by Starla Night
“It means I had a plan, Herc. A plan to placate the merman, use the cure on my child, and also get you your flower.”
“You never told us that was your plan.”
“How should I have contacted you? I got mugged on the way to my date. They stole my phone along with your necklace.”
“You should have told us anyway.”
“How? Using smoke signals?”
“Well, you should have followed our plan, not acted like you were betraying us.”
“Oh, excuse me very much. Last I checked, I was the double agent, not you.”
“You’re not the only one who’s put their life on the line. We need the flower or else.”
“The situation is dynamic. Not only do the mermen sense cameras and recordings, but they can also tell when a person is lying.”
“He can?”
“He can see soul lights. They show him when you’re telling the truth.” She leaned back and crossed her ankles, stretching. “I was trying to fulfill our goals without tipping him off, and I almost succeeded. But you had to attack me and ruin everything. When just a few more hours—”
“We can’t wait. You need to get us a replacement.”
“A replacement of the only Life Tree blossom in existence on the surface. Mmm. Where shall I get this for you? The local florist?”
“Since the monster likes you, you’re going to swim to Atlantis and take it off the Life Tree.”
It was an option.
She’d have to transform. Collect the blossom. And to activate the nectar, she and Balim would have to kiss.
The memory of his lips—and their taste and heat—made her belly shiver.
She examined her fingers. She’d taken the bandages off that night at home, and her skin had already healed. She rubbed her thumb over the smooth skin. No scabs or scars.
Every touch healed her.
Her every touch poisoned him.
“I don’t have time.” She picked up her own cell phone again and scrolled through the hospitals. Perhaps out of state. She’d have to quit her job. No way could she stay in this apartment building. “Thanks to your shenanigans, I have to find a new hospital for my son.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“Correct. Just like your wish for a Life Tree blossom isn’t mine.”
Starr printed a message on her phone. The signal is coming from the same cell tower.
So, he was close. Honestly, he was probably the delivery kid with the messenger bag. She’d have to ask Harv for his security camera footage. Maybe they could get a picture.
“You’re the merman’s bride, Bella. He’ll take you there.”
“Balim can’t offer me a single thing that would tempt me to leave all this behind, and believe me, I wish he could. What makes you think you have more to offer?”
“You need money.”
“You can’t pay me enough.”
He turned aggressive. “Do what we want, or you’ll regret it.”
“I already regret it.” She sighed and scrolled to the next state. “I regret thinking you were mature enough to wait for an intact flower. I regret not mace-tasing you when you attacked me. I regret leaving you the petals instead of giving it to a lab with the ability to analyze its properties and make important discoveries for mankind.”
“There’s nothing to discover about a moldy flower.”
“Oh, I suppose you have a secret government lab at your disposal.”
“Actually, we—” The line cut.
Did they have a high-level lab? Government funding? A private, rich, malevolent head behind their group pulling strings?
Or was this college kid bragging to sound bigger than he was?
And what did he mean he needed the Life Tree flower because others had risked their lives?
Mysteries upon mysteries, which the police would untangle when they arrested everyone.
She reached for her recording device to shut it off and archive the conversation.
The newly delivered phone rang again.
She started a new recording and accepted the call. “So you have a secret lab full of high-level scientists at your disposal, they analyzed the petals, and you found nothing valuable at all?”
“Bella Taylor.” The distorted tone changed rhythm as though another person was speaking. “You will return to the monster. You will accept his offer of marriage. You will go to his Life Tree, and you will bring us one of those flowers with the nectar inside, alive.”
This call is not local, Starr messaged her. It’s from the Financial District downtown.
“Mmm,” she said blandly. “Will I?”
“Or else your son—”
“Stop.” Her heart thudded in her throat. “You do not threaten my son.”
“Now, you understand—”
“You do not threaten him, or this ends.” She shot to her feet and paced between boxes in the small apartment. “I go to the police. I give them everything I have on you. Everything.”
“You don’t have anything.”
Starr had a lot, but Bella had something even more important. And the words flowed out of her mouth with fury.
“I have your threat. I take that to work. Do you know where I work? Do you know what I do?”
The caller fell silent.
“I design high-level ad campaigns.” She lifted her fingers and ticked off her next steps. “I take your threat against my son, and I craft my masterwork. My mission is to end your organization. You portray yourselves as scrappy heroes fighting inhuman ‘monsters who steal women’ and a bunch of closed-minded, ignorant people give you a pass. But how many average people do you think will let it slide once you, in your own words, threaten a sick, helpless, adorable little human boy?”
The caller’s tone was remarkably chastened. “I threatened nothing.”
“Yes, I know. I would have hung up. Threats against me are stupid and shortsighted, but I will not entertain threats against my child. Not a breath, a hint, or a suggestion.”
Silence met her rant.
She took a deep breath and straightened. “How would you like to proceed, Herc? As friends? Or as enemies?”
“Let’s go back to being friends,” the caller drawled, syllables elongated in the distortion. “How can I make you happy, Bella Taylor?”
“I’m so glad you asked.” She returned to her seat with a huff. “You realize there’s only one thing in this world I want.”
