The Stranger Read online

  The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you without Digital Rights Management software (DRM) applied so that you can enjoy reading it on your personal devices. This e-book is for your personal use only. You may not print or post this e-book, or make this e-book publicly available in any way. You may not copy, reproduce, or upload this e-book, other than to read it on one of your personal devices.

  Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Begin Reading

  Galen dangles the necklace in front of his sister, swirling tidbits of seaweed in the water around them. “This is mine,” he tells her, shaking it closer to Rayna’s face. “If you take it again, I’ll tell Father about all your human treasures.”

  Rayna crosses her arms, her sleek silver fin twitching in irritation—the brunt of which she turns on Toraf, their best friend. “What kind of Tracker pupil are you?” she demands. “You didn’t sense that he was in my cave? Stealing my things?”

  Galen is careful to hide his grin. Toraf knew he was in Rayna’s precious cave of human relics. Not because Toraf is training to be a Tracker—and a promising one at that. No, Toraf didn’t have to sense Galen creeping around in Rayna’s treasure trove. Because Toraf was with him the whole time.

  “Leave Toraf out of this,” Galen drawls. “He’s still learning his Tracker skills.” He can tell Toraf doesn’t like him minimizing his abilities, but he’s not quite proud enough to admit his involvement in this matter, so he keeps his mouth shut. Like a good minnow. “Besides,” Galen continues, “Toraf is my best friend. Why would he tell you anything?”

  Rayna grabs Toraf’s forearm and pulls him to her. Toraf grimaces, torn between the pleasure of being pulled toward the Triton princess and the pain of being put in the middle yet again.

  “He is not!” Rayna insists. “Tell him, Toraf. Tell him you’re my best friend.”

  The scowl Toraf gives Galen brims with indecision. Galen doesn’t sympathize. The choice is obvious. Toraf can nurture his romantic feelings for Rayna when the time is more appropriate—which won’t be for five more seasons, when they all turn eighteen. “That’s not the point,” Galen drawls. “The point is, you stole this necklace from me and I stole it back.”

  Toraf’s expression relaxes as Rayna’s attention shifts from him to her twin brother. Galen knows the look on her face so well. She’s changing tactics. The anger recedes, replaced by a tide of sadness. Or at least, a good imitation of sadness. “You should have given it to me,” she says. “You knew I wanted it since we found it. How selfish can you be?”

  “I found it,” Galen says pleasantly. “It was the only thing I found on that old wreck. I can’t help that it was the best. You swam away with almost more than you could carry. I think you’re the one being selfish.”

  Rayna’s lower lip juts out and threatens to quiver. “I’m the one who got it all cleaned up and shiny again. It didn’t look half as nice when you had it.”

  Galen holds up the necklace, allowing all of Rayna’s hard work to glisten as he turns it in the fingers of afternoon sunlight stretching down at them from the surface. Before, he thought the medallion was plain, a bare gilt disc on the end of a handsome braid of gold. Beautiful, but simple. Now he sees the outline of a human symbol—one he’s seen before in the Cave of Memories. Two lines intersecting each other in the middle. Other symbols dance around it, fine carvings outlining tiny colored rocks around the rim. Some are possibly the marks of human words, though Galen can’t make out a single letter Romul taught him. That could be because Rayna has restored the thing to within an inch of its life. Such great care she took in polishing off the green crust of many seasons in the belly of the great ship. With the layers of green she’d also kneaded away the outside markings.

  Galen has no idea what the lines mean; the subject had yet to come up with his mentor, Romul, during his lessons in the Cave of Memories. But the Cave of Memories is vast, and the collective memory of Archives like Romul is even more so. Romul would not need to see the necklace to know what the symbols mean. Which is a very good thing, since Father will wear a whelt in my fin if he finds out I explored a human shipwreck—and especially if he finds out I let Rayna come with me.

  Galen grins at his sister. “Thanks. It looks great.” He pulls the necklace on. The medallion takes up a large portion of his chest, the weight of it resting against his heartbeat.

