by Anna Davies
He’d kept asking her to repeat the story over and over again, clearly looking for a flaw; the moment where the narrative fell apart. Now, he looked almost gleeful to have a second chance at casting Miranda as a criminal.
“Where is he?” Officer Beecher asked suddenly, his eyes darting from under the bed to the closet to the closed window.
“Who?” Miranda said desperately, just trying to buy time until her brain stopped feeling so stuck.
“Miranda, please,” Eleanor said, looking at Miranda as if she were a stranger. “The boy from the beach. Please cooperate with the officers,” Eleanor asked, her voice dangerously calm.
“Why did you call the police?” Miranda screamed hysterically.
“I called because I was scared to death for you. Then Coral called the police to search for that boy. Apparently, someone saw you and him running up the road. They traced you both here. Thank God, Miranda.”
“Coral?” Miranda asked in confusion.
Eleanor nodded. “She just wants to help.”
“He’s not here!” Miranda said unconvincingly. Coral had called the police? Had she known something Miranda didn’t, when she’d given her that lecture?
Miranda watched silently as Officer Beecher headed straight toward the closet. He opened the door and shot a glance back at Miranda, raising his eyebrow as Christian stepped out.
“Miranda,” Eleanor said, shaking her head. “Officers, I’ll handle my granddaughter. I just want this boy off my property.”
“No!” Miranda yelled. But quickly, two hands grabbed her arms behind her back, making it impossible for her to wriggle free. On the other side of the room, Officer Beecher had a warning hand on Christian’s arm. “Officer, he’s not a criminal, he’s . . . he’s my friend.”
“Your friend,” Eleanor spat. “Your friend who was about to rob us out of house and home. If Coral hadn’t called the police when she did . . .” Eleanor shuddered.
“He saved me!” Miranda yelled.
A flicker of confusion crossed Eleanor’s face.
Christian was silent. His face was ashen and his mouth formed a wide O of surprise.
Say something! Miranda willed.
“Miranda isn’t safe!” Christian said suddenly, his eyes darting from Miranda to Coral. “It’s Sephie. She’s here and she wants Miranda and . . .”
“Quiet! We don’t need to hear about any ridiculous legends,” Officer Beecher yelled, yanking Christian’s arm so hard that Miranda gasped. “Ma’am?” Officer Beecher asked, staring at Eleanor.
“Take him,” Eleanor commanded.
Miranda watched helplessly as Christian struggled against Officer Beecher’s grasp. Officer Beecher reached for his handcuffs, and then, suddenly, Christian twisted out of Officer Beecher’s grip and wordlessly ran toward the stairs. The movement was so sudden that both Beecher and Lane stood slack-jawed.
Miranda struggled against the viselike grip Officer Lane had on her own wrist, which caused him to hold onto her more tightly.
“Get him!” Officer Lane snapped.
“Christian!” Miranda yelled, not sure if she was yelling for him to run or to come back.
“He’s gone!” Officer Beecher called from downstairs.
Officer Lane glanced at Eleanor, whose eyes were wide with fear.
“I don’t want any trouble, Officer,” Eleanor said. “And I don’t want my granddaughter involved in any of this. She’s gone through enough.”
“Too late for that, ma’am,” Officer Lane said, his mouth set in a firm line. “There’s a reason the kid’s running. Kid with nothing to hide won’t run. At this point, it is our business. And I’m afraid we need to question your granddaughter further. If it’s all right with you, I’ll take her with us.”
Eleanor shook her head. “Let my granddaughter go,” she said in a voice so low it was almost a growl. “She hasn’t done anything wrong.”
Officer Lane locked eyes with Eleanor, as if considering her request. Eleanor glared back at him. “Fine,” Officer Lane let go of Miranda’s wrist. “But I’ll need to speak to you soon, do you hear?” And then he turned to address Eleanor. “I know you’ve been through a lot, Ms. Ashford,” he said, hastily tipping his hat as he clattered down the stairs. The door closed with a thud.
“Why did you do that?” Miranda asked hysterically. “Why didn’t you just let them arrest me?”
“My darling,” Eleanor said, sorrow evident in her face. The lines on her face were deeper than ever before. “Was it drinking? Drugs?”
