by Anna Davies
He dove back beneath the water and began stroking as hard as he could until he got to Bloody Point. There, he didn’t wait to see whether or not Miranda was in the water. He ran onto the shore, flinching when his toes sank into the hot sand. The change from being able to exist comfortably on the Surface to the Surface being agonizing was just beginning. But he couldn’t risk Sephie finding him in the water. He crouched underneath a palmetto tree and waited.
“GRANDMOTHER,” MIRANDA SAID THAT EVENING, ENTERING the great room in an ancient black velvet dress she’d always hated. She tried to avoid the disapproving glares emanating from the portraits of long-dead relatives that covered almost every inch of the fleur-de-lis–printed wallpaper. She truly couldn’t believe that after last night, Eleanor was making her attend the benefit. But she felt so tired and woozy from the medication Eleanor had given her, she didn’t care. All she needed to do was trail behind Eleanor like a dutiful granddaughter, and in a few days, she’d be on the plane. She could do this. She had to do this.
“Miranda,” Eleanor said coolly. She was wearing a black high-necked dress and had uneven spots of blush dusted on her aristocratic cheekbones. “You look nice,” she allowed.
“Thank you,” Miranda nodded.
“Shall we? Roger is bringing around the car with Teddy,” Eleanor explained.
Miranda nodded wordlessly as she stepped out into the last rays of sunlight.
As soon as she sat down in the car, she pulled her phone out of her bag. One text message.
You sure you’re okay? Teddy. Ever since they’d gotten cell phones, when Miranda was twelve and Teddy was nine, they’d texted each other rather than call out each other’s names in the house. At first, they’d done it because they liked pretending they were spies, but then as they got older, they often texted to bypass Eleanor’s scrutiny.
“Yes,” she said aloud.
“What, darling?” Eleanor asked absentmindedly as she gazed critically at her reflection in her compact. She fluffed her hair a few times.
“Nothing,” Miranda shook her head, wishing that the butterflies in her stomach would calm down. She wondered if Eleanor had any more anti-anxiety pills in her purse.
“You know, I admit I was skeptical when I heard of Coral, but I do appreciate all she’s doing for our community, especially donating the use of her boat for the benefit. Her obsession with the island legends is a bit troubling, though,” Eleanor said, talking to herself.
“I guess so.” Miranda said. She remembered the way Christian said the name Sephie with so much fear. What if Sephie wasn’t a legend, but was real? And what if . . . Suddenly, she had a sinking feeling in her stomach that brought her right back to the terrible moment before the wheel stopped working and the boat began rocking back and forth. She tried to take deep breaths to calm herself down but all that emerged were strangled gasps.
“Why, Miranda!” Eleanor exclaimed, resting her gnarled fingers on Miranda’s thigh as if in warning. “Do you need a pill? I’m sure I have something . . . ,” she said as she dug through her beige quilted Chanel purse.
“No,” Miranda said, willing the panic attack to subside. She needed to think clearly, she knew that. Christian had been trying to tell her something last night, but what? He’d said she wasn’t safe. But was it just her, or her family or . . .?
“We have to go home,” Miranda gasped. But Roger only turned toward the dock.
“I’m serious. I think something bad might happen, but I don’t know, and I’m worried that we might be too late,” Miranda said. Just then, Roger opened the door.
Miranda shivered as soon as the air touched her skin.
“It’s quite chilly,” Eleanor commented, pulling her silk shawl closer around her bony shoulders. “And you just have a bad case of nerves. Chin up. This is good for you,” she added, practically dragging Miranda behind her onto the uneven wooden slats of the dock.
Miranda nodded. She could barely listen. All she could concentrate on was how hard it was to breathe.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Teddy asked, noticing her distress.
Miranda nodded, keeping her eyes down as she followed Eleanor onto the shaky gangplank and onto the Sephie.
“Miss?” A crewmember offered his arm for balance but Miranda shook her head.
