“Thesea is in our blood, and our blood is your blood. We felt the shock,even so far away,” the Seal Prince said. “We felt you return home, feltyou swimming straight out from shore as far as you could, thinkingyou’d swim so far out you couldn’t get back and so not have to make adecision to keep going at all. You thought maybe one of the whitesharks would take you, but they know better than to hunt the son of theSeal King. And now here you are ’cause you’ve nowhere left to go.
“Takeit, Richard. Come with us.” He knelt, touched the skin, nudged itforward.
Well,he’d told Doug he might try going freelance.
Thewater was the only place he felt safe. He was born for the water,webbed hands that worked best when he was swimming. But he wouldn’t bea true seal any more than he was a true human.
Amutant in both worlds.
Atleast when his teammates called him Fishhead, they did it with love.What would they call him here?
Richardchuckled. “I know this story, too. The soldier home from war, who getsadvice not to drink what the dancing princesses offer him. He doesn’tdrink, so he stays awake, and he sees where they really go at night.”
TheSeal Prince snorted. “Do I look like a princess to you, then? Doesthis look like poison?”
“No.Are you really my brother?”
“Icould say yes or no and you wouldn’t believe me either way.”
Hewas right. Richard smirked. “I have a place waiting for me back home.”He wasn’t born for land or sea. He wanted to keep a foot in each place.That, he could do. He wanted to go home.
TheSeal Prince studied him, and Richard couldn’t read his expression, ifhe was surprised or disappointed or full of contempt. He had a feelinghe could have known this man his whole life and he still wouldn’t beable to read him, to understand him.
“Don’tyou even want to meet your father?” the Seal Prince asked.
“If he’dwanted to meet me he would have come himself,” Richard said.His half-brother didn’t deny this.
“Gothen, selkie’s child,” the prince said, gathering up the borrowedsealskin. “Go back to your world. We’ll be watching you.”
Richardsaid, “Tell the Seal King—tell him that my mother died last year. Shenever stopped looking at the waves.”
ThePrince’s smile fell. The two guards, henchmen, whatever they were—theylooked to their leader. None of them had expected him to say what he’dsaid. His news had shocked them. They might have known many secrets,but they hadn’t known this.
“I’msorry for your loss,” the Seal Prince said.
“Thanks.”
Thethree men, tanned bodies shining, disappeared behind the same outcropof rocks they’d emerged from. As a mass, a rippling mob of shiningmottled skin, the barking seals lifted themselves, scooted on blubberand flippers and heaved into the waves, splashing a wall of water andmist behind them.
Andsuddenly the world was quiet. The barking and belching ceased, leavingonly waves lapping against the rocks. Richard looked back to themainland. The audience of seals and mermaids were all gone. The stretchof waves between here and where he’d started was unbroken. He satthere, nothing more than a man who’d lost his boat in an ordinaryworld. He turned his face to the sun and grinned.
Hehad a long swim ahead of him.
TheArcane Art of Misdirection
THE CARDS HAD RULES, but they could be made to lie.
Therules said that a player with a pile of chips that big was probablycheating. Not definitely—luck, unlike cards, didn’t follow any rules.The guy could just be lucky. But the prickling of the hairs on the backof Julie’s neck made her think otherwise.
Hewas middle-aged, aggressively nondescript. When he sat down at hertable, Julie pegged him as a middle-management type from flyovercountry—cheap gray suit, unimaginative tie, chubby face, greasy hairclumsily combed over a bald spot. Now that she thought about it, hislook was so cliché it might have been a disguise designed to makesure people dismissed him out of hand. Underestimated him.
She’dseen card-counting rings in action—groups of people who prowled thecasino, scouted tables, signaled when a deck was hot, and sent in a bigbettor to clean up. They could win a ridiculous amount of money in ashort amount of time. Security kept tabs on most of the well-knownrings and barred them from the casino. This guy was alone. He wasn’tsignaling. No one else was lingering nearby.
Hecould still be counting cards. She’d dealt blackjack for five years nowand could usually spot it. Players tapped a finger, or sometimestheir lips moved. If they were that obvious, they probably weren’twinning anyway. The good ones knew to cut out before the casino noticedand ejected them. Even the best card counters lost some of the time.Counting cards didn’t beat the system, it was just an attempt to pushthe odds in your favor. This guy hadn’t lost a single hand ofblackjack in forty minutes of play.
Forthe last ten minutes, the pit boss had been watching over Julie’sshoulder as she dealt. Her table was full, as others had drifted over,maybe hoping some of the guy’s luck would rub off on them. She slippedcards out of the shoe for her players, then herself. Most of them onlyhad a chip or two—minimum bid was twenty-five. Not exactly highrolling, but enough to make Vegas’s Middle-America audience sweat alittle.
Twoplayers stood. Three others hit; two of them busted. Dealer drewfifteen, then drew an eight—so she was out. Her chubby winner had astack of chips on his square. Probably five hundred dollars. He hit oneighteen—and who in their right mind ever hit on eighteen? But he drewa three. Won, just like that. His expression never budged, like heexpected to win. He merely glanced at the others when they offered himcongratulations.
Julieslid over yet another stack of chips; the guy herded it together withhis already impressive haul. Left the previous stack right where itwas, and folded his hands to