  Rayna clenches her teeth. His sister is lovely, Galen knows, but when she clenches her teeth she looks like an agitated puffer fish. “I’ll trade you. Anything you want in my cave.”

  “Not a chance.”

  Rayna grabs Toraf’s hand, instantly setting him on edge. “Toraf, tell him. Tell him that I need that necklace. Tell him how hateful it is for him to keep it.”

  Toraf turns on Galen, writhing under Rayna’s scrutiny. “Come on, tadpole. It’s her favorite treasure. And truth be told, it looks ridiculous on you. Very feminine.”

  “Your fin is feminine.” Galen shrugs. “I’m keeping it. That’s final.” At least for now. Who knows what Rayna will be willing to do for it? He’d be an idiot to give up such a valuable bartering tool so early in what he knows will be an entertaining game. He could make her dig for some tasty oysters. Or net his favorite kind of tuna—which can only be found in Poseidon territory. Or better yet, he could trade it for peace and quiet. A day off from his sister sounds very tempting right about now. Right about always.

  But that doesn’t mean he has to flit around wearing it like a prissy human. Toraf is right; he does look ridiculous. Galen turns to swim away, fighting the urge to take it off. “It’s a necklace,” he says, almost to himself. “It was made to be worn.”

  Despite Rayna’s protesting growls, Galen keeps swimming. He senses Toraf following him. Normally he would stop and wait for him to catch up. But Toraf is currently enchanted by his sister; he just might try to take back the very thing he helped Galen find only days ago. His friend is loyal, but sometimes his heart betrays him.

  Galen stops. Toraf stops, too. Rayna didn’t follow; she obviously trusts Toraf to do her bidding. Which irritates Galen even more.

  “It means more to her than it does to you,” Toraf says quietly. “Why can’t she have it?”

  “I’ll eventually give it to her. Just not right now.”

  “She did work hard on making it shine.”

  Galen raises a brow. He’s seen his older brother Grom do this, and it always makes him look more intimidating. “You should have thought about that before you helped me take it.”

  Toraf grimaces. “Well. I’m taking it back.” He eases toward Galen.

  “Obviously you’ve grown too accustomed to the luxury of teeth, tadpole,” Galen says, “if you think you’re going to swim over here and take it from around my neck.”

  Toraf considers.

  “Besides, if you even try, I’ll tell Rayna you helped me. And I’ll tell Father where her cave is.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  No, he definitely wouldn’t. His sister might be infinitely annoying, but those human things have been one of the few sources of happiness for her since their mother died. Galen would never take that from her.

  Still, it doesn’t hurt to give Toraf something to think about. Plus there’s the issue of actually catching Galen. True, Toraf’s fin is bigger than Galen’s. But the young Tracker knows Galen is faster. So fast that Toraf knows his time is better spent comforting Rayna than chasing a tail that will soon be out of sight.

  Galen can see from his friend’s expression that the disagreement has been st
alled for another time. He takes the opportunity to leave, the necklace getting heavier with each flick of his fin. But somehow he suspects that the weight is wrapped more around his conscience than his neck.

  * * *

  Galen makes the familiar journey around the tip of the Long Land and into the warm waters of what his only human friend, Dr. Milligan, calls the Gulf of Mexico. He’s eager to show Dr. Milligan his find. He decided that it would be better to show Dr. Milligan the necklace than to tell Romul about it. After all, Dr. Milligan is a human. He should know what the markings on the necklace mean. Why risk raising Romul’s curiosity—or worse, suspicion—with incriminating questions?

  Just as Galen assures himself that he’s being terribly clever, he hears the approach of a boat on the surface. From beneath, he can see the deep dips and tall swells of the waves topside. The boat is moving dangerously fast, especially for its size and especially this far from shore where the waves can be punishing. Sometimes the belly of it disappears altogether, then crashes down hard on the surface. These humans are in a hurry.

