Critias snapped his fingers, and a haggard girl swam into the room. Her straw-like hair was cut tight to her head. If I had not grown up with her, I would have thought she was a boy.
“You know Zelda?”
I nodded.
“You and Zelda are a lot alike, too.” Critias mused as he unrolled the scroll. “Zelda thought she had something worth bargaining, too.” He cut Zelda a look, and she cowered into herself like a sea turtle would their shell. “Everybody thinks they have something.” Critias opened the desk drawer, his black eyes pinning me where I was. “What do I get if you fail?”
I knew what Critias wanted.
It was why my mother would not talk to me, why my sister hated my guts, and the main reason my father tested the waters for our escape. The only thing Critias ever wanted from my family was … me.
His lips curled up, revealing his jagged saber teeth. Before I could offer myself, he quickly asked, “You still think you’ve got what it takes?”
I nodded.
“The gumption to deceive a human for your own gain?”
I nodded, the lump in my throat growing.
“The cojones to take a man’s soul when you know you’ll hear his plea swimming in your brain for the rest of your life?”
My stomach turned, but I nodded.
“Then sign your soul away.” He held out a jeweled pen, keeping the match to the set in his other hand. Two marks on our hearts, the winner would have their mark removed, the loser would forever be branded a slave. In this case, I would be branded Critias’ one and only.
I grabbed the shaft, jutting out my chin to stave off the tremble, and pressed the end into my heart. Critias did the same, and our matching marks burned into the scroll on the table.
“So much like your father.” Critias chuckled. “You better leave now, before I change my mind.”
3
Rick
If my sister weren’t my last living relative, I’d kill her. My fingers dug into my hips like they had a mind of their own and knew Roxanne had pushed me right up to edge of control. Roxy’s cobalt blue eyes narrowed to sharp little ice daggers, daring me to challenge her.
“Are you going say anything, Rick?” She pushed.
“Nope.” I pulled the dishrag from my back pocket and turned my back on the girl. It was a dangerous stunt, especially with Roxy. “You’re right. You are eighteen.” I stole a quick glance in time to see her chest puff up in victory. “But you’re technically still dependent on me.”
“How do you figure?”
I turned on the water and started soaping up our dinner dishes.
Two dinner dishes.
The ache twisted its gnarly fingers around my heart and then gave one good squeeze.
Two dishes when there used to be three.
One set of hands tackled what two used to do.
And zero patience … well, the zero patience was always there when it came to Roxy and her demands.
“Are you going to answer me?” Roxy pushed.
I caught her evil-sea-witch glare and helped her scowl find its way to the second dishtowel, the one Mom would’ve been using.
Roxanne eyed the scrap of cloth like it was a ghost. In some ways, it was. We’d been bumping into ghosts of Mom’s past since we buried her a year ago. They’d quieted down a bit, but they always seemed to rear their ugly heads when Roxy and I didn’t see eye to eye or when we were in a moment that Mom would’ve made a mental snapshot of. This wasn’t one of those times. This was Roxy being headstrong and demanding. I stole a quick glance over my shoulder to see if she’d run off.
She hadn’t.
She wouldn’t.
Roxy never ran away from anything. Well, if she was going to pull the I’m-eighteen-and-an-adult card, then she could handle all the nasty guilt and pain that came along with it.
A deep and jagged breath joined my sister’s soft stomp to my side. Her sideways glare met my sideways plea. This wasn’t easy for either of us. I didn’t need her adding to the drama llama. Her shoulders sagged a little before she swiped up the dishtowel and grabbed the second plate from my hand with enough force ceramic shards should have embedded themselves into my fingertips.
“Answer,” she hissed.
“I’m the executor of the trust.”
“My name is on that trust, too.”
“Yes, when you turn twenty-one or hand me a college diploma.”
“Yeah, right,” Roxy muttered under breath.
I scoffed, knowing Roxy and college were like an oil barge and the ocean—neither were willing to budge and both would be irrevocably damaged if they crossed paths—and handed her a cup.
