Of Poseidon Page 4

  I face forward in my desk, fold my hands on top of it, and train my eyes on Mr. Pinner. He says, “Well, Mr. Forza, don’t forget where you’re sitting because that’s where you’ll be until next week.” He hands Galen a rule sheet.

  “Thank you, I won’t,” Galen tells him. A few giggles sprinkle behind us. It is official. Galen has a fan club.

  As Mr. Pinner talks about … well, really I have no idea what he’s talking about. All I know is that the tingles give way to something else—fire. Like there’s a stream of molten lava flowing between my desk and Galen’s.

  “Ms. McIntosh?” Mr. Pinner says. And if I remember correctly, Ms. McIntosh is me.

  “Uh, sorry?” I say.

  “The Titanic, Ms. McIntosh,” he says, on the verge of exasperation. “Have any idea when it sank?”

  Ohmysweetgoodness, I do. I became obsessed with the Titanic for a good six months after we studied it last year. Last year, before I had a vendetta against history, the passage of time. “April fifteen, 1912.”

  Mr. Pinner is instantly pleased. His thin lips open into a smile that makes him look toothless because his gums are so big. “Ah, we have a history buff. Very nice, Ms. McIntosh.”

  The bell rings. The bell rings? We’ve spent fifty minutes in this class already?

  “Remember, people, study the rule sheet. Snuggle it at night, eat lunch with it, take it to the movies. It’s the only way you’re passing my class,” Mr. Pinner calls over the bustle of students herding out the door.

  I give Galen the opportunity to leave first. I open my binder, shuffle around some blank notebook paper, and make a show of tightening the straps of my backpack. He doesn’t move. Fine. I stand, snatch up my things, and glide past him. The lava rallies at my wrist when he grabs it, like he’s branding me with his touch.

  “Emma, wait.”

  He remembers my name. Which means he remembers that I nearly knocked myself out on his bare chest. I wish I had applied the porcelain foundation this morning—it might have covered up at least some of my blush.

  “Hi,” I say. “I didn’t think you’d remember me.” I’m aware of a few stares coming from the back of the class—some of his fans have stayed behind and are patiently waiting their turn. “Well, welcome to Middle Point. You probably have to get to class, so I’ll see you later.”

  He grips harder when I try to pull away. “Wait.”

  I glance down at his hold and he releases me. “Yes?” I say.

  He looks down at his desk, runs a hand through his black hair. I remember that Galen’s gift is not small talk. Finally, he looks up. The confidence has returned to his eyes. “Do you think you could help me find my next class?”

  “Sure, but it’s pretty simple. There are three halls here. The one hundred hall, the two hundred hall, and the three hundred hall. Let me see your schedule.” He fishes it out of his pocket and hands it to me to unwad. Smoothing it out, I say, “Your next class is in room one twenty-three. That means you’re going to the one hundred hall.”

  “But can you show me where it is?”

  I check my schedule to see where I’m going, knowing even if my next class is in the complete opposite corner of the school from his, I will take him to room 123. Lucky for me, my next class is in room 123 as well—English lit.

  “Uh, actually, we have the next class together, too,” I tell him apologetically. He follows me out the door and keeps my slowish pace as I scan over our schedules to see how many more classes he will have to endure my awkward company—and how many more classes I can expect to be blushing in. The answer is all of them. I groan. Out loud.

  “What?” he says. “Is something wrong?”

  “Well, it’s just that … it looks like we have the exact same schedule. Seven classes together.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  Yes. “No. I mean, well it isn’t for me, but … I just thought maybe you’d rather not have me around after what happened that day at the beach.”

  He stops and pulls me out of student traffic to a row of lockers. The intimacy of the move gets the attention of some passersby. Remnants of his fan club linger behind, still waiting for me to relinquish my turn.

  “Maybe we should go somewhere private to discuss this,” he says softly, leaning closer. He glances with meaning around us.

  “Private?” I squeak.

  He nods. “I’m glad you brought it up. I wasn’t sure how to approach you about it, but this makes it easier for both of us, don’t you think? And if you keep cooperating, I’m sure I can get you leniency.”

