“I have no idea. Handheld foods, something that might fall or drip.” He held out his hands helplessly. “Anything that looks reasonable. I’ll get a basket.”
“Definitely lots of fishy stuff,” Corrie said as they went down the canned food aisle. She threw in cans of tuna and salmon. Her nose wrinkled in thought at a jar of anchovy paste, then she shrugged and tossed it in the basket. “It only stands to reason. Smelly food, too—it would be the most likely to attract fish in water.”
“Like this?” Zeb held up a jar of sauerkraut. “Kind of a long shot.”
“Worth a try. Who knows, maybe Larry really loves peanut butter and pickle sandwiches.”
“Or hardboiled eggs wrapped in cabbage.”
Corrie laughed, a delicate sound that made the corners of Zeb’s mouth turn up. They spent the next half hour finding the smelliest and most ludicrous snack foods they could think of. When Zeb presented the basket of groceries to the cashier, she raised an eyebrow.
“Quite the feast you’ve got there,” she said.
“My Polish-Korean grandmother swears by kimchi over perogies,” Corrie said with a straight face. Zeb coughed to cover his surprised snort of humor. Corrie gave him a triumphant look. Zeb found out why when they left the store.
“I made you laugh,” she said with a smug smile. “It’s almost an impossible task.”
Zeb glanced at her in confusion. Did he really seem that dull to her?
“What, you think I don’t have a sense of humor?”
“Well, it doesn’t come out much if you do.” Corrie swung her grocery bag as they walked on the side of the road toward the dock. “Don’t worry about it. You look as though you have a lot on your mind. I’m sure you’re a riot at parties.” She glanced at him with a half-smile to tell him she was teasing. Zeb wasn’t sure what to think. He knew he was quiet, but he’d never been told he was dull. Anger and frustration over his father’s secrets, combined with the stress of money and keeping secrets on the boat, must have made him more closed-off than usual.
“It’s been a tough few months since my dad died,” he said after a moment. Corrie looked contrite.
“Jeez, I forgot about that. I’m sorry.”
Corrie was quiet for a few uncharacteristic moments. Zeb tried to find something to fill the silence. He didn’t want Corrie to think he lacked conversation skills as well as being humorless.
“Are you getting enough data for your science project?” he asked. “Since we’ve been chasing unicorn fish, I mean. I hope it’s not getting in the way of your work.”
Corrie sighed. Zeb hoped she didn’t take his words too seriously. He was trying to chat with the only topic that came to mind, not convince her to stop looking for strolias. He held his breath until she spoke.
“I know, I should focus more on my project. But it’s so amazing to think how close we are to finding one. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t try. My thesis is important, sure, but I’ve been chasing legends since I was ten years old. This is more than a passing interest for me.”
Zeb let out his breath. That was what he wanted to hear.
“I’ll work late, work hard,” she continued. “It’s only a week. I can push through and do it all. Can you imagine if we actually catch a unicorn fish? What that would do for my career? Forget validating my personal beliefs. It could make me, career-wise. I can’t even imagine the repercussions to the scientific community with this discovery.”
Zeb frowned. That was an angle he hadn’t considered. Of course, he knew that bringing someone else into hunting legends was risky for him. He hadn’t thought through what Corrie would do with the information she might find. What would it mean, to him or to the legends he so desperately searched for, if their secrets were exposed to the world? He didn’t have an answer to that.
“Let’s find one first,” he said.
CORRIE
Zeb was quiet, as usual, in the dinghy on the way back to the boat. Sunlight made his already pale hair almost white against his deeply tanned skin. Corrie would have paid good money to see pictures of his parents—she couldn’t imagine a more unlikely combination of features than what Zeb sported. Suddenly, she ached to be at home with her roommates for a round of gossiping. There was so much fodder here to work with, and no one to share with. Jules was good for a chat, sure, but Zeb was closed off and Krista hated her, for some undisclosed reason but-totally-not-Corrie’s fault, according to Zeb.