“Me? No.” Miranda said, the words coming out like a whimper. Was Christian really just a criminal? And why had she been so dumb to fall for him? “Don’t you trust me?” Miranda asked.
“No,” Eleanor said simply. “You’re out of control. Running around at all hours. Consorting with a criminal. Doing who knows what else . . .”
“I can’t stay here,” Miranda said dully. She attempted to run past Eleanor, but Eleanor was surprisingly quick. She grabbed Miranda’s wrist, digging her fingernails into Miranda’s skin. Miranda yelped.
“You will come with me, young lady,” Eleanor said through gritted teeth, as she pulled Miranda down the stairs, past the pool and toward the still-open French doors to the kitchen. The lights were on and Teddy was sitting at the granite island, next to Louisa, as Miranda was dragged in.
“Teddy, go to bed,” Eleanor commanded.
Miranda sensed it, a hesitation where Teddy was considering disobeying Eleanor.
“Miranda?” Teddy asked questioningly.
“Theodore,” Eleanor said, a warning note in her voice.
Sorry, Teddy mouthed before sliding off the stool, leaving Miranda alone with her grandmother. Miranda stared at her grandmother, noticing for the first time how many wrinkles lined her brow. Her arms were as skinny as matchsticks, and the large diamond bracelets she wore made them look even more fragile. Her hair was pure white, and she had a sad, faraway expression in her eyes. Her hand inched over the counter until it met Miranda’s hand. And Miranda didn’t pull away.
“It’s fine,” Miranda said, feeling incredibly tired. What would be the point of fighting with Eleanor? Even if she did, there’d be no way to escape. There seemed to be an alert throughout the island to call Eleanor if she was spotted anywhere. It was over. “Just give me the pills and get it over with,” she said, holding out her hand numbly.
Eleanor paused, as if she’d been expecting a fight.
“Good,” she said, walking over to the cupboard and expertly shaking out a few pills from an amber-colored bottle. “Here. Tomorrow everything will be better. You’ll see,” she said, as she placed two pills in Miranda’s hand. One was red and one was turquoise. Miranda gazed at them, entranced. They looked pretty. They looked harmless. And they looked like something that would finally give her relief.
“Fine,” Miranda said in a small voice.
Eleanor nodded, and Miranda took a deep breath and tossed them both in her mouth.
Louisa, who’d been sitting silently the whole time, stood up and opened the refrigerator. She took out a pitcher of water and poured the liquid into a crystal tumbler and passed it to Miranda.
“Good girl,” Eleanor said, as she grabbed Miranda’s hand. Louisa grabbed the other and together, the three of them walked up the steps to Miranda’s room.
AS SOON AS CHRISTIAN DOVE BELOW THE SURFACE, HE could no longer hear the whining sirens that he knew were for him, a warning sign that he’d overstepped and gotten too involved. But he had a sinking feeling that it was too late, that Sephie had a plan in place. Because why would those policemen be looking for him? It seemed like one of Sephie’s designs.
He still had one more day.
Sephie wouldn’t go back on her word. Because her word became law, and that meant that he still had some agency, some way to right everything. But he realized she wanted him to fail. She never thought he could take Miranda’s soul. In the end, she clearly planned to get both hers and his. He couldn’t do this alone. He n
eeded his brother.
Valentine greeted him with a question Christian both anticipated and dreaded: “Have you done it yet, brother?”
Christian shook his head.
“You need to kill her,” Valentine said firmly.
“I know,” Christian said. Except he knew that he and Valentine were talking about very different people. Christian had always heard that Sephie could live Up Above, and could transform herself wholly into a human, even though her Down Below self was a mermaid. He’d heard of her occasionally heading Up Above to make humans fall in love with her, only to dash their hopes and their boats against the rocks. But he thought that was long ago, in the time before now. Now, he’d always—naively, stupidly—assumed that Sephie, too, followed the code of the ocean, that Up Above and Down Below didn’t mix.
