The Twice Lost

Maybe one day he’d open his mouth, in the middle of a speech or an interview on TV, and that hateful song would scroll out in place of language.

“Are you going to kill me?” Anais asked. From her shell-shocked gaze it was clear that this possibility hadn’t occurred to her before. “You—Secretary Moreland, I’m trying so hard to help you! It’s not my fault!”

Moreland amused himself by scowling brutally at her. She cowered. Even if Anais and the others could be restored to human form, wouldn’t they still be tainted to the core? The possibility might be worth pursuing, though, if only for strategic reasons.

After a moment he relented, reversing his scowl into a broad, affectionate smile. “Of course we won’t kill you, tadpole. You’ve become—very special—to everyone in the know. We practically consider you a mascot.”

Anais turned her smile back on, but her eyes still looked worried.

“You haven’t killed her yet?” Anais’s question, reverberating from the speakers, came as an unwelcome disturbance. “Luce?”

“We’ll get her soon enough,” Moreland snapped. “It’s a long coast, tadpole. Doing electromagnetic surveys of the whole damn thing, identifying likely caves—it’s not quick, and it’s not cheap. It’s work.”

“You mean you don’t even know where she is?” Her voice was almost pitiful. Captivity, it struck Moreland, was starting to wear on her.

“We’ll find your little friend soon,” Moreland sighed. In fact, there’d been no sign of Lucette Korchak since she’d interrupted that raid fifteen days before, killing another operative in the process and taking that tribe’s last surviving mermaid away with her. It rankled him to think that she might slip past the Mexican border and escape from him for good.

He was starting to get tired. Anais drifted in place with the water breaking against her lower lip. Sorrow only made her imperious beauty more potent, her azure eyes more haunting. Moreland regarded it as an improvement. Even more intriguing was his impression that grief came as a surprise to her, as if she had never considered the possibility of such an emotion before. Experiencing this much emotion had come as a surprise to him too, in fact. A very disconcerting one.

Maybe he could sleep. Maybe his sleep would even be restful for once, and the endless song would stop scraping at him like a bow against a violin. He straightened himself to go. “Good night, tadpole.”

“You told me it was morning!”

“Why, Anais,” Moreland scolded. “It’s whatever time I say it is.”

* * *

In a cave not far from Monterey a man in a sleek black diving suit knelt in crimson water. His arms were wrapped around the body of what appeared to be a girl about nine years old—only the faintly light-slicked, greenish cast of her skin showed that she had ever been anything else. Her head tipped back onto the diver’s shoulder, her bloodless lips hung open, and her wet, caramel brown hair clung to his suit.

Against orders, the diver unfastened his helmet and knocked it off. Bloody water splattered as the helmet thudded down not far from the man’s spear gun. It exposed the face of a wiry young man with sharp cheekbones, a bony nose, and drooping eyes.

“Replace your hood immediately, sergeant! We’re not through here!”

The sergeant didn’t so much as look up. Instead he began fumbling with his gloves. His hurry made his movements awkward and the girl’s limp body got in his way, but eventually he managed to free his right hand and slide his fingers onto the side of her neck just under the jaw. He kept moving his fingers, pressing in different spots, long after it should have been obvious that he wasn’t going to find a pulse. His hand felt numb against the girl’s chilled throat.

“Sergeant Waller!” His major’s voice came out of his helmet in an electrical whine. “You know the procedure!”

“She looks just like Sophie . . .” Sergeant Waller moaned. “Just like . . . before she . . .” Of course none of his comrades could hear him now that his helmet was clanking against the rocks, but he didn’t think about that. It was only the microphones built into each helmet that allowed the team members to communicate with one another.

Without considering what he was doing he pulled the girl closer and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

“You’d kiss a dead rattlesnake, too?” the major complained; a trace of sympathy buzzed behind the static. “These bitches just look like girls. Just picture all the innocent people that damned tail has killed and I guarantee you won’t feel sorry for her.”

“Looks like Waller’s another waste case,” someone drawled. “Probably time to put him down as nonviable, major.”

Waller heard the words, but they seemed abstract and senseless compared to the girl’s cold cheeks and glossy eyelids. He kept kneading her throat. Maybe it was just the lack of sensation in his fingers that kept him from finding a heartbeat.

The major sighed. His helmet changed the sound into a kind of gusty whistle. “Even dead these tails keep doing a number on us.”

Waller only knew that he wasn’t going to leave her. The Operation Odysseus teams made a practice of abandoning almost all of the bodies in the caves, only occasionally bringing back one for dissection—after all, leaving them was a lot easier than trying to explain them. Maybe, just maybe, she’d eventually revive. (Waller didn’t let himself look at the wound in the girl’s chest. Vaguely he told himself that it would only distract him from more important things.) He’d be there when she woke up; if he could just get her somewhere warmer . . .

The major nodded to his men. In a few seconds Waller’s arms were jerked back and the cuffs snapped shut around his wrists. The dead girl slumped into the water as he thrashed, her face shifting down behind thickening veils of red. “Get his helmet on him,” the major ordered. “Gonna have to drag him out of here.”

The drawling man kicked at a submerged form. “This one ain’t turned back yet,” he observed, trying to puncture the darkening mood. “Sushi, anyone?”

No one laughed.

12 Slight Miracles

Everyone had gone back to their home under the warehouse to sleep—all except for Luce and the fifteen mermaids who’d once been queens of their own tribes. Luce wasn’t surprised to find that included Yuan and Imani, since they’d both acted so confident, but there were other mermaids gathered in front of her who didn’t seem like the type: Bex, who had a scattered, disturbing energy around her, and Graciela, who seemed too withdrawn and otherworldly. They gazed at Luce expectantly, and she cringed a little. She’d promised them that they would be able to master the water, but for all she knew that might be a lie. “Once all of you get the hang of it,” Luce announced, trying to make herself believe it, “then we’ll divide everyone else up and the queens will each be in charge of training a group.”

That made sense, didn’t it? Wasn’t that exactly how a real leader would do things? Luce closed her eyes for a second, remembering how well Dana had learned to control the water without Luce helping her at all: well enough to turn her power against Luce in her fury.

“Luce? Are you okay?” Imani was looking at her with worried dark eyes.

Luce tried to look calm and composed, but she could tell that she wasn’t doing a very good job. “I’m sorry, Imani. I was just thinking about . . . something else.”

Luce glanced around for Catarina, but she was suddenly keeping her distance, her eyes lowered sullenly. In her joy at finding her old queen again Luce had temporarily forgotten how difficult and unpredictable Cat could be. Even now when Luce obviously needed her support, why couldn’t Cat stop making everything so complicated?

Luce deliberately turned away from Catarina before she got too upset. Letting herself feel hurt and broken really wasn’t an option now, not with everyone waiting to see what she would do. “Let’s get started. I’ll begin by singing just one note, enough to call up a really small wave, and I’ll hold it. Then when you’re ready, I’d like