

### Black Waters

The Songstress Trilogy #1

_by_  
**Maija Barnett**

Copyright ©2011 by Maija Barnett  
Smashwords Edition

http://maijabarnett.blogspot.com

Smashwords Edition License Notes:  
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.

Table of Contents

1. An Unlucky Find

2. The Birthday Present

3. The Meeting

4. Confrontations

5. Entry

6. The Poseidon Stone

7. The Memory Swim

8. Revelations

9. The Hunt Continues

10. The Talisman

11. Snake Bite

12. The Memory Thief

13. The Test

14. Prison

15. Hunted

16. The Swim

17. The Shadowlands

18. Murder

19. The Ruse

20. Preservation

21. The Immovable Weight

22. Siren Song

1. An Unlucky Find

It was the night before Abby Carson's sixteenth birthday. The midnight sky gleamed with stars and the tide cut into the frozen Clifton shoreline like a blade. Abby dunked her pinkie into the water before wading in. It was cold, too cold, right now at least. But the water off Cape Cod is notoriously cool, and soon she knew she wouldn't care. Soon she wouldn't feel the air, scarcely twenty degrees, or the water's frigid bite. Abby adjusted her headlamp and gulped down a mouthful of air. Then, with a fleeting thought of her mother and brother, who lay sleeping in the family's shore-side cottage, she forced herself into the sea.

Abby's muscles spasmed. She forgot to breathe. Within seconds her feet were completely numb. Then it happened, like it always did. Her calves and thighs started to cramp, like something inside them had bent the wrong way. Then the cold was completely gone, and she was swimming, tail flicking through the darkness, the light from her headlamp showing the way.

"Be careful," her mother always warned, wanting in her heart to stop Abby's late night swims but knowing enough not to try. "And don't forget about the sharks."

_Sharks_ , thought Abby. _That's all Matilda ever thinks about. That and what will happen if you ever got caught._

Abby understood her mother's fears, but the pull of the sea was too strong to ignore. The few times she'd stayed away, a sickness had descended over her body, gnawing at her muscles, weakening her blood. She'd tried changing in the bathtub, and her tail had come, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't home. It'd gotten so bad she could barely stand, and so her father had carried her down to the beach and laid her in the frothy waves. She could still see the sadness in his eyes, and his hollow smile as he'd witnessed her change.

Abby hovered beneath the water's surface. Her long hair, undone from its usual ponytail, floated out about her arms. She wished it were day so she could see, instead of relying on her measly headlamp. But this was the best she could do. She wasn't stupid. She knew the risks. What might happen if anyone ever found out.

_Where are they?_ she wondered, her ears straining through the darkness. Usually, she'd hear their squeaky calls reverberating through the water. Then there'd be a playful bump, a squeal. The dolphins loved sneaking up on her. They thought it was funny, and so did she. But tonight, nothing. The sea was silent, as if everyone had gone to sleep, or was hiding. She'd been out for nearly twenty minutes and had yet to see a single fish, turtle, or, god forbid, a shark. _Something's up. The dolphins know that I'm coming_ , thought Abby. _Something isn't right at all_.

An engine's hum cut through the stillness. Abby knew that sound. She knew all the motors and could identify each one before it got too close. She could tell the sporting boats from the fishing rigs, could read what was coming from over a mile away. Her hearing grew sharper once she entered the water, and she was glad for that. It kept her safe. For further protection, she'd memorized the shipping routes so she knew where to swim and when to be out. That's why she usually came around midnight. There wasn't much action, shouldn't be any at all. So a sporting boat out at this time in the water. It was more than unusual. Something was wrong.

A low hiss hung above the motor. As the boat grew closer, the hissing intensified, as if it were feeding off of something, devouring it with its sound. _What is that?_ thought Abby, her skin going cold, colder than it had when she'd first plunged into the icy Atlantic. Instinctively, she tried to hide. She flicked off her headlamp and ducked under the water. But she must have been listening for longer than she thought, because the boat was almost on top of her now, moving at an unnatural speed.

Then it came, a single splash. Something had fallen out of the boat and was sinking directly in front of her. Before Abby could stop herself, she reached out and grabbed it. She didn't know why, she knew she should go. But something inside her was pulling her forward, forcing her toward the buzzing boat. She felt a bit like a marionette, with a total stranger pulling the strings. But here was the thing, she was holding it now, clutching its bony wrist in her hand. _No_ , prayed Abby. _This can't be true_. But the light of the boat high above showed her what she needed to know.

The body pulsed beneath the water, its face a twisted, bloodless mask. Abby wanted to drop it and swim, but she couldn't do it. She couldn't let go. Because the thing she was holding, the bony wrist, it belonged to a girl about her age. The girl's hair swirled in a golden halo; the boat's yellow lights illuminated it from above. And there was something else too, something on the girl's neck. _What is that?_ thought Abby, craning to see.

Suddenly the girl's eyes snapped open and her mouth formed a large, blackened O. But instead of a scream rolling through the water, strange bubbles flooded out of her throat, bursting in dark pockets of blood. _No!_ thought Abby, about to push the girl away. But she stopped herself, knowing it would be wrong.

Then she felt it, that first exploratory nudge. They had come already, were already here, circling in the murky deep. Matilda warned her every night and for once Abby actually wished she'd stayed home. A pale blur slid through the water, another nudge. It was time to go.

"I'm sorry," mouthed Abby, hating herself as she shoved the dying girl out as far as she could. She looked back only once as she sped away, her throat tightening at what she saw. The shark was nearly twelve feet long. Its pale body gleamed like moonshine as it shook the body, tearing it apart. _Great White_ , thought Abby, her gut starting to churn. _Get out of here before it comes after you._

Abby darted through the darkness, her tail waving so furiously she thought her chest would explode. She swore she could feel them following her, as shadow upon shadow slipped through the deep. Once, she thought something knocked against her tail, but when she clicked on her headlamp, nothing was there. _It's just your imagination_ , she promised herself, uncertain if that were really true. Then she flicked the lamp off and continued down. She wanted the light, craved the safety of its rays, the same way she'd needed her night light as a kid. But she couldn't risk it, not after what had happened above. No one could know she was here. No one could realize that she'd seen.

It was only at the ocean's bottom that she felt comfortable using the lamp again. She turned it on and found a craggily rock formation jutting up from the sand. The world down here seemed innocuous enough, though Abby knew that wasn't true. She rarely hung out on the ocean floor. There were creatures down here that you had to watch out for, and she didn't want to become anyone's dinner. Or breakfast for that matter. It was early enough.

_Come on_ , she thought as she swam past heads of dead coral, thick strips of rock and patches of sand. _Come on, come on. Good, here we go_. It wasn't quite a cave, which was fine because with caves you never knew who was inside. It was really just a shallow impression at the base of a rock. But it had a slight overhang, enough of a protection. After making certain her hiding spot was empty, Abby flicked off her headlamp and tucked herself in, resigned to wait. She knew she couldn't chance heading to the surface. Not now, not with that shark circling above—or the boat. Because whoever was up there might have seen her light, could be waiting for her to resurface again. She could still hear that horrible hissing sound, like needles scratching against her bones. _When is that boat going to leave?_ she wondered. She had a feeling she'd be waiting for a very long time.

* * * * *

Six hours later, Abby emerged at the surface. She'd stayed down longer than she would have liked. The sky was turning a dusky blue, and she knew the trawlers were out already, cutting across the choppy water with a perfect view of the shore.

Her heart pounded as she swam toward the beach, gliding just below the surface so she could duck up for a peak whenever she felt the need. Each time she checked, no one was there. Just a scattering of gulls scratching patches of sand. Abby let the waves carry her in and gently deposit her on the shore. _Come on feet_ , she thought as she hauled herself forward. This was always the tricky part, getting out of the water and drying off. She'd hidden her towel close today, a little too close because when she finally reached it, her tail flapping awkwardly in the waves, half of it was soaking wet. _Damn it!_ she thought. _Tide's changed. You stayed under way too long_. Still, it was dry enough to wipe off with. And, once that was done, her scales smoothed out and the odd little cramping feeling returned. Then she could walk.

Abby stood and wrapped herself in the now soaking towel. It was light, too light to be caught on the beach. That would make the news for sure. But no one was around, which was a relief. Abby found her clothes, only slightly damp, they'd somehow fared better than her towel, and yanked them on. The cold was brutal now that she'd gone through the change. In the sea her body adjusted to the chill, but on land she was like everybody else. Her hands and feet were already turning blue, and she could barely button and zip her jeans. The November breeze rushed past her skin, cold and unyielding as the metallic sky. She briefly wondered if it was going to snow. "Come on," she grumbled under her breath. She grabbed her coat and crammed her feet into her boots. "You've got to warm up. You have to go."

She knew this was a dangerous time. She was starting to get a little too cold. In just a few more minutes hypothermia would begin to set in. She had to get home, fast. _Go_ , she thought, stumbling forward. Her house was only half a mile down the beach, but it felt like it was miles away. She pushed through the breath-stopping cold, allowing herself to turn back only once and glance at the place where the boat had been. And the girl. Abby told herself not think about it. She'd had to leave her. There was nothing she could have done. _But was there?_ she wondered. She didn't know. She chewed at her lip until blood pooled around her gums, then she pushed herself faster through the sand, aching to erase what she'd seen.

* * * * *

The boy crouched, hidden behind the dunes, his dark eyes wide in shock. He watched the girl stumble down the beach, her long hair frozen in a tangled mass. He knew her; she was in his trig class at school. Everybody knew her, though she didn't have any friends. A couple of months ago she'd asked him for a pencil. She probably didn't remember, but he certainly did. He could even remembered the exact words she'd used, though the thought of that day still made him break out in a sweat. She was so beautiful he'd barely been able to breathe, and he'd been so busy repressing the urge to gasp for air that he hadn't had the nerve to say a single word. He'd just handed her the pencil and stared down at his desk, his face burning over his unwilling silence.

But what was she really? He just couldn't believe. And whom, he wondered, could he tell? He watched her until she was a dark smudge on the beach, then he took a deep breath and turned to go.

2. The Birthday Present

When Abby stumbled through the front door, she found Matilda sobbing on the couch. "How could she do this?" Matilda moaned, her voice raw from too many tears. Jake hovered next to their mother, his thick lips set in a measured frown as he gently rubbed Matilda's back, calming her as best he could. They both looked up when they heard the door, but it was Matilda who rushed to her daughter's side, grabbing her roughly by the shoulders, as if she were afraid Abby might vanish again.

"Abby, what happened? Where have you been?"

Abby tried to speak, but she didn't know what to say. Her mother's nails dug into her skin; eyes unblinking as a shark's. _Can you trust her?_ thought Abby. She didn't know. Matilda was terrible at staying calm, and Abby was certain her mother couldn't handle the truth.

"I..." Abby stumbled, not sure what to say. _Don't tell_ , warned a voice inside her head. _If you do, she'll never let you out of her sight._

"I wanted to see the sun rise from the water." Abby made her voice as even as she could, but even so, it still sounded like a lie.

"You wanted to what?" asked Matilda in disbelief. "Abby, I thought something happened to you. I thought... you know exactly what I thought!" Abby glanced over at Jake. He was shaking his head like he wasn't buying a word.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, staring down at her feet so as to avoid looking into Matilda's eyes. _Don't let her see or she'll be able to tell_ , thought Abby. _She always says you're an open book_.

Matilda flattened her lips into a line then walked deliberately back to the sofa. She sat down and glared at her hands, staring so intently at her tasteful peach nail polish that she looked like she was trying to change its color with her mind. When she finally managed to glance up at Abby, her eyes were as hard as two small stones.

"I can hardly stand to look at you! I stayed up late baking a cake. Chocolate raspberry— your favorite. We wrapped your presents; it was supposed to be a surprise. But you... you weren't even here. And then I thought...you know exactly what I thought! Just go away! Go to your room."

Abby's throat hitched and she turned to her brother, his eyes wide and blue just like their dad's. She hated the feeling churning in her stomach, hated the guilt seething there.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, trying hard not to cry. Then she turned and hurried up the stairs to her room. She closed her door as softly as she could, and once it was shut, she closed her eyes too.

But what she saw behind them made her body go numb. It was _her_ face, the face of the girl in the water. The corpse, with her golden halo of hair swirling high above her head. And that mark on her neck. What had it been?

There was a knock at the door, "Abby, can I come in?" Jake's voice made her want to hide, but she found herself calling out that he could. What good would it do to stop the inevitable? She'd have to face them sooner or later. Might as well do it now.

Jake was closer to Matilda than Abby was. Much closer. Though it hadn't always been that way. Abby could remember lying on the beach, listening to her mother's voice slide through a song while she braided Abby's hair. But that was before the change. Before her mother had dropped the name "mom" and insisted on being referred to as Matilda instead. Now it was like they were virtual strangers who just happened to live under the same roof. _Not true_ , thought Abby, crunching down on her lip. A terrible habit, but one she couldn't seem to break. This time it hurt; she'd forgotten about this morning. _Ease up_ , she thought, _or you'll bleed again_.

_Oh please_ , prayed Abby as Jake opened the door. _Just this once, let him be on my side_. She held her breath as her brother walked in. Again Abby was struck by how much he looked like their father—same round face, same heavy frame. Like Dad before he'd gotten sick, before the cancer had eaten him away.

"You okay kid?" Jake always called her that, even though they were only two years apart. "You really gave us a scare, you know." He sat down on her bed, and stared at her, waiting for her to respond.

"Is she okay?" Abby asked, sitting next to her brother. Her still damp hair swung over her shoulder and gently grazed the back of his arm.

"She will be," he said. "But she was really scared. She was convinced you'd been eaten by a shark. Jesus Ab, what were you thinking? You know she can't take that kind of stress."

"I know," Abby whispered, shame flooding her chest. Her vision blurred, but she managed to hold in her tears. It's not like she wanted it to be like this. She was sixteen for Christ's sake. Almost an adult. And here she was playing the baby all over again. Crying over everything that'd gone wrong.

"Jake," said Abby, wishing she could curl up in a ball, or maybe just turn into somebody else. "Why does it have to be this way?"

"It just is," he said, and he ruffled her hair. It was exactly the same gesture Dad used to do when she was a little girl. She closed her eyes and remembered his face. His gentle eyes, easy smile.

"He said he'd always be here. He promised," she croaked, her throat suddenly closing up.

"I know," said Jake, turning away.

"I miss him," said Abby, putting her face in her hands. _I need him_ , is what she meant to say. _Because Matilda can't handle what I am. The only one who accepted was Dad_.

"Listen," said Jake, his voice suddenly firm. He lifted her chin, so her eyes met his. "You can't do this to her anymore. This constant fear of something happening to you. It's beating her down, tearing her apart. She loves you. She just wants you to be safe."

"Does she?" said Abby. Only once it came out, she immediately wished she could take it back.

"Oh don't give me that!" Jake leaped off the bed. "Where were you anyway? What really happened?" He was standing above her, glowering now, his large, meaty body commanding and strong. Abby knew how the opposing football team felt when they faced this angry, immovable wall. She had no idea what to say.

"The truth," said Jake.

There was a knock at the door and Matilda peeked in. Even with bloodshot eyes and matted hair, she was still beautiful. Her body was tall and willow thin, her skin luminescent as the moon. _Like me_ , thought Abby, eyeing her mother's dark brows, her cascading jet of chestnut hair. _But_ _how_ , wondered Abby, not for the first time, _could two people who look so much alike be so incapable of understanding each other?_

"Abby," said Matilda, stepping into the room. For a moment Abby thought Matilda might reach out and touch her, but she just stood there, arms pressed to her sides. There was a sadness that surrounded Matilda, inhabited the very air she breathed. Abby wished she could take that sadness away, throw it into the salty waters, drown it beneath the rising waves.

"I'm sorry," said Abby. Matilda didn't respond. She just pulled something out of her apron pocket and held it out for Abby to see. It was a small box wrapped in shiny gold paper, about the size of the sort that holds a ring.

"What is it?" asked Abby. Matilda shrugged. Then she dropped the box onto Abby's bed. Abby reached for the thing and held it in her hands. It was heavier than she expected it to be, and there was something else strange about it too. With the box resting in her open palm, she could feel the ocean's pulse on her skin, the roar of the waves in her ears.

Abby blinked hard and put the box on her bed. Had the others heard? She didn't think so. There was a note attached to the golden wrapping. It was really just a folded piece of paper clumsily stuck to the box with tape. Careful not to pick up the box again, Abby leaned over and ripped off the note. But when she saw who it was from, she froze. It was a message from her dad.

Matilda stiffened when she saw the writing. Then she cleared her throat and took a step back. "Your father left this for you," she said, her voice the temperature of arctic ice. "He asked me to give it to you on the morning of your sixteenth birthday. No sooner, no later. It was my final promise, so I'm honoring it. For him. I don't know what's inside."

"Oh," said Abby keeping her eyes on the box. This wasn't about forgiveness, that was clear. And if it was about love, well, it didn't include her.

The box looked even heavier now, like it had somehow gained weight while it sat on her quilt. It was as if it had inhaled a dark cloud of secrets, promises of things to come.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Matilda asked. Abby knew she should, knew her mother ached to know what was inside. But for some reason, she wanted to keep it to herself, to hold this final piece of her father close. She wanted some privacy, but she couldn't say so. Kicking her mother out of her room right now didn't seem like the best way to go.

Luckily, Jake read Abby's mind. And this time, he was on her side. "Matilda lets go. Let's give Abby some time. We should fix breakfast, like we planned." He took Matilda's hand and led her toward the door. In an unusual moment, she did as he asked.

Matilda's eyes stayed on Abby as she walked out of the room. Abby wished she could say something to let her mother in, but the old scars held her back. Abby let her leave without a word.

* * * * *

Once the door had closed, Abby reread the note, while wishing there was something more. All it said was:

Dear Ab,

Grandmother Annabelle wanted you to have this on the morning you turned sixteen. She didn't tell me much about it, just said she knew you'd figure it out.

P.S.: Don't show it to your mother! You know how she is about this sort of stuff.

Love always,

Dad

That was it. Nothing deep or profound. Abby didn't even remember her paternal grandmother; the woman had died when Abby was six months old. It seemed strange that she would leave a gift.

_Four freaking sentences_ , thought Abby, running her fingers over the lines. _Couldn't he have written a little more? And why did he say not to show it to Matilda? He's the one who'd asked her to deliver the thing. What was this, some sort of game? No_ , she thought, glancing at the box. _This was just business as usual._

There had always been this strange tug-of-war between her parents, with Abby invariably stuck in the middle. Sometimes Abby wondered that if there weren't so many secrets, maybe her mother could grow to accept.

Tears pricked the backs of Abby's eyes, but she blinked them away. "Nothing to cry about," she whispered. "He's gone. You're not in the middle anymore." Then she turned her gaze to the golden box. The final connection. Her father's last gift.

The box was wrapped perfectly, its paper so bright that it seemed to glow. Abby knew her father couldn't have wrapped the thing. You'd think a doctor would be good at that sort of stuff, but her father had always joked about missing the surgeon's gene. It was Matilda who was the neat-nick in the family. She was the one who wrapped all the gifts. _But if Matilda didn't wrap it_ , reasoned Abby _, then Grandmother Annabelle must have done it before she gave it to Dad_. So her father really hadn't known what was inside, just that it was something Matilda wouldn't like. _Something about me_ , thought Abby ruefully. _Or mermaids_.

_Just open it_ , she thought. _Do it now_. She took a deep breath and ripped open the paper. It scattered in pieces across the floor. For a moment the scent of the sea rushed through her, sharp and briny and smelling like home.

Then, at last, she saw what it was. And it wasn't quite as exciting as she thought it would be. It was a wooden box, a child's toy really. On each side was carved, in rudimentary lines, different sections of a mermaid's body. The box was made up of four sections of wood, each one stacked upon the next. You assembled the mermaid, as well as the moon above her, simply by rotating the pieces and lining them up. Abby did it quickly, wondering at the point of it all. It was only when she'd finished that she noticed the serpent, sliding along the base of the box. The serpent was carved in lighter strokes, and its skin blended in with the wood's dusky grain. On its back Abby could make out some sort of engraving, symbols she'd never seen before. Since she knew only English and a smattering of French, it could be almost anything.

Gently, Abby shook the box, wondering if there was anything inside. It was heavy, too heavy for such small pieces of wood. But when she tapped on it with the tip of her nail, she could tell by the sound that it was hollow inside. And yet it was impossible to open the thing; there were no latches or hinges of any kind.

Abby flipped the box over so the mermaid swam on her head. The bottom was just a blank slab of wood. But when she picked the box up and held it in the light, something on it caught her eye. _The mermaid_ , thought Abby, _there's something strange about her_. Abby peered into the mermaid's face, and that's when she realized what it was. The mermaid's eyes were glowing; their pinpricks were a shiny sea-glass green. As Abby continued to stare, the eyes began to grow infinitesimally brighter until they became so bright they were like two tiny sparklers, sizzling in their coffin of wood. Something hitched in Abby's chest and the hair on the nape of her neck stood up. She dropped the box and leaped off the bed. _The eyes_ , she thought, _they were looking at me!_

"Just cool it," she whispered. "It's just a trick of the light. You're being weird. Nothing was there." Still, whether she was being irrational or not, she couldn't bring herself to touch the box again. Instead she turned to her father's note, which lay open on the bed.

"But what exactly am I supposed to figure out?" said Abby, a note of frustration filling her voice. And suddenly, she hated this present, hated the mermaid's frozen face. And those eyes— she could still feel them on her skin. Gingerly, using the corner of her pillow, she shoved the box over so the mermaid side was face down. "That's better," she whispered, once again wishing that her father were here. He would have known what to do. And if not, he would have made her feel better about not having a clue.

There was a knock at the door. "Abby," called Matilda, "can I come in?" Abby wrapped her hands in the bottom of her shirt and snatched the box off her bed. The scent of the sea flooded through her again as she shoved the thing under her pillow, promising herself she'd find a better hiding spot later. Then she stood up and opened the door.

Matilda's eyes were dry and her face was perfect. If Abby hadn't known better, she would never have believed that her mother had spent the first part of the morning in tears. "Food's ready," said Matilda, who looked like she wanted to say more. But she spun on her heel and sped toward the stairs before Abby had a chance to respond.

* * * * *

They sat down to breakfast in total silence, all too aware of the empty chair at the table's head. _Dad's been gone for six months already_ , thought Abby, making a mental note to ask Jake about moving the thing. It was just too hard to sit there staring at the chair, like they somehow expected him to walk in.

"Looks great," said Abby, the first to speak, eyeing the cake Matilda had made. Matilda, a culinary teacher at the community college down in Barnstable, was, to put it mildly, an excellent chef. Abby admired the cake's scalloped frosting and the stylish glow of the raspberries on top. It seemed a shame to cut into the thing. It was that beautiful: a work of art.

Not that Abby was hungry anyway. She wanted to leave, retreat to her room where she could try and figure out what all of this meant. She couldn't fathom how she was going to consume any food. A terrible dread was churning inside her, made worse by the presence of the TV, buzzing away in the dining room's corner. Ever since Dad had died, Matilda had insisted on TV with meals. Their father, a consummate talker, would never have allowed it. But with his death, came silence. So now here they were, the three remaining Carsons, gulping down eggs and wedges of cake, while devoutly watching the morning news.

Not that it was a festive occasion. Matilda had neglected to sing happy birthday and no one had bothered to remind her. Besides the box, there were no other presents. Abby guessed that, in her fury, her mother had hidden them away.

Abby tried shoveling in a few forkfuls of cake, but everything tasted like cardboard to her. She kept waiting for something to pop up on the news— an Amber Alert or at least something about the girl in the water. But nothing happened; there was no story at all. Bob Newland, the weather guy, talked on about the storm that was coming. Then they switched over to sports.

Jake leaned in close while the sports guy went on about the Pats. Matilda listened, or at least Abby thought she was listening, until she stared pointedly in Abby's direction.

"You're not going to tell us, are you," she said, and for a moment Abby thought her mother knew about last night, could sense what Abby had seen in the water. Abby panicked. Was she really that easy? Could her mother see inside her head?

"What?" said Abby, stuffing her mouth full of cake while trying to repress the urge to gag.

"That box," said Matilda. "Your father's present. Aren't you going to tell us what was inside?"

"I...um...," mumbled Abby. Then, suddenly, it was on. Her mother's eyes bore into her skull, while in the distance she heard the name. Breaking news, it had just come in. Jim Welch, one of the anchors, was staring in Abby's direction.

"Seventeen-year-old Lauren Liney of Hyannis went missing last night." His familiar voice was calm and clear. "If anyone has seen her or knows of her whereabouts, please contact the authorities right away."

"Well, what was it?" asked Matilda, obviously annoyed.

"Just a box," said Abby, eyes still on the TV. "A mermaid box." She hated saying that word. It always made Matilda flinch, as if some unsightly creature had squelched into the room, a monster that should be hidden away.

"Abby, look at me when I'm talking to you."

But Abby couldn't look because _her_ face was there. Lauren Liney, with her long, blonde hair. Perfect teeth, mouth cracked in a smile.

"Liney was last seen Saturday night at a bonfire on the beach." Welch's voice sounded too far away. "She was wearing blue jeans and a hooded pink parka." Abby's world began to crumble at the edges, and a sharp heat scorched her from the inside out.

"Abby," said Matilda, her voice tinny and small, as if she were speaking from miles away. "Abby, are you okay?"

"I don't think so," said Abby, leaping up from the table and rushing away from the dead girl's smile. The cake, which now seemed way too rich, was starting to curdle inside her. _I can't_ , she thought, stumbling toward the bathroom. She made it to the toilet just in time.

But Lauren's Liney's face stayed in her mind like a terrible stain she couldn't scrub clean. The twisting hair, ruby bubbles. The ghostly blur of the waiting shark.

Jake knocked on the bathroom door. "Everything all right in there?"

"I'm fine," said Abby, trying hard to sound normal.

"Abby, are you sick?" yelled Matilda from somewhere down the hall.

"Oh god," thought Abby, kneeling on the bathroom floor, the freezing tile burning into her shins. _How am I going to explain all this? What on earth am I going to do?_

3. The Meeting

It was Monday again, so only a little more than twenty-four hours had passed since Abby had watched the great white devour Lauren Liney. It had been a lonely Sunday. After the vomiting incident, Matilda had sent Abby to bed. And the truth was, Abby had been relieved. She'd spent the latter part of the day staring out her bedroom window, watching the waves slash at the shore below, while trying to forget what she'd seen.

Now Abby stood alone, waiting for the bus, her raincoat wrapped tightly around her, its heavy plastic the only shield between her deepest secret and the rest of the world. It was a blue coat, a little large in the shoulders, and it fell to the middle of her shins. And though she didn't particularly like the style, she looked like she was heading off to Africa during the rainy season, she'd needed one that covered the tops of her boots so that there could be no chance, none what so ever, of her bottom half becoming wet.

Abby sighed and tried to clear her mind while scanning the road nervously, searching for the yellow gleam of the bus. Jake had offered to drive her in his truck, but seniors could opt to have first period free, so he didn't have to be at school until nine. Abby'd told him he might as well sleep in. Besides, she didn't feel like talking to him anyway.

That morning, during breakfast, the Amber Alert had flashed on again. Abby had tried to look away, but she couldn't pull herself from Lauren Liney's face, from that picture of her with her open smile, blonde hair smoothed back in a high ponytail. She looked nothing like she had that night— those staring eyes, bloody bubbles. _How am I ever going to forget?_ wondered Abby, wishing she could delete what she'd seen.

By now, two girls and a boy had wandered over to the bus stop. Abby knew them, but she didn't say hello. Instead, she trained her eyes on the street, one of the town's very busiest. Not that there were any truly busy streets in Clifton, except, of course, during tourist season. In the summer, downtown was a mad house. You could never find parking, and all eight restaurants were booked.

Clifton was the smallest town on the Cape. For a fishing town, it didn't have many crew. It didn't even have its own high school, so everyone had to be bussed over to Chatham. The townsfolk hated the deal on that one, a percentage of their taxes was sent over there too. And there was talk every year of becoming part of Chatham, though nothing ever seemed to come of that. "It's just politics," was what Abby's dad used to say. "People need something to argue about."

On this rainy November morning, the street was almost completely empty. Abby reveled in the stillness of it all because soon she knew she'd be surrounded by faces. Every kid from her town would be on this bus. And these were kids she knew, or at least used to know, not that she hung out with any of them now. Well, if she was honest with herself, she didn't hang out with anyone anymore. Not since the change had happened, and she'd transformed into a freak.

Abby waited, covertly watching the girls: Avery Monahan, thin and blonde, was whispering something into Bridget Cowry's ear. The two looked like tipping bowling pins, each keeping the other from falling down. Both girls were plain. Avery wore thick glasses and Bridget's face was purple with zits. Abby could feel Michael Sullivan, whom she'd known since kindergarten, quietly gawking like he always did.

Any other girl would be proud of her looks. (Who doesn't want to be beautiful?) But not Abby. Beauty had cost her everything. It'd cost her acceptance with her peers. (She knew Avery and Bridget were talking about her. She could tell by the way they kept glancing over, then looking away when they thought she saw.) It'd cost her Gretchen, her ex-best friend, and friends at all for that matter. She'd just suddenly looked a little too good. _A lot_ too good, though she had a hard time admitting it. It made the girls uncomfortable and the boys stare. Girls would walk down the halls of Chatham High and instinctively grab their boyfriends' hands whenever Abby passed. As if she would even try to steal anyone away. Though she sometimes wondered if maybe she should. No one liked her anyway, so what did she really have to lose?

_Oh come on_ , thought Abby, impatient for the bus, hating the way Michael's stare burned her skin. She was starting to blush, like she always did. _Quit it!_ she thought. _You have to control yourself. You_ are _as easy to read as an open book!_

She remembered when _it_ had happened. Jake could hardly believe it; his little sister a beauty? Abby knew he didn't like it, though it was the tail that freaked him out most of all.

A hollow loneliness filled Abby's chest and she suddenly wished Gretchen were here, that they were still talking, still best friends. Then she wouldn't have to walk down the halls alone or sit by herself during lunch.

_Come on bus_ , thought Abby. _Hurry up!_ Then there it was, veering down Main Street and coming to a creaky stop. Abby climbed on, grabbed a p. 22seat in front, and tried to ignore the other kids' stares as she peered across town at the choppy ocean, and waited to arrive at school.

* * * * *

The day started out typically enough. Abby scurried to her locker, pretending not to mind being alone. She sat quietly through English and bio. In P.E. she was the last one picked for volleyball. If a guy was choosing, she'd get called on first. She had great instincts and almost always got the ball. But the girls were a different species altogether. Their animosity toward her never thawed.

At lunch period, she decided not to eat. Lauren Liney's face still stung the backs of her eyes, and not the happy one either, but the one she'd seen that night in the water. Abby didn't have an appetite. _Besides_ , she told herself carefully, _do you really need to face all those stares?_

Again she wished hungrily for Gretchen. But Gretchen had a new best friend— some sophomore named Sarah Gleason. Abby didn't know Sarah that well. She'd moved to Chatham when Abby was thirteen, right around the time she'd started to change. But the girl had certainly figured out what Abby's social status was. Not that it mattered anyway. Abby's friendship with Gretchen had faded a few months before, but it'd hurt to see her place taken like that. Still, she liked to watch the two girls from afar, usually in the cafeteria, whispering the secrets that belong to best friends. Sometimes, she saw them in the library during study. Most kids were stuck in study hall, but since they were _good girls_ , they almost always got out. Early on, when the change was still fresh, she'd actually decided to approach them. After all, it wasn't, she'd reasoned, like she and Gretchen had gotten in some terrible fight. It was just that her best friend since first grade had suddenly decided to stop speaking to her.

The whole thing had been completely humiliating. Gretchen and Sarah had been in the library studying when she'd walked up to their table, her pulse pounding in her ears. "Hi Gretch," she'd said, but Gretchen hadn't even looked up. She'd just kept going over her math homework while pretending that Abby wasn't even there.

Abby'd felt like a ghost shrieking through the mist, with no one caring whether they heard her or not. She'd stood for a beat, the blood rushing to her face, then took the hint and walked away. That was the first and last time she'd tried talking to Gretchen. After that she knew she was on her own.

_Just get over it_ , thought Abby. _It's been almost three years_. She bit down on her lower lip, and a jolt of pain shot into her chin. "Right," she whispered, blinking back tears. Then she stared hard at the tops of her sneakers and walked quietly down the hall.

The library was deserted when Abby got there. Even the librarians were eating now, crowded inside their tiny office, no doubt gossiping. Abby sat down at a computer terminal so she would a least look like she was working, and tried to make her mind go blank. _Come on_ , she thought. _Let it go. There isn't anything you could have done_. But she couldn't wipe Lauren Liney's face from her mind.

_Might as well check my email_ , she thought. _It's a whole lot safer than checking the news_. She didn't want to stumble across the story— missing teenager, all that stuff. After checking her Yahoo account, there was nothing there, she decided to look at her school email. Chatham High automatically gave every student an account. You were supposed to check it for announcements, which Abby never did. And some of the teachers used it for class, though none of Abby's. But she needed something to do, so she logged on.

Abby's account was almost completely full; it said it was running at ninety-eight percent. She scanned her eyes down her inbox, searching for something interesting to read. There'd been a pep rally two Wednesday's ago. She saw several reminders about the winter formal, not that she was planning on going. There was an announcement for a bake sale that was over two months old. But then she saw it, right at the top. She had no idea how she'd missed it before. Somehow her eyes had glazed right by. But there it was, all in caps. Though to be fair, a lot of her emails were. What it said was: ABBY I SAW. THIS IS FOR REAL.

Abby clicked on the message, but she couldn't read. The words swam by like a thousand fish, blurry in their push through the sea. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, ignoring the heat seeping into her face, the hammering beat of her own heart. Then she opened them and began to read.

I saw you last weekend on the beach. Meet me at Emmett's after school. Be there.

— **B.B.**

_B.B._ thought Abby, panic shooting through her veins. _Who's B.B.? Who sent this to me?_ Quickly, she scanned the e-mail's sender address. BBaker@chathamhsc.edu. B. Baker, the name sounded familiar. Abby wracked her brain for any B. Baker's she knew. _Which class_ , she wondered. _Is this person in any of them? Wait, wasn't there a Baker in eighth period math?_ Mr. Hinley, who taught trig, always called roll with last names first. It was Brian Baker. Abby was sure. He was the quiet kid who always sat in the back. The one with the shock of jet black hair. There was a story there, she remembered now. He'd moved up to Chatham a few years ago when his step-dad had become the new chief of police. It had all happened around the time she'd made the change. (That's probably why she didn't know much about him. She'd been too busy focusing on herself to care.) A few weeks ago, she'd asked him for a pencil. She remembered the way his eyes seared her skin. Just like all the other boys.

Abby closed her eyes and thought back to that morning on the beach— jamming her clothes on, scanning the sand. No one had been there, she was almost sure. _Almost...oh my God_. Matilda's face flashed through her mind. Her mother's worst fears were coming true.

* * * * *

The rest of the day moved by in slow motion. Social studies dragged. Ms. Mires was droning on about the Revolutionary War, which Abby was certain they'd studied back in fifth grade. But wasn't that the thing about history? Didn't it always repeat itself? It didn't matter anyway, since she was only pretending to listen. _A plan, a plan, you need a plan_. The mantra stuck in her head as the seconds ticked by. She had to meet him; there was no other way. She needed to convince him that he'd made a mistake.

Finally, it was time for trig. Abby took a deep breath and entered the class, her eyes scanning the room for Brian Baker. He was there, sitting alone at a table in the back. There were two empty seats next to him. Abby paused at her usual spot in the front, not quiet sure where to go. _Confront him_ , commanded a voice in her head. _You know what you have to do_.

Abby felt the other kids' eyes on her as she made her way to the back of the room. But she didn't sit down right next to Brian. Instead, she took the spot at the left side of his table, leaving an empty seat in between. And she didn't acknowledge him, not in the least. She just pulled out her binder, opened her book, and tried to focus on last night's assignment, while pretending not to see him at all.

It took him less than a minute to lean over and whisper, "You got my message." His dark eyes were hot on her skin.

Suddenly, Abby was so mad she could scream. Rage sped through her like a rogue wave, unexpected and terrifying. She repressed the urge to reach out and smack him. _Come on_ , she thought, _get a hold of yourself. Don't let him see that you're upset_.

With all the self-control she could muster, Abby leaned toward Brian and hissed in his face: "Who the hell do you think you are? Were you spying on me? Is that what you were doing?"

Brian jerked back as if he'd been slapped, while Abby shaped her lips into a frigid smile. _Good_ , she thought. _Don't make it all on his terms. Don't let him think he has the control._

Class started. Mr. Hinely took roll. Brian waited until his name was called. Then he leaned over and whispered, "I wasn't spying, I just happened to be on the beach, that's all."

"Right," spat Abby. "That early in the morning? Please. How long have you been following me?"

"I haven't," he said. "And this isn't about me."

"Mr. Baker," Mr. Hinely broke in. "If you have something to say to Ms. Carson then why not tell the entire class? I'm sure we'd all like to hear."

_Oh God_ , thought Abby, her face starting to burn. She wished she could hide her scalding blush. _Oh why couldn't you have been a good girl and sat in the front? What in the world are you trying to do?_

Brian said nothing, he just stared at his desk. But she could see his ears were on fire too. "All right Mr. Baker," said Mr. Hinely, turning to write something on the board. "Then I assume you two can finish your discussion after class." Then he started to go on about Negative Angle Identities, something else Abby didn't understand.

The clock didn't seem to be moving at all. For all Abby knew, time was standing still. She couldn't shake the feeling of Brian next to her, his body exuding in awful heat. Abby peeked over at him, but he was ignoring her, his eyes set straight ahead.

Brian was excellent at trig. He always got every answer, while Abby dreaded being called on at all. She was only in this class because Matilda had pushed it. Matilda, who wanted her to go to college, who wanted her to be normal somehow.

Finally it was over. Abby snatched up her book and stuffed it into her bag. She was about to race out of the classroom, when Brian's voice cut over to her. "So are you coming?" he asked. He was still staring at the board, not even daring to look at her. He obviously didn't want to make a scene. In fact, to Abby's amazement, he didn't seem to want anyone to know that they were speaking. _Why not?_ she wondered. _What's so wrong with me?_ But there were so many ways she could answer that question, she suddenly wished she'd never asked it at all.

"I'll be there," she grumbled, charging toward the door, relieved that trig was the last class of the day. Now she could meet him and get it all out in the open. Find out what he saw, do damage control. But while she attempted to take a pragmatic approach, her stomach tightened with a terrible dread. Because she really had no idea what he knew. The e-mail didn't specify. _Please_ , she thought, begging now. Praying to someone, she had know idea who. _Please don't let him know what I am. Please let me be able to fix this somehow._

* * * * *

Encased in her raincoat's protective shell, Abby walked the six blocks from the bus stop to Emmett's. Her stomach was busy churning again. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought it was food poisoning. _Even if he saw everything_ , her mind raced in circles as she trudged through the rain, _what can you really do? Beg him not to tell anyone?_ She didn't know Brian very well, but she was pretty sure that wouldn't work. He'd confronted her. He'd sent her an email. That meant he wanted answers, that he might not back down.

The rain was growing heavier now, coming down in thick, gray slabs. Abby hated this kind of weather with its the constant paranoia of where the water would hit.

The downtown streets were virtually empty even though it was only a little after three. This was, in part, because of the rain, but mostly because it wasn't tourist season. She passed the town's two art galleries, still open for business— she had no idea why, glad the bus had let her off so close. That was one of the nice things about Clifton. The place was practically microscopic, so it was relatively easy to get around.

Abby cursed Brian under her breath as she stomped through a sea of puddles. He hadn't even given her a time, just "after school." _Well_ , she thought, squinting into the rain, _if he'd been stalking her like he seemed to be, than he would know she didn't have a car._ She scurried down the sopping street, part of her praying that by the time she reached Emmett's, Brian would already be gone. But when she finally ducked into the coffee shop, she found that that wasn't the case.

She spotted him at the very back table, as far from the other patrons as he could get. He sat hunched over a coffee mug, glancing up as he slurped his drink, his dark hair tumbling into his eyes. _If he weren't so nerdy_ , Abby mused, _he might actually be kind of cute_. A blush flashed across her cheeks, but she ignored it and made her way over to him.

A coat rack stood at the shop's rear, only a few steps from Brian's chair. Abby carefully removed her raincoat, shook it out as far from her body as possible, and hung it on the rack. During the whole time she did this, she refused to say hello. She made herself pretend Brian wasn't even there. _Don't give him the upper hand_ , she thought. _Don't let him see how scared you are._

"Hi," said Brian, shooting her a nervous smile once Abby was seated across the table from him. "I'm really glad you could make it."

_Why is he being so nice?_ Abby wondered. She glared at him, not sure what to say.

"Can I get you something?" asked Brian. "I'm buying, okay?"

"No thanks," said Abby, anger tightening her throat. _What did he think this was, a date?_

"You don't want anything? You look kind of cold."

"I'm fine," growled Abby. "Look, what do you want? You didn't drag me all the way down here for social visit did you?"

"No," he stammered, looking away, a blush creeping up the back of his neck.

"Listen," said Abby. "You asked me here. What do you really want to say?" _And please don't let it be what I think it is._

"I saw you," he whispered, leaning in close, then glancing around to make sure no one had heard.

"Saw what?" said Abby, holding her breath.

"You know" he said. "You're a...."

She was going to make him say it. He _had_ to say it. She had to be sure. "I'm a what?" she asked, a little too sweetly.

"A mermaid," he whispered, staring into her eyes, all traces of the blush gone from his skin. "I know. I saw everything."

Silence filled the little table. For a long, painful moment Abby didn't know what to do. Then she looked at Brian and began to smile. But it wasn't a kind or friendly smile. It was as harsh and cruel as she meant it to be. _Please_ she pleaded, _please don't be a book. Make sure he thinks that you're telling the truth._

"I don't know who you think you are, but if I were you, I'd stay away from me."

"You're not even going to deny it?" he asked, his pale face full of shock.

"I don't have to," she said. "It's totally lame. I mean, who believes in mermaids anyway? Everyone thinks you're a total nerd. No one's going to care what you have to say." Abby knew it was cruel, but that was just too bad. She had to stop him from telling the world.

Brian glared back, his eyes going cold. "You know," he said, leaning in close, all hint of friendliness gone from his voice. "Everyone thinks you're a little odd too. I mean, the way you look— you don't have any friends. And do you know what? Now I think I know why."

"Well you don't," snapped Abby, jumping up from her chair. "And you better stay away from me Brian Baker. At least if you know what's good for you. Mermaids have special powers, you know." Abby leaning in towards him while praying no one could hear. It wasn't that crowded, but you never knew. "Maybe I'll kill you with my song." And with that Abby grabbed her raincoat, wishing it didn't take such an eternity to button the thing up to her neck and check to make sure her legs weren't exposed. When she was finally done, she stormed out of Emmet's, slamming the door as hard as she could then stepping out into the rain.

She was halfway down the block when someone grabbed her arm.

"What?" she screamed, wheeling around. It was Brian and he was totally drenched. It'd obviously taken him several minutes to get up the nerve to go after her. By that time, he'd had to dash into the rain. He'd been in such a rush that he'd forgotten his coat.

"Abby," he said, "I didn't mean— none of it came out like I wanted it to."

Abby stared at the sopping boy, his hand clenched around her plastic, blue elbow. She wanted to tell him to take his hands off her, but something made her hold her tongue.

"I'm not threatening you," pleaded Brian, his voice almost lost in the rain. "I just wanted to understand, that's all."

"Well you can't," said Abby, finally getting a hold of her brain. Then she jerked her arm away and ran down the street, leaving him alone in the pouring rain.

* * * * *

Brian stood for a moment, water seeping into his clothes, running in rivulets down his back. He couldn't believe she was denying it. He knew what he'd seen. He knew what she was. Yet, suddenly he was starting to doubt himself. "No," he whispered under his breath. "You _did_ see. You know you did." _And besides_ , he thought, _she met you, didn't she? And what was that talk about killer songs? Is she some sort of sea witch or something?_ He wouldn't put it past her. She had the beauty. She was so damn beautiful, she was hard to look at. He knew the other boys saw it, and the girls too.

"Jesus," said Brian running a hand through his hair. Then he turned and headed back to Emmett's, shivering in the freezing rain.

Abby's face stayed behind Brian's eyes, like a photo he couldn't put away. He didn't care what she wanted; he wasn't giving up. He'd see her tomorrow during math. He promised himself to try and talk to her then. _No_ , thought Brian, almost saying it aloud. He'd wait for her near the water, set up camp if he had to. And this time he wouldn't just watch. It wasn't like he didn't have the time. Besides, he could use an excuse to get out of the house. Siren threats or not, he needed the truth. _Just like Dad_ , he thought, picturing his father and the way his eyes had sparkled when he talked of the ocean's mysteries. Though his father, in all his years of research, had never seen anything quite like this.

It wasn't until Brian was home in the shower, letting the TV in the bathroom play while he defrosted himself in the near scalding water, that he heard something that made his insides freeze. The Amber Alert, they had new information. A foot had washed up on the Clifton shore. Brian shoved the shower curtain aside and squinted at the tiny TV, perched on a shelf next to the sink.

"It was a very strange morning for Lester Queens, whose dog, Joseph, found the foot," began the reporter, her dirty blonde hair jammed beneath a red rain parka. They were obviously filming at the scene, and the sea simmered in the background, growling beneath the reporter's words. "Though unwilling to confirm anything yet, Clifton police believe the foot may belong to Lauren Liney, the young girl who disappeared late Saturday night."

Brian's skin switched from hot to cold. _Saturday_ , he thought. _Oh my god_. It'd been early Sunday morning when he'd spotted Abby on the beach, when he'd discovered what she was.

Brian leaped out of the shower and reached for his towel. It smelled like mildew, but he didn't care. He jammed his damp body into his clothes and hurried down the stairs and toward the front door.

He was almost there when he heard a cough. "Brian?" The sound of his name made him stop. His mother's voice tugged him from behind, turning his insides to stone.

"You going out?" her voice was gravelly thick, as if she'd been smoking and drinking though he knew that she hadn't. She never drank, not even when they'd lost his dad. And she'd smoked in college, but not since then. A low growl slid from his throat as he remembered how his mom used to sound. Her bell-like laughter— all gone. It was Luther who'd turned her into this.

"Mom," said Brian, turning on his heels and staring down the darkened hallway and over to the kitchen bar.

His mother sat hunched on one of the barstools, picking away at her ragged nails, her long, dark hair loose and wild. She'd never looked like this when Brian's dad had been around. She'd been so neat, so on top of things. He didn't know who she was anymore. He couldn't understand what she'd become.

"You leaving?" she asked, her voice scarcely a whisper. He had to take several steps closer to hear.

"Yeah. Mom, are you okay?"

"Sure am," she said, smiling now, as if trying to harness some small stream of energy that lay stagnant inside her heart. "Go on Brian. Have fun with your friends. Luther will be home soon anyway."

An image of a gun flashed behind Brian's eyes. A silver bullet, like in all those werewolf novels he'd pored over in junior high. That was exactly what Luther needed, a silver bullet straight in the heart.

"You okay?" She asked, standing now. In her slippers, her shoulders barely grazed the top of the bar. She was small, smaller than Brian remembered. For a moment he wondered if she was shrinking. It wouldn't surprise him; everything else about her was wrong. _Don't be an idiot_ , he thought. _It's you. You're the one who's grown_. He was a good foot taller than he'd been three years ago when his dad had been sent away. Back then he'd still felt like a boy. Now he was almost six feet, the height of a man. He could look his stepfather in the eyes if he wanted. Which, of course, he didn't.

Brian remembered the last time he'd dared challenge Luther. The only time— he wouldn't do it again. It was when they'd committed his dad to Bridgewater State. A life sentence: insanity without parole. His father had gotten the easy way out. Luther had seen to it, like he'd seen to everything. Bridgewater was a prison for psychos, but it wasn't maximum security. It was a comfy and cozy insane asylum— if straitjackets and padded walls were your thing. But it wasn't like going to Cedar Junction, where the really bad guys go.

His dad had been convicted of murdering five other scientists in an attempt to keep the glory and wealth behind some supposed treasure find. Only Brian knew it made no sense. That wasn't his father. His father would never do that. As far as he knew, his dad had never screwed over a single guy in his life. He was über compassionate. He wouldn't even kill house flies. He'd just crack open the window and shoo them out.

It'd all happened in Provincetown; Luther'd been chief there too. His Dad, who'd had summers off from the University of Maine, was exploring the waters off the tip of the Cape. But once the accident happened, everything was done. And it didn't seem to matter that no one ever found the treasure. Luther'd got Dr. David Baker through the hoops of court without so much as a drop of sweat. Said he was doing him a favor, but Brian knew it was a lie. There were no favors, not when Luther was involved.

And Brian had said so too, in front of everyone. He'd done it at the hearing. He'd screamed out the truth. That Luther had brainwashed the whole damn court. That it was some sort of mind game, a cover up. He'd kept telling himself to shut up, but he couldn't stop the words from spilling out. Not until those strange, green eyes turned on him. The judge didn't have to make him sit down because he'd already fallen into his chair, convulsing as he choked on his own spit. It was like there was an invisible vise around his neck, and all the while Luther's eyes held him in check. Brian couldn't breath. The tips of his fingers turned blue. And still those eyes continued to stare, trying their hardest to eat him alive.

Later, his mom blamed his outburst on an overactive imagination combined with an exorbitant amount of stress. Too many horror books, that sort of thing. _Salem's Lot, I Am Legend_ , the whole batch was purged from his room by the time he got home. Of course, that was after spending two weeks in a psyche ward himself. Hospital grade, not prison. It was doctor's orders, fueled by his mom's new boyfriend's insistence. Yes, Luther had moved in with Brian's mom two weeks after the sentencing. She'd suddenly switched from loving his dad to doing whatever Luther wanted. And the Chief wanted her, that much was certain. Brian had still been committed, so his thoughts didn't count. Not that he could have changed his mom's mind anyway. And when she'd decided to marry him six months later, Brian had been afraid to do anything but go along.

After Brian's dad was put away, Luther'd moved Brian and his mom to Clifton. He'd claimed that he'd done it to make things easier, so they could forget their old life and start again. But Brian had found the whole thing kind of strange. Luther'd been in such a hurry to get out of Provincetown. Was he hiding from something? Brian didn't know. Though he suspected that his stepfather wanted some distance from the crime scene. Some distance, but apparently not too much.

It had been easy for Luther to land his new job, and now he was the most well-liked chief of police the town had ever known, at least according to Brian's mom. But Brian saw how some of the cops looked when they came over. Not the old set, they thought Luther was great. But the new ones, Luther liked to have them over for dinner the very first day they joined the force. Brian would watch them over steak and greens. (That's what Luther liked to serve his new recruits.) They always looked a little too wary, like they weren't quite sure how to act. Brian knew exactly how they felt: the word was scared.

"When does Luther get off work?" asked Brian, making his voice come out as nonchalant as he could.

"Shift's over at five, so he should be home soon. But you never know, he could decide to stay late."

"Right," said Brian. It was almost five now. Better go, before the chief got home. Chief of police, Brian could hardly believe it. Luther had more in common with the criminals than the cops.

"Okay," said Brian. "Well, I guess I'll see you later." He glanced back at his mother's face, and immediately wished he hadn't. She was staring straight through him, and her eyes looked dead, as if all their sparkle had melted away.

"Mom?" he stepped toward her again. She smiled vaguely then looked down at her hands.