  I gulp. “Leniency?”

  “Yes, Emma. Of course you realize I could arrest you right now. You understand that, right?”

  Ohymysweetgoodness, he came all this way to press assault charges against me! Is he going to sue me, sue my family? I’m eighteen now. I could legally be sued. The heat on my cheeks is part kill-me-now embarrassment and part where’s-a-knife-when-you-need-one rage. “But it was an accident!” I hiss.

  “An accident? You’ve got to be kidding me.” He pinches the bridge of his nose.

  “No, I am not kidding. Why would I ram into you on purpose? I don’t even know you! And anyways, how do I know you didn’t run into me, huh?” The idea is preposterous, but it leaves room for reasonable doubt. I can see by his expression he didn’t think of that.

  “What?” He is struggling to follow, but what did I expect? He can’t even find his class in a school with only three halls. That he found me clear across the country seems more miraculous than a push-up bra.

  “I said, you’ll have to prove that I ran into you on purpose. That I meant to cause you harm. And besides, I checked with you at the time—”

  “Emma.”

  “—and you said you didn’t have injuries—”

  “Emma.”

  “—but the only witness I have on my side is dead—”

  “EM-MA.”

  “Did you hear me, Galen?” I turn around and yell at the remaining spectators in the hall as the bell rings. “CHLOE IS DEAD!”

  Sprinting is not a good idea for me in the first place. Sprinting with tears blurring my vision, even worse. But sprinting with tears blurring my vision and while wearing flip-flops is a lack of respect for human life, starting with my own. So then, I am not surprised when the door to the cafeteria opens into my face. I am a little surprised when everything goes black.

  6

  HE PULLS into the driveway of the not-so-modest house he asked Rachel not to buy. Cutting the engine to the not-so-modest car, he throws his backpack full of books over his shoulder.

  He finds Rachel in the kitchen, where she’s pulling fish fillets from the oven. She wears an apron over her polka-dot dress, and her hair, a chaos of black curls, is pulled into a ponytail. She huffs up at her bangs to get them out of her face as she turns and smiles. “Hiya, cutie! How was your first day of school?” She pops the oven shut with her hip.

  He shakes his head and pulls up a bar stool next to Rayna, who’s sitting at the counter painting her nails the color of a red snapper. “This won’t work. I don’t know what I’m doing,” he says.

  “Sweet pea, what happened? Can’t be that bad.”

  He nods. “It is. I knocked Emma unconscious.”

  Rachel spits the wine back in her glass. “Oh, sweetie, uh … that sort of thing’s been frowned upon for years now.”

  “Good. You owed her one,” Rayna snickers. “She shoved him at the beach,” she explains to Rachel.

  “Oh?” Rachel says. “That how she got your attention?”

  “She didn’t shove me; she tripped into me,” he says. “And I didn’t knock her out on purpose. She ran from me, so I chased her and—”

  Rachel holds up her hand. “Okay. Stop right there. Are the cops coming by? You know that makes me nervous.”

  “No,” Galen says, rolling his eyes. If the cops haven’t found Rachel by now, they’re not going to. Besides, after all this time, the cops wouldn’t still be looking. And th
e other people who want to find her think she’s dead.

  “Okay, good. Now, back up there, sweet pea. Why did she run from you?”

  “A misunderstanding.”

  Rachel clasps her hands together. “I know, sweet pea. I do. But in order for me to help you, I need to know the specifics. Us girls are tricky creatures.”

  He runs a hand through his hair. “Tell me about it. First she’s being nice and cooperative, and then she’s yelling in my face.”

  Rayna gasps. “She yelled at you?” She slams the polish bottle on the counter and points at Rachel. “I want you to be my mother, too. I want to be enrolled in school.”

  “No way. You step one foot outside this house, and I’ll arrest you myself,” Galen says. “And don’t even think about getting in the water with that human paint on your fingers.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not getting in the water at all.”

  Galen opens his mouth to contradict that, to tell her to go home tomorrow and stay there, but then he sees her exasperated expression. He grins. “He found you.”