Corrie flipped her braid off her shoulder defiantly. It didn’t matter. She had a mission, and she would execute it. Two missions, in fact. Capture and study a unicorn fish and get the best damn samples she could for her metabolomics project. She would set herself up for the thesis of the year. Mara would be infuriated if Corrie published more papers from her project than she did. With that happy thought, Corrie started to talk to Zeb again.
“What’s the plan with the bait? How are we going to catch these sneaky little devils?”
“Two ideas,” Zeb said, scanning for logs ahead. “Set up a bunch at a cave with the net trap, and tow a few fishing lines off the back of the boat. We’ll find a cave close to your next station. I can set it up while you’re doing the bottles with Jules.”
“Awesome,” said Corrie. “Let’s do it. And if we have leftover ground beef from the bait, maybe I can get Jules to make spaghetti. My grandma, while she wasn’t Polish-Korean, still made mean meatballs. I bet I can remember the recipe. Jules could probably make it better than grandma, although she’d roll over in her grave if she heard me say that. She wasn’t the greatest cook, and Jules is much better. Seriously, does he work in a restaurant? So good. Grandma was from France, actually, so I have no idea where she learned how to make spaghetti…”
Corrie knew she was rambling, but Zeb was so quiet that she felt she had to fill the void. She couldn’t tell if he was listening to her or whether he had zoned out minutes ago and was nodding to the beat of his own inner music. Whatever. It soothed her to talk, to have something fill the silence, and if Zeb had a problem with that, he could pitch in with conversation sometime.
When they reached the boat a few minutes later, Jules helped winch up the dinghy. Krista made the engine roar to life, and they were off. The trip wasn’t far, and Corrie had barely enough time to prepare her bottles and collection bags before the engine noise slowed to a dull grumble and Jules’ voice called her from the aft deck.
“It’s anemone time!”
Suit back on, equipment checked, mask in place—Corrie was beginning to feel comfortable with the routine of sampling. The nerves of the first day had faded into confident movements and steady breathing. She nodded at Zeb then fell backward into the water. The shock of cold seawater on her face gave her an instant headache, as always, but she fought through the sensation, and it passed as the water between her neoprene hood and her head warmed up. Waves splashed her about, so she waited only until Zeb entered the water with a mighty splash and gave her the okay signal before descending. The air might be constrictive and the visibility murky, but at least waves weren’t pummeling her about.
She collected her samples quickly and efficiently, pausing only for a moment to enjoy the bright yellow of a lemon nudibranch on a rock nearby. Zeb floated behind her, moving with minimal strokes of his feet and maintaining perfect buoyancy. She envied him that—her mastery of buoyancy left something to be desired, but she fumbled through well enough—although he did wear a wetsuit instead of a dry suit, which was supposed to be easier. That must be it.
Samples collected, she turned for the boat again, but realized she was helplessly lost. She checked her compass, but she’d strayed far enough off her initial line in search of the perfect clump of anemones that she doubted its usefulness. She put her hands up in a shrug in Zeb’s direction and pointed at her compass. Without a flicker of worry, Zeb motioned for her to follow him. They tracked a straight line directly to the shadow of the boat that lay on the ocean floor, and Corrie marveled at
Zeb’s insanely accurate sense of direction.
When they were back on the boat and had removed their suits, Zeb’s face changed from the serenity of underwater to a grimace of discomfort.
“Are you feeling okay?” Corrie asked. “You look a little funny.”
“Fine, thanks.” He tried for a smile, but it didn’t come out right on his pained expression. “I’ll put the bait in the cave while you’re doing the bottles. Be back in a minute.”
Before Corrie could say another word, he fled to the winch controls and swung the dinghy out into the water.
“Ready?” said Jules. He held a collection bottle out to Corrie. She shook her head to clear it and reached out to grab the bottle.
“Sure thing.”
ZEBALLOS
Zeb leaped into the dinghy and tore off toward a nearby cave. Maybe if he went fast enough, the itching on his skin would fade. Zeb knew better, but hope was a strangely persistent beast.