"Luther," he whispered, hating his stepfather's name, the way it burned acid on his tongue. _I don't know what he's done to her, but when I find out, that man is dead_. _Right_ , thought Brian, _like you have the nerve. Just focus on Abby. Think about her. You can worry about Luther another time._

Brian forced his fear to the back of his mind, where it kept a permanent residence, and stepped out into the now drizzling night, grateful for something else to focus on. Anything to take his mind off his wonderful home life. And so what if it was the fact that the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, a girl who could turn into a fish, might also be murderer. "She's not a killer," whispered Brian, hoping it was true. "You just have to find out what she saw."

4. Confrontations

Abby ran home in the pouring rain, Brian's words swirling through her mind. She took the short cut down the beach, winding her way through the dunes until the sea was in her sights.

_Forget it_ , she thought, ignoring the beat of the waves, the way they pulled her toward their darkness, sent electrical charges through her blood. _Just hurry up and get home already_. Her breath streamed out between clenched teeth, and a cramp was beginning to knot in her side, like a monster's claw digging in.

When Abby finally made it home, Matilda's car was parked in the driveway. The mustard colored Volvo, her parents' fifteen-year anniversary gift to each other, glowered beneath the shadowed sky. _Great_ , thought Abby, wishing she hadn't run so fast. Matilda was the last person she wanted to see. Well, second to last, if she counted Brian.

Abby swung open the front door, stepped inside, and was immediately accosted by a wave of hot air. The heat was on way too high. Matilda always did this when she was depressed. As if heat could somehow melt the ice that had crystallized around her heart. _Shallow breaths_ , thought Abby, missing the ocean's chill. Matilda had once set the thermostat at over 100. Abby just had to hope she hadn't done that today.

Abby peered down the dusky hall and into the living room. The curtains were drawn tight, and the only light was the one that came from the TV. It cast a bluish glow across the walls and painted Matilda's face a silvery gray.

Matilda was sitting on the couch, a blanket draped over her shoulders, as she stared blankly at the screen. _Say something_ , thought Abby _. Start things off right. Maybe she's not mad anymore_. But the thickness of her mother's silence kept Abby from saying a word.

Abby slipped off her raincoat and stepped out of her boots before realizing Matilda was watching the news. She was surprised that her mother had the TV on. That had to be a new low for Matilda. She usually only watched during meals, and that was pretty much for distraction, so she didn't have to think about who wasn't there. Abby couldn't understand why Matilda was even home. On Mondays her mother taught until eight o'clock, and, right now, it couldn't be much past five.

"Another girl's missing," said Matilda, glancing up, her thin face taut with fear. At first Abby thought she meant Lauren Liney, but it wasn't like that was anything new. Matilda had heard about that over the weekend, and it hadn't seemed to bother her then, at least no more than it had anyone else.

"It's a student of mine." Matilda's voice was flat. "The administration alerted us, and I canceled my classes. It hasn't even made the news yet."

There was a commercial on now, but Abby couldn't hear it. A strange buzzing sound was filling her head, as if a thousand hornets had hatched in her skull and were furiously searching for a way out.

"Who?" said Abby, stepping closer to hear, though she wasn't really sure she wanted to know. She hadn't met any of her mother's students in person, but the way Matilda prattled on about them made Abby feel like she had.

"Jennifer Ryan from my Cooking II. She hasn't been seen since Sunday afternoon. Jennifer is a very punctual person—there's no explainable reason why she'd just disappear." Matilda's voice crackled like breaking glass, and the buzzing in Abby's head intensified.

A dull ache spread through Abby's gut. She knew it was wrong, but she couldn't help how she felt. She just couldn't stand the look on Matilda's face, like Jennifer Ryan was her actual child. _She wishes she were_ , thought Abby bitterly. _I bet she never tells her students anything about me._

"Maybe she took a trip somewhere," Abby offered, shoving her feelings aside. But the moment she said it, she knew it wasn't true. _The boat_ , she thought. _The sound in the water. Oh my god, I'm going to be sick._

"I don't think so," said Matilda, glancing up. Her eyes were bloodshot and crusty looking.

_Wow_ , thought Abby, staring at her mother. _She looks even more terrified than when I showed up late._

A thin, blonde reporter was on TV. Abby had to strain to make out the woman's words. "Breaking new," said the reporter, and then Abby heard the girl's name, and something about a potential serial killer. The reporter went on about how the foot that police had previously suspected to be Lauren Liney's, had washed up at a time when it was far too cold for anyone to enter the water willingly. The police were suspicious, and now a new girl was missing. Forensics were working to determine whom the foot really belonged to. It could be either girls' now. Nobody knew.

"No." Abby tried to swallow, but a caustic heat was simmering inside her. She knew without a doubt that it wanted out now.

"I've gotta go," croaked Abby, as she raced to the door. Matilda didn't say a word.

Outside the air was refreshingly cool. Abby's stomach felt better immediately, and the buzzing in her head began to fade. But the ocean's pull was on her now— fierce and angry. She couldn't keep away.

Abby started sprinting toward the beach, charging through oceans of puddles, relishing the feel of raindrops on her face. Her stomach lurched when she saw the sea, and the roar of the waves pulsed in her blood. Her need to get in overrode her senses, and she forgot to worry about being seen. But it was dusk already and the beach was deserted. She knew she didn't have much to fear, not that she could stop herself anyway. She tore off her raincoat and pants as she stumbled forward, knowing she could find them later. She left her boots in a heap at the edge of the shore.

Her legs twisted when she entered the water, spinning her down into the surf. She felt the funny, brittle cramp, and then her tail was beating behind her, pushing her into the deep. Her loose shirt billowed around her, and she tore it off so she could see. Even her bra felt cumbersome now. She didn't want anything touching her skin. She needed to swim like she always did, when things were the way they were supposed to be.

With a flick of her tail she was flying, her ears straining for the dolphins' sounds. _Go deeper_ , she thought. She headed down, then out across an expanse of black. She had to find them; she needed them now. For they were the only ones who knew her, who really understood what she was.

_Oooeee, eee, eee_. They were calling. They'd sensed her entry. They knew she was here. _Oooeee, eee, eee_. Her jaw tightened. She knew that sound: a long and two shorts. It was the warning cry; the cry of the shark. Or possibly of something else.

Suddenly, the sound was gone, and a strange stillness filled the water. _Something's wrong. Something's coming_ , thought Abby. The words screeched through her mind, punishing her for coming back in. But she could sense movement, feel it crawling around her, like a city of ants taking root in her skin.

Abby shot back toward the beach, carving her way through the deep. _Get out_ , she thought. _You have to get out now_.

She was almost there; she could hear the surf. The waves let out a scream as she fought her way forward. And then she heard it— the terrible hissing, cold and hollow, coiling around her bones. Lauren Liney's face flashed through her mind: the ruby bubbles, the pleading eyes. _Go_ , thought Abby. _It's coming now_. She whipped around, but nothing was there. Still, the hissing was louder, turning her insides to ice. She beat her tail as hard as she could and launched herself onto the shore.

And then she was clawing up handfuls of sand, as she dragged herself out of the water. Abby closed her eyes and laid her head on the beach. Her throat burned raw with every breath, and the change hadn't happened, wasn't going to yet. Not if the rain continued to fall, not if she didn't have a way to dry off. Slowly, she raised her head off the sand and scanned the beach for her coat and boots. Yes, there was her coat, not too far from the dunes, but her boots? She couldn't make them out in the sand.

_Oh god_ , thought Abby, _how could you be so dumb? What were you trying to prove?_

Of course she hadn't been planning on coming out so soon. She'd meant to stay under until it was late, just to make certain no one would see. Her fear of discovery surfaced again, but it couldn't compete with the thing in the water, which may or may not be able to crawl up on land.

"Abby, are you all right?" A warm hand rested on her arm. Abby opened her eyes and relief spilled through her, relief that it was Brian who was staring at her, and not some monster from the deep. But her relief turned from fear to complete mortification as she watched him glance down at her long, silver tail flashing uselessly on the sand. A raw heat spread across her face. She didn't even have anything to wrap herself in. She was completely exposed, in every way.

"Please," she whispered. "Go away."

"Are you hurt?" asked Brian, his hand still on her arm. "You looked like you were trying to get away from something. I've never seen anyone swim like that."

"Do you know any other mermaids?" Abby squeaked. She started to sit up, but when she saw his eyes widen, she remembered her bra. _Oh, why did you have to ditch all your clothes?_ she thought, hurling herself back down on the sand.

Brian ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry," he said, slipping off his coat and carefully draping it over her back.

"Thanks," she whispered, her cheeks still hot. She folded the fabric tightly around her, then pulled herself into a sitting position. Her tail stuck out like the carcass of a fish. _Go away_ , she prayed. _Just walk away now. Let me do this on my own_.

_Not gonna happen_ , she thought as he sat down beside her, starting to shiver from the cold. She glanced up at the sky. The rain had stopped, but darkness was quickly moving in. She was surprised Brian had seen her out in the surf. No one should have noticed unless they'd been looking. _Yes_ , she thought, glancing over at him. _That's exactly what he was doing. He was spying on you._

Anger surged through Abby, but she resisted the urge to scream at him. She knew she couldn't scare him away, and there was no way she could hide from him anymore.

"You followed me." She crunched down on her lip. It still hurt, but she didn't care. She wanted to toss his coat in his face, but she was too embarrassed by what he would see. Besides, she couldn't just sit here, tail flopping on the sand like some sort of crazed beached whale. She wished she could cover it, hide it away. The way it shone in the dusky light reminded her of the monster hidden within. But then it came: the familiar twitching, the strange cramping sensation, and it was gone.

Abby sighed and tucked her legs beneath her, ignoring the shocked look on Brian's face. Then she stood, and the wind beat at her body, as she clutched Brian's coat around her like a shield.

_Say something_ she thought. _Fix this now_. But her lips wouldn't budge. Her mind was stuck. She waited for him to make the first move.

"Well," said Brian, standing too, his eyes aimed straight at her.

"What are you doing here?" asked Abby, her clipped tone ringing sharp in her ears.

Brian broke his gaze and glanced out toward the breakers, beating away at the shore. Then he took a deep breath and leaned in close, his lips almost grazing her cheek. Abby fought the urge to pull away, but she made herself freeze. She wanted to hear. "Looking for you," he replied.

Abby stared out at the ocean, wishing she were underneath. But then she remembered the thing in the water. The dolphins' warning. The emptiness there.

"I have to ask you something," said Brian, he was staring again, his dark eyes searing her skin.

"What," she said. "What do you want?"

"I heard something on the news today, and I need to know about last time— that morning I saw you on the beach." He paused, ran a hand through his hair, then took another deep breath and began again. "The morning I saw you, a girl disappeared. You don't know anything about that do you?" His words came out in a tumbled rush, but his eyes were steady, taking her in.

Abby wanted to make a run for it, to lunge, screaming into the waves. But, for some strange reason, she couldn't move. Her body had inexplicably turned to wood, her feet rooted to the freezing sand.

"You knew her," said Brian, stepping back, taking her silence for what it was.

"No I didn't. That's not true."

"But you saw her that night."

"Who are you, the police?"

"You're involved," said Brian. His voice was small. "I can't believe it. You're actually involved."

Suddenly, Abby broke free. Before she even knew what was happening, her feet were pounding down the beach, Brian's jacket beating behind her like a sail. She ran until she thought her lungs would burst, willing herself home again.

But she could hear him coming up from behind, his footsteps like gunshots in her ears. The water was her only escape, but she didn't dare face what was waiting there. A million Brian Bakers were better than that.

"Let me go!" screamed Abby, as he grabbed her arm, jerking her backward, across the sand. Her head crashed into his chest, and then his arms were around her, his fingers digging into her skin.

"You know," he said, and his voice was hard. Abby's insides twisted. She fought the urge to cry.

He had her by the shoulders now. She thought he was going to shake her, but he just stood there, holding on tight.

"I need to know." His voice was hoarse. "I need to know what you saw."

Abby tried to pull away, but she couldn't outrun him. Besides, he already knew. What was there to run from now?

"I tried to save her," Abby pleaded. "I tried, but I couldn't make it stop."

"Make what stop?" said Brian, relaxing his grip.

And then the words tumbled out. She couldn't hold them in; she didn't know how.

"She fell out of a boat and there was blood everywhere. Then a shark came, and I had to go. There was nothing I could do."

"You left her to die?" Brian sounded appalled.

"It's not like I killed her! I just couldn't help!"

"Do you know who did?"

"No, I don't know anything. What do you want from me? What do you need?"

Silence. He let her go, his hands dropping to his sides.

"I don't know," he said. "I really don't know."

And then he was really looking at her. Not as a thing, some sort of monstrosity, but as something else entirely. _As a girl_ , thought Abby. _Why does he look so sad?_

"I'm sorry," said Brian, glancing away. "I don't know why I acted like that. You look cold. Come on, I'll take you home."

She let him lead her up the beach, hunting her clothes down as they went. Together they tromped over the wooden bridge that cut through the dunes and into the parking lot, which was empty except for Brian's rusted out Camry. Part of her wanted to run again, but she no longer had the energy. Besides, Brian's hand was firm on her wrist. She wasn't going anywhere.

_Matilda is going to kill me_ , thought Abby. Her mother's face stuck in her mind all the way to Brian's car.

* * * * *

It was freezing inside the beat-up Camry, but at least they were out of the wind. Abby was amazed to see that much of the car was stuck together with duct tape. The hinge attached to the front passenger's door was completely caked with the stuff, and there was a one-inch wedge of frosty air where the same door's window should meet the frame. She tried to crank the window up, but Brian said not to bother. The thing had been broken since the car was his dad's, and it wasn't about to start working now. So she huddled in her seat, shivering beneath Brian's coat while raking her mind for some sort of plan.

"You're freezing," said Brian. He started up the engine but made no attempt to shift into drive. Abby was surprised by the way the car jolted to life. From the outside, it looked like it would be at home in the dump. "I thought the cold didn't bother you. You swim without anything on."

"That's different," said Abby, staring down at her hands. The tips of her fingers glowed white as a corpse. "When I'm—" she faltered.

"A mermaid?"

"Right. When I'm like that, the cold doesn't bother me at all. I become sort of cold-blooded. You know, like how a reptile adjusts its body temperature to fit its environment."

"Yeah, I took bio too."

"Sorry, I was just trying to explain."

"So you're a reptile?" said Brian.

"That's not what I meant."

"But you are cold-blooded."

"Look, what's wrong with you?" Abby was so overwhelmed by the anger charging through her that she grabbed her own hands so she wouldn't smack him in the face.

"What's wrong with me?" said Brian, leaning in close. "What's wrong is that you're a fish! A fish who might be involved in a murder!"

"That's it, I'm leaving."

"No Abby, wait!" He grabbed her sleeve, tugging hard.

"You can have it back!" spat Abby, trying to tear off the coat. But the zipper jammed, and all she got out was her arm. She knew she couldn't run down the beach like that. If he wanted, he'd catch her in under a minute.

"Oh, come on," said Brian. "Hold on for a second. Listen, I get it if you want to go, but you don't have to give me the coat, okay? None of this is coming out right."

"No, it's not," said Abby, but she didn't run. There was something about him that drew her in. She knew she needed to hear him out.

"I'm sorry," said Brian, releasing her sleeve. "I'm just trying to get my mind around all of this." He glanced over at Abby and cranked up the heat. "Jesus, your teeth are chattering."

"I don't like the cold," said Abby, hunching down in her seat. "It's the worst part of the whole thing— getting out of the water and changing back."

The wind was beginning to rev up again. They stopped talking and listened to it howl. Neither of them was sure what to say.

Finally, Abby asked the question. There was no way around it; she had to know. "Are you going to tell?" she whispered, her chest going tight as she waited for him to respond.

"Tell what?" said Brian. "That you're a fish?"

Abby scowled.

"Actually, I'm not. Everyone would think I was totally nuts. Unless you want me to throw a bucket of water on you. I guess that'd be one way to get it out." He paused and reached over like he might touch her cheek, but his hand froze in mid-air and dropped into his lap.

"What were you doing out there, changing during the day? You must have known you might get caught."

"I wasn't thinking," she whispered. "I just had to go in. Besides, I hadn't planned on coming out until after dark.

Silence. Brian stared out past the dunes as if searching for something. Abby wished she knew what.

"I hate to say this," said Brian, turning to her, "but I'm worried about the police. A girl was murdered. Her foot washed up on the beach. They'll figure it out. They always do."

"Didn't you hear?" whispered Abby, her stomach aching again. "They think another girl's missing too. Someone from my mom's cooking class."

"Do you know her?" asked Brian, looking surprised.

"Not personally. They haven't found her body or anything, unless the foot that washed up belongs to her. Only, I'm pretty sure it doesn't. Maybe she just ran away."

"You don't really think that," said Brian.

"I don't know what to think anymore." They were quiet then, listening to the waves, which were growing louder as they spoke.

"Do _you_ think I should to go to the police?" whispered Abby. "Because I'm really not sure how I can. I mean, how do I explain what I was doing in the water? What am I supposed to say about that?"

"I didn't say I thought you should tell them," said Brian. "All I said was that they're gonna find out. You don't know the chief; you don't know what he's like. But he'll figure it out. He always does."

"That's right, I forgot. He's your stepdad, right?"

Brian winced and turned away. She could tell he didn't want to talk about it.

They sat in silence for a while, as the light behind the windshield continued to fade. It was Brian who finally spoke. "You aren't going to tell them, are you?" he asked. The way he said it, made it sound like a fact.

"I don't see how I can."

Brian clenched his jaw like he was in pain, then shifted the Camry into gear and pulled onto the rain slicked street.

They drove almost the entire way in silence. Each time they spoke, it was only so Abby could give Brian directions. When they finally arrived at Abby's house, Jake's pickup glowered beneath the carport, and all the lights in the kitchen were on.

_They're worried_ , thought Abby. _They're probably pissed. You'd better find out what he's going to do._

"Brian," said Abby, barely able to breathe. Her voice creaked when she said his name, like she hadn't spoken in over a year. "Brian are _you_ going to tell the cops?"

He looked away. "Brian?" she said. His name felt strange on her tongue. She wasn't sure if she liked it or not.

"No," he whispered, his eyes grazing her skin. "No, I don't think I can."

Abby watched as he walked to her side of the car, opened the door, and helped her out. His hand was so warm around her own that she didn't want him to ever let go.

"You didn't have to do that," said Abby. Brian shrugged.

"Keep the coat. I'll pick it up another time."

"Thanks," she said, grabbing her clothes from the back, then cramming her feet into her boots. She was relieved to find that they were still dry.

Abby watched Brian get into the rusted out Camry and pull it back onto the road. And then he was gone, erased by the night, and she was standing alone in the well-lit driveway, dreading what awaited her when she went inside.

* * * * *

Brian knew he should head home, only home was the last place he wanted to be. Home, where the interrogations would start: _Where were you? What were you up to?_ And how could he tell him? What could he say? He couldn't do it, he knew that now. Wouldn't. There was no way in hell. But how could Abby keep her secret? People were dying. She might be involved.

"No," whispered Brian, he just couldn't believe it. She wasn't a murderer. She'd looked so scared. Plus, he was relatively sure she wasn't dangerous. If she'd had any sort of special powers, she would have done a lot more than just run away. She'd seemed so fragile, so totally lost. And all he'd wanted was to hold her in his arms. He wanted to protect her, but instead _he_ was the threat. He remembered her body beneath his coat and felt himself growing warm. He just couldn't believe how beautiful she was. Magical, just like a mythical creature plucked from the pages of a book.

Brian ripped down Main Street, pushing sixty, his mind turned inward, not on the road. But then he heard the siren's scream, and his rear view mirror was bathed in light.

"Not now," moaned Brian. "Not today." He slowed down to a respectable speed, then pulled over, his heart wheeling in his chest.

The rain had picked up again, and the patrol car's lights swept over the road, spattering the pavement in colorful splotches. Brian knew the officer was running his plates, would know who he was in a matter of seconds.

"Damn it!" cursed Brian, already worrying about Luther— what he would do; what he would say. Even now he could feel those reptilian eyes on his skin, could see his mother's reproachful look. _More like vacant look_ , thought Brian. _She doesn't care. Luther can do whatever he wants._

There was a knock on the Camry's driver side window and Brian rolled it down, careful not to put too much pressure on the window crank, which was duct taped to the door.

"Brian," it was Officer Dakins, one of the nicest guys on the force.

"Hey," said Brian, trying to smile. _Be friendly_ , he thought. _This guy likes you_. Brian hoped Dakins remembered their summer tennis matches during the officer get-togethers Luther used to host. Brian wasn't sure why those things had ended; only that he'd been glad when they had.

"Clocked you at 60 in a 30 mile zone. Everything okay son?" Dakins asked.

"Yeah," said Brian, who hadn't realized he was going so fast. "It's just been a rough day, that's all. I was out with a friend who was really upset. Guess I wasn't thinking about my speed." _Please_ , prayed Brian, watching Dakins— the closely spaced eyes, the thin, well-groomed beard. _Please remember our summer matches. Please, oh please give me a break._

"Girlfriend?" said Dakins resting an arm on the car, then pulling back when he noticed all the duct tape.

"Yeah," said Brian. "Something like that." _He's not going to ask for your license_ _or registration. He's just gonna let you go._

Dakins leaned in and shot a conspiratorial smile. "Listen son, I'm gonna cut you a break. You're the chief's kid and that counts for something around here. But take it easy, okay? There's big problems since that second disappearance. Having you wrapping yourself around a telephone pole ain't gonna make folks feel any better about things."

"Who's missing?" said Brian, keeping his voice as even as he could. He hoped Dakins would give him some privileged information. It might help him figure out if Abby was telling the truth.

"You haven't heard?" said Dakins. "It's all over the news. A college girl's been missing since Sunday night. Normally we wouldn't be worrying yet, but since that foot washed up on the beach, and that other girl's still missing, we have to check everything out. Especially since this new girl's friends last placed her near the water. It's just too much of a coincidence, you know what I mean?"

"The water?" parroted Brian, his mouth going dry and a hint of hysteria creeping into his voice.

Dakins peered into Brian's eyes. "You don't know something about that, do you Brian? You have some information you want to share?"

"What?" said Brian, going cold. _Oh man_ , he thought. _Keep your emotions in check. Try not to act so damn dumb._

"No, I just hadn't heard, that's all. I only knew about the first one. My friend... the one I was telling you about. She knew the first girl a little bit. I guess that's why I'm kind of shook up."

Dakins kept staring at Brian's face. Brian could actually feel the man's eyes crawling over his skin, kind of like when Luther looked at him.

"Okay," said Dakins, stepping back. He wasn't smiling anymore. "Well, I tell you what. I'm gonna cut you some slack because you're the chief's _stepson_ and all. But you take it slow, you hear me now? Take it real slow. I'll be watching you."

"I will," said Brian, nodding his head up and down so furiously that he felt like one of those bobble head dolls they sell down at the arcade. The kid who's head just wagged and wagged.

He watched Dakins strut back to his cruiser, certain he was about to turn on his radio and relay what had happened back to the chief.

"Damn it," cursed Brian, slamming his car into gear. Brian flipped his wipers to high, then slowly continued down Main Street, waiting for Dakins to get off his tail. It took several minutes for the cop to end the escort, but once he did, Brian turned around and made his way back toward Abby's, her bright face flashing behind his eyes as he tried to decide what he was going to do.

5. Entry

The Hunter stood at the ocean's rim, readying himself for the change. He'd had the two and that was enough, for now. Their energy coursed beneath his skin. Even in the inky blackness he could see how his body had changed. Gone were the spindly, weightless limbs, the bent frame. He stood tall, thick-necked and broad, hot blood rolling through his veins. He'd abandoned the boat. He didn't need it anymore— not when his body felt like this. But still their voices shrieked inside him.

His human side wanted to vomit them up. Not their bodies, which were lost in the water, but the very souls he'd fed upon. Only it was too late for that. Nothing could be done. And, for most of him, that was all right. Soon the sound of their cries would leach from his body, and all that would be left was their gift of strength, and the power to finally make her kind pay.

Anger shot through him, as a women's face floated through his mind. Long, tangled hair, eyes like a cat's— who couldn't love her? He certainly had. She was designed to make men want her. Just like her sisters; all of them were. But even though he knew she was impossible to resist, every day that had passed since he'd first heard her song, he'd wished to god she had let him go. An acrid taste slid up his throat as he remembered her tail, gleaming in the light. The sound of her laughter still heated his blood.

The Hunter snapped his eyelids shut and forced himself to block her out, to drown her image like a stone in water, to try and forget. Gingerly he stepped toward the breakers. They were calling to him, begging him forward. He could hear them in the recesses of his mind, in every bitter turn of his thoughts.

It was at his toes now, lapping over his skin, and already his body had begun to burn. He took a breath and stared up at the stars, allowing himself one last human moment before he transformed— a distraction from the coming pain.

He tried to remember what his life had been like all those long years ago. The uncharted waters, reading the stars, kissing his wife and two boys goodbye, then heading out onto the open sea.

But that sailor's life was so distant now that he sometimes wondered if it had ever existed at all. He couldn't recall his wife's face anymore. And his children, how many had he really had? It was like looking at a photo that was so badly faded you couldn't make out what was there. _Remember_ , he thought. _You had two_. But he couldn't be sure. He didn't know. Two hundred years is a very long time. Too long to harbor any face but hers.

The burning had increased in intensity now. A noxious venom squirted down from above his teeth, filling his throat and making him retch. He doubled over, spewing out the poison, but instead of leaning forward as a man, he toppled down into the surf. The water seeped into his pores, molding him into something new. He tried to scream, but he choked instead.

And then he went rigid in the water, spasming beneath the surf. His skin grew smoother, more pliable, darkening into a scorched black. His arms collapsed against his sides as his torso stretched to six times its length. His human self twisted in disgust, hating what he had to become. But that part was quickly fading away. Soon those thoughts would be barely a whisper, all too easy to ignore.

The great snake raised its head from the water and rested its lidless eyes on the sky. Then it let out a withered hiss and dove down into the sea, its long, forked tongue flicking at the darkness, scanning the depths for signs of its prey.

6. The Poseidon Stone

Abby knew she'd have trouble sleeping. She couldn't think. She didn't know what to do. The night had been rife with anxiety. It'd splintered through the air in electrical currents, making it almost impossible to breathe.

The screaming had started the moment she'd walked through the front door. Jake had been livid; she'd never seen him like that. It was worse than when Dad had died, and he'd locked himself in his bedroom and smashed every trophy he'd ever won. Matilda hadn't screamed much at all. But after all Jake's yelling was done, she'd joined him in on the silent treatment, refusing to even look at Abby as they sat down to the dinner that Jake had defrosted and listened to the TV's drone.

They'd eaten in silence, or at least Jake had. But he could eat no matter what. Matilda had stared vacantly at her plate, glancing up only when the Amber Alerts came on. Abby, whose stomach felt like a fistful of worms, had been unable to get anything down.

And now here she was, sitting in bed, her mind twisting around itself, trying to figure out what to do. Or what, for that matter, Brian was planning on doing.

Abby lay listening to the gentle tap of the rain, like a thousand moths vying to get in. She had no idea what to think about Brian. He'd seemed so suspicious, yet he'd wanted to protect her. _Don't be stupid_ , she thought. _He thinks you're a monster. It's only your looks that are keeping you safe._

She frowned, then reached behind her back and pulled the mermaid box from its hiding spot beneath a pile of pillows. When she touched it, the scent of the sea rushed through her. She was about to yank her hand back and drop the thing when she decided to take a closer look. _Maybe it'll take your mind off Brian_ , she thought, _and what in the hell you're going to do_.

The box felt heavy in her hands, heavier than it had before. She traced the mermaid's face with her finger and stared into its emerald eyes. It was creepy, this feeling of being watched. It made her skin crawl and her throat burn. She remembered why she'd covered the eyes before, but this time she refused to hide them away. Instead she peered into the glowing pinpricks, noticing how their color shifted the harder she looked. The ocean's smell washed through her again, and a cold chill needled into her bones. But inside her chest it was growing hot, as if her lungs were being consumed by fire. The back of her neck was damp with sweat, but she refused to do it. She wouldn't look away. It was like a lame dare, but she couldn't back down. No, that wasn't quite right. She didn't want to anymore.

Something was knocking against her window. Abby involuntarily jerked her head up, and as soon as she did, the air came back, filing her lungs with oxygen. Then the briny smell began to fade, and when she glanced back down the eyes had shut, their emeralds lost beneath two wooden lids. _No way_ , thought Abby. _This can't be real_.

Abby snorted at how ridiculous this was. A teenage mermaid was supernatural enough. How could a box with eyes be any weirder than that?

But the eyes behind her window weren't supernatural at all. It was Brian Baker drenched from the rain, his pale face pressed against the glass, signaling for her to let him in.

Momentarily forgetting the box, Abby leaped off her bed and ran to the window, her mind racing as she jammed up the glass. She wasn't sure she should let him inside, but she didn't want to leave him out in the rain either. He'd taken care of her, brought her home. She owed him this much, at least.

"Brian?" He held out his hand. She took it and helped him in. "What are you doing? How did you get up to my room?"

"I climbed," he said, shoving his hair from his eyes. Water sloughed off his skin and dripped heavily onto the floor.

"Brian, were you spying on me?" She glared at him, but he held her stare. It was Abby who finally looked away.

"I wasn't spying." He didn't sound very convincing.

"I think you should leave," said Abby, regretting her decision to let him inside, all feelings of obligation totally gone. _Nothing's changed_ , she thought. _He still can't be trusted, even if you really want to._ She took a deep breath, but he still hadn't budged.

"Abby I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"I'm not going home." His face went dark.

"Why not?" asked Abby, not that she wanted to know. She just needed to get him out of here. She could feel the eyes on the box watching her again. He shouldn't be here right now.

"Abby, that girl that's missing from your mom's cooking class? Well, apparently, she was last seen near the water." Brian closed his eyes like he was searching for something. When he opened them, she could see the fear.

"Listen," said Brian, reaching for her hand. Then he thought better of it and let his drop to his side. "I'm not saying you're involved, but you know something, and now my stepdad's gonna know too. I can't go home. He'll get it out of me somehow. He's got this special way of figuring things out. I don't know how he does it, but I can't go there now. Not until I have some answers. Not until I know what to do."

Abby froze, unsure what to say. Part of her wanted to shove him back out through the open window, but another part, a more rational part, heard what he'd said and made herself wait.

"Do you think that your stepdad knows anything yet?" Her voice started shaking as she said the words, but she had to make sure she was safe.

"I don't think so, but we need to keep it that way."

"But I saw what happened to Lauren Liney," rushed Abby. "I'm the only witness to a crime." And then she could see it all over again. The ruby bubbles. All that blood.

"I know what you saw, but we can't tell him this. I don't know what he'll do."

"You still think I'm involved?"

"I don't know! But even the possibility of turning you in, or of taking you to his office to report what you saw...."

The look on Brian's face made Abby's insides ache. _He doesn't trust you_ , thought Abby. _There's something else going on._

"Okay," she whispered, taking a breath. The boy in front of her was drenched and cold. Even though Matilda had the heat set to eighty, the draft from the window was chilling the room.

"Listen," said Abby, sliding past Brian and slamming the window shut. The hollow click of its measly lock made her feel anything but safe. "Let me get some of my brother's clothes. Then maybe we can talk."

Brian nodded, and folded his hands over his chest. She could feel him watching when she turned away, his eyes hot and angry, but she didn't know why.

"Are you doing this?" he asked when she was almost at the door. "Are you making it so I feel this way?"

"Feel what why?" she asked, totally confused.

"Like I have to protect— like I have to be here for you. I mean, for all I know, you're the killer in the water. You're not exactly normal. I don't know what to believe."

"What? You're kidding me, right? You still think I have special powers? I'm not the one whose stepfather can read people's minds."

"But at Emmett's—" said Brian. He wouldn't meet her eyes.

"I was kidding. I wanted to scare you, that's all. You found out my secret. What was I supposed to do?"

"But the way that I feel...." Brian shut his eyes and slumped heavily against the wall, his dark hair shining in the low cast light. She wanted to go to him, tell him she felt something too, that everything was going to be okay.

"I'm an idiot," he whispered. He was blushing now, his face pink as the morning sky.

Silently, Abby stepped out the door while trying to ignore the strange spot in her heart that had suddenly begun to tremble and sting.

* * * * *

The urge to run hit Brian in the gut, but he ignored it and stayed where he was. _What should I believe?_ he wondered. But there was no way around it, he just didn't know. An image of Luther shot through his mind: one bony arm around his mother's waist, eyes like a snake's before the kill.

_Just stay calm_ , thought Brian. _Keep your cool. You're going to figure everything out_. He didn't care if he was lying to himself. He had to try and stay positive now, to ignore the doubt worming through his chest, and the fear over what might be happening at home. "And don't forget about Abby," he muttered, "and whatever the hell she's doing to you."

He just couldn't stop wondering if she was controlling him somehow. Using her powers to mess with his heart. She was beautiful, but there was something else too. He wished he knew why he felt such a need to protect her. Why the very cells in his body were drawn to her every move. It took all his self-control not to reach out and take her. To hold her gently in his arms and steal a kiss that wasn't his to have.

To distract himself, Brian checked out her room, though there really wasn't much to see. Two posters clung to opposite walls. The first was of a vase of wilting flowers with Van Gogh's name splashed across the bottom in blue. The second was a photo of a diving humpback. A bunch of bubbly letters ran across the top of the poster, instructing the viewer to "Save the Whales." Brian understood why she had that one up.

Abby's desk and dresser were simple mahogany— nothing fancy, just plain dark wood. There was hardly anything in the room to suggest it was inhabited by a sixteen-year-old girl. No stuffed animals, no clutter of makeup. Even her taste in music was a mystery. A framed photo of a middle-aged man sat in the center of her dresser. The man, who was dressed in a white lab coat, was smiling easily into the camera, one hand outstretched as if beckoning the viewer. Brian recognized the photo. He'd seen it in the paper about six months ago when Abby's dad had passed away. A couple of CDs lay scattered across the dresser, but when Brian squished over to check them out, he found that they were recordings of whale songs.

That's when he noticed a small photo stuck in the bottom corner of the dresser mirror. It was about the size of a passport photo and looked like it had been snipped off from one of those sets you can get from the booth in the mall. It was the only other photograph in the room, so Brian walked the few feet over to it, curious about what it was.

It was a shot of two middle school girls. Both were smiling into the camera, the dark haired one had her arm around the blonde. Neither of them looked familiar. He absently wondered who they could be.

Brian turned his gaze to the bed. _That's where she sleeps_ , he thought and a thick heat spread through him, but he tried his best to push it away.

He made himself think about his dad and how it must feel to be locked up for life. The heat in his chest began to fade. Brian wondered if Abby had this effect on all the guys she met. He had the unsettling feeling that she did.

The only notable thing about the bed was the quilt that lay across it. Its tiny patches of blues and greens reminded Brian of the sea. He was about to look away when something on it caught his eye. A wooden box sat in the bed's center, about the size of the kind that holds a ring. Brian walked over and picked it up, and was taken aback by its weight. He guessed it was over two pounds. The box was constructed from several panels of wood, and he was about to turn the pieces and try and open the thing when he noticed the mermaid carving, and, below that, the body of the snake. Brian's stomach flipped as he followed the letters inscribed on the snake's tail. He ran his finger over the lines until the tip of his pointer began to go numb, but still he couldn't stop himself. He couldn't believe what was there.

"What are you doing?" Brian jumped back: eyes wide, mouth open in shock. "That's mine," said Abby leaping past the doorway. Without even realizing what he was doing, Brian held the box out of her reach.

"Where did you get this?" he asked.

"None of your business! And you shouldn't be going through my stuff!"

For a second he thought she was going to hit him. She was so close he could have kissed her if he wanted, her violet eyes flashing, lips set in a scowl. Even this angry, she was still so beautiful. He felt a strange urge to wrap her in his arms. _Shut up!_ he thought. _Just keep it together. Try and think with your head!_

Brian took a deep breath and handed her the box. "Sorry," he mumbled, heat charging through him. "I don't know what I was thinking. It's just... I've seen this writing before."

"You have?" said Abby, seeming to forget her anger as she took the box in her hands. He could tell by her voice that she wasn't sure she should believe him. "Do you know what it means?"

"No," said Brian, running a hand through his hair while wishing to god he wasn't dripping all over her carpet and that he looked just a little bit cool. "But my dad does, or at least he used to. Maybe he could tell us, if we could get him to talk."

"Your dad," whispered Abby, handing him a towel. He had been so intent on her face that he hadn't even noticed what she'd had in her hands. But the towel felt good against his skin. Safe somehow...normal. He wrapped it around himself, inhaling its scent. When he looked up, he found she was staring at him, and, once again, he was pulled into her eyes.

"Brian?" He blinked then forced his mind away, trying not to think about her mesmerizing looks. "I think you better tell me about your dad."

"Um, just let me dry off first okay?" _Stop blushing!_ He screamed inside his head, but he didn't know how to turn it off.

"Right," said Abby. _Was she blushing too?_ He hoped she was, but he was afraid to check. He didn't want to get caught staring at her again.

"I got these for you," said Abby, dropping a pile of clothes onto the chair by her desk. "I'm not exactly sure how clean they are, but it's the best I could do."

"Thanks," said Brian, slipping the towel over his neck then stepping past her to pick up the clothes.

"Where can I...." He could tell he was getting redder. He tried to gain control, but it was useless.

"Right here. I won't look."

Raw heat burned inside his chest.

"I'm turning my back," she said, smiling now. He liked the way she was looking at him, and he felt a sharp urge to touch her again.

"Get it together," he hissed under his breath.

"What?" said Abby, her back to him now.

"I didn't say anything." He hoped she accepted his lie.

Brian hung his soaked clothes on the back of the chair, finished toweling himself off as quickly as he could, and slipped into the clothing Abby'd brought. It was just a pair of jeans and a buttoned down shirt. No underwear or socks, though if the stuff wasn't clean, he didn't want those anyway.

"Okay," he said, feeling exposed. When he looked up, Abby's eyes were already on him, and a quiet smile played across her face. He wondered how long she'd been watching.

"They're a little big," she said.

"They're all right." The shirt wasn't too bad, just a little roomy in the shoulders. It was the jeans that were the real problem. Brian shoved his hands into the pockets. It was the only way he could keep them up.

"You need a belt," said Abby, opening her closet. "Don't worry. I'll pick one that's not too girly."

_She's loving this_ , he thought, and he held in a smile. Maybe he was wrong about things after all.

She handed him a skinny, black belt, and he slid it on and buckled it. It worked, even if he did look totally ridiculous.

"My brother's a pretty big guy," said Abby. He could tell she was trying not to laugh.

"No worries," said Brian, wincing inside. Then he walked over to her and held out his hand.

"Can I see it?" His voice was all business now. Abby's eyes narrowed. She took a step back.

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna steal it, okay? I just want to look at it again."

"Okay," said Abby, but she still wouldn't hand over the box. She closed her eyes and inhaled three times, her long, dark lashes shadowing her cheeks.

Then the box was in his hand. Only, Abby was still gripping its top, as if she were afraid to let it go.

For several moments they stood completely still, both of them holding a side of the box, completely unwilling to make a move. It was the knock on the door that broke their silence. Abby released her side, grabbed Brian's wrist, and started dragging him toward the closet door.

"What are you doing?" said Brian.

"Get inside. I don't want them to know you're in my room."

"But what about my clothes?"

"I'll take care of them. Now give me the box!" He handed it to her and then he was inside the closet. Clothes hangers dug into his neck and back, as his eyes adjusted to the dark.

"Hey Ab, can I come in?"

It was Jake Carson. Brian recognized his voice. It wasn't like he hadn't heard him at school— joking in the halls with the other football guys. From what Brian knew, Jake was okay— a little more standoffish than the other players on the team, but certainly not a social pariah like Abby. Though apparently his status as one of the top linebacker's in the state didn't rub off on her at all. Or vice versa.

"Sure," squeaked Abby, sounding scared.

Brian heard her grab his soaked clothes and shove them somewhere. His best guess was she put them under the bed. _You have to see_ , thought Brian. _You have to know what's going on_. Carefully, Brian sank to his knees. He noticed that if he bent his head just right, he could see Abby's face through the slats in the door. He tried his best to stay totally silent, but she kept glancing over in his direction. He hoped she couldn't hear him breathe.

Brian remembered watching a documentary on free divers, how they slowed their heart rates and breathing so that they could stay underwater for minutes at a time. He tried his best to do that now, but he couldn't slow his racing pulse or the ragged pant of his breath in his ears.

"Can we talk?" asked Jake. Abby nodded yes, then glanced over at her closet door. Brian could only make out one of Jake's arms, but he could still see Abby's entire face. He could tell from her expression that she wished all she had in her closet were clothes.

"What's that in your hand?" asked Jake. "Is that the thing from Dad?"

"Yeah," said Abby, handing it over. Jake walked to the bed and sat down with a swoosh. The bed was positioned diagonally to the closet door, so Brian knew that if he wanted to see Jake's face, he'd have to move as far to the right as he could. _Okay_ , he thought. _Just take it slow_. Holding his breath while he did it, he slid himself into the right-hand corner, wincing as his back brushed the fabric behind him. _Please_ , he prayed. _Please don't hear_.

"What is it?" asked Jake. Brian could see him now: dark, wide-spaced eyes, thick lips and jaw. _I wouldn't want to meet him in a dark ally_ , thought Brian, though really he knew it was Abby he should fear. Abby with the potential black magic on her side. The beautiful girl with the silver tail.

"I'm not sure," said Abby, backing toward the closet door. Her face was too high up for Brian to see. He was on eye level with the backs of her thighs.

"Good thing Matilda didn't see this," said Jake. "You know how she hates this kind of stuff."

"You mean mermaids?" asked Abby, "or do you mean me?"

"Abby," sighed Jake, "listen to me." He patted the bed, and she sat down at his side. Now Brian had a perfect view of them both. He could tell that Abby was thinking that too because she kept glancing over in his direction, as if trying to spot him through the slats.

"You've got to stop this running off thing," said Jake. "Matilda can't take it and neither can I."

"Matilda doesn't care about me."

"That's not true," said Jake. "She loves you, Abby. Christ, she's your mom. Now I'm sorry we were so angry tonight, but you had no right to scare us like that. You wouldn't even tell us where you'd been."

"Does it matter?" said Abby. "Why can't I do what I want?"

"You don't get it, do you? You think you're immune because of what you are, but you're not." Jake's voice was brittle as bone. "There's a murderer out there, and he's killing girls. You need to be home until the cops figure this out. The police just issued a curfew; I saw it on the news. Everyone's supposed to go home after school. No more late night swims, okay? Just go to school and come right back."

"So now I've got a curfew?" said Abby, leaping up. She was directly in front of the closet again, and her legs blocked Brian's view. He could feel the anger peeling off her body, hot waves of heat blistering in the air.

"Yeah," said Jake. "All of us do. And you need to follow it, understand? Haven't we lost enough already? We can't risk losing you too."

"Is this coming from her, or is it just you talking?"

"Jesus," said Jake, jumping up. "You know, it's totally useless talking to you! You don't seem to get it, there's someone out there. Someone who's killing near the water. Just stay away, do you understand? Stay away until this guy's caught!"

"I don't think you should be telling me what to do." Abby's voice came out thin, like she was about to cry. Brian wished he could hold her in his arms, tell her everything would be okay.

"Abby," said Jake, going over to her. "Listen, I know how hard everything's been. Maybe tougher on you than on any of us. And I know how you feel when you're away from the water. Dad told me about it, but it's not for that long. You've got to understand, I can't lose you too. _We_ can't lose you. You have to stay safe. Now promise me," said Jake. He grabbed her hand. "Abby please. Promise me now."

"All right," whispered Abby. "I'll try, okay?"

"Do better than try. Just stay out till it's safe."

"Okay. I'll stay safe."

And then he pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her in an enormous hug. Brian pressed his face to the closet door, the wooden slats digging into his skin as he strained to peer up as high up as he could. An electric needle shot through his heart, and he closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see.

_What's wrong with you_ , he thought. _It's only her brother. Don't go crazy over this_.

But Brian couldn't help the way he felt. He couldn't help wanting it to be him out there, instead of just watching, alone in the dark. It suddenly struck him that things were always this way— with her, with everyone. Why was he always so alone?

"Thanks," said Jake. Brian opened his eyes. _Okay_ , he thought, _they're talking again_. But when he looked up they were still clutching each other, like two disaster victims who'd found one another at last. Finally, Jake pulled away and slowly walked toward the door.

"Good night Ab," Jake whispered. "It'll all be okay." And then he was gone, and they were alone.

"Brian?" said Abby, opening the door. Brian stood and stepped gingerly out of the closet, brushing his hair from his eyes as he did.

"He's not coming back, is he?" asked Brian, praying that the answer was no.

Abby smiled. "Probably not, but we'd better whisper anyway. I already have enough problems right now. I don't need them to know there's a guy in my room."

Brian took a step closer and stared into her face. Her violet eyes peered into his, and before he knew what he was doing, he was touching her cheek, her lips, her chin. Her skin was silk beneath his hands.

"Wait," she cried, grabbing his wrist.

"Sorry," said Brian, and he began to go numb. He suddenly wished he could disappear, evaporate into the walls of her room, or escape out the window in one violent flash. But then she collapsed on her bed, her beautiful face in her hands. The sobs that rose out of her sounded like bells.

"Abby," said Brian. "I didn't mean it, okay? Listen, I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"It's not that," said Abby, looking up, tears streaming down her face. "It's just... something's changing in me. I can't go anywhere now without men staring. Even my teachers.... It's even worse than before."

"You're beautiful," said Brian. She flashed him a look, then scrubbed her tears away with the backs of her hands.

"So are super models, and some of the girls at school."

"No," said Brian. "Not like you." He sat down beside her on the bed, making sure to leave a space between them. He didn't want her to think he had any ideas.

"Is that why you want to help me?" asked Abby, her eyes trained on the closet door.

"I'm not sure," whispered Brian, shame burning the back of his neck. "Maybe, but I think it's something else too."

"Like what?" she whispered.

"I don't know."

They were silent for a moment, listening to the rain, and then Abby reached over and took Brian's hand. "I want your help," she said. But the look in her eyes made him want something more.

"Tell me about your dad," said Abby. "Tell me where you've seen the words on my box."

"My dad," said Brian, but then he stopped as a bitter taste crept up the back of his throat. He swallowed it down and began again. "My dad was an Anthropology professor at the University of Maine. We used to live in Orono, that's up near Bangor. Basically, it's where I grew up. My dad was into epigraphology, so he studied ancient writing, hieroglyphs, that sort of thing."

"Like the Egyptians?" asked Abby. She was really watching him now. He could feel her eyes on his skin.

Brian nodded and continued on. "When I was fourteen he took a six-month sabbatical. He went to Crete to study a find. I didn't go with him; I was in school. And mom, well, she worked as a librarian then. But that was before...." Brian's voice trailed off. Luther's face was looming inside him. He could actually feel his stepfather's eyes, searing his insides as he talked.

_Don't do it_ , warned a voice in his head. _Don't you dare tell her this. You have no idea what he'll do._

"Brian, are you okay?" asked Abby. She touched him lightly on the back of his hand, and the heat of her skin urged him on.

"I just don't talk about this much, that's all." _Keep going_ , thought Brian. _You have to tell_.

"My dad," said Brian, "well, he went to Crete to help with this new excavation. They actually found something out there, some ancient tablet. They called it the Poseidon Stone."

My dad knows Linear A, which is the written language that these ancient people called the Mycenaeans used. It's from, like, forever ago. Anyway, he was looking at the Poseidon Stone when he noticed something he'd never seen before. The tablet had these weird signs on it. They weren't hieroglyphics, but they weren't Linear A either. My dad thought he'd stumbled onto a brand new script."

"Like the one on my box," whispered Abby.

"It was just like yours. It took my dad and a team of experts an entire year to decode the thing, and even then they weren't sure they'd gotten it right. They were really stoked about it though— figured they'd found some lost language or something.

You see, Linear A was pretty much just used for commerce. But this new tablet, it actually talked about the gods. Well, just one god really. It only talked about Poseidon. You know, the Greek god of the sea. Anyway, my dad thought this made a whole lot of sense since Crete is an island community and the Mycenaeans relied on the ocean. But the thing that my dad thought was even cooler was that the tablet also talked about some sort of sea people. And they weren't gods, at least not according to my dad and the team who helped with the translation. Everyone guessed that they must have been sea gypsies who traveled together from port to port. According to the Poseidon Stone, at night they actually slept in the sea.

"Mermaids," whispered Abby.

"Well, not according to Dante Paulo, he's this Argentine anthropologist my dad worked with in Orono. He and my dad were pretty tight. Paulo thought they'd uncovered some brand new culture. One that existed in harmony with the Mycenaeans. I don't think he thought any of it was mythological, though. I mean, anthropologists don't usually dream up that kind of stuff."

"But what about your dad?" asked Abby.

"Well, he wasn't so sure."

"You said something before about getting your dad to talk. Did something happen to him?" asked Abby, her hands gripping the mermaid box.

Brian's insides constricted, and his throat went dry. "Okay," he whispered, "I'm getting to that."

"Paulo was up here, in Provincetown. The Cape was his home base when he wasn't in Maine. He was a recreational treasure diver. You know, stuff from old shipwrecks, that sort of thing. He was diving off of the tip of the Cape, looking for some long lost wreck, when he found a second tablet in the water. They were able to translate that one faster this time. It said something about some sort of passageway. My dad thought it could be talking about the gateway to some underwater city. But no one believed it; it seemed too strange. And coincidental too, if you know what I mean. Because how could a people who existed in Crete have somehow made it up here too? The rest of the scientific community started to think the whole thing was a hoax. They questioned the Poseidon Stone's authenticity. My dad had to write up a couple of articles defending the finds. But it didn't matter. No one thought it was true."

"But that was the thing," said Brian slowly. "My dad knew he and Paulo were onto something. He took us to Provincetown, rented a house up there. He said he wanted do a series of underwater searches, see if he could drag up any other new stuff. You know, to give Paulo's find some credibility. Make everyone see it wasn't a joke."

"So," said Brian, swallowing hard. "Paulo, my dad and a few other guys went diving off the P-Town coast, pretty much right where Paulo had found the second stone, when something happened, no one's really sure what. Everyone died except my dad."

"How?" said Abby.

"I don't know. My dad was completely psycho when he was rescued. They found him all alone on the lifeboat. He said he fought off a giant snake, some kind of Jules Vern sea monster thing. I remember him saying that the thing was about to have him for lunch when something or someone called it off. My dad was convinced he'd heard a voice in the water, singing or something, I don't know. The whole thing sounded completely insane."

The jury was convinced he'd murdered everyone. That they'd found something big and he'd wanted all the glory. But I don't think that's what went down. I mean, first of all, something was wrong with the bodies. The police wouldn't say what it was, but at the funerals, all the caskets were closed. And secondly, well, none of this sounds like my dad. Paulo was like a brother to him. There's no way he'd ever hurt his friend."

"Where's your dad now?"

"Bridgewater," said Brian.

"You mean the state mental institution?"

"Yeah, that's right. Luther made sure he was sent there for life."

"Luther?" said Abby.

"You know, Chief Pentos."

"Your stepdad."

"Yup, that's the one. He started dating my mom a few weeks before my dad went upstate. Left his job as chief up in P-Town and got one down here. I don't know how he weaseled his way into his new position, but he always seems to get what he wants. It's some kind of mind control trick or something. I heard that Clifton's old chief resigned after meeting him once. And he's got my mom totally brainwashed. It's like part of her mind is actually gone."

"He scares me, that's why I'm not going home. I think he knows something about my dad's research. After they arrested my dad, Luther took all his stuff and locked it in a vault at the Provincetown station. They said it was evidence, but I don't think that's it. Luther made sure everything went his way. He kept the media in the dark about the trial. I bet you never heard anything about it. And he got the judge to do whatever he said. Even the original scientists, the ones from the Crete site, no one came forward to talk about the find. The Poseidon Stone, you can't even find it on Google. It's like the whole thing doesn't exist."

