feet and his eyes on the ground. He flicks the dead sparkler stick into a passing garbage can and sighs.

“What's wrong?” I ask, because he clearly wants me to. It's not that I don't care, but I've got my own girl problems.

“I just—Do you think I have a chance with her?”

For a moment, I'm tempted to be a real friend and fill him with “go get her, guy” pride. But then I remember that Thalia isn't my cousin. She's a mermaid, and she's eternal. I remember the promise she asked me to make. I didn't exactly say yes, but I didn't say no either. I'd have to be king before I could decide that. Sure, she feels this way now, but what about in a couple of days? Just then Layla glances back at me, and I get that choking feeling again, like my heart jumps up and gets stuck. I know how fast feelings can change.

I go, “Remember the Rebecca incident?”

“Rebecca was different. She was a brat. She thought just because my parents have money that I'd be like her other boyfriends and buy her jewelry and shit. All my money is in a bank account that I can't withdraw from until I start college. Which I may not live to go to if they ever find out I cut class today and threw a party.”

“You don't have to prove anything, you know.”

“Oh, come on, Tristan.” He puts his hands in his pockets and kicks the sidewalk as we walk. “White Bread? Wonder Ryan? I know they're just jokes, but sometimes the guys get out of hand with it.”

My insides pang a little with guilt. “They
are
jokes. It's not your fault everyone thinks you're a stuck-up white kid from the
only
gated community in Brooklyn.”

“You're white and your parents have nice things.”

“Yeah, but I get all the guys dates.”

At least that gets a laugh out of him. He shrugs. “I guess. I guess she makes me feel cool. The way she looks at me. Your family has strong genes. The iris colors—”

I can't have Ryan questioning our family heritage too deeply. I pat him on the back a little too hard. “Forget all that. Forget Jerry and Bertie and their shit. Forget Rebecca's bratty ass. I mean, did she even—?”

“She was my—first—do
not
tell the guys. I beg you. I don't even know what god you pray to, but swear on him, please. And do not tell Thalia.”

“I won't. Cross my heart. Let's pray on one of the Hindu guys. They don't get enough attention.”

The smell of ocean is strong. The waves crash hard. My lungs welcome the sea air, with bits of sand carried in the breeze. But then I get a whiff of a familiar stink—the rotting fish smell of the merrows. I wonder if they're out there waiting for me. Suddenly, I don't think this party is such a good idea.

“I just wish she lived here, you know? Then I'd be sure that we could have something.”

I think of Layla and me kissing. We didn't think. We just went for it. Granted she thinks I'm putting a mer-spell on her and is mad at me, but that's because she's scared of what she feels. I deserve it, I know. But I'd rather have her hate me until she comes around than never have kissed her at all.

“Cut the crap, man. Don't tell me you've been holding hands and planning this party all day. Your freaking shirt's inside out. Just have fun together. Be a man. Show her how much you like her. I mean, if you left Angelo alone in your house to set up for a party, you're definitely braver than I thought.”

Farther down the street, where the boardwalk comes to a rocky end, are the biggest houses in Sea Breeze. They're so new you can still smell exterior paint drying on the window shutters.

Ryan's front lawn is packed with spiky-haired dudes in white undershirts and spray tans that border on toxic. They're surrounded by girls in micro shorts and bikini bottoms meant to showcase winking belly rings and tramp stamps.

The crowd spills into the living room, where Steve, the school's radio DJ, is set up. A guy with floppy blond hair is jumping on the couch. A pillow comes out from somewhere and hits him right on the head, knocking him on top of a group of girls, who roll him right back onto the carpet.

We follow Ryan through double doors leading to the kitchen. On the smooth marble countertop is a keg with rows and rows of red and blue plastic cups lined up. Angelo runs in chasing one of the princesses, Kai. They push against the glass doors leading to the backyard pool and head out. Kai holds her knees and then shoots her hands in the air as she dives in, dress and all.

“Don't worry. She won't shift here,” Kurt says beside me.

“She's the least of my worries,” I say. “Do you spot Maddy?”

He shakes his head. “Can't you smell her?”

Then I realize I don't remember what she smells like. Despite my new Mighty Merman senses, I don't think I even noticed.

We step into the backyard. Tiki lights line the bushes. Soft blue lamps surround the pool, which even has a tiny waterfall. It's almost like being back on Toliss. Layla gets called over by a group of lifeguards from the Brighton Beach side. They whisper something in Layla's ear, and she brushes them away with a cute little laugh.

I wonder what they asked her. Whatever it is, she finds my eyes through the crowd. It's not like she's never looked at me before. She's been looking at me for the past sixteen years. But now she
really
looks at me, and I can't hear anything except my heart pulsing in my ears. How can she think this isn't real?