All too soon, they were on deck and in what felt like a different world. A string quartet played in the corner. Dozens of tuxedoed servers maneuvered through the crowd, balancing silver-domed platters held aloft. All of the Whym Island elite, clad in their best evening attire, were murmuring in groups of two or three. In one corner of the boat, Gray and Alan were locked in a huddle with Coral. Miranda gazed down, not wanting to catch Gray’s eye.
“Miranda, darling,” Eleanor said. Miranda snapped up her gaze and found herself face-to-face with Alan and his parents. Alan’s arm was still in a sling, and his parents were both wearing somber expressions and black clothes, almost as if they were in mourning.
“Lovely to see you both,” Eleanor murmured, reaching out her hand for the Ostens to shake.
“Miranda,” Alan said distantly.
“Hi,” Miranda said, the word stuck in her throat. She wanted to ask Alan about the storm: What he remembered, if it really had come from nowhere, and what the lightning looked like. She wanted to know if he felt it was mysterious, too.
“You know about Fletch,” Alan said, as if he were speaking to a stranger.
“Yeah,” Miranda said. It was no use. Alan would never talk to her, not really. And she’d never solve the mystery of how the hell the accident had happened. And really, it didn’t matter. Mermaids or not, it had happened, people had died, and now survivors were left to pick up the pieces. It was just one non-enchanting fairy tale.
“Anyway, I’m leaving Whym. Just so you know,” Miranda said, stumbling over the words.
“I heard,” Alan said. “It’s probably for the best, don’t you think?”
“I guess so,” Miranda sighed. She wanted to tell Alan that she’d never wanted to go back to school, that she took as much responsibility as she could for the accident.
“Anyway . . . good luck,” Miranda said uncertainly as she stepped back, bumping into a waiter balancing a full tray on his hand. Glasses smashed to the polished floor of the deck.
Immediately, it seemed all talk suspended as everyone turned to stare.
“I’m sorry,” she choked, not knowing what else to say. “I’ll . . . I need to go,” Miranda said, leaning down and desperately trying to pick up the pieces.
“Miss, there’s glass. We’ll attend to it,” the server said.
“No,” Miranda said, desperately scooping up the pieces. Her heart was beating wildly; she was aware of everyone staring at her, but this time, she wouldn’t walk away. She’d make things right. She’d show that it wasn’t her fault.
Suddenly, pain stabbed through her thumb. She looked down to see a shard of glass wedged into the skin, red blood trickling out of it.
“Oh, darling,” a voice murmured. Coral touched her arm. “It’s okay. It was just an accident,” she said in a voice loud enough to quell spectators’ curiosity.
“It’s not okay,” Miranda said, still watching the blood spurt from the wound, as if in a trance.
“Here, stand up,” Coral commanded, helping Miranda to her feet. “Come with me. I’ll clean that up for you, and you’ll be good as new,” she said.
Miranda nodded. She saw Eleanor in the crowd, worriedly fingering her purse, most likely to be ready to provide her an anti-anxiety pill at a moment’s notice.
“I’m fine,” Miranda mouthed, and Eleanor nodded, no doubt relieved that Coral was handling the situation. Miranda jammed her thumb onto the side of her dress, not caring about the stain it would cause.
Miranda stumbled as the boat lurched.
“Careful,” Coral murmured, walking her to one of the many doors that led below deck. “I’m so sorry about Christian, but it was for the best,” she said in a sacchari
ne voice.
“Why did you send the police after us?” Miranda asked suspiciously.
At this, Coral laughed a low, throaty laugh. “He stole from me. If you were poetic, you could say he stole my soul. But that’s neither here nor there. He can actually tell you himself.”
“Is he here?” Miranda asked in confusion, her injury forgotten.
Coral laughed, the sound discordant and ugly. “He’s close enough. I can just tell.”
“Where is he? Is he hurt?” Miranda asked, a terrible realization suddenly becoming clear in her mind. “What have you done with him?”
“Nothing he didn’t deserve,” Coral said, grabbing Miranda’s wrist roughly and pulling her down one, two, three flights of winding stairs. They were below the kitchen galley, in a dark, empty hold.
“Stop it!” Miranda yelled, attempting to yank her arm away from Coral’s surprisingly strong grip. “Stop!” She yelled into the darkness. She couldn’t hear any noises from the party up above and knew they couldn’t hear her.