"You think it's some sort of conspiracy theory?" asked Abby.

"Yes, that's exactly what I think."

Brian stopped talking and stared at his hands. Finally, he made himself continue.

"I guess my dad isn't insane after all. And do you know what? That almost makes it worse. When I saw your box, I knew he was right. I mean, you're someone who could have been in the water that night. The singing, it could have come from someone like you."

"It wasn't me," said Abby, obviously disliking the insinuation.

"I didn't say you. I said someone _like_ you."

"A mermaid, you mean."

"Are there others?" asked Brian.

"I don't know," said Abby, looking away. "As far as I know, I'm the only one."

"So you haven't seen any sea monsters when you're swimming out there?" Brian tried his best to crack a smile, but he couldn't get his mouth to work right.

Abby sat completely still, her violet eyes trained on the window. When she turned to him, fear flashed across her face.

"I would have said no," she whispered, "but that last time I went in the water, I felt something strange. Something was there. And whatever it was, it frightened everything away."

"Everything?" said Brian.

"All of the fish. And the dolphins—they were warning me."

"You speak to dolphins?" said Brian. "Well, I guess that makes sense."

"Something was in there; that's why I got out so fast. That's why you found me like that on the beach." Abby's face was turning red, and Brian couldn't stop himself from remembering her body, a curve of cream against the sand. The heat was back, charging through him, only this time he didn't try to push it away.

They were silent, listening to the rain and the soft rise and fall of the waves below.

Abby turned to him then, her eyes wide as moons. Her question took him completely off guard. "Do you want to stay for the night?" she asked. "You can, you know. It's okay."

"I'm not sure...."

"I meant on the floor." Abby's words tumbled out and her face splashed crimson again. "It's just...." She was really stumbling now, and he would have felt sorry for her if he hadn't been there so many times before. If every time he spoke to her, including that first time with the pencil, he hadn't felt like a bumbling fool.

"You said you didn't want to go home," said Abby, suddenly finding great interest in her feet.

"I don't," said Brian, almost too softly to hear. "What I really want to do is stay here with you."

* * * * *

It was only later, when Brian was camped out on the floor, that a terrible fear exploded in his chest. _Mom_ , he thought, as his mother's face rushed through him. _Oh my god, what have I done?_

If it hadn't been for Dakins and that stupid speed trap, he would be one hundred percent sure no one would notice he was gone. He stayed out late a lot; there wasn't anything unusual about that. But Dakins had undoubtedly radioed the station, so Luther was probably suspicious by now. With two missing girls and Brian acting erratically, what was he supposed to think?

"You should have gone home," Brian whispered to himself.

"You okay down there?" Abby asked. She had rolled over onto her side and was staring down at his makeshift bed. He was lying on top of an extra quilt with a flattened pillow for his head. She'd been worried he wouldn't be comfortable, but he'd insisted that he'd be fine. Of course he'd lied, and she'd known it too, because she'd offered to give him the bed and sleep on the floor herself. But he'd refused. How could he not?

Now she sat up, ghost-like in the dark. "Brian," she said. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," said Brian, sitting up too.

"There's just something about your story that doesn't make sense." He could feel it coming and his breath grew tight, hitching like a tourniquet around his heart. _Please don't ask me this_ , he prayed. _Please_ _don't make me have to tell you_.

"If Luther somehow made everyone forget about the Poseidon Stone and all your dad's research, how come you still know everything about it? I mean, why didn't he erase your memory too?"

"I don't know," said Brian, his voice coming out slow. He felt like he was speaking underwater. Like everything was taking too long to say. "I know it doesn't make any sense." _Tell her. Tell her. Do it now._ "But—" said Brian, taking a breath. _Say it! It's what you have to do._

"I think he tried once, but it didn't work. During my Dad's trial, I sort of lost control. The whole thing, all the lies they were saying about my dad, I just couldn't take it anymore. I remember jumping out of my seat and yelling that Luther was involved, that he was manipulating everyone. I was so angry, I couldn't stop. But the weird thing was: one second I was screaming, and the next thing I knew, everything started fading to black. It was like a noose was tightening around my neck, cutting off my air supply. But it was Luther. I know it was. He was doing it somehow. I remember his eyes staring right through me, watching me choke. And that look on his face— it was like he wanted me dead."

"When I woke up, I was in the psyche ward in Hyannis. They kept me there for two weeks."

"The psyche ward," said Abby. She was standing up now, staring out at her ocean view.

"I didn't want to tell you. Now you think I'm a nut."

"No, I don't. But what happened after you came to?"

"I'm not really clear about the details. Apparently I was speaking in tongues. They couldn't get a straight answer out of me, at least not anything they could understand. Really, the whole thing is just a blur. I remember waking up there and asking where I was. I couldn't believe I'd been out for two weeks. I mean, apparently they'd tried everything on me— medications, electric shock. They'd had me in a straight jacket for most of the time. They still don't know how I snapped out of it. Lucky I did, my mom was a mess."

"Wow, that's awful," said Abby. She was next to him now, sitting beside him on the quilt. She took his hand and held it in her own.

"We'll figure all of this out," she whispered. "That's what my dad used to say, whenever I didn't know what to do. Which was a lot, considering what I am, or what I turned into anyway."

"You weren't always..." asked Brian, relieved the topic had changed.

"No. Not when I was kid. And I didn't look like this at all."

"Wait," said Brian, his mind rolling into gear. "That picture on your mirror. Are you one of those girls?"

"Yeah, we took it before the change. I'm the dark haired one, and the blonde's my best friend Gretchen. Well, ex-best friend. We don't talk anymore. I really wish my dad were here." Abby flicked back her hair and it grazed Brian's face. It smelled wild and salty as the sea.

"We should get some sleep," said Abby, releasing his hand and climbing back onto her bed. "You sure you're okay down there?"

"I'm fine," said Brian, but he wished she'd stay close. There was so much more he wanted to know. He was about to speak when he saw her take the box and slip it beneath her covers.

He wondered if she thought he was going to run off with the thing. He hardly blamed her if she did. But still, he wished she trusted him more because he'd actually told her everything, every last bit about his very strange life. And really, she hadn't said much at all. Expect for the obvious, which he'd found out already, he still didn't know who she really was.

7. The Memory Swim

Abby was walking through a thick mist. Moisture clung to her body, soaking her clothes. Its soggy chill puckered her skin into a layer of goosebumps.

All around her lay a sea of white. When she held her hands out at arms length, she could barely make them out at all. _It's like walking through a cloud_ , thought Abby as she stumbled forward, unsure of her footing, though she never fell.

She felt like she had been walking for days. Her legs ached, and her throat was parched. _This is a dream_ , she thought. _It has to be_. She could still remember falling asleep, listening to the sound of the waves while she held the mermaid box in her hands.

"You're dreaming," she whispered to no one in particular. "Don't worry, you're going to wake up soon."

But that was the problem; everything felt so real. The achy, heaviness in her legs, the motion of walking. Even her mind seemed too alert. It was as if she wasn't dreaming at all but had been inexplicably plucked from her bed and transported to this strange, new place.

A dash of red crossed her peripheral vision, and then a bird called out a single note. The mist was growing thicker now. Shadows loomed across her path like sharks circling before a strike.

"Caw," cried the bird, and, for some strange reason, Abby knew she should follow the sound. _See_ , she thought. _No need to worry. If this wasn't a dream, you wouldn't know what to do_. She quickened her pace to keep up while the scarlet bird soared ahead, its sharp call urging her on.

That's when she heard the hissing sound, thin and low and eerily familiar. Abby's throat tightened, and her muscles stung. "Run," shrieked the bird, its voice human now— a woman's voice, high and clear. And so she ran, eyes trained on the feathers, willing herself not to look away.

Yet she couldn't do it; she had to see. The shadows were sliding toward her, their hisses slicing through the mist. _They're coming. You have to go faster_ , she thought. _Hurry! They're almost here._

Abby ran until her legs burned, and still she pushed on. The scarlet bird was diving now, spinning its body into the shadows then disappearing out of sight. _Don't leave me_ , thought Abby, but then it was gone, and she was alone in the sea of mist.

A bolt of panic shot through her, and along with it came the terrible knowledge that she had no idea where to go. "Forward," said a voice inside her head, one she knew wasn't her own. "Run forward. Straight ahead."

The voice was shrill, impatient even. Abby followed its directions, not knowing what else to do. Then she heard the red bird's call, its croaky scream puncturing layers of hisses, as if it were waging a war with the shadows: a struggle for survival in the mist.

"Run," urged the voice, and Abby did, faster than she ever thought she could. She careened blindly through the whiteness, an arrow unsure of its final home.

The shadows were falling behind her now, and the red bird's cries were a good way off. Abby let herself slow to a jog, massaging the angry stitch in her side. The mist was beginning to thin, its milky fingers falling back into the veil of white.

Then, without warning, she was in a clearing. Clumps of grass shot up near her feet, and a few pale birches stretched toward the sky. Abby slowed to a walk and put her hands on her hips, inhaling in frantic, shallow breaths, as she scanned the space in front of her. Several puffs of violets blistered from the earth, but their beauty couldn't detract from the tendrils of mist that suddenly seemed to be drifting into the clearing. Soon they would wipe everything out.

_It's catching up_ , thought Abby. _You have to keep running_. But she had no idea where to go. A scarlet smear sped through the air, then dove down to where Abby stood. "Move," said the voice. It was the same one as before, commanding her from inside her mind.

Abby started to jog, but the bird darted forward, increasing its speed to what it had been before. Abby struggled to pick up her pace, but her cramp was worse. She could hardly run. In the water it would be a different story, but on land she was just like everyone else. With each step, Jake's words echoed through her mind: "You think you're immune because of what you are, but you're not."

_Well_ , thought Abby, rubbing at her side. _Apparently in my dreams, Jake's actually right_.

"Keep going," warned the voice, and Abby struggled forward like a marathoner about to hit the wall.

Already the bird was gaining distance. At least fifty yards of dingy grass stood between Abby and the scarlet smear. She hoped it would stop, but it never even slowed down. The only thing that kept her moving was the feel of the mist reaching out behind her. Its ghost-like tendrils snaking toward her ankles, aiming to pull her into its whiteness and to whatever it was that lie waiting there.

Abby picked up her pace again, ignoring the cramp in her ribs, its bite duller now, but still slowing her down. _Move_ , she thought. _You have to keep up_. And then she was gaining on the bird. Or else it had slowed, she wasn't sure. All she knew was that she was still moving forward, stumbling over clumps of violets, her heels leaving tracks in the soggy earth.

They hadn't gone far before the bird flapped to the ground and peered up at her, its black beak open, wings tight at its side. Abby had the uncanny feeling she'd seen one like it before, if not the same color, at least the same breed.

"You're a raven," she whispered, finally realizing what it was. "I thought you looked familiar, except ravens aren't supposed to be red." _It's magic_ , thought Abby. _Unless this is a dream. And if this is a dream, then the bird can be any color it likes._

One summer before the change, Matilda had thought it might be fun to go on a mother/daughter bird watch. Abby remembered sifting through several bird watching books, marking the birds they might spot on the Cape. But when Abby'd come across a picture of a raven, something inside her had started to swell. She didn't know what attracted her to the bird, but she'd begged her mother to go looking for one. Matilda had laughed and ruffled Abby's hair. "Sorry sweet pea, no ravens on the Cape." And that was that, at least until now.

The bird closed its beak, cocked its head to the side, and regarded Abby with unbridled interest. "If this is a dream," whispered Abby, "then maybe you understand. Maybe you can tell me what to do."

She knelt down and held out her hand, beckoning the raven with her index finger. She didn't really know what to expect. It wasn't like she had any food. But the bird hopped forward until it was inches from her hand, neck extended, green eyes gleaming bright.

"Can I pet you?" cooed Abby, reaching for the thing. She held her breath as she touched its feathers, smooth and cool beneath her hand. Gently, she stroked the back of its neck, while it cocked it's head and stared straight at her, as if evaluating every move she made.

After several minutes, the bird turned away and deftly plucked a scarlet feather from its tail. "For me?" whispered Abby, as it grasped the feather in its beak and stretched its neck toward her again. Gingerly, Abby took the talisman in her hand. Its glossy coat gleamed like blood.

"Follow," said the voice inside her head. "Hurry, we need to go."

"Who are you?" said Abby. "Is this really a dream?" The bird turned its head and stared at her. It opened its beak, but no sound came out.

"Turn around," said the voice. Abby did as she was told. Behind her towered the wall of mist. It had crept closer while she'd been talking to the bird, and now it was less than fifty feet away. Its wispy tendrils reached for her, their chill seeping into her bones.

"They're coming," said the voice. "You must follow me now." And then the bird was soaring skyward, its shadow jetting across the ground. This time Abby made herself keep up. The cramp came back a soon as she started, but she ignored it and picked up speed.

_Wake up!_ she thought, as she struggled forward. _You can do it. Wake up now_. But nothing she did seemed to work: not focusing her thoughts, not digging her nails into her palms. Nothing. There was no way out.

And all the while, the mist was gaining, its hissing growing stronger as she moved.

_They can't get you_ , she thought. _It's just a dream_. Only she wasn't so sure that was true.

"We're here," said the voice, and then the bird stopped. It hovered in the air for several seconds, then drifted to the ground like an autumn leaf.

Abby found herself standing in front of two pools of water, each the size of a standard swimming pool. The pools were separated by a gray line of earth about six inches across. It was here that the raven settled itself, cocking its head and peering at Abby as if waiting for her to make the first move.

Abby stared at the bird, and it stared back. It was bigger than it had seemed before, almost the size of a large turkey. _Has it changed?_ wondered Abby. She didn't know. _Well, I guess if this is a dream then anything's possible._

Abby fingered the feather, still in her hand, then took a step forward, unsure what to do. As she did the hissing intensified. The mist was coming; she could feel it on her skin. The bird ruffled its feathers then cracked open its beak. Its emerald eyes glowed bright in the gloom.

"Look into the pool," croaked the bird. "Look into the pool on your right." A shiver shot up Abby's spine, as the bird's face began to change.

_No_ , warned a voice inside her head. Her own voice this time, she was sure. _Don't do this. You have to wake up now!_

"Look," said the bird. It was starting to morph. Its feathers were melting into its body; its neck writhing and pulsing and gleaming like blood. "Look and see what needs to be seen."

An invisible force pulled Abby toward the pool on the right, turning her face, making her see.

_No_ , thought Abby, but it was too late. She was already staring into the water, unable to look away. It was like peering into an enormous drain, a terrible blackness with no end in sight. Abby had the sensation of being swallowed, consumed by the inky dark. _Are those voices?_ she wondered. She wasn't sure, but something was moaning from inside the deep. She could still see the bird in her peripheral vision, its feathers glowing as its body stretched tall. Again she dug her fingers into her palms, gnawed at her lip, but nothing worked.

_I'm going to fall into this pool_ , she thought. _I'm going to fall in and never get out._

"Now the other," croaked the bird, and Abby glanced away, as if the bird's words had released her somehow. But then the strange pulling sensation returned, and she involuntarily turned to the second pool. She braced herself for what it might hold, but all she saw was a reflection of the sky.

"The first is the door through which you must pass," croaked the thing that was no longer a bird, its beady, green eyes aimed at her. "The second is the only path of return." It was almost the size of a human now, its red feathers no longer concealing the cracked black skin that lay beneath.

"You," said the thing, its face twisting into a grimace, obviously in agony from the change. "You will be human once you pass through the first door. Your gift will be gone, cast aside, to be picked up once your destination is reached. You must return through the second door, the pool of light. It is the only way back."

Suddenly the bird let out a shriek, and a shimmering light shot through its core. The brightness seared Abby's retinas, turning everything a ghoulish gray. But for a single moment she actually saw. In the light of the bird's anguished cry, the body of a woman stood in relief. Dark red hair poured from her scalp, green eyes glistened on an angel's face.

And then she was just a bird again, a scarlet raven with emerald eyes. She gave one final, bitter cry then shot skyward in a blur of red. Abby watched as she climbed into the gray, soaring higher and higher, farther away until she became a speck of blood. And then she was gone.

The fog was rolling in again, its moisture sucking at Abby's skin. Abby knew she had to do something fast. The hissing sound was growing stronger, and she could almost make out the twisting shapes, writhing inside the white wall. They were coming for her, she knew that now. Just like they had come for Lauren Liney. Abby remembered the dead girl's face— the ruby bubbles. She wanted to scream.

It's the sound you heard that night in the water, and all you have is one way out.

Abby stepped toward the black pool, its darkness beckoning, calling her in. She tugged off her pajama bottoms, knowing she couldn't swim with them on. Her top hung to her thighs, and she was about to take that off too, when she changed her mind.

_The feather_ , she thought. _You need somewhere to put it_. She shoved the blood red feather into the breast pocket of her pajama tops, praying that it would stay.

_It's just a door_ , she thought, staring down at the pool, wishing she knew where it led. She only hoped it was somewhere better than here. Then she took a deep breath, clamped her eyes shut, and plunged into the freezing dark.

The water was so cold that Abby gasped, expelling all the air she'd inhaled during the jump. In seconds her body was completely numb. She kicked frantically, waiting for the change. But nothing happened; the bird had been right.

_No!_ thought Abby, _I didn't take enough air!_ Somehow her body didn't understand. Even though the bird had said she wouldn't change, every cell in her being refused to comprehend. She thrashed in the water for several seconds, desperately trying to recall how to swim. She considered going up for air, but when she peered up at the surface, the sky was blotted out by white. She knew what was up there, waiting for her. There was nowhere to go but down.

_Just swim_ , thought Abby. _You can't die in a dream_. She really hoped that was true. But her lungs were on fire, her body screaming for air. _I'm drowning_ , she thought. _This is what it feels like to die._

She kicked farther and farther into the deep until, suddenly, everything went black. _No_ , thought Abby. _What have I done?_ _Why can't I just wake up?_ She had nothing left, yet somehow she pushed on, deeper and deeper until she saw a light. _That's the light at the end of the tunnel_ , thought Abby, struggling forward, not sure what else to do.

Then she was swimming though a silver orb, pale as the moon reflected in the midnight waves. The light around her pulsed electric as great beams of silver flashed past her skin. _Heaven_ , she thought. _I'm in heaven now_. But then she was through, out the other side. The water was much warmer here, tepid as bathwater, and the color of milk. When she looked back, the bright light was gone, and she was inside a sea of white.

Abby held her hands out in front of her face, but it was as if she'd gone blind. She felt the funny cramping feeling, and then her fins spun out behind her, pushing her forward, though she didn't know where. _I'm here_ , she thought. _Wherever this is, this is where I'm supposed to be._

The whiteness was thinner above her head, and so she swam toward it, searching for the surface, her arms outstretched, feeling the way. When she finally broke through, she found herself inches from a grassy bank. Tall purple lilies stooped over the water, their heads shining like jewels in the gleaming sun. "Yes," gasped Abby, grabbing a handful by the stems and hauling herself up onto the shore.

Abby lay on her side, panting in exhaustion, taking in this strange new place. The land around her was vibrant green. Rolling hills sloped up from the water's surface and slid out in blankets across the earth.

The pool, which had seemed so vast before, had shrunk back to standard swimming pool size. Beyond the hills, not too far in the distance, shot the stubbly spikes of a pine forest. Black mountains rose into points in the distance, their dark spires puncturing the sky.

_Where am I_ , thought Abby, fear knotting in her chest. She inhaled deeply and the piney air soothed her, calming her body like a drug. _When in the world am I going to wake up?_ It felt like years since Brian had curled up on her bedroom floor. She could still see the shape of his body behind her closed lids, the sound of his breath far below.

"Soon," said a voice. Abby jerked up. A prickly sensation rushed across her skin. She knew that voice. She'd heard it before. She whipped her head to the side and then she saw.

The woman in front of her was more beautiful than anyone Abby had ever seen. Her thick, red hair hung loose to her knees, and her emerald eyes gleamed like glass. Abby stiffened as the woman approached. Something was wrong, but she couldn't place what it was. The women smiled. She was reaching for Abby, her body fluid as a cat's.

"Wait," Abby whispered, but a cold hand found her. "Stop. Let me go."

"Abby," said the woman, her voice high and tinkling, like a thousand bells brushed by the wind. "Don't be afraid, I would never hurt you." And then her arms were around Abby's waist, pulling her backward, away from the pool.

It all happened so fast that Abby couldn't think. Her body buckled, and her tail was gone. And then they were sprinting through a valley, their feet barely grazing the ground.

"Wait!" shrieked Abby. "I want to wake up!" But the women only increased their speed, her red mouth set in a deadly grimace, one frozen hand clamped around Abby's wrist.

"Don't you hear me?" screamed Abby. "I want to go home!"

On they charged, skimming through another valley, the air shrieking by them, the topography blurred. Abby had no idea how she was running so quickly, especially when all she wanted was to stop. _It's because you're dreaming_ she thought. _This is all just a dream_. But when she glanced over at the woman beside her, she wasn't so sure that was true. Finally a milky sea, the same color as the pool, came into view, complete with a jagged shoreline and a sandy beach.

They were slowing now, nearing the water. For a moment Abby thought they were going in, but the red-haired woman stopped at the shore, and gently released Abby's wrist. Abby fell to the sand. Her legs felt like they'd been stretched out like taffy. Without the woman's magic, she couldn't even stand. She only hoped she'd be able to get up soon.

"Just wake up," moaned Abby, digging her fingers into the sand. She could feel it sliding beneath her nails and the sensation reminded her of home, of scrambling up onto the beach once she'd left the safety of the waves. But then she remembered the last time she'd entered the water, when something had chased her through the sea. _Brian_ , she thought. _Brian please. You have to wake me up now!_

She squeezed her eyes shut and pictured her room, her blue checkered comforter, the posters on the walls. Then she thought of Brian asleep on her floor. There was no way he was going to wake her. Abby knew she was on her own.

"Annabelle said it might be hard for you." The woman's voice was velvet. Her tone tender and sad.

_Annabelle?_ thought Abby, her mind twisting in confusion. More milky waves slashed at the shore as the strange woman towered above, her red hair whipping in the wind like a flame.

"That's right," said the woman. "Annabelle Carson, your paternal grandmother. I know her well."

"She's dead," whispered Abby.

"But so am I." The woman's laugh was an open bell, luminous and sweet.

"Come on, get up," she said, holding out her hand. Abby kept her own buried deep in the sand, fingers clenched in two angry fists.

"I don't bite," said the woman, leaning in close, her green eyes taking on a dangerous sheen. "Well maybe I do, but not someone like you. Or, dare I say it, someone like me."

"I'm not like you," snapped Abby, the words catapulting out before she could trap them against her tongue.

"There's no need to be rude," said the woman, her voice harder now, though her mouth was still set in a pleasant smile. "Well, I can't say your grandmother didn't warn me. But let's, as they say, cut to the chase? I know all about your midnight swims, and what happened to you that night in the water."

Abby crunched down on her lower lip, praying the pain would wake her up soon, while knowing there wasn't much chance that it would.

"Oh come on," said the woman, starting to laugh. There was something ominous beneath the tinkling bells, and it tugged at Abby like an undertow. Abby ripped her hands out of the sand and shoved them over her ears.

_Don't listen_ , she thought. _You don't want to hear._

"You sense it," said the woman, moving Abby's hands away. "Only our kind can hear what's really under the song. But don't worry, I can't hurt someone like you. My voice can't enchant you, drown you in the waves."

"I see that I'm frightening you, and I apologize. But hard times have struck us, Abby Carson. Your people need your help."

"My people?" said Abby. _Oh, when am I going to wake up?_

"Soon," said the woman.

"Are you reading my mind?"

"Yes, it's one of my many skills. When I was alive, my body surged with power. I could hear everything, but not anymore. Now my magic only works in these fragile places, in between wakefulness and rest."

"Wakefulness and rest?" parroted Abby. _Have I been dreaming all along?_

"Not quite," said the woman, reading her mind again. "Though it is true that your body is asleep, your mind is as alert as it always is. For this is not a regular dream. Your soul is awake here. This is real. From the moment I lead you away from the mist, it's all been real, real for your soul."

"The pools," whispered Abby.

"They took you to another realm. The Shadowlands, a land almost solely accessed through dreams or death. For this is the realm where spirits go before they travel to the great unknown."

"Spirits?" said Abby.

"Yes, little sister, but don't be afraid. They can't haunt us here. The sheer human ones never come here at all; their souls disappear at the moment of death. But the ones touched by our magic or connected to our bloodline, they must remain out there, on the island of Duat in the middle of the milky sea, until they disappear for good." The woman pointed out past the cloudy water, and Abby followed her hand, but there was nothing to see.

"I alone can travel into the land of sleep, and that is only because I am more powerful than the others. The old magic still charges through my soul. It is weaker than before, but still strong enough. Its existence is the reason I can meet you here today. That we can discuss what must be done."

"But don't be fooled, little sister, the Shadowlands are real. To die here would mean death for your body as well. And so you must be careful, and do as I say. For I can protect you here. I alone know what to do."

"It was you," whispered Abby. "You're the red bird." The woman chuckled, and then her face changed. A glimmer of kindness shone in her eyes. Abby began to feel a little more at ease.

"Of course, my sister. Of course I am. And now that we're finally somewhere safe, let me properly introduce myself." She sat down next to Abby and stretched her legs in the sand. She was so close that Abby could hear her breathing— short little pants, like a dog in pain.

"I'm not sick," said the woman, her green eyes flashing. It's just that it's work staying here in this form. It is easier for me to remain on Duat, which is where I'm really meant to be. Besides, you've made me work hard today. But no worries, I rarely hold a grudge." She ran her fingers though her hair, brushing it back like she had a comb.

"Let's get on with it, shall we? My name's Eleanor. I'm a friend of your grandmother's from a long time ago. And, of course, of her dear mother as well. You got my present, didn't you? I suppose you did. That's why you're here."

"Your present," said Abby. "But Dad said it was from my grandmother."

"Ah yes, Annabelle would have told him that. He didn't know about me you see, and he wouldn't have been pleased if he had. I've heard that he wanted to keep you his little secret. I can appreciate that; it's a dangerous world. But he didn't understand you, not in the least. Annabelle never let him in, not her own precious son. She didn't want him to know. He wasn't like us. None of the males ever are. So she thought it safer to keep him in the dark. It wasn't until your mother had you that she finally told him our secret. Well, I suppose she had to do it then. With Jake, there weren't any problems. At least not yet. But you're a girl; you have our genetic twist."

Something bubbled up in Abby, a memory from long ago. Eleanor smiled and touched Abby's hair.

"When your grandmother finally did tell him, your father could hardly believe what she said. No, that's not quite right, he didn't _want_ to believe. So much secrecy and shame, no wonder your own mother loathes you now. And you poor little dear, left without a clue. It's terrible, really, how Annabelle died out in the water. You were just a baby, you never knew. But sharks, well, they're always hungry. Vigilance is imperative. Even you know that."

"A shark got her?" said Abby. "That's not what Dad said."

"He didn't say much, did he dear?"

"No," whispered Abby. "I guess he didn't."

"Why do you think your mother worries every time you go out?"

Panic stabbed through Abby's chest. _Oh_ , she thought, and she started to sweat.

"He never told you your history, explained who you were. And I suppose it makes sense; Annabelle kept him out of the loop. By the time he found out, what was he supposed to think? He was a doctor. He wanted a cure. But there was nothing he could do."

"But who am I?" said Abby. She needed to hear it. She wanted to see what this creature really knew.

"Please, girl, you're a siren of course. A magical songstress, sometimes bird, sometimes fish. Usually fish, I might add. The bird thing; well, people don't usually see that part. Though sometimes shamans spot us here, in this shadow land of dreams."

"Shamans?" said Abby.

"Most humans can't find their way here in sleep. Only the truly gifted make it in."

"I did," said Abby.

"You're not quite human. But the task is difficult, even for a siren. Without the box, you would have never found your way."

"Anyway," said Abby, changing the subject, ignoring Eleanor's self-important grin. "How can I turn into a bird. I don't have wings; I can't fly."

"Not in your world, no," said Eleanor. But here in the Shadowlands you can transform into a fowl. A handy trick. It really helps one get around."

"Will I be a raven?" asked Abby.

"Yes, but not quite like me. My color has changed because of my magic. You will have to be content with onyx feathers instead."

"And what about the singing?" said Abby, her voice sharp in her ears. She really wanted to wake up now.

"You'll learn it dear. It's in your blood."

"Abby scowled and stared down at her legs. She had the feeling that Eleanor was toying with her.

"But I'm not," said Eleanor, her smile starting to fade. "And now there's something I need you to do."

Abby stared into Eleanor's eyes. Their green was a tract beam, pulling her in. "We need to talk about your past. About all the things your father did in his effort to change you, to cleanse the siren from your blood."

Abby's insides prickled and she tried to stand up, but Eleanor's hand slid over her arm, its iron grip keeping her down.

"I know this is hard," said Eleanor. "But we have to do this. It's for your own good."

"There's nothing to say."

"You know that's not true."

"But there's not," said Abby, and yet she could feel it. Something was creeping into her chest, a terrible knowledge she'd buried for years.

"You can't pretend any longer," said Eleanor, her pale hand on Abby's brow. It was like being touched by a hunk of ice. "Abby, I need you to remember. I need you to know what he did."

"Why?" whispered Abby. "Why do I have to know?"

"Because." Eleanor slid her hand through Abby's hair, stopping when she reached Abby's neck. "Knowing yourself will help you harness your power. Then your song will flow freely, and you can fight for your kind."

"Fight what?" asked Abby.

"Ah little sister, you know this already. You feel it in your blood. You must fight the creatures in the mist. And the one who is killing in your world too."

"Wait a second," said Abby. "What are you saying? The thing that was hunting me in the water is just like those monsters in the mist?"

"Yes. They are one and the same."

"I can't," whispered Abby. "I can't fight those things."

"You must, little sister. You're the last of our kind. You have to stop them. You're the only one who can."

"I'm the last?" gasped Abby, and then her eyes were pulled toward the water. Its color had changed; it wasn't white anymore. Instead, it glowed a terrible red.

"Abby," said Eleanor, but she sounded all wrong. It was Matilda's voice that came out of her now.

"No," said Abby, but she couldn't help herself. Somehow, Eleanor had brought some of it back.

"A genetic disorder," whispered Abby, still not sure how she knew. "He said it was rare, but that maybe something could be done."

"Yes," said Eleanor, taking Abby's hand. The hand was warm now, not like before. Abby grabbed it and held on tight.

"I can't remember that much about it," said Abby. "It's like that phase of my life is all blurred out."

"I know," said Eleanor. "But you need to remember." She placed her other hand on Abby's head. Her hands had grown hot, hotter than flesh should be, and a slow vibration trembled through their skin.

"You don't like to remember," Eleanor crooned. "Even your body, it blocks it out. But it's important for you to understand who you are. You have to, before you can do what must be done. It will give you the strength to help your people. To turn us away from our terrible path. Close your eyes now, I'll help you along."

_No_ , thought Abby, her insides starting to twist. _You don't have to do this. You don't have to know._

"But you do," whispered Eleanor. "You have no choice. Remember what I said about Jake."

"You said that he didn't have any problems."

"For now," said Eleanor. "Only for now. Males can't express the siren gene. But he is a carrier, like your father was. What if one day he has a daughter? Do you think they'll give him the chance for that? No. Once they kill you, they'll take him out too. You have to stop them before it's too late."

"But what are they?" asked Abby, her throat going tight. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe.

"Just close your eyes," said Eleanor. "Everything will be all right."

"And if I don't?" asked Abby.

"You have no choice. But you knew that already, didn't you? The death in the water that you feel responsible for? More will die if we do not take action. We don't have much time. We must move now. Just close your eyes little sister. That's all you can do." Eleanor's voice was smooth and sweet. "I'm here now. I'll keep you safe."

"I don't want this," said Abby.

"You have no choice. Don't you see? None of us do."

Abby took one last look at the frothy sea, its red now the color of Lauren Liney's blood. She could still see the girl's face in her mind. And Matilda's student. Something had hurt her too. _No_ , thought Abby. _You can't let it happen again. If you do, it'll be all your fault_. Then she closed her lids and it began.

The heat from Eleanor's hands had grown in intensity. It felt like two suns were searing Abby's scalp. Abby tried to open her eyes, but her lids were stuck, locked beneath the growing wave of heat.

_Wait_ , thought Abby. _I've changed my mind._

She tried to twist away, but her body wouldn't respond. Instead of moving away from the heat, she was falling, screaming through a fiery sphere.

"You're body is melting, fading away." Eleanor's voice soared through Abby's mind. "Soon you will see all there is to know."

Abby couldn't feel her body at all. Not her feet or hands, nothing was there. She would have opened her eyes, if she'd had any to open. But, even closed, she found that she could see.

She was floating through a lukewarm body of water. The burning sensation had drifted away, and she was staring down through the blue. Below her stood a young girl in a study, her dark hair falling to her waist. The girl, who looked about twelve or thirteen, was staring out the window toward what Abby knew was the beach.

Everything looked achingly familiar— the yellow wallpaper, the window open toward the sea. A large world map hung near the door, each continent painted in pastel hues. Still, it took Abby a moment to register. _Dad's study_ , she thought. _And the girl is me_.

The girl was talking to someone behind a desk, a man with dark curls and silver eyes.

_Dad_ , thought Abby, but she barely recognized him. He looked so different, so alive. Instinctively, she knew she was watching the past— before her father had gotten sick. It must have been right when she'd started the change.

Abby floated down into the room, all the while straining to hear what was being said. But she couldn't make out a single word.

_Wait_ , thought Abby, moving toward her father. It was hard, like walking through waist high mud, but she found if she willed it, if she forced herself, she could inch closer to where he stood. When she was close enough, she tried to reach out her hands, but then she remembered she didn't have hands anymore. She was here, she was watching, but she still had no form.

"You're inside a memory." It was Eleanor's voice, rippling the wallpaper, stirring the air. "This doesn't have to be difficult. Just imagine where you want to go, and you'll move."

_Imagine_ , thought Abby. _Then you'll move_. Abby pictured herself standing next to the girl, and, suddenly, she was there. She stared at the younger version of herself— moon white skin, violet eyes. _Me_ , thought Abby, shocked by her beauty even then. _A younger me, talking to Dad._

_I wish I could hear them_ , she thought.

"It's only silent," said Eleanor, "because you don't really want to know."

_But I do_ , thought Abby, and then she was whizzing through time. The scene around her blurred to blue, and she was peering down from above. This time she was looking at a hospital room. Another version of herself, slightly older than before, was lying on her back, strapped to a gurney. Bright lights beat down from above, and an IV dripped into her veins.

_Stop thinking her,_ thought Abby. _That girl is you_.

Fear rushed through Abby, as she sank into the scene. Though this time moving was easy; she just pictured where she wanted to go.

_Now hear_ , she thought, and the voices came. There was a soft, crackly one she couldn't quite place, and then a second that she knew well. Her father, they were coming down the hall. She could hear their footsteps, but she still couldn't make out their words.

_No_ , thought Abby. _He wouldn't do this to you_. And then the scene in the study came back to her, and she remembered exactly what her father had said:

"Maybe we can make you normal again. Come on, sweetie. Let's give it a try."

She was rushing forward, through a darkened hallway. The air was sharp with the smell of chlorine. She could see her body being pushed on the gurney, heading toward another room.

_A pool_ , thought Abby. _An underground pool_.

And then the girl sat up on the gurney. A hunchbacked man with a hawkish nose, slipped out the IV and led her to the pool.

Abby watched the girl being strapped to another gurney. This one was metal, and it hung from the ceiling by a series of thick, looping chains. Wires were attached to the girl's chest and to several shaved patches of skin on her scalp. Her hospital gown floated around her as they slowly lowered into the water, her body contracting as the change took place. A monitor blinked, as a camera recorded her screams. Once the change was over, she was hoisted back out and told to dry off her tail so she could change again. Over and over, in and out of the water, she switched from legs to tail again.

"He did that," said Eleanor. "He experimented on you so that he could try and understand why."

Now the girl was screaming something, only Abby couldn't make out what it was.

"You have to want to hear," Eleanor said.

_Okay_ , thought Abby, but she didn't want to know.

"Focus," said Eleanor. "You need to understand!"

And then she could hear the girl's screechy cries: "Please, Daddy stop! I don't want this anymore!"

The scene before her began to blur. The girl and her father were swirling into blue. And then she was back in the study again. Only it was a different day, she was sure. The girl's eyes were red. Abby could tell she'd been crying. _No, you remember,_ she thought. _You remember it all._

Her father was standing by the window. The girl stood next to him, peering out at the sea.

"Abby." He took the girl's chin in his hand.

_Your chin_ , thought Abby. _He's talking to you_.

"Abby," said her father. "I've tried everything. The drugs, the tests— there's nothing I can do."

Abby watched the girl nod and wipe at her eyes. But then she felt the girl's relief surge through the room, and knew why she was crying after all. _Disappointment_ , thought Abby. _That's what it is. I could never become what he wanted me to be._

"Your mother," said her father. "I don't know what I'm going to say."

The scene was swirling around her now, and the air was growing hot.

"Wake." It was Eleanor's voice. "Wake and remember what you've seen."

Abby's limbs were on fire. She tried to push herself out of the heat, but she only managed to roll onto her side. She could hear the waves lapping against the shore, as the salty air caked her lungs.

"Open your eyes," commanded Eleanor. "Come on, little sister. You have to wake up now."

Abby opened her eyes. The day had dulled since she'd been gone. The sky was a steely slab of gray, yet still its brightness made her retinas burn.

Abby groaned, and tried to pull herself up, but a sharp heat rushed up the back of her throat. _No_ , she thought, gagging on bile, then closing her eyes as it seeped into the sand.

"Abby," said Eleanor, her hand back on Abby's neck. It was cold again, like a hunk of ice.

"Abby, are you all right?"

She was sitting now, staring past Eleanor's face, watching the siren's hair dance in the wind.

"That was tough, wasn't it dear?" The ruby mouth bent into a smile. "Memory swimming's not the easiest thing, but now you know. Your secret's unlocked."

"It can't be true," said Abby, spitting into the sand, but the caustic taste in her mouth wouldn't budge.

"But it is," said Eleanor. "You've known it all along."

"But why didn't I remember?" Abby asked. "How could I possibly forget all that stuff?"

"Why," said Eleanor, "a lot of reasons, I suppose." Abby grimaced as Eleanor's arm snaked around her waist. Pulling her in, like mother to child.

"You see, much of that happened the year of the change. You were thirteen, and a lot was going on— not only physically, but mentally too. We sirens go though a great deal at that time. Your chemistry alters; your brain needs time to rewire. Usually a sister will take a young one in, keep her safe during that year of life. But you, you had to do it alone. That's probably why the process spread out for so long. You got the fins, but the rest took years, longer than it would have had you been with one of us."

"Why didn't one of you help me?" asked Abby. "Why did I have to do it by myself?"

"Because," whispered Eleanor, "you're the only one of us left. You're the only living siren in the world."

"But what about the box?" said Abby. You could have given it to me sooner. You could have helped me when I was thirteen."

"It wouldn't have mattered," said Eleanor. "It's not the same. Without a living sister to keep you safe, it was better to let the process stretch itself out, to make it more gradual so you could adjust. Or else we risked the possibility of the change overwhelming your body and killing you. Judging by the speed in which you were progressing, we guessed that you'd be okay by sixteen. Not a full-fledged siren, but close enough. That's why we gave you the box on your birthday. And that is why you're with me now."

"That's why my looks keep changing," said Abby. "That's why people keep staring at me. I'm not done developing. When is it going to stop?"

"Soon," said Eleanor, taking Abby's hand. "Soon you will become what you are meant to be. Now, let me ask you a question, my dear. It's something I've always wanted to know. Do you remember being thirteen? Is there anything clear about that time?"

Abby closed her eyes, and tried to see, but her mind remained a murky mess. "No," she whispered. "I don't remember much. Mostly just about the first time I changed. I was in the shower, and there was this strange twisting pain— like my insides were trying to get out. I must have started screaming because Mom and Dad rushed in. The rest— I have no idea."

"I hardly remember eighth grade at all. Just that Gretchen and I, she used to be my best friend, well, for some reason, we didn't talk anymore."

"Well, dear," said Eleanor, tucking a lock of hair behind Abby's ear, "that's probably because you were a zombie that year. You went through all the motions, but you might as well have been asleep. A typical siren of that age sleeps most of the time. She has to. The change is painful at first. It takes all her energy just to get through it each time. But once her body adjusts, and the metamorphosis is complete, it gets easier. Then she can't feel it at all."

"But I still feel it," said Abby. "It's like a cramp for me."

"That's because you haven't quite finished the metamorphosis yet."

"Oh," said Abby, glancing out at the sea. When she turned back to Eleanor, she had to stifle a sob. "Why didn't he help me?" whispered Abby. "Why did he torture me like that?"

"Your father?" scoffed Eleanor. "He didn't know what to do."

"But he tried?" asked Abby.

"He did everything wrong."

"Yes," said Abby, trying hard not to cry. And then she thought of her mother's face. The look in her eyes the first time she'd seen, the one that said: you cannot be mine.

"They sent me someplace," said Abby, her voice small and slow. "I remember white walls, and some sort of fence. I think the top of the fence was rigged with wire, like the kind they have in prison."

"Yes," said Eleanor. "They thought you needed help."

"Was it some sort of asylum?"

Eleanor nodded.

"But how do you know?"

"Because I visited you in your sleep. You couldn't see me. Without the box, it's like I'm not there. You see, sometimes, during that first year of the change, sometimes you were nearly catatonic. Even in your dreams, you were somewhere else. I couldn't read your thoughts, couldn't see what had happened. And yet I watched. I didn't want you to be alone. Besides, your parents didn't know what to do."

"But how did you find me in my sleep?" said Abby.

"Well, I suppose you could say I'm special even for a siren. I possess powers that others do not."

"So you already knew everything I just saw?" Anger bloomed in Abby's chest. "Then why did you make me go through all that? Why couldn't you just tell me?"

"Because Abby dear, here's the thing: _you_ needed to feel that part of your past. It's the only way you can claim your power. It's the only way you can save us all."

"What power?" said Abby. "And who am I saving? I thought I was the only one left."

Eleanor looked away. Her voice cracked when she spoke. "We are not the ones who need saving. Our kind is already lost. It's the outside world that they want now. And so we must stop them before they take that too."

"Before who does?" said Abby. "What do you mean?"

And then Abby's eyes fell on the sky. Something had changed. At first she couldn't place what it was, but a chill was spreading through her core and spiraling out along her bones. A smoky film had stretched across the horizon and was slowly settling into the sea.

"No," said Eleanor, leaping to her feet, her body rigid as she sniffed the air. "They've found us. It's time to leave."

Fear buckled in Abby's chest. "The creatures in the mist," she whispered. "They're coming for me, aren't they."

"Yes," said Eleanor, "you're the last of our line. You and your brother, though he's of no use to us now. You must fight to save our blood. Without you, everything is lost."

Brian's face flashed behind Abby's eyes. Everything he'd said— she had to know now. "But what about the Poseidon Stone? Do they know about that too?"

"The Poseidon Stone?" Eleanor's mouth twisted in derision. She spat bitterly onto the sand.

"That name, when I hear it, it makes me sick. Our kind would never revere the masculine. We sirens honor the moon goddess Derketo and the great fertility goddess, Aphrodite herself."

"But the name—" said Abby.

"They made it up. Male scientists, like your friend's father. But I suppose," said Eleanor, her hair blowing in her face, "I suppose it doesn't matter what it's called. All that matters is what we used to be. You see, centuries ago, many of our kind existed. We had floating cities, intermingled with humans. In fact, we had to. We relied on the human male. For it's only through him that we can reproduce. So we'd seduce men with our song, take them to the sea. And once we were done, we'd let them go."

"This arrangement worked for generations, but then things began to change. All creatures evolve, and we did too. We stopped seeing humans as a means to an end, for suddenly love got in the way. We couldn't bear to release them, so we kept them to ourselves. We held them captive with our song. At the time, most of us didn't see it that way. The men wanted us; it all felt right. But then our beloveds began to change, to transform into something else. Something evil, and we couldn't turn them back. Now we must pay for what we've done. Pay for our love, and the monsters we made."

Eleanor threw her head back and sniffed the air, as an ominous hiss broke above the waves."

"There's no time," said Eleanor, her eyes frenzied with excitement. "They're coming. They know where we are. Go Abby, into the sea. Be gone from this place before it's too late. Now is not the time to fight your battle. That time will come, but it is not now."

And then the mist was sliding down from the mountains, pouring like cream from the sky.

"The pool!" screeched Eleanor. "Get in the water! Hurry, you have to enter it now."

Suddenly Eleanor was changing again, her neck stretching long, face terrifyingly fierce.

"Don't leave me," begged Abby. "Don't make me do this alone!"

But Eleanor didn't answer. Feathers, sprouted from her skin. Her round face narrowed; her nose stretched to a point.

"Wait," cried Abby. "How do I get home?"

"The sea," squawked Eleanor, her head squishing into her torso, arms shrinking and folding into her sides. "To the sea, to the sea, run to the sea. You must swim through the other door."

"But how will I find you? When will I see you again?" Abby's throat tightened in fear.

"The box. Hold the box, and I will come to you in your dreams. I will speak to you through the feather when you are awake."

Then the red bird shot into the sky and climbed higher and higher toward the rolling the mist.

"Goodbye little sister," said a voice inside Abby's head.

_Eleanor_ , thought Abby, _don't leave me here_. She searched the sky for the blood-red bird, but all she saw was the wall of mist, with its twisting shadows hunting her down.

_Go_ , thought Abby. _You have to go now_. And then she was running into the water, her body cramping as she went through the change.

_Where?_ she wondered. _Where do I go?_ The water had turned back to the color of milk, and she couldn't get her bearings. She didn't know which way to swim. And yet she could hear them over the water, could feel their presence. They were coming for her.

"Go," said a voice. It was Eleanor's. "Swim toward the light."

_What light?_ thought Abby. But then she saw it, glowing faintly far below. This time it was molten orange, and it pulsed like lava beneath the creamy waves. _Jesus_ , thought Abby, _I'm swimming into the sun._ But she forced herself toward it, ignoring the pain, the way her skin blistered and her bones started to burn.

"Forward," screeched Eleanor from inside her head. "Hurry, it's the only way out!"

Abby was screaming into the water, her mouth wide open, yet she refused to slow down. And then she was inside the fiery tunnel, losing herself in its molten heat. She struggled to focus, but her world was fading. _I'm dying_ , she thought, as water boiled in her lungs. _This isn't a dream. I'm not going to wake up._

* * * * *

"Abby," said Jake, his breath hot on her face. "Come on Abby, you have to wake up!"

Someone had sealed Abby's eyelids with concrete. She tried to open them, but they wouldn't budge.

"Jake," she mumbled. "Jake I'm here." _You didn't even move your lips_ , she thought. _You never said a single word_. Jake's hands were clamped around her arms. He was shaking her now, trying to rouse.

"Come on, Abby. Open your eyes." Abby's head banged against the mattress. She could hear her teeth rattling in her mouth, but she was completely immobile. _You're paralyzed_ , she thought. _That's what's going on. That's why you can't open your eyes or talk_.

"Stop!" It was Brian now. "Watch what you're doing! You're hurting her!"

"Shut up," snapped Jake. "I don't know what you did, but if she doesn't wake up...." His voice trailed off.

Silence. Then she heard a high-pitched keening, like an injured animal caught in a trap. _Is_ _that me?_ she wondered. But the sound was unrecognizable, and it didn't feel like it was coming from her at all.

_Eleanor_ , thought Abby, _help me now_. She tried to say the words but her lips wouldn't move. _I'm dead_ , she thought. _That's what's going on. Or maybe I'm dying, and that's why I can still hear._

Jake was shaking her again. She could hear her back slapping against the mattress, making dull, little punching sounds.

"Abby," said Jake. "Open your eyes."

_I must be breathing_ , thought Abby, _or he wouldn't be doing this. Okay, that means I'm still alive._

Abby wondered if Jake was doing something wrong. From her brief half-semester in health class last year, she was pretty sure you weren't supposed to shake an unconscious person. She wished he'd call an ambulance instead.

_But he can't_ , thought Abby. _They'd find out what you are. Eleanor, please. Help me wake up!_

She wondered if the mermaid box was still in her hand. She couldn't feel it, but considering the present circumstances, that didn't mean much at all. Still, would the box be enough for Eleanor to intervene, or did she actually have to be asleep?

_Use the feather_ , thought Abby. But was it still in her pj's? She wished she could move her hand and check.

At first there was nothing, just the sound of Jake breathing. He'd laid her back down on the bed, but she could still hear him panting somewhere off to her left.

_Please_ , begged Abby. There was no response.

But then she felt it— a sharp tingling sensation, like a frozen finger grazing the inside of her spine. Abby gasped as an icy chill spread through her. Then a frail melody slid through her mind. _Eleanor_ , thought Abby. The heaviness lifted, and she found that if she strained hard enough, she could actually open her eyes.

_Thanks_ , thought Abby, blinking hard. Her entire bedroom was lit up in light. It looked like a thousand cameras were flashing in her face. She slammed her eyes shut as a series of sunspots exploded behind her lids.

"You're back," said Eleanor, inside Abby's mind. "Soon, little sister, the light will fade. You've passed through the door and are on the other side now." Then the coldness inside Abby melted away, and she began to feel more like herself again.

"I saw her open her eyes!" yelled Brian. Abby could feel his hand on her wrist— hot and shaky, or was that her heart?

"Don't touch her," barked Jake. "Just get out of the way." His voice was cracking, the way it did before he cried.

"No," said Brian. He sounded mad.

_Come on_ , thought Abby. _Make them hear you. Say something. Tell them you're okay_.

"Jake," croaked Abby, barely audibly at all. "Jake, I'm all right."

Abby was afraid to open her eyes again, but she made herself do it. She had to see. Thankfully, the horrible light was gone, but the world before her was a blur of color. She had to blink several times before it started to clear.

Jake was kneeling beside her bed. Abby found that if she squinted hard enough, she could make out his features. There were his eyes, his heavy brow, his mouth a sharp knife-slice of a line.

"Abby, Christ! Thank god you're awake. What the hell is happening to you?" said Jake. He scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, but he couldn't seem to stop the tears.

"I was dreaming," said Abby, though she knew it was a lie. "Brian, Jake— what's going on?"

Abby's eyes scraped the room. Her vision had cleared, so she could finally see. She took in Brian, who was fighting to stay calm. And then Matilda, in the corner closest to the door, her fists pressed to her mouth, containing a scream. _The moan_ , thought Abby. _It was coming from her._

"What's happening?" asked Abby. She tried to sit up, but a strange burning sensation seared her throat. When she looked down, she saw what was wrong.

"Mom," whispered Abby, reaching out her hand. The word felt foreign on her tongue. It was pure instinct that led her to say it at all. "Why do I have my tail?"

Matilda's face was a bloodless mask, but Abby couldn't look away. _She hates me_ , thought Abby, but then she told herself no. Because in her mother's eyes she saw a terrible sadness, a helplessness she'd never seen before. Not on the day when they'd learned Dad's cancer had spread, or even when they'd placed him in the ground.

"Abby," said Jake, taking charge. He was the man of the house, or at least he tried to be. Giving orders made him feel in control. "Matilda, go and get some towels."

Matilda left the room like an automaton, a sleepwalker moving blindly through space.

"Abby," said Jake. "You're soaking wet." He kept his eyes locked on her face and refused to look at the silver scales tangled in her sheets.

"I thought I was dreaming," said Abby, her voice creaky and rough, as if she hadn't used it for weeks. But her sense of touch was coming back now, and she felt something strange in her left hand. Slowly, she navigated it out from beneath the soaked comforter, gasping when she saw what it held.

"Where's that from?" said Jake, still peering at her face, not daring to look any farther down.