“College is fun.” I pushed. “Lots of sorority parties and guys to help you with keg stands.”
Roxy popped a hip while her eyes bulged. “How are we related?”
I smiled, knowing it didn’t reach my eyes. That was one secret she’d have to learn when she turned twenty-one.
We weren’t.
I was discovering Mom had a Davy Jones’ locker full of secrets, and none I could share with Roxanne Martin until she was twenty-one.
“By Mom’s love and my ability to execute good decisions.”
Roxy doubled over in hysterics.
I chuckled. My little sister hadn’t laughed like this in over a year. Odds were it was probably at my expense.
“You almost done?” I dunked my hands back into the soapy water and started on the pan with a little more zeal than was normal. The whole world revolved around Roxy, and—if I were being honest—she’d handled the last year like a freaking champ.
Homecoming Queen, no Mom.
Prom Queen, no Mom.
Valedictorian, no Mom.
Full ride to Scripps and Texas A&M about to be pissed away. Well, that would have happened with or without Mom’s presence.
Truth. Roxy had a contagious little giggle. And when you got her really good and going, she’d snort.
Snort. Roxy lost it and slid down the cabinets, cackling all the way.
I dropped the pan, letting it clunk to the bottom and joined her. Her infectious cackle had sorely been missed in this house.
After a few minutes, she quieted down, and the uneasiness of Mom’s absence ebbed back into the room.
“Where is it you want to go again?”
Roxy’s shoulders straightened, but she kept her gaze fixed on something far away. “Miami.”
“Why?”
“Senior trip. Molly, Kelly, Tia, and Beth are leaving in the morning.”
“And they’re joining…”
“Misty, Sarah, Amy, and Liz.”
“Hmm.”
Roxy scooched closer into my side, just like she’d do when she was a kid and wanted my help swaying Mom. This time, she was swaying me. I looked down and caught a glimpse of those big blue eyes and knew I was done for. God help the boy who signed on for a life with Roxanne Bonny Martin.
“Fine.”
Roxanne scurried up off the floor, squealing like a giddy seagull. I swear her feet never touched the ground, which made my stipulation a little hard to dish out.
“Roxy.” I interrupted, but she was already on the phone declaring me the coolest big brother in the world and singing praises of my awesomeness to…
“Beth! I know!”
Beth. I liked Beth, she’d been Roxy’s best friend since the third grade.
“Rox,” I tried again. “There’s one stipulation.”
Roxanne’s body stilled, her eyes cutting in my direction as her face fell. “Hold on. My coolest brother in the world is about to totally suck sea snails with a stipulation.”
I felt my lip kick up in a grin. “It’s a small stipulation.”
“Let me call you back, Beth.” Roxanne hung up on her friend. “The more you tell me how little the stipulation is the bigger it actually is.”
I rocked back on my heels, and Roxanne’s eyes flared.
“No!” My pint-sized hurricane of a sister started st
orming around the kitchen. “You’re rocking on your heels.” She pulled her fingers through her hair in true drama llama flare. “Rick!”
“I’m coming with you,” I said the same time she said, “Like hell you’re coming with me.”
“That’s my stipulation.” I leaned against the kitchen sink, bracing myself for the full force of her fury. Her copper-red hair swayed back and forth the denial I already knew was headed my way. I smiled. It’d been a long time since we’d gone toe-to-toe in a good ole fashioned sibling squabble. If this build up was any indicator, this was going to be a hell of a fight. I stole a quick glance at my watch, but still my sister kept quiet. The ends of her hair stilled. The calm more frightening than standing naked in the eye of a hurricane.
“Roxy,” I tested.
She peeked at me through her curtain of hair, blue eyes burning like the hottest part of a flame.
“Fine,” she whispered, flipping her hair out of her face and into one of those makeshift messy things on the top of her head.
I shifted, steadying myself for the sideswipe. “Fine?”
“Fine.” She grabbed her cellphone from her back pocket and started punishing the keys. “I mean. You said, I’m technically still under your reign, right?”
“I don’t think reign is the right word.”