  Right when he thinks the boat will pass, it slows, then stops altogether. Galen presses himself into the murky sand, spooking a few crabs and a hiding flat fish in the process. Galen doesn’t have to wait long before the humans reveal their intentions.

  And they do the unthinkable.

  The splash is a big one, not caused by an anchor or a net or a crab cage or the chum they throw overboard to attract fish. It’s the splash of a human. Not a diver. Not a swimmer. Not a surfer. A human who is tied to a big chunk of square rock. A human who has a silver patch of something over her mouth to muffle her screams.

  A human who has been thrown away.

  The hum of the boat starts up again, and it speeds away. It disappears as quickly as it arrived.

  Galen watches in horror as the human female wriggles like a caught fish, sinking farther and farther and farther. Her arms are tied behind her back. Her legs tied together. She can’t kick, she can’t flail. All she can do is scream and squirm and scream some more.

  Which is exactly what she shouldn’t be doing. Dr. Milligan said humans can’t hold their breath very long. He remembers when he first met Dr. Milligan. The big metal thing on his back gave him air so he could breathe underwater.

  This human does not have a big metal thing on her back.

  This human is going to drown.

  And Galen can’t let that happen. Won’t. He knows the law: It forbids contact with humans. But he’s broken that law countless times already. He was about to break it just now, showing Dr. Milligan the necklace.

  So, he surges toward her, leaving the murk swirling in his wake. He gives his immediate attention to the patch on her mouth. If she speaks the same human language as Dr. Milligan, maybe she can help him figure out how to save her.

  He tears it off and she cries out. She looks as if she’s going to say something, but stops herself. Then her eyes get very, very wide. Galen wonders if he’s made a mistake in helping. By showing himself to this human whom he doesn’t know. But the last time he helped a human—Dr. Milligan—it turned out for the good.

  But for the good or for the bad, he can’t watch this human die. Not if he can help it. He pulls at the knots binding her. They’re strong, tight. His skin is not yet as thick as an adult Syrena’s, so the flesh on his fingers starts to seep blood from pulling too hard.

  For her part, the human holds still. She seems to understand he’s trying to help. And she’s going to let him. In fact, she seems to have calmed down. That’s when Galen realizes that she’s not calming down at all.

  She’s losing consciousness. When she does, her body will forget how to breathe. And she will drown.

  Galen wraps his arms around her, hugging her to him. Then he heads for the surface. The power of his fin he normally uses for speed is now pushed to its limits just to move because of the rocks tied to her feet. Progress is slow, but they finally make it to the surface.

  The human’s eyes are closed.

  No. Without thinking, Galen gives her cheek a stout slap. This revives her. She coughs saltwater into his face, which is possibly the most unpleasant thing he’s ever experienced. He figures they are even now, since he did slap her, after all.

  “Are you drowned?” he asks.

  She answers with more coughing. It’s difficult to keep her head above the waves with the added weight tied beneath them. “I have to get these knots untied,” he tells her.

  Finally she speaks. Her voice is hoarse, faint. “I have a knife in my boot.”

  Galen blinks. “A knife?” He’s not sure what that is. Or, for that matter, what a boot is.

  She seems to understand his lack of understanding. In fact, she seems very calm about everything that’s happening to her now. As if being saved by a Syrena were a normal occurrence. “It’s with my feet. It can cut through the rope.”

  Galen nods. “We have to go back under. I can’t hold you up and get your knife at the same time.”

  She nods. A piece of her dark hair is stuck to her cheek and in the corner of her mouth, making her look like she’s been hooked. “Let me take a big breath first.” She proceeds to take several big breaths. “I’m ready,” she says finally. But before he dips under, she says, “Thank you. Just in case this doesn’t work out and all. Thank you for trying.”

  It will work out, Galen wants to tell her. But he doesn’t know if it will.

