by Sara Ella
“It’s safer for you at the house,” was all Merrick said, tugging his fedora lower over his brow. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
“Whatever.” He could practically see his sister’s pout through the phone. “Just bring me a new book to read.”
He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Prisoner of Azkaban?”
“Order of the Phoenix. I’m in a broody teenager mood tonight.”
“You’re not even eleven yet.”
“Just over a month and counting, big brother.”
He chuckled. Amaya had discovered the first Harry Potter book when she was seven and devoured the series once every year since. She started reading them based on mood. He didn’t know how she kept track of the story out of order but said in a bad attempt at a British accent, “Your wish is my command.”
Merrick hung up before she could ask for anything else, but he made a note to grab the book before he closed up.
After scanning social media, again, he headed back to the meeting room. It was a larger group tonight with a few new faces ranging from teens to elderly adults. Some came back every week and others filtered in and out. No matter who showed up, the moderator, Miss Brandes, led a good discussion.
And, if he was being honest, Merrick held on to the unrealistic but idealistic hope his mom might show up one night too. It was a long shot, but she’d loved this town when he and Amaya were kids. Maybe she would end up here again and find this group as a way to cope with her own feelings about Maya’s attempted suicide.
He still had no clue what he would say to her if by chance that ever happened.
Merrick took a seat on his corner stool, doing a quick check to make sure all was well in the food and beverage department.
“Good evening, everyone. For those of you who are new, I am Miss Brandes. I work full time as the counselor over at the high school and have ten years’ experience with grief- and suicide-survivor counseling. As with every session, I’d like to begin by having you turn to the person on your right and say the words, ‘You are not alone.’”
The group did as she said, then followed her next instruction to do the same with the person on their left.
“We don’t want to put any pressure on our new attendees to speak. You don’t even have to introduce yourself. But if you do decide to share, please start by giving us your name so we can get to know you a little better. Sound good?”
Everyone nodded.
The door opened and Merrick cringed. He hated when people showed up late because there was always that awkward moment when everyone turned and stared. He felt for this girl standing in the doorframe now, looking as if she didn’t want to be here at all.
Miss Brandes’s expression brightened. “I’m so glad you decided to come.”
The girl shrugged. She hugged a plain brown paper notebook to her chest. He also noted she was barefoot. Not extremely odd for a beach town but a little less common inside the library. “My grandmother made me,” was all she said before walking to the circle.
Merrick moved quickly to add another chair for her while a couple of people scooted out of the way to make room. She met his eyes briefly, an instant that captured the oxygen from his lungs.
Her eyes. Memorable. Distinct. Where had he seen them before?
Merrick had the sudden urge to shield the girl from anything and everything that might harm her.
He shook it off. Ignored the instinct. Where did that come from?
Miss Brandes finally turned her attention to the rest of the group and went into her spiel about calling the suicide hotline or 911 in the case of a life-threatening emergency. Then she opened up the floor.
One of the veteran attendees, a middle-aged guy, raised his hand. “I guess I’ll start. Hey, guys. Name’s Bastian. Most of you know my wife, Emma, took her life about a year ago.”
Several in the group nodded, and an elderly woman next to Bastian even reached over and put her hand on his knee as he talked about his four-year-old daughter and how she kept asking when her mom was coming home. Bastian got choked up and Merrick found his own emotions wavering. Hiroshi said it wasn’t manly to cry.
But here was this man, this father, who was learning to cope following the loss of his wife and the mother of his child. This, in Merrick’s opinion, was the manliest thing he had ever witnessed.
“Thank you, Bastian,” Miss Brandes said when he was done. Before she could even ask, a woman who looked to be in her forties raised her hand, introduced herself, and went on to offer some kind words for the grieving man. She had also lost a spouse, though several more years back. She even offered to babysit for Bastian if he needed a break.
After an hour had passed, Miss Brandes offered her closing remarks and encouraged the attendees to stay and talk and exchange numbers or emails. The idea of the get-together was never so much about counseling as it was about coping together. Confiding and relating and being understood.
He rose from his stool and left to make a fresh pot of coffee. When he returned, he noticed most of the group remained, chatting and hugging. But the girl was gone. She hadn’t said a word.
Her notebook rested on a chair.
Merrick could give it to Miss Brandes. She did work at the school and would have no problem returning it. He could also place it in the lost and found, which was what he was supposed to do in the event someone left a belonging behind. It was his job. He’d have done it with anyone else and forgotten about it.
Before he could change his mind, Merrick snatched up the notebook and peeked inside the cover. He smiled at the name penned there in practiced cursive, then snapped it closed and sprinted for the exit. She’d probably already left. It wasn’t like she would be waiting around for him, her knight in shining armor, to return her beloved pages.
When he reached the curb beside the parking lot, Merrick scanned the area. The night lamps had come on, washing the asphalt in yellow light. And there, on a bench between two hydrangea bushes, sat the girl. She didn’t seem to notice him. She was too engrossed in whatever she was doing on her phone.