He strung a net across the mouth of the cave then reached out to attach the bag he had prepared during their trip here. It was filled with a little bit of everything they had bought, mashed together for optimum scent leakage. Surely, one of the items would work. Zeb plunged his hands into the seawater to tie the bag to the other side of the trap. He moaned at the touch of water on his hands, and the itching on the rest of his body intensified. The dive had once again enflamed him, given him a taste of a swim without providing the real joys of being in the water. His body cried that it wasn’t enough. Ruthlessly, he ignored it and finished tying a knot, then took his hands out of the water. He opened the throttle on the engine with a grim set to his mouth. He could handle it. This was no time to surrender. Corrie would be done her collection soon, and they would steam away to the next station. There was no time for a swim. His body would simply have to deal with it.
By the time he reached the boat, his skin was on fire with longing for cool saltiness to caress it. He climbed aboard and handled the winch operations with shaking fingers. Corrie came around and greeted him.
“Bottles all done! I’m ready to go anytime.”
“Great,” he forced out through clenched teeth. An idea popped into his head. “I need to check something before we go. Engine. Shouldn’t take long. You have lab work to do?”
“Do I ever,” Corrie said with a roll of her eyes. “It’ll take me a month of Sundays to get through. No worries, take your time. It’s not far to the next station, is it?”
“No, not at all,” he assured her without remembering where they were going next. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
Corrie disappeared into the lab and Zeb raced to grab his flippers from behind the life ring. He paused only to poke his head into the wheelhouse.
“Corrie’s done, but don’t go yet. I need a minute.”
“A minute for what?” Krista’s eyes narrowed. “Zeb, come on. Once is a risk. Twice is just stupid. Corrie could come around and see you at any minute. What reason would you have for swimming without a wetsuit in this weather? It’s hardly summer temperatures.”
“She won’t see, it’s fine.” At his sister’s disbelieving eyes, he burst out, “I can’t take it. Diving without a proper swim is driving me crazy. I can’t feel anything down there in that suit, and I can’t hear with the bubbles. It’s torture.”
Krista gazed at him for a moment then sighed.
“Go on. But make it quick.”
Zeb’s shirt was off and he was halfway to the bow before Krista finished her sentence. He jumped out of his pants, leaving only his swimsuit on, and fitted on his flippers. With a graceful dive, he slid into the water with barely a ripple.
Instantly, the itching fire on his skin faded into memory. He rolled around and around as he descended, reveling in the brush of cool water over his bare skin. Although he swam frequently in his life, this fiery need for it daily was unusual. The diving must have been causing it, as he told Krista, aggravating him beyond endurance.
Now, he was calm and centered. He waved a hand over a scallop on the rocky bottom, and it started to swim, clapping its shells together to shoot jets of water and scoot over the ocean floor. Zeb smiled widely. He would have laughed if he hadn’t been holding his breath. He rolled again, just for the fun of it.
What about the cave? It was close enough for him to swim to. He could check the bait before they left. He kicked, thrusting his body forward with powerful strokes in an unerring straight line to the cave, the currents on his body directing him true.
When he was near, the pattern of waves rolling above his head like frothy mirrors, he paused and looked around. No sign of any strolias. A memory came to Zeb, floating from the deeper recesses of his mind, back from a happier time when his mother had been alive. The two of them underwater, his mother’s long, pale hair floating like seaweed in the current. His mother opening her mouth and producing a clicking sound with her tongue. A school of perch coming to investigate.
Zeb opened his mouth but kept his tongue in position to block his airway. He clucked his tongue experimentally. A series of clicks emerged. Encouraged, he clicked a half-remembered pattern. A black-eyed goby rose from the seaweed to eye him beadily. He tried for another minute, but no strolias loomed out of the murky waters. He clicked until an ache in his chest reminded him of his need for air. He swam toward the boat, disappointed but still hopeful. They had only just put out the new bait. Maybe, with a little time, they would trap a strolia. And then, he could begin to unravel the mysteries of his life.
