by Elsa Jade
For a long moment, she sat frozen in her seat—chilled in a way completely opposite of the flames still dancing in her memories. While she dithered, Sting reached into the back seat to grab her satchel and started pulling out the clothes he’d left in there. Banging his knees and elbows and every other body part on various parts of the car, he struggled into the castoffs she’d let him borrow.
She let out a tired breath. “You’re coming in with me, aren’t you?”
“Anyone desperate enough to come all this way without waiting for a reply won’t care about my eyes,” he pointed out.
As if his blank white eyes were the only giveaway. She sighed again. “Fine. Just… Don’t scare her, okay?”
“Anyone desperate enough to—”
“I said you can come,” she interrupted.
“You didn’t, actually,” he muttered.
Ugh. He was as much a victim of his heritage as she was, so why was she giving him such a hard time? “Come on. Let’s see what the future holds. Or the past.”
He followed her toward the door listed on Evens’ message, the pad of his broad, bare feet silent on the cracked concrete that fronted the exterior room doors. At least the webbing between his toes was less obvious than the unearthly white of his eyes.
When he held his wrist datpad to the door lock, she elbowed him aside and knocked the gentle rap of a neighbor, not a cop knock.
The scuffle of steps on the other side of the door reached her heightened senses and she took a deep breath. “My name is Lana Wavercrest. I’m here from the Wavercrest Foundation—”
The door jolted wide. “Lana!”
If Sting hadn’t been standing right behind her, if she hadn’t already known she might be facing her mother, she might’ve collapsed right there. As it was, she leaned back into his chest, her heart beating so hard it might explode with all the likely nasty spatter and possible conflagration.
The word mom filled her mouth behind tight-clenched lips, but she couldn’t let loose the breath to say it. “We got your message to the Wavercrest Foundation,” she said instead.
Her mother’s gaze—dark brown, like her own—roamed her face. “I saw the name—our name. And I saw some of the symptoms listed.” Her hand clenched on the cheap hollow-core door beside her. “Your symptoms, even though they tried not to say it outright.”
Lana nodded numbly. They’d had to be circumspect when they came up with list that included Ridley’s sudden-onset thalassophobia and Marisol’s aquagenic urticaria. And for Lana’s condition, they’d struggled even more. No use saying “Do you randomly emit electrical sparks or burst into flame? Ask your doctor about…” That would only bring the crackpots. But to anyone who’d lived through the stuttering manifestation of a nul’ah-wys would recognize what was implied.
“Tell me more. You’ve found a cure, haven’t you?” Her gaze went to Sting still lurking in the dark. “You’re not saying it’s aliens, are you?”
Lana grimaced. “I’m not saying it’s aliens.”
“But it’s aliens.” Her white teeth flashed in the big smile. “I should’ve known. Come on in, you two.”
Sting cleared his throat softly. “I don’t scare you?” Even more gently, he nudged Lana from behind in a see-I-told-you-so gesture. She waved him away behind her back.
“Young man, I’ve been semi-expecting this my whole life.”
Lana shook her head. Her mother had been younger than she was now when she had Lana; the intervening years had not aged her enough to justify calling anyone young man—especially not a shark-man.
Sting made a negating noise under his breath. “Then you should realize I’m not human.”
She nodded. “Of course. I apologize. It was close-minded of me to assume that you were male just because you look like…” She gestured at him vaguely.
Lana scowled. Okay, her mom wasn’t old, but it was still wrong for her to be noticing Sting like that.
But he stepped to one side as if displaying himself. “Tritonans do tend toward sexual dimorphism, although individual preferences may vary, and we do have some spontaneous parthenogenic expression in our recent genetic past, although our intent is to lessen the need for that if we had more females,”
“Now’s not really a good time for a Tritonan biology lecture,” Lana said.
Sting looked down at her. “But we’re here to find out if your mother is a suitable candidate for relocation to Tritona.”