He approached and cleared his throat. At the risk of coming off as a total creep, he said, “Hi.”
She didn’t look up. Kept scrolling through social media.
Merrick swallowed hard. Was she ignoring him? Lost in thought? He stepped closer and peered over her shoulder. She had done a word search for princes in the United States, which pulled up some interesting profiles.
“Hi,” he said again.
She jumped this time, pressed the phone to her chest.
He held in a laugh. Though she was older, the girl reminded him a little bit of his sister. Amaya was easily startled too when focused on a particular thing.
“Sorry,” Merrick said. “I saw you inside. At the meeting? I’m Merrick.”
Not an ounce of recognition altered her expression.
“Anyway . . .” He dragged out the word. This was not going well. Merrick needed to redeem himself. He offered the notebook. “You left this . . .” Was she going to tell him her name?
No. She wasn’t. Her eyes widened. “Did you read it?”
Merrick blinked. He wasn’t the greatest guy in the world, but did he strike her as someone who would read someone else’s private whatever it was? Looking inside for her name didn’t count. “No. Of course not.” He shuffled from foot to foot. What was it about this girl that made him nervous? “I didn’t get your name back there.” If she knew he’d opened it, he’d never stand a chance. Better to let her give an introduction.
“I didn’t give it,” she said, deadpan.
He chuckled. Kicked a small pebble by his shoe. “Right . . .” He dragged the word out. “Well, then, you leave me no choice but to guess . . . Anna?”
The girl rose, pocketed her phone, and tucked the notebook under one arm. She was short, her forehead only reaching Merrick’s chin, he guessed. He’d have to get closer to know for sure.
She looked him straight on as if assessing his truthfulness
about the notebook. A pearl bracelet on her wrist caught his eye.
Where had he seen it before?
He abandoned his game and said, “I promise.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t read it.” Merrick made an X over his heart with one finger the way he used to with Amaya. “I’ll pinky promise if you like.” Lame. Now she was going to think he was making up an excuse to touch her.
The girl, still nameless, scrunched her eyebrows. “Pinky promise?”
“Aww, seriously? You’ve never pinky promised anyone?”
She shook her head.
Her naiveté was adorable and Merrick couldn’t help himself. “Can I show you?”
She hesitated.
“Please? It’ll just take a second.” Why did he care if she knew how to pinky promise? They were both way too old for this sort of thing.
“Okay.”
“Yeah?” His heart raced faster the longer her eyes remained on his.
This was insane. He’d full on made out with Nikki multiple times. So why did this girl send his confidence packing? They hadn’t even touched yet.
“So it’s . . . you stick out one pinky finger.” He showed her and she copied him. “Then we link.” He stepped close enough that he could smell whatever body lotion or shampoo she used. Like sunscreen and pineapple. Vacation. Escape.
The girl stared up at him. She was impossible to read.
Merrick wrapped his pinky finger around hers and shook it gently. How could a touch so slight raise this many feelings at once? He cleared his throat and backed away. “And that’s a pinky promise. Now you know I didn’t read it.”
“Do I?” She raised one eyebrow. Again, adorable. “How so?”
“Because breaking a pinky promise is treason.” He toed the ground. He needed to get back inside so he could start breaking down the chairs and cleaning up the food. But this girl was so much more interesting.
“What happens if you break it?”
He’d never been asked this before. He and Amaya knew there was no way around the pinky. “I guess if I break it then I have to give you something.”
“Like what?”
His phone vibrated. He ignored it. “What do you want?”
She tilted her head. The longer he studied her, the more he was sure this wasn’t their first meeting. At the same time she said, “A prince,” Merrick asked, “Have we met before?”
“No,” she said almost immediately.
“Are you sure?” He racked his brain. It wasn’t every day he saw eyes like hers. Violet mixed with ocean blue. “I’m pretty sure . . . Wait—” He tried to read the creases in her forehead and the unsure way in which she held herself.
The image of where he’d seen her became clear. It was the reason she’d come to the meeting tonight.
He dropped his gaze.
The first time they’d met had lasted mere seconds, but however short-lived, all he cared to do was forget that night ever happened.
But here she was. In his life again. “I’ve always believed in fate.” Now he was sure it existed.
“Fate is for fairy tales. It doesn’t exist.”
We’ll see about that. “I was there. That night.” He didn’t explain or give more of a reference. When he found her gaze again, he had everything he needed.
The girl blinked, then took a step back, recognition a swirling storm in her eyes.
Everything in him wanted to quiet that storm.
A few people walked past them, talking and chatting. Bastian even waved a thanks to Merrick before he got into his car.
But Merrick kept his eyes on the girl without a name. Not even he thought he was ready to understand everything she had bottled inside. But, for some reason he couldn’t figure, he wanted to. And he told her as much when he said, “I know a prince.”