  Rayna crosses her arms and nods. “Why can’t he just leave me alone? And why do you think it’s so funny? You’re my brother! You’re supposed to protect me!”

  He laughs. “From Toraf ? Why would I do that?”

  She shakes her head. “I was trying to catch some fish for Rachel, and I sensed him in the water. Close. I got out as fast as I could, but probably he knows that’s what I did. How does he always find me?”

  “Oops,” Rachel says.

  They both turn to her. She smiles apologetically at Rayna. “I didn’t realize you two were at odds. He showed up on the back porch looking for you this morning and … I invited him to dinner. Sorry.”

  As Galen says, “Rachel, what if someone sees him?” Rayna is saying, “No. No, no, no, he is not coming to dinner.”

  Rachel clears her throat and nods behind them.

  “Rayna, that’s very hurtful. After all we’ve been through,” Toraf says.

  Rayna bristles on the stool, growling at the sound of his voice. She sends an icy glare to Rachel, who pretends not to notice as she squeezes a lemon slice over the fillets.

  Galen hops down and greets his friend with a strong punch to the arm. “Hey there, tadpole. I see you found a pair of my swimming trunks. Good to see your tracking skills are still intact after the accident and all.”

  Toraf stares at Rayna’s back. “Accident, yes. Next time, I’ll keep my eyes open when I kiss her. That way, I won’t accidentally bust my nose on a rock again. Foolish me, right?”

  Galen grins. Toraf is one of the best Trackers in Syrena history. His ability to sense others of his kind is acute, but more than that, he can home in on any one of them. He recognizes not only the presence of another Syrena, but after spending minimal time with them, can identify each one individually and from impossible distances. And the one he’s most sensitive to is staring in an unhealthy way at a fillet knife across the counter.

  “Rayna, your mate has come all this way to see you. You’re being rude. Why don’t you step away from the counter? Now?” Galen says, his tone hedged in warning. He’s not in the mood to fight with either one of them. If Rayna makes a move, he’ll be forced to subdue her. If he handles her too roughly, Toraf will take exception and handle him roughly. And besides, he’s hungry and the fillets are almost cool enough to eat.

  Rayna pushes back and whirls around. “He is not my mate.”

  Toraf clears his throat. Galen’s eyes go wide, but Toraf cuts him a warning look, shakes his head almost indiscernibly.

  “I was hoping your feelings would have changed by now, my princess. You know you won’t find anyone else who would be more devoted to you than me. I’ve followed you around since you couldn’t even swim straight,” Toraf says. Although the words are tossed to her lightheartedly, Galen knows he means every one of them.

  “Which is why I trusted you,” Rayna snarls. “You knew me better than Galen. You knew I never wanted to mate. You let me think you agreed with my decision. But all that time, you were planning to take away my freedom yourself.”

  “Wow, shame on you Toraf,” Rachel calls from the sink. “Anyone hungry?”

  “Starving,” Galen and Toraf say. Rayna rolls her eyes and stomps to the table.

  * * *

  They plop down on the moonlit beach. Toraf shakes the excess water from his hair onto Galen, who returns the favor by throwing a fistful of sand in his face. Galen leans back on his elbows and looks up at the star-freckled midnight sky. He shakes his head. “When are you going to tell her?”

  Toraf stretches out beside his friend, resting his hands behind his head. “Tell her what?”

  “That you’re already mated.”

  Toraf grins. “You know me too well, I think, Highness.”

  “Don’t call me that. When did my father agree to it?”

  “Actually, he didn’t. Grom sealed us.”

  Galen turns on his side, rests his head on his elbow. “She’ll try to overturn it, you know. Grom’s not technically king yet.”

  “Yeah, he technically is. And between you and me, I hope you have a fantastic excuse not to have been there. Oh, that reminds me.” He reaches over and punches Galen square in the jaw. “That’s for allowing your sister to hide out on land with you. I’ve spent the last two weeks thinking you were both dead.”