It was just like the few other times he'd seen her like this. His eyes began focusing on something past her shoulder; his skin grayer than that of a corpse. Jake and Matilda were the same in this way; they both wanted to pretend that she was normal. But the truth was, there was no way they could.

The key was cool against Abby's skin. Funny, she hadn't realized she was holding it before. She didn't know how she could have missed such a thing. Had Eleanor mentioned it? She didn't think so. Yet here it was in her hand, next to Eleanor's blood-red feather that had somehow sneaked out of her pajama pocket and was sucking up all the light in the room. Near her side lay the mermaid box. The mermaid's eyes were closed in sleep.

Abby tucked the feather behind her ear, and the simple gesture gave her strength. Then she turned to examine the key. It looked very much like a skeleton key, the sort you'd see in an old monster movie, only its head was shaped like an open eye. An emerald pupil stared out from the silver, surrounded by an elegant seashell border. Abby pressed her index finger against the stone, and a chorus of voices moaned inside her. There was movement beneath her finger's pad, and when she pulled it away, the eye had closed.

"Ow," yelped Abby, as something shot through the key— a charge of electricity, searing her hand. She dropped it, and it slid off her bed and plopped onto Brian's comforter on the floor. The skin on her palm was burning now. It felt like she'd stuck it in an open flame. She pulled it closer for a better look, but there were no marks on it at all.

"Abby," said Brian. Matilda was back.

"What?" Abby braced herself.

"What's wrong with your hand? What's going on?"

Abby stared at him, unable to speak. Hot tears began to pour down her cheeks. She tried her best to blink them away, but it was too much. She didn't know what to do.

"Are you hurt?" asked Brian, stepping closer to the bed while shoving a chunk of hair from his eyes.

Abby shook her head no, but she knew that she was. Something was wrong, deep inside her. Some part of her was out of control.

"What happened?" asked Brian, as Matilda handed her a towel. Abby draped it across her shimmering tail, rubbing the fabric up and down while making sure not to look her mother in the eyes.

"Abby?" said Jake, his voice cool and thin.

"I'm okay." Then the cramp came, and it was done. She wrapped the towel around her legs and pulled her knees up to her chin, hating the way her hands were shaking, and the way they were all staring at her. Even Brian looked guarded now, like he wasn't sure who she was. _Not who_ , _but what_ , thought Abby. _And the truth is, you're wondering too._

"Abby," said Jake, clenching his jaw and glaring at her while he spoke. "How could you let someone see what you are? Did he do something to you? Is that why he's here? You need to tell me what's going on."

"No," said Abby. "This isn't about Brian. He just came over to see if I was okay."

"And why would he do that?" said Jake, his eyes flashing now.

"Because he saw me before," Abby whispered. "On my birthday, when I came home late."

"Jesus," hissed Jake. "Abby, what were you thinking? Didn't dad's words mean anything to you?"

"I didn't mean to!" cried Abby. "I just got out late, that's all. There was a shark, and...." She let her voice trial off. There was no point in telling them about Lauren Liney. If she did, they'd never let her near the water again.

"And what?" said Jake, who was leaning in now, his dark eyes hot on her skin.

"I'm changing Jake, and don't tell me you haven't noticed. It doesn't matter that dad made us promise to keep all this a secret because I'm not just different in the water anymore. Haven't you seen the way guys can't take their eyes off me? Soon it's not going to matter what I do. Soon everyone will be able to tell!"

"I'm not doing this," warned Jake, stepping away. "This isn't about your looks. It's about what you did."

"It's getting worse," said Abby. "Even worse than before. I'm the only one left, and I'm all alone."

"Only one of what?" spat Jake.

"You know what I am! I'm a mermaid, Jake. Come on, let's not pretend. I'm through with it now. I'm not living a lie."

"Is that what Dad told you in his secret message?"

"No," whispered Abby. "I figured that one out by myself."

The room was so silent Abby could hear own breath combined with the sounds of the rain and the sea. It was Matilda who finally moved toward the bed, her eyes bloodshot from too many tears.

"Enough," she whispered. "Your father wouldn't want this. He always wanted you two to get along."

"Right," scoffed Jake. "Like he cared about me. Or even you Mom, it was always just Abby."

"That's not true," said Abby, but her mother cringed. Deep down, Abby wondered if Jake was right.

"You know it is," Jake said. When he spoke his voice was laced with hate. "All this time I've protected you, and you go and let some stranger in." He gestured frantically in Brian's direction. "What were you thinking? Are you stupid or something? I mean, what the hell's wrong with your head?"

"It's not my fault!" screamed Abby.

"Then whose fault is it? Whose fault is it that we have to hide? Because you know what Abby? Now they're gonna come, just like Dad warned they would. They're gonna come and take us all away."

"Before he died, he made me promise." Jake's voice was starting to crack again. "He made me promise that I'd keep you safe. And you... you made me let him down. The one time he asked, I mean really _asked_ me for something. Jesus," said Jake, rubbing at his eyes. "What in the hell are we going to do?"

For a moment, no one said a word. Then Matilda leaned over and took Jake's hand, jaw set, eyes on her son. "Jake," she whispered, "don't worry, okay? Your father told me what to do if this ever happened. He gave me the steps. We'll start them now." Matilda's lips were pursed, like she'd just sucked on a lime, and her eyes glowed with a strange, bitter brightness that Abby had never seen before.

"Jake," said Matilda, her voice stronger now, as if her decision to take charge had given her the power she'd long since lost. "Go downstairs. Abby needs to change. And you, Brian. I don't know who you are. A boyfriend, whatever, I don't care. But I'm sure your parents are wondering what's happened to you. So go home, this doesn't concern you anymore."

"But it does," growled Jake. "He knows everything."

"It doesn't matter," said Matilda. "Not anymore. Just go home Brian. I'll deal with my daughter. I know what has to be done."

Something sharp dug into Abby's chest. A warning? But of what, she didn't know. Her mother was standing at the head of her bed, one hand holding onto Jake, the other one clutching Abby's own.

"Abby?" said Brian, shooting her a questioning look.

"I'll be okay," she whispered, hoping it was true. "Don't worry about me, all right?"

"Right," said Brian, turning toward the door. But he didn't want to leave her, she could feel it in her heart.

A bitter voice slid through Abby's mind like a circle of smoke twining into the sky. "Beware! Beware!" Was it Eleanor? Abby strained to hear, but it was already gone.

8. Revelations

Brian guided the Camry up the driveway and flicked off the headlights. He was careful not to dislodge the actual knob, which was duct taped to the steering column. It was two in the morning. Everyone should be asleep. So why, he wondered, were the kitchen lights on?

"Just my luck," he growled under his breath. Then Abby's face was in his mind. _Why did you leave her?_ Brian thought. _Jesus Christ, that was so freaking dumb!_ But the truth was, he hadn't known what to do. The way her mother had looked when she'd grabbed Abby's hand— it had scared him, literally scared him to death. But still, he'd just left her there. Left her, when he knew he could help, or at least maybe his father could.

Brian cut the engine and peered at the kitchen window, its warm, yellow light spilling into the night. The window's blind had been down before; he knew it had. It always was. Luther insisted all the blinds stayed down. The guy liked to keep the house like some sort of cave. But now the blind was curled a few inches up. High enough for someone to peak through if they wanted; to send Brian the message that he was being watched.

Brian sat silently in the dark, counting his breaths: _one, two_. It was something he'd done since he'd been a kid. It'd started right around the time his dad had gone to Greece. That had been a really stressful time, though Brian had to admit it was nothing compared to now. His mom had been working long hours at the library, and he'd hated coming home to an empty house.

_Twenty, twenty-one_. Breath counting definitely had a soothing effect, and so Brian did it until he reached a hundred. _A hundred breaths, not too long_ , he thought. He'd only been sitting for a couple of minutes. Not enough time for Luther to freak.

Brian had no idea what was waiting for him, but he figured the sooner he got it over with, the better. He slid out of the car, and nudged the Camry's door shut, careful not to loosen the thick wad of duct tape that was holding the driver's side window in. Luther had turned the porch lights off, which meant that the front door was locked.

_Side door_ , thought Brian. _He wants me in the kitchen. That means he's probably waiting there for me._

The door creaked open, and the screen door smacked behind him, and then Brian was inside the house. Immediately, his face was flooded in light. His retinas burned, and he started blinking like a madman. He wondered if this was all part of some torture technique, or if it was just one of the many strange ways his stepfather got off.

Luther Pentos, Chief of the Clifton Police, sat at the kitchen table, his long, wiry frame folded into a chair. A thin smile slid across Luther's face, and his eyes narrowed as he leered at Brian.

Brian knew that smile, he'd seen it before— in the courtroom two years ago, when Luther'd practically had him speaking in tongues. It was a look that meant: I've got you now. I've got you and there's no way out.

_Look away_ , thought Brian. _Look away now_. But for some incomprehensible reason, he held his ground, ignoring the fear churning inside him, as he stared his stepfather straight in the face.

It was Luther's eyes that unnerved him the most. The way they narrowed and changed to different shades of green— something was very wrong with them, but Brian had no idea what it was.

"Hi," said Brian, finally glancing away. It was a relief to still be standing on his own two feet.

"Have a seat," said Luther, gesturing to the chair at the opposite side of the kitchen table.

Brian sat down and stared at the tablecloth, letting his fingers trace the pattern of rose buds that laced across its polyester shell.

"Brian," said Luther, "look up, son. You better look me at me when I'm talking to you." There was a sharp, warning tone in the police chief's voice. Brian tore his eyes from the table, fearing what would happened if he refused.

"I heard what happened out there tonight. Dakins called, said you were acting strange. Is there something you need to tell me son? Something you think I ought to know?"

Brian grimaced and wagged his head in an emphatic no. "I was going too fast, and the weather was bad. Officer Dakins just told me to slow down." Brian knew his words were coming too fast. _Be cool_ , he thought, _or you'll give yourself away_.

"I heard that part," said Luther, "but that's not what I meant. Sure as hell was nice of Dakins to let you off, though. He only did it because you're my son."

Brian's jaw automatically clenched. He glanced back down at the parade of rose buds, bright red flashing behind his eyes. _I am not your son_ , he thought to himself. _I'm not your son, and I never will be._

Luther's laugh reminded Brian of the way dirt sounds when you throw it into an open grave.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Brian saw Luther move. He jerked back as the police chief stretched out his arm and picked something up off the floor. It was a fluid motion, like gliding through water, and Brian was surprised by how graceful it was.

"Read this," said Luther, shoving a paper toward Brian. It slid across the table with a scratchy hiss.

It was a front page article from the Cape Cod Chronicle, torn out from this morning's paper. Brian knew it was this morning's because Luther didn't keep the old ones around. He read the paper early, before anyone else was up, then dumped it in his car and took off for work. If Brian or his mom wanted to read the thing, they had to drive over to Shaw's and get a copy of their own. Not that his mother had any interest anymore. And Brian, well, he'd just a soon look on the Web.

Brian held the newsprint in his hands, while fighting the urge to get up and run. It was a story about the two missing girls. The headline was enough to jack up his pulse, make his heart bang in his ears like a drum. It read: "Serial killer Loose on Cape." _Oh shit_ , thought Brian. _Lord, help me stay calm._

"You know something about this?" asked Luther, pointing a bony finger in Brian's direction. "Officer Dakins thought you might."

"No," said Brian, starting to sweat. Little beads of perspiration pricked the back of his neck and began sliding toward the base of his spine. He hoped that Luther wouldn't notice, though he guessed he already did.

"You sure about that?" Luther asked. Brian could smell the chief's breath from across the table— it had the musky aroma of rotting leaves.

"Yes," said Brian, his voice loud in his ears. It was like he was shouting, but he didn't think he was.

"Yes what?" said Luther, smiling again, his gray lips curling up like a stretched-out slug.

"Yes sir. I'm sure." _Oh yes I am_.

Well, I'll be watching," said the chief, and his eyes went green, greener than Brian had ever seen before. They shone like two flares in the middle of his face. Then his mouth twisted in a funny way and his pale skin began to grow dark.

"No," yelped Brian, leaping up from his seat, knocking over his chair in the process.

"You okay son?" said Luther, as if he was concerned.

When Brian looked back, the man's face was normal. Mean as always, but the strange eyes and skin tone were gone.

_Something's wrong_ , thought Brian, his breath trapped in his throat. _You need to go. Get out of here now._

"Yes sir," Brian whispered, and then Luther stood too.

"Just as long as we're clear." He smiled again.

"Crystal," said Brian, swallowing hard.

"Well then, I think I'm gonna turn in for the night. Don't want your mother waiting up too long." Luther's eyes narrowed merrily, and Brian's jaw gave an involuntary clench.

Brian watched his stepfather walk out of the room, rage flaming inside his chest. _Why did she marry that guy?_ he wondered. _How could she just walk away from dad?_ In that moment Brian hated is mother, hated her for choosing Luther, for allowing the police chief to wipe her mind clean.

"Dad," whispered Brian, stepping back into the night. It was raining again, but he didn't care. He peered up into the inky darkness, as the rain pricked his face and ran down his neck. "Dad, I'm sorry I was too afraid to see you before, but I'm coming now. I'll be there soon."

Brian made his way over to the Camry, his face still raised to the swollen sky. It was only when he was turning on the ignition, that he finally glanced back at the house. It was dark now; the kitchen lights were off. He had just shifted into drive, when something caught his attention. Two eyes stared down from his mother's bedroom window, bright and green as signal flares. "No," moaned Brian as he hit the gas, and the Camry screeched toward the open road.

9. The Hunt Continues

He couldn't help it; he was hunting again. But he needed sustenance, something to keep him going. He also needed to get closer to her, and this was the only way he knew how.

He knew she'd been on this beach before; he'd felt her presence in the water. Even now, in his human form, as he approached the gaggle of teenagers huddled around the bonfire; he could almost taste her blood on his lips.

His skin prickled as he read those around him. _No, not tonight. She wasn't here_. But he could sense her scent in the minds of the others. Their thoughts echoed through his blood, painting colors, pictures, but most often smells. _Which one means the most to her?_ he wondered. For tonight, that one would be his meal.

He ran his hand through his short, blond hair, grateful for his boyish looks. They hadn't taken him far in life. The reality was, they'd been his demise. For weren't they the reason the sea witch had wanted him, with her long, tangled hair and her mouth full of love? If only he'd been an ugly old troll. She'd have passed him by, left him alone. Or if he'd looked like the monster her love had transformed him into, if all she had seen were burnt skin and fangs, then maybe she would have run howling from the water, her fins turning to feet as they scraped at the sand.

He took a few steps toward the bonfire, watching its sparks shoot into the sky. Then he paused and glanced at the sea. And with that one look, his skin started to itch. It took all his concentration to ignore the urge, to repress the need to lunge into the water and become that thing he most despised.

"Hey," said a girl. She was short and dark. Even beneath the smoky sky, he could see her face was pocked as the moon's.

"I'm Amber," she said, smiling wide. She moved closer to him, cranking her neck around like an owl, obviously checking to make sure they were alone. They were standing off to the bonfire's side, while most of the others were closer to the flames. This removal gave her a lift of courage. He could feel it in the way her pulse started to quicken, and the slick smell of sweat at the base of her skull.

"I haven't seen you around here before," she said, smiling again.

He hated when they smiled. Smiles were misleading, foolish even, especially when you had no idea what you were smiling at. He took her in, probing her mind in a glance. It was simple. He could do it with everyone. Well, everyone excluding the sirens. They could block him out, he had no idea how. Though he guessed it had something to do with their magic, which was darker and stronger than his own.

With everyone else, it was almost too easy. The trick was being careful what you did. If you pushed too hard, you ruined your subject, and they either went mad or turned empty as a shell. He'd seen it happen, had done it himself— in his less experienced days.

"Amber," he said, his voice caressing her mind, trolling the surface, not probing too deep. It was more than what he'd caught before, but not enough to cause any harm.

"Hmmm?" she said, smiling back. She was a girl who rarely spoke to boys. And when she did, she was invariably rejected. But the night had made her brave. _Too brave_ , he thought, as he glided toward her, his skin tingling in anticipation.

He too was pleased with the dark. It hid the strange way his neck had begun to sprout forward, curving up and around like a cobra's hood. When he smiled, his teeth were spikes.

"I'm not from around here." His words came out in a hiss. He sensed trepidation, uncertainty. Had he made a mistake? She smelled so good. He toyed with the idea of slipping inside her, of making her think what he wanted her too. Mind control _was_ one of his gifts, but it would affect the strength of her essence, and make for a less satisfying meal. Besides, she wasn't what he wanted. The siren was foreign to her. But still— he couldn't pull himself away.

He was about to strike when he caught another scent, drifting in through the smoky air. This one was caramel, apples and honey; an image of the ocean and a bucket of shells. Fingernails painted in blue and pink stripes— the small hands of a child. This memory was deep.

The Hunter froze and raised his head toward the sky, his tongue flicking at the November air. He knew that smell. It was the one he wanted, the scent of the siren he needed to find.

And so he stepped away from his pocked marked prey; eyelids closed tightly, nostrils flared. _Where is she_ , he wondered. _Where did she go?_

That's when he spotted Gretchen Milligan, late to the covert beach party, stepping into the fire's light. His eyes flashed through her, and he saw everything. Her anxiety about being out during the curfew. Her need to be accepted, to find strength in friends.

"Hi there," he said, rushing forward, moving so smoothly his feet barely grazed the sand.

"Hey!" said Amber, but he felt her relief. He'd let his excitement rule his senses, and he'd almost given himself away. But the new smell was intoxicatingly strong. He started to salivate, and his human saliva began to mix with something else. Sharp and bitter, the venom charred his skin— burning his tongue and the roof of his mouth.

He knew he couldn't do this unless he gained control. He focused his mind. The venom was gone, and he was standing, human, beside his prey.

"Hi?" said Gretchen. She wasn't used to strangers approaching her. He could tell she was a little unsure.

"It's a beautiful night," he said, keeping his voice low, as he tried to contain the rising hiss.

"Yes," she said, and then he saw her smile. He knew what he looked like: gleaming and blonde, muscles etched beneath his shirt. They were close to the fire. She could see everything.

"Go for a walk Gretchen?" he whispered. Uncertainty flashed through her mind. He read her thoughts: _Stay close to the group. There's a killer out there, and you don't know who it is._

"How do you know my name?" she asked.

"Lucky guess. Besides, all beautiful girls are Gretchens to me."

"Hmmm," she said, but she was smiling now. He could tell she didn't really believe him, but he also knew that she didn't care. He was handsome and charming, a mysterious prince, and she'd never had attention like this before. He smiled wide, then let his mind slip into hers. Just a little help, that's all she needed. So she wouldn't be afraid. He felt a cinching in his gut. Then a gentle tug, and she succumbed to his spell.

"We could sit by the fire and talk if you like," he said. She smiled again. He had her now.

He concentrated on containing the hiss, on trapping it deep within his throat. But the need was there, rippling though him. He could barely control it anymore.

_Don't do this_ , howled a voice inside him, but he shoved it away. This was the job he'd been sent to do, the one he was built for. He couldn't fail now.

_You need this_ , he thought. _You need to consume her_. It was only way to weaken the siren, to destroy the last of the monsters who'd hurt him long ago.

"Shall we walk?" he asked, taking her hand. Her skin was warm beneath his own. _Human_ _skin_ , he thought, remembering his wife. And then he thought of the one who changed him, her dark lips pressed against his own. _Why?_ he thought, almost tasting her now. _Why did you do this?_ But then the feeling was gone.

They were nearing the water, and its power ripped through him. His prey walked silently, her hand in his. He'd dulled her senses with a single look, made her trust him instead of run. He knew exactly how she felt like, for the very same thing had been done to him. Though, in his case, it was a song that had caught him. By the time he'd woken up and realized what had happened, it was too late to change his mind.

A bubble of guilt rose high in his throat, but he swallowed it down and made himself forget. "Gretchen," he murmured, pulling her close. He wrapped his arms around her waist and slowly guided her into the sea.

10. The Talisman

Abby sat huddled in the front passenger's side of her parents' Volvo. Rain beat against the car's windshield, mashing into the mustard colored hood. They were on Route 3, heading for the city, and already the landscape around them was wrong. The ocean had been replaced by a thin line of scrub pines, and soon that would disappear too. Then all she would see was the gray slab of highway bordered by quick stops, a few fast food joints, and then the ugly stub of the city itself. Abby knew Boston was considered beautiful, but where she was going, it was all gridlock and tunnels. The Ted Williams would take her under the bay, as she sped toward her waiting plane.

Matilda drove in silence, hands clamped to the wheel. They had barely spoken since they'd gotten in the car, not even the usual pleasantries. It was like driving with a ghost.

Abby turned to stare at the ratty looking duffel, forlorn in the car's pristine back seat. All Matilda had said was that Abby was leaving, that she had to disappear until things cooled down. Abby had wanted to fight, insist that she stay. But for some strange reason, she hadn't said a word. After telling Brian it was okay to go, she'd pretty much clammed up. Maybe it was the remnants of her nightmare that kept her silent, or the hot lump in her throat when Matilda held her hand. Really, she had no idea what she'd been thinking. It was only now that it finally dawned on her: she had made a terrible mistake.

Abby thought of the mermaid box, staring at her beneath the duffel bag's cloth. She slipped her hand into her jacket pocket and fingered the eye key, its lid still closed. Her knuckles grazed the blood-red feather, its thin spine warm against her skin. "Turn around," said a voice. Was it Eleanor? Abby glanced at Matilda, but her mother didn't even blink.

_That's because she can't hear it_ , thought Abby. _That's because it's just for you_.

Her mother had been too busy to see her pack the box. Abby had slipped it in while Matilda was pulling clothes off of hangers and out of drawers, and piling them high in the center of the bed. There were two warm sweaters, a clean pair of jeans and several pairs of woolen socks. But she'd also packed some summer stuff— Abby's favorite halter, two flowery skirts. Abby had wondered where she was going, and why, if she was just waiting until things cooled down, did she need clothing for every season. It was only now that she realized what all the packing meant: she was never coming home.

Matilda's eyes were on the road, concentrating as she careened through the storm. She was driving too fast for weather like this, but they had somewhere to go. They couldn't be late.

After Brian had left, Matilda had scrambled for flights, frantically calling airline after airline, while Jake cruised the Internet. The earliest they'd found was a one-way on Continental, scheduled to fly out that very day. Abby had to be at the gate at eight in the morning, a full three hours before the plane took off. London, that's where she was headed. Her mother had explained it: Dad had a friend. A colleague out there. Abby was supposed to look him up. Matilda had refused to write anything down and had made Abby repeat the name and number over and over until she knew it by heart. Mortimus Cervantes: (020) 788-4512. She needed to call him when she arrived. He couldn't know she was coming. There would be no contact from the States. She had to do it, and do it alone. Supposedly, he'd keep her safe.

The whole experience reminded Abby of the first time she'd biked to Moby's alone. She must have been around ten at the time, and all she'd wanted was a pack of gum. Moby's General Store was just two miles down the street and, by anyone's standards, a simple ride. The road was rimmed by an enormous shoulder, so it wasn't like Abby would be near any cars. But Matilda, who had still been "Mom" at the time, had made Abby repeat her instructions over and over, until she was convinced Abby knew them by heart. _Stay on the shoulder. Don't veer into the lane. And don't talk to anyone, especially someone you don't know_. Yes, stranger danger had been imprinted in Abby at an early age. In those days her mother had wanted her safe. This time, though, she wasn't so sure.

"Don't call or email for at least a month, okay?" Those were the words Matilda had said as she rammed Abby's belongings into the bag. The idea was to pretend that Abby had gone missing. Contacting home would ruin all that. It was for Abby's protection, at least according to Matilda. And though part of Abby knew that was true, another part, a less rational one, was stung by her mother's willingness to let her disappear. It was like Matilda had been waiting for this moment. This was her chance to sever the ties.

She doesn't even want a phone call, thought Abby. She doesn't even care if I'm all right.

The rain was so heavy it was hard to see. Cars were pulling over onto the shoulder, but Matilda didn't seem to care. "Matilda," whispered Abby as they bounced along, water slapping the window like great gobs of spit. "What's the rush, we can't take off in this weather."

"Let's just get there," said Matilda, squinting hard, as if she could make it on determination alone. "You never know what the pilot will do. Besides, it's better if you're out of the house. If your friend does decide to tell, it will take them a while to figure out where you are. We need time on our side right now."

_For you or for me?_ wondered Abby, but she kept the words locked inside. She stared out at the crowded highway, her eyes taking in the flooded road as she blinked back tears that never came. They were moving again; maybe her mother was right. The wipers' strange beat skipped along with her heart as the car sliced a path through the rain.

"Let's go," said Matilda, under her breath. "Come on people, let's get there already."

"Mom?" whispered Abby. The word still felt wrong.

"What," said Matilda, glancing at her, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"We don't have to do this. We could just go home."

_Try_ said a voice, and this time it was hers. _Try and make her change her mind. Do it now. You need to stay. Brian said his father could help. And Eleanor...._ Abby closed her eyes. She could see the siren's deep green stare, her orange hair streaming in the wind.

"Abby," said Matilda, "you can't get caught. I don't think you understand. I'm only doing this because I have to. Do you think I want to send you away?"

A small voice inside Abby muttered yes. Matilda took the silence for what it was.

"Well, I don't," said Matilda. "I just can't let them find you. Do you know what they'd do to you, to all of us? The studies, the questions— your father told you all this. I just don't understand why you let that boy see."

"I didn't let him," said Abby. "He just saw me, that's all! Besides, he's not going to tell. He thinks his father can help me figure out what to do. He knows something about the words on the mermaid box."

"What mermaid box?" snapped Matilda. "Was that your father's little gift? Jesus, Abby, you don't get it, do you? I don't care what your father gave you. I'm getting you out of here for your own good. God how I hated all his secrets. You'd think he'd have clued me in at least once in his life."

An uncomfortable silence filled the car, punctuated by the smack of the windshield wipers, as they attacked the raindrops in brisk, angry strokes. Abby focused on their sound until she could decide what to say.

"I had a dream," she whispered, knowing what she had to do. "Maybe it was a vision, I don't know. But whatever it was, I know I can stop it. I can stop the killer, the one who hurt Laura Liney and that girl from your cooking class."

Matilda was gnawing at her lower lip. Then she jerked the Volvo over the ramp and slammed onto 93, nearly side-swiping a bus in the process. _Almost there_ , thought Abby as horns shrieked through the rain. An airport icon slid by on her right, and the scent of the ocean shot through her blood, even though the harbor was hidden from view.

"Try," hummed the voice inside her mind. It was Eleanor, she recognized it now. The siren's voice had grown in strength. Now it was easy to tell who it was. Abby slipped her hand into her coat pocket; the feather was pulsing and growing warm. "Try again," said Eleanor, louder this time. "You have to make her take you back."

_I can't_ , thought Abby.

"Yes you can."

Abby took a deep breath and stared straight ahead, eyes locked on the line of traffic streaming into the tunnel's dark. "Please," Abby whispered. "Please take me home."

"Forget it," barked Matilda. "It's not safe anymore. This is what your father would have wanted. He asked me to protect you, and this is the only way I know how."

"You think he'd want this?" scoffed Abby. "You think he'd want you to abandon me in a foreign country with just the name and number of some stranger he used to know?"

"Goddamn it Abby, you never think I'm on your side. And, you know, most of the time you're probably right. I hate what Jason did to you; all those tests and secrets. He left me and Jake all alone. All his energy was aimed at you. I know I was resentful, and I can't help that now, but it doesn't change the fact that you're my daughter. You're my daughter, and I love you. Don't think I'm about to let them take you away. This is what we're doing. It's the only way. Your father told me under no uncertain terms: if anyone ever found out what you are, we should send you to the contact he gave me. And that is exactly what we're going to do."

They were out of the tunnel now, and the airport loomed ahead. Abby watched as her mother veered toward departures. For a moment she thought she was being dropped off.

"Damn it. I always mess up here." Matilda cut across two lanes of traffic and turned left into the parking garage.

"You're not just leaving me at departures?" said Abby.

"What are you, nuts? I'm taking you as close to your gate as I can get. I know you Abby; you won't get on the plane. You were always headstrong, but now you're even worse. Look, I know that you think your boyfriend can help, but he can't. Only one person can help us now, and that is the man you're going to meet. So if you think I trust you to get on that plane, well, you have another thought coming, that's for sure."

Abby didn't know what to say. But then Eleanor called out in her head. "Stop her. Stop her. You need to go back."

"Matilda..." said Abby, but her mother was busy squeezing into a parking space. Then she shoved the Volvo into park and leaped out the door before Abby could say another word.

Abby reached into the back seat and grabbed the duffel. She wished Brian were here. She couldn't believe what she was thinking, but she knew he could help. _But he's the reason you're being sent away._ The thought made Abby gasp for air. _It's not his fault_ , she thought _. You weren't careful enough. If you've anyone to blame, it's yourself._

"Let's go," said Matilda, her voice strained. She took Abby's hand and squeezed it hard. Together they walked through the sliding glass doors and into the throat of the airport itself.

They stopped in front of an electronic ticket booth, and Matilda shoved her credit card inside. Abby kept her eyes on the tiled floor, ignoring the other travelers' stares.

"Should you be using your credit card to buy this?" she asked. "I mean, I thought you wanted it to look like I ran away."

"You stole my credit card," said Matilda, like she'd thought it all through. Abby listened to the machine whirl and purr, and waited for the ticket to print.

"But then they'll trace it," said Abby, after a beat.

"You lost it somehow. Don't worry, I've covered the details— most of them anyway. We'll say it was you who booked the flight from our house. And all that stuff on the computer, that was before you ran away. By the time we report you to missing persons, you'll have a couple day's lead on the police. That's more than enough time to find the hunchback, and leave the U.K. before they know what's what."

"Hunchback," said Abby, her chest going tight.

"That's how your dad said you'd recognize the guy. What? Didn't I say that before?"

"No," answered Abby slowly. "All you told me was his name and number." Abby closed her eyes, and remembered her vision— her father, the water, the hunchbacked man. Eleanor was right. She had to get out of here now.

"But what about Brian?" said Abby. "What if he says it was you? He didn't want to leave me. He knows something's up."

"He can't prove you didn't run away." Matilda's face was lined with worry. But that was the thing, Matilda wasn't good at this sort of stuff. Hiding, pretending— she hated it all. It was one of the many reasons she resented her daughter. Abby's mere existence after the change had forced her to live in a world of pretend.

"Didn't Dad tell you what to do?"

"No," said Matilda. "He just gave me the name. Let's hope that was good enough."

_Or let's not_ , thought Abby, finally turning her head. A pale, blonde woman was watching her now, her wide eyes locked on Abby's face. Beside her stood a teenage boy, his face a slab of raw meat under the fluorescents, eyes unable to look away.

Abby wanted to hide, to run back to the car, but she resisted the urge to cover her face, and raised her head high for them to see. _They'll all remember me_ , she thought. _So even if I have to get on that plane, the police are going to find me and make me come back._

"You don't want them to find you," Eleanor crooned in her mind. Abby slipped her hand into her jacket pocket. The feather was almost too hot to touch.

"Eleanor," whispered Abby. "Help me now. Tell me what I'm supposed to do now."

"Remember Brian," moaned Eleanor. "Remember what he said. Stay away from the police and find a way to get back home."

"Here," said Matilda, pressing the ticket into Abby's hand. Then she thought better of it and griped it in her own. "Let's go," she said. "It's gate B6. I'm going to take you to Check In. That's as far as I can go. After you go through security, there's no way out. At least not one that doesn't take you through the terminal's exit, and that's exactly we're I'll be waiting. So don't even think about not getting on that plane. I'll be watching. I'll make sure."

Abby's insides flip-flopped. She felt like she was in jail. She fought the urge to shove her mother and scream out "no" at the top of her lungs, but Matilda had tears in her eyes. _She just wants you safe,_ thought Abby. _You should do this for her._

"But what's to stop me from getting on the next plane home?"

"Money," said Matilda. "I only put a hundred bucks in your wallet. There's no way you can hop on another plane with just that. You have to listen to me Abby. You have to do the right thing. Just find the hunchback, and do it fast. He'll help you until this whole mess blows over."

"You mean—"

"Shh, don't say it out loud. Your dad said to make sure no one knows. That's why I wouldn't let you write it down. Look, you have to trust me on this. You have to disappear. It's the only way."

"But what about Jake," said Abby. Something flickered behind Matilda's eyes. It took Abby a moment to realize it was fear. "He has the same genes as me. They might take him instead. You don't know. They could test him too."

"They won't," said Matilda, but she didn't sound so sure. "Besides without you around to test his theory, everyone will think your boyfriend's insane. Just get on that plane, Abby. Don't make this hard. It doesn't have to be like this if you don't want it to."

_Yes it does_ , thought Abby, a lump blooming in her throat as she plodded down the crowded hallway and toward the arrow marked International Check In. Once there, she got in line.

"Get your ID," said Matilda. "We're moving fast."

Suddenly, Abby could actually see the tension radiating off her mother's skin. It looked like the deep, purple tentacles of an enormous sea anemone waving fluidly in the air. _Stop it!_ thought Abby, blinking hard. _Oh god, why aren't they gone?_

"Mom?" whispered Abby, but Matilda didn't hear.

They were already nearing the front of the line. Ahead stood two metal detectors, a full body scanner and three conveyor belts attached to computer monitors. Behind all that loomed the entrance to the gates themselves.

_Just go_ , thought Abby, cramming a hand into her purse and fishing around for her wallet. It was only after she'd pulled it out and located her license that she remembered what Eleanor had said in the dream. _The monster_ , she thought. _It'll go after Jake. Killing it is the only way to protect him too._

"Wait," yelped Abby stepping out of the line and heading toward the side of the room. A tall, bald man was staring at her. He couldn't take his eyes off her face. Abby covered herself with her hands, blocking his view.

"What?" said Matilda. "Abby, what are you doing? Please, just do what I said!"

"It'll come after Jake," Abby whispered. "Please don't do this. Don't send me away. In my dream, she told me it would come."

"Who told you?" shot Matilda. "What are you talking about?"

"The monster, the thing that killed those two girls." Abby kept her voice low, hoping no one else could hear.

"Abby, it was only a dream," said Matilda. "There is no monster. It's all in your head. I have to put you first now, that's just how it is. If your father were alive, he would never forgive me if I didn't follow his plan."

In that moment, all of Abby's energy leached from her body, and she slumped miserably against the wall. There was no getting around this. Her mother wasn't caving. For once, Matilda was putting her daughter first— even if that meant sending her away.

"Stop her," screeched Eleanor inside Abby's head. Her voice was so sharp it sliced through Abby's skull. "Don't let her do this. Get out while you can!" Abby reached her hand into her jacket pocket. The feather was as hot as a flame. She hoped it didn't burn through the fabric and into her skin.

"Don't give up," said Eleanor. "Use your power now."

Matilda had taken Abby by the arm and was leading her back into line. The fluorescents seared Abby's retinas, as she tried to blink away the dark, purple lines that continued to sprout from her mother's skin.

"Are you okay?" asked Matilda. Abby was sweating now, even though the airport was cool. Her clothes were damp, and her hair clung to her neck.

"No," Abby whispered, but Matilda didn't hear. Then Abby felt it, they were watching again. Every man in the building had his eyes on her. She could feel them staring into her face, thinking their twisted, nasty thoughts.

"Use your power," said Eleanor, and behind those words came the roar of the sea.

She was almost at the front of the line. She held her I.D. and ticket out like an offering, waiting for the female security officer to take them from her hand. Matilda was gripping Abby's elbow, her fingers digging into the skin.

Abby stared at the officer at the head of the line, and suddenly the world was magnified. She could make out every pore on the woman's face. The clumps in her mascara— she could actually count her eyelashes. And the woman's thoughts, she could hear them all.

"Let's go," said Matilda," but Abby was frozen. The security officer returned her I.D. and ticket, but she couldn't take them. She couldn't move. The feather was searing her rib cage now. She wanted to tear her jacket off, but her arms wouldn't budge. Every muscle was rigid in anticipation, and Abby knew exactly why.

It was coming now, she could feel its heat, roaring up the back of her throat, its red head raised, wanting out. Matilda gasped, and then Abby was burning, her body seething as it exploded in sound. _No! Stop!_ she wailed inside her head, but it was as if she were seeing the world under a blood-clotted lens. All she could hear was her own raw scream. "Alli kani ka falá." She shoved her fingers into her ears, trying to escape the sound. And the words, she had no idea what she was saying, but they kept on climbing up her throat, their harsh tones bent in a terrible song. She couldn't stop them. She didn't know how. "Alli kani ka falá!" And then, suddenly, it was over. Her body was deflated as a used up balloon and she collapsed onto the floor, eyes closed, fist crammed against her teeth.

She lay there sobbing for several minutes, and it was only when the tile's chill began eating into her skin that she realized that the world around her had stopped. There was her mother, body like a statue, though at least the purple tentacles were finally gone. Everyone had their hands pressed to their ears, their frozen mouths hanging open in great, gaping o's.

_Oh god,_ thought Abby. _What have I done? What kind of monster am I turning into?_

"You're not a monster," said Eleanor, her voice loud and crisp. Gingerly, Abby reached into her pocket. The feather was warm, but not like before. It was as if Eleanor was standing by her shoulder, talking to her like anyone would. "Now is your chance. Take it and run. Do it before they wake up."

"Did you do this?" said Abby. "Did you do this for me?"

"You're the one who did it," Eleanor said. "I was just along for the ride."

Abby glanced down at her watch; it was still ticking. And out the window to her left, she saw a plane taking off.

"It's just the people in here," she whispered. "The ones who could hear me. Oh, what have I done?"

"Run," said Eleanor. "Do it now. You're not that strong. They'll wake up soon."

Abby looked at Matilda and touched her arm. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Matilda stared straight ahead, her body as still as a corpse. "Mom, I'm so sorry. I really am."

Abby zipped open the duffel, yanked out the mermaid box, and shoved it into her purse. Then she was sprinting through the frozen airport, charging downstairs towards the waiting trains.

11. Snake Bite

Brian couldn't find Abby at school. He'd scoured the halls, hunted through the library. As far as he could tell, she wasn't here. He cringed when he thought of the last time he'd seen her. The look on her mom's face still filled him with dread. _Did her mother do something?_ he wondered. _Did she take Abby away?_ He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

He knew the beach was the most obvious place to look, but he couldn't go there, not now anyway. The place was absolutely crawling with cops. He'd seen them on his way to school. Everyone had. But Brian was too busy searching for Abby to spend much time trying to find out what was going on. He'd finally overheard two sophomores talking when he was fumbling with his locker, unable to get in. They'd found a body out there today. A girl's body. The cops weren't saying who it was.

There was an assembly right after homeroom, so the entire school was herded into the auditorium. There weren't enough seats, and Brian had to stand. He didn't mind. He had a better view on his feet, his sight line virtually unobstructed by the rows of swaying heads. Once he'd determined Abby wasn't in the auditorium, he kept glancing at the door, waiting for her to walk through.

Jesus Christ was it stuffy in there. The place was packed with sweaty kids. Brian absolutely hated this sort of thing, which usually involved bunches of jocks cracking lame jokes in an attempt to make things last longer than they should. But not today; today was different. It was so quiet that Brian could actually hear himself breathe.

The kid to Brian's right was literally shaking, his milky skin glowing beneath the auditorium's lights. It was Kevin Hinkley, star of the varsity basketball team. Brian knew he was a partier. He was probably worried that it was one of his friends. They'd found the body at a popular hang out spot, and Brian knew for a fact there'd been a beach party last night. He'd heard a rumor about it yesterday during school.

Even with the curfew, people'd still gone out. They must have started up after the rain had stopped. Funny how the police hadn't kept better patrol. _Or not so funny_ , thought Brian, his insides going cold. He hadn't gone; he'd been with Abby. Besides, he usually avoided those sorts of things. But he was pretty sure Kevin had been there. Kevin and a bunch of his basketball friends. _Would they be suspects?_ he wondered. _Was that why Kevin looked so scared?_ _Don't be stupid,_ thought Brian, glancing back toward the door. _Everyone just wants to know who it is._

Brian found it impossible to listen to Principal Turner's speech. It sounded like the guy was talking underwater. _Focus_ , thought Brian, but his brain was out of gear. All he could think about was Abby. Had she gone to the beach after everyone had left? Maybe her mother had done something to her. Maybe that's how she'd planned on taking care of things. Get rid of all the evidence, now that he knew what her daughter really was.

_You're panicking_ , thought Brian. _Take some deep breaths_. He tried, but the air wouldn't come. Then the room began to spin. Brian grabbed the armrest of the seat closest to him and steadied himself before he crumpled to the floor.

When he looked up, Turner had left the stage and two guys in dark blue athletic jackets with FBI written on their arms in yellow were standing at the podium.

_Where is she?_ Brian squinted through the crowed. _Why the hell isn't she here?_ Brian knew her brother'd been pissed when he'd found him on her floor. But her mother— what had she done?

A painful tightness spread through Brian's chest. And then he knew, she was the one they had found. _Oh God_ , he thought. He started to cry. "Get it together," he whispered under his breath. "You don't know it's her. You don't know anything!"

The agents were finally leaving the stage, their eyes wide and blank as they disappeared behind the curtain. _The FBI,_ thought Brian. He guessed it made sense. Big crime, serial killer, the Feds had to come. He didn't know whether to feel relieved or scared. Because if the FBI were involved then Luther couldn't be in charge. _At least not on paper_ , Brian scoffed. _If that even means anything._

Now the school's guidance counselors were approaching the podium. Wrinkled Ms. Sangley, whom Brian had met two years ago when they'd wanted to test him for accelerated math; and Mr. Linden, whose thick frame and piercing, black eyes made him look more like a prison guard than a school guidance counselor. The two stood side by side like mismatched bookends, and readied themselves to address the crowd.

"Hello everyone," Ms. Sangley squeaked. Suddenly Brian could understand. Somehow, the fog in his brain had lifted, and now everything was clear.

_Come on_ , thought Brian. _Tell me what's up. Say who it is so I can know it's not her_.

Ms. Sangley cleared her throat then rubbed at her eyes. Dark rings of mascara stood out in the light after she moved her hands away. "Mr. Linden and I will be in our offices for the rest of the day. Our schedules are completely open. Please," her voice cracked, but she kept on going, "come see us if you need to talk. We've contacted some grief counselors. They should be here soon. This is such a terrible loss." Ms. Sangley held an age spotted hand up to her lips, as if trying to contain a sob. She hiccuped once, then stared down at her shoes.

_Abby_ , prayed Brian, _please don't let it be you_.

"Hey Kevin," said Brian, leaning toward the basketball star.

"What?" said Kevin stepping away. He seemed surprised that Brian was speaking to him. They weren't in the same social circle, not that Brian was in any social circles at all, but discussions across cliques could be suicide.

"Sorry," said Brian, thinking fast. "Um, I sort of spaced out during most of what Turner and the FBI said. Who was it anyway? And what exactly happened? I guess I didn't hear."

Kevin's eyes, already large, gleamed like moons. He obviously didn't get how Brian could have missed any of this. But Brian's reputation as a genius-freak, must have given him the benefit of the doubt.

Kevin sighed and leaned in a little closer. Beneath his fear was the shadow of relief. _It's not one of his friends_ , thought Brian automatically. _But that doesn't mean it isn't her._

"It was Gretchen Milligan. She doesn't usually party with us. They found her body floating in the surf. Those FBI guys asked us to tell them if we know anything. Oh, and we're supposed to keep a lookout for strangers in town. And stay off the beach. They want us sticking to the curfew. They're going to enforce it this time."

"You know," Kevin stared hard at Brian, his thin face twisting into a mask of distrust. "I don't really get it. How could you miss what they said? Are you in shock or something?"

Brian didn't respond.

"Well," sneered Kevin, turning away. "I guess that's why everyone thinks you're such a freak."

Brian shrugged, not caring what Kevin thought. Relief surged through him like an electrical current. His chest hummed in gratitude. "It's not you," he whispered, under his breath. "Thank god Abby, it's not you."

It was only when he glanced up at the stage that his relief turned to absolute fear. For there at the podium stood Luther Pentos, a smile plastered across his face.

_No_ , thought Brian _. Oh please god, no_. He wanted to hide, to duck under a seat, but all he could do was stand frozen in place and wait to hear what his stepfather had to say.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Luther began. Brian's insides started to hurt. "I just want to assure you that we're doing are best, our very best to find out what happened to your friend." All eyes were on him, every set in the school. They stared hazily as if in a trance.

_It's his voice_ , thought Brian. _He's controlling them somehow._

"Please try and remain calm," Luther continued. "We are working closely with the FBI on this matter. Together we'll get to the bottom of this."

Brian covered his ears; he couldn't listen. His whole head felt anesthetized, as if someone had just shot a sedative into his skull. _Stop it,_ he thought. _Don't let him do this to you_. The people around him were starting to nod.

Brian glanced back at the stage, and then immediately wished he hadn't. Luther's eyes were growing larger and brighter until they had taken up most of the room on his face. Even the two FBI agents now standing near the exit, were nodding along with the crowd. Brian ducked his head, crammed his fingers into his ears, and began pushing his way toward the door.

Amazingly, all crying had ceased. The faces around him were bereft of emotion. Brian caught a glimpse of Principal Turner, whose dull, glazed eyes made him look stoned. It would have been funny if Brian hadn't known what was going on, but now it only filled him with dread.

_What is he doing?_ thought Brian as he ducked out the door, praying that Luther was too busy zombifying the school to notice that he was getting away.

"But I do." Luther's voice sliced through Brian's skull— sleek and graceful and sharp as a blade.

_No_ , yelped Brian, clawing at his scalp. His head was spinning, just like before. Just like the time at his father's trial. Instantly, he envisioned a wall, a thick circle of bricks around the perimeter of his mind. A mortar fortress to keep Luther out. Suddenly the terrible feeling was gone, evaporating into nothing at all.

"You're all right," Brian panted as he charged out of the building and sprinted toward his car. Then an image of Abby flashed through his mind. _Hurry_ , he thought. _You need to find her. You have to get to her before Luther does._

* * * * *

Brian carefully scoured the beach, taking in the gray line of sand. The sea was choppy; dark waves licked the sky, and a colorless sadness swept through his body, tinged with violent streaks of despair. _If she's not here_ , he wondered, _then where can she be? And what in the hell am I going to do?_

Brian closed his eyes and thought back to what had just happened in the auditorium; how he'd kept Luther out of his mind. This was the first time since the trial that Luther'd really tried to get in. Though Brian was convinced that the guy had felt him out before. Because, sometimes, when Luther was looking at him, he would feel a strange pressure in his head. But it always stopped, it was never like that day at the trial. Brian had always assumed that Luther wasn't trying that hard. But this time the guy had really pushed. And Brian had blocked him, had held him at bay. _Yes_ , thought Brian, taking a breath as a wave of comfort swept through him. _You did it. You held him off. Maybe Luther isn't such a threat after all._

Brian sighed and opened his eyes. The police had cleared out. Everyone was gone, but he still wasn't sure if the beach was safe. He'd had to duck under several strips of yellow caution tape just to get out past the dunes. It'd been stretched across the wooden walkway that cut from the rear of the parking lot and out to the beach. No one had stopped him; it was like a ghost town out here. Brian's skin prickled with the thought of it all. Goosebumps broke out on the backs of his arms as he pictured the girl they'd found in the water. Abby's ex-best friend. Who could do such a thing? Who or what? He almost didn't want to know.

The whole area was blocked off with tape. Caution, caution— the word bled through his mind. Briefly he wondered why they hadn't done this before. Why they hadn't roped off the beach after the first girl died. Why didn't the police take this seriously then, with their flimsy curfew and no officers on patrol? If Brian had to bet, he'd guess Luther was involved, that he hadn't wanted the murderer found until now. "Or maybe he did it," whispered Brian, quickly biting his tongue. An image of his mother slid through his mind, and his insides twisted into a knot.

_Stop it_ , thought Brian. _You have to forget all of that. Just find Abby, make sure she's okay_. Brian had picked this stretch of beach on purpose, even though it was the one where Gretchen's body'd been found. Because this was the spot where Abby usually came. Only, he had no idea if she'd be here now. He hadn't seen her brother at the assembly, not that Jake would have talked to him anyway. But maybe neither of them knew what happened. Maybe Abby was okay.

Brian knew he couldn't very well show up at her house, not after what happened last time he was there. _You won't find her there anyway. She's gonna come here. You know she is._ The knowledge struck him hard in the chest, and he staggered backward like he'd just been punched. He knew he shouldn't know this, yet somehow he did. Every cell in his body was screaming it out. He was one hundred percent certain that if he was ever going to see Abby Carson again, it would be here, on this beach where he'd discovered her secret.

Brian felt her before he saw anything. There was a solid tugging in his gut, like the way the tide feels when it pulls you out to sea. He stared at the surf for several seconds before realizing he was looking in the wrong direction.

He turned at the sound of pounding footsteps, and the rush of her breath as it sped through her lungs. _You're losing it_ , he thought. _It's happening again. You're gonna end up in the nut house for sure._ An image of Luther shot through Brian's mind with such intensity that for a moment the world was at all the wrong angles. The sea was above, the sky was below, and, somehow, he was staring up at the sand.

"Brian?" It was her. He staggered to his knees, his stomach blasting into his throat. Luckily for him, he kept everything down.

She was so beautiful, even more than before. Her chestnut hair hung below her waist; her skin had a strange, silvery sheen. _She's glowing_ , he thought. _Christ, she looks like a goddess_. Then the world inexplicably righted itself. And when it did, she became just a girl again. Lovely still, but just a girl. A stream of tears cut down her cheeks, which were no longer silver, but silky cream. She held her hands out to him.

"Abby?" gasped Brian, and then she was in the sand, falling like water into his arms. For a second Brian thought his heart would stop. A terrible power exuded from her body. He could taste it, that strange metallic scent on her skin. _No_ , he thought. _Don't inhale!_

He panted as he pushed himself away from her, propelling his body across the sand. She was squatting now, her eyes filled with confusion. _Wait_ , he thought. _What did I just do?_

She stood up then and stepped toward the sea, and he immediately regretted everything. Because when she moved all the air was sucked from his lungs, and he still couldn't take his eyes off her. She felt it too; he saw her blush, her skin changing from cream to rose.

_Come on_ , he thought, _what's the matter with you?_ He flushed with embarrassment, his scalp scorching red.

Brian struggled to his feet, ignoring the way the sand seemed to list. But he kept his balance; he didn't fall. _You can do this_ , he thought. _Don't blow it this time._

"Abby," he said, reaching for her. The smell was gone now. Had it been in his mind? Because now she smelled exactly like apples, crisp and cool on an autumn day. The scent slipped off her body and slid through the air, winding its way into his heart. She moved farther away, and the scent grew weaker. "No," he moaned, his hand dropping to his side. "Abby?" he croaked. "Are you all right?"

He walked the few steps over to her, unable to shake the feeling that she'd changed somehow. A river of danger oozed from her skin, and still he couldn't break his gaze. Then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him, thankful that she didn't push him away. _Please_ , he prayed. _Please let this be okay. And please let me figure out what to do._

She held herself rigid, palms flat against his chest as if she were getting ready to launch herself off him. Then, with one bitter gasp, she crumpled in his arms, her tears spilling into his shirt.

"Abby, what's wrong?" whispered Brian. "What happened to you?" Her breath was hot on his throat.

"She tried to send me away," moaned Abby.

"Who?" said Brian.

"Matilda, my mom. She said there's someone in London my dad used to know. A hunchback— I saw him in my dream. She tried to get me on a plane, but I stopped her. I don't know what I did. I just...." Her voice broke.

"You just what?" said Brian. Her skin was silver again.

"I sang," whispered Abby. "I sang and they stopped. All of them. Every single one of them froze."

"Abby," said Brian, releasing her and stepping away. It was an involuntary gesture, but he couldn't stop himself. Something about her felt wrong.

