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Galen is speechless.

  Rayna is not. She looks up from her game. She has been paying attention the whole time. “Of course we want your help. You see how Galen fights against reason? It gets tiring, let me tell you.” His sister claps the sand off her hands. “Tell us about money. Tell us how we can get some of it.”

  Rachel looks at Galen, triumph practically dripping from her face. “Your brother’s necklace has got to be worth a lot of money. If he’ll let me, I’ll take it and sell it. That is, I’ll trade the necklace for human money.”

  “The humans won’t ask you where you got it?” Galen says. “They won’t question where you found it?”

  Rachel grins. “Sure they will. But I’m a good liar. And I only deal with people who don’t ask too many questions.”

  “If you’re a good liar, why should we trust you?” Toraf asks. Galen isn’t sure if he wants to applaud his friend, or punch him in the mouth. He could have used his help in the beginning of the conversation, but now that the issue is nearly settled, he can’t imagine why Toraf would want to stir up trouble by making more accusations.

  “You shouldn’t trust me,” Rachel says flatly. “In fact, you shouldn’t trust any humans. I don’t think that’s news to you, though. But what have you got to lose this time? That necklace? I bet you have plenty more than the one necklace.” Before Galen can answer, she says, “And it wouldn’t hurt to have two human contacts watching the world for you. If I sell that necklace, you’ll have someone who can actually wield power in your favor, too. Always good to have a backup plan.”

  Galen can’t find a single argument against her logic. He never had any intention of keeping the necklace anyway; he would have traded it to Rayna for something eventually. But the idea of trading it for human power is irresistibly compelling. Of course, he doesn’t completely trust this tiny, intimidating stranger yet. But she’s right. All he has to lose is a necklace. He doesn’t have to speak with Rachel ever again if he doesn’t want to. All three of them could disappear in the surf and never come back. Or he could take a chance, risk only himself, and possibly get the opportunity to offer all Syrena at least a small amount of extra protection.

  Really, the question is how could he not do it?

  Rayna stands, dragging Toraf with her. She yawns. “It’s settled then. Galen, give Rachel the necklace. Rachel, how long will it take you to sell it?”

  “Once I get what’s left of my old life tucked away and all, I can be up and running in two weeks, no problem.”

  Galen’s not sure what “up and running” means, but he does recognize the word “weeks.” “It means fourteen turns of the sun,” he tells his sister, whose eyes are glazed with confusion.

  Galen lifts the necklace from his chest and walks it over to Rachel. She accepts it gingerly, and for a moment, he thinks she may have been holding her breath. He holds his hand down for her. “We’ll meet you in this same place in two weeks,” Galen tells her, hoisting her up.

  She nods. “I won’t let you down, cutie pie. You have my word.”

  “Good-bye, Rachel,” he says, turning toward the alluring tide.

  “Not good-bye, Galen. Until we meet again.”

  But he’s already wading in the water, Toraf and Rayna close behind.

  * * *

  Galen sets down his seaweed net long enough to pull on the swimming trunks he hid under a rock behind Rachel’s new house. She bought him several pairs, but he likes the way these fit better than the rest. And if he is honest, he likes the bright red color, too. He grabs the net full of human treasures and walks on shore. A warm glow of light coming from the windows illuminates his way to the beach. The savory smell of broiled fish dances in his nose, making his stomach protest in hunger.

  Galen smiles to himself. An entire season has passed since the humans threw Rachel away. She says the humans have a saying: “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” When she told him that, she was referring to some cans she intended to recycle. Whatever that meant. But Galen has always applied that saying to Rachel herself. What the humans threw away turned out to be a priceless treasure to him.

  She’ll be pleased with my haul, he thinks to himself as he ambles up the steps to her back porch, the human relics tinkling against each other in the net slung over his shoulder. Especially when she sees the chest full of gold coins I had to leave in the shallow water. He’ll make a second trip back to the beach once he’s dropped off his net full of goods.