“A cure for your son?”
“And you ripped it out of my hands with your violent attack.”
“I won’t deny that staffing has been an issue, but the Sons of Hercules doesn’t have a cure for leukemia.”
“I want the next best thing.” She drummed her fingers on the table.
Bella wanted Jonah to see his eleventh birthday. Running. Outside. At a park, between the swings and the slides, with roses in his cheeks and a smile the size of Texas, and hair. Adorable ginger-colored hair. Like hers, only lighter. Thick handfuls on his head, growing wild because he’d been cancer-free for a year.
There was one other possible cure.
Chaz.
When a human doesn’t respond to Sea Opals, I would rely on human medicine.
“What is the next best thing?” Herc prompted.
“A donation.”
“More money?”
“Blood,” she corrected, leaning forward once more. “I’m looking for a match. With a small capital investment of a million dollars, you will help me get it.”
Herc laughed. “For a million dollars, Bella Taylor, I expect the Atlantis Life Tree itself delivered to my office.”
His office? This terrorist had an office. An internship in the Financial District, perhaps? Maybe he was the resident adviser.
“Help me cure Jonah, and I’ll see what I can do,” she returned, hoping that Starr was logging everything.
“Before I invest, let me ask you a question. It’s one of those cutesy ethics questions they ask in business intervie
ws.” He cleared his throat; the distortion squealed. “A train has derailed, and the conductor can make one last choice before he crashes. On the right is a group of ten adults. On the left is a single child, your son. Someone will die. Which direction do you steer?”
“If that single child is Jonah, then I would destroy anyone else.”
“Even if you killed ten people?”
“Even if I smashed into Times Square during the Thanksgiving Day Parade. It’s not even a question.”
He laughed again. “I believe you would, Bella Taylor, and that’s why I will forward you that million dollars and watch you try.”
Herc would forward the money?
Starr could trace it. The other payment had been encrypted and too small, but a million dollars should involve the FBI.
“I assume you accept cryptocurrency,” Herc continued, sinking some of her hopes. “It’s all the rage on the dark market.”
“Ah, well—”
“But first, let me ask you just one more hypothetical question.”
“Go ahead,” she said, still breathless with the possibilities.
“What would you do if the only cure for your son required you to cut out the merman Balim’s heart?”
Balim’s face flashed in front of her mind. Sexy, dark, mysterious. Hurt and lonely. Also like her.
Heartbroken.
The forming plan didn’t require Balim. She’d cut him off for both of their sakes. The more time she spent around him, the harder it would be when they separated.
And yet she suddenly needed to go to him now.
Before it was too late.
“That depends, Herc.” She leaned back in her seat again and crossed her ankles. “Do I get to use a sharp knife or a dull spoon?”
“Your choice.” But as if he’d received the answer he wished, Herc’s voice dropped to dark amusement. “Enjoy a lovely weekend, Bella Taylor.”
The phone clicked.
Balim was in danger. Bella sat up straight and planned with Starr. Herc’s wish had been more than a pleasantry.
No, it was a threat.
The Sons of Hercules were moving. This weekend. Against Balim.
Chapter Nine
Balim crossed the parking lot, past the missing chunk of concrete shattered in the blast, and scratched at the center of his back. No matter how he contorted, he couldn’t reach the itch.
Just like no matter how his soul cried for Bella, he would not go to her.
He had failed her as a warrior, as a healer, and as a male.
Roxanne exited the building, waved at him, and checked her watch. It was beeping. She talked over the noise at her usual fast pace.
“I’ve only got a moment. I have to catch a plane to my baby sister’s wedding. She’s got the most beautiful ceremony planned, and her fiancé is such a doll. And I must tell you, she loves him for his personality and not his looks—just like Pelan, you know, who hasn’t the best health—because despite being a sweetie, her fiancé has never seen an orthodontist, and, to be honest, neither has she. They’re going to have adorable buck-toothed children.”
She tapped her front teeth.
“Anyway, since Mitch has to be at his son’s recital tonight and it’s a skeleton crew on account of the weekend, I’ve made sure the night security officers will keep the place locked. Pelan’s got color in his cheeks, or at least he did a few minutes ago when I was at his bedside and we exchanged a few words, and I can’t help feeling like I shouldn’t go, but weddings are like babies, they’re on their own schedule, and this one isn’t on mine.”
“I will stay vigilant,” Balim promised.
“Sure you will, and I’m not trying to imply differently. I know things have been hard what with the added warriors due in this week and still no hospital finished, but those vicious Sons of Hercules running around like nasty-tempered shark-mouthed geese. Oh, I have to go, that’s my alarm.
“Call Dannika and check she’s made the arrangements for where these warriors will stay, and let me know if anyone from Systems Tech calls; they have an offer on our data management system. The tank’s repaired, and Mitch has just finished filling it, so as soon as you go in, you can move Pelan, and I’m sure he’ll get better again under the water.”
“Yes, we will move him right away.”
“I could stay to help.”