The girls wave us over, sloshing foamy beer down their arms.

“You're Tristan, right?” Brighton Beach girl asks. She has tan lines from wearing her sunglasses on the tower too long.

“Yeah, how'd you know?”

“I remember seeing your picture right after, you know, the storm. In, you know, the papers.”

I forgot I was a local celebrity. “What's your name?”

“Cindy.”

“This is my cousin Kurt.”

Kurt waves at them, tucking his hair behind his ear. His body tenses as he fights the urge to bow. Layla catches it too, because she's smiling at him.

“It's so weird seeing you without your uniform,” Cindy says, pointing down at me.

“Actually,” I go, “the real uniform is under here.” And even as I say it, I want to bite my lip. I can feel Layla's eyes burning holes into the side of my face. Why do I even say things?
Why, Tristan? Why?

Cindy giggles. “Ohmigod, you're
so
funny
!”

“He's hilarious,” Layla says flatly. “Aren't you supposed to be looking for something?”

She's jealous. Of course she's jealous. She gives me all this crap about how I make her feel this way, but if I accidentally flirt with someone else, I'm the bad guy.

“Duty calls,” I say, leaving the other lifeguards with question-mark faces and Layla trying her best to not smile at me.

Inside, the steady bass of a hip-hop song makes everyone bob their heads without even realizing they're doing it. Up the beige carpeted steps, there's a line for the bathroom. I don't even bother trying to wait. A door is cracked open to my left. The room is all white and light blues, from the walls to the duvet. The wind blows through the balcony window, the temperature having dropped quite a bit since this afternoon. I know Maddy isn't here. I know I need to be looking for her. But I have sand in places sand shouldn't be.

I rummage through my backpack for underwear, but I forgot to pack it. Great. Fine. I don't need underwear. I'm a merman, after all. As I step out of my shorts to take my Speedo off, I catch the light scent of smoke, something sweet like burning flower petals.

The curtains blow open more, and this time someone steps forward from the window. I stumble to get my cargo shorts on and end up slipping on the soft carpet.

“Very smooth,” her pretty voice murmurs from where she stands. Gwen's white-blond hair is weighed down with salt water and sand. She puffs rings of purple smoke past her pink lips.

“What the hell, man?” I finish pulling my shorts on, trying to mask the embarrassment creeping its way up my torso. Not that I have anything to be embarrassed about, but still.

“I'm no man, Tristan,” she says, tracing the shape of her silhouette. She's in a bikini that looks like it's all made of crochet and pink sequin, like if it moved at all, you could see the little bits that she's hiding. She hooks her thumb on the sheer silver-and-gold wrap thing around her hips. “In case you can't tell yet.”

“It's just something to say.”

“You seem jumpy. Come, have a smoke.”

I don't know why I look at the door, as if someone is going to come and tell me not to do what I'm about to do. I'm not doing anything wrong. I pull my backpack on and follow her through the curtain. Form here we can see everyone in the backyard, on the boardwalk, and on the bit of the beach that's in front of the house.

“You missed the sunset,” she says. “It was exceptionally beautiful today.”

“Yeah?” I reply, just for something to say.

“It's my favorite time of day.”

“The end of it?”

“The beginning of night.”

“What are you doing here, Gwen?” I don't know why I keep asking her that. I like having her around, I've decided. She's not like everyone else around me.

“I have nowhere else to go.” There's something raw about the way she says it. The automatic light above the balcony goes off. “I spent all day swimming. Went to court for a bit to see if they had news of Elias.”

At the mention of his name I look away. Down by the pool a guy picks up a girl and throws her into the water. Her top comes off with the force of it, but she just holds her hands in the air and woo-hoos.

“No news?”

She shakes her head.

“Don't take this the wrong way, but you don't seem so upset.”

I tuck a bit of hair behind her ear, and when I do, I see something I would never notice unless I was this close to her. Right over the razor-thin slits where her gills would be is a long scar that runs from the opening of her ear down to her clavicle. It nearly blends into her, so it looks like a thick vein of extra skin. It must've hurt like hell.

It startles both of us. That I would touch her so absentmindedly. That I would even notice.

“That was an accident,” she says.

“Someone accidentally tried to cut you open?” I don't know why, but I'm suddenly angry for her. I don't want to ask if it was Elias, if this is the real reason she doesn't care that he might be missing. That he'd never be around to do this again.

“Would you be able to do it?” she starts. “If you were forced to marry a man and pretend that you cared about his every whim, his every mood, every desire—And if I didn't do as he asked, fixed things to his liking with my magic—”

“Actually I don't think I'd ever be forced to marry a man.”

She punches me lightly, but at least it makes her smile.

