Without them we are safe.
Without them we remain forever strong.
Coral blinked at the memory of the grim tale. The crown princess had tears, or at least one. Did this make her weak?
Or could the Sorceress—should she exist—have it right? What if human tears could heal her sister? What if the more she shed, the closer she’d come to escaping Red Tide for good?
“Have you chosen your song yet?”
An inward moan came to full fruition. “Why does it matter what I sing?”
“A mermaid’s song is her life,” the crown princess said. Did she believe her own words? They sounded forced, practiced, and not at all genuine. “Sing something for me.”
Coral’s eyes widened. “I’m not allowed. Not until I’m sixteen.”
Her sister chuckled. Shrugged. “Father isn’t here. Please? Sing one tune before—”
Her words sank. But she didn’t need to speak them for Coral to know where they were headed.
Before. Red Tide. Came.
The ocean lapped against their tails, which bobbed in contrast to one another. The future queen’s a deep-sea emerald. Coral’s as bright as the warm-water reef.
She sighed.
Her sister nudged her.
Coral blew at her hair again and mentally flipped through the list of approved song choices. Nothing struck her. She didn’t want to sing. But she needed to offer her sister something. So she closed her eyes and described the world as she saw it. The words came out on their own rhythm, with a cadence that belonged to Coral alone. A poem of her own creation.
“Red is the sun as it bathes in blue,
Green are the waters when the sky is new,
Yellow is the sand, far out as we can see,
Violet are the eyes of curiosity.”
She waited for her sister to respond. To say . . . something. But her eyes were closed. Her calm expression assured Coral she was taking in every word. So the little mermaid continued . . .
“Red sounds a warning, a light I wish would fade.
Green sings a hymn, a harmony of jade.
Yellow squeals of laughter, violet hums of you.
The colors of my world paint my heart sky-blue.”
Though Coral’s words did not carry on the waves of melody, they were hers. Something Father could not take and Jordan could not control.
“Lovely.” Her sister exhaled the word and Coral soaked it in. Then her sister began to sob once more.
“What is it?” Coral asked.
The crown princess shook her head. Before she said anything, Coral knew. She felt it in the way her sister shut down, distancing herself again. “Let Red Tide come for me quickly.” She balled up the shawl and shoved it into Coral’s arms. With a kiss to her forehead she added, “I refuse to watch it come for you too.”
Then she dove. Vanished. For a moment there and at once gone.
Thunder boomed above, warning a storm brewed behind a curtain of clouds.
An invisible anchor confined Coral to her spot on the ledge. She could not move.
“I am alone,” she whispered. “Alone . . .”
And Diseased.
Five
Brooke
After
Hope does not return.
Do I sit here? Wait for someone to get me? An instruction manual might’ve helped. Or a schedule. I rise and dress and make my bed. The result is sad, showing no real effort on my part. What’s the point of making a first impression when I don’t plan on staying long enough to make a second?
A glance at the desk reveals a subtle change. How did I fail to notice Hope had opened the journal? Placed a black pen over the front page? Did she write these words? They slant and flow, waves moving across the top line.
“Life itself is the most wonderful fairy tale.”
—Hans Christian Andersen
Pretty writing for an eleven-year-old. The quote is one I’ve seen many times. Written in glittery paint or plastered onto whimsical memes.
I scowl, snap the cover closed. “What a load of—”
“Making yourself comfortable?”
I whirl, knocking the journal off the desk in the process. It hits the floor with a thud, the cover resting open again, mocking me.
“On behalf of Fathoms Ranch, I am pleased to welcome you.” The woman standing before me is short, with a kind face and piercing ocean-green eyes. Tattoos climb in sleeves up both her toned arms. She wears sweats, a tank top, despite the fact it’s winter, and a ball cap that says “Boss.”
“My name is Miss Jacobs, but everyone here calls me Jake.”
And I care, why?
“And you are?”
“Don’t you know?”
“I do but I’m a sucker for proper introductions. I’m sure you understand.”
Everything in me wants to come up with something smart or quick in return. Instead, I frown in a moment so anticlimactic, I wish I wasn’t part of it. “I’m Brooke, I guess.”
“You guess?” Jake steps toward me, picks up the journal, and sets it on the desk, care and purpose driving her every move. “That’s perfect, actually. Because it is my job to help you know. To help you discover who you truly are. If given a chance, you’ll find this place is incomparable to any other.”
I eye her up and down. “I seriously doubt that.”
“Fair enough.”
“That’s it?”
“For now.”
Who is this lady? Does Jake think she can trick me into believing she’s my friend? “I only agreed to come here because—”
Because why? Because I had nowhere else to go? Because I knew it would make the only person who ever cared for me happy?
I can’t fill in my own blank. I drop my gaze, inviting an awkward silence.
“I’ve been filled in on your backstory,” Jake says softly. “I’d prefer to hear you tell it, though, when the timing’s right.”
I look up. Blink. Why is she being so nice when I’ve been nothing but rude? This is too much.
“We’ll go over the details of your day-to-day routine once you’re settled.” She eyes the untouched food tray on my bed. “Eating is a requirement here. A pesky rule, I know, but an important one.”
“I’m not hungry.” My words hang in the air.
“You will be.” Jake pivots on her heel and returns the way she came. When she pauses at the door she adds, “Kitchen’s downstairs. Mary’s a whiz when it comes to finding your stomach’s weakness. Ten bucks says you don’t stand a chance against her double-fudge brownies.”
“I don’t have ten bucks.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Jake shrugs. “Loser pays in bites. You finish a brownie and your debt’s as good as paid.”
This doctor? . . . Nurse? . . . Therapist? . . . Whatever her occupation, she’s something else. Is she playing games to get me to confide?
Could she be the real deal?
Nah. No such thing. Learned that the hard way.