Coral laughed again. “Of course I won’t. And your screams won’t help. I’m just getting what’s mine. I was supposed to get your soul. And I’d asked Christian to do it for me, but of course he couldn’t. I knew he couldn’t. But it’s always interesting to see how these things play out. And now I know I can’t trust him, so it turns into a win for me. I’m able to get a soul and get rid of a traitor, all in one night,” she said, as she threw Miranda against the side of the ship. Miranda gasped as her head cracked against the wood. “You’re the sea witch. You’re Sephie.” Horrified, Miranda suddenly realized the truth. Why hadn’t Christian’s warning been more clear? And where was he?
“I am,” Coral said, sounding pleased with herself. Her brilliant violet eyes glittered in the darkness. “You’re mine. Your parents were mine. Christian was supposed to kill you.”
“My parents?” Miranda sputtered. “It was a car accident . . . it couldn’t have been . . . no,” Miranda said, trying to back away.
“Yes, I did have a hand in that accident. Not my proudest work. A little messy with the car and the dock . . . generally, I prefer my conquests to be clean and entirely on the water. But sometimes, you branch out.” Sephie smiled. Miranda shivered.
“But now, you’re in luck, because I’m going to kill you directly. And I’ve only learned from my mistakes. But first, I need to collect the other souls I lost that night. The real party will be down here,” Coral said. At this, Coral stood next to Miranda and drew an x with her finger on Miranda’s throat. Instantly, Miranda gasped. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. Coral smiled, then continued lightly dragging her fingers against Miranda’s skin. Coral circled Miranda’s wrists. Black vines instantly appeared and bound her wrists together. Then Coral did the same to her feet.
“I will see you in a bit, my dear,” Coral said. “Gray, Alan, and Jeremiah,” she said slowly, as if reciting a prayer. “You’ll all be reunited with your Ferry friends very soon, I can assure you,” she said before gliding up the stairs.
Miranda pulled against the vines, but they bound her tight. She pulled again and heard a loud hiss. She looked down and tried to scream. The ties that bound her had turned into black snakes that reared their heads and hissed at her, their yellow eyes shining in the darkness. The hull smelled like the sea, and Miranda heard a lapping surrounding her. She realized that the floor was covered with a thin layer of water. And although it was impossible to see anything, she could feel that it was getting higher and higher, almost reaching her shins.
She was going to drown. She was going to drown and no one would know.
Christian! She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to imagine where he could be. Please help me! She tried to yell, but the sea witch’s spell still silenced her. Somehow, maybe Christian would hear and save her.
CHRISTIAN CLAWED THE SMOOTH HULL OF THE Sephie until he felt a frayed piece of rope that he used to pull himself up, hand over hand, until he reached the edge of the deck. He heaved himself over, and landed with a thud.
He tried to sit up, but immediately, a large shoe landed on the center of his chest, pinning him in place.
“I’ve got him!” the voice attached to the shoe yelled, as humans ran to stare.
“Who is he?” A man kneeled down by him. “You’re in danger! She only wants to hurt you!” Christian sputtered nonsensically, attempting to squirm away. But it was no use. More and more people were surrounding him, and Christian heard the band stop playing.
“Wait!” He heard a shrill, authoritative voice coming from the back of the crowd. As if on cue, the crowd parted and a small woman in a black suit strode through the path. It was Miranda’s grandmother. Christian sputtered, but no words came out.
“I know him,” she announced. “He’s a criminal!” she shouted in a high-pitched voice.
“Where’s Miranda?” he said breathlessly, looking up at Eleanor’s face. He was still held captive, pinned down by someone’s black leather loafer. The pressure was making it hard for him to breathe.
“That’s none of your concern. Call the police,” Eleanor said.
“Sephie . . . please. She’s evil. She’s about to kill Miranda.”
“Grab him!” Eleanor called, her face draining of color.
“Help!”
“No, please listen!” Christian begged. “She’s after Miranda.
Where’s Miranda?”