But he’d been wrong. And now, if he didn’t save Miranda, he’d be wrong again. And either Sephie would kill him, or he’d have to live the rest of his life knowing that he was responsible for Miranda’s death. Or Sephie would kill him, and he’d be one more tragedy in Miranda’s life. That was what he hated. No matter what, he’d pulled Miranda into this web of evil and there was no way she’d ever get out untouched.
MIRANDA WOKE UP TO LOUISA PLACING A WARM COMPRESS on her forehead.
“I’m fine,” Miranda said, pushing it away. It was a remedy Louisa swore by for bad dreams, and something she’d often done for Miranda when she was a child. But last night hadn’t been a bad dream, and Louisa’s caretaking provided little consolation to Miranda.
“You’re not fine,” Louisa clucked, her large brown eyes filled with concern. “Your grandmother’s worried about you and I’m worried about you. And if you know what’s good for you, you should be worried about yourself.”
“What good would that do?” Miranda mumbled. Her leg ached and she had a splitting headache that only became more intense when Louisa opened the blinds. Miranda dove back under the covers and tried to fall back to sleep. But whenever she closed her eyes, she thought of Christian. She’d never see him again. And that made her heart hurt.
As Miranda burrowed further into the comforter, willing sleep to come, she heard the strains of a lullaby. She continued to listen, realizing that the humming sound wasn’t coming from her subconscious. She pushed the comforter off her face and turned to see Eleanor. She’d taken Louisa’s seat and was sitting, a cup of tea in one hand.
“Miranda,” Eleanor smiled slightly. “How are you?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Miranda said honestly. “Tired.”
Eleanor nodded. “Of course you are,” she said quietly. “I worry so much about you and your brother. I’ve always tried to protect you both and now . . .” Eleanor trailed off. “Tea?” She asked abruptly, holding out the bone china teacup toward Miranda.
Miserably, Miranda took the cup, which was painted with images of mermaids beneath the sea. They’d been Miranda’s favorite teacups when she’d been a child, and she’d always begged to be allowed to use them for the elaborate tea parties she’d create for her teddy bears. Now, they seemed to be mocking her. She took a small sip and coughed. Even drinking tea felt too hard.
“Here,” Eleanor said, taking the teacup back and balancing it on her lap.
“Thanks,” Miranda said shakily as she struggled to sit up.
“I’m just so glad you’re okay, and that boy didn’t do you any harm. But don’t you see why Arizona is what you need? It’s the best for all of us. I can’t lose you, too,” Eleanor said, a quiet longing in her voice.
Miranda nodded quietly. This was the longest conversation she felt like she and Eleanor had had in forever. But instead of feeling closer to her grandmother, she just felt more estranged. Eleanor thought she was unmanageable. And she was most likely right.
“Good,” Eleanor said, awkwardly patting Miranda’s hand, which lay on top of the pink cover. “But first, tonight is the gala. I’m not sure if you remember our conversation from yesterday, what with all the excitement, but we’re going,” she said.
“But . . . ,” Miranda protested, shaking her head against the pillow. She felt awful, and the last thing she could imagine doing was facing everyone from the accident.
“It’s for the best. It’s keeping up appearances. You have just as much right to be there as anyone. If you don’t go, people will talk, and when people talk, they never tell a good story.” Eleanor set her jaw, and Miranda knew she was thinking of all the rumors that still surrounded her parents’ death.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to,” Miranda said in a small voice. “Please let me stay home?” she asked.
Eleanor smiled tightly. “Unfortunately, we all have to do things we don’t want to do. You can do it, and you will do it.
It’s not a choice,” she said. “I can’t have people say you’re being sent away from Whym against your will, or that there’s something nefarious about your departure. And especially since that boy is wanted by the police, I feel if you skip the gala, you might look guilty by association.” Eleanor paused and narrowed her eyes. “You aren’t guilty, right?”
“Of course not!” Miranda snapped. It was just one more piece of evidence that Eleanor didn’t—wouldn’t—trust her.
“Good,” Eleanor said, visibly relaxing. “But I did have to ask,” she said.
“We’ll go to the event, and you can say good-bye, and tell people that it’s the best thing for your health to go to Arizona for a year. Because it is good for your health,” she added, standing up and leaving the room.
