“Have you been attacked by those creatures?”
He bites his lip. Then, as if his body is a balloon losing air, he
holds on to my shoulder and presses his fist to his mouth. Really, I
can’t stand someone else puking on me.
“I’m okay,” he says. “But I lost over a dozen of my guard. They
were great mermen, all of them.”
Despite the strength of his body, when his amber eyes look at me,
I find the fear, the helplessness. And I know, even though we’re
fighting for the same throne, right now we need each other. I have to
make him see that he needs me too.
“I think I can help,” I say. “Is there somewhere more private we
can talk?”
Adaro’s ship is so elaborate that it makes Arion’s look like a
cardboard box with sheets attached.
A giant eel, similar to the makara but with the head of an ancient
lion, is etched into the mast. It has red jewels the size of my head
for eyes, and the body is washed in gold, just like the mast. A red
flag waves. There’s a golden octopus right at the center to match the
medallion around Adaro’s neck.
When we reach the ship, I turn back and there it is: Coney Island.
Adaro’s men hoist us up. Layla lets go of my shoulder and I let her go
up first.
The deck is a flurry. Dozens and dozens of men swab the deck, tend
to sails and ropes. A group of girls fuss over Adaro, dressing him in
traditional merman armor-a chain-link skirt and an elaborate
breastplate to befit his station. He purses his lips and I suspect
it’s because he misses the golden Speedo.
He motions for us to follow him into his captain’s quarters, and
then he takes a jar of a familiar fizzy green liquid and drinks deep.
My crew-Kurt, Thalia, Gwen, and Layla-wander around, admiring
everything from the massive candelabra with its long taper candles to
the sailing trinkets strewn about his table.
Adaro only lets Sarabell remain.
The door bursts open and a tiny old man runs in. He surveys the
room, stopping only to bow to me and Adaro.
“Sire, your father would not approve. This is the king’s
champion.”
I smile. “Thanks.”
Adaro rolls his eyes as well as any teenage girl I’ve ever known.
“I know very well who he is. See the quartz scepter tucked in the
harness between his shoulder blades?”
“But-”
Adaro looks at his nails as though examining his cuticles. “You
are dismissed.”
The man thunders back out, unceremoniously slamming the door.
“I think he’s right,” Sarabell says.
“Then you, Cousin, are welcome to leave.”
But she doesn’t. She makes sure the windows are all shut and
there’s no one at the door. A slight burning smell is coming from a
tiny hearth. The soot and cinders are slightly red with embers.
“It seems,” Adaro says, “that we have a mutual enemy.”
“Nieve,” I say, as he shudders at the name.
“Are you sure you’ve seen her?”
“A few times, actually.”
Adaro’s thick black eyebrow arcs suspiciously. “Then why are you
still alive?”
“She thinks I’m cute,” I say, annoyed. Then I answer as honestly
as I can. “She’s playing with me. It’s what she does, isn’t it?”
“How?” Sarabell asks.
“Gee, I don’t know, let me give her a conch call and see if she
answers. The point is, she’s going to kill us for our trident pieces.”
Adaro and I pace the room, leaving our respective entourages
dizzy. Adaro bites his cuticle and I tell them of the centaur oracle,
leaving out some important details like the water of Eternity and the
prophecy.
“The merrow who speaks killed an oracle?” Adaro sits down on his
golden chair. He looks to Sarabell as if for guidance, and I realize
this is his life. His father telling him what to do. These men
reporting back to him. His family hovering around like vultures
awaiting their return to power.
“The oracle in my dream,” he says. “She told me I would find what
I was looking for here.”
“Adaro!” Sarabell hisses.
He squares his jaw and takes on the most commanding tone I’ve seen
of him today. “If you are going to question my decisions, you are free
to leave, as I already said. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
She sits back and crosses her arms.
It makes sense. The secrecy from Sarabell. Adaro’s shiftiness.
“You mean an oracle,” I say. “Here.”
“Another?” Kurt is incredulous.
“The other reason you’re here,” I point out.
Adaro laughs nervously, trying to maintain our friendship. “I
think we’re stronger in numbers, don’t you?”
Yes, I do. That’s why I wanted to talk to him. But with this new
information, it’s hard not to walk away and scour the city for the
next oracle. The trident head. The centaur must have sent it to her
sisters, which is why Adaro hasn’t found anything.
“This presents a new problem,” I say. “You and me, here. We each
have our own winnings. This makes us targets. And now we’re on the
same shore. The third trident piece means Nieve will come for us,
faster and stronger.”
“What do you propose?” Adaro asks.
“Numbers, just like you suggested. Nieve has numbers. You have
numbers.”
“It seems you’re the only one who doesn’t,” Sarabell says. “Have
numbers, that is.”
I shake my head, keeping my face as even as that of Frederik, the
High Vampire of New York. “I have people on this shore. The Thorne
Hill Alliance is loyal to me. I just have to pick up a cell phone and
they’ll help.”
It’s a lot to bluff. But like poker night with Shelly, I have to
bet it all.
“Vampires? Werewolves?” Sarabell is about to scream. “The very fey
who pushed us deeper into the earth? You would side with them?”
Thalia stands forward. “Don’t forget the landlocked.”
“The banished folk?” Adaro says, more thrilled than repulsed.
“I’ve never met one, but if they’re willing to listen and die for
my-our-lives, whyever not?”
Kurt interjects. “I doubt it’d be that simple.”
“You may be surprised, Brother.” Thalia says. “Perhaps you should
speak to them before casting them aside.
“Let’s hear what they have to say,” I suggest. “Thalia, you know
the way.”
We trek down the dark and foggy Brooklyn streets until we reach
the kind of alley that gives this city a bad rep. Sarabell turns her
nose up at the moldy couch where a family of rats is taking a nap.
Adaro is fascinated by the graffiti. He sounds out all the letters and
has a good laugh, followed by, “How charming.”
When Thalia finds the manhole she’s been looking for, I say, “It’s
like dйjа vu all over again.”
I volunteer to go down first and no one stops me. I regret wearing
flip-flops the moment my feet hit the ground. The water is thick and
slippery like chicken soup, which I now think I can never eat again.
“Is it okay if I throw up on you?”
“This is nothing,” Kurt says. I can see the faint outline of his
smile. “You’ve never swum near Biscay Bay.”
“Follow me,” Thalia says. Her yellow-green eyes glow like
headlights down the sewer tunnels. Layla keeps her fingers hooked on
the loops of my cargo shorts, and I keep my hand close to my dagger. I
lose track of the turns, right and left, and another left, and
straight on ’til morning. The rattle of the subway accompanies us the
whole way until we reach an open door.
I blink hard against the fluorescent brightness of the room. When
my eyes adjust, I realize there’s only one flickering fluorescent
tube. The rest of the ceiling is covered with fat fireflies. A couple