Exhilarated, I trail my right hand across the wave’s face and then crank my hips up and over so that the board shifts into a sharp cutback. I’m gliding over the foamy crest, nearly suspended in air for a breathless moment and then slipping back down onto the face. By the time the wave starts to run out of steam, I’m on fire, adrenaline rushing through my entire body.
The cheering from the beach is deafening as I pump a triumphant fist in the air and somersault off my board over the back of the wave. I surf several more waves, even doing a three-sixty spin and a back flip off the last one, before heading back to the beach.
But once I’m back and surrounded by unfamiliar faces, I remember the figure I spotted from the lineup. I summon Speio and tell him in a few short words what I might have seen.
His eyes widen as he scans the crowd. “Are you sure that’s what you saw? A hybrid?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was a trick of the sunlight.”
“I’ll check it out.”
A grinning Sawyer thumps me on the back, along with a giant throng of people yelling out all kinds of greetings, as Speio melts into the crowd.
“Feel better?” Jenna asks me with a knowing smile.
“Yeah.”
“Good. You totally rocked it out there. No one,” she says pointedly, “could keep their eyes off you.” The lurch of happiness in my chest is squashed by the sudden warning look in her eyes at someone over my shoulder. “Speaking of...”
“Jenna, help me with these boards, will you?” Sawyer yells out. She throws me an apologetic look and shrugs, mouthing, Sorry. As she leaves, I turn around to face a very impressed Lo and his not-so impressed entourage of Cara and her cronies.
“You were brilliant,” he breathes, extending his hand for a high five. I slap it with mine, wincing at the torture of the too-brief contact, and fight the urge to beat a hasty retreat up the beach behind Jenna.
“Thanks,” I murmur, glancing at the others beside him. “Cara,” I manage civilly.
In response, she drapes a possessive arm around Lo’s waist. “Oh, hey, Nerissa, didn’t know you were back.”
Sure she didn’t. Last semester, I found out that Cara had lived with a foster family before enrolling at Dover, where her uncle—Cano—was principal. In some small way, she, too, was an outsider trying to fit in. She and Lo became friends, probably because they connected over the whole foster-life similarities. Lo told me that she’d never felt she could confide in anyone until she met him, and he liked being able to help. Deep down, I know I shouldn’t fault Cara. Of all people, I know what it’s like to want to run away from who you are—I did that for the past few years, and my people paid the price. I just wish she wasn’t so smug and obnoxious all the time, but then again, maybe that’s a front, too.
“Yes,” I say. “Back for the semester.”
Cara’s voice is an insidious purr. “I think you’ll find that senior year is going to be a lot different from junior year. There’ve been a few interesting changes. I can help you work those out if you like.”
Or maybe it isn’t a front...maybe she’s just Cara, plain and simple.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I say coolly, refusing to let my eyes follow the motion of her palm against Lo’s rib cage. I fight an equally violent urge to smash her pretty face in with the sharp end of my board. Instead I look away with effort. “I think I can manage on my own.”
“You do that,” she says. “Lo, you coming? We’re going to get floats.”
“In a sec,” he says to her. “I’ll catch up.”
Cara shoots me one of her oh-so-familiar death glares of impressive proportions and I wink back, taking small pleasure at the instant heat blooming in her cheeks. Despite knowing that sinking to her level won’t solve anything, I can’t help giving in to the desire to make her suffer just a tiny bit for the grope-fest she just flaunted in my face.
“So, how amazing were you out there?” Lo says, shaking his head in admiration.
I try valiantly not to blush, or in my case, go all bioluminescent at his sincere compliment. “Thanks. Would you believe it if I told you that you used to surf pretty much exactly like that before?”
“There’s no way I could surf like you.” The warmth in his voice is deep and velvety, doing things to me that leave me breathless. And his eyes...I force my gaze away, looking for anything to stop those eyes from breaking me into a million pieces.
I swallow and force a smile to my lips. “You did, and you will. One day. It will all come back...all of it.”
“I hope so.”
His whisper is soft, wistful almost—I don’t know why it sounds like a promise, but something in it does. And for a second, looking into those earnest, bottomless blue eyes, I let myself hope, too.
It is dark and empty—a cavernous, echoless abyss. There’s no light, only oily black depths beneath and beside me. I am but a speck at its epicenter. I scream, but the only thing that escapes my mouth is a mute bubble that floats away into the ever-deepening silence. I thrash, my arms and tail caught in the motionless void. It is futile.
I am trapped.
Something snakelike slithers down my arm, and then another and another, until my body is fraught with it. Glowing red eyes appear in the distance, drawing closer and closer, blackened tentacles bleeding outward and encircling me.
Ehmora.
“You’re dead,” I say. “We killed you.”
“Did you?” The voice laughs, the sound like a volley of bullets. “Then why am I here?”
“You’re a ghost. A nightmare. Nothing more.”
“So it would seem....”
I jerk upward gasping, sweat dampening my neck and back. My entire body is shaking from the visceral dream. I can still feel her tentacles cutting into me like a fiery brand. Of its own volition, my gaze slides down to the vinelike navy tattoo winding around the tops of my shoulders and neck. I take a breath, banishing the remnants of fear. The tattoo is a mark of the bonding with Lo, nothing more. It’s not alive. There are no tentacles. And Ehmora is dead.
Still, the implication of the dream is haunting. I felt so powerless and alone in the abyss, unable to move or act. The phantom Ehmora’s last words were so utterly chilling...so knowing...that I can’t help the shiver winding its way through me.
Attempting to exorcise my irrational fears, I step out to the patio and into the cool night air and lie back on a lounger to stare into the dark sky. It’s a cloudy night, with no moon or stars visible above. The wind whistles through the tops of the palm trees along the edges of the property, growing louder by the second. The unpredictable shift is in response to me—I’m sure of it.
I’ve always had a tempestuous relationship with weather, and while I’ve learned to harness my emotions, sometimes it’s impossible to keep it all in. For a heartbeat, instead of suppressing my feelings, I release my inner demons, watching as jagged lightning rips the sky into two. Sure enough, the first droplets of rain hit my face and bare legs. The ensuing storm is violent but brief, the angry purple sky fading as the clouds part to reveal a gilded sliver of moon. The release feels good as the rain intensifies into a pelting force and I relish the sting, letting it filter through me. Eventually the rain gentles to something more tender as my thoughts drift to Lo. The drops of water from above mix with the salty tears on my face, and I allow myself the luxury of crying for the first time in months.
A queen must show no weakness.