  * * *

  Galen has never been so glad to see land in his life. The Long Land would have been a short trip for him if he were by himself. If he didn’t have a pair of human arms wrapped around his neck barely holding on, a human body sagging against his back, the raspy sound of a human’s unsteady breathing in his ear. Several times that raspy sound stopped and he’d had to make sure she was still alive. Even now, he doubts she will make it. Even with his thick skin he can feel how cool her body has become.

  And she can’t stop shaking.

  The setting sun lights their way to the shallow water. Galen reaches around and carefully pulls the human to the front of him. “I think the water is shallow enough for you to stand.” The powerful muscle in his fin unravels, and his human legs snap and twist into shape beneath him. Instinctively, his feet anchor into the sand, ankle deep. The gentle waves lap at his high waist; if he’s judged her height correctly, her head should reach his shoulder when standing.

  She nods, but Galen can tell that her ability to stand has nothing to do with the depth of the water. Instead of releasing her, he pulls her all the way on shore. She lies on her back, her sticky black hair salted with the sand on the beach. Her breaths come in short wheezes.

  She digs her feet into the sand. “Th-th-thank you,” she says, her teeth chattering so hard she might shatter them out of her head.

  Galen looks at her for a long time. He should go. He should dive back into the surf and swim all the way to the Royal Caverns and tell his father what he’s done. “I’m going to make a fire,” he tells her.

  He can’t tell if she nods in reply or if the shaking is just that uncontrollable. He searches the area for acceptable brush and sticks, endlessly thankful that his brother Grom has already taught him how to make a fire. Syrena tradition does not allow for that lesson until a male is old enough to choose a mate. Together the couple chooses an island, and after their mating ceremony, the male builds a fire for his new companion. A symbol of his devotion to her. Then they would … well, they would mate.

  Galen grimaces, wondering if humans have the same custom. Does this female human think I want to mate with her? First I save her, then I bring her to land and build her a fire. What must she be thinking right now?

  Just in case, he finds some trees with flat pointy leaves and fashions himself a covering. Dr. Milligan warned him to always wear what the humans call “shorts” before coming ashore. He’d even given him a few pairs of them to hide in the sand around the Gulfarium for when he visits. These were no shorts, but they would have to do. Su
rely she would not mistake his intentions now. A male would not hide himself from his mate.

  At least, he didn’t think he would …

  * * *

  The fire licks the early morning sky, a sky still dark enough to cast an exotic dance of light and shadow on the stranger’s face as she sleeps fitfully. She has stopped shaking and her clothes are half-dry, but she’s oblivious to her improved condition. All through the night she cried out, thrashing and wailing. He told himself over and over that her nightmares would subside. That he shouldn’t involve himself any further with this human, that his only purpose for staying was to make sure she lived through the night, nothing more.

  When she awoke, they would part ways.

  But when she’d started screaming, “Help me!” he had no choice but to intervene. The commotion could attract other humans. She was in no shape to fend for herself if others of her kind decided to finish the job they’d started at sea. And Galen was in no mood to have all his hard work undone so easily. He’d slid behind her in the sand, wrapped his arms around her. Back and forth he’d rocked her, just like his mother had done to him when his nightmares seemed to jump from his imagination and into his sleeping cave with him.

  He doubted his nightmares could compare to the dreams tormenting this stranger. He figured it would be selfish not to comfort her when he could do so with hardly any effort. The most impressive part of her was her overwhelming mess of black hair. Knotted in some places, curly in others, falling in no particular order except for everywhere. Other than that, this human was small. It would be so easy to scoop her up and rock her until she stopped whimpering. To whisper words of comfort in her ear until she stopped thrashing. To hold her until her terrors drowned in the security of deep sleep.

  So he did.

  Looking at her now from across the fire, Galen doesn’t regret his involvement. Sure, his eyes are heavy and his stomach is empty and his legs itch to feel the saltwater stretch and twist them into his powerful fin. But Galen remembers her eyes. How frightened and childish her dark eyes had looked when she’d first seen him. He has to see those eyes again. He’d decided this during the night, during one of her more violent nightmares. He has to know what her eyes look like when they aren’t brimming with terror.