"You sang and they froze?" he whispered softly. "You sang and they froze. What exactly do you mean?"

"Everyone who heard me." Abby hiccuped hard. Then she stared at her feet, and wouldn't look him in the eye. "It was like they all turned into statues or something. Even my mom. I don't know what I did. God, I don't even know who I am anymore."

"Abby," said Brian, pulling her to him again. It was easy to do, the old feeling was back. That quivering burning, blood hot in his chest.

"Jesus," he whispered, under his breath. But he'd made his decision. After all, what choice did he have? "Abby," said Brian, taking her hand. "Come on. Let's go see my dad."

She was so still he could barely tell she was breathing. But then she collapsed against him and went totally limp.

"Thank you," she whispered, closing her eyes, her head against his chest. Gently, he wrapped her in his arms and carried her to his car.

* * * * *

It wasn't until they were in the Camry and heading toward 95 that Abby spoke to Brian again. She'd spent the first ten minutes of the ride curled in a ball, her face pressed against the window as she stared out at the sea.

"There's someone else," she whispered, turning to him. "Someone else is missing too." It was more of a statement than anything, but Brian knew she must be thinking of the yellow caution tape. It hadn't been there after the first two girls went missing. No doubt she'd figured out what was up.

"It's Gretchen Milligan," said Brian flatly. Only once he'd said it, he wished he could take it back.

Brian had never seen anyone react like Abby did. A sharp wail rose from her throat, and the sound sliced, scalpel-like, through his skull.

"No," screamed Brian, wanting to shove his hands over his ears, but he made himself lock his fingers around the wheel and pull over to the side of the road.

"Emergency lights." The words came in his father's voice, and he was relieved that someone had told him what to do.

But then she was sobbing, and he couldn't think anymore. His head was pounding. Vomit lurched up his throat and onto the dash. He leaned his head against the steering wheel, barely noticing the stench, as he stared up into his cracked windshield.

_She did that_ , he thought. _She broke it with her voice_. And still she was sobbing, her moans like a saw.

_Stop it!_ He wanted to scream it at her. But all he could do was whimper the words: "You're killing me." He couldn't move. It felt like his scull was being crushed in a vise. Like a grape under pressure, soon it would burst. And all he could do was dig his hands into his scalp and pray for the horrible feeling to fade.

An eternity passed, then the crying stopped. His head still ached, but at least the sound was gone. Too bad he could barely open his eyes. Then her cool hand skimmed the back of his neck. "Brian," she sounded almost normal again. "Brian, are you okay?"

He wanted to run, leap out of the car. He knew he was crazy for helping her now. Crazy because she wasn't human. And she was dangerous, that much was clear. With one hand, he moved to open the door, but she caught the other one and closed it in her own. When he glanced back at her, he knew he couldn't go.

"Don't leave," she squeaked, her eyes flooding with tears. "Please don't leave. I don't know what to do."

"What are you?" he moaned. "What the hell did you do?"

"I...." She frowned and looked away. He could actually feel her connecting with the ocean, could sense the water begging her home.

_I'm going crazy_ , he thought, fear clogging his throat. _I'm actually crazy. That's what's going on_.

"I'm a siren," said Abby. "That's what I am."

"A siren," he whispered. He wanted to laugh, to scream like a madman, but he could barely move.

"That's right," said Abby, looking away. "You were right back at Emmett's, about my killer song. I don't think I'm one of the good guys anymore."

Anger plowed through Brian. He couldn't believe what she was saying to him.

"So when you went off about your powers, when you threatened me— that was all for real?"

"No. I didn't know. I had no idea what I was back then."

"What, you thought you were just a garden variety mermaid?" scoffed Brian. His head was throbbing, but this time it wasn't from her moans.

"I guess so," said Abby. She started to cry. "You know," she sobbed, "I better just come out and tell you. At least some of it anyway." She could barely speak, but she kept stumbling along. Brian tried his best to take everything in.

"The box," said Abby. "The one you want to show your dad? Well, ever since I got it, I've been having these dreams where this other siren comes to me. I'm not sure, but I think she's some sort of teacher. She's the one who gave me the feather and the key. You know, the ones you saw when you and Jake woke me up. Anyway, she calls herself Eleanor. She says I'm the only one who can stop whoever killed those girls. I'm the only one who can stop it before it's too late."

"Too late?" said Brian. "It's already too late. Three people are dead, and you haven't stopped anyone yet."

"I know what you're thinking," said Abby, "but I'm not involved. I didn't do anything wrong."

"Except for apparently freezing half the people at Logan, and almost killing me now. You know, you did do that!"

Anger was roaring through him now, a bitterness he'd never known he'd had. "You're a sea witch. A sea witch that kills guys. The kind that makes men jump off boats, bewitches them with your song. All those myths, I never thought they were real. I mean, even when I found out what you were, I thought you were some sort of genetic mutation. I never really believed that you were bad." His voice trailed off. But then he stared into her eyes and said what was bothering him the most.

"But I guess that's just how it works. My feelings for you aren't real, are they? It's just your way of controlling me."

"It's not like that!" said Abby. Her words felt like a punch. Brian's head began to throb again. He almost wished she wouldn't talk.

"But it is," he moaned. "That's why you're so beautiful." All of a sudden, he didn't know what to say. Because he didn't want this; he didn't want this for her. _Or for you,_ he admitted, hating the truth, ashamed of the way he still felt about her.

"It's after me," said Abby, raw fear in her eyes. "I'm the one it really wants."

"You mean the murderer?"

"Yeah, whatever it is, it's after me. It's hunting me down, searching the water, tracking my scent through each new kill. On the train ride back here, I sort of figured it out."

Abby grew calmer as she spoke, and the silver glow in her skin returned, bleeding up from beneath the surface. Brian didn't know whether to be scared or awed. He guessed he was a little of both.

"So how does this tracking work?" asked Brian, trying to ignore the feeling inside him, the tug of her power as she pulled him in.

"Each new victim brings it closer to who I am. The first girl was random, or at least I think she was. But she was dumped in the waters where I always swim. Coincidence? I'm not so sure. And the second was in my mom's cooking class, so she was a step closer to me than the other one was. And now there's Gretchen, my ex-best friend? He's using them somehow, I just don't know how. All I know," continued Abby, "is that I have to stop him. I have to before he finds me or Jake."

"You mean your brother Jake? What, is he a mer-guy or something?" A volt of jealously shot through Brian's blood as he remembered watching them from inside her closet. The way Jake had hugged her, how she told him things. _He's her brother!_ thought Brian, his face going red. _What the hell is wrong with you?_

"No," said Abby, blinking hard.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have said it like that." Brian felt bad, but he wasn't sure why. Didn't she deserve this? She'd almost gotten him killed. Still, he didn't really want to hurt her. Hurting her felt too much like hurting himself. _It's her power_ , thought Brian. _Don't be such an ass._ But he couldn't stop himself from wanting to fix things. From doing all he could to keep her safe.

"Listen," said Brian, and she turned toward him again. Her eyes were darker now, stormy as the sea. "I wasn't trying to upset you or anything. All I know about mermaids is from mythology and stuff. I mean, I read the Odyssey. I know what they do." Brian eyed the crack in the Camry's windshield.

"Anyway," said Brian, staring her straight in the face. He made himself ignore the heat rising in his chest, and kept his voice as neutral as he could. "It would be a pretty good plan if you stayed in control, or else there's no way I'll be able to take you to my dad."

"Your dad," said Abby, her voice came out flat. "I wasn't sure if you were going to do that anymore."

"Well, I am," said Brian. "I still want to help. Even if I'm not completely clear about who you are."

Brian rubbed at his temples with the flats of his palms, and when he felt like his headache had receded, at least as much as it was ever going to, he opened the door and stepped out of the car. Slowly, he made his way to the trunk, gripping the car's side as he moved so he wouldn't collapse into the sand. Once there, he rooted around for something to clean up his puke, but all he came up with was an old can of 7-Up and a rag. "Good enough," he whispered as he carried them back. He splashed the soda across the dashboard and wiped up his vomit as best he could. When he was done, he dumped the whole mess onto the shoulder, switched on the ignition and steered back onto the road. _Don't do this_ , warned a voice inside his head. _She could be the killer. You really don't know._

_It's not her,_ he thought. He had to believe that. After all, what choice did he have? He thought back to Luther and his classmates' zombie like stares. No doubt about it, that guy was involved. Brian knew he had to do something, and this was pretty much all he had.

"Do me a favor," said Brian, as he pushed down on the clutch and the Camry lurched into third, "tell me everything you know before we get there, okay? I don't want any secrets. Not if you want my help."

"Okay," whispered Abby. "I won't keep any from you." But her eyes slipped past him, and he knew she was lying. Besides, how could he make a siren listen to him? She was a magical creature. What control did he have?

"Tell me what you know," he repeated, while trying to pretend she was a normal girl. A normal girl and they were out for a ride. _Right_ , he thought. _Just keep your cool_.

"Where should I start?" asked Abby, but he could feel the fear radiating off her skin.

"How about with what's her name— Eleanor. Why don't you start with her?"

"Well, she's cryptic," said Abby, swallowing hard. "Everything's a riddle. It's hard to figure out what she means."

"If she's even real," said Brian. "I mean, she comes to you in your dreams."

"She's real," said Abby. "I know she is."

"But how do you know?"

"I just do, that's all. She spoke to me when I was awake too."

"What?" said Brian, pulling his eyes off the road. He couldn't believe this. Was she crazy too?

"You think I'm insane, but I'm not. Every time she talks to me when I'm awake, the feather she gave me gets really hot. Abby dug the feather out of her pocket, and it gleamed in her hand like a wet glob of blood. "I really don't know how she does it," said Abby, "but she's says she's different from me—special somehow."

"Special?" said Brian.

"Magical," said Abby. "More so than a regular siren. She helped me in the airport, showed me how to escape."

"By hurting all those people?" said Brian. "Because that's what you did."

"You don't know that they're hurt."

"Yeah, I think I do." The look on Abby's face made his insides ache.

"Oh god," she whispered.

He didn't know what to say. "Abby," said Brian. He didn't want this. He didn't want to hurt her; it was too painful to see. "Listen, I'm sorry. Let's not do this, okay? Just try and get some rest. We'll figure everything out once we talk to my dad and find out about the writing on your box."

She looked at him then, her eyes grateful and warm, and for one powerful second he wanted to pull her to him, to taste her saltiness with his mouth. But he made himself turn back to the road. _Don't touch her_ , warned a voice in his head. _Don't you dare touch her. You don't know what she'll do._

* * * * *

Abby closed her eyes and leaned her head against her seat. She was going to take Brian's advice and get some rest. She needed it.

She listened to the tires' hum as they rolled over the blacktop, the sound of Brian clenching and unclenching his jaw. She could hear everything— the sea beside them, the rush of the wind as it flew passed their car.

Ever since what happened at Logan, her senses were heightened. Even with her eyes closed, she could tell that Brian kept glancing over at her, could actually feel his eyes on her skin.

_Lust_ , thought Abby, and she started to blush, her cheeks burning like wild fire. He wasn't like the others, not at all. Abby knew what was running through men's minds when they saw her. But with Brian, it didn't bother her half as much. _It doesn't bother you at all._ She crunched down her lip, wincing through the thoughts that bubbled up.

_Don't do this,_ she thought. _Don't do this to him_. Because the truth was she was changing again, and whatever it was that she was becoming, she didn't think it was good. _You're deadly,_ she thought as a face flashed through her mind. Moon white skin, eyes wide with fright, a cascade of bubbles gushing from a mouth like a wound. It was Lauren Liney, the first dead girl. The one Abby didn't save.

_Stop it,_ thought Abby. _Just get some sleep. Maybe Eleanor will come and help you figure out what to do._ She slipped her hand into her coat pocket and grasped the feather. Its plum was cool against her palm. Abby half expected to hear Eleanor's voice, but silence filled her mind instead. No one was coming; no one was there. And so she focused on the sea, feeling its pull, so much stronger than before. But they were leaving it now, and maybe that was why. Maybe it just didn't want her to go. Bridgewater was completely landlocked, and she'd never been more than a few miles from the sea.

_You're a Cape girl,_ she thought as she focused on the waves, allowing their hush to ease through her body. She could actually see them behind her closed lids: a blue lullaby, calm and sweet, pulling her forward into her dreams.

12. The Memory Thief

Luther Pentos, Chief of the Clifton Police, peered warily out his office window. The sun was beginning to set. Long rose fingers stretched across the sky, losing themselves in patches of gray. Night was coming quickly now. He could already see a few steel stars poking their way through.

Luther knew he should head home. Clifton was a relatively peaceful town, at least until recently. Still, even with one missing person and two clear murders, it was nothing like the twisted streets of Detroit. Just the name of that city gave him a chill, and a terrible darkness eclipsed his mind, wiping out the near godly sunset until all he could see was the smoky skin of a corpse.

_Stop it,_ he thought, inhaling deeply, then holding his breath as long as he could. This simple action steadied him enough to push the past away, and focus wholly on where he was now.

He found it peaceful in his office, with its muted walls, and gleaming, leather chairs. He liked to keep the lights down low, which gave the room a cave like appearance. It was comforting, just like home. It was unusual for him to even crack his blinds, but tonight the outdoors called to him, stirring up an ancient memory, a terrible need.

Luther kept his office warm— too warm, in fact, for the rest of the force. Not wanting to impose on the others, he'd had it rigged to a separate thermostat. And he'd installed a top-end air purifier to keep out the scent of decay. It followed him, and he couldn't help that. He'd had the air purifier installed at home too. It'd been an expense, but he'd had no choice. And it wasn't for Delilah, who wouldn't notice the smell. She didn't notice anything anymore. But the boy, well, he was another matter altogether. One that Luther couldn't seem to fix.

_Just go home,_ thought Luther aimlessly. _Go home to your wife. She's waiting for you._ He wanted to go, he really did, but he wasn't quite sure he should enter the house. Not like this, not tonight. Not when the calling was so fresh.

Luther could already feel the Hunter's pull, that searing hunger, gnawing at his chest. He felt it because it was his too. His bane to share, his terrible curse. No matter how hard he tried to be human, he couldn't erase it, couldn't take it away. It was always there, writhing in the shadows, coursing through every thought.

_Stop it!_ thought Luther, rebuking himself. _You're a man now. Control yourself_.

But he was losing his grip, and there was nothing he could do. Delilah assumed it was the job. Two definite murders and one student missing, and it had all happened in the last week. The whole town was on alert. People were scared. Any normal cop would be feeling the pressure.

And, of course, now he had FBI under his skin with their relentless questions about why he hadn't roped off the beach. Why he hadn't enforced that silly curfew, when doing so would just have been for show. They thought they were facing a serial killer, a _human_ one. How wrong they were. For in the days before the first death happened, he had felt the Hunter's presence here, had begun to feel the call of the snake. And though Luther wasn't sure what the Hunter wanted, for he had lost the ability to read his brothers' minds, he knew, without any semblance of doubt, that the Hunter couldn't be stopped. At least not by him, and most certainly not by the FBI.

Luther glanced up when he heard the knock on his office door, his green eyes narrowing, pupils elongating into slits. Mary Ellis, the force's sole secretary, popped her head through the doorway. "Sir?" she asked. She always spoke in a question. "Sir it's late. Mind if I head home?"

He gave her a cursory nod and watched as a smile slipped across her face. She was a heavy woman with thinning, red hair, who was jolly with the rest of the force. But not with him. No, never with him. With him there was always a certain respect. A distance even, but one he enjoyed. Because the closer they got to him, the harder it was to maintain his secret. And every time he altered their minds to keep it; he changed them somehow, lost a bit of who they were. The entire department was under his spell, had a certain dazed way of seeing the world. They'd never make it on another force, not without him calling the shots. That's why he'd only altered two of the FBI agents, and what he'd done had been relatively minor. That day in the auditorium, he'd just curbed their fear and made them invested in his own department so they would listen to what he said. He didn't dare do more than that. If he sent too many agents home with dulled senses, someone might become suspicious. And he couldn't have that. But Delilah was the one he regretted the most. Delilah who was now a shadow of herself. He'd had to do it; there'd been no other choice. Not if he wanted to stay a man.

_Go home,_ he thought, _there's nothing you can do. At least not until after dark._ He knew he should go, eat his wife's poorly cooked dinner, avoid the glares of that awful boy, and wait until it was time to follow the Hunter's call. He could do it. He could withstand the pull, though it was growing stronger as the minutes passed. But he had to keep that part buried inside him, at least until the time was right.

After all, hadn't he abstained for over two years? And even before that, when he'd been in the game, it was only criminals he'd taken. Bad guys who'd deserved what he'd done to them. Who'd cried as he'd sucked the life force from their veins, sniveling and moaning like little girls. But this time, no. This time it was different. This time he would meet one of his own.

Luther sighed and closed his eyes, as the Hunter's call contracted inside him then pulled taut and lean as a rubber band.

_Okay_ , he thought, cracking open his lids. _Go home. See your wife. He won't seek you there. Just stay in control until after dark. It will be safer to find him then._

Luther reached for the blazer that hung on his coat rack, sighing as he slung it over his arm. In all these years, more than he would let himself count, he'd never grown accustomed to the clothes men wore. Clothes he had worn when he was a man, before the change. But they still felt wrong.

He touched the holster at his hip, sliding his fingers over the Glock. _Good thing you like guns_ , he thought. _At least that part isn't foreign anymore._

Luther stepped out of his office, switching off the light as he went. The barracks were quiet, almost everyone was gone. Two cops sat hunched over their desks catching up on paperwork, but the rest of the force was patrolling the town. The force was on high alert right now; they would be until the killer was caught. Which Luther knew was impossible. Even with help from the FBI.

Luther exited the barracks through the front door and headed out to his car. The moon was rising; he could feel its draw. Its silver glow caressed his skin. His eyes widened and his pupils started to dilate as he stared down the near empty street.

He found his white, vintage Mercedes, its color a comfort to his darkened soul. _Go home,_ he thought. _There's nothing more you can do_. But he had to get passed the pressure inside him, the tug in his gut urging him to hunt. He tried to ignore it, but it was hard. Almost as hard as those early days when all he could do was obey.

But it was different now; he was different. He was more like a man than he'd been in a very long time. Only the thing that would meet him tonight wasn't human at all. A bolt of fear shot through him— sharp and noxious and blistering hot. Luther gasped and clutched the Mercedes' door, stunned by the rawness of it all.

"I'm afraid," he whispered, "I'm really afraid." He remembered the last time he'd seen the Hunter, and his stomach flipped as his skin grew dark. "Not yet," he hissed, tasting the air, his pink tongue splitting into a velvety fork.

* * * * *

Delilah was home. She'd parked her blood red Volvo haphazardly under the car port's shade. She hated that car, thought it pretentious, or at least she had when Luther'd first bought it for her. Now he didn't know what she thought, though he doubted it was much of anything at all. He hadn't worked her mind in a very long time. He was afraid if he did, if he made one more change, it would drive her into a catatonic state. But still, that Volvo was an excellent purchase. Its perfect red body made it easy to spot. And it kept her secure, which was its purpose after all.

Her safety, that's what had been bothering him. That annoying knot at the back of his mind, protruding into his thoughts at random, stabbing into his sleep at night. Ever since the Liney girl had gone missing— ever since that, everything had changed.

_Good_ , thought Luther, stepping out of his car and walking briskly into the house. The Camry was gone, which meant Brian wasn't home. A dark thread of relief slid through his chest, and he felt his body begin to relax.

Even the boy's name made him cringe. Because Brian knew something, that was certain. Something about who the Hunter was after, but, more importantly, something about Luther himself. Luther didn't know what; he couldn't tell anymore. He was no longer able to read people's minds. Not that losing that skill would matter with Brian. Since the boy's father's sentencing hearing, he couldn't get inside Brian's head at all.

But in those early days, when he'd first struggled to regain his manhood, he could hear them thinking in his head. Women, men— it didn't matter who. But that was before he'd made the break. Before he'd learned to control himself, to bury the snake as deeply as he could. Because wasn't that what all of them wanted? To become what they'd been before the change? Without the terrible feel of the monster inside them, coiled ever so tightly, waiting to strike?

Still, Luther couldn't shake the suspicion that Brian knew about him, that he remembered everything that had happened in court. He shouldn't remember; Luther had put him in a coma. And yet, somehow, it seemed that he did. And to make matters worse, he'd locked up his mind. Luther couldn't get in, no matter how hard he tried. He'd toyed with the idea of killing the boy, eliminating him once and for all. But he'd been afraid of what it would do to Delilah, and he couldn't bear it if anything happened to her.

It was strange how Brian frightened him, just like his father whom Luther'd put away. Not without help from the Hunter, of course. Help he hadn't requested, yet it had appeared. That was during the time when Luther had first started trying, had rejected the Brotherhood, tried to repress the snake. And yet they had felt it when he'd made the change, and they had sent the Hunter to help catch his prey.

_You were weak, and they knew it. That's why he came._ A deep shame filled Luther's chest, but he pushed it away knowing it was the price he must pay. It was the only way to become human again, to regain what had been stolen from him. But in his quest to become human, he'd lost some of his power. And so he had no influence over the boy anymore. He was as impotent as he'd been when he'd attacked Brian's father. No, now he was worse. There was no denying that.

Except that there was one power he still possessed, one that gave him some control over human thoughts. It might not work with Brian, but it worked with everyone else. So whenever he slipped up and revealed some of the snake, that power was there to save him again. He needed that control, or else they would catch on. They would see he was different; they would learn what he was.

It was a sort of camouflage, his way of controlling their minds. He couldn't read what they were thinking, not anymore. But he had a way of putting new thoughts in their heads and of blocking out what he didn't want them to know. Of course, that was why he caused so much damage. Since he couldn't hear them anymore, he thrashed blindly through their minds, changing and destroying more than he should.

He thought of it as a form of self-protection, even if it did come at a price. For them, the cost was steep: broken memories at best. And when he was at his messiest, a loss of self, an inability to think. But for him the consequence was even worse, for how could he ever become human again, if he still held the snake's dark power in his fist?

_You hold it,_ thought Luther, _but you're not wielding it well_. Luther glared out the window wishing he could strike, for then he could finally get rid of the boy. Yet he knew he couldn't, not if he still wanted Delilah. And he did. Oh yes, how he did.

_My flower,_ thought Luther, stepping into the kitchen, his eyes narrowing in the faded light. "My girl," he whispered, for there she was. Standing alone at the bar, her frail body shimmering in a silk nightgown.

"You're home," she said, stumbling toward him, her wide eyes empty of everything. He took her in his arms and inhaled her scent— roses and water and cool, stale skin. The smell of the prey mixed with sleep. There was no fear; he'd taken that from her. As soon as he'd met her, he'd ripped it away.

He stared down into her thin, drawn face, knowing it was the reason he needed her here. Her face was everything to him.

"Jenny." She murmured at the sound of the name. It didn't seem to matter that it wasn't her own, she leaned her head against him anyway. "Jenny," he whispered. Delilah didn't speak. He guessed she thought Jenny was a term of endearment, not the long lost name of another woman. The love he'd had so long ago, before the siren had seduced him, before he'd ever begun to change.

"Mmm," Delilah mumbled against his chest, lost words from a mind he'd all but destroyed. "Mmm," he felt her breath on his neck, and his longing soared, not for her, but for the other. The one he'd left behind.

"Jenny," he whispered into her hair. "Jenny, Jenny." And then it came. A heavy tug; then a sharp, painful stab; then something was slinking through his brain.

"I hear," crooned a voice, velvety smooth. A voice he hadn't heard in a very long time. "Come to me, brother. Come to me now." Luther's chest constricted, and his skin went gray. He stepped away from Delilah and gripped the edge of the counter, his body convulsing in a wave of fear.

"It's time," he whispered. "Oh God, it's time."

_Yes,_ said the voice inside his head _. Yes, my brother. Yes it is._ Luther peered into his wife's vacant eyes, as the voice inside him began to laugh.

13. The Test

Abby stood frozen in the swirling mist. The air was cool, and her skin prickled with goose bumps. Her damp hair clung to her neck, its weight pulling uncomfortably at her scalp. _I'm back_ , she thought and she strained her eyes, peering into the milky air. She could already hear the hissing sound, slicing through the mist like a blade. _They're coming_ , she thought, scanning for the shadows. _Where are they? Oh please, let me wake up!_

She pinched herself hard, knowing it wouldn't work. Not if this was the same place as before. _It is,_ growled a voice inside her head. Not hers and definitely not Eleanor's.

"Who are you?" Abby asked. The voice broke into such a high, peeling laugh that, for a moment, she thought it had started to howl.

_A siren,_ said the voice, once the laughter had stopped. _Hurry brothers. A siren has come. A siren for us to destroy._

Abby's throat tightened; panic flooded her veins. She wanted to run, to charge through the mist, but there was nowhere to go, no way to escape. She was standing inside a thickening cloud, and _they_ were coming. That much was sure. Dark shadows loomed in the distance, effortlessly sliding through the white.

_Oh god,_ she thought, but she couldn't get away. If this was a nightmare, she wanted out now. Yet part of her knew that this was real, as real as Brian's eyes and the warmth of his car. As real as the dead girl in the middle of the ocean, her open mouth filled with blood.

"Eleanor!" Abby screamed. "You have to help me now!" She felt in her pocket. The feather was there; its sleek curve cool against her skin.

A shimmer of red glinted off to her side, and then the scarlet raven was gliding toward her, its midnight beak open wide.

"So little one, you've returned." Eleanor's voice was a tinkle of bells.

"Please," begged Abby, "wake me up."

"Of course," said Eleanor, her dark eyes gleaming. "But first you must do something for me."

"Sssss." The sound was louder now, and it was worming its way into Abby's core.

"You know what their doing," said Eleanor. "You can sense it in your blood." Eleanor's beak cracked wide and a caw broke from her throat.

"They're calling their brothers," said Abby slowly. _Oh, how do I know this? Why do I know?_

"You just do," snapped Eleanor, reading her mind. "It's because you're like them. Or, I suppose I should say, they are exactly like us. Yes, little sister, you and the serpent— the Hunter, the one you must destroy."

"Help me," said Abby. They were closer now. A dark tail dove through the mist in front of her, so close she could see the scales on its back. She knew a mouth was attached to its front, one with dagger like fangs and venom to boot. They were hunting her here, tracking her scent. And Eleanor was stalling; did she want to get her killed?

"Get the key," squawked Eleanor, and Abby obeyed. She slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled it out. Her index finger slid over the eye, which drummed against her skin like a pulse.

"Take the key and the box and enter the water. Only then will you know the way to go."

"The way to go where?" shot Abby, her hands balled into fists. "Why won't you help me get away?"

The hissing was almost deafening now. Abby had to scream just to be heard.

"Take the key and the box; you'll see what to do. Promise me you will. Promise you'll do this for me."

"And if I don't?" said Abby, not sure why she asked. Only something was sliding through her mind, a quiet thought, but one she couldn't ignore. She just wasn't sure she could trust Eleanor. After all, hadn't she taken her here?

"You will," said Eleanor, "It's in your blood. You must stop the serpent before more innocents die. His brothers are trapped in these Shadowlands, where they can do nothing to the outside world. The Hunter is one of the few who escaped. But he is the most powerful and must be stopped. Stop him before it is you he finds. For you are his prey, oh last of our kind. It is you that he hunts, and your family too."

"Can't _you_ stop him?" said Abby, her voice raw in her throat. "Can't you make him go away?"

"I'm only a shade," replied Eleanor. "I can protect you here, but not in the world of the living. There, you're on your own. You've seen how he hunts; he's been searching for you. The first kill was only to give him strength. But the other two— he grows closer with every strike. You must stop him before it's too late. Before you are dead, and he releases his brothers and lets them reek havoc on the earth that you know.

"Won't you help me?" begged Abby. "I can't fight him alone."

"I can help you," said Eleanor. Her voice was a sigh. "But first you must do something for me. Close your eyes. Do it now. Then we shall see what I can do."

Abby swallowed hard. She wanted to run, but the snakes were closer, their hisses slicing the air. _Do it,_ she thought. _What choice do you have? Besides, she said she'd protect you, and so far she has. You just have to believe that she will._

Behind Abby's closed lids stood a beautiful woman, her red hair streaming down her back as thousands of creatures rose from the sea. Sirens and dolphins and turtles and sharks, all of them bowed to the scarlet haired woman, who seemed to be floating above the water, her dark wings stretching into the sky.

_And now little sister_ , crooned Eleanor, _it's time to wake up and finish your task. The one that rages through your body, that you must complete to save your family and all of mankind._

Abby opened her eyes, and let out a scream as a thick black snake slid toward her, its body more than two feet in diameter, its length longer than three grown men.

"No," whimpered Abby, but the snake kept coming, while the scarlet bird stood and watched, unmoving in the milky air.

"Eleanor, please!" The bird's eyes flashed, their vibrant green matching the snake's.

"Eleanor!" It was closer now. Its great hood towered above her, bright eyes even with her own.

She felt its meaning before she saw any movement, knew what it wanted before it struck. But then she heard it, the soaring cry, harsh and angry as a sob. "Alli kani ka falá!" The words streamed from her like they had before. She didn't know their meaning, but she knew what they would do. She glanced at the bird, but her beak was closed, and her scarlet head was cocked to the side.

"Alli kani ka falá!" Abby's mouth filled with the taste of blood, but the song kept coming, seething in her chest, then clawing up her throat before it finally burst free.

"Alli kani ka falá!" The snake wasn't moving anymore. Its forked tongue lay suspended in the air, as it stared somewhere past her face, its green eyes glossy as if they'd gone blind.

"Yes," cooed Eleanor, fluttering forward, her voice as smooth as a lullaby. "Yes little sister, the gift is yours. You've passed the test. You'll do my biding. And now I will take you home."

* * * * *

"Abby!" Brian was shaking her, desperately trying to wake her up. She was curled so tightly in her seat that her arms and legs were completely numb. Abby wanted to move, but she didn't know how. She wasn't even sure who she was anymore.

"Abby wake up! What's wrong with you?"

"Brian?" Abby managed to open her eyes. Bright light seared her retinas, and she immediately winced and clamped them shut again.

"Abby, what the hell happened to you? Come on, you have to talk to me!"

"Brian?" said Abby. She didn't trust her own voice.

"Abby, come on, snap out of it now!" Brian's voice was sharp, but he sounded scared.

"Brian." She opened her eyes again and found his face inches from her own.

"Abby," he whispered, "just say you're okay."

"I'm okay," she said, trying to pull herself up, but the world started spinning as soon as she moved, and a whispery voice slipped through her mind.

"You promised. You promised." The words stretched into a song.

"Abby, your face," said Brian, moving away, as if recoiling from what he saw. She yanked down the vanity to see.

The girl in the mirror was painfully lovely. Her skin was as pale as the moon. Her long, dark hair shone as if it'd been polished, and her violet eyes were impossible to read.

"That's not me," whispered Abby, shoving the visor shut. But even as she said it, she knew it wasn't true.

"I'm changing," she whispered. "I really am. What I saw in my dream, it changed me somehow. I'm turning into something I don't want to be."

"Did you know you were screaming?" said Brian, his hands on the wheel. He was gripping it so hard that his knuckles were white. "I pulled over Abby. I didn't know what to do. I've never heard anyone scream like that before. I tried saying your name. I shook you and everything, but you wouldn't wake up. And then," he shoved his hair from his eyes in the endearing gesture she was growing to love, "and then you curled up really tight in your seat. It was like a spasm or something, I don't know. I kept yelling your name until you finally came to. And then; well, you saw yourself in the mirror."

A tightness slid through Abby's chest, and she scrubbed at her eyes, unsure what to say. "Brian," she whimpered, staring into his face. "Brian, I don't know what to do."

"What did you see in your dream?" asked Brian. His voice came out thin, like he didn't really want to know.

"I don't know," she paused, not sure she should say. _Just tell him_ , she thought. _You need his help anyway._

"Okay," she whispered, staring down at her hands. She really hoped he wouldn't think she was nuts, though she guessed it was too late for that already. "In my dream, well, Eleanor was there, but she looked like a bird— a scarlet raven. And this giant snake was after me. I've never seen anything like it before." Abby shuddered, but then gained back her control. _Come on_ , she thought. _He needs to know_. "Anyway," said Abby, taking a breath, "I started singing and the snake thing froze. It just stood there, like it was stunned or something."

"Like at Logan," said Brian.

"Yeah, just like that. Only Eleanor, she wasn't frozen at all. She said the whole thing was some sort of test, and that now that I'd passed, she'd show me how to find the killer. She told me what to do, but I just don't know."

"What did she say?" asked Brian, as he flipped on the ignition and the Camry spurted back to life. The familiar sound of the engine relaxed his features. While he merged back onto the road, Abby searched out the window for a glimpse of the sea. All she could see was a few dull shrubs and several patches of yellow grass.

"Good bye," she whispered as her insides quaked, and she resisted the urge to leap out of the car and sprint down the highway and into the waves.

"Brian," said Abby, finally turning to him. "Something bad is happening, and I don't know what. Eleanor, she wants me to do something for her— to go into the water with the mermaid box and the key. She said I'll know where to go from there, that I'll learn how to kill whoever murdered those girls."

Brian stayed silent, his eyes on the road.

"I don't want you to go." His voice came out small, but it gained strength as he continued on. "How can you trust some siren from your dreams? This Eleanor," he said the name like it was spit. "How do you know she's on your side? You have no idea if she's even real."

"What about the feather?" said Abby.

Brian made a face.

"What? You think I'm making it up? Do you think I'm crazy? Is that what you think?"

"No, Abby, that's not what I said. It's just— what about that thing that chased you in the water? Do you really think it's smart to go back in there right now?"

"It's not smart," said Abby, running her hands through her hair, as if she could brush all her problems away. "But I don't think I have a choice. Eleanor made that pretty clear. Besides, that thing in the water is coming after me. Me and Jake and apparently the rest of the world too."

"What are you talking about?" said Brian. Abby could smell the fear rolling off him in waves.

"In the dream world I keep visiting, well, somehow it's real. There's monsters there, Brian, and they want to escape. I have to stop them before they get loose."

"What about this Eleanor? If she's got so much power, why can't she do it herself."

"I don't know," whispered Abby. "She just can't. She said I'm the last living siren, so it has to be me."

"Don't do it," said Brian. "There's got to be another way. Or at least let me come with you. You don't have to do this alone."

"Are you a merman?" scoffed Abby. "What choice do I have?"

"There's always a choice!" Brian yelled.

Something inside Abby began to churn. A terrible power, and it couldn't be stopped. _Get_ _out_ , said a voice inside her head. It was Eleanor. Abby recognized the tone— like a thousand bells captured in a single note. _If you care for this boy, then get out now!_

A sharp heat seared Abby's hip. The feather, it was burning through her pocket. She knew she'd better do what Eleanor said.

"Brian, stop the car!" Her voice got his attention. It sounded different, harsher. He began to go pale.

"You're gonna kill me," he whispered. "I hear it in your voice. That sound— I can tell what you're going to do."

_Get out_ , moaned Eleanor. _Do it now._

"Stop the car," shrieked Abby, but it was already coming, rolling straight through her, out of control.

Abby clenched her jaws as tightly as she could. Anything to contain the horrible sound. "Brian," she shouted, "let me out, then drive away as fast as you can!" Her body was cramping; she could barely keep it in. "Please, Brian, I don't want you here. Hurry, you have to get away."

"I can't just leave you," gasped Brian.

"Yes you can! Go see your dad. Find out what he knows. It's not safe for me to be near you now."

"Abby, please, don't make me do this!" But the look on his face told her he knew it had to be done.

Brian slammed the Camry onto the shoulder, tires squealing as he pounded the breaks. Horns blared around them, but Abby didn't care. She leaped out the door and onto the blacktop, her mouth wide open, the song hot in her throat. _No_ , she begged, _give him time to get away._ But already she was on the ground, her body vibrating from the power of it all. When she finally looked up, the Camry was out of sight. It was her only comfort as she began to sing.

14. Prison

Brian hit the gas, and the Camry flew down 495. The windows were closed and the air rushed past, so there was no way he could actually hear. Yet he could still feel Abby's voice rising inside him, burning his insides, tearing him down. "Don't," he whispered, and he cleared his mind, focusing only on the road ahead, on the cherry colored pickup he'd just sped past and the minivan probably loaded with kids, heading off to some soccer game.

Only he couldn't really block out his thoughts, and he kept seeing how she'd looked when he'd left her on the side of the highway. Her dark hair covering half her face as she'd crumpled onto the asphalt with nowhere to go. Part of him wanted to drive back and get her, pull her into the car and keep her safe. But he knew he couldn't. She didn't want him to. Besides, she'd told him to leave her; she'd let him escape. She'd wanted him gone before she did something bad. Something she obviously couldn't control.

_Signs, Brian. Just focus on the signs._ He knew his exit was coming up. He'd seen several signs for Bridgewater and Plymouth, and now here it was: Exit 5. He merged off the highway and onto Route 18, gripping the wheel so hard that his knuckles ached. He didn't know what was bothering him more: Abby's sudden, involuntary attempt to kill him, or the fact that he was about to see his dad.

He hadn't seen his father since the trial. His mother never let him. No, that wasn't quite right. It was Luther who wouldn't allow it, she just went along with whatever the guy said. Not that she could defy him anyway. _It's pretty hard_ , thought Brian, _when your minds rotted away. But you still could have gone._ Brian sucked in his cheeks. _You had Dad's car. You were just too scared._

He was less than a mile off the highway, and already he could see a dark catacomb of buildings shooting up from the earth. "Bridgewater State Hospital," read a deep blue sign. "Home sweet home," Brian whispered sadly as he guided the Camry toward a brick guard station where a man with a military crew cut checked his I.D. and directed him to visitor parking.

The whole area was surrounded by barbed-wire fencing, and there were two lookout towers right in front. Brian guessed that they housed guards with guns. _Jesus_ , thought Brian. It was hard to believe his father actually lived here. It was a misnomer to call the place a hospital. Really, it was part of Massachusetts's prison system.

Brian wondered if he should have made an appointment. He'd only glanced at the website, so though he knew when visiting hours were, he didn't know the protocol. He took a deep breath, shoved the Camry into park, then reached into the backseat and grabbed Abby's purse. She'd forgotten it when she'd jumped out of the car, which was fine because now he could show the mermaid box to his dad.

Brian was about to get out when he decided to check the box one more time. _Never know if they'll let you bring it in_ , he thought, regretting not reading the website a little more closely before taking off from school. For the millionth time, he wished he had a smart phone. But Luther had stopped the family plan right after he'd married Brian's mom. He said it was an extraneous expense, but Brian knew Luther got one through the force. And since his mother rarely left the house, he guessed there was some truth in what Luther said after all.

So, just to be safe, Brian memorized the symbols. It wasn't hard; he'd always been good at that stuff. In fact, when he was around six or seven, his mom had been convinced he had a photographic memory. She'd had him tested and the doc had said yes. She'd wanted to put him in some special class, but this was before his dad had gotten tenure, and neither his parents nor his elementary school had the dough. They'd ended up mainstreaming him along with everyone else. Not that Brian had minded much. School had been as easy as breathing for him.

"Okay," he whispered, when he'd gotten it down. It only took a minute or two. He briefly wished he had the key, but there wasn't much he could do about that.

He slipped the mermaid box into his backpack and headed for the entrance marked visitor. It was hard to miss with its bright, yellow sign, but he stopped well before the door anyway.

_Go back,_ he thought. _Go find her and run_. His chest started to constrict, and he couldn't stop thinking about waking up in the psych ward. About the feral growls that had lunged out of him instead of words. _You don't have to do this_ , Brian thought. _You don't have to see him_.

"Yes you do." Her voice was in his head.

"Abby," he whispered. There was no response.

_I'm losing it_ , he thought, fear twisting inside him. Yet he knew he had to do this; there was no other way.

Brian was buzzed in by a guard behind a thick, metal desk. This one wore a crew cut too, and from where he stood, Brian could see a gun hanging from a holster at the man's waist. Brian's stomach flip-flopped, but he pretended to feel fine. _You're not being committed_ , he thought. _You're a visitor now. They can't do anything to you._

"Help you?" said the guard, and when he spoke, his mossy teeth gleamed with grime. Brian wondered if he ever bothered to brush.

"Yeah," said Brian, "I'm here to see my dad. Um, I mean Dr. David Baker. I didn't make an appointment."

"Don't need to," said the guard, his voice professional and cool. "Just give me your wallet, keys, and any other personal belongings you might be carrying. Then head on through the metal detector. You're too young for a pacemaker or implanted defibrillator, right?"

Brian nodded and the guard went on. "Once you're through, I'll give you your ID back. You can get the rest of your stuff on your way out. You gotta walk down the hall about twenty feet or so till you get to the visiting area. When you're there, take a number from the dispenser on the wall. There's a bunch of Request to Visit Inmate forms on the table next to the dispenser. Fill one out and give it to the guard on duty. When he's ready, he'll buzz your father out."

"Can I bring this in?" asked Brian, holding his backpack in his fist.

"That's a negative," said the guard, his eyes getting small.

_He just said that_ , thought Brian. _You're missing stuff now._

"Nothing goes in," said the guard, speaking slower this time, like he'd gotten the impression Brian wasn't too bright. "You gotta leave all your personal belongings with me."

Brian sighed and handed the guard his pack, glad he'd looked at the box before coming inside.

"Wallet, and keys," reminded the guard. Brian suspected that the guy thought he was a little bit off. _Which isn't far from the truth_ , thought Brian, as he handed over everything he had.

"Now walk through," said the guard. Brian took a deep breath and pretended he was at the airport. It wasn't that different anyway. He ignored the dull ache in the pit of his stomach, the one that felt like he'd swallowed bits of ground glass.

_Luther_ , he thought. _This is all your fault_. A metallic taste spread through his mouth, and he could actually see himself throttling his stepfather. He watched Luther's thin, crusty lips turn purplish gray, as his green eyes begged for Brian to stop.

"You okay?" asked the guard, his eyes narrowing again.

_Oh no,_ thought Brian. _He's not gonna let me in_.

"You look a little sick. You're a first timer, right?'

"First timer?" Brian froze. What was going on? Were they committing him too?

"You've never visited before. It's your first time here."

"Oh, right," said Brian, relief flooding his chest. He considered trying for his stuff again. But he knew he wouldn't get it, so what was the point?

"All clear," said the guard, wagging his head, but his dark eyes stayed on Brian, dissecting him like he must do all the crazies, the sex offenders and whoever else they housed here.

Brian nodded and walked through the metal detector, snatching up his ID before the guard said another word. He'd only gone a couple of paces when the hall opened into a large concrete room that looked a lot like the cafeteria at school. Three rows of metal picnic tables, four tables deep were laid out across the floor. Each had a number painted on its center. The room was empty, save for a wiry haired guard with gnawed looking skin who sat at a desk behind a glass cubicle at the far end of the room. Brian wished he could just walk up and ask to see his dad. After all, he was the only visitor here. But he followed the protocol and pulled a number from the gray dispenser that clung to the wall closest to the guard. _Forty-five_ , he thought. _Same age as my dad_. He slid a Request to Visit form off the stack on the table next to the dispenser and filled it out. When he was done, he walked over to the guard.

"Wait," said the guard once he'd taken Brian's form, glaring beneath his red, scaly brow.

"Okay," said Brian, his stomach starting to churn. He could feel the guard sizing him up, as if Brian were some sort of threat.

"ID," barked the guard. Brian handed him his driver's license. It felt like he was dealing with a customs official, and he was in serious jeopardy of being placed under arrest.

"Forty–five," said the guard into a black CB, his eyes still locked on Brian. "Go ahead," he sneered, finally looking away. Brian could tell by the man's tone that he'd made his decision: Brian was worse than dirt. Anyone with a father in here must be. "Take a seat at five. Your old man'll be up soon."

Brian nodded and walked over to table five, its number painted in red scratchy strokes across the metallic gray. He couldn't believe how empty the place was. It was 5:40 on a Tuesday night. The visitor center was supposedly open until six. _It's because no one wants to visit the sick-o's in here. That's why the guards keep looking at you like you're some sort of freak._

Brian hated to admit it, but it was probably true. He was, after all, in a psychiatric hospital that housed mostly sex offenders and the criminally insane. Not the type of folks anyone would want to see. He guessed even the inmates own families chose to stay away. He certainly had— at least until now.

_Come on Dad,_ thought Brian, _get out here soon._ He kept thinking of Abby on 495. He wondered how she planned on getting home.

_She could get killed,_ he thought. _Someone could hit her with their car._ But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true. She'd be okay; she'd find a way out. She was a mythical creature, for Christ's sake. A freeway couldn't stop someone like her.

A door pounded shut, and Brian glanced up. There was his father in an orange jumpsuit, being escorted out by two very large guards. Brian sucked in his breath, and the air stung his throat. He couldn't believe how his father had changed. He'd been a man who'd walked with his head held high, like he was proud of where life was taking him. His dark hair had held only a hint of gray, and his skin had been tanned from all those years digging in the sun. But the face of the man walking toward him now had a sad, defeated look. His shoulders sloped toward the floor, his thinning hair was the color of steel. But it was his eyes that were the most different of all. Where they used to sparkle with life, now they were as dull as a pair of stones. Brian had a feeling that even if his father hadn't been mad when he'd first entered Bridgewater, odds were that he was now.

"Dad," said Brian. He tried to get up, but one of the guards motioned for him to stay seated.

"Fifteen minutes," growled the guard who'd told Brian to sit. "We close at six, and we don't make no exceptions."

"Sure," said his father, his voice coming out forced. The look on his face when the guards walked away was relief mixed with something else— something difficult for Brian to see, for his father's face shone with fear.

Brian tried to smile, but his mouth wouldn't work, so instead he stared at his fathers white, prison issue, slip-on sneakers. He guessed they didn't let the inmates wear laces in here.

"How's your mother?" asked his father, staring him in the eyes. And for a second he looked like he always had. The cloud had lifted; he wanted to know.

"Married," said Brian.

"And not to me." His dad didn't flinch, but Brian could feel the anger, radiating off his father in waves.

"To that snake Pentos. I read it in the paper. At least I get that one luxury here in Hell!"

"Dad," said Brian, his father reached out his hand. It was an unusual gesture; they'd never touched much before. But Brian wrapped his fingers around his father's, feeling the chill of the older man's skin.

"Dad," repeated Brian, his voice filled with regret.

"You don't have to say it," said his father, reading his mind. "I know why you never came before. It was him, wasn't it? He wouldn't allow it."

Brian nodded and swallowed his shame, knowing that wasn't entirely true. Because he'd never pushed Luther, he'd never demanded to go. He'd been too afraid of what he would find. When they'd hauled his father into court, the man had been raving like a lunatic. It'd been painful to see. And so Brian had abandoned him here, locked away in his orange hell. A second bolt of shame exploded in his chest, but he held his father's gaze and refused to look away.

"So she married him," said his father. "That disgusting snake."

"Snake?" whispered Brian.

"Don't play dumb, boy! I know you know. That's why you came here, right? To ask the questions, the ones you wouldn't ask before. Has he threatened you Brian? Has he hurt your mom?" His father's fingers tightened around Brian's hand like a tourniquet, cutting off the flow of blood.

"No," said Brian, but then he paused, and his mother's dead eyes loomed in his mind. "Dad," whispered Brian, not sure he should tell him. Did his father really need to know what had been lost? Luckily his father wasn't listening anymore. He was staring instead at the guards in the room, his eyes shifting nervously between the three men. Brian had never seen him like this before. There was an anxious look to his father now. Like a dog waiting for that final kick, it's mangy body taut with fear. But then he leaned over the table and spat his words into Brian's face. His hot, sour breath made Brian want to gag.

"He stuck me in here, locked me up like an animal. Goddammit Brian, you don't know what it's like. But he lied. He deceived everyone but me because he was the one who murdered my men, who poisoned them with his terrible fangs. Those fangs!" His dad began to rock in his seat, his eyes flashing between Brian and the guards.

"Shock treatments," he hissed, his breath back in Brian's face. It was all Brian could do not to pull away. "They give me shock treatment in here, and worse stuff too. Injections! They think they can cure me from the truth. But _you_ know Brian! You've discovered his secret. You can help me! You can get me out!" His father's eyes rolled back in his head, and his nails dug into Brian's wrist.

_Oh god,_ thought Brian. _He's having a seizure. What am I supposed to do?_ "Dad!" he said, praying the guards weren't watching. "Dad, are you okay?"

"I saw him out on the water that day," said his father. A thin line of drool slid from the corner of his mouth and darkened the collar of his orange jumpsuit.

"Dad?" said Brian, but it was as if his father were in a trance. He kept on talking, but his voice was flat. He seemed barely aware that Brian was there.

"He was in a yellow kayak, calling to us. Waiting, like he wanted to get up close. The water was rough; we thought he was in trouble. And it's not like we could leave a man out there to die. So I spun the boat around, spread the sails. We were coming right at him when everything changed. I don't know when they got there. I could hardly see. A huge wave rolled up and almost capsized us, and that's when we saw them in the water. Two monstrous snakes like something out of a dream. At first I thought that Pentos had been eaten, but when he showed up in court, I realized I'd been wrong.

"No," whispered Brian, wishing his father would stop, though part of him wanted to hear it again. Because part of him knew, part of him believed.

"But they couldn't kill me. I got away!" His father was starting to cackle now. Brian wanted to ask him to keep it down. The guards were watching everything, but there was no way he could get his father to stop.

"And do you know why?" asked his father. "Because I kept them out of my head, that's why. I kept them from digging through my brain. The others, no. They listened to the call. Their eyes glazed over like they were in some sort of trance. And then they jumped in the water, right into their mouths. I had to watch those two monsters devour my friends, knowing there was nothing I could do."

Brian knew his dad was about to cry. Yet, somehow he managed to gain control. He wiped at his mouth, and drool splattered onto the table. But he was back, and he knew what he'd said.

"Brian," he croaked, his voice thick with tears, "I could block it out. I don't know how, but I did it when no one else could. Then they capsized the boat, so I jumped into the dinghy. I kept it together, until she called. That's when I thought I was done."

"She?" said Brian, his heart pounding in his chest. _Please, oh please, don't let him say her name._

"A woman," said his father. "I've never seen anyone like her before. She was even more beautiful than your mom." Brian felt himself blush, but his dad didn't notice. His father's eyes closed as he remembered the lady in the water, and a sense of peace slid through him as he spoke.

"She was amazing, Brian. She had billowing hair; her face was like a goddess, nothing less. She was a siren. I knew it the moment I saw her. Even after studying the Poseidon Stone, I wasn't convinced they were real. I thought the Stone was about people, not magical beings like her. But there she was, calling to me. Well, not me really." His father opened his eyes. He glanced over at the guards before speaking again. "She screamed something at me before she started to sing. Or maybe she just said it inside my head. I don't know how it works, but I know what she said. She told me not to listen to her song. To cover my ears, she begged me to do it. And the funny thing was, I wanted to hear. More than anything else, I wanted to know her sound. But she kept on pleading, and I finally listened. I stuffed my fingers in my ears and yanked the motor on. Then I curled myself up in the bottom of the dinghy and let it carry me away. I never looked back. I never heard. All I know was that she took care of those monsters. Took care of them until the courtroom anyway. I knew he was one of them, not that I could prove anything. Hell, even your mother thought I'd gone mad. But the way that he looked at me, the way he moved. I thought he'd been eaten, but there he was. And now," his father scanned the room, as if taking it in for the very first time. The concrete walls, the bar covered windows, the metal picnic tables chained to the floor. "Now they all think I'm insane, but I'm not. I never was. You know Brian. We both know the truth."

Brian nodded his head, but he wasn't listening anymore. All he could see was Luther's face. Luther, who'd taken everything he had— his father, his mother, and he still wanted more.

"Isn't that why you came?" asked his father. "You wanted to hear my side of the story, and now that you've heard it, you're going to help."