“Elias swam into our palace with sea-horse loads of gold. Somehow he knew of me. He wanted me. And my father gave me away without even saying good-bye. My lady-in-waiting came in to pack for me and told me where we were going. That's why I'm not at court. I'd be expected to sit around waiting for his return. Dead or alive.”

The sharpness of her words is startling. It really is a different world. “I don't get why you have to hide your powers. Everyone knows Thalia can talk to her sea horse.”

Gwen forces a laugh. “It's not that I'm hiding. I don't believe we should be forced to reveal all parts of ourselves. After all, there was once a time when we all had magics. But like anything else, when you suppress it long enough, you forget it. If you really wanted to, you could make yourself forget anything.”

I don't think that's true. There's nothing that would make me forget my parents or Layla. But I don't say as much. Instead I say, “Show me something.”

She tilts her head to the side and looks at me with those gray eyes. She takes a long puff and blows the purple smoke out slowly. Her fingers reach up to the swirling smoke, where they take the shapes of a mermaid and a merman. They swim around each other; they have faces and arms, and lips, which they aren't shy about using. They run their hands against each other so hard that I think they'll go right through the smoke. She twirls her fingers again, and they're pulled apart. Their faces contort, their arms reach for one another. They look up at Gwen with ghoulish faces. And then the smoke goes out, and the only thing that lingers is the smell of burning flowers.

“What the—” I start. “And Elias knows you can do that?”
Knew. Elias knew.

Something dark passes over her eyes. “Magic isn't
bad
. But it's considered dangerous. The Sea King always worries we can't be trusted with it.”

“Can you?” I adjust the weight of my backpack. I can feel the thin hum of the sword. “Be trusted with it?”

She doesn't say anything. I think of how quickly she used it to help Layla win. It's not her fault Elias attacked me, but if she hadn't done it, everything might be different now. We stay in this silence, staring over the railing. Right below us the lifeguard girls and Layla are watching Kurt talk to Thalia. If he would look up, he'd see me and Gwen watching them.

The giggles from below drift up. Cindy is loud-whispering to the other girls, “Ohmigod, he's so totally
hot
. Why are all of his cousins so totally hot?”

Gwen rolls her eyes. We lean closer and hold on to the metal bars. It looks like we're in a little prison.

“Even the girls!” another girl says.

“It's so unfair,” a third girl adds. “At least there's finally more eye candy than Tristan.”

“I always though Tristan was just a man-slut who thought he was too hot for everyone.”

The girls laugh. Layla doesn't say anything in my defense. Do they know that we kissed only minutes ago? Would she even tell them?

“I don't think you're too hot for everyone,” Gwen jokes, elbowing me in the side.

“Har-har.” I wish I had a bucket of water to dump on them.

Cindy gasps, like she just got hit with the mother lode of ideas. “You should go talk to Kurt, Layla.”

“Why?” she says defensively. “It's not like I haven't talked to him
before
.”

“Yeah, but you said you think he's hot. So you need to go ask him if he has a girlfriend.”

“He doesn't.”

“Did you
ask
?”

Layla groans. “No, but he never talks about one.”

“Guys never say it unless you ask. It's like they think they can get away with it if you don't ask. So it's technically not lying.”

Girl Number Two chimes in, “Yeah, I
hate
when they do that.”

“He's not like that,” Layla says, and I hate that she comes to Kurt's defense and not mine.

She stands up with protest, taking time to smooth out her tank top. She pulls her ponytail loose and shakes her hair out. The lifeguard girls whistle.

Gwen laughs. “Ugh, I can smell their humanity. It's like a burning tar pit.”

I force myself to laugh, because my skin is on fire as Layla walks up to Kurt and Thalia. Thalia says something and points to the house. Layla shrugs and Thalia walks away, handing Kurt her backpack. I bet they're asking where I've gone. Kurt adjusts the bag on his shoulder. Even with his human clothes and surfer-dude hair, his violet eyes stand out. People take turns stealing quick looks at him. He catches himself bowing at Layla when she stands in front of him and smiles at his feet.

She tucks her thumbs in the pockets of her skirt and shifts her entire weight to one side. I've never seen her flirt before. Not really. It's not that she thinks I'm making her like me; it's that she doesn't want to tell me that she wants
him
. Of course, Tristan. How could you be so stupid? I want to puke. I want to jump over this railing and toss him in the water, rip his face off for talking to my girl.

Gwen stands up. “
Boring
. I'm getting hungry.” She loops her arm through mine and kisses my cheek with her glossy lips. “Cheer up, little merman.”

“Huh? I'm not upset.”

“Sure you're not.” She says this matter-of-factly.

I'm glad she doesn't pry. I decide I like Gwen. She's like the friend who is brutally honest with you even when you want someone to help you nurse your wounds.