by the wrist.
“ Hey! ” I yell. “Let her go.”
The demon man points a triangular nail at Qittar. “This is my
match.”
“I think it’s supposed to be a two-way street,” I say.
Qittar shrugs and mumbles something that sounds like, “No
refunds.”
Demon Guy turns to me and I take a step back, fighting my gag
reflexes when I see his face. Dozens of holes with worms sinking in
and out like a stitch pattern.
“Seriously?” I ask. “Even with this thing, how do you expect to
get a date?”
He growls, spit hanging between his lips like cobwebs blowing in
the wind. A knife materializes in his hand. I lift my dagger to block
his, but something-someone-grabs him from the back and flings him
across the room.
Ewin from the Bronx.
The rest of the crowd lunges at the skeleton men, demanding their
money back.
Ewin motions to the door.
“That’s solid metal,” I warn him, “forged by f-”
He rams right through it, the door snapping out of its hinges. He
winks a silver eye and holds out his hand to Kai.
“All right,” I say, waving my hands between them. I lead the way
out of the sewers, our feet marching to a synchronized rhythm mixed
with the haunting echo of the blue-man orchestra behind us. “We have a
barrier to put up, an attack to plan, and two worlds that need saving.
Everyone, this is Ewin.”
Marty laughs. “Just a regular Friday night.”
We march down Surf Avenue past stores covered in graffiti tags and
groups of people who wouldn’t evacuate if you told them a meteor was
headed straight at their homes. They sit under the glass bus stops,
drinking booze out of paper bags. When we pass by, they stare,
blinking and rubbing their eyes, wondering if we’re real or if they’re
just real drunk.
Frederik and Marty live in the old Childs Building. It’s been a
restaurant and a roller rink, and now it’s boarded up and covered in
graffiti.
Waiting outside is a group of the landlocked and the Thorne Hill
Alliance.
One of them is Penny, a hardworking mother who’s believed in me
from the beginning. Her arms reach out into the rain, and she lets her
hands shift back and forth between human fingers and tentacles. Each
one of the landlocked is different. Some were banished because of
something their parents did. Others because they made bad choices.
There’s a guy with eyes the size of baseballs and a tiny fish mouth.
His tank top says Hurricane Gym. Another guy the size of a sumo
wrestler, with acid green skin, paces the boardwalk with his eyes
trained on the waves.
Someone whistles at me. Up above is Rachel, the demigoddess,
sitting on the roof, her crossbow fully loaded. She’s flanked by men
and women with black retracted wings that make me think of flying
Vikings. Howls ring along the deserted beach, a reminder that it’s the
night of the full moon and they’re restless, but they’re still here.
When I was little, my dad said I was good at picking up strays
because I always brought home a lost dog or a kitten. One time it was
a pigeon with a broken wing. Another time, a rat with its tail bitten
off. My mom didn’t like that one. But we took care of them.
I’m going to take care of my army of strays.
Penny shakes my hand. “I’m glad you’re back. The beach has been
quiet, minus a handful of stragglers.”
“Good. We have work to do.”
When Penny notices Shelly, she gasps. Penny gets on her knees and
takes Shelly’s hand.
Shelly pats her hands gently, but I can tell she doesn’t like the
attention. “There’s no need for that, child.”
Shelly points a finger at me. “I hope when this is over, I don’t
see you for a long time. You hear me? Central Park north of
Sixty-sixth Street is off limits.”
I scoff. “You can’t do that. Can you?”
Frederik and Marty shrug and nod.
“Shelly.” I kneel down to her. She gives me her cheek, but I’m
used to her being cranky. “This is the reason you’re changing, isn’t
it? Because your sister was killed in the Springs of Aurora.”
She doesn’t have any quips for me because she knows I’m right.
“I used to envy my sisters and their sight. Now…” Shelly’s black
eyes concentrate on the space between my eyes. For a moment, she’s not
there. Worry lines crease her forehead, and I’m afraid of what she’s
seeing. I reach out, touch her hand, and she jumps. Then her sweet,
motherly smile is back. “We’re not supposed to pick sides.”
I kiss her cheek. “But I’m your favorite, I know.”
“We’d best get inside. It’s getting too dark.” She pushes me away.
“Draw an unbroken line of salt around the building. Not a skinny
sprinkling over your shoulder. I mean a visible line. When the barrier
is up, you’ll feel it.”
“Where am I supposed to get that kind of salt?”
“You’re the champion. Figure it out.”
Marty pushes up the gate to let Shelly in. She whispers an ancient
language so quickly that it’s like someone hit the Fast Forward button
on her.
“How are you supposed to put down salt if the ground is wet?” Kai
asks.
“It stopped raining,” I say. Then it hits me. One of the great
things about being a merman who’s survived New York City blizzards.
“The salt they use to melt snow. It’s the same thing as table salt. It
just doesn’t clump up.”
Marty wiggles his baseball cap. “I know where we can get some.
Come with me.”
•••
Marty, Ewin, and I carry sacks of salt over our shoulders. Marty
has a key to every building on the boardwalk. We got into the Cyclone
stadium and traded the bags for an IOU favor to a vampire maintenance
worker.
“Is it clockwise,” Marty says, cutting off a corner of his bag,
“or counterclockwise?”
“She didn’t say.”
Ewin takes a crystal from the bag and pops it on his tongue like
candy.
“That’s not-” Edible. If he can bust through enchanted doors, he
can eat chemically processed road salt.
“I’d go with clockwise,” Ewin says, “just to keep a natural flow.
Make sure you’re inside the circle as you draw it, or you’ll have to
do it again.”
“How do you know all this?” Marty asks.
Ewin shrugs. “My ex-girlfriend is a Wiccan.”
Then a car flashes its hazard lights and jumps the curb. Ewin
reaches out a hand and places it on the hood of the car. The tires
squeak, and the engine cuts off. “State your name and purpose.”
The side gate opens and Frederik is a flash beside the passenger
door. “That’s dinner.”
“Not me, right, Fred?” the short delivery guy says. “Just the
pizza, right, Fred?”
Frederik shoves an envelope into the delivery guy’s hand. The guy
tries to help carry the pizza in, but the vampire holds up his hand in
a “stay” motion.
“Hey, Fred, when are you going to let me into the Alliance?” The
delivery guy pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I’ve got
skills, man. I’m real handy in a tight spot. What are you planning,
huh? An evil force about to take over the city? You’re not wearing
that, are you? Superheroes need spandex and a big symbol.”
“We’ll talk,” Frederik says with a pained smile. The guy drives
away and Frederik mutters, “Soon as you stop calling me Fred.”
“Can you guys go inside?” I shout.
I take this moment of being alone to look up at the gray overcast
sky. Thick clouds hang so low it looks like they’re eating the tops