Stolen by the Sea Lord (Lords of Atlantis Book 4) Page 9

  “I don’t care about voting. This is life or death.”

  “Elan has already explained he will experience no risk if he remains on land.”

  “But he’s likely to go into the sea. He’s a merman.”

  The agent stared at her as if he had no remedy for bad decisions.

  She tried again. “We’re on a tiny island in the middle of a vast ocean, which you can see from every point. If the other mermen decided to come onto the land, they’d find us.”

  “We will deal with that unlikely scenario when it occurs.”

  “By then it will be too late!”

  The agent’s face closed.

  “Please? Can’t you give us the passport now and decide on voting later?”

  “This explosive display of emotions does not help your case,” he said primly and dismissed them.

  She stomped out of the office into the evening sunset.

  “You are frustrated,” Elan identified.

  “Of course! These guys have us pinned to a rock with a trident and then he’s like, ‘Don’t get upset.’ Of course I’m going to get upset.” She swore at the absent agents. “Why don’t they just turn you and Zain over to your people right now and be done with it?”

  “No,” he said faintly. “That would not be good.”

  “Obviously. Jerks!”

  He had followed enough of the proceedings to understand that his unprecedented appearance had repercussions. If Portugal granted Elan refugee status, then it opened the door to any other mer who might arise from the sea. And if Zara tried to get him American citizenship as her husband, then she needed to go through the American Embassy, which was still trying to decide the nationality of the first merman to request asylum — a warrior from the Gulf of Mexico named Torun who married an Oregonian named Lucy.

  Zara led them to Milly’s car for a second evening with Vaw Vaw’s family. There, amongst friends, she calmed down enough to hold a conversation with her sister.

  “I researched the queens at school like you asked me to,” Milly told Zara over creamy seafood chowder. “Well, I did it before, actually, but I went looking for updates.”

  “What did you find?”

  “The old Facebook videos are still up. The ones of Lucy channeling her powers. You weren’t impressed before, but want to see them again?”

  “I would like to see,” Elan said.

  They huddled around the moving images on Milly’s cell phone. It was difficult to make out. Blurry moving shapes, bubbles, and flashes of light underwater.

  Zara sighed. “I remember now. The footage was so bad it’s like a Bigfoot sighting or UFO lights. Squint and you can see anything.”

  Elan squinted. He did not see anything. “What is happening here?”

  Milly popped olives and cheese into her mouth, chewed, and answered. “Torun’s pinched between his people’s army and Lucy’s psycho ex. She’s too far away to help, so she channels her power into a magical shield.”

  “No fins,” Zara mused.

  “Wrong angle. She’s holding the camera. Well, I guess the camera was attached to her dive gear.” Milly popped in another olive. “She made her fins on Oprah.”

  “Did she make a magical shield on Oprah?”

  Milly shook her head. “That only works under water. The powers work like sound waves. Air is too thin.”

  “I’m guessing no one’s done a scientific study.”

  “You can read a bunch of theories. But yeah. There’s only three ‘mermaid queens’ and none of them have worked their magic in an MIT swim tank.”

  “Because they can’t or because they won’t?”

  “Good question.”

  Zara rubbed her forehead like she had a headache.

  Milly smiled sympathetically. “I’ll keep researching.”

  “Thanks.” She dropped her hand.

  Elan caught it. “What is wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She traced his battle scars cracking the aquamarine ink of his honor tattoos. “I can’t believe I’m actually considering risking my son’s safety on the experience of three people.”

  “They are only the first,” he assured her. “Tonight, after this dinner, we will go to the ocean.”

  She untangled her fingers. “It’s dark.”

  “Darkness does not matter under the water.”

  Her soul light flickered, flaring with anger and then collapsing into a distant emotion he couldn’t reach. “It’s dangerous.”

  “Going into the water will make you whole.”

  She scowled in disagreement.

  But to his shock after dinner Zara asked Milly to drop them off at the beach for an hour. He divested his clothes and checked the reefs for signs of other warriors, then returned to collect her and Zain.

  “Come in with us,” he urged her, while Zain crawled across the moonlit black sand toward the crashing waves.

  She sat by the piled clothes and hugged her knees. “This is a bad idea.”

  “There are no mer.”

  “So you think.” She rocked gently. “They can guess you came here. It will be safer in California.”

  “There are mer near your California.”

  “But not from your city.”

  “No, but under the water is total war. Here. Dragao Azul. Nehwas. All the cities under the oceans.”

  “But the other cities don’t care about us.”

  “The other cities do care about a warrior taking his young fry into exile. Even if I am not their citizen, they cannot allow our family to exist.”

  She frowned harder.

  Elan gripped her shoulders and rested his forehead against hers. “Please. Zara.”

  “You heard the Border and Immigration agent. There is no risk if we remain on land.”

  “For how long?”

  She bit her lip. The relatives at Vaw Vaw’s house thought their situation would not be resolved for months. But this was more than a dispute of nationality. Elan was a different race. It could take years.

  He could not remain on a prison of land for years. Neither could Zain.

  And neither could Zara.