Her mother straightened. “What? All right, I think we need to hit the mini bar.”
The room interior was just as advertised by the outside: small, old, but tidy enough. The minibar turned out to be a bag of groceries that included room-temperature orange juice and two sample size bottles of vodka. Lana declined but took a glass of water.
When her mom held out a plastic tumbler to Sting with one eyebrow raised, the ping from his chest sent a small wave through the OJ. “Yes,” he said and accepted the tumbler delicately. “I thank you for this substance and this extraterrestrial experience. May it expand understanding and opportunities between our peoples.” He took a sip. “It burns.” He drank the rest in one gulp. “It’s good.”
Lana cut a sideways glance at him. Since when had shark-man become Tritona’s intergalactic ambassador? On her, he’d only ever used grunts and threats of alien abduction.
She scowled to herself some more as her mother gestured her toward the room’s lone chair beside a round table while taking the corner of the bed for herself. Neither of them questioned Sting taking up position in the small square of tile in front of the bathroom sink. There was nowhere else in the cramped room where he wouldn’t be looming. Except maybe if he was lying on the other side of the double bed.
Lana drank half the water to drown the ridiculous surge of jealousy.
Her mother was still watching her. She sat with both hands wrapped around the tiny vodka container to which she’d added only enough orange juice to tint the alcohol the color of a cheaply dyed carnation—the sort a girl could expect in her prom corsage. “Tell me everything, Lana. Tell me what I missed.”
Lana took a breath. “Well, once upon a time a spaceship called the Atlantyri fled a water world at war…”
It took less time than she expected. She only hit the highlights of the Tritonan history and politics that she’d read when she’d left Earth, still excited and hopeful at the thought of starting a new life on a new planet. She didn’t bother with the ugly parts that had sent her back to Earth… She still didn’t understand so much of that, and it didn’t matter anyway. But her mom, like others descended from the Atlantyri exiles, could still benefit. She finished with, “So now they are looking for their long-lost family to join them in proving that Tritona is a world with the future.”
Oh boy, now who sounded like a sales pitch?
Her mother did not, in fact, jump to her feet yelling “sign me up.” She looked down at the drink in her hand and tossed it back with a grimace. When she looked up again, her dark eyes were steady and maybe just a little suspiciously bright. “I meant you,” she said gently. “I meant what’s happened with you, Lana.”
She swallowed hard. “Me? I’ve been all over the place. Well, just here on Earth—mostly, until recently anyway. Where’ve you been? Where did you go? Why didn’t you find me…” The only way to shut herself up was to jolt out of her seat, spinning for the door.
Strong arms caught her. But not Sting.
“Don’t touch me,” she cried. “I explained that no one can touch me anymore. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Her mother hugged her tight from behind, a memory made real—and more perfectly warm than any flames or alcohol. “You didn’t, honey, not after the first few times when you were a baby. Even so young, I think you knew your own power, even if we didn’t really understand what it was.”
Lana leaned her head forward against the door with a thunk as hollow inside as she felt. “I didn’t control myself that night.”
“Oh, Lana.” Her mot
her’s voice was a ragged sigh. “I’m sorry I was too late to stop what happened. By the time I got that boy out of the car, police were on the scene. I couldn’t leave, didn’t want to lead them back to you. When I finally got home the next morning, you were gone.” Her grip tightened around Lana’s shoulders. “Please. Don’t leave again.”
She eased Lana away from the door and settled beside her on the end of the bed.
“There was a detective who smelled something wasn’t right, even though the fire department said it was the solvent rags and spray paint in the trunk that ignited. I was afraid of leading him to you, afraid of what he’d find, and by the time he lost interest, I couldn’t find you.” She looked down at the empty plastic bottle twisting restlessly between her fingers. Nothing came out. “And by then, I figured you’d be better off without me.”