“Your wedding—”
“Oh, and before I forget, that Doctor Kowalski called. I think he’s looking for a job, and although we can’t afford to pay him, we sure could use a hand; especially once Pelan is up and about again, although I’m happy to give him my hands if they would help. My alarm again. I’ll see you on Wednesday, and I hope things go well.
“Although, you know, I could come back early. My family has seen little of me in the past decade, and several aunts I intended to catch up with, but I can’t help feeling like something’s about to go terribly wrong, so if you need me, I could cut my visit short.”
“Your alarm,” Balim observed on her behalf.
“Yes. Well, I really must go, or I’m going to be terribly late. In fact, I already am. I can’t stand here listening to you while my plane flies away without me. Unless you think I should stay for the health of Pelan.”
“I will assist Pelan,” he assured her.
“Okay. All right. Good day, then.” She hurried away, worry still wrinkling her brow and her crinkly hair flying in the wind.
Balim continued into the building and wound through the halls to the bed where Pelan was resting. He lay alone on a bed, but his eyes were open, not seeking the hall where he might watch his bride, but instead straining for the distant road as though watching someone drive away.
Balim checked his appearance. “You look well for a warrior who has relied on human bed rest for a week.”
Pelan lay back with a sigh. His voice emerged, weak, from his dry, chapped lips. “How do humans heal without a Life Tree?”
“Very slowly.”
“It is terrible.” He winced and rested the meat of his palm against the edge of the seaweed bandaging his chest. “I feel hollow. As though my heart has fallen into a deep hole.”
“Your bride will return soon.”
He held Balim’s gaze. The red-and-black threads in his eyes glimmered with fear. “It does not comfort.”
“She will.” Balim had seen fear many times. “And once she becomes a queen, she will heal you much quicker.”
He released Balim’s gaze and stared out the window. “She does not wish to be here. That is why she continues to escape me. She left me on the land, and she does not wish to reenter the water.”
“Of course she wishes to be with you.” His own words tasted dry like salt powder in his mouth. “On your very first coffee date, she drank the elixir. She shared your kiss, and she’s transformed into a mermaid. All that remains is for you to go to Atlantis, marry beside the Life Tree, and produce a young fry.”
He shook his head.
“Do not give in to fear, Pelan. Your health will improve once your mind calms.”
“I am calm.” His soul light flamed cool but steady, giving truth to his words. “And I do not fear. Perhaps I am not destined to find a bride.”
“All warriors find their soul mates.”
“Faier did not find his.” Pelan sucked in a breath and winced. “I have found mine. She refuses to stay by my side. And I do not care. My words taunt me when I speak them aloud. Perhaps you are right. I am unwell.” He closed his eyes.
Balim’s stomach dipped.
If Pelan’s illness caused his soul to separate from his bride’s, then he suffered an illness the mer could not repel. Some terrible curse.
Oannes’ Curse. Also known as…
No, he couldn’t say it.
He lifted the edge of the seaweed. A deep wound pocked Pelan’s breast plate; his body had not filled in the mass, and his bone poked beneath the thin, red scar of flesh.
No telltale blue ring of death. It was not Oannes’ Curse. Pela
n was merely exhausted and ill in human form.
Balim sealed the seaweed once more. “Rest here. I will check on the tank and return.”
Pelan faced the window once more.
He looked so vulnerable, and yet he had found his bride. What about the new warriors arriving from Atlantis? Roxanne was correct to worry. Without brides, the warriors would have no hope of healing from a traumatic wound.
He must finish the hospital.
Balim conferenced with Mitch, stripped off his clothes, and dove into the filled tank. His long separate fins unfurled from his feet. He rested on the bottom, on his knees, and took in the liquid via his gills, tasting it. It was clean and shiny. A long crack fractured his view. But it would hold water.
Mitch walked a woozy Pelan into the lab. Pelan’s female helped him on the other side. They sat the warrior, shaking, on a chair. He looked ill.
Balim kicked for the surface, popped up over the side, and grasped the stepladder. His lungs pushed out the water and sealed his gills in his lower back while his fins shrank back into his toes. He put one human foot on the top step and pulled himself the rest of the way out.
“We ready?” Mitch asked.
“The water is prepared.” Balim clambered down the steps nude. “Where is Pelan’s Sea Opal?”
Pelan’s bride frowned and patted her loose bathrobe. “I left it in my shirt.”
“Keep it beside his heart. Always.”
“It was,” she muttered, glancing daggers at him as she hurried out of the room, then returned right away with the smooth gemstone. Her nervousness eased as she returned to Pelan. He leaned on her with his eyes closed.
He, Mitch, and Pelan’s bride helped Pelan up the ladder and into the water. The bride slipped off her robe at the last moment, hung it on the upper step, hugged her chest, and dove. As usual, her gills emerged, but she could not yet shift toes to fins.
“Pelan’s looking a little worn,” Mitch murmured behind his hand.
“So long as he experiences no more shocks, he will recover.” Balim pulled on human clothing, tugging the slacks up his dripping legs and buttoning his stuck-damp shirt. “Set the aerator and filter. The water must stay pristine.”
Mitch checked it.