"Five minutes," shouted the guard with the raw looking skin. How had the time gone so fast?

_Ask him,_ thought Brian, pulling his hand away. _Do it now, before it's too late._

"Dad," whispered Brian, "I've got something to say."

His father cocked his head, like he was taken by surprise.

"I found a siren," said Brian, leaning in close, not wanting the guards to overhear. He'd spent enough time in the nut house already. There was no way he planned on going back now.

"Another?" asked his father. "Not the one in the water?"

"Not her," said Brian. "She wasn't involved in any of that. She and I," he stumbled, unsure how to proceed. "Listen, Dad. I need your help." Brian glanced at the clock posted above the guard station. They only had a few minutes left. "She has a box," he whispered, "with letters on it. I've looked at them enough. I can write them for you. Do you think the guards will let me have a pencil and paper?"

"No," said his dad. "They'll either call it a weapon, or they'll think that your drawing an escape map for me. But lucky for us that being incarcerated has made me a pretty tricky guy." Brian watched his dad slide a pencil stub out of his sleeve.

"Listen son, just write it on the table. And do it carefully, we don't want them to see."

Brian scratched the inscription across the metal tabletop, while keeping his head up and his shoulders straight in a pose he hoped looked like he was still just talking. It was only twenty characters, but it took him a while. Too long, because he could hear one of the guards walking toward them, his boots slapping against the concrete floor. _No_ , thought Brian, his throat going dry. "Dad," said Brian, rushing to finish. "Tell me, what does it say?"

His father smiled a pitiful smile. _Come on_ , thought Brian. _Tell me now_.

"The snake and the siren," creaked his father, his fingers shaking in Brian's own. "The snake and the siren will conjoin. Open me to protect, open me to obey. Open me to hunt. Open me to save."

"Time," called the guard, who was at their side, his thick, hoary fingers digging into Brian's dad's arm.

"Wait," said his father, tears flooding his eyes. "I took too much time. I didn't hear enough. Let me hug my son. Let me hug him goodbye."

The room grew shaky and a little too bright. _Keep it together_ , thought Brian. _Don't lose it now._

"No touching," spat the guard. "You know the rules. Besides, you've gotta go. I've got kids of my own waiting for me. You two crazies had enough time already." Brian cringed when he heard that. How could the guard know about him? But then his father was leaping forward, wrapping Brian in his arms. The guard let out a a yell, and then both guards were on them, trying to pull his father away.

"Don't open it," gasped his father, his mouth pressed to Brian's ear. "Don't open that thing whatever you do. The snake and the siren will conjoin. That's why she was in the water that day. You can't trust them Brian, they're with the snakes. I don't know why she rescued me. I have no idea what she wants. But she didn't save the others; she let them die. And her eyes, Brian, they glowed like electric lights. Just like those monsters in the sea. The two are connected; I know they are! The girl, I don't know who you think she is, but she's dangerous. She's one of them."

His father let out a moan, and his body went limp. Brian looked up and saw the guard who'd said their time was up, his billy club raised above his head.

"You hit him!" screamed Brian. "You hit my dad!" Rage coursed through Brian, but he was defenseless in here. Then one of the guards started dragging him backward, pulling him toward the door. Someone kicked him hard in the back, and before he knew what was happening, he was lying outside on the pavement, his backpack and keys on the ground near his head. When he looked up, the guard with the green, mossy teeth was peering down at him, a mean glint in his eyes.

"Don't come back," warned the guard, sneering at Brian. "Don't ever come back here again, you hear?"

Brian watched as the guard entered the building, heard the doors clink shut and lock on their own.

"No," whispered Brian, his dad's face in his mind. "You can't leave him here." Yet, what choice did he have?

He stumbled to his feet, gritting his teeth at the pain in his back. Then he snapped his pack and keys off the ground and hobbled toward the parking lot. It wasn't until he'd reached his car that he even realized he was sobbing. Snot and tears poured down his face, making it hard for him to breathe.

"Get a grip," said Brian, his voice thick with phlegm. "You know what you have to do." Then he slid into his father's taped up Camry, and headed toward the highway again. Soon the prison was just a shadow behind him, growing smaller and smaller as he rode away.

15. Hunted

Luther Pentos stood at the edge of the sea, his insides prickling as if he'd already submerged. He listened to the wind whistling through the dunes and allowed himself to be drawn in by its sound. It helped him forget what this really was.

No one was supposed to be out here tonight, not alone with a killer on the loose. Even the chief of police should keep up his guard. If he were a man, he would have been afraid. _But you're not a man_ , thought Luther, tasting the salty night with his tongue. _And no matter how hard you try, you're never going to be one again._

A thick glob of guilt stuck in his throat, as he remembered what he'd done. He glared down at his deceptively human hands and closed his fingers into fists. He could still feel Delilah's breath on his throat, taste the scent of her skin. He remembered the weight of her chin in his hand the first time he forced her to stare into his eyes and forget everything.

_And now,_ he thought, peering into the sea, _now I must see what the Hunter wants. I must ask him to stop, before it's too late. Before he destroys all that I have._

Luther stood at the edge of the Clifton shoreline, remembering why he'd first come to this town. He'd wanted to distance himself from the shipwreck in Provincetown and all the dark ways he'd been involved. So he'd moved Delilah and her boy down here, pretending he'd done so to give them a fresh start. He'd wanted to move even farther away, but something drew him to the Cape's chilly waters. He'd lost so much of his serpent senses, he wasn't quite sure what it was. But he couldn't leave, that much was certain. Only now he sincerely wished that he had. For then this meeting might not be happening, and maybe the Hunter would have left him alone.

Luther stepped toward the waves, his nostrils widening, breath growing deep. The sea called to him, as it always did. Though he was capable of changing on land, the water was his true home. He felt an unexpected shift, and that dark space inside him that was usually empty filled again, so cold and sweet. Every pore on his body opened, and his skin darkened and began to grow thick.

An awful hiss slid through Luther's mind. Anyone else would have assumed it was the wind, but he knew better, of course he knew. The skin on the back of his neck broke out in goosebumps. His hair bristled. It was almost time.

Suddenly he felt very vulnerable. In his human form he was weak, practically a sitting duck for the thing that was coming. But even when he completed the change, he would be nothing compared to the Hunter. Nothing but the weakest of worms. If the Hunter wanted, he could take him in a single stroke.

"But I don't," said the voice, inside him now. Luther felt the lie reverberate through his mind.

_Into the water,_ thought Luther. _Get in now. It's the only way you have a chance._ Luther started to move then froze again. He could feel the Hunter sliding over the sand, waiting to call him home.

Luther took one last look at the frozen moon and the onyx waves that slashed at the shore. Then, knowing there was no way to escape, he turned and faced the monster behind him. His body melted into itself— eyes narrowing, face going thin. He felt the familiar crunch of bone, the accompanying pain as he dropped to the ground and his arms folded in and adhered to his sides. He licked at his lips, a human gesture. But, suddenly, they were gone. In their place lay a layer of scales, cold and hard and strong as steel.

And still the Hunter waited in the sand. His body gleaming in the moonlight, head slightly forward, hood open wide. Luther felt the Hunter's eyes on him, tasted the other snake's scent in the air. Still, the Hunter bided his time.

But now Luther was watching too, watching and waiting for the Hunter's command. There was no need to speak anymore. In the Brotherhood, all minds were linked and language became mere thoughts alone. Only Luther found, as he probed with his mind, that the Hunter's powers were far beyond his own. For the great snake's brain was an impenetrable blank, while Luther could feel the Hunter sliding through his, unveiling all there was to know.

Then he heard it in his head, the angry hiss, harsher than a storm. "Luther Pentos," said the Hunter. "Don't be afraid." But Luther couldn't stop the panic from rising as he stared at this creature, so much larger than himself. Its body was as thick as a grandfather tree, and its eyes burned with such intensity that they seemed to be scorching into Luther's soul. His only wish was to look away, yet he found he could not. He couldn't move.

_He knows my secret,_ thought Luther. _He_ _knows what I'm trying to do._

"Yes," said the Hunter, sliding forward until he was directly in front of Luther, his black snout inches from Luther's own.

"Look at me brother. Look into my eyes." All Luther could do was obey.

He wanted to run, to charge into the sea and make his escape from this terrible thing. Because part of him was different now. All his hard work to become human again had helped him ignore what he really was. He hadn't made the change in so long, that his own presence filled him with disgust. And there was nothing he could do to hide these thoughts. The great snake knew everything.

"Yes," said the hunter, inside Luther's mind. The great snake's head swayed in the night.

"Master." Luther spoke with his thoughts alone. Then he bowed in reverence to the monster before him, while his eyes remained locked on the Hunter's own.

Luther was amazed at how freely his words flowed through his thoughts. He'd forgotten how simple it was, like breathing. And that ease made him start to enjoy it again, to revel in the power of it all.

"No," growled the Hunter. "Do not bow to me human, for we are brothers no longer."

"Human?" said Luther, fear spilling through his blood. But he tried to control it, to keep it in check.

"Yes, human," growled the Hunter, his green eyes growing bright. "I know what you're doing. I know what you've done. You've forsaken your brothers, forgotten what you are."

And then the great snake stretched forward and pressed his head against Luther's own. "Remember," said the Hunter, his eyes staring into Luther's. "Remember, human. Remember it all."

A sharp light flashed through Luther's mind, and his insides writhed in pain. _No_ , he thought, _you don't want to see_. But then the memories began rushing in. Memories he'd blocked out for so long, it was like they'd happened to somebody else. Only now they burned behind his eyes, charged through his brain, and there would be no relief.

"Stop," pleaded Luther. But the Hunter wouldn't stop, and so he was forced to watch it all.

Luther remembered his days in the Shadowlands; could taste the wetness of the air; the cool, dry smell of earth mixed with the scent of his brothers' skin. He'd been trapped there, along with the rest of his kind. The Hunter had been there, though they'd called him Master then. For it was he who was wed to the siren queen. Yet his lover had left him trapped in the night, to await death forever as she became a shade. And so they remained, banding together, these forgotten monsters who used to be men. They'd waited as their sirens lost their strength, watched them die out one by one. But though it hurt to see their mistresses disappear, their anger over what the sirens had turned them into charged like fire through their cold, black veins.

Luther remembered the bond between the serpents, that feeling of safety in the forgotten men who'd found strength in one another. And yet he'd been different even then. For though he had loved his siren seducer, it was his young wife's face that stung his eyes, that slid through his mind when he tried to sleep. His darling Jenny, whom he'd left behind.

"Yes," said the Hunter, breaking into his thoughts. "Yes, Luther Pentos, you remember well. But can you recall your betrayal? I should have killed you in the water when you attacked the scientists' ship. I should never have let you become what you are. But she wouldn't allow it; she made me let you go. She would have saved them all, if she'd gotten there fast enough. She abhors wasting lives; it's the bane of her kind. She only wanted me to destroy the vessel, not the men who sailed it through the waves."

"Master," moaned Luther. "Forgive me now." And yet he could see it in his mind like it was happening all over again. The Shadowlands, with its thick slab of sky. He'd wanted to find her; he'd needed his Jenny again. Even though she would have been an old woman by then, he hadn't cared. He'd needed to see. And so he'd followed when the siren queen had come calling, wooing the Hunter, her eternal beloved. Her beauty still shone though she'd been in spirit form then, left to wander the Shadowlands as a shade. For her magic kept her there, and she didn't fade away. She held her form when her sisters could not. It was then that he finally understood how powerful she was.

When he'd heard her call, he'd decided to follow, to leave his brothers and chase her into the night. And so he had seen the pathway through the water, the entrance into the world he had lost long ago.

The Hunter never went; he stayed with his beloved, curling around her in the milky waves. Yet, somehow, Luther had slipped by them and slithered into the ocean night.

"Yes," said the Hunter, his eyes like two green lanterns. They seared Luther's face, but he still couldn't look away. "We didn't feel you. Even she didn't know. At least not until you were already gone."

Something inside Luther was changing now, was reverting back to what he'd been before. Before the time he'd met Delilah and sabotaged her husband, so he could take her as his own. He was back to the time right after the change, when his body glowed with an obscene force. When the power of the snake coursed through his blood, and nothing could stop him. Nothing at all.

"It's returning," said the Hunter. "I can feel it now. Yes, it's coming. All your power is back. But dare we forgive you who've forsaken us all? You, who abandoned your brothers to be human again?"

"Master," said Luther, still speaking with his mind. "I was only seeking what all of us crave."

"To be a man," said the Hunter, eyes hot as the sun.

"To be a man," replied Luther. "That's all any of us want." Then the feeling of power slipped away, and he became lost in his serpent body, like an impostor who'd just been found out.

"You weren't protecting us in the water when I came to your aid," said the Hunter, staring into Luther's soul. "She let me out, sent me to help you; while she stayed behind and spoke with her sisters, instructing them in what had to be done. But she kept such tight control over me that I couldn't have escaped if I'd wanted to. She needed me to stop that little expedition, for it would have revealed the mystery of our mothers, and, in doing so, our mystery as well. Their new find was more detailed than that slab they call the Poseidon Stone. It proved too much. It had to disappear. When I saw you in the water, I thought that you were on our side. But it wasn't our kind you were protecting. The fact that you stopped them was just a side point for you."

"Master, why did she let you free?" The question cut through Luther's mind before he knew it was coming, and then it was too late to take it back. "Why did she free you from the Shadowlands?"

"She didn't free me. She sent me back. After we stopped the expedition, she locked me back in. But something had changed inside me then, and slowly I became released from her spell. Like you and your siren, her love bound me no longer. So I watched and I waited, for now I knew the way. And so, when the time came, I made my escape. I promised our brothers I'd come back for them, and I sneaked away, just like you. It was easy this time. For aside from my queen, the rest are formless ghosts. They have little power; it's all leached away. It is she who is keeping us locked in that realm. And just like you, I ached to be free."

"To be a man?" gulped Luther.

The Hunter laughed. "No, Luther Pentos. That is where you and I part. I belong to the Brotherhood in every way. I escaped to rid the world of those who made us— the sirens who've taken us for their own. For once they are gone, we will be free. Then I will lead our kind from the Shadowlands, and we will roam this earth as we were meant—in our new form, in our powerful way."

"As serpents?" said Luther.

"Yes," said the snake, its forked tongue shooting out of its mouth and caressing the side of Luther's face. "We aren't all like you, my friend. You haven't accepted the transformation. But you will never be a man again."

"You're wrong," said Luther, backing away. But still he couldn't break the stare.

"I'm not," said the Hunter, his mouth open wide. Luther could see the monster's fangs, sharp as daggers beneath the distant moon. "You betrayed your brothers; you are one of us no longer. I know exactly what you are. Did you forget who I am? I'm the strongest one, the master of us all, sent to defeat the sirens so that we may taste the world again. But in this new world, we will not be men. We will be better than men, more powerful than them all. How dare you deny that? How dare you forget? How dare you dismiss your brothers for your own trivial needs.

"I didn't," moaned Luther.

"Yes, you did. I've watch you, human. I've read your thoughts, and it is selfish desire that drives you now. The motives of man— you are a brother no more."

"Wait," cried Luther, out loud this time. But the great snake's eyes had begun to change. Their green deepened and blurred into orange, then, finally, into a virulent red. "Look into my eyes, former brother of serpents. Stare into my soul, and I will take you home."

"Pleasssssse," begged Luther, but he couldn't turn away. His body was stuck, frozen on the sand. All he could do was stare into those eyes as the great snake's head pressed against his own, hood extended, about to strike.

"Wait," moaned Luther, still speaking aloud, the Brotherhood's gifts lost to him now. "Forgive me master. Please, I'll change back. I'll do no more wrong." But already the fangs were at his throat, their poison bleeding into his veins. Luther stiffened and his body went numb as the venom roared through his blood, winding its way toward his heart.

_No_ , thought Luther. _Don't do this to me_. He began to pray for his human form, for at least then he could shut his eyes, at least then he wouldn't have to see. But suddenly _her_ face was in his mind. But was it Delilah's or Jenny's? He didn't know. Just those sweet, sad eyes; that dark, fall of hair. He'd lost everything for the sound of her voice, lost who he was and what he'd once been. Not one time but twice, and now he was done. Now there was nothing he could do.

Consciousness was starting to slip away, and the world around him began to go dark. But Luther held on to his last moments of life, holding her face in his mind as the great black jaws widened and distended, and the Hunter began to feast.

"No," screamed Luther his voice human this time, a final call before he was gone.

"Yessssss," hissed the Hunter inside his head. "Yes, yes." And then it was done.

* * * * *

Brian raced down 495, scanning the shoulder for Abby's willowy frame, while his father's words reverberated through his mind: _She's dangerous, Brian. She's one of them._ And even as he searched the road for her face, her parted lips, the eyes that he loved, he couldn't stop wondering if it had all been a lie, if he should keep driving and never look back.

_But you just left her there,_ Brian thought. _You left her on the side of the road like a dog._ Only, she'd made him do it, hadn't she? She had practically leaped out of the car. And she'd done it for him, to save his life.

Brian's eyes stayed locked on the road's shoulder, as an orange Mini Cooper crept onto his tail, the driver honking furiously and giving him the finger. "So pass me," growled Brian, glaring at the man. But when he looked back he saw the long line of cars stacked up behind him. Brian glanced down and checked his speedometer. He was doing thirty on the freeway. No wonder the guy behind him was pissed.

Brian got the Camry cruising at a respectable speed, but he still couldn't get himself to focus on the road. _Find her,_ he thought. _Take her home._ Then his chest began to constrict. It was hard to breathe. _Did something happen?_ he wondered. _Did someone pick her up?_ A terrible image flashed through his mind. It was Abby in a Semi with some psychotic pervert, a knife at her throat, unable to get away.

_Please_ , he thought. _She's a freaking mermaid; no one can touch her. Least of all some sex-crazed trucker._ He swallowed hard and cracked the window, letting the cool air refresh his mind. _Calm down,_ thought Brian. _She'll find you if she wants to._ And then raw panic swept through him again. Because what if she'd decided she didn't need him? Maybe that was the real reason she'd jumped out of the car.

_No_ , he thought, _she needed the info from your dad._ But he wasn't so sure about that anymore. Because, really, he hadn't found out anything at all. At least, if his dad was right, it was nothing she didn't already know.

_Don't be stupid,_ thought Brian. _She wouldn't do that to you_. But the truth was, he had no idea what she'd do. "Stop it," he murmured, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Come on Abby, find me now."

Then he felt it, a presence in the car, like his prayers had been answered, though no one was there. And yet he knew someone was sitting in the passenger's seat. He could feel it. Someone was watching him.

"Brian." The voice was in his mind. It was Abby's voice, yet something was off. There was a strange undertone he'd never noticed before.

"Brian."

He winced and crunched down on his tongue. The voice had changed. Now it sounded right. "Abby? Where are you? What's going go on?" It was just like when he'd heard her outside the prison, only that time he'd assumed it was all in his head. After all, he'd been committed, hadn't he? Who was to say he wasn't losing it it now?

"Baby, you're not." A hand touched his cheek. Cool and smooth, it slid down his neck as a shiver broke out at the base of his spine. Only when he glanced over, the seat beside him was empty. He was alone, and yet he could smell her breath: smooth and sweet and cool as the sea.

"Brian, listen," she whispered in his head. "We don't have much time, not anymore. The killer is coming, he's searching for me. I can feel him in the water; I can sense him on the land. If you want to find me, then close your eyes. If you want to help me, I'll guide your there."

"Close my eyes?" hissed Brian, aware that he was talking to himself. But if this was a figment of his imagination, a desperate plea from his ruined mind, then he really should be locked up with his dad. Sign the papers and throw away the keys. He was going insane. His insides went to mush.

"Please," whispered Abby, or at least he thought it was her. Then an invisible hand slid over his thigh, and a shiver shot up his leg: pleasure mixed with something else.

"Come on, baby," she crooned. "Close your eyes, and I'll show you were to go. Come on Brian, I'll take you to me."

"But where are you?" he asked, as the traffic sped by. Already horns were honking again. He was going too slowly. He had to stop.

Brian flicked on his blinker, about to pull over to the side, when an electric jolt shot through his chest.

"Don't pull over," barked Abby, and his throat went tight. What was she doing? Did she want him to die?

"You have to speed up and close your eyes. It's the only way to find me now."

"But I can't," whimpered Brian. Then her mouth was on his throat, full lips parted, tongue tasting his skin. It felt so good, but he tried to ignore it. It was only a distraction; he had to think. "It's suicide Abby. I can't do this now."

"Do it," she said, her voice cold and hard. Suddenly, the good feeling was gone, and he could feel her fingers, like ice on his skin, forcing his lids down over his eyes. "Do it for me. Do it for your beloved!"

"Stop," shrieked Brian. He couldn't see. The world was a blur of orange and red. Only behind his closed lids he could see her face: long dark hair, eyes glowing like the sea, and a bewitching grin etched across her lips. A grin that meant he was about to die.

"No," howled Brian, as the car started to spin. It was moving so fast that his head snapped against his seat. "Stop! Wait! You're killing me!" He twisted the wheel, trying to straighten himself out. Driving blind, he focused his mind and tried to force her presence away. "Let me go," he screamed, and he heard a sharp cry. Then an anguished wail reverberated through him, as a dark jolt of guilt seared his heart.

"How?" Abby moaned. Brian eyes snapped open just in time to see the guard rail speeding toward him.

"Wait," he cried, as the sky split open, and the bright world around him snapped to black.

* * * * *

Abby watched the Camry crash into the guard rail, her stomach heaving into her chest. She's been on 495 heading home, head held high as she ignored the cars, their drivers' stares eating into her flesh. A few men had stopped and asked if she needed a lift, but the look on their faces had made her keep walking, eyes straight ahead, fists clenched at her sides

She hadn't said much, hadn't needed to really. Just one strong no and they stepped on the gas, their lips pinched tightly as they sped down the highway, sensing the danger they'd narrowly missed.

But then there came Brian, speeding by. She'd felt him before she saw anything. A familiar presence, then she'd turned her head. "Brian!" she'd screamed, waving her arms, flapping them as if she were trying to fly. She'd watched as he spun toward the shoulder, the cars behind squealing, drivers pounding their breaks. There was a terrible sound, a metallic squeal. Then the Camry's hood folded like an accordion, and the car finally came to a stop.

Now Abby was running toward the Camry. _Oh god,_ she thought. The wreck had started to smoke, and the sharp stench of gas filled the air, burrowing into her lungs.

"Brian," she moaned when she was finally there, her sneakers skidding over the blacktop as she slammed into the driver's side door. "Come on, open!" she pleaded, but it wouldn't budge.

"Brian!" she screamed, giving the door another yank. She could see him in there, through the glass, his head resting against the billowing air bag. But he didn't look up; he didn't respond. "Please," cried Abby, "somebody help me!" But no one was stopping. The traffic flew by. There were no good Samaritans out today.

Abby raced over to the other side of the car. The front passenger side was completely unscathed, and she was able to open the door and slide in.

"Brian!" she screamed. He still didn't move. His head was cradled in the airbag, his face completely covered in its cloth.

"Brian," she whispered, touching the back of his head, pushing it slightly, so she could see his face. "Brian, wake up!" He didn't respond.

_Oh God,_ she thought. _What are you doing? You can't touch him now, he could have broken his neck._

"Brian please," She searched for his hand. It was hard to find under all the fabric. "Come on Brian, please wake up!"

Suddenly, she heard him moan. It was creaky and small, but she heard it all the same. "Brian?" she whispered, stroking his hair. "Brian, you have to wake up now." Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she didn't even realize she was crying. The whole world felt like it was underwater, like this was a dream. It had to be.

"Brian," she begged. He opened his eyes.

"Abby," he whispered, his voice rusty and thin. "Abby, is that you?"

"Brian," she cried, and she squeezed his hand. She wanted to hold him, pull him over to her, but she was afraid to try and move him right now.

"You're going to be okay," she whispered. "Everything's going to be all right. Let's just wait for the paramedics, okay? Somebody's coming. Somebody will help." She reached into the back seat to search for her purse, knowing her cell phone was in it somewhere. But then she remembered Matilda had made her leave it at home.

"Abby, why did you do this to me?" said Brian. His voice was so soft it was hard to hear. "Abby, why do you want me to die?"

"I don't," Abby said. The smell of gas was growing stronger. _Change of plans,_ she thought. _You have to get him out now._

"Brian, we have to get out of the car. We can't talk now. We have to go."

"You killed me," he whispered. "You made me close my eyes and drive. I tried to stop you, but you were too strong. Why did you do it? Why did you want me dead? My dad warned me about you, but I didn't want to believe it. He told me never to open the box. He said that you're one of the monsters. You're with the snakes. I didn't think it was true!"

"Brian, what are you talking about? I never tried to hurt you." But Abby wasn't sure he heard. He was staring off in the distance now, like he'd forgotten she was there. "Listen," she said, touching his face. Finally, his eyes swung back to her. "Brian, come on. We have to go. The car's leaking gas. We have to get out."

"No," Brian whispered. "I want to sleep."

"I'm getting you out."

"Don't touch me!" he screamed, his dark eyes burning into her skin. "You aren't allowed to touch me ever again."

"Too bad," said Abby, leaning over him and pressing the release button on his seatbelt. Then she roped her arms around his chest. She hoped she wasn't hurting him even more as she she eased him toward the open passenger door.

"Come on," she whispered. "We're almost there." But he didn't look up. He didn't even move.

"Brian?" she whispered. His lips were blue. "Oh god," screamed Abby. He wasn't breathing anymore. "Brian please. Someone help me now!"

And then something sharp cut through her mind, a biting voice she knew so well.

"Get the box, Abby. Get it now."

"Eleanor," said Abby. "Help me, please. What do I do?"

"Leave the boy, and get the box. You can save him later. I'll show how."

"But he's not breathing."

"It doesn't matter anymore."

"What do you mean? Of course it does!"

Something was burning into Abby's right heel. At first she thought her foot was on fire, but when she checked she saw that it was Eleanor's feather. Somehow it had slipped out of her pocket and ended up on the floor. Quickly, Abby stuck her sleeve over her hand, picked up the feather, and shoved it into her coat.

"The box," cried Eleanor, her voice growing louder. "Abby, you need to get it now!"

"No," screamed Abby, slipping her arms back around Brian. He was heavier than she thought he'd be, but she managed to drag him out of the car and onto the side of the highway, his feet bouncing over the blacktop as they moved. All the while she ignored Eleanor's pleas, focusing only on what she had to do.

When she was far enough away, she lowered him to the ground and slid her mouth over his, tilting his head back like they were taught in health class. She only hoped she remembered what the teacher had said. _Oh please,_ she prayed. _Please let this work._ She breathed hot air into his chest, felt it rise, then did it again.

"Get the box," screamed Eleanor. "They're almost here."

_Shut up_ , thought Abby _. I can't do that right now! Chest compressions_ , she thought. _That's what I'm supposed to do._ Abby yanked up Brian's shirt, momentarily remembering how she'd imagined things would be. Stop it, she thought, as the tears started to come. _Keep it together_. She locked her arms. "One, two." She started to count, pressing down on his chest, while ignoring Eleanor's howls in her mind.

"The box!" shrieked Eleanor. "Get the box!"

"Be quiet!"

"You can't save him this way!" Eleanor's voice was like broken glass

"Shut up!" screamed Abby. Her arms felt like lead. She had no idea how long she'd been pumping, but her throat was raw and her chest was starting to hurt. _Just a little longer_ , she thought. _Someone will come. Just a little longer. Then you can go._

"Get the box!" screamed Eleanor. "There's another way!" And then Abby heard the ambulance.

"It's your last chance," cried Eleanor, pleading with her now. "Forget what you're doing. It's not going to work. Just get the box. It'll save his life."

Abby stopped in the middle of a chest compression, her throat scraped raw, blood pounding in her ears.

"How?" she whimpered, pumping again. But it wasn't working. Nothing was.

"Get it from the car, and I'll show you the way. Get it, and I'll take you to save him now."

Abby stopped and listened, her ear on Brian's chest. His skin was still warm against her cheek, but there was nothing there: no breathing, no heartbeat. "Oh god," she whispered. "He's not coming back."

"Go!" Eleanor's voice burned through her mind, holding its promise. She had to obey.

"I can't leave him," said Abby.

"Here's already gone. I can feel it already. His spirit has left. Get the box and I'll help you find him again. Get the box, and you can bring him back."

Abby arm's fell to her sides, and she forced herself up off the ground. _Don't do this_ , she thought. But it was no use. This was the only way.

"Get it," said Eleanor. "Do it now." Abby took one last look at Brian's face, his eyes closed as if in sleep, then made herself jog back over to the Camry.

"The back seat!" Eleanor's voice sounded frantic. "Hurry, he put it in his pack." Abby leaped into the car, and started scanning the seats, searching for Brian's bag. It reeked inside. She could barely breath, and the smell of gasoline seared her lungs. But she saw the red pack on the floor behind the driver's seat. She grabbed it and raced out of the car.

She was about to sprint over to Brian, when she saw the paramedics pull to the side of the road.

"Run," screamed Eleanor, her voice sharp as a crow's. "Don't let them catch you. They'll slow you down!"

"But Brian!" cried Abby. "I can't leave him like this."

"Yes, you can. It's the only way. Now go. Run, before they see. You've got to go before it's too late.

Abby stood, immobilized, her eyes locked on Brian.

"It's the only way," said Eleanor, pleading again. "It isn't too late. You can still get him back. Just go to the water, your usual place. I'll find you there. I'll show you what to do."

"But I have to see," whispered Abby, moving closer now. _Maybe they'll bring him back_ , she thought. _Maybe he'll be okay._

"They won't!" insisted Eleanor. "You have to go now." And then the sound of a thousand gun shots exploded through the air, and Abby found herself skidding over the ground, arms extended as she hit the earth, smashing into gravel and dirt.

When she looked up, the Camry was a ball of fire, burning away at the side of the road.

"Oh god," moaned Abby, "Why is this happening to me? Please, oh please let him be okay."

"It's up to you," said Eleanor. "All of it is. Get to the water, and I'll show you the way. We can save your beloved before it's too late."

Abby pushed herself onto her feet. Her body felt drained, and she swayed as she stood, but she made herself stumble away from the car, and half run, half crawl toward the woods. As she moved, she pictured Brian's face in her mind. Not like he'd been on the side of the road, but with smiling lips, eyes wide and bright. _Please_ , she prayed as she broke into the trees. _Please make sure that no one saw me. Please let me help him before it's too late._

* * * * *

Abby's breath heaved in her throat as she stumbled through the sprinkling of trees that bordered 495 South. She pushed herself faster, not sure where she was heading, but certain she had to follow Eleanor's orders, even if she had no idea what they meant.

The woods wasn't deep at all, just a narrow strand of trees that followed the highway. Abby scurried inside a clump of pines and slowed to a brisk walk. _Keep moving_ , she thought. _You have to move._ Except she knew there was no way she could walk to Clifton. It was miles away. There was no time. Not if she wanted to save Brian. Though she hadn't a clue how she was supposed to do that.

She kept seeing his face: blue, slack lips; eyes closed as he lay still on the ground. With all her magic, she still couldn't revive him. She wondered if she'd done something wrong. She'd taken CPR more than two years ago. Maybe she'd hurt him when she'd pulled him from the car. Maybe that's why he wouldn't wake up.

_Don't be stupid_ , she thought. _That doesn't make any sense. If you hadn't pulled him out, he'd have died in the explosion._ So why did she feel like it was all her fault? He'd certainly thought so, that much was clear. In his few moments of lucidity, he'd asked why she'd tried to kill him. Abby felt sick when she remembered what Brian had said. She couldn't understand why he thought she would hurt him. Hadn't he known how she felt?

_Apparently not,_ thought Abby, dragging a hand through her hair. Her skin was sticky, and she smelled like gasoline. But then she remembered the song in her throat, the way her voice had made him sick. And how she'd practically leaped out of his car, forcing him to abandon her on the side of the highway and meet his father on his own. And what did is father tell him then? To watch out for her because she was with the snakes; she was like the very monster she needed to kill. A terrible image of her nightmare with Eleanor rushed through Abby's mind with such intensity, that she had to stop walking and steady herself with the branch a tree.

_But why would he think that?_ Abby wondered. _How could Brian's father know?_ A sickening dread filled Abby's chest as she remembered what she'd done to her mother at Logan. "Oh god," she moaned, doubling over, the fear too much for her to bear. Did my singing kill her too?

_Eleanor_ , she called, speaking the name with her mind. _Eleanor, please. I need you now_. She closed her eyes and dug her nails into the tree, liking the way the bark cut into her skin. Maybe the pain would help her think. _Eleanor_ , she thought, _help me now._

Silence. There was no one was there.

"Please," moaned Abby. "Eleanor, please." She slid a hand into her pocket and pulled out the feather. "Help me," she whispered. "I need to know what I've done."

Nothing. The siren was gone. All she could hear were her own racing thoughts. "No," moaned Abby. "You have to come back." She stared at the feather in her hand and wondered why it felt so cold. "Eleanor?" she asked. The feather pulsed once, its color growing bright, then fading into a smoky gray. "Come back," whispered Abby, dropping it to the ground. But then she changed her mind and scooped it up again, shoving it back into her pocket just in case.

Abby lowered herself to the forest floor and yanked the mermaid box out of Brian's pack. Once she had it, she glared at the mermaid engraving, her long hair flowing in the miniature ocean, green eyes closed as if in sleep.

"Wake up," Abby shouted. "I know you're there. I don't know what you did to that feather, but you're not leaving. I need to talk to you." Brian's face rushed through her, his dark eyes confused, his voice blaming her for his death. _Why had he said that?_ Abby wondered. _What in the world had gone wrong?_

"Eleanor," said Abby, touching the mermaid's face. Then something clicked in her mind, and she reached into her pocket and pulled out the key. She held it up to her face, eying the spot where the green eye had been. Only now it was covered by a silvery lid, closed just like the eyes on the mermaid box.

Abby ached with exhaustion. She turned her head and stared up at the sky as dappled sunlight slid through forest's canopy, giving her the sensation that she was miles from the highway, though she could still hear the traffic whizzing by.

_Please_ , begged Abby, shutting her eyes. But when she did, all she could see was Brian— the way his mouth curved into a questioning grin. Eleanor, _you have to help me now._

"The water," sang a voice, smooth as the wind. Abby's palms began to grow warm, and an electric shock jolted her skin.

"What?" she yelped, dropping the key. It fell to the ground by her feet, its bright green eye staring up at her face.

"Wear it around your neck," said the voice, or was it a chorus of voices? For it's tone had shifted and more voices were there, winding together into one. "The key must go around your neck."

_Is it Eleanor?_ wondered Abby, glancing at the box in her lap. The mermaid's eyes were open too. They were staring at Abby with such intensity, that the hair on the back of her neck stood up.

_The feather,_ thought Abby, yanking it out of her pocket. But it hadn't changed; it was as dead as before.

"Go now, little sister. This cannot wait." Abby glanced back down at the key, but its eye was closed. She wondered if she had imagined it open before. She looked at the mermaid box, half hoping its eyes were closed too. _Oh_. She swallowed, fear rising in her throat. The mermaid's eyes were even brighter now, their brilliant green glaring straight at her.

"All right," whispered Abby, shoving the box back into Brian's pack, anything to get away from its awful stare. Deciding she should listen to what the voices had said, she rooted through the backpack, searching for something to hang the key from. But except for the mermaid box, and a couple of pencils, the pack was completely empty. _Nothing there_ , she thought, about to give up. But then her eyes slid over the ground to the very spot were the key still sat. _Shoe laces_ , she thought, yanking off one of her sneakers. In no time, she had undone the lace, slid it through the key and tied it around her neck. _Perfect_ , she thought, slipping her shoe back on. It would be hard to walk in, that was for sure, but at least the key wasn't going anywhere.

_Wait a second_ , she thought. _What if it shocks me again?_ She was about to take the key off and put it back in Brian's pack, when her own soft voice cut through her mind.

_Keep it on_ , she thought, not knowing why. _It won't burn you, not anymore_. Deciding to rely on her instincts, she slid the key under her clothes, hoping that her intuition was right.

Abby scrubbed her hands across her face, and tried to recall how the voices had sounded. It hadn't been Eleanor, that was for sure. The feather was cold, so it couldn't have been her. But if it wasn't Eleanor, then who had it been?

_Doesn't matter,_ she thought. _You know what to do. Just get to the water as fast as you can. You just have to believe that she'll meet you there. You have to do this. It's all you have left._

Abby pulled herself up from the forest floor, trying not to think of her mother's frozen face, or Brian's body on on the side of the road. Instead, she forced herself into a jog, focusing her thoughts on the feel of her muscles, on evading the exhaustion that had overtaken her before. _A little farther_ , she thought, _that's all you have to do. Then you can hitch a ride home._

It was hard to run with one loose shoe, but Abby managed to stumble along. And as she did so, her mind rolled back to Brian. His accusation still stung, bringing tears to her eyes. She couldn't figure out what he'd meant. How had _she_ gotten him into the wreck? She hadn't been there. She hadn't told him what to do.

_Maybe he hit his head during the collision._ The thought made Abby momentarily relax. But then she remembered the Camry's air bag. It had exploded on impact; his head must have been fine. _Or maybe not_ , thought Abby. _Maybe that's why he died_. _Just bring him back. It's all you can do— if Eleanor's right and you actually can._

Just thinking about Eleanor made Abby's insides go tight. Abby couldn't believe that she's just wanted to let Brian die. _She wanted him to die so you could save him_ , thought Abby _. Besides, she didn't_ make _you leave._ And yet Abby had, there was no denying that now. She'd listened to the siren and left Brian behind. And now she was on a quest to get him back. A quest that would no doubt involve fighting the killer in the water. She tried not to feel afraid.

_Just run_ , thought Abby. _Don't think about it now_. And so she jogged for ten more minutes or so, until the trees thinned to an even patchier strand, and she could see the freeway off to her side, its body winding like a vein.

_Now_ , thought Abby. _Do it now_. Abby slowed to a walk as she neared the road. Carefully, she climbed over the guard rail and onto the highway's shoulder, her heart like a drum inside her chest as she searched the road for signs of the wreck. No. She was too far away. Relief flooded through her, and she started to sway.

_Please_ , prayed Abby, _find me beautiful. Please, somebody pick me up._

Abby stuck out her thumb and stared down the road, a tight smile on her lips. She got into the first car that stopped, a silver Nissan driven by a middle aged man with a scraggly Red Sox cap perched on his head. She could feel the man's stare before he even rolled down his window. But when he asked where she was headed, she widened her smile and hopped inside.

"Clifton," she said, as his eyes roved over her body. She swallowed the song that was beginning to rise. "And please," she whispered, "make it quick."

16. The Swim

Abby stared at the darkened ocean, the mermaid box tight in her hand. It wasn't that late, only around nine o'clock, but the night's blackness concealed her from view. For years she had stood at this very spot, readying herself to submerge. She used to study the houses that littered the shoreline, their soft lights twinkling like distant stars. Inside, they were filled with normal people— people who'd never danced with dolphins, who'd never chased a sea horse beneath the waves. She'd been given a gift, a secret pleasure, a world open to herself alone.

Only now all she felt was anger and guilt. Anger at her father for making this part of her because it hadn't turned out to be a gift after all, but a terrible curse she could never shed. Even when he'd tried to take it away, all he'd left her with were scars. The prick of a needle, an operating room. _Why did Eleanor show that to you? Why did she make you remember your past?_ Abby would give almost anything to put those memories back. To lock them away and never know.

But the guilt was stronger than her anger right now. It dug through her chest, stinging and sharp. And though she was guilty of many things, it was Brian's death that hurt most of all. Because even if she hadn't actually killed him, it was her fault he'd seen her leave the water on her birthday. Why had she thought she would never get caught, that no one would ever find out what she was? She should have never come up to the surface that morning. She should have stayed submerged until night had come. It was seeing her that had brought him down this path, and now he was dead, and she was to blame. Now she must face the snake alone.

Just thinking of the snake sent a chill through her blood, and for a moment she wanted to run away— to charge through the grass and away from the water, to hide in the forest and never return. For the first time in her life, she was entering for a reason. For the first time she would be swimming toward her fate. An image of Lauren Liney flashed through her mind: the ruby bubbles, the mark on her neck. And then Gretchen's face, and Matilda's student from TV. All of them had been murdered in the serpent's search for her. So, in a way, it was her fault that they were dead. At least that's how it felt as she stood by the water, studying the waves like a crystal ball. As if they could tell her what was to come.

"Don't be scared," she whispered, her voice lost in the wind that whipped the sand up in sheets and pulled her hair back like a flag. But she couldn't stop the fear from coming. She couldn't put it aside, make it go away. She remembered the last time she'd entered these waters. That horrible feeling of being chased. She'd felt it in the ocean, sensed something near. But when she had turned, all she'd seen was darkness. Yet she knew it was there, stalking her in the deep. Just like she knew it would be there now.

_Eleanor_ , she called in her mind. But there was no answer. She was alone.

Abby gnawed at her lip until it bled, liking the taste that slid over her tongue. Somehow, it made her feel alive. Because if she could bleed then she was still here.

_You have to go in. Do it now._ An image of Brian flashed through her— Brian holding her in his arms, promising to help, promising not to tell. Then she saw his face at the scene of the crash. His terrible words, eyes full of blame. _Oh god,_ thought Abby. _What have I done?_

_Just stop it. You can't do this now. If you want to save him, you have to go in_. Quickly, Abby removed her clothes and shoved them into Brian's pack. Then she dug a hole and buried the thing. _You_ _need a marker,_ she thought, _so you can find your stuff._ She grabbed a piece of driftwood and jabbed it into the sand, hoping it would stay in place. She knew a rock would be better, or a pile of shells, but she didn't have time to collect those things. She had to get in the water now, and this was the best that she could do.

She was about to head in when she remembered the feather, still in her jacket pocket, now buried beneath the sand. She considered getting it, but decided not to. Eleanor had been pretty specific in her instructions: she'd just said to bring the box and the key. Besides the feather was gray; it wasn't working anymore, and it would be too easy to lose beneath the ocean's waves.

Abby made her way toward the water, the key banging against her chest with every step. Her skin burned from the cold, but she kept on walking, trying to remember how she used to feel when she'd entered this place not so long ago. Brave, fearless, unafraid of sharks— that was the girl she used to be. A thin film of terror slid through her body, weakening her, but she didn't stop.

_Come on_ , she thought. _Do it for him._ Abby lunged forward, hips dipping toward the surface as the strange cramping sensation slid up her legs. Then her body folded beneath her, and she was lying face up in the surf, her silver tail pointing toward the open sea.

_Go! Before somebody sees you. Come on, you can't get caught!_ Abby forced her head beneath the water, wishing she'd thought to pack her headlamp today. The sea enveloped her like a tomb, and she peered anxiously through the darkness, trying to decide which way to swim.

"Eleanor," she called in her mind. She held the mermaid box even tighter, waiting for a response.

Silence.

"Eleanor, where do I go?"

Then she saw it in the water, the winding green path that stretched through the darkness, a trail made by the box in her hand.

_What?_ thought Abby, staring down at the box. The thing had begun to spin, its separate pieces grinding against one another. It was moving so fast that it started to pulse, and its hard edges turned fluid as if it were alive. Soon its once wooden exterior was beating like a heart, as its mermaid's eyes illuminated the way.

_Don't drop it,_ thought Abby, but she could barely hold on. She was gripping the box with two hands now, as it tried to squirm out of her grasp. Abby felt like she was holding a thick ball of slime. _Careful_ , thought Abby, grasping it even tighter, while straining for the sound of Eleanor's voice, probing for the siren with her mind.

"Eleanor?" she called inside her her head. The ocean was completely still, much like her last night beneath the waves when she had witnessed the murder, seen all that blood.

_No_ , thought Abby. _Don't think about that. Just follow the path. That's all you can do. It's the only way to bring Brian home._

Gingerly Abby flicked her fin, and, holding the thing that used to be a box out like a lantern, swam forward, into the deep. _Please_ , she prayed as she moved through the darkness. _Please_ , _let_ _this work._ But she still couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Because where was Eleanor? Shouldn't she be here by now? Instantly, Abby thought back to Eleanor's feather, buried in the sand. _Wait_ , she thought. _Maybe I needed that too._ But then she remembered its dull, limp body. It was useless now. She would have to do this on her own.

Abby swallowed as the pressure changed. She was swimming deeper, heading into the ocean's depths. She had yet to see or hear another living thing. No one was around— just like before.

_Oh god_ , prayed Abby as the emptiness engulfed her. _Oh god, oh god. Please let this be right._

* * * * *

The Hunter listened to the siren enter the water, tasting her fear on his thick, black tongue. He'd wanted to take her when he'd first felt her presence. He knew where she was heading, knew what she must do. He was strong enough now that he'd eaten one of his own. For his brother was different than the humans he'd taken. Their bodies were useless and he'd discarded them in the sea. He gained power from their souls alone. But a serpent's flesh is seeped in magic, even a serpent like Luther Pentos who'd forsaken what he really was. And now all that magic charged through the Hunter, giving him the strength he needed to ensure he could defeat his prey.

The Hunter lay frozen as the current coursed by him, and a faraway song touched his soul. It was a voice he knew from long ago, the voice that had called him, had made him what he was. He tried to resist it, but a sharp heat rushed through him, burning his insides. He had to go.

"No," growled the Hunter, calling to her. "Not now, my queen," but there was no turning back. As he let the young siren swim through the water and toward the destruction of his kind, he remembered the lie he'd told Luther Pentos, whose flesh was boiling inside him now. He'd said he'd released his queen, that he was out of her grasp, when really it was she who had let him go. She who had cut the ties that bound them, the love that was suppose to endure for all time.

"Hendrick," sang the queen inside his mind, and he swam toward her, her song roping him in. "Hendrick, my beloved, our separation is over Now we shall do what we must to be free."

* * * * *

The light was growing stronger now. Abby found herself sprinting through the water, arms extended, following the beam. She had no idea where the winding green pathway would lead her, but she desperately wished that Eleanor were here. Only every time she called the siren's name, all that replied was her own frantic heart.

_Where is she,_ thought Abby. _She said she'd show me the way._ Abby gripped the thing that used to be the mermaid box even tighter when she realized that maybe Eleanor had. Only it would have been nice if the showing had involved language too. Then she might not have felt so alone.

A cramp knotted in her side, and Abby begrudgingly slowed her pace. _Shouldn't I be there already?_ she wondered. _How much further am I supposed to go?_

But then she heard it in the water, a cacophony of voices, their tone haunting and low. Somehow she knew they were calling to her, urging her farther into the ocean's abyss.

Deeper and deeper down she went. Her ears popped, and her head started to ache. Abby had no idea how far down she was, but it was definitely deeper than she'd ever gone before. Briefly, she wondered if she could withstand the pressure, but she was built for these waters so she guessed that she could. _Where am I going_ , she wondered, _the ocean floor?_ Then the humming inside her rose to a howl and burst in a single, resounding "Yes!"

"Too the deep," crooned the voices, a cool, blur of sound. "Too the deep, little sister. You're almost there."

_Almost_ , thought Abby, propelling herself forward while trying to ignore the lead weight in her chest. But then she saw it— a huge outcropping of rock that rose up from the bottom like a leviathan waiting to devour its prey. The thing that used to be a box pounded frantically in her hands. Bright, green pulses shot from its surface, lighting the rock wall ahead.

"Down," crooned the voices, in harmony now. "Down, little sister." Abby dove.

It felt like she'd been swimming forever, like she was diving into the center of the earth. The water around her was completely black, save for the green light that the box was giving off, and her body was going numb from the cold.

_Keep going,_ thought Abby. _Do it for Brian._ His face flashed behind her eyes— blue-gray lips, ashen skin. She had to help him. There was no other way.

But no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, doubt was beginning to creep through her mind. Because where was Eleanor? Shouldn't she be here by now? Maybe she was part of the chorus of voices. _No_ , thought Abby, _she isn't here_. Whoever it was that was guiding her, it wasn't Eleanor. Eleanor had left her all alone. Anger pooled in Abby's gut, but she kept on swimming, following the wall as it plunged toward the ocean's floor.

Suddenly the voices boomed in her ear, a tidal way of guttural sound. "Stop," they cried, and Abby froze, as the gooey thing that used to be a box began to spasm in her hands.

The voices inside her were moaning now: "Stop! Stop, the door is here!" Abby moved closer to the wall, but there was nothing there. Just a slab of rock over fifty feet wide, glowing green in the box's ominous light.

"Find the spot," crooned the voices. "Find it now!" A tremor of urgency shot through their tone. "Move closer, so the key can see."

_Okay_ , thought Abby. _Closer, okay._ She swam as close to the wall as she could, keeping the shoelace around her neck while holding they key out in front. But this meant she had to hold the mermaid box in one hand, and it squirmed and wiggled and squished through her fingers, doing its best to make an escape. It was all she could do not to let it fall.

_What am I doing here?_ she wondered, her skin prickling in frustration and fear. But then she felt it. The key was guiding her now. Its green eye caressed the rock as it searched for the keyhole in which to submerge.

Suddenly, the shoelace cut into the back of her neck, and the key shot to the right. Abby gasped as something sliced into her forehead, and then her eyes were blinded by a cloud of blood. "No," she moaned, grimacing from the pain as she banged down the rock's craggily face, her body smashing against it like a toy on a string.

_Wait!_ thought Abby. _Stop it! Help!_ She was spinning sideways now, her right hand gripping the mermaid box, while her left fought to loosen the shoelace around her neck, as it gnawed its way toward her bone.

Abby tried to control her fear, as the cut in her neck continued to deepen. It wasn't the pain that was scaring her now, but the fact that she knew how fast blood travels through water, and what would be drawn by the smell.

_Eleanor_ , she prayed, _help me now. Please don't make me do this alone!_ And then, without warning, the key stopped. The jolt was so sudden that Abby lurched forward and smashed into the side of the rock. Her right hand was crushed on impact, and her wrist and knuckles hit with such force that the mermaid box dropped from her hand.

_No!_ thought Abby, but it was too late. The box was spinning through the darkness. Its green light flashed once and then went out.

The world around her went almost completely black. Luckily, the key's eye was still open, and a thin strand of green light slid from its pupil, illuminating part of the wall. But it wasn't enough, not at all. Even if she dared move away from the rock, she would never be able to find the box in the dark. Besides, as far as Abby could tell, the key was stuck in the hole. She tried using both hands to jerk it out, but she couldn't get it to budge.

"Help!" she screamed, forgetting where she was. Salty water slid down her throat, burning its way into her lungs.

"Little sister," said the voices, calmer this time. "You're almost there. The box is gone, but you don't need it anymore. It led you here, and now you have us. Hurry! You must open the lock. Then you can come inside."

_Almost where?_ thought Abby. _What do they mean?_

"Look," said the voices. "The key! The key!"

Abby squeezed herself closer to the wall, and the shoelace grew slack again. Chin pointed toward her chest, she eyed the key sticking into the rock face, its green eye glowing weakly in the dark.

"Turn," moaned the voices in her head. "Turn little sister. You are almost inside."

_Okay_ , thought Abby, grabbing the key. _You can do this. It's just like a door_. It took all her strength to turn the key. She was about to slip the thing off her neck so she could get a better grip when the voices inside her cried out no.

"Leave it on little sister. You can't lose that too. Then you will never get inside." Then a slab of rock began sliding sideways, moving on it own volition, its rumble heavy as a giant's snore. Abby yanked at the key and it slid out of the keyhole, too easy this time, like it wanted to go. But once out, its light began to fade. Soon her world was completely dark.

"Go, little sister," the voices called. "Enter the tunnel. We'll lead the way."

_I can't,_ thought Abby, panic hitching in her chest. She clung to the wall, unsure what to do.

"There' s no other way. You must swim through the passage. It will take you to the Shadowlands, for that is where your job must be done. Go now, before he comes. For the Hunter stalks you even now. Our queen cannot hold him off much long. Quickly, soon the door will close."

