One (26 page)

“You wouldn’t dare,” Brennan said, a little breathless from the
change
. It had only taken him four seconds; I wasn’t sure why he was faster than me. I rolled my eyes as he pushed himself upright. In human form my brother stood two inches taller than my five-foot-eight frame, his driftwood-colored hair lighter than my dark brown waves. But we shared the same blue eyes, and our mother’s narrow nose. And, of course, our selkie genes.

Still grinning about his prank, Brennan jumped up onto the bank and headed for his holly bush to swap his sealskin for his clothes.

As I finished wringing out my hair, my thoughts returned to our trapped family. They were admittedly never far from my mind, but swimming, although it cleared my head and calmed my nerves, always brought home exactly what our parents and older brother were being denied. We’d been trying for two years to get their sealskins back, but so far we’d failed. Sometimes it felt hopeless.

“What are we going to do, Brennan?” I said quietly, my humor gone.

“About what?” he called.

“About our parents.” As if I could mean anything else.

“We’re doing everything we can.” His muffled voice was not nearly as urgent as I’d have liked.

“It’s not enough.”

I heard a sigh. “Give it a rest, will you?”

My mouth went flat. A rest. That’s all Brennan said lately. Remembering his possibly-private thought, I wondered if he’d given up entirely, if he was just biding his time until I gave up too. Anger twined itself through my voice.

“They’ll die here if we don’t free them.”

Brennan stepped out of the shadows and shouldered his backpack.

“Melodrama alert.” Seeing my face, he hesitated. “Let’s sleep on it, okay?”

I wanted to tear into him, but getting into an argument now wouldn’t do any good. Taking a deep breath, I stood and twisted my hair into a bun, securing it with what looked like innocent hair sticks—knives, after all, weren’t allowed in school.

“Okay.” I jerked my lips into a smile and picked up my backpack. “There are sandwiches in the truck, right?”
Changing
took a boatload of energy, so we were always ravenous once we returned to land. Peanut butter was more filling than crayfish—and didn’t take nearly as much effort to catch.

“Two for me, none for you,” Brennan joked.

“Not if I get there first,” I shot back. Falling into comforting, well-worn banter, we headed up the dark path to the truck.

We never did see the camcorder propped in the trees, watching us go.

For more information on Andrea Colt and her books, please visit
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