  “You avoid the water out of fear. But that makes you a half person. Come into the water now. Defeat your fears, embrace your radiance, and heal your soul.”

  “Not all enemies can be fought head-on.”

  “Zara—”

  “Forget it.” She pushed him back and hugged her knees again. “Even assuming I do have these powers, which I don’t, jumping in now would be foolhardy. I’ll try it where it’s safe.”

  “Where is safe?”

  “Somewhere else.”

  He released her reluctantly. Her soul shone brighter than the moon and she would not be swayed. She remained on the shoreline while he slipped beneath the waves with Zain. Re-entering the mer world, for a few hours, that was his natural home.

  Under the water, spiraling coral made a labyrinth against stunning volcanic chasms and obsidian cathedrals. Zain whirled and played, darting after singing silver fish and giggling. Zara would not worry if she could hear him with her mer-ears beneath the waves.

  He had to convince her to accept her power. Their solitude would not last forever. She needed to come into the water for Zain and for him.

  And for herself.

  It was the only way she would ever find wholeness.

  Maybe it was the only way he would find wholeness too.

  Elan kicked his long fins, diving through shimmering schools of nocturnal fish, Zain his baby shadow. Perhaps the one Elan concentrated on healing should not be Zara. Perhaps the one who most needed healing was himself.

  Because if their survival as a family depended on him, then he would fail.

  His webbed fingers flexed for his missing trident.

  He would fight to the death. But it would not be enough. He would fail. And he would die.

  Chapter Twelve

  As Elan and Zain slipped beneath the waves, a sharp pang sliced into Zara. This was how it would feel when th
ey left her. She would be on the beach like this. Alone, in the darkness, the scent of sand and surf and decomposing fish in her nostrils.

  Just like all the past year.

  Refusing the water was like pretending what had happened to her … hadn’t. That was deeply shameful but she couldn’t help it. Zara couldn’t ever be helpless like she’d been that night. Never.

  She lay back against the cool sand and stared up at the cloud-scuffed, star-studded sky.

  Why had she remained on the Azores?

  She’d been dumped on the beach that night because she’d fulfilled her purpose, the police had said. They didn’t know about mermen then, so they blamed a human trafficking cartel. But they hadn’t been far wrong. Human trafficking cartel or undersea warriors’ covenant, the end result had been the same.

  In the first days, she’d looked for Elan everywhere. In the hospital. At the police station. He’d promised if the worst happened and they were forced apart, he would come for her. She had believed him.

  Until … she hadn’t.

  It set in slowly, like the dropping of a fog. Depression, Milly’s therapist called it. The realization that he wouldn’t come. The one man she had trusted, had given her heart to, would not be coming to give it back. All the possible reasons why — he couldn’t, he’d been injured, he was dead — all faded into the same truth. He wasn’t coming. Numbness dulled the raw, stabbing ache. But like a terminal illness, the pain never went away.

  Now he was here.

  Her baby was here.

  A year later — her mind screamed as it came awake — but they were all, as promised, here.

  He said she had special powers.

  He’d been wrong before.

  So what if he was wrong now? What if warriors in the water had already dragged him and Zain away? What if she was lying on the shore, oblivious, and they never appeared above the waves?

  She rubbed her chest.

  A crab scuttled past, shuffling in the moonlit dark.

  Elan had told her everything. He’d always been completely honest with her. Overly optimistic, young and arrogant, but always honest.

  I have nowhere to go.

  When he hit the end of himself, he swung back around and came to her. In his darkest hour, his final thoughts had revolved around returning to her.

  Which was why she made him part of her escape plans. Milly was right. Despite complications, in her heart, she wanted Elan.

  He was her one.

  Once they resolved the passport and citizenship issues, she would take Elan and Zain home to her aunt in California. Safely away from Dragao Azul, she could try to discover her … it sounded so stupid saying it. Her power.

  If Elan and Zain weren’t kidnapped already.

  How long had they been gone?

  She closed her eyes and hugged her chest.

  Her parents called her stupid. Falling for scams like Elan’s claim was about as crazy as believing in mermen.

  And yet there were mermen…

  Zara wasn’t running. She was being smart. Escaping. Some enemies were too powerful to fight head-on.

  Too well-connected. Too sociopathically charming.

  Like her parents.

  We own you, her father had snarled at her once. We gave you life. You can’t run away from that. You owe us.

  We’re family.

  To her parents, neither she nor Milly were actual people. They were only extensions to use and abuse, like long hair that could be chopped off or fingernails that could be painted.

  The only option was to run, fast and hard, and hide behind an impenetrable defense so they could never break in. Never get the advantage.

  If they had an in, the moment they had something over her or Milly, they would twist that vulnerability around like a knife and hold it to her throat.

  Zara had studied narcissistic personality disorder and psychopathy in college. Both fit her parents. They were so normal when interacting with other people. Reasonable, friendly, ordinary.

  When they turned on their own children, the mask slipped off, revealing the evil inside.

  And Elan’s so-called city’s warriors, “honorable” and “trustworthy,” were exactly the same.

  Two years ago she had witnessed her parents’ selfishness first-hand. They had invited Milly, who was struggling under her well-meaning aunt’s strict rules, to the Azores to finish high school and go to university. They’d wanted to reconnect.