  Galen sits up and nods, rubbing his jaw. He can’t argue with that. Rayna is breaking the law by staying in human form for more than a day. She doesn’t have the immunity Galen has, but even his immunity doesn’t extend this far, and he knows it. Toraf knows it, too. “So … you’re saying you can’t sense Rayna on land?”

  “You know we can’t sense each other on land, Galen.”

  “Yeah, I thought I knew. Wait, did you just say Grom is king? When did that happen?”

  Toraf sits up. “First of all, I don’t like your tone. I set out to find you, to bring you back for the ceremony. So don’t act like you were accessible the whole time. Two weeks ago,” he reiterates. “And what do you mean you thought? I’m sitting right next to you. You can’t sense me.”

  Galen shakes his head. “No. Not you, anyway.”

  “Right. You’re saying you can sense someone. On land. I don’t believe you.”

  Galen rubs his eyes. “I know. I can hardly believe it myself. I haven’t told Rayna. She already said she can’t sense her and—”

  “Her? Her who?”

  “Her name is Emma. Dr. Milligan found her.” He tells Toraf everything—how Dr. Milligan left a message on Galen’s cell phone, how Galen went to Florida to investigate the doctor’s claim himself, how Emma ordered the shark away. How she has a habit of running into things.

  Toraf is quiet for a long time. Then he says, “This doesn’t make sense. How can she be one of us? If she is, then she would have done damage to the door, not the other way around. Her thick head would have left a dent in it.”

  “I know,” Galen says, nodding. “At first, I thought she was faking it. But when I picked her up, she didn’t blush. She was definitely unconscious.”

  “Even if she wasn’t faking it, how can she be of Poseidon, Galen? King Antonis’s only heir died in the explosion.”

  Galen shakes his head. “It doesn’t make sense, does it?” No matter how many times he runs through the facts, he can’t reconcile them with Emma. A long time ago, before Galen and Rayna were born, his brother, Grom, was engaged to King Antonis’s daughter Nalia. As Galen heard tell of it, they were very much in love, a perfect match between the houses of Triton and Poseidon.

  The law requires the firstborn heirs of each house to be mated, every third generation. To most, it is an obligation to fulfill, a motion to be carried out. It hardly ever happens that the firstborns actually want to be mated. But these two were different. Everyone insists these two had bonded the first time they saw each other. But right before their mating ceremony, they got into an argument—about what, either nobody remembers
or nobody is saying—but several saw Nalia fleeing from Grom. Apparently, he gave chase—right into a mine set by the humans, who seemed to be at war all over the world at the time. Grom was badly injured. The best trackers from both kingdoms scoured everywhere. After days, they announced Nalia must have been blown to bits. Already widowed, the devastated Poseidon king accused Grom of killing his only daughter intentionally. Then Antonis vowed never to take another mate, to never sire an heir again—therefore eliminating any chance of their offspring inheriting the Gifts of the generals, Poseidon and Triton.

  When he decreed the house of Triton an enemy, the two kingdoms split for good. Grom has never spoken of it, has never shown his feelings about any of it. Except that, he never chose another mate.

  But now he doesn’t have a choice. If Grom officially took the reigns of rulership from his father, the law requires him to select a mate. And if Emma is of Poseidon, then she is in line to fulfill that law.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Galen says again. “But I know what I saw. She talks to fish. And they listen. She’s definitely of Poseidon.”

  Toraf exhales in a gust. “So, where has she been all this time? Why does she choose the company of humans over us?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out, idiot.”

  “Listen, minnow, not to be overly critical, but you don’t really seem to know what you’re doing. Threatening to arrest her? Chasing her down the hall? That’s a little out of character for you, don’t you think?”

  “I was frustrated. Do you realize how … how … sensual female humans are? Within ten minutes of walking through those doors, a swarm of them followed me. Everywhere. Even the adult females in the office gave me mating signals! Rachel calls it hormones. She thinks hormones made Emma act so funny and run away like that, too.”

  “But if Emma has hormones, that means she’s human.”

  “Are you listening to me? She can’t be human. She has our eyes. And there’s no way I could sense a human like that.”

  Toraf grins. “Like what? What does it feel like?”