  He finds Rachel in the kitchen, as usual, tapping around in her high heels. The heads and backbones of two large red snappers lay on the counter beside the refrigerator. The cooked flesh sits in a pan on the stove, and Rachel sprinkles little leafy green things into the pan—for decoration, she says—then squeezes the juice from half a mangled lemon on it.

  “You expecting Toraf?” Galen says, setting the net on the floor. Red snapper is Toraf’s favorite, and he’s taken a liking to the way Rachel prepares it.

  She rinses her lemony fingers in the sink. “I am. He brought these by this morning. Ooh, whatcha got for me?”

  Galen grins. “A lot of things.”

  “Including this?” Toraf calls from the back door. He grunts as he tries to maneuver the chest of coins without running into any furniture. Some coins—and saltwater—spill onto the kitchen floor. Rachel’s eyes go round. Which is usually a very good sign.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” she squeals. “Where did you find that? Good grief, it feels like my birthday!”

  Humans have this weird habit of keeping track of the day of their birth, and every single season, they actually celebrate getting older. It’s the most ridiculous thing Galen’s ever heard of. But he doesn’t want to dampen Rachel’s enthusiasm. “I think it’s the Spanish fleet you were telling me about. I traced the whole course we discussed, and came across a wreck that could possibly be it. There are plenty of other things there, too, but I wanted to see if this could bring anything first.”

  Rachel puts her hand over her heart. “This could be big. Huge. I’m telling you. This is a big deal, whether it’s that Spanish fleet or not. You’re seriously going to be the richest nonhuman on the planet.”

  Galen takes a chair at the kitchen table. Toraf joins him. “Didn’t you say you had a surprise for Galen?” Toraf says.

  Galen hasn’t forgotten about his surprise, but he doesn’t want to seem overeager for it. He’s been anticipating what it could possibly be, but has tried not to get his hopes up—or Rachel’s. He hasn’t mastered the art of fixing his facial expressions yet, to arrange them into some form of happy, and he can’t stand the thought of disappointing her with his reaction. It’s just that … Sometimes Rachel has the wrong idea about what makes a good gift. Once she bought him what she called “top of the line cologne.” She sprayed it all over him before he could get away. Not even the saltwater could wash it away completely. He smelled of it for days and days. Even Rayna wouldn’t come near him. Galen can’t imagine why human males would do that to themselves.

  “Let’s get you fed first,” Rachel says, setting the pan in the middle of the table. “Then I’ll show you the surprise. But it’s not a present, not really. You earned it.”

  Now Galen’s imagination goes wild. He has no idea what it could be, especially if he’s somehow earned it. Except that it sounds like she bought it with his human money.

  After dinner, Rachel seems to be purposely driving him mad by taking her time clearing the table. He helps her with the dishes, and putting away the pots and pans. Then she sets to wiping down the counters and the kitchen table. When she’s done with that, she opens the refrigerator and moves around some containers.

  “You’re keeping me waiting on purpose,” Galen says, crossing his arms.

  Rachel laughs and shuts the door. “I was wondering how long it would take you, sweet pea.”

  “I have to admit,” Toraf says, “it felt like torture and it’s not even my surprise.”

  “I promise it’s not cologne.” Rac
hel leads them to the garage and flips on the light. This room is usually empty except for “odds and ends,” as Rachel calls them. Tools, the washer and dryer for human clothes, a big tank that heats water for the shower and sinks. But now there’s an immense green metal thing taking up the space. Galen knows what it is. Rachel has one. Hers is red. She uses it to take her to where she needs to go. Turns out, humans don’t like to walk much. So they use some sort of land boat to get around. She calls them cars.

  “A car?” Galen says, swallowing hard. “That’s my surprise.”

  She hands him a ring of metal trinkets. “These are the keys. You need them to start it.”

  He hands them back. “I don’t want a car.” He knows he sounds like a fingerling throwing a fit. Rachel takes it in stride. Like she takes everything.