“If I want a senior trip, then my big brother tags along, right?”
I nodded, not buying the easy way she was accepting all of this.
“Well, big brother, our plane leaves in the morning.”
My phone pinged.
“I sent you the flight info and the hotel where we’re staying. If you’re coming, you’d better get to it.” Roxanne smiled, holding her phone up to her ear and giving me an I-dare-you look that would normally have me seeing red.
“Hey, Beth. Nope. I’m still coming. So’s Ricky.”
“Rick,” I muttered, swiping the phone and realizing my little sister had screwed my pocketbook as much as she had the week’s vacation I’d negotiated before starting my teaching gig at the community college.
The warm and humid Miami air sucked the breath out of my lungs the minute I stepped off the airplane. Early evening with an ocean breeze and there wasn’t even a hint of relief. And I thought August in College Station, Texas, was bad.
I was twelve hours behind Roxy and her girlfriends.
Twelve hours was a hell of a lot a time for my little sister and her band of merry maid of hookers to get into trouble.
Okay, they weren’t hookers, but they were sure anxious to change their Ms. statuses to Mrs.
Debutants through and through. Eight of Roxy’s besties had baked, cried, and casseroled us through all the stages of grief this past year. I was sure things would have been a lot harder on Roxy had they not been by her side.
Still. I couldn’t be all Team Roxy’s Posse when I was in Miami and sweating in places that should only be wet in pornos.
I hoisted my backpack onto my shoulder and rolled my carryon toward the Uber driver’s car. His beady little eyes darted back and forth, probably evaluating what kind of rating I’d leave him.
He rolled down the window, easing over the consul. “You Rick?”
“Yep.” I said, grabbing the door and sliding in.
“I’m Ted. Make yourself at home. There’s water and mints.” Ted pulled the car away from the curb. “You’re headed to the Trade Wind Hotel?”
“Yep.” I paused, catching the tone in his voice. “What’s wrong with the Trade Wind Hotel?”
“Nothing.”
But I could hear the much he’d left out in his tone.
I pulled out my cell and called Roxy. Straight to voicemail, of course. I tapped the back of the case, already smelling Roxy’s double cross. I knew she’d given up too easy. I scrolled through my contacts and found Beth’s mom’s number. It was a dick thing to do –snitching on the girls- but I was about a million percent certain Roxy and her girlfriends weren’t staying at the Trade Wind.
I’d get an ear lashing about my responsibilities as a chaperone, but I wasn’t about to spend the night roaming the hotels of Miami looking for my sister.
“Hey, Mrs. Evans.” I cringed at the gasp. “Yes, ma’am. It’s Rick Martin.”
The Uber driver chuckled.
“No, I just landed. I’m sure the girls are fine. No, I didn’t fly with them. What?” I felt my eyebrows skyrocket up my face at Mrs. Evans’ confusion that I wasn’t on the plane with the girls if I was chaperoning the whole adventure. If she didn’t like that I wasn’t on the plane, then the fact that I had no idea where the girls were staying was going to go over like a cow in a slaughter house. “There was a miscommunication. Mrs. Evans, I don’t mean to be rude, but I just wanted to confirm what hotel the girls told you—” The shriek through the line nearly burst my eardrum and made Ted jump, too.
I pinched the bridge of my nose; counting all the ways I was going to murder my little sister.
“Mrs. Evans.” I cut off the middle-aged queen of College Station Society. “I don’t mean to cut you off, but I’m sure the girls are just playing a prank. If you’d just…”
Mrs. Evans sputtered and then spouted off Coconut Palms Key West.
“Key West?” I hissed.
“Thanks, Mrs. Evans.” I didn’t wait for the formal southern goodbye or admonishment before disconnecting and turning my attention to my Uber driver. “How you wanna do this, man?”
Ted the driver smiled, and I knew my perfect rating was about to take a serious hit because of Roxy and her need to deceive.
By the time Ted and I made it to Coconut Palms, I was officially fourteen hours behind my little sister. Fourteen hours. I shook my head and tipped Ted. I knew why she was here.