  Zara had been cautious, but Milly had been ecstatic.

  “I haven’t been there since I was three!” She was dancing, Zara could tell, on the other end of the cell phone. “It’s like rediscovering long-lost family. And there will be no curfews!”

  Zara rubbed the ridged scar on her forehead. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Absolutely!”

  Milly had been three but Zara had been seven when their grandfather died. Scrounging moldy plates for a meal while her parents chucked wine bottles at her head — laughing when the glass shattered — was a memory she’d mostly suppressed.

  But Milly hadn’t suffered. She’d always been their parents’ favorite. And she was no helpless child.

  Zara let her hand drop. “Call if you need anything.”

  “Of course. Don’t be such a worry-wart! This is going to be great.”

  And at first, it had been. Excitement at their rich lifestyle gradually bled to distress and, finally, disappearance.

  Her letter arrived on the last day of Zara’s senior finals. How her parents started out nice but fought all the time about money. How when Milly, an essentially good kid who just wanted to spread her wings a little, refused to drink or take drugs or go anywhere alone with their creepier friends, they got mean. And, finally, how they took away her money, passport, clothes, and cell phone, and made her a prisoner on their yacht. They were moored at the Ilha Sagrada in a last-ditch effort to force her into some ancient surrogacy “Sea Bride” cult.

  “The legend says, ‘when the moon lights the spring path, a lord of the sea will arise, shower the family with wealth, and claim the daughter for his bride.’” Milly’s letter explained. “Our parents know people who got Sea Opal gemstones this way, though I don’t think they believe the ‘sea lord’ part for a moment. But, honestly, Zara, if a real, live ‘sea lord’ appeared in front of me right now, I wouldn’t hesitate. An undersea kingdom can’t possibly be worse than what I’m going through right now.”

  The rest of the letter was filled with how she was to blame for her predicament, how she had driven her parents to their actions, and other toxic brainwashing abusers used to groom, hobble, and finally break their victims. It read like an example testimony out of Zara’s textbooks. Except it was her sister, and it had happened on Zara’s watch.

  What Social Justice major could fail her own sister? Zara knew the signs. She’d just been too busy, too certain she was the only victim, too complacent to pay attention.

  She would never forgive herself.

  Zara had arrived in the Azores, contacted police, and chartered her own boat to the isolated Ilha Sagrada where Milly was held captive. The police were delayed by a worse emergency, so Zara stormed the stronghold expecting to find ropes, sedatives, and violent kidnappers.

  Instead, she found only her sister and her parents.

  Her sister had hunched in a corner of the cave wearing a dirty hotel bathrobe. One arm locked tight around her knees. Her gaze focused on the small pool in the middle of the cavern.

  Her mother sat nearby and poured insults like poison syrup into her ears.

  “You have my hair. Such pretty hair. Well, it would be pretty if it wasn’t so greasy. You’re dirty. Ugly. No one can stand you. Your aunt couldn’t stand you, and neither could your sister. I can’t stand you either, and that’s why you have to repay our kindness. We invited you here. You owe us.”

  Zara stepped into the shaft of light. “Milly.”

  Her sister blinked, frowned, and then focused as though coming out of a f
og. “Zara. You came.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I knew you’d come.”

  Zara held out her hand. “Let’s go.”

  Her mother clamped a hand on Milly’s arm, forcing her back down. “It’s not time to go yet.”

  Milly wavered.

  “Yes, it is.” Zara stared into the black pits. “There’s a boat waiting for us and the police are on their way.”

  “Police?” Her mother looked genuinely confused. “Why?”

  “Come on.” Zara tugged Milly to her bare feet.

  Her mother clawed on, dragged upright as well. “Milly wants to be here. She wants to help us.”

  “Great. She can explain that in the police station.”

  “No,” her mother said. “The time is now. She wants to be here.”

  Milly hesitated. Her voice sounded thick with disuse, and this close, she did smell unwashed, with sour breath as though she’d been afraid to eat or take off her clothes. Dark hollows shadowed her eyes; she hadn’t been sleeping either. “They took everything. My money, my passport.”

  “She gave it to us,” her mother shrieked.

  “We’ll get it reissued at the embassy,” Zara assured her quietly.

  A weight lifted from her sister’s brow.

  Her mother blackened. “If you leave here, Milly, you’ll never go to university.”

  Milly hesitated again.

  Did all traffickers read the same textbook?

  “Forget it,” Zara said. “We’ll sort it out later.”

  “But they’re going to pay for my tuition.” Milly frowned. “All of it.”

  “That’s what scholarships are for.”

  “But—”

  “It’s a lie. They don’t have the money. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be selling you to some stranger.” Zara tugged her. “Let’s go.”

  Milly started to walk to freedom.

  Their mother sucked in a deep breath and screamed, high-pitched, like a young girl. The noise pierced Zara’s ears like a pin. Milly clamped her hands over hers and crouched, shaking.

  Their father rose like a bear from hibernation, stumbling to his feet with a furious roar. He fixed on his wife, who broke off with a gasp, and then on Zara.