Her eyes held an ocean of pain, confusion, and maybe even hope?
If it took every last promise he had in him, Merrick was determined to do whatever it took to set that ocean free.
Twenty-Two
Coral
Coral could hardly believe he was real.
The human who had taken her sister. He’d been here all along.
And he claimed he knew a prince.
Did she dare believe him? A human? Her grandmother hoped going to the meeting would help her move past her pain. It was pain that drove Coral toward her goal. Was she supposed to ignore what happened to her sister?
No. She would never forget. Not in a hundred mermaid years.
When the boy didn’t stop staring, she crossed her arms and searched for the anger that eternally lingered an inch beneath her surface.
“There is goodness in them,” the Sorceress had said. “Give them a chance.”
“They’ve had their chance.” Coral was tired of having the same argument. Why couldn’t her grandmother see humans for what they were? “They wasted their chance and now the crown princess is gone.”
Her father had been right all along. And Jordan.
Coral hated them for it.
“I’m Merrick, by the way.”
“You said that. Merrick,” she repeated. Why did this name taste different from all the others?
“Be careful.”
The once–future queen’s words rose, and Coral made them her own. She had no intention of falling for a human as her sister had, no matter how nice he seemed. Coral would get her revenge and return to the sea. That was the plan.
And nothing would alter it.
But he’d said he knew a prince.
“Where can I find him? The prince.”
“I looked for you afterward. That night.”
Was he avoiding her question? “Okay. Thank you?”
He scratched the back of his head.
A car pulled up to the curb.
“Coral,” she said quickly.
“Coral?”
“My name.”
Now it was Merrick’s turn to eye her. Did he think she was lying?
The car’s passenger-side window rolled down. “Hi, dear, did you have a good time?”
Coral looked at her grandmother, then back at Merrick.
“Who’s this nice young man?” her grandmother asked.
Merrick opened his mouth at the same time Coral said, “No one. Let’s go.” She winced at her own harsh words. Then winced again for caring. What was wrong with her? She shouldn’t care what this human felt.
“Okay.” Merrick opened the door for her. “I’ll see you next week then?”
“She’ll be back, son. Don’t you worry.” Her grandmother winked at him and heat rose to Coral’s cheeks as she climbed inside the car.
Merrick closed the door and leaned down. He offered his pinky. “I’ll tell you about the prince next time?” He waited there with his elbow on the open window frame. Whispered, “Coral.”
She looked back at her grandmother who pretended not to notice their exchange. She didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. She only wanted to use the human to find the prince her sister had mentioned.
She linked her pinky with his and shook it once, then released. Coral would not let it go past that. No doubt he wanted the same thing her sister’s prince had taken. This boy hoped to crush her heart and leave her in time for Red Tide to rear its ugly crest.
He reached out to me. He cared when no one else—
No. She would not allow herself to return to that naive way of thinking. That had been before the Abyss. Before the crown princess’s tears and human legs and Red Tide and Duke’s glare and Jordan’s disregard and Father’s—
Coral blinked away the sting in her eyes. She pulled the button on the door and the window rose.
The boy watched her through the glass. She could feel his gaze even after they drove away.
“He seemed nice,” her grandmother said when they pulled onto Main Street.
Coral offered no comment. She was tired of everything. She was . . . tired. Beyond the glass, streetlights winked and shop lights blinked off for th
e evening. She clutched her notebook. These pages were the only ones who understood.
Coral had taken to writing down whatever she could, whenever she could. The words found her in the middle of the night. When the nightmares surfaced and the ache for her oldest sister flourished. She opened to a blank page and removed the pen that had been clipped to the back cover. With the streetlights as her guide, she bled fresh words in black ink, forcing herself to relive the pain, a reminder of why she had chosen humanity in the first place.
I’ve discovered the secret to breathing underwater, she wrote.
Don’t.
Hold your breath as long as you can.
Count to ten, then twenty, then thirty.
Don’t breathe. Don’t surface until the nothing comes . . .
“Do you want to talk about it?” her grandmother asked when they turned onto the dark, winding road that led to their cottage.
“No.”
Her grandmother sighed. “Your sister would have wanted—”
“Don’t you dare presume to know what she wanted.” Coral’s hands shook and the pen dropped, leaving a long, ugly, permanent mark across the page.
“I know more than you think,” the Sorceress said. “She was my granddaughter before she was your sister.” Her voice sounded hurt, choked and strangled.
Coral had no words. She’d been cruel and longed for who she had once been. The optimistic little mermaid who believed the right words could fix anything. That the light was always there, waiting for her to find it.
Now Coral lived for darkness. She survived on it. Drank it in until it filled every crevice and grotto inside. Each day that passed without the crown princess acted as a dagger to her spine, paralyzing her until she couldn’t move. She would find the prince.
And she would destroy him.
As they pulled into the driveway behind the cottage, all Coral could think about was Merrick’s promise.