Why she lied.
This was where I told her mom had died, a tragic diving accident exploring the Vandenberg wreckage.
I checked in, showered, and headed down stairs. The pretty blonde at the front desk tipped me off the girls had already left for a night on the town.
Me and a night in the Keys; I couldn’t think of anything worse. I swiped a towel and found a lounge chair where I could hear the shrill of a dozen giddy girls and their ohmigawds! coming back from a night of dancing instead of the roar of the surf. The crash of the waves on the sand used to be the song of my soul. Those days it only made me twitch and want to run. Soft sounds of calypso players came from the poolside bar, floating on the warm breeze.
I closed my eyes, willing my pulse to settle. It’d been a year since I’d been near the water, let alone in it. I’d pretty much sworn off ever stepping a toe in the dangerous waters and shifted my attention toward teaching.
Someone had to warn divers about the dangers below the surface.
Despite my hatred of the ocean, the crash and swish of the waves worked the tension out of my muscles. A cool breeze danced along the humidity on my skin, and before I knew it, the world seemed peaceful again.
The memories washed in like sand stirred up by a swell. Swirling up fear, anger, and like always just before the fingers of anxiety grabbed hold and pulled me under, the outline of a face wearing a crown fashioned out of water.
And those eyes.
Dark brown fathoms a man could lose himself in. I kicked out of the hold the vicious memories of my last dive always seemed to hold.
The way we were ambushed.
Mom’s outstretched hand disappearing in a sea of red before I lost consciousness.
I shook off the image. The dive master said we’d been attacked by a pod of sirens, but the coast guard was certain it was negligence. The official conclusion was our regulators were “improperly maintained.” Mom’s lungs bled out, and by some twist of fate, I’d managed to kick to the surface before passing out. The crazy-ass dive master had his blood alcohol tested and his charter license revoked.
But I didn’t think he was half wrong. It wasn’t Mom’s regulator. Mom was too damn meticulous to make a mistake like that. We’d been ambushed by … something.
I just wasn’t ready to call it merpeople.
“Ohmigawd!” echoed behind me.
I jumped off the lounge chair, wobbling as my travel-weary legs tried to keep up, and skidded on the marble floors of the lobby.
Copper hair swished back and forth as Roxy turned the corner.
“Roxy!” I shouted, not carrying about the disgruntled looks I received from an older couple. If they really wanted to be offended, they needed to stick around when I let into my little sister.
My blood started to boil as I followed her out the back of the hotel and down to the marina. She waved to a group of guys in the distance and picked up her pace. Like hell the girl was getting on a boat.
With boys!
A gust of wind kicked off the water, carrying a new scent.
“Roxy,” I hollered, but she didn’t stop. Didn’t even acknowledge I’d called her name, which only ramped up my anger. I took off in a full-out run. Sweat trickled down my back as I closed the distance between us.
Roxy’s little skirt ruffled in the wind. The clank of the marina’s metal gangplank laughed at me as she hopped onto the boat slips. She was in so much trouble. I could have laughed off the ditch, would’ve understood the need to stretch her you’re-not-the-boss-of-me muscles, but this was just disrespectful.
And dangerous.
I wrapped my fingers around her arm and spun her up onto her tiptoes. But where blue eyes should have been, I found wide brown eyes and the shocked little O forming on blood red lips.
“You’re not Roxanne,” I whispered the same time her knee hit—
I crumbled to the ground, all the air rushing out of my lungs as my scrotum clawed its way up inside me.
“Ricky!” Roxy’s shrill voice came from behind. “Don’t hurt Sirena,” my little sister commanded. I could barely pull air into my lungs, let alone do any harm, like I would. I wasn’t a total dick.
“This is your brother?” The girl pointed at me, the crumpled mess of man.
The metal gangplank bounced me and my tenders as the rest of the girls ran down. Their squeals of concerns mixed with the blood rushing in my head. Rolling of the edge of the dock seemed like a hell of a way to silence them all. And maybe have a shot at kids one day.
Sirens and Scales Page 401