Miranda dove under the covers and tried to fall back to sleep. But whenever she closed her eyes, all she could see was flames dancing against the blue water, a terrible flashback to the accident. Finally, she got out of bed and dove into the pool to swim. But the pool felt too safe, too enclosed, and too lonely for the swim to do any good.
CHRISTIAN WOKE WITH A START, SWEAT DRIPPING FROM HIS forehead. His body was wedged between two fallen oak trees, in the woods that separated the beach of Bloody Point from the road. Dangerous, yes, but no more dangerous than being Down Below. The truth was, there was nowhere he could go and be truly safe. He sat up and yawned. His face was wet. He touched it experimentally and started when he saw blood on his hands. He must have fallen when he was running last night and lost consciousness.
He headed toward the water, with no sense of time and dove in, hoping the water would help him come up with a plan.
Just then, he spotted a disturbance beneath him. Instinctively, he dipped below the surface of the water and opened his eyes. But once his senses were restored to him, all he could see was his brother, his hair wild and askew, his eyes bloodshot.
Christian resurfaced. A second later, Valentine’s head popped above the surface. His teeth were chattering uncontrollably, and he looked miserable.
“Sephie knows you broke her rule,” Valentine said urgently.
“Shhh,” Christian said instinctively, glancing around. “Let’s talk on land.”
Valentine followed Christian onto the shore.
Christian sat down on a piece of driftwood and fished out the matchsticks from his pocket. There were still plenty left, still dry in their plastic bag.
“Look, brother,” Christian said, taking one of the matches and swiping it against the side of the box as Miranda had done. A small flame blew back and forth in the wind. Christian watched it, entranced, feeling the heat on his fingers. Maybe this would work. It had to.
“I’m not in the mood to see magic tricks!” Valentine said hysterically, kicking up a cloud of sand. “Did you hear me? Sephie knows. I spoke to her. I begged for mercy. Someone needed to do something. You haven’t been Down Below for days.”
“I know,” Christian said. The flame continued to dance in the wind before he snuffed it out on the sand. Even though the flame was tiny, he felt powerful in controlling the elements. Was this how Sephie felt when she controlled the ocean?
“You know?” Valentine said sarcastically. “Do you know sh
e’s planning to kill your Miranda herself? Tonight?”
“Tonight?” Christian repeated. “She had a plan?” Valentine nodded. “The girl is going to die either way. And if you deliberately disobeyed her orders, you’ll die as well.”
“Not if she dies first,” Christian said. He didn’t have any more time to come up with a plan. “You don’t know about this, and from now on, you don’t know me. If this doesn’t work, Sephie will go easy on you. She knows you’re not a traitor. Only me.” He locked eyes with his brother as he put the matches in his pocket. “Do we understand?”
Valentine shook his head. “No. You won’t try to kill her. It’s not just foolish, it’s suicidal. And you’re putting me, and every other betwixtman, in danger. Have some loyalty.”
“I do. But not to Sephie,” Christian said.
“Christian. Please,” Valentine pleaded.
Christian glanced at Valentine. He didn’t want to put his brother in danger. He sighed. “I will only kill if necessary. That’s as much as I can promise.” Then, without looking back, he dove into the water to search for the Sephie.
He didn’t have to look far. As soon as he popped up above the surface, he gasped at the sight in front of him: The boat rose majestically from the water.
Thousands of lights, which Christian instantly recognized as part of Sephie’s soul collection, snaked up the masts of the boat. A single flag flew from the crow’s nest, with Sephie’s signature emblem: Two black two-headed snakes, coiled around each other.
On deck, dozens of servants, clad in black pants and white shirts, scuttled about, setting up tables and chairs. Christian squinted. Were those Sephie’s servants from Up Above, or were they ones she’d found from Down Below? It was impossible to tell.
Just then, a figure emerged from belowdecks. Christian shrank back under water and swam until he was able to hide behind one of the sturdy underwater posts of the dock.
It was Sephie. She no longer had a tail, but had legs that emerged from the hem of a tight silver dress that hugged all of her curves. Her hair was blond, her eyes were bright violet, and Christian was positive that she’d notice him in a heartbeat if she glanced in his direction.