Abby strained to make out something in the blackness. But all she could see was the empty sea. Except that she knew the monster was out there somewhere, hunting her down, waiting to strike. And who was this queen they were talking about? Was it Eleanor? Abby was sure that it was _. That's why she isn't here_ , thought Abby, relief rushing through her frozen limbs. _She was helping me all along._

Abby took a deep breath, bit down once on her lip, then waved her arms out in front of her. Her hand slipped into the space in the rock.

"Go," said the voices. "Do not wait. You've found the tunnel. Swim inside."

And so Abby forced herself into the darkness, her fingers scratching against the sides of the tunnel as she navigated by feel alone. Once she'd entered, the rock door slid shut behind her, and she was inside the watery mountain, alone at the bottom of the sea.

17. The Shadowlands

Abby slid through the narrow tunnel, her body scraping against its sides. She cringed as her scales began to slough off, trying not to cry as she pushed on. _Please_ , she begged, straining for the voices. _Talk to me now. Tell me what to do_. But all she could hear was a rising humming, a throbbing that broke through her mind in waves.

The water was growing warmer now, and the temperature change soothed her aching limbs. _Almost there_ , she thought, hoping it was true. _Please, please, let me get there soon._

"Eleanor," she called. Silence greeted her. There was no one to speak to, no one would help. She half swam, half crawled into the heat, her eyes straining through the blackness, searching for something to see.

For several long minutes she peered into the darkness, but it wasn't until she'd contorted herself around a narrow turn that her eyes finally made out something real. At first Abby thought it was her imagination, an illusion because she needed to see. But no, there it was, a thin ray of light shining through the silty water. It looked like moonshine inside the cave.

"Yes little sister," the voices boomed, their humming swelling into words again. "Follow the light. It is the only way." Abby clawed forward, crunching down on her tongue as ribbons of skin ripped from her tail. _Yes_ , she thought. _There it is_. The ray of light; it was shining through. It seemed to be coming from a chink in the wall. _Another door?_ wondered Abby. She hoped she could get through.

"The key," moaned the voices. "Use it now."

This time, ignoring the voices' warning, Abby slid the shoelace off her neck, and, wrapping it tightly around her wrist, placed it on the wall of the cave. Immediately, it darted over the rock face, dragging her along for the ride. No, thought Abby, bracing herself. Only the search was short and quick. With a jerk, the key had found the keyhole. Abby crammed herself up against the tunnel's sides, straining as she worked to turn the key.

_No_ , thought Abby, as the key bit into her hand. She couldn't move it. It wouldn't budge. Forgetting where she was, she let out a cry and then gagged as seawater tore down her throat, burning her from the inside out.

_What are you doing?_ thought Abby. _Start using your head!_ Because even though she was breathing through her gills, she wouldn't survive if she ruined her lungs. She needed her human body intact if she wanted to make it on land again.

"Turn!" the voices howled in her head. "Turn little sister!" But it was too hard.

_I can't_ , she whimpered in her mind. _I can't make it work. The lock is jammed._

Panic flooded through her, but she kept on trying. She didn't know what else to do. Then, suddenly, hands were all around her. Hands and arms as pale as milk, disconnected from actual bodies, slid like silk over her own. A chill spread through her when they grazed her skin, and yet she couldn't pull away.

The voices moaned inside her head: "Turn, little sister. Turn with us now!" More hands appeared, glowing around her. They were everywhere— on her arms, her head, twisting themselves through the roots of her hair.

"Wait!" she cried, speaking with her mind. They were pulling her down, their heavy fingers forcing her to the floor. But then she felt a sharp jolt of power, like a bolt of lightening driving through her blood. A smoky taste filled her mouth, blackening her throat and the backs of her gums.

"Now!" howled the voices. She turned the key.

"Yes!" they cried, and the door slid open, roaring like an erupting volcano. The tunnel was filled in milky light.

Abby scrubbed at her eyes then searched for the spirits, but they were gone. She was alone.

"Take the key," said the voices. "Take it now."

"Where are you?" called Abby. There was no response.

Gingerly, Abby slid the key from the lock and let it fall back around her neck. She was tired; the turning had drained her. The spirits' strength had leached from her body, and it was all she could do not to curl up and sleep.

"Go," moaned the voices, softer again. "Swim little sister." They were fading away. Abby listened as their words melted into nothing. And then she was alone.

_Swim, swim. You have to do what they said_. And then she was swimming toward the light, struggling through the milky water that flowed all around her, warm as blood.

_Come on_ , she thought. _You can make it to the shore_. Abby pushed herself on, ignoring the pain that sliced from the middle of her right thigh to the tip of her tail. She was swimming blindly. There was no way to see, for the water around her wasn't water at all, but a white substance as thick as cream. It stuck in her gills; she could barely breathe.

_The surface,_ thought Abby. _Get up there now!_ A spark of comprehension shot through her, as she swam up through the strange, creamy fluid. Her lungs expanded uncomfortably wide, as she broke through the surface, gasping for air. _It's the Shadowlands_ , thought Abby. _Just like in your dream._ But that realization slipped from her mind once she saw the rocky shoreline. _Not far_ , she thought. _You just have to swim_. She strained for the voices, but they were gone.

Abby sobbed when she finally pulled herself onto the beach, her silvery tail bloody and raw. Opaque sunshine drifted down from above, but the land around her was devoid of color, its rocky shore speckled in shades of gray.

_The beach_ , she thought. _You made it to the beach_. Abby glanced down at her naked torso and immediately wished she had something to wear. Or at least something she could use to wipe her tail off with because now all she could do was drag herself over the pebbles, her blood leaching into the ground as she waited to dry.

The sea was just like the one she'd seen in her dreams, only the land looked completely wrong. But then Abby remembered Eleanor's comment about Duat, the island inhabited by the ghosts of sirens and those touched by their magic. _Is this the place?_ Abby wondered. _And if it is, then where's Brian? Shouldn't he be here now?_ Abby blinked hard, and took in her surroundings. But there really wasn't much to see.

She was lying on the shore of what she guessed was an island. The sand around her was littered with rocks. A drab forest took up where the beach left off, its frail trees overwrought with thorny vines. The forest climbed, tapered, then all but disappeared as the ground rose into a bald peaked mountain, its stubbly body dotted in rogue trees. The peak hung several hundred feet above the shoreline, and below its patchy, scarred face, the land dropped into a cliff.

The only thing of any interest to Abby was the dense sheet of mist that hovered over the water, thick and white and reaching toward the sky. She could see its surface undulating in the light as black shadows coursed inside its walls. Abby's stomach flipped as it began to slink forward, its spindly fingers reaching for her, just as they had in her dreams.

A bullet of fear shot through her chest, and she stretched her tail in the wind to dry. "Change," she begged. "Change for me please!" The mist was moving faster now, speeding forward, over the sea. She had to get up, she had to move before she was lost in its creamy whiteness, trapped with the shadows hissing her name.

A sharp cry rose from the mountain's peak, and a blood red raven circled above. "Eleanor," gasped Abby, tail still flapping on the rocks. "Eleanor help!" And then it began— the strange cramping sensation, her bones splitting apart. She grimaced in pain, waiting for it to be done. It had never felt like this before, and the pain worried her, filled her with dread. It was only when she glanced down at her legs that she could see why the change had hurt so much.

Her scales must have hidden the severity of the cut, or perhaps she had been so focused on waiting for the change, that she'd managed to block it out. A bloody gash sliced from the middle of her right thigh to her ankle, so deep she could actually see the bone. _No_ , she thought. _This isn't happening now._ She tried to stand, but the pain was too much.

"Eleanor!" shrieked Abby, and the bird dove toward her, its caw so sharp she had to cover her ears. _Hurry_ , thought Abby, glancing down the beach. But then she saw them coming toward her: two thin figures, pale as ghosts, their bodies luminescent in the milky light. "Eleanor?" said Abby as they continued forward, their feet barely touching the rocky shore. "Eleanor, please!" They were almost here.

Abby's insides twisted in dread, and her eyes widened as the two figures approached. She searched for a good-sized rock, some sort of protection. Not that anything could really help her in the condition she was in.

At first it was impossible to make out their faces, which were completely blurred out by the light. They moved as if they were made out of water; their bodies fluid, not human at all. But as they drew closer, they hardened somehow, their gleaming forms dulling into skin and bone.

With a scream the red bird was at Abby's side, its sharp beak open, wingspan six feet across. It stood by Abby's mangled leg, green eyes peering into her face.

"Abby," croaked the bird. "You made it at last."

Abby couldn't speak; her eyes were locked on the figures. Their features were still distorted somehow, like she was viewing them through dirt-encrusted glass. But the closer they moved, the clearer they became. She gave out a cry when she saw who they were, and her whole body shook as she held out her hands.

Her father stood facing her on the shore. No longer carrying the stain of cancer, he was healthy and fit. Dark curls clung to his head. And there stood Brian next to him.

Even through her pain, Abby remembered her nakedness. She couldn't let them see her, not like this. Quickly, she stretched her long hair over her body so that everything was covered, though she wished she could do more. A burning blush spread over her face. She wanted to hide, curl up in a ball, but it hurt too much to even move.

Somehow her father read her mind. He took off his coat and laid it across her, but when he did so, panic soared high in her throat. Dank, earthy tones flooded her nostrils, and when she looked down she saw that she was covered in a shroud. "No," she whispered, trying to shake the thing off, but the pain was too much. There was nothing she could do.

"Fix her," squawked Eleanor, glaring at Abby's father now. "It is what you remained for. Then you must go."

Her father crouched at Abby's side, his eyes on her face, taking her in. He looked different somehow, and it had nothing to do with his health. At first she couldn't place it, but then she noticed his eyes. Green, they were green like Eleanor's. In life his eyes had been a pale blue-gray. But his face was the same, and when he sat beside her, it was all she could do not to grab him and sob.

"Daddy?" said Abby. He nodded his head, tears welling in his eyes.

"Honey, I'm sorry."

"Fix her now!" Eleanor commanded. "Hurry, we're almost out of time."

Abby looked up and noticed that the mist's movement had slowed. But its pale white tendrils still snaked over the water, and she could hear the shadowy hiss of the monsters encased inside its milky shell.

"Brian?" said Abby, glancing over at him. But when she said his name, he turned away.

"Daddy, what's happening?" She placed her hand on his arm. It was solid now, but very cold. Not like a living man's at all.

"Daddy, what are you?"

"You know what I am." His looked down as he caught her chin in his hand. "I'm sorry I did this." His voice was a whisper. "Abby, I'm sorry for everything."

"Your bag," croaked Eleanor. "Get your bag. You must heal her now, before it's too late."

"Heal me?" said Abby.

"I'm a doctor, remember?" He grinned and at her in that unselfconscious way he'd had for as long as she could remember. Even when the cancer had eaten him away, every time she and Jake had visited, he'd turned it on. Back then it had made her want to cry.

From nowhere, a bag appeared at his side. Not the black briefcase he'd used when he was alive, but a wrinkled, old-fashioned medicine bag. Its tattered handles clung to a round leather pouch that looked like it'd been sewn from human skin. A sickening sensation slid through Abby, and for a second she wanted to run away. That is, if she'd been able to run at all.

"Daddy?" she whimpered, wanting to tell him to stop. But it was too late, he was already undoing the satchel and removing several clear bottles about the size of his hand. Then the stink of antiseptic cut through the air and Abby squeezed her eyes shut as the stench brought her back.

She remembered the pool, felt the water on her skin, as her father's words slid past the hunchback. He'd promised her they'd stop when they found a cure. But they hadn't. There was nothing they could do.

"Sweetie," said her father. "This is going to hurt." Before Abby could say single word, something wet touched her thigh and then her leg was on fire. She let out a scream, as her father grabbed her hand and told her to squeeze as hard as she could. For a second, she worried she might hurt him. Then she remembered he was already dead.

A medicinal smell filled her lungs, as her father poured another bottle over her leg. "No!" cried Abby, convulsing on the ground. He was down at her leg now, rubbing at her skin, as whatever it was that had been in his bottles sank its teeth into her bones.

"It's superficial now," said her father, turning to Eleanor, who was still in bird form. Her green eyes sparkled like broken glass. The pain had already begun to recede. Abby took a deep breath and stared up at the sky. She wished that Brian would hold her hand. But he stood aloof, face pointed toward the sea, while she lay splayed out on the beach, exposed in every way.

"Daddy," moaned Abby. It was all so familiar. His eyes met hers, and she knew he felt it too.

"Abby, I'm sorry." He took her hand in his.

"Better?" croaked Eleanor, her neck arched like a question.

"Yes," said her farther. "She'll be fine."

Abby tried to push herself up off the rocks, but her father gently held her down. "It's too early," he whispered. "Let the medicine do its trick. You have work to do, and you'll need all your strength."

"Daddy," said Abby, grabbing his arm. "Did you know about this? Did you know what I would become?" His silence told her that he had.

"Tell her," croaked Eleanor. "Time is short. Don't forget, you'll be leaving us soon."

"Leaving?" said Abby. He squeezed her hand. "But you just got here." He looked away.

"Abby," said her father pulling her close, just like he had when she was small and had fallen on the playground or off of her bike.

"You're not sick," she mumbled, pulling away. "Daddy what are you?" She met his gaze.

"Abby, honey, you know what I am. And this place— I don't have long to stay. But I'll give you a message to take back home. Tell your brother how proud I am of him." Her father's voice started to fade as he spoke, but he continued on as if nothing were wrong. "I know I spent all my energy on you, searching for a cure, but I couldn't stop. I felt guilty, honey, for giving this to you. Because it's my genes that caused it; mine alone. But your brother, just tell him I loved him too. Tell him, please. I don't want him to forget."

"And mom?" asked Abby, holding her breath, the word still foreign on her tongue. She reached forward and grabbed her father's hand, but this time all she felt was air.

"Daddy!" cried Abby. He was fading away. "Eleanor, make it stop!"

But the scarlet raven just cocked her head, her green eyes glowing as she took everything in. "I can't my dear," squawked Eleanor. "He's completed his task. He saved your life. That was the reason he waited so long. His spirit, it couldn't leave this place, not until he was sure you were safe."

"But he can't leave now!" Abby's voice was shrill. "I'm not safe yet. I haven't made it home." Her father began to separate into sheets of dust, his eyes locked on her face as she watched him go.

"Abby," he whispered, his voice almost lost in the wind. "My time has passed. I'm so sorry now. All the secrets, the tests— I should have left you alone."

"Daddy, don't go!" But it was too late. She could see the water behind his face. She held out her hand, but the wind picked up. He shimmered once, and then he was gone.

"No," wailed Abby. "Eleanor no!"

The raven's feathers were a squirt of blood, as she catapulted herself into the air. When Abby looked up, she could hardly see her at all, just a tiny speck of red on gray. All she had now was Brian's face. His deep, brown eyes gleamed with fear as he stared at the spot where her father once stood.

"He's gone," whispered Brian, twisting his hands as if trying to wring something free.

Abby wrapped her father's shroud around herself, and slowly rose to her feet. But when she stepped toward Brian to comfort him, he leaped back as if he'd been stung.

"Brian please." He wouldn't look at her. "Brian!" And then Eleanor was back.

The red bird stood at the rim of the sea, her green eyes baring into Abby, head cocked to the side as she spoke. "We must go, little sister. The shadows are brewing. We must get to the mountain where you'll make your stand."

"My stand?" said Abby, fear cold in her chest. "I came here for Brian. I'm taking him back."

"Yes," cawed Eleanor, "but only after your fight. For you cannot gain entry back through the passage until the serpents are extinct. Look at the water, little sister. The mist is blocking the only way out. If you refuse to do my biding, then you cannot save your beloved, and he will fade into nothing just like your father. So now you must fly with me, little sister. There is no time to waste."

"And Brian?" cried Abby. "We can't just leave him here."

Eleanor shot her a squinty look. "Spirits like him aren't built for flight. He'll meet us above, if he likes. But you, my dear, you are touched by magic. Now you can fly. Now you can soar."

In a second Eleanor's beak was at Abby's throat. Abby winced at the quickness from which the bird drew blood.

"What are you doing?" yelled Brian, charging toward them, his dark eyes flashing, fists ready to fight. But he'd gone only yards before she felt the change.

Eleanor's cackle rose screechy and harsh as Abby crumpled like a paper bag.

"Help me!" yelped Abby, her voice caught in her throat. "No!" she screamed, as it morphed into a caw. "Eleanor wait!" but she was shrinking. Her body was squishing into itself, arms sprouting feathers, feet curling into claws.

"Come siren," croaked Eleanor, taking to the air. "It's time to finish your duty. Fly with me now! Your battle has begun!"

Before Abby knew what she was doing, she found herself climbing into the sky, black wings expanding, feet curled to her chest. The air rushed past her, the clouds sped by. It felt like she was swimming, only more magical. She could still make out Brian on the beach below. Just a tiny smudge, and then he was gone.

* * * * *

Brian's limbs had gone cold as he watched Abby change. He'd tried to look away, but found he could not. And so he had seen her melt away, stared as feathers sprouted from her limbs, as her face had elongated, nose hardening into a beak. And then came the color change, from pale to black. She'd looked like a demon. It made him sick.

"No," he'd whispered. Was that what he loved? He'd watched as she'd risen into the air, forgetting him as she took off toward the trees.

Now a woman's voice sliced through his mind, sharp as a razor splicing bits of his flesh. "To the mountain beloved, that is where she will be. You must go now, before it's too late." The voice sounded familiar, yet something was wrong. It was Abby's voice, or at least it was almost like hers. Except there was a strange undertone he'd only heard once before, and that was the time she'd killed him with his car.

"No!" cried Brian, his eyes locked on the tree line. It couldn't be; yet, he knew it was true.

He could still see the ravens spinning through the air, the onyx one trailing the scarlet now. They were almost to the peak, and he had such a long way to go. But his anger toward Abby transformed into fear as he realized who she was following.

"It was you," he whispered at the red dot in the sky. "You're the one who crashed my car."

Suddenly he was careening up the mountain, his body fluid as the wind. _You have to save her,_ he thought, as he slid through the trees. He'd forgotten what he was, and yet he could move so fast, not like a human anymore. But the whole time he sprinted toward the peak, Abby's father's face kept dancing through his mind. The way the man's body had disintegrated— that would be him, and there was nothing he could do.

_Oh Abby_ , he whispered. _Don't trust that witch_. He needed to hurry, but was he already too late?

18. Murder

Abby stood, perched on the edge of the cliff, reveling in her sudden change. She closed her eyes and tried to relive it: the feeling of racing through the wind, her midnight wings stretched across the sky. She replayed the sensation of landing so lightly she'd barely realized she'd touched the ground.

"Isn't it amazing?" croaked Eleanor, feathers gleaming in the light. Abby nodded and tried to speak, but all that came out was a nasally squawk.

"This will hurt for a second," warned Eleanor. Then her beak was at Abby's throat, digging its way through feathers and flesh.

Abby cried out as her neck exploded in pain. She tried to take off, but she couldn't move. "Help me," she moaned, the words finally there. But it was too late, the change had already begun. Her body was twisting, stretching beneath her. Feathers flattened then melted away until finally she was human again, her dark hair cascading down her back as she trembled, naked in the frigid air.

"Here," said Eleanor, in her human form too. She'd changed so fast, Abby hadn't even seen.

"You cut me," said Abby, rubbing at her neck with the palm of her hand. When she pulled it away, it was covered in blood. "Jesus, what the hell's wrong with you?"

"It's just a scratch," said Eleanor, grinning now. "I had to do it; just like before. Or else you wouldn't have been able to change. It's what all sirens do for their sisters in training, until their little sisters can make the change on their own." Then she pulled a long, red cloak from behind her back and fastened it around Abby's neck. The cloak was so smooth that it felt like silk, but when it touched Abby's skin, it melted around her, encasing her like a layer of flesh.

"Better?" asked Eleanor. Abby scowled. But the pain in her neck had begun to recede. Somehow, the cloak was taking it away. She could actually feel it sliding against her, sucking at her body like an enormous leech.

"Get it off me," cried Abby, leaping to her feet. She felt herself wobble, and the ground slanted toward her, but Eleanor grabbed her, stopping her fall.

"Don't touch me," said Abby, but the siren wouldn't let go. That's when Abby took in the rock at her feet, at the sheer drop of the cliff just a few inches away, and beyond that the milky swirls of mist. It was closer now, less than a mile away. She could see the bodies diving inside it, their shadowy voices calling to her.

"It's coming," she whispered, forgetting the cloak, which was behaving like regular fabric again.

"They know that you're here. You can hide no longer. It's time, my sister. We must begin."

"Eleanor?" said Abby. Eleanor cocked her head like a bird trapped inside a human shell. She wore a cloak that was identical to Abby's. They looked like members of some sort of cult. _Right_ , thought Abby, _because that's what we are._

"Abby," said a voice. Abby whipped around. Her eyes veered away from Eleanor and over toward the neck of the mountain where the rock face melted into a thin strand of pine. There was Brian, standing in the clearing, his silvery skin glowing in the light. He paused when she turned, his eyes going wide. And that's when she noticed they were starting to change. Their chocolaty brown was pinpricked with green.

"Your eyes," she whispered.

"You have to come now." He held out his hand, beckoning her. "Abby, you don't know what she is. You can't trust her, not anymore."

Eleanor cracked a bitter laugh. "Leave? But we haven't even begun. Go away shade," she said, glaring at Brian. "My sister and I have work to do. Your time will come when the job is done, but now I must ready your beloved. I must teach her all she needs to know, so she can end the battle between serpent and siren. For it is she alone who can help us now."

"No!" growled Brian, leaping toward them. "Abby, you have to listen to me. It was her; she was the one in the car. She made me crash. She wanted me dead."

Suddenly, it was hard to breath. Abby felt the cloak squirming around her— a living creature, keeping her warm. And then she remembered the scarlet feather on the floor of Brian's car, the one Eleanor had used to communicate with her. Abby thought it had dropped from her pocket when she'd gone in to save Brian, but maybe it had fallen out long before that. Maybe Eleanor had managed to use it somehow, to trick Brian into crashing his car.

"Is it true?" said Abby, facing Eleanor now. Doubt flooded through her, and she couldn't turn it off. After all, wasn't it Eleanor who'd told her to let Brian die, who'd made her find her way to the Shadowlands on her own? And this last act, when she'd cut Abby's neck. Could she be trusted? Abby didn't know.

"Yes," said Eleanor, looking away, her voice lilting into song.

"But why?" asked Abby, stepping closer to Brian. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him cringe. "Why would you hurt him? You knew I would come. What more do you want from me?"

"I knew you would come." Eleanor sighed, resting a hand on Abby's arm. Abby stiffened at the siren's touch, yet she couldn't bring herself pull away.

"Little sister," said Eleanor, touching Abby's head, patting her like a dog. "I know it seems harsh, but I needed insurance. I had to be sure you would use all your power, that you would stop at nothing to destroy the snakes. You cannot be weak. You cannot hold back. And with him here, I know that you won't. For you are no different than the rest of our kind. You will do anything to protect your beloved. It's in your blood. And now, little sister, you have much to learn. You haven't a clue, and you haven't been trained."

"You tricked me!" shot Abby, anger searing her chest.

"I had no choice," said Eleanor. "I needed him here. Like I said before, you are untrained, and I had to ensure you wouldn't let yourself fail."

"What do you mean by trained?" said Abby.

"Raised like a siren, like your sisters who helped you in the passage."

"My sisters?" said Abby, suddenly forgetting her anger. "The others are alive? I'm not alone?"

"You're alone," said Eleanor, refusing to meet Abby's eyes. "For the sisters you met in the passageway are spirits like me, and that is all."

"But they're not like you," said Abby. Eleanor waved her hand and a bolt of fire shot from her palm, burning into the ground near where they stood.

"It is cold," said Eleanor, her eyes dancing around the flames. "Too cold for your fading beloved. For first comes the chill, then he'll start to disappear. This fire will help him regain his strength, so he will be with you when your job here is done."

Abby glanced over at Brian and saw he was shivering, his body translucent in the milky light. Chinks of green pulsed through his irises, giving them a strange, mottled look.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Abby.

"The final transition," said Eleanor. "His soul is dying. When the green is complete, he will be gone."

"But you're a spirit, and you're still here." Panic dug at the edges of Abby's voice.

"Yes," said Eleanor, "that is true. But it is my magic that keeps me here, even though my eyes glow emerald green. And that is not possible for a human like your beloved. Once his color changes, he will disappear."

"But what about the serpents?" said Abby. "Their eyes are like yours, and I don't see them going anywhere."

"Because their not," said Eleanor. "They're different than the spirits, and the reason for that is a sad, sad tale. For when our siren love changed them from men to monsters, a part of their humanity died as well. That's why their eyes glow even though they're still alive. But once your beloved's eyes look like mine, he cannot return. He must travel on."

"On to where?" whispered Brian, barely able to speak. He was still shaking, but at least the luminosity was gone. Now he just looked like a cold, tired boy. A boy with something very wrong with his eyes.

"I don't know," said Eleanor, kindness in her voice. "I've been in these lands for more years than I can count. I haven't even changed like the rest of my kind."

"Changed," said Abby. "You mean the spirits in the water. The ones that saved me. Why don't they look like you?"

"Because," said Eleanor, glancing down at the ground. When she looked up, there were tears in her eyes. "They haven't the power to hold their true forms. Though they are strong enough to remain here in the Shadowlands, to uphold their pledge and keep guard over the snakes, they are spirits in the truest form. You see, after death, the soul is housed in a sheath, and that sheath looks just like the living body. Once the soul's sheath disappears, the soul can stay here no longer, and it disappears as well. For regular humans, that change happens instantaneously. But for those touched by the magic of siren blood, whether due to proximity during death or because it runs through their veins, the soul sheath can exist for some time. My sisters' magic isn't as powerful as mine; it couldn't keep their soul sheaths intact forever. But though they lack bodies and voices of their own, they didn't completely disappear. Instead, they banded together as a force, if you will. And they will not move on to the land of death until the threat of the serpent has disappeared."

"But my father," said Abby. "He was a spirit, and he kept his form, just like you."

"Your father was not quite human after all, for it is his blood that made you what you are. Your magic was built from his genes, so the power of the siren was in him as well. His job was to help you when you arrived. Just like our sisters who saved you in the water, he had to protect the world from the serpents too. In life he never knew this, but in death he learned. He learned what he was, and we taught him what to do."

"Only he couldn't stay long, he didn't have the strength. But he held on and waited; he knew you would come. And once he cured you, his power was gone, and then his soul sheath disappeared."

"But he stayed for a while. It's been over six months since he died. If he can do it, then maybe Brian can too!" Abby wanted to believe it, needed it to be true. But even as the words slipped from her mouth, she knew without doubt that they were wrong.

"No," said Eleanor, shaking her head, "I'm afraid that's not how it works. Brian was touched by our magic during his death, but he has no siren blood in his veins. Once his eyes have turned green, he will be gone. There is nothing to hold him, no magic to help him stay."

"But how long will he be here?" Abby clenched her hands into fists. _Please_ , she prayed, afraid of the answer. _Please don't tell me he has to go soon._

He is stronger than most; that's all I can say. He's certainly stronger than the girls the Hunter destroyed. They were here for a flash, and then they were gone."

"Gretchen was here?" Abby's stomach knotted in fear. Her best friend had been here all alone?

"And the other two girls, they came in their time. I remember their cries when they saw where they were. Alone to wait on this rocky shore, sobbing as they faded into the light."

"But they weren't touched by a siren when they died," said Abby.

"They were killed by a snake. And that, my dear, is the very same thing."

"Then why didn't you help them?" Abby cried. "Why didn't you do anything? You gave me this cloak. You could have saved them too."

"No," said Eleanor, sadness in her eyes. "There was nothing I could do. The cloak is a ruse. All it does is numb pain. It gives the sensation of warmth when your body is cold. But it only works on our kind, and only after flight. It is for the bird part of us, that is all. There was nothing I could do to help those girls. Just like there's nothing I can do for your beloved."

"But our magic..." said Abby, repressing a sob. She couldn't stop picturing Gretchen's face, or Lauren Liney, the girl who'd died in the water. Even her mother's favorite student, the one Abby'd only seen on TV, all of them had been lost in this horrible place. Their screams reverberated through her mind as she pictured their bodies fading away.

"My power," said Eleanor, staring at the sea, as if trying to decide what to say. "It's a funny thing, this power of mine. It keeps my soul sheath intact, but it can help no others. Not your beloved. Not even you." A bitterness swept through Eleanor's features, twisting her skin against the bone. But the siren's eyes were brittle as glass, and when she spoke her voice rose like a song. "It is only you who can save him now. And yourself, if you plan to leave this place. And so I must teach you the Killing Song. The song that will destroy the serpents in the mist. For they are not shades like your beloved, or magical spirits like our sisters in the cave. No, they are living beings, actual creatures we sirens have imprisoned here. We locked them away to keep the world safe, to save mankind from the monsters that we made. It is all we could do to fix what we'd done."

"The creatures you see twisting in the mist, the serpents who even now are calling to you, you must stop them before there are none of us left. The sisters are weakening, and so am I. None of us can remain her forever; the pull of death is much too strong. But the serpents are different from you and me. Somehow, our love extended their lives. We don't know why; we don't know for how long. All we know is that once we disappear, they will escape and wreak havoc on the world of the living, destroying everything that is precious to mankind."

"Kill the serpents, you must kill them now. Your duty calls you, as does something else, too. For it is only then that you can swim back through the tunnel. If you try now, they will take you for sure. And you know you are no match for them in the water. They are the reason it looks like cream. They mixed it with their venom. I don't know how. The sisters will not help you, not if you flee. And so you must fight; it is the only way. Fight for your beloved before he is lost. Fight before he fades away."

"But how can I save him if he's already dead?" Abby's voice was a whisper, yet she knew Brian heard.

"I will teach you the right song, but only after your task is done."

"You mean you're bargaining with her?" Brian glared at Eleanor, his mouth twisting into a scowl. "You're not really going to help her, are you? You're making her do your dirty work. How pathetic is that?" He spit on the ground.

"Not pathetic," said Eleanor, "but practical. For it is what I must do. You see, only a living siren can defeat the shadows. I cannot do it. I cannot even help."

"I'm the last," said Abby.

"The very last one. We began to stop our line when we saw what our love made. We thought we'd find a way to kill the serpents before we all died out. A few of us, like your grandmother, continued to pass on the gene. Only each time we did, a new snake was created. How foolish we were to underestimate their strength. You see, we didn't realize how unlike us they are. They never grow old; they can't die that way. No, the serpents have outlasted us now; their magic is stronger than the sisterhood knew. And now little sister, it is up to you. Let me teach you the song. Let us end this tonight."

Eleanor waved her hand at the fire, and the luxurious warmth shrank into the rock. "Eleanor?" yelped Abby, her hands still outstretched. But the air had turned to a frigid mass.

"Brian?" said Abby, he was standing beside her, sharp green light seeping from his eyes. His skin was starting to glow again. She could tell he was freezing, but there was nothing she could do.

"Eleanor," said Abby, forgetting the fire and the hissing sound inside the mist. "Please, teach me before he disappears."

"Yes," said the siren, grabbing Abby's wrists, her bright eyes gleaming in the milky light. "Shade," she said, turning to Brian, "now is the time to cover your ears. You cannot hear this if you want to return."

"Abby..." said Brian.

"Just do what she says. Cover your ears. I have to start now."

Brian nodded and jogged over to the line of trees, his mouth set in a bitter line. Abby knew why he listened; he was afraid of the song. She remembered how he looked when she sang in his car. He'd almost died then. He knew what she could do.

Brian was beneath the pine trees now, his fingers scratching into the earth, raking up dirt and broken leaves. His eyes stayed on Abby while he stuffed everything into his ears. It was as if he were afraid to look away.

"Brian?" yelled Abby. He didn't respond.

"Good, said Eleanor. "Now we can begin."

Abby peered over the side of the cliff; already the shadows were gaining ground. She could see them coursing through the white, their hisses making her want to run. But she thought of Brian, watching her now, and poor old Gretchen, her childhood friend. _Stay_ , she thought, and she stood frozen in place, waiting for Eleanor to show her what to do.

Then Eleanor's voice was in her mind, so loud it reverberated through Abby's blood. "They think they can take you," Eleanor warned. "That your inexperience makes you an easy prey. It's their only plan, since the Hunter has failed and you have made it to the Shadowlands after all. But even alone you are stronger than they. What they have in longevity, you have in magic and strength. Your voice will lure them in and destroy them all. They cannot resist. It is not in their blood."

Eleanor's mouth opened wide, and a strange, scattered song rose from her lips. "Ma ka vaní mali lá!" Her voice shot into Abby, carving its way through to her heart. Abby felt a sharp tug, and then she had to sing. It was as important as breathing. There was nothing else she could do.

"Ma ka vaní mali lá!" Abby's throat started burning as the song burst out. It felt like she'd swallowed a mouthful of thorns, but she continued on. It was the only way. She pictured Brian's face and made herself sing. "Ma ka vaní mali lá!" _Please_ , she prayed. _Let this work_.

"The Killing Song." Eleanor's voice was in Abby's mind, and the strange tugging sensation disappeared. When Abby turned, she saw that the siren had stopped.

"And that will end it?" squeaked Abby, stopping too. Her throat was so raw that it hurt to speak. She spat a mouthful of blood into the sand, then scrubbed her lips with the back of her fist while pretending that she didn't see.

"Yes that will draw them out of the mist, and then they're bodies will begin to break down. For the song will suck the magic from their systems, just like you'd suck poison from a bite."

"A snake bite?" said Brian, he was near them now. He'd taken the soil out of his ears, and it was smudged all over his face and neck. Abby gripped his hand in her own.

"Yes," said Eleanor, smiling again, her eyes taking in the silvery shade, luminescent at the cliff's edge. "A snake bite meant to kill the snakes."

"But they're not really snakes." Brian's voice was soft. "They're men," he whispered, "just like me. That's what's gonna happen if I survive. I'll turn into a monster. Is that right?"

Eleanor's face crumpled when he said those words. Her mouth turned in at the edges, and her eyes sank into her skull. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes it is. And there's nothing we can do. Our power, Abby's power, is too strong to control. She's pulled you in, just like her sisters before her. In love, we took men, innocent like you, from the decks of ships, from their homes by the water. We stole them so we could have children of our own. And we meant to return them. Really, we did. But our love was too strong. It changed them somehow, turned them into the monsters you see swirling through the mist. We couldn't find a way to bring them back."

Abby stood on her side of the cliff. The sky was dark and overcast, yet she knew if she turned all she would see was white. She could actually taste the mist in her lungs: thick and salty and harsh as the sea. And she could hear the hissing, calling her now, creeping forward as if following her scent. And yet her eyes stayed on Brian, watching as he worked through what was to be. As he understood his destiny.

_It's all your fault._ The words rushed through her mind, as well as the realization that there was nothing she could do.

"Listen," said Eleanor, turning back to Brian, her eyes like a tractor beam pulling him in. "There may be another way."

"May be?" said Brian. "I thought you said there was nothing you could do!"

"Well there is," said Eleanor, staring out at the mist. "There is one way, though it will be hard."

"Well, what is it?" growled Brian, glaring at Eleanor now. "I need to know. You tricked me before, and I won't let you do it again."

"You want to disappear into mist? You want to lose your beloved, make her do this alone?"

"No," said Brian. "All I want is the truth. Because you couldn't save the others. You couldn't save your beloved. So how in the hell can you save me?"

"Jesus Abby!" He turned to her, and there was such loathing on his face that Abby had to look away. "I wish I never met you." Brian's voice was cold. "I wish I'd never seen your face. Because you've poisoned me Abby, and I can't let go. All my dad's talk about the Poseidon Stone— mythical creatures, oh why didn't I listen? He said not to trust you, and he was right. Well, I can tell you one thing, and you better get this straight: I refuse to become one of those monsters in the mist. I will not be like Luther. I'd rather disappear!"

"He knows he can't leave you," crooned Eleanor, inside Abby's head. "You are his beloved. A bond like that cannot change. Even if he tried, he couldn't forget your face. It would haunt him forever, and the change would still come. Your love has poisoned him like a snake poisons with venom. There is no turning back now."

"Just kill me," said Brian. "I won't turn into that."

Abby shook her head. "Brian, no."

Then Abby felt something at her back, and the air around them began to grow thick.

"It is time," said Eleanor. "You must begin." Remember the song. Remember what I said."

"But where are you going?" asked Abby.

The siren looked sad. "I cannot be here for the fight. The power of your song would finish me too. For I am only a shade, very much like your beloved. I cannot withstand your magic when you sing from your heart. Just like your beloved must block his ears, I must fly now. I must escape. But I will find you when you're done, and I will help you set him free. Just sing little sister, sing for your beloved. Sing for the world that you must save."

"But how will you save me?" Brian asked, his green eyes slashing at Eleanor's face.

"There's no time to explain," squawked Eleanor, her body already starting to change. "Just know that I will. Know that I can. Wait for your beloved, but do not listen to her song. Wait for her here, and I will return."

Eleanor leaped into the air, her body twisting as feathers sprouted from her skin. Within seconds she was in bird form again, spinning into the silver sky.

* * * * *

Brian watched Eleanor soar into the clouds, and wished to god he could shoot her down. He just couldn't get over how powerless he felt. Eleanor, with all her magic, had basically left them here to die. Oh yes, she had promised she could help him somehow. Brian just didn't know whether to believe her or not. Because what was coming was dangerous, that was for sure. And yet she'd chosen to take off before Abby'd even begun. She was forcing them to risk everything, while she flew off to safety. Something was rotten, Brian was certain. He just didn't know what it was.

Brian glanced down at his hands and his stomach twisted. "No," he whispered. They were translucent again.

He could feel Abby's eyes on him, like a razor against his skin. "Abby," he murmured, taking her hand and gripping it as hard as he could.

"Brian? Are you okay?" Her voice was shaking, but he couldn't look her in the eye. There was no way he was telling her how he felt right now.

"You're freezing," she whispered. He nodded his head. It felt like a block of ice had formed in his chest, sucking all his heat away.

"And your eyes," she whispered. "Brian I have to do this now. If I wait any longer, it'll be too late."

Brian turned to Abby and took her in. Her magnificent face, brown hair waving like a flag. And that long, red cape encasing her body— she didn't look human, not anymore.

Brian didn't want to say it, didn't want it to be true, but he knew what he had to do. He took a deep breath, held it in, then forced the words from between his lips.

"Don't make me do this," he whispered, releasing her hand while refusing to check if his own was still there. "Kill the snakes Abby, then let me go. I can't become one of them."

"No, Brian. I'm not doing that!" She pulled him to her, barring her teeth. In that moment, her beauty was lost, and she looked like the monster he knew she was.

"Eleanor's right," said Brian, stepping away. "I'll die without you; you're magic's in my blood. But Abby, I can't— I won't turn into Luther. I saw what he did to my mom and dad. I won't be a monster. Don't make me become one for you."

"No," said Abby. "There's another way. Eleanor told us. We just have to trust her, that's all."

"Trust her?" scoffed Brian, raking his hands through his hair. It fell in tangles above his eyes. "Come on Abby, how dumb do you think I am? She's obviously playing us. Why can't you see? I mean, she couldn't save the others. What makes me different from them? She wouldn't even warm Gretchen with that magic fire of hers. She just wants you to do her dirty work. That's why she said she could help me somehow. It's all a lie. There's nothing she can do. Without me, your main motive disappears, and her bribery's through. It won't work anymore. No, there must be a reason she never tried this before. Something's not right, I just don't know what it is."

He was panting now; it was hard to breathe. It felt like he was inhaling globs of dough.

"Brian!" screamed Abby. "Brian, your hands!"

Brian glanced back down and let out a cry. Because he could actually see the rock through his fingers, could see Abby's feet through his flesh.

"My eyes," he croaked.

Abby grabbed his face, her fingers hot on his skin. And then she was staring into his eyes, searching for a drop of brown.

"I see some," she whispered. Relief swelled through him, and, finally, he could breathe again. "Brian, we have to do this now."

"No, Abby. No we can't."

"Not we," she whispered. "I'm going to do it. Go cover your ears. There's no other choice."

"But we do have a choice. You just don't like it, that's all."

"I don't like it?" shot Abby. "Do you really want to die? Besides, do you think I'm going to let those monsters break into our world and destroy everything we know? Well, I'm not! Brian, this is bigger than us. I have to do this, and I have to do it now."

Brian blinked and took in the scraggly cliff and the great wall of mist closing in. He could see the serpents diving through the white, their hisses tangled in the beating wind.

"We can't trust her," he whispered, taking Abby's hand. "She's hiding something. You know I'm right."

"I don't care," said Abby, her breath in his ear. She pulled him to her, and her lips brushed his cheek, sending a shiver of warmth down his spine.

"But what about her beloved?" Brian asked, suddenly remembering something Eleanor had said. "Whatever happened to him? She said that you sirens will do anything for your man. Well, what did she do? Did she let him die?"

Silence. Abby's body went rigid. Brian knew she understood.

Finally, she brushed her lips back against his, and he slid in for a final kiss.

"I won't lose you," she whispered into his ear, her fingers running down his spine. "Brian, go. Cover your ears. Everything's going to be okay.

* * * * *

Abby watched Brian scratch up another mixture of dirt and pine needles and stuff them into his ears. His eyes shone green as emeralds now. She could hardly make out any brown at all.

"He's fine," said Eleanor in her head.

"Eleanor?" said Abby, but the voice was gone. _Do this_ , she thought. _Do this now_. And yet she couldn't take her eyes off Brian, because she knew once she did, she might never see him again. For all she knew, he could fade while she sang, and she couldn't bear to turn back and find him gone.

_You'll see him again_ , she promised herself. _Everything's going to be okay_. And with that Abby turned and faced the mist, shuddering as she peered at the shadows coursing through its milky sheen. A salty tendril shot out to embrace her, its stickiness cool against her skin.

The mist was only a few feet away, and the beings inside it were growing easier to see. She cringed as several heads poked though the surface, tongues outstretched, tasting the air. The snakes' bodies stretched over thirty feet long, and their dark scales gleamed like polished glass.

But it was their faces that scared Abby the most: the brilliant eyes, emerald green, and the fangs tucked inside their leathery mouths. They were waiting for her to make her stand. Waiting to take her if she did nothing at all.

_Sensing my fear, they can sense my fear! They're trying to decide the best time to strike._ Abby closed her eyes and let the hissing rush through her. It was like being surrounded by a million lawn mowers all roaring at the very same time. She wanted to cover her ears and run, but she gritted her teeth and stood her ground.

"Little sister." The hissing, she could understand. But it wasn't her ears she was listening with. No, like Eleanor, they spoke with their minds.

"Little sister, come now. Come to those you love. Come to us, and we will take you home."

_Your not my beloved_. Abby spoke with her mind, her eyes still clamped shut so she wouldn't have to see.

"The queen has lied. She is not to be trusted. And soon your beloved will be one of us. You should never have followed the queen of the sirens, for she has secrets she dare not share. Besides, she didn't help you. She is not here."

"Come little sister, come with us now. We will end this struggle. We will save you from her. We will suck out your poison, and then you will be free. Do it before you are ruined by guilt. Before you are a murderess, just like her."

"I will never be a murderess!" Abby trembled as she spoke. It was hard to listen; they sounded so right. Again, Abby wondered why Eleanor wasn't here. Her whole reason for leaving didn't make any sense. She'd heard Abby sing before. What made this time any different? And she was a murderess, that much was true. She'd pretty much admitted to killing Brian, and all to ensure Abby got the job done.

Doubt crept into Abby's mind, twisting its way into her heart. _Don't trust her_ , thought Abby. That's what Brian had said. And he wasn't a snake, at least not yet.

"Join us," cried the serpents, "if you want to be free. If you want to shed your poison and become a girl again."

_Yes_ , thought Abby, her lids still clamped tight. A peaceful feeling spread through her body, numbing her fear. All she could see were her own dreams and wishes— everything she'd always wanted to be. She thought of what it would be like to have a regular life. To walk the halls at school without the whispers and catcalls. To not have to worry about her deadly song. "Help me," she whispered, holding out her hands as a tendril of mist slid over her wrists. "Help me brothers, help me change."

"Abby," Brian's voice was sharp in her ear. Then his hands were around her, yanking her back. "Abby, stop it! They're tricking you. Come on! You have to wake up!"

Abby opened her eyes as a snake shot forward, its mouth wide open, fangs gleaming as it struck.

"Sing!" shrieked Brian, dragging her backward. The fangs barely missed her. She gave out a cry.

"Sing!" cried a chorus of voices inside her. The ghosts of her sisters. Abby opened her mouth. "Ma ka vaní mali lá!"

When the first note struck, the snakes let out a howl, and their thick, black throats bent toward the sky.

"Ma ka vaní mali lá!" shrieked Abby, her voice climbing through the familiar song.

"No," screamed the snakes, their voices human this time. And she could actually hear them; they weren't in her head. "Wait little sister!" But she couldn't stop. She couldn't control it anymore.

"Ma ka vaní mali lá!"

The song was exactly what Eleanor had taught her, only much more potent. Her body shook as she sang. She could feel the spell oozing from pores, its notes poisoning her bloodstream, making her insides burn.

"Ma ka vaní mali lá!"

The snakes had started howling now. Their bodies were melting into the mist, writhing and bubbling until human limbs appeared. Faces eroded from beneath black scales, arms molded from torsos, tails split into legs. Soon a sea of men floated through the whiteness, their green eyes wild, mouths snarling wide.

_They're men_ , thought Abby. _Just like Brian._ She wanted to stop, but she didn't know how. "Ma ka vaní mali lá!" The song sprang from her, and she couldn't turn it off.

"You're killing us!" shrieked the men in the billowing mist. "You're killing us sister!" But she couldn't stop.

"Ma ka vaní mali lá!" It poured from her body, like blood from a wound. And then the mist began to swirl. Her song was the wind sweeping it up. It spun faster and faster, as her tempo increased. Soon she was staring at a great funnel cloud that stretched from the water to the top of the sky.

"Ma ka vaní mali lá!"

The men's voices were drowned by the beating wind, but their screams reverberated inside Abby's mind. Her body shook as the funnel cloud lifted, twisting like a serpent as it hurtled through the sky.

_Stop_ , she thought. _You need to stop now_. But she couldn't end the song; she couldn't shut it down. All she could hear was the roar of her words, as they tore through her flesh, trying to escape.

"Ma ka vaní mali lá!"

The funnel cloud had disappeared. She didn't know where, but she knew it was gone. Yet she could still hear the screaming in her head. And she could still see their faces, some of them boys, no older than Brian and herself. Suddenly a terrible pang charged through her. _You_ _murdered them_ , she thought. _You killed them all_.

"Stop it, Abby! Stop it now!" Someone was shaking her, but she still couldn't stop.

"Ma ka vaní mali lá!" It was only a trickle, yet still the song came.

"Abby you're bleeding." A hand touched her cheek. And then she looked up and Brian was there, his silvery hands on her shoulders, arms and chest covered in blood. _Yours_ , she thought, wishing she hadn't seen. _You're dying. The magic is too strong._

"Stop it!" screamed Brian. Then she saw the heavy, gray rock he held in his fist.

_No, Brian no!_ Her right cheek exploded. _Oh my god, help!_ The world was fading away. And yet the song continued to come. It spun through her mind as the sky disappeared; its black power shredding her into bits.

19. The Ruse

Brian hovered over Abby, one hand tangled in her blood-smeared hair, the other gently stroking her face. A dull ache was building inside him, lacerating his insides, pounding in his head. _She's dead_ , he thought. _Don't let her be dead_. The words kept running through his mind. He couldn't stop them, couldn't make them shut up. But he'd seen her scream as she'd dropped to the ground, and all he'd done was stand there and watch. _It's your fault_ , he thought. _You hit her with a rock. What did you think was gonna happen to her?_

"Please," moaned Brian, rubbing at his eyes, wishing he could rip them out of his scull. Not like that would change anything. He knew they were green, knew he didn't have long. But how could he leave her alone on this cliff? He grabbed Abby's wrist and searched for a pulse. _No_ , he thought. _Nothing's there_. Deftly, he slid his hand over her neck, pressing his fingers into her skin. Nothing again. He couldn't find a beat.

_Don't be an idiot. Check her chest._ He gouged his fingers into his ears, scratching the dirt and pine needles away. Then he lay his head where her heart should be. _Yes!_ He thought he heard it now. But still, she wasn't waking up.

"Come on Abby, don't do this to me. I can't lose you now, not after all this!" Brian wanted to scream, but his breath was caught in his throat. Then the world began to spin. An acrid taste slid into his mouth, and everything looked a little too sharp.

A bird's cry shot through the air. Brian jerked his head skyward, and there she was, her crimson feathers gleaming in the sky. _Help me,_ he thought. _Help me now._

"Eleanor," moaned Brian, but his voice was too weak. He couldn't seem to amp up the volume. He just had to hope she had excellent hearing. Or maybe she'd seen what had happened and was on her way down. _Please_ he prayed, _please help us now. Please don't make me leave her like this._

A terrible dread began brewing inside him because something was wrong. Eleanor wasn't coming down. Brian took in the slab of rock at his feet, and the milky sea now still as snow. He turned and stared into the woods, remembering his sprint to the mountain's summit. Then the bird's cry sliced through everything.

She's waiting for something. She's not going to help.

"Eleanor!" Brian screeched into the sky, waving his fists at the droplet of red. His voice was back and he made it work. "Goddamn you Eleanor. Get down here now!" The bird dove toward the open rock, her body spinning through the air. But instead of landing, she froze in mid-flight, hovering like a kite on an invisible string.

"Eleanor," screamed Brian. Then he sensed something behind him, and the beginnings of a shiver crept down his spine. It was so familiar. He'd felt it before. But he still gave out a shriek when he spun around, and that single cry knocked the breath from his lungs.

"No," murmured Brian, when he could breathe again. "No. Oh no." But there was nowhere to run.

The snake was over forty feet long, and its black head was raised six feet off the ground. Its leathery scales absorbed the light, and a cobra's hood framed its pointed face. But its eyes were what scared Brian the most because they glowed as green as Eleanor's. _As green as mine,_ thought Brian. There was no escaping that. _This is what I'll become if I survive._

"No," whispered Brian, his hands in his hair, gripping so hard that he tore some of it out. But the snake's eyes were on him, evaluating his every move.

"Little brother." It spoke with its thoughts, and its words coursed through Brian's skull: slippery and invasive. Brian held in a scream.

_Just like Luther_ , thought Brian. _Like that day at the trial. Come on Abby, wake up now!_

"Yessssss," hissed the snake. "So I've met you at last. Eleanor was right; you are the one."

Brian found himself backing toward the edge of the cliff, as the snake slid toward him, its head on the ground as it moved across the rock.

"The siren," said the snake, raising its head again— cobra hood wide, tongue flicking at the air.

The bird screeched once and then she was there, her body hissing and bubbling as it transformed. Soon Eleanor stood beside the snake, her hands caressing its scaly head.

Brian grimaced, as the snake flicked its black tongue across her jaw. "No," whimpered Brian, backing away. But there wasn't anywhere left to go.

"Luther?" he whispered. The snake wagged its head then turned to the siren at its side.

"Guess again," cackled Eleanor.

_I don't know_ , thought Brian. Only he did. "Oh god, you're the one who's been hunting her. It's you. You killed all those girls."

"Yes," said the snake, still speaking with its mind. Then Eleanor's laughter shot through the air, so biting and fierce that Brian winced.

The snake leaned against Eleanor and ran its tongue over her arm, caressing her neck, tasting her skin. _Ugh_ , thought Brian.

"We did it," moaned Eleanor, smiling now. "She fell for everything. She didn't understand."

"You tricked her!" yelled Brian. "You said she had to stop the snakes. That it was her duty. She listened to you."