Lana stiffened. “Better off? No. Why would you even…”
Her mother lifted her eyes, dark with pain. “Because it was my fault. I’m the reason this happened to you.”
A denial choked up in Lana’s throat, but she didn’t say it. Because her mother was right. “It’s our blood,” she said instead.
Her mother let out a short, harsh breath. “Not just our blood.” She looked away again. “I killed the man who was your father. When I saw the electrical fire around that car, I realized…” She clenched her fist around the vodka bottle, crushing it. “We had one beautiful night together. The night we made you. A night that ended in a blue-white haze when his heart stopped, while mine…mine broke.”
“Not broken,” Sting rumbled. “It pulses still. And if there is blame, share it with the Cretarni, who forced us to send the Atlantyri away. Blame the Abyssa and her omens and the Tritonesse who neglected to give the exiles enough knowledge to survive the centuries apart. Blame those males who could not hold your power.”
Lana stiffened. “I’m not going to blame the victims.”
“Then you cannot blame yourselves.”
“I’m not a victim,” Lana said just as her mother said the same.
They looked at each other, and her mother snorted in wry amusement. The warmth seeped deeper into Lana’s heart. Growing up, their relationship had been like that, finishing each other’s sentences and laughing even when things were hard. To have lost that because of some vicious, endless war that they hadn’t even known was raging was beyond unfair.
Tentatively, she held out one arm. Without hesitating, her mother tucked her close to her shoulder. “I can’t believe I get you back,” she whispered.
“Oh, there’s all sorts of things you won’t believe.” Lana let out a watery laugh.
“You must learn to control being a nul’ah-wys,” Sting said. “On Tritona—”
Lana lifted her head to glare at him. “My mom hasn’t agreed to go there. Why should she come when we know that the Tritonesse will not be welcoming of another fire-witch?”
“Fire-witch?” Her mother shook her head. “I’m going to have a lot of questions, aren’t I?”
“I still have the IDA readings for becoming an alien bride.” Lana squeezed her mom. “I’m sorry to report that the universe might be bigger and more diverse than we guessed, but still as untrusting and warlike as this place.”
“Some of us are changing,” Sting objected. “Now that we’ve fought off or killed everyone in our way.”
Lana sneaked a glance at her mom. “Are you sure you want any part of this? It’s not too late to walk away.”
Sting flicked one finger. “But now that she knows about the intergalactic community—”
Lana waved him to silence, but her mom shook her head. “I’m not going to lose you again. No matter what.” She hugged Lana again before sitting up straight. “Besides, this Wavercrest syndrome is something I need to deal with, just as you do.”
“The ruling class on Tritona, the Tritonesse, think we’re the danger,” Lana warned. “They kicked me out.”
“Everyone who’s changed the world—for worse or better—has been considered a danger by someone,” her mother said.
But which one would they be—better or worse?
After one last hug, they packed up all of her belongings. “I got rid of everything I couldn’t carry here,” she said. “Because I knew, somehow, this is where I’d end up, one way or another.” Her smile flashed again. “But it’s not an end, is it? It’s a beginning.”
“The water circles the world,” Sting murmured in his low voice. “Never ending.”
As they headed back to Marisol’s estate, to Lana’s amazed delight—and a small touch of consternation—they fell right back into the easy togetherness of her youth, tucked together in the backseat. They shared a quick recap of their years apart, her mother’s gaze kept drifting to Sting in the driver’s seat. “He’s very big,” she whispered.
Lana hissed at her. “Tritonyri are enhanced warriors,” she warned under her breath. “They can see and hear and sense more than most.”
Her mother hummed. “Big enough to absorb a zap?”
The urge to make an embarrassed retreat engulfed Lana but she had to admit, “Yeah, a few of them.”
From the front, Sting didn’t twitch or comment, and Lana wasn’t sure she appreciated this newfound diplomacy of his.