KRISTA
Krista made Jules take the wheel when he finished with Corrie’s samples, and she was now waiting on the port side for Zeb to surface. One eye was on the water, and one was on Corrie in the lab. Krista regretted letting Zeb dive in. Not that she had much say over anything Zeb did—he was his own man and didn’t take heed of his older sister’s warnings, more’s the pity. Sometimes, she missed the days when he was small enough to put in a headlock until he surrendered. He was obstinate, that was certain.
Although, today was different. He hadn’t simply brushed off her concerns about swimming with Corrie on board. No, he was quite desperate to get in the water again, with an almost manic glint in his eyes. It was unnerving. That was why she had capitulated, not because she thought it was a sensible idea. Zeb’s distraction has scared her. It was so unlike him. He was always calm, too calm, really—cold water to Krista’s hot fire. What would have happened had Zeb been restrained, not allowed to get in the water? Would his desire fade eventually, or would he grow even more desperate? Krista crossed her arms to ward off the uncomfortable thoughts.
Zeb finally surfaced right next to the boat. Krista leaned over.
“Hey Krista, do you know when lunch is?” Corrie said behind her. Krista froze. “I’m trying to time my analysis to fit eating in. It’s a crime to let Jules’ food get cold.”
Krista whirled around. Corrie’s focus was on her hands stripping off her gloves, but in a moment, she would look up. Krista waved her hand frantically at Zeb and hoped he would take the hint.
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice coming out steadily despite the thumping of her heart. “Better go ask. He’s in the wheelhouse.”
Corrie joined her at the railing. Krista chanced a glance at the ocean, but nothing marred the rolling surface except for two seagulls bobbing a few boat lengths distant.
“Is Zeb still fixing the engine?” Corrie asked. “I wanted to talk to him about our next station.”
“Yes, right. I’ll send him your way when he’s done. Shouldn’t be much longer now.” Krista waited, her breath shallow. Corrie gazed at the waves for a few long moments.
“Okay, thanks. See you later.” Corrie turned and walked to the wheelhouse. Once she had disappeared inside, Krista grabbed a shackle from the deck floor and dropped it overboard.
A moment later, Zeb emerged, shackle in hand. Krista waved him over.
“Hurry up,” she hissed. “She’ll be back any minute
.”
She lowered the ladder as quietly as she could, and her dripping brother clambered up it. He helped her haul the ladder to the deck, then walked quickly to the aft deck to find his towel. Krista followed him and smacked his head.
“Ouch!” Zeb rubbed the spot and glared at her. “What was that for?”
“You were being an idiot,” Krista said. She was angry at him for being so foolish, yes, but her anger was easier to unleash than her fear. “What if Corrie had seen? She almost did, you know.”
“And what would happen if she did?” he demanded. “She would think I was weird, swimming in this water, but nothing I couldn’t explain.”
“And when you didn’t surface for ten minutes? When she was calling for the coast guard to rescue you, and we were left to explain that you were just fine? What then?”
Zeb stared at her. There was no response to that, and he knew it. She crossed her arms.
“I don’t know what the rush was all about,” she said. “But you have to figure it out. There are four more days of this, eight or ten stations left. The odds are against you if you keep this up.”
Zeb looked away. His eyes were troubled but held none of the manic tension of earlier.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” he said. “It was too much, being in the water but not feeling it. Like my body wasn’t getting what I had promised it. Scuba diving has always bugged me, but the feeling has never been that strong before.”
“Do what you need to do, but be smart about it. Make a plan.” Krista was starting to rethink this whole trip, not that she hadn’t been against it from the start. “I still don’t think it’s wise getting Corrie involved in all this. I know she’s in too deep, now, but still.” She didn’t even know what she was protesting, anymore. She only knew the nagging doubt in her gut wouldn’t let her relax, enjoy Corrie’s company, or let her guard down. She didn’t have an answer, but she knew allowing Zeb to risk himself like this wasn’t it.
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