"And it was," growled Eleanor, baring her teeth. "But why couldn't she save my beloved as well? I found a way, and she went along."

"She didn't know what you wanted, and you almost got her killed!"

"I'm not the one who hit her with a rock!"

Brian's insides buckled, but he stood his ground, hating the feel of the snake's eyes on his skin.

"It doesn't matter anymore," crooned Eleanor. "She'll be dead soon enough, and so will you. For what we are about to do, well, it's simply amazing. Even my spirit sisters agree. To get rid of the serpents, and save my beloved. After so many years, I'll finally have what is mine."

"But how—" asked Brian. But then he stopped. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"It wasn't easy," said Eleanor. "I've been working on this for a long, long time. Years, it's been years since I lost my body. I just needed to wait for the last of my kind. My sisters agreed, at least most of them did. And those who didn't, well they had to go along. After all, I am their queen."

"And Abby's grandmother?" said Brian, remembering now. She was the one who had left Abby the box.

"She knew, and she made her choice. She sacrificed her granddaughter for the greater good. You see, we sirens had to fix our mistake. Anabelle knew Abby must die for our cause. For as long as there are sirens, snakes will be made. And although you may think otherwise, we are a race that means to do good. Didn't your father teach you anything? I know what he found on the ocean floor. Thousands of years ago, we worked beside humans. We never wished them any harm."

"And now," said Eleanor, her eyes growing hard. "Now that Abby is the last, the time has come. We will, of course, need to get rid of her brother. That will destroy the siren bloodline for good, mutated as it has become. Then, once we banish your souls and place ourselves in your bodies, we will awaken and be reborn. Hendrick, my beloved, will take your form, and I will take Abby's. All will be saved!"

"You're body snatchers?" said Brian, his insides going numb.

Eleanor laughter sounded like breaking glass. "Oh little brother, don't look so shocked. I promised there was a way to keep you from becoming a monster, and here it is. This is what we must do. For once your soul is gone, your attachment to Abby will disappear too. Then your body's transformation into a serpent will cease."

Suddenly Brian understood, and in that instant he realized his father had been right. From the second he'd spotted Abby on the beach, to their trip up to Bridgewater— it had been orchestrated somehow. All so that they would meet in this very moment. So that Eleanor and her beloved could take their places, could hijack their bodies and banish them to death.

"Did Luther know about this?" Brian's breath caught in his throat. Part of him wished he hadn't asked.

"Luther?" said Eleanor. "No, he's a selfish old worm. A crafty one, though, as I'm sure you're aware. Besides Hendrick, he's the only one who managed to escape from the Shadowlands, to break into the world and try to make it his own. Once I found out, I allowed it, of course. I thought he might be useful, and it turned out that he was. For I spied on Luther in his dreams. It was through him that I learned of your father's friend's little discovery off the Cape. And in that moment, everything changed. You know what happened out in the water. The boat was destroyed. All the scientists died."

"Not my father," said Brian, his voice coming out slow. "You saved my father."

"Yes I did. For your father was different than the others. He could stave off the snakes' power somehow, block them from his thoughts. I don't know why. I wanted to study him, learn from his ways. So I saved your father, I allowed him to live. And he is the reason I chose you."

"You chose me?" said Brian.

"I certainly did. And I know from listening to Luther, that you're just like your dad. Only a man with true mental strength can survive what Hendrick is about to do to you. You need to be able to block some of the horror of his venom, or else you soul's sheath will wither, and you'll be useless to us."

"But I'm not that strong," said Brian. "He's already inside my mind."

"That is only because you are becoming one of us," said the serpent, still inside Brian's mind. "My venom is something else altogether. Only a certain type of man can survive its toxins."

"So my strength will help you kill me?"

"That it will," said Eleanor.

_Wake up Abby!_ thought Brian. _You have to do something now._

But then something occurred to Brian, and he couldn't keep it in. He had to be sure. "So the first time I saw Abby on the beach?" he whispered. "Did you do that somehow? Did you make it happen that way?"

Eleanor grinned, and then he knew. When she spoke, his heart began to ache. "I knew she'd be out there," said Eleanor. "Just as I knew Hendrick was hunting her. And yes, I knew all about your late night ramblings around town, how you stayed out to avoid your mother's dead eyes. You were going to the beach; I read it in your dreams. And once you saw her, it began."

_Keep her talking_ , thought Brian, his mind reeling now. _She's getting off on telling you, so string her along. It'll buy you some time to figure out what to do_. "But you made her kill the other serpents!" said Brian, feigning surprise. "She killed all those men. Why save yours and let the others die?"

"It had to be done, and my sisters agreed." Eleanor's voice was flat and thin. They were a danger to the world, just as you would be too— if we were stupid enough to let you live. Besides, the other sisters don't possess the same magic as me. They are too weak to travel in the world of dreams. They lost their autonomy, couldn't survive on their own. They could never attempt what I'm going to do. Their beloveds are lost to them for good.

"But you can't take Abby's body and go back with your beloved. If you do, then he'll just become a serpent again. You'll still be a siren, and your love will change him right back. It'll be the same thing all over again."

_Come on Abby,_ prayed Brian. _Help me now._

"He's stalling," hissed the snake, out loud this time. The words slid through Brian, reverberating in his brain.

"But your power," said Brian. "Won't it stay with you when you change?" _Keep her talking,_ he thought, _and keep your mind clear. You can't let them know what you're trying to do._

Brian remembered Luther's inability to read his thoughts, how he'd never really found a way inside. _But that's not true_ , thought Brian. He did at the trial. It was only after that that he couldn't get in. Whatever Luther had done, it had changed Brian somehow. Or maybe he had inherited this gift from his dad. _Forget it_ , thought Brian. _It doesn't matter how it happened. Just use what you know to try and block this snake too._

"My real power," said Eleanor, continuing on, her eyes taking on a far away look. "My real power comes from my body, not my mind. I couldn't change a man now; I am a shade just like you. Yes, my magic has given me more abilities than my sisters, but most of my gift lies in my genes. That's why I need to use Abby's voice to wake my beloved. And after that, well, we will kill one more time. One more soul whose body I'll take. And then my beloved and I will both be regular humans. Then we will have what we've always craved.

"But you'd give up your power," said Brian, not sure he understood.

"My power?" scoffed Eleanor. "What has it ever done for me? Look, look what it has made. She gestured toward the serpent at her side, and a deep sadness slid across her face, twisting her features into a haggard mask.

_There's no way out. There's nothing I can say._ Panic flooded Brian's chest, along with the realization that he still didn't have a plan. He was banking on Abby, and she hadn't gotten up. He had no idea why he even expected her too. Last time he'd checked, he'd barely felt a heartbeat. It didn't matter what Eleanor said. She wasn't coming. There was only one thing left to do.

"No," said a voice from somewhere near the trees. Brian bent sideways so he could see around the snake. There was Abby, his rock in her hand, her face the color of fresh snow.

"Brian, no" she whimpered. She could barely stand. And in that one moment, he knew she couldn't help him. She had nothing left. He was on his own.

"I'm sorry," said Brian. "It's what I have to do."

He looked once more at Abby's beautiful face, the violet eyes he loved so much. Then he took a deep breath and balled his hands into fists.

Abby's scream filled his mind as he fell toward the shore, the wind tearing through his clothes and hair. "Forgive me," he whispered, picturing her face. But he knew without a doubt that he couldn't let them win. He had to stop Eleanor the only way he knew how. He braced himself for the moment of impact, knowing that the fall wouldn't kill him, he was a spirit after all. But by the time they made it down to claim him again, hopefully, he would have already disappeared.

20. Preservation

"Eleanor," said Abby, "you set us up." Tears stung Abby's cheeks, but she ignored them. Every part of her body ached from singing, from the base of her scalp to the skin between her toes. She couldn't save Brian. Not like this. She'd seen his eyes before he jumped. They were green like her father's, like Eleanor's and the snake's. Abby scrunched her hands into fists while praying that there was a little brown left.

"Oh sister," said Eleanor, a sad smile on her face. The sympathy in her voice made Abby cringe. "I know how hard it is to lose your beloved."

"I am _not_ your sister," said Abby, crunching down on her lip. "You're the killer. Both of you are."

Eleanor leaned against the monster beside her and wrapped her arms around its neck.

"You can't escape us," warned the snake inside Abby's mind. She could feel its words dripping through her cells, and she winced at the venom laced in its voice. "Besides, little sister, don't be a fool. You're no different than us. You know that it's true. You can feel it in your heart."

A dull fear pulsed through Abby's chest. She had no doubt that the serpent was right. Then Brian's face shot through her mind, and Lauren Liney— her mouth bubbling blood.

_Stop it,_ thought Abby, swallowing hard, burying her feelings before she lost control. _What's done is done. You can't change it now, but at least you can stop them from getting what they want._

"No," said Eleanor, eavesdropping on Abby's thoughts. "No, little sister. No you can't. I have everything; I have won. Even the sisters who helped you are on my side. It is too late to flee, and you cannot hide. You served me well, now bow to your queen. Bow and do as I command."

"But Brian..." gasped Abby, her breath caught in her throat. "He's almost gone. He's fading away."

"Not anymore," said Eleanor, her eyes starting to gleam.

"What do you mean? What happened to him?"

"Go," said the snake, still in Abby's head. "Go, little sister and see for yourself."

Abby stepped gingerly toward the cliff, ignoring the ache leaching through her bones. She gave Eleanor and the snake as wide a birth as she could, but they didn't move toward her. At least not yet.

"Brian," she whispered, staring down at the shore. He lay on the ground, splayed out on on his back, his neck bent at an unnatural angle. A pocket of steam hovered beneath him, its lacy, white tentacles enveloping him in a magical cloud. Abby gasped as one tentacle cradled his head then gently moved it back into place.

_Mist?_ thought Abby. _Then Brian's father was right. We are exactly like the snakes._ Abby heard a guttural humming sound, identical to the singing back in the cave. _The sisters_ , thought Abby, shuddering now. _Oh god, what are they doing to him?_

"They're persevering him," said Eleanor, grinning wide. "They're using their power to sustain him until Hendrick arrives. You see, the soul's sheath is much like a layer of skin, and it is this sheath that connects us to our physical bodies. Brian's sheath must not fade until the transfer is done, for then Hendrick can't link back to Brian's actual body. Once my Hendrick has pushed Brian's essence away, and placed himself inside Brian's soul's empty sheath, then the change will be complete."

"And when Brian wakes up?" Abby asked.

"It will be Hendrick's memories, Hendrick's mind. The real Brian will be gone by then. Of course, to the outside world, he'll still seem the same. He'll look the same, from his eyes to the color of his hair. But his body will house Hendrick's soul. Then my beloved and I can rejoin as one."

"Serpent!" shot Abby, dragging her eyes away from Brian and glaring furiously at the snake. "You should have killed me like you planned! Then none of this would have happened, and Brian would be safe."

"Yesssss sisssster," hissed the snake, still in her mind, its emerald eyes eating into her soul. "That was the mission on which I was sent. The one I pledged to complete, and then did not. For our queen persuaded me to let you live so that she and I could be together again."

"You see, for a time, I had lost my way. I'd rejected my beloved, turned away from our bond. I was hunting you, little sister. You were my prey. But when she called me in the water as I tracked you down, everything— it all came back. For the bond between a siren and her beloved can never be broken. Not even in death can they part. So I struck a deal with my beautiful queen. I agreed to let you enter the Shadowlands, to destroy my brothers, murder my kind. In return I would get to be human again. And I would have my beloved, as a human as well."

"You're a traitor," said Abby.

"That I am. I betrayed my people for my love."

Abby sensed a raw sadness in the great snake's voice, and for a second she wondered if she could use it somehow. "Okay," she whispered, clearing her mind. If it was true that the sisters would preserve Brian until the snake arrived, then she'd just have to try and get there first.

"You can't," said Eleanor, who'd been listening in on her thoughts. "It's is a brilliant plan; one you cannot defeat. You should be honored that I told you any of it. I did so only as a testimony of my appreciation for your service. For you, little sister, have served me well, better than any of our kind before."

"Now Hendrick, my love," said Eleanor, turning to the snake. "Go. My sisters' strength wears thin!"

Hendrick pressed himself against his queen and flicked his tongue across her throat. Then he dropped his head to the ground, and, with a final glance at his beloved, turned and bulleted down the mountain. Soon he was lost beneath the trees.

"It's over," crooned Eleanor. "You did your job well. But it has weakened you, sister. Of that I am sure. So now it is time for me to finish _my_ job, and then this will all be done."

A thick dart of mist shot up from the water and began feeling its way along the edge of the cliff.

"Ah," sighed Eleanor. "It has begun. My Hendrick really is quite fast. And now little sister, let us say goodbye. For it's time for you to leave your body so that there is room inside it for me."

* * * * *

Eleanor raised her hands in the air and tilted her face skyward. Abby felt the wind shift, as the queen began to sing. "Alli quong, dee lakshme aaa." The song that shot from Eleanor's throat hit Abby so hard that she dropped to the ground. The words dove through the air and tore at her skin, tugging at something deep inside.

_No_ , thought Abby, her mind starting to reel, but Eleanor's voice kept pummeling from above, like a thousand hammers beating at her flesh. "Alli quong dee lakshme aaa!"

"Oh god," Abby mumbled, her head growing light. The world was spinning as something loosened inside her, breaking away from deep in her chest.

_No, no. You have to think! Think about Brian! Think about Jake!_ Blood roiled up the back of her throat. It was hard to breathe, impossible to move, and yet something scratched at the back of Abby's mind. She'd been only half lucid when she'd overheard Eleanor bragging to Brian, but she remembered it now. She knew what had to be done.

_Yes_ , thought Abby, her nails scratching at the rock. Eleanor was a shade like Brian and her dad. She couldn't kill a human. She didn't have the strength.

"Alli quong dee lakshme aaa!" Eleanor's words hit Abby again. The air crackled with lightening and began to smoke. Already the world was starting to fade as rocks and trees blurred into one. And through it all Eleanor's eyes seared into Abby, as her fiery hair wiped everything out. "Alli quong dee lashme aaa!" shrieked Eleanor. The thing inside Abby loosened some more.

_You're leaving_ , thought Abby. _She's almost won. Come on, you have to do this now_.

Something inside Abby began to grow hot. Then everything started flashing in white and gold. Light shot from every possible surface, glowing like sparklers during the Fourth of July. "Ma ka vaní mali lá!" A thin voice cut through the air. It was softer than Eleanor's, but it held more passion. It took Abby a moment to realize it was coming from her.

"Ma ka vaní mali lá!" The Killing Song pulsed through Abby's pores, blasting over the cliff and into the sky.

_More!_ thought Abby, singing harder. _Cast your spell. Do it now!_ "Ma ka vaní mali lá!" It was difficult to do. Eleanor's voice was strong, and the pulling sensation had grown in intensity. Nausea rolled through Abby, but she pushed it away and made herself focus on the sound of her own voice.

_You're living_ , thought Abby _. Eleanor's dead, and the spell she's using is weaker than yours. She doesn't want to kill you, she just wants your soul out. So come on, do this. Keep up your strength._

"Alli quong dee lakshme aaa!" screamed Eleanor, her bright eyes raking over Abby's skin. And then something ripped at Abby's insides, and she doubled over, writhing in pain, as she tried to keep whatever it was from escaping— that part of her that she knew was her soul.

"Alli quong dee lakshme aaa!" wailed Eleanor. Abby gritted her teeth and focused on Brian. Then she pushed herself farther than she ever had before. The sky started spinning, the waves thrashed below, and the wind began swirling even faster than before.

"Ma ka vaní mali lá!" shrieked Abby, her fingers outstretched in the static air. She clamped her eyes shut and pictured Brian: his thick black hair, eyes trained on her. She tried to recreate ever detail: the curve of his lips, the way his fingers tapered in at the ends. Everything. His image gave her strength, so she could continue this terrible fight.

"Ma ka vaní mali lá!" The song clawed up Abby's throat. "Ma ka vaní mali lá!" It's power coursed through her, and then the hail came. Thick fistfuls of ice spewed from the sky, knocking Abby flat on her chest.

Abby buried her face in her arms as her own song tore through her, wiping everything out. "Ma ka vaní mali lá!" The spell coiled from her like a venomous snake, sucking all the oxygen out of the air. "Ma ka vaní mali lá!" Abby sang it again, but with less force this time. The terrible pulling sensation had suddenly stopped, and when she opened her eyes, she found that she was alone.

The hail storm ended as quickly as it had began, and the gray sky turned an icy blue. _It's over_ , thought Abby, _and I'm okay. But where did Eleanor go?_ Abby tried to stand, but she couldn't hoist herself up. All her energy had been wrapped up in the song, and now that it was over, she had nothing left.

_Eleanor, where are you?_ Abby scanned her surroundings, taking in the cliff and the forest's rim. _Did you turn into a bird again?_ Abby closed her eyes and searched for Eleanor's presence. Nothing. She couldn't feel her anywhere. But then something slipped into Abby's mind, a quiet hum, guttural and low.

"Eleanor?" groaned Abby. But that wasn't right. "No, no." She started to crawl, dragging herself toward the edge of the cliff. It was hard, she could barely move her limbs. But fear gave her power, and so she pushed on.

"No!" cried Abby, her eyes burning when she saw. She couldn't believe it. Was she too late? The snake's thick body was stretched out next to Brian, its dark head resting on Brian's chest. If she strained hard enough she could hear it chanting; could feel its power as it tried to get in; to push Brian out of his own soul's sheath and take his place, while the real Brian died.

And then she heard the splintered sentences, gleaming and sharp with sweat and fear. "I'm coming," growled the serpent inside Abby's mind. "Don't fight me little brother. I'm coming in."

Abby lurched to her feet; she knew what had to be done. And it wasn't singing, not anymore. She was too weak for that, at least for now. Ignoring the burn shooting through her limbs, she began to hobble down the mountain, dragging herself over the empty rock.

Abby was so focused on getting down that she didn't notice the scattering of feathers sticking to the trees near the edge of the woods. The red bird lay on a heap of dead pine needles, its beak cracked open in surprise, wings snapped and bleeding, useless now. But its emerald eyes stayed locked on Abby, following her as she staggered forward then disappeared out of view.

21. The Immovable Weight

Brian hadn't disappeared; he knew that now. Someone or something was keeping him here. He'd felt a presence when he'd jumped off the cliff, and, whatever it was, it had cushioned his fall. Even when the chill had come and he'd begun to fade, something rigid had tugged at his gut then clamped down hard, rooting him in place.

He was so tired, he couldn't open his eyes. It was as if he'd been lulled into a drug-induced sleep. Yet he knew he was present, could still feel his limbs. That's how he was sure he hadn't disappeared. Not yet, at least, but what was keeping him here? What or who? He didn't know.

But then he felt it, that terrible burn, only not in his body, but in his mind. Something was pushing its way inside, violating his thoughts. Violating his flesh. It was all so familiar. _Oh god_ , he thought. He knew exactly what it was.

_Open_ , thought Brian. _Open your eyes. Open them up. You have to see._

Gingerly, Brian cracked his lids, but the light was so bright that his retinas burned, and a sharp bolt of pain shot through his head. He snapped his lids shut before anything was clear.

_Come on, look. You have to know._ He took a deep breath and gripped his hands together, digging his nails into his palms. _Still here,_ he thought. _You're still here_. Then his lids fluttered up and he made himself see, so that he would know what was happening to him.

He was surrounded by a layer of mist. It slid down his chest and over his thighs. He could hear voices around him, muffled at first, chanting in a language he couldn't understand. _Wait_ , thought Brian as the mist crept into his pores and a dull chill spread through his chest.

And then he saw it on the ground next to him— the midnight tail, green eyes bright. "No," he choked, but it was coming for him. It was the burn he'd felt before— the terrible pressure, the pain in his head. It felt like what Luther had done on the day of the trial when Brian had thought he was going to die.

"No! Stop!" moaned Brian, but the eyes didn't move. Then the black lips parted and the tongue slid out, tasting the air— tasting him.

"Don't fight me, little brother. There's nowhere to go." The voice in his head was thin and cruel. Its sharp tone sliced through Brian's mind, shattering his memories, erasing who he was.

"No!" groaned Brian. He started to scream, but all that came out was a gargled sigh.

He tried to thrash his limbs, but he couldn't move. The mist had thickened into a paste, gluing his body to the ground.

"Brother," said the snake still in Brian's mind. "Brother, can't you see? They were saving you for me. Without them, you would have faded away. Your soul would be lost; you could never return."

The snake slithered forward and placed its head on Brian's chest. Its tongue gently caressed his neck then slipped downward until it settled above his heart. "Now little brother," the snake's voice was soft, "it's time to give in. It's time to die. Your siren can't save you, she is weaker than our queen. And so you are mine, to have for myself."

"Please," begged Brian, but the snake was on him, its sharp fangs sinking into his throat. Brian's world exploded in bright bolts of pain. He couldn't move; he couldn't even scream. All he could do was lie there and listen as the cold voice told him what it was going to do.

"Little brother, it's time for you to leave. Your soul sheath is mine now, to inhabit as I will. As your consciousness fades, mine will move in. And when you are revived from this world of shadows, it is I who will ascend. You will be gone."

"No," gurgled Brian. His mouth tasted like dirt. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be true. Yet all around him he could hear a frantic humming, as incomprehensible chanting seeped into his skin.

_Spirits_ , thought Brian. Then he knew what they were. Siren spirits, he recognized their song. They sounded like Abby that time in the car, only weaker, darker. They meant no good.

"Help me," he whimpered, but the world was starting to dim. "Please, don't let him become part of me."

Then something snapped in Brian's chest, and Luther's face shot through his mind. He remembered when Luther had tried to get inside his mind, and he'd been able to block him, keep him away. Mostly, Brian had done nothing at all. But on the few times Luther had really pushed to get in, Brian had made himself visualize a wall, and it had always been enough to keep his stepfather out. _Do it,_ thought Brian. _Do it now. If you don't then this monster will take over your body. He'll hurt your mother and Abby too._

Brian took a deep breath and cleared his mind. And when he did so, the burning inside him receded. Then he imagined a brick wall ten feet thick, its surface weathered, mortar dull and stained. The top climbed so high you could hardly see where it ended, but he could still hear the snake coming through, loosening bricks, knocking them away, until it had made a pathway and slid inside.

"Little brother." The snake's voice was hoarse, and its raspy panting rang sharp in Brian's mind. "Let me in. There's nothing you can do."

_It's getting tired_ , thought Brian. _Don't give in._ The poison was growing stronger now. His limbs were on fire, and it was hard to think. _Do this_ , he thought. _Forget the pain. This is your only chance. After this, you'll be gone._

This time he imagined the view his father saw every day. It was a simple fence, over thirty feet high. Razor sharp wires looped over its top, and armed guards hovered in the towers nearby. Behind this fence he pictured a thick sheet of iron, dull and heavy: an immovable weight. He shoved the iron up against the fence, and once it was sturdy and his picture was clear, he pushed himself into a corner of his mind, hating the feeling of the snake sliding in. For it had already found a way through the fencing and was slicing through the iron wall like the thing had been built out of Jell-O.

_No_ , thought Brian. _I will not disappear._ He could hear the snake wheezing in his ears. It was stronger than Luther; it would destroy everything he made. And yet, it might not be strong enough.

Venom charged through Brian's mind, corroding his thoughts. Then a black shadow wound around his brain, its cool hiss surrounding him.

"No," moaned Brian, but the wall was gone. And here came the snake. It was everywhere. He tried to scream, but nothing came out. He'd lost control of his very soul.

_No_ , he thought. _I won't let you win._ The sirens' voices were dimmer now, disappearing into the mist. Or was it him? Was he the one who was almost gone? The snake's venom seemed to be fading too, and a cold blurry feeling crept through Brian's thoughts. Brian knew that once he lost consciousness, it would be over. So he fought for every second, searching for a way to remain.

Already the snake's mind was becoming his own. He could see images of dark, rolling water— a tall, black ship with a woman's bust at its mast. Sailor, he was a sailor, but it wasn't him at all. It was the man inside him; these were _his_ memories now. And Brian was watching, a silent observer, as the man named Hendrick took everything, and all he could do was try and hold on. Hold on and pray that he'd be saved.

* * * * *

Abby crawled out of the frigid water, sobbing as she dragged herself onto the beach. It was dawn in the town of Clifton, and the sky was a brilliant ribbon of pink. Its color splashed across the waves, illuminating the sand in a glow of life. _Too bright_ , thought Abby. _The fishing boats are out._ She couldn't help but glance nervously at the sea, searching to see if anyone was there. Not that she could do anything about it now.

"Please," she whispered, her blood staining the sand as she clawed up the beach, tail pointing toward the waves. She hunted for the clothes she'd buried last night, but she couldn't seem to find the right spot.

_Come on_ , she thought, panic rising in her chest. _You have to find them. Where did they go?_ She could barely move, and it was so hard to breathe. Yet all she could see was Brian's face. His crumpled body at the foot of the cliff, the black snake sinking its fangs into his throat.

Abby spotted something a few feet away. It was the cuff of her jeans. _Yes!_ she thought. _They're here!_ She dragged herself down the beach, tail splayed out behind her like a stain, and yanked her clothes out from beneath the sand.

She tried to move quickly, but her fingers were numb, and her body was beginning to burn from the chill. _Let's go,_ she thought. She didn't have much time. She had no idea how long Brian could fight off Hendrick. For all she knew, he had already failed, and everything she was doing was a complete waste of time.

A leaden knot formed in her throat, but she ignored it and concentrated on what had to be done. And that was getting rid of her tail as quickly as possible because if anyone saw her, if anyone found out, then Brian might as well already be dead.

Frantically, Abby wiped at her tail. Her jeans weren't porous enough to dry it off, but her t-shirt and sweater did the trick. She winced when she saw the blood soak through her clothes, but she made herself focus. She had to move fast. And then she felt it, that tickling sensation, then a brittle cramp and she was done.

_Now get up,_ she thought, but she could hardly move. Her shirt was caked with blood and sand, but she pulled it on anyway. There would be people soon, could be some out already. She quickened her pace, praying no one would see.

_You're fine,_ thought Abby, jamming her legs into her jeans. _Just think about Brian. You have to help him before it's too late._

She couldn't find her shoes, and she gave up trying, but at least she had her coat to keep her warm. Once she was dressed, she began to jog through the sand, ignoring the dizziness that flooded her head, tangling her stomach in nerves and fear. The sea called to her, but she refused to listen. Instead, she kept her eyes locked on the dunes, their yellow grass waving like patches of hair.

_Hurry,_ thought Abby. _You have to run!_ By now she was really feeling the cold. Hypothermia could set in fast out here. It was late November and she wasn't wearing any shoes. She glanced up at the sky, as a shadow passed overhead. Fear shot through her, followed by relief. It was only a gull soaring by on the wind. Not who she thought, and how could it be?

_Eleanor's trapped,_ thought Abby. _She can't hurt you now._ And yet she knew that the siren could still get to Brian. And that terrible snake. Abby stumbled and fell.

That's when she saw him running down the beach, mouth wide open, hands balled into fists.

"Jake," croaked Abby, crawling toward him now, clawing through the sand as her brother neared.

"Abby," he cried, pulling her into his arms.

"Jake." She could hardly breathe. The skin on her face was completely numb. "Jake we have to find him before it's too late."

"Abby," said Jake, his fingers digging into her flesh. His breath was like fire against her face. "I knew that I'd find you. She said you'd be here. I just can't believe she was right. How the hell did she know?"

"Who knew?" squeaked Abby, her chest going tight. For a moment her eyes were drawn to the sea, and her body itched with the need to go in. "Did Matilda tell you to come here? Is that who you're talking about?"

"What?" snapped Jake, giving her a look. "How would she even have a clue where you'd be? No, the red-head in my dream. She told me to come. She knew the time and everything."

"No," moaned Abby, trying to twist away, but he held her tight, refusing to let go.

"She promised," Jake whispered, one hand on her check, his eyes wide as a little boy's. "She said you could fix what you did to Mom. That if I found you, you'd change it. That you'd know how."

"Mom?" repeated Abby. The name still felt wrong. Abby's insides wrenched. She knew what she'd done at the airport before. Whatever Eleanor had promised, Abby couldn't change it now. She had no idea how to take it back.

"You're bleeding," said Jake. "Abby, are you hurt?" Carefully, he slid her onto the sand.

"I'm fine," she whispered. "It's just some small cuts, that's all."

"And how'd you get those?"

Abby shrugged.

"You should be more careful," warned Jake. "You know blood brings sharks." Then he hoisted her back into his arms and started heading for home.

"Mom," said Abby.

"She's home," said Jake

"And Brian?"

"You mean that guy in your room?" Jake's voice went cold, and his fingers dug into her ribs.

"Ugh," grunted Abby, staring at his feet— his gray, stained Nikes, the bottoms of his jeans.

"That guy's good as dead, Abby. He never woke up. Why? Were you involved in his accident somehow? What did you do? What happened out there?"

"Jake," said Abby, her mouth going dry. _Keep_ _it together. You have to ask him straight out._ "What's wrong with Matilda? What happened to her?"

"You don't even know?" Jake loosened his grip. For a second she thought he was going to drop her, but then he pulled her even closer and broke into a jog. "You'll see," he panted, increasing his speed. "You just have to fix her, that's all. You have to change her back to who she was." And then he coughed once, and a sob ripped from his throat. Hot tears dripped across her skin, and Abby had no idea whose they were.

* * * * *

The first thing Abby noticed about Matilda were her clothes, and that's because they were the polar opposite of what she usually wore. Gone were the trim suites and polished pumps. She was standing barefoot in the doorway in a frumpy housecoat, her waxy skin the color of chalk. Her hair hung down her back in tangles. Abby could tell that it hadn't been washed in days. But it was her eyes that were most shocking of all. They were glassy and flat and too wide for her face. It looked like they could have been painted on. "No," whispered Abby, fingers pressed to her lips, as her mother stared blankly in her direction.

"Abby?" said Matilda, but Abby couldn't speak. Instead she squeezed against the now closed door, unable to face what she'd done. _The others at the airport, are they like this too?_ She had to ask; she had to know.

Abby turned to Jake, about to say it, but she couldn't get herself to ask. _No_ , she thought. _You don't want this answer_. Then Hendrick's words cut through her mind, his message dark and true. "We are the same," he had whispered. "Don't fool yourself, little sister. You are just like us."

"Matilda," croaked Abby, forcing herself forward until she'd moved several feet into the foyer's glow. It was warm inside, and the house felt right. Comfortable, like when her dad was alive. For a second she thought about running to her room, but when she looked back at her mother's face, she froze.

"No," moaned Matilda, holding her hands to her mouth. Her once groomed nails were bloody and raw, bitten down to the quick.

_She's afraid,_ thought Abby, trying not to cry. She could see the fear on her mother's face, the terror that clouded the once blank stare.

"Stop it," warned Jake, grabbing Abby by the wrist. He shoved her behind him with such force that she jammed her hip against the metal doorknob.

"Hey!" said Abby, but Jake didn't bother to respond.

"Mom." Jake's voice was lilting and soft, as if he were speaking to a very small child. "Don't worry, everything'll be all right. We're gonna fix this now. We'll make you better, okay?"

"Jake," said Matilda, and she rushed into his arms, burying her face in his chest.

_Oh, god_ , thought Abby. _What did I do?_

Jake turned to her then, his arms still around Matilda. "Fix her," he begged. "Do it now. I don't know how much more of this I can take."

"I..." stumbled Abby. She didn't know what to say. Fix her? What had Eleanor promised? Abby didn't know what to do.

"I knew I would find her," Jake crooned to Matilda, still huddled inside his arms. "Remember that dream I told you about? I knew she'd be there, and she was."

Abby wanted to warn him about the woman in his dream. Eleanor was after him, that much was clear. But she knew he wouldn't listen to her anyway. Shame flooded through her, heating her cheeks. And along with it rushed an image of Brian, skin pale as the milky sea. _Hurry_ , she thought. _You're wasting time here_. But she couldn't move. She could barely breathe.

"Is she okay?" she whispered, to break the tension. But once the words were out, she wished she'd stayed mute.

"What do you think?" snapped Jake. "Does she look okay to you? She's been like this ever since you left her at the airport. All of them have."

"All of them?" said Abby, tears clouding her eyes. _He's lying,_ she thought. _That can't be true._ But she remembered how everyone had frozen after she'd sung. Hundreds of people, were they all zombies now?

"The police called me," said Jake. "That's how I found her." He was looking down now, staring at his feet, as if he couldn't bear to meet her eye. "They said something was really wrong. She didn't recognize me when I got to the station in Boston. It took her all day to remember who I was."

"Has she been getting any better?"

"Not at all. She just roams aimlessly around the house. She won't eat or talk. She won't do anything. And you did this to her. I know you did. I don't know how, but you destroyed her mind."

"I didn't mean to," said Abby.

"I don't care what you meant! Not anymore. After you fix her, I don't want to ever see you again. Matilda was right. You don't know how dangerous you are. All those years when Dad put you first, ignoring the rest of us like you were some sort of goddess. Well, I wish he were alive so I could tell him how wrong he was. Because you're a monster in disguise. Now turn her back. I know you know how. Undo what you did. It's the least you can do."

He lurched toward her then, leaving Matilda staring at the floor, and dug his fingers into her jaw, moving her face until her eyes met his. "Do it, Abby! Do it now. She's your mother too. You _have_ to help."

"I can't," said Abby. "I don't know how."

"She can barely talk," said Jake, wrapping his fingers back around Abby's wrists. She winced as his nails dug into her skin. "Her brain's rotting away. The doctor said it was a stroke. But I know that's not it because at night she screams. She screams and cries and calls out your name like she's begging you to help her, begging you to make it stop."

"I can't fix her," Abby whispered. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"You don't know?" said Jake, pushing her aside, and stepping toward Matilda again.

"I should have left you out there to rot on the beach. Goddammit Abby, Dad was wrong. You aren't special. You aren't even good. And I'm through protecting you. I'm not helping you anymore. You should have gone to England like Mom said, because I've got news for you: they're looking for you now. The airport, you know, they have surveillance tapes there. All those people you hurt when you opened your mouth— you're gonna pay the price. You know that, right?"

"Has anyone been here?" said Abby, panic flooding her chest.

"Not yet, but they will be soon."

"What about Brian?" said Abby, his name blooming on her lips. _He'll help me_ she thought. _As long as he's still alive._

"He's dead, or brain dead at least. He's at Beth Israel in a coma. It was all over yesterday's news. And they're looking for a girl. I know that it's you. You hurt him too, isn't that right? Well no one wants to help you. No one wants you around. Just go. Leave. Get out of here now. I'll give you a five minute head start because you're my sister, but then I'm gonna call it in."

Jake's voice broke, and he held in a sob, but he was already pushing her out the door.

"Jake!" cried Abby. "I need your help!" But he wasn't listening; it was like he didn't even hear. He reached around Abby and opened the door, then shoved her out into the cold morning air.

"Wait!" screamed Abby, but the door slammed in her face. Before it closed all the way she caught a glimpse of her mother— face blank as a slate, no fear anymore. It was a stranger's face, empty of any emotion at all. "What have I done?" whispered Abby, her hands ripping through her hair. "Oh my god, what have I done?"

She was at Jake's truck before she even knew what she was doing, searching behind the driver's side wheel for the box where he kept his spare key.

_Please don't see me,_ she prayed, her bare feet already numb. _Let me go with this, at least_. Her brother, after locking himself out after football practice half a dozen times, had finally gotten smart and installed a key box that attached to the underside of his truck. Abby only hoped he hadn't moved it yet.

She dug her hand up under the truck. She knew it was there; it had to be. She was shivering hard, but she ignored the cold. _Five minutes_ , she thought. _How much time is left?_ The ocean called to her, urging her home, but she ignored its pull and kept up her search, scratching her nails against metal and grit. "Got it," she said. And it was in her hand. _Come on,_ she thought, slipping the key into the lock. Then she yanked the door open and climbed inside.

It wasn't until she was speeding toward the highway that she bothered to wonder why Jake hadn't stopped her. He must have seen what she was doing, and even if he hadn't, he would have noticed the engine starting up. The pickup was over fifteen years old, and its engine was loud enough to hear inside the house. But when the reason hit her, she almost started to cry. _No_ , she thought, but she knew it was true. _It's because he wanted you to have it. Eleanor must have told him to let you go._

22. Siren Song

Abby pulled onto 93, squinting through the morning sun as she made her way into Boston. It felt like it'd been years since she'd been on this highway, when really it'd been less than a day. Everything was moving too fast, yet she made herself focus on the road ahead, deftly navigating the morning traffic as she stomped on the gas, accelerating her speed. _Get there,_ she thought. _You have to get there now._ She just had to hope she'd be waking up Brian, though she had an uneasy feeling it might be somebody else.

That's why she helped you. That's why she sent Jake. She couldn't get inside you, so she needs you now. You're the only one who can wake Hendrick up.

Panic charged through her, but she shoved it away. There was no way she was turning back now. "Just try," she whispered. "You just have to try." And so she headed into the city, as the Boston skyline rose in front of her, its buildings straining toward the sky.

Abby could feel the ocean welling behind her, its magical presence pulling her back. "No," she hissed. She had to go forward; she couldn't give in. And yet her body, her skin, her very breath was being tugged backward by the calling waves and the familiar moans buried inside the water. She crunched down on her cheek and held in a scream.

"Abby, Abby, come back to us now." Abby slid her finger over the key that still hung around her neck. Its eye was open, and the metal was hot.

"No," said Abby, her eyes on the road.

"Little sister." Eleanor's voice slipped through her mind, it's nasally bird caw making her cringe. Then something was heating the inside of her jacket. Abby shoved her hand into her pocket and pulled out the feather, now red as blood.

"You tried to kill me," said Abby, dropping the feather on the seat. It lay there, sucking the light out of the cab, quivering as Abby continued to speak. "And you murdered Brian, though I still don't understand how. Did I leave your feather in his car when I made him leave me on the highway? Is that how you did it? How did you get in his head?"

"Something is different about your beloved," said Eleanor, her voice like ice in Abby's skull. Most humans must be sleeping for me to communicate with them, but I used the feather to speak to him when he was awake. That's a trick that should work with our kind alone. No, there's something unusual about his mind. But of course, little sister, I knew that already. It's the reason I chose him as Hendrick's host. To a certain extent, he can block Hendrick's venom. But a siren can enter, I don't yet know why."

"So if Brian can fight off your snake, than maybe he's still there. Maybe he hasn't disappeared."

"He can't fight him forever," croaked Eleanor. "But his soul sheath is stronger than any other human I've met. Stronger than I ever guessed. He should have already crumbled; Hendrick should be inside by now. And yet, your Brian still holds his own. Only know this little sister, and know it well: Brian can't fend off Hendrick forever. Eventually my beloved will win. We just have to hope it's before Brian's body gives out. For once that is gone, we have lost them both."

"His body's dying?" choked Abby. "Is that what's going on?"

"Yes," Eleanor replied. "He was badly injured; there isn't much time. But if you let me help you, I'll show you the way. I'll help you save him, whoever he is."

_No_ , thought Abby, not saying it aloud. _I can't trust you anymore. I don't want your help_.

"But you need it," hissed Eleanor, sounding more snake than bird. "You need me little sister, if you want to bring him back. I'm the only one who can help you now. I'm the only one who knows the song."

Abby sucked in her breath, unable to decide. Eleanor was right, she didn't know the song. She'd just been planning on winging it, hoping the right words came out, that her body would somehow know what to do. But how could she trust the sea witch after all that had happened? And yet, she knew she couldn't say no.

"It's the only way," said Eleanor, her voice stronger now. "You must learn a new song to draw out the sleep. Only then can our beloveds return."

"I know why you're helping me." Abby's voice came out flat. "You've been lying to me. Brian's gone, isn't that right? It'll be Hendrick that I'm waking, if I do what you say."

Silence. Had Eleanor disappeared? But then Abby felt something sharp in her chest, and a shard of uncertainty dug into her heart. "Oh," she sighed, sucking in air. _My god_ , she thought. _Eleanor doesn't know._

"You don't know?" whispered Abby, saying it aloud. "You have no idea who it is?"

"Your beloved is strong, and I have grown weak. You used my song and almost destroyed me. Yet I can feel what is happening at the bottom of the cliff. I can hear their screams, though there is nothing I can do."

"He's screaming?" said Abby. "Is Brian in pain?"

"And Hendrick," moaned Eleanor. "Both of them are."

"You witch," shrieked Abby, blood pounding in her ears. A chorus of horns blared off to her left, as she cut across traffic, accelerating her speed. "You selfish witch! What have you done!"

"Why, little sister, I could ask the same thing of you." Abby cringed as the siren's words seeped into her mind. But Eleanor was right, this was on her too. She was the one who'd made Brian part of all this. It was her carelessness that had gotten him involved.

"This is our chance to fix things," said Eleanor. "We can save one of them; they both don't have to die. Our spirit sisters are weakening. I feel it in my blood. If you don't wake Brian's body soon, it won't matter who is housed in his spirit's sheath. There will be nothing we can do."

"Hendrick is inside him, pushing him out. But your beloved is so strong, I don't know who will win. You must wake them up before all is lost. If I had your body, I would have done it by now."

"But how can I trust you?" said Abby. "You tried to kill me before. And how do I know Hendrick hasn't already won? Are you tricking me, sea witch? Is that what's going on?"

"You know that I'm not," said Eleanor, sounding farther away. "You already read it in my blood. But listen little sister, it's all up to you. I cannot make you wake him. I cannot force this on you. Just know, if you choose to do nothing at all, then your beloved is gone. That much is certain.

Silence. Abby didn't know what to do. But then Brian's face flashed through her mind. His deep, kind eyes; smile aimed straight at her. She couldn't just leave him even if that's what he wanted. She refused to stand by and let him die. She'd just have to save him and find a way to stop his transformation, so that he wouldn't become a serpent like Hendrick. So that he'd always stay a man. And if it was Hendrick she woke up instead of Brian, well that was a risk she'd have to take.

_There's a chance_ , thought Abby. _There's a chance he's still there_. But then she remembered the last time she'd seen Brian, when he'd begged her to kill him. No, to let him go. She knew she was being selfish, but she didn't care. Her insides ached at the thought of him gone. _I'm just like Eleanor_ , thought Abby. _This is how Eleanor feels. This is what made her do what she did._

The feeling was so visceral, that she couldn't move past it. She knew what had to be done.

"All right," whispered Abby, gritting her teeth. Her jaw hurt from clenching it so tightly, and her body was starting to ache again. "How do I do it? What do I do?"

Suddenly, a melody cut through her mind— a lonesome song of winding rhythms, the notes soaring high then low again. "See na ki la talí day," sang Eleanor, her words like a harness around Abby's heart. _That's it_ , thought Abby, singing along as the music seeped into her bones. Quickly, she veered onto Brookline Avenue. The hospital's buildings loomed straight ahead. _Brian, hold on. I'm coming_ , thought Abby. _I'm almost there, and I'll fix everything_.

* * * * *

Abby found a spot on the fifth level of a parking garage directly across the street from the hospital's west campus. It was exactly where Eleanor had told her to go. After jamming the truck into park, she leaped out the door and scurried toward the elevator. She glared at the buttons as the elevator sank toward the floor, wishing there was some way she could speed the thing up. "Where do I go?" asked Abby when she got to the bottom. "Come on Eleanor, tell me what to do." A tingling sensation crept into her bones, and the blood in her veins started to burn.

"Follow it," said Eleanor, her words sharp as a blade. "The burning is coming from your dying beloved. Follow it, and it will lead you to him." Then the elevator was open and she was outside, running down the sidewalk toward the hospital's doors. The burning feeling was stronger now, but she refused to slow down. She had to move. She stopped only when she'd entered the lobby, scanning the room for an information booth.

_There_ , she thought, sucking in a mouthful of air. Her insides were on fire; it was hard to breathe. "You're close," said Eleanor. "Just follow the burn." And yet Abby stumbled toward the man in the booth, knowing it would be faster than finding Brian by feel. Eleanor's voice boomed _no_ in her ears, but the pain was almost intolerable now, beating down on her from every direction. She had to hurry. Brian could have already disappeared, and she couldn't tell which way the burning was coming from anymore.

"Focus!" cried Eleanor. "Follow the pain!"

"I can't! I don't know how!"

And then she was standing in front of the information desk, staring into the face of a thin young man.

The man at the desk wasn't much older than Abby, and he would have been considered handsome save for the dark bubbles of acne knotting his skin.

"Miss?" he said, his eyes on her face. "Miss, are you hurt? Do you need help?"

"What?" wheezed Abby, taking in the waiting room with its glowering Coke machine and wide, seafoam chairs. She touched her hand to her forehead and checked for blood, relieved when her fingers came down clean.

"Miss?" he repeated. The man's eyes were scared, and there was an urgency in his voice that she immediately understood.

_Quick_ , she thought, _make him think you're okay. You can't help Brian if they commit you in here._

"No, I..." and then she remembered how she looked— rumpled clothing, skin pale as frost. "I'm fine. I'm just looking for someone, that's all."

"Smile," said Eleanor, and Abby did. She shot the most dazzling smile that she could, focusing all of her energy on making her mouth look right. A lightness spread through the man behind the information booth, as relief flooded Abby's chest. She'd never realized how intoxicating her beauty could be.

_Too easy_ , she thought as her power charged through her, but then she glanced nervously around, remembering what Jake had said. _Are the cops here?_ she wondered. _Are there cameras on me right now?_ She dropped her head toward the floor and asked the man for directions. His voice came out in a monotone.

"Good," said Eleanor. "He's under your spell."

Then Abby was hurrying through the lobby, stumbling toward a hall lined with elevators. She jumped into the first empty one that opened and slammed her hand against the close-door button, ignoring the other people who wanted to get in. She didn't care. She had to be alone.

The world around her was beginning to blur. The burning was so strong that she could barely stand. "Focus," said Eleanor. "You're almost there."

A scream tore through Abby and she doubled over. The fire inside her was searing her core. She kept praying that no one would enter the elevator, because she wasn't sure if she could stay in control. The elevator beeped at every floor, until finally it stopped, and she was there.

Eleanor was singing now, the same song that she'd sung in the car. Her words tore through Abby, seeped into her blood, then burrowed deep inside her bones.

"Brian," whimpered Abby. She knew where he was. There was a pulling inside her, like the call of the sea. She scurried by a sign marked "Intensive Care," then passed a nurses' station without looking up. She hoped they wouldn't notice her, but, of course, they did.

"Wait!" yelled a nurse, but the pain was too great. Abby knew she couldn't stop.

"Brian," she moaned. "Help me now."

And then she was inside his room, collapsing on the foot of his bed.

"Brian," she sobbed staring down at his face. His neck was bruised, and his skin was waxy and pale. Several tubes snaked out from beneath his sheets, but the beeping machines next to him reminded her that he still had a chance. "Brian," she whispered. It was hard to speak. The air felt like embers inside her lungs. "Brian!" He didn't respond.

"Shut the door," said Eleanor. "Block it with something. Then sing little sister, before it's too late."

Abby forced herself up off the bed, but her body was leaden. It wouldn't work right. Each arm weighed over a hundred pounds. Yet somehow she managed to slam the door shut and half drag, half carry a chair from the opposite wall. She jammed it up against the doorknob, praying it would stay long enough for her to get everything done.

"See na ki la talí day!" howled Eleanor, her song reverberating through Abby's mind. Abby tried to sing, but her tongue wouldn't work. Her insides felt like they were on fire. She couldn't do it; she couldn't make a sound.

_Stop it!_ thought Abby. _Make it stop it now!_ But the song pulsed through every cell, charring her body. She started to scream.

"Now," warned Eleanor. "Before they get in!" Abby stumbled toward the side of the bed. She grabbed the bed rail as the sound started to come, tearing her skin with its magical tones.

_Help me,_ thought Abby. She could no longer see. Her head jerked back as the song exploded from her throat, wiping everything away until all she was, was sound.

* * * * *

Brian fought the pain in his head, the horrible seething as the snake took control. "Yessssss," hissed the serpent, as it crept through his mind, winding itself around everything.

Brian remembered the day of his father's trial. He could still feel Luther's eyes on his skin, forcing his mind to crumble, his thoughts to disappear. Only this time he refused to back down. He swore to himself that the monster wouldn't win. "Get out," he growled. The snake let out a roar. Only Brian wasn't sure if the sound was in his mind, or if it was coming from somewhere else.

But then he felt a tugging sensation, and a bullet of fire streaked through his skull. Someone was screaming inside him now, writhing and sobbing, but it wasn't him. And then he was sliding down the beach, moving away from the cushion of mist. He bounced over the rocky shore, head smacking against the ground like a ball.

_I'm dying_ , thought Brian. _Something's killing me._ _Or maybe this is what it feels like to disappear._ He tried to open his eyes, but they were too heavy to move. It felt like someone had taped them shut. But someone was coming, calling to him— a woman's voice. He knew who it was.

Abby, are you coming to save me now?

His body was wrapped in the sound of her voice. He slid past the rocks and into the water, its milky wetness sucking at his skin. He could breathe, but he still couldn't open his eyes or move.

Suddenly, he realized he wasn't in the water anymore, but instead he was lying on some sort of bed. He could feel its firmness against his back, as the beep of machines blurred through the air. "Abby!" he croaked, his voice working now. He opened his eyes, and there she was.

He stared at the figure clinging to the side of the bed, her body bent forward, caked in blood. _I'm in a hospital_ , he thought, taking in the machines to his right and the fluorescent lights that shone down from above.

"Abby," he murmured, as a stream of nurses rushed in. For a moment, they all smeared together, a chorus of strangers in flowing white. A cherub-like nurse with several extra chins grabbed his wrist and peered into his eyes.

"I don't believe it," she mumbled, her sour breath in his face. "It's a miracle. You're actually awake."

"Abby," yelped Brian, trying to crane around the nurse, but he was having trouble operating his body right now, and could only manage to move his head a few degrees to the right. Still, it was enough to see.

"Abby," he moaned, but she didn't respond. Her mouth was still open, a bright circle of red, and her eyes were rolled so far back in her skull that only the whites were visible. But she wasn't singing anymore. She was frozen in silence; he didn't understand.

Two other nurses were at her side, but they couldn't rouse her. She wouldn't wake up. She held herself rigid, back arched like a cat. _Please_ , thought Brian. _Please let her be okay._ He tried to sit up as a doctor ran in, but it was no use. He could barely move.

The doctor was a balding, middle-aged man, his glasses on a chain around his neck. He ignored Brian and ran to Abby instead. Her eyes jumped into focus when the doctor touched her skin, and her red lips bent into a scowl.

"Brian?" Abby turned to him. A thin line of blood dripped from her mouth and splashed delicately onto his sheets.

"I'm here," he whispered, and he thought it was true. Only as he spoke, he heard a voice in the background, so low that it was almost impossible to make out.

"Yes," said the voice, gaining in strength. "Yes little sister, and so am I."

End of Book One

About the Author

Maija Barnett lives in Massachusetts and is a stay-at-home mom. In her past life she worked as a high school English teacher. When she's not taking care of her two young daughters, she spends her time writing young adult paranormal fiction _. Black Waters_ , the first book in the _Songstress Series_ , is her first novel. She is now hard at work on _Evening Tide_ , the second book in the series. Visit her at: http://maijabarnett.blogspot.com

Acknowledgments

First off, I'd like to thank my husband Rob for his endless emotional, editorial, and technical support. Rob, I couldn't have done this without you. Thanks also to beta readers Ariel and Ted. Your invaluable insights helped immensely. Thank you Mike Rappa for your awesome book cover, and Stacey for your positive take on E-publishing. It really helped sway my decision to go this route. Also, a huge thanks goes out to my daughters Calista and Lyla for giving me an hour of writing time each day. (Go Diego!) Finally, I'd like to thank my mom and dad who read to me each night when I was a kid. I guess all that early exposure to literature made me want to write a book of my own.