When they got to the estate, Thomas welcomed them with the elegant charm he’d always shown—and maybe a little more? “We’re delighted to welcome the first Wavercrest inheritor,” he said. “Other than the original three, of course.” He flicked a glance at Lana before turning his approving gaze on her mother. “Ms. Wavercrest, please feel free to request any accommodations you might desire of me.”
She smiled. “The first one? Please, call me Kailani.”
“Of course. Kailani,” Thomas said. “A lovely name. Hawaiian, yes?”
“My mother always said her mother told her we were descended from island royalty.” Another twist of her lips was half amused, half sad. “Now I discover we didn’t just steal the name and part of an identity but half our blood as well.”
“Probably more,” Sting offered.
Thomas ignored him. “We’re all seeking truth we didn’t believe possible,” he said. “And until then, maybe we just need a little something to get us through the long, lonely nights.”
She gave him a half-lidded, assessing glance.
Lana tucked her chin. “It’s late. I’ll take my mom”—she emphasized the word this time—“up to one of the spare rooms and get her settled.”
“I can do that,” Thomas countered smoothly. “That’s why I’m here, after all.”
Refusing to be scraped off, Lana tagged behind them and lingered with her mother, chatting and poking around the room while they waited for Thomas to bring up a late-night snack.
Finally, her mother cupped her chin. “Honey, you have dark circles under the bags under the sorrow in your eyes. I know you haven’t told me everything yet, but get some rest and we’ll figure it out now that were together again.”
There’d been a time where she might’ve believed it could be that easy.
They hugged again, and reluctantly Lana headed for the door just as Thomas returned with a heavily laden silver platter. She gave him a look, which he returned blandly, and then glanced back one more time.
“I can’t believe you got the message,” she murmured, “and that you came.” If she’d still been on Tritona, she might’ve missed this moment, might not have been around at all to see her mother again.
“What’s not to believe?” Her mother smiled. “The Atlantyri left Tritona to give us a chance at a better life. And now? This is the chance. I love you, honey.”
“Love you, Mom.” Lana smiled back, her heart withering since she’d already had her chance—and lost it.
She slipped out of the room, leaving her mom and Thomas and the sweet scents of jasmine tea, buttered toast, and fresh-cut citrus behind. Though she started toward her own room, for some reason her feet turned her the other way down the corridor, down the stairs, to
the library.
As if she’d already known he’d be waiting.
Chapter 9
He’d known she would come back. Currents were swirling around them now, holding them closer than his tow rope, deeper than the distant blood they shared.
Also, the sparking static of her restlessness had warned Sting that she wouldn’t be able to seek her own rest yet.
She paused in the doorway of the big room, gazing at him. Sometimes the Tritonyri warriors who’d fought beside him had complained that they couldn’t see past his barriered lenses, but he thought they would be even more unnerved by the little nul’ah-wys’ dark eyes. They held all the subterranean secrets of a buried labyrinth, with none of the open spaces that Tritonans took for granted.
He’d always been the one to seek out the vast, unfathomable deep-sea trenches where nothing could touch him from any direction, not even the light of the sun.
Now, for some reason, he wanted to be engulfed.
Maybe he was just hungry.
The guardsman had left a tray with foodstuffs before taking a matching selection upstairs. Now, Sting gestured at it. “You should eat. You were drained by the journey through the cold water—and zapping me.”
She flicked a glance at the silver bowls. “I’m not really hungry.”
Yes, he did not really think that was his problem either.
Still, he wasn’t mistaken about her energy needs. The restive shudders still rippled through her electric field, making his own pulse skip like a silverwing over the storm waves on Tritona’s sea. He went to the side table and methodically assembled a plate, as Thomas had done at the morning meal. Turning his back on Lana, he padded to the empty stone of the large square cove where there’d been fire once before and held his datpad to the controls. “Ignite,” he commanded.
With a huff, Lana marched over to join him. She flicked the switch, and flames burst up from the pretend rocks within the cove.
“You are good at that,” he said.