Two tuxedoed waiters roughly grabbed him and lifted him into a standing position, holding his elbows so tightly behind his back that he couldn’t move.
“We’ve got him, ma’am,” one said.
“I’m getting Coral,” the other said.
“No! She’s the one who started the storm. She wants Miranda’s soul,” Christian said, knowing that each sentence was making him sound more and more insane.
And he couldn’t allow himself to be dragged away. He didn’t have time. He had to find Sephie. Immediately, and drawing on his strength, he knocked down the two black-vested men that surrounded him and took off into the crowd.
People screamed as he ran by, and waiters dropped their silver platters to the ground. Christian didn’t notice. He picked up speed, faster and faster, toward the front of the boat.
“Sephie!” He called as the wind whipped his face. He didn’t have a plan, and was relying purely on instinct.
And then, as if he’d summoned her, Sephie emerged, slowly, as if she had all the time in the world, from a lower deck.
“Why, Christian. What a surprise to see you on solid ground!” she said. Then she noticed the confused, angry mob of guests behind him. She smiled slowly, and Christian recoiled in horror as her eyes changed from violet to black, and then, back again, all in a split second. She grabbed a champagne glass from the waiter near her, who stopped in his tracks in confusion. Then, she tapped against the rim of the glass with her long fingernail.
“I’m so sorry for the confusion. Christian and I have been having some misunderstandings lately,” she laughed, her voice sounding like broken glass against slate. “But please do excuse him, and go back to the party.”
One by one, the group peeled off. Except for Miranda’s grandmother, who used the opportunity to march up to where Sephie and Christian stood. The moment she spoke up, Christian realized he had never been more happy to see anyone, human or mermaid, before.
“What’s going on, Coral?” Miranda’s grandmother asked, her voice an octave higher than before. Christian caught her gaze and held it, wordlessly begging her to believe what he’d told her on deck earlier.
Then Sephie stepped between them and locked eyes with Eleanor as Christian watched helplessly. “Christian’s just a troubled soul who doesn’t seem to realize when he’s done enough. But please, don’t concern yourself. I’m dealing with this directly. Your job is to only enjoy,” Sephie said as she dug her nails into Christian’s arm. He resisted the urge to yelp, even though each finger felt like a match being pressed directly against his skin.
&nb
sp; “Have you seen Miranda?” Eleanor asked, moving around Sephie so she could see him. She kept her gaze on Christian as she waited for a response.
“Yes, I have. I bandaged her up, and she’s taking a little break. I’m sure she’ll be back soon enough. After all, it’s a boat. It’s not like she could escape, even if she wanted to,” Sephie said, offering a smile to Eleanor.
Keep looking at me. Don’t look at her. She’ll hypnotize you, Christian thought, wishing with every fiber of his being that his thought could somehow reach Miranda’s grandmother.
She nodded and Christian almost melted with relief, until she whipped her neck over to glance into Sephie’s eyes.
No! Christian thought as Sephie laughed triumphantly, a sound that Christian knew was directed at him, a sign that she’d won.
“Miranda must be somewhere. I should be going,” Eleanor said in a high-pitched monotone as she wandered off into the crowd.
As soon as she was swept up in the crowd of guests, Sephie released Christian and shook her head as she laughed.
“Amateur. Poor, foolish boy. And you tried so hard,” she began. “Oh wait. You didn’t try at all. I gave you one assignment. One. And that was to get me that girl’s soul. You didn’t. I had to do it myself,” Sephie said, baring her teeth like a shark about to devour its prey.
“You . . . you killed her?” Christian asked. He felt like he was about to throw up.
“No. What would be the fun of that? I’m going to kill her . . . while you watch,” Sephie cackled.
“Come with me,” she commanded, grabbing Christian’s hand as she led him to a small door at the far end of the ship. The door was only a few feet tall, and both Sephie and Christian had to duck to get through it. Without looking back, Sephie led the way down a series of rickety steps.
Miranda, I’m coming, Christian thought. But it was no use.
“Miranda?” He called, his eyes adjusting to the blackness of the cramped and filthy hold. But nothing responded except a vague hiss coming from the corner of the room.