  “I know it’s a big step, sweet pea. But I think you need to learn how to drive. I think you need to invest some time in the human world yourself.”

  “Why? I have you. And Dr. Milligan.”

  She nods, thoughtful. “That’s true, you do. And if it were up to me, I wouldn’t change a thing. But we’re different from you, sweet pea. Humans die. And from the way you talk, we die a lot sooner than you Syrena do.”

  “You’re not old, though.”

  “Of course I’m not,” she says disdainfully. “A lady never is. But one day I’ll be … seasoned. One day I’ll die. And all our hard work to protect your kind will be gone with the wind.”

  Sometimes Galen can’t follow her choice of words, but he gets the general gist of this. “Grom won’t approve. He’s fine with me having human contacts, but this … this is too human. I’m participating too much.”

  “Grom doesn’t have to know.” She holds up her hand. “Oh I know, you don’t like when I say that. But here’s the thing, Galen. Grom doesn’t know what the humans are capable of. Remember all those things I showed you on the computer? All the wars?”

  Grom knows more than she gives him credit for, he thinks. Much more. Grom’s betrothed, Nalia, died long ago in an underwater human minefield. Galen didn’t need to do research on any computer to know what the humans are capable of. He can see it on his brother’s face every day. But that’s not a story he’s ready to tell Rachel. Not just yet.

  He doesn’t understand how learning to drive a car will help him protect his fellow Syrena. But he’s found that Rachel never does anything without a purpose. Never.

  He holds out his hand for the keys. Gently, she places them in the center of his palm. “It doesn’t have to be right now. Give it some time. Think on it. That’s all I’m asking.”

  He nods, turning the keys over and over in his hand.

  “I have something else for you.” She reaches into her back jeans pocket and pulls out a small card. It looks like the one she keeps in her purse.

  Except that this card has a picture of his face on it. And his name. “What is this?”

  “It’s a driver’s license. You can’t drive a car without a license.”

  “All you need is one of these?”

  “Um. No. Humans have to jump through hoops to get a driver’s license.”

  The thought of that sounds absurd and unreasonable, jumping around through hoops and such, but Galen has already decided that humans are too complicated to understand. “What is this word next to my name? F-O-R-Z-A.” Rachel taught him how to use the human alphabet to form some human words, but this wasn’t one he recognized.

  “Well, humans have two names. Dr. Milligan’s is Jerry and Milligan, remember? Mine is Rachel and Cullotta. Well, at least that’s one name I use. When you’ve been married a few times like I have, you inherit all sorts of names to go along with it. This says your last name is Forza. Forza means ‘strength’ in Italian.”

  This startles Galen. “Strength?” He’d never thought of himself as strong before.

  Toraf laughs. “Are you sure that’s not my license?”

  Rachel winks at him. “I can make you one, too.” But Toraf turns considerably paler at this suggestion.

  “Oh,” Toraf says. “I don’t … I mean, I’m not…”

  Galen decides to save him. “Looks like we both need some time to adjust to the idea of having a human identity.” He doesn’t like how that sounds. As if somehow he has become part human. In a small way, it makes him feel like he’s betraying his heritage.

  Having a human identity, driving a human car … He’s not sure he’s ready for that. Of course, Rachel is probably right. She always is. But it doesn’t mean he has to decide right now. It doesn’t mean he can’t run the idea by Grom, no matter what Rachel thinks. After all, there’s a fine line between watching the humans and pretending to be one. Maybe one day there will be an urgent-enough reason to pretend to be human. But today is not that day.

  He hands both the keys and the license to Rachel. “Keep these here. Until I’m ready.”

  Rachel sighs. “Okay, sweet pea. Any idea how long that will be?”

  Galen shrugs. “We’ll know when it’s time, I think.”

  Copyright (C) 2013 by Anna Banks

  Art copyright (C) 2013 by Goñi Montes