Vicious Deep (23 page)

I take the stairwell down one flight of stairs, but it's blocked by three couples making out. They don't even budge as I step between them and down to the third floor. Someone slams into me, pushing me against the hallway door.

“Watch it!” Some guy holds on to his pants as he runs away from two bigger guys. The halls are filled with more students cutting class than usual. A poke on my ass cheek makes me jump. When I turn around, I see it's a girl I hooked up with once at a party, maybe during freshman year—Samantha? She walks around me and stands in my way. She puts her index finger on my chest. Her eyes are glossy. Her smile is wide and manic. She leans close to my ear at the same time that I lean away.

“I haven't stopped thinking about you, Tristan.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

“It's
Jessica
.”

“Thanks, Jessica. Listen, I have to go.” I try to step around her, but she blocks my way.

“I was thinking we could, you know, hang. You're always so busy that I never see you around.”

The smell that comes from her is like rotting fruit and the spearmint gum she's chewing. I try to cover my nose politely. “Okay, how about I call you tonight?”

“Okay!”

“Good. I'll talk to you later, okay?”

“I'll be waiting!” She blows me a kiss as I run the other way, slowed down by the crowded hallway of students. Another girl calls out my name, but I keep moving forward. I make a left into the stairwell, where more couples are grinding against each other. I mean, damn, there are plenty of dark corners in this old school without having to do it all together.

A loud pop crashes against the wall, right over my head, and breaks into itty-bitty pieces. It's a peppermint ball. Or it
was
a peppermint ball. Then another. And another, until one finally hits me square on the forehead.

“I hate you!” she says. It's Diana, from the tennis team. We dated briefly last summer. Her serving arm was impressive, but she never,
ever
stopped talking.

She's holding a bag of assorted candy and chocolates, the big ones you get at Coney Island for $4.99. “Why didn't you call me back?”

“Diana, look, I'm sorry.”

“It's D
e
anna!” She throws the bag of candy on the floor and runs up the steps.

Okay. I
have
to find my friends. This is beyond my level of strange.

I skid on the tiles when I round the corner to History. They're gathered around the door. Layla is leaning against the wall. She smiles the way I haven't seen in days. Her head is cocked to the side, and she's twirling a silky strand around one finger until it makes a coil of its own. She's flirting. She's flirting with Kurt, whose shoulders are relaxed and easy as he mimics the movement of throwing a lance. She laughs, but when she looks down the hallway to where I'm walking, her laugh goes away.

I've used the word
killjoy
plenty of times, but I never thought I'd feel like one.

“Well?” she says. I have her and Kurt's undivided attention. For the first time, I notice that the couple making out in the corner is Ryan and Thalia. Guess he can't ask too many questions if he can't form a coherent sentence. Not that either of them seems to mind.

“She says she doesn't have it.”

“Oh,” they both say.

“Yeah.” I walk past them. I'm not going to add to my recent Strange Encounters of the Mer-Kind, because that'll just add to the list of things I haven't figured out. I can smell their disappointment, like flowers wilting in heat. An outstretched hand stops my forward motion.

“Must be careful, Mr. Hart, or you'll walk right past my classroom for the third time since your miraculous return.” Mr. Van Oppen stands in white slacks and a dark green blazer over a crisp white shirt that looks like it resists wrinkles. He's the only dude I know who can pull off all of that, plus a blue scarf tucked just so around his neck and into his collar. When he smiles, it's sort of slanted, revealing teeth that look like he drinks too much coffee. His blue eyes are ringed with dark circles. I can picture him walking around his apartment, smoking cigarettes that he rolls himself and wishing he could burn our weekly essays.

I take my usual seat against the wall. This is the whitest of all the classrooms. The shutters are pulled tight, and there are curtains that don't let in any light. It's one of the few rooms that's air conditioned, so it always gets the most requests for transfers.

There's a small gasp behind me; it comes from Thalia. I guess even mermaids can't resist his strange charms. She uses Ryan as a shield and pulls him to the back of the classroom. Van Oppen is ruffled himself, like he can't resist
her
mermaid charm.

The last time I saw Mr. Van Oppen was in my dream, something I would never admit to anyone. Layla sits in front of me, right at the front. I can smell her lavender shampoo and something else.

“I forgot your cousins were joining us, Mr. Hart,” Mr. Van Oppen says.

Kurt walks in slowly. He sits beside me. He sniffs the air, and by the subtle growl on his lips, I can tell he smells something he really doesn't like. Everything about him, from his shoulders to the way he balls up his hands into fists, screams
tense.

“Where was I? Oh yes, Helen of Troy.” Van Oppen clears his throat and looks paler than usual. He stands over his desk and rifles through a stack of papers.

Bracelets jingle all over the class as hands fly up. The girls know to answer just by the way he looks at them, all
Yeah, that's right, I'm calling on you.

A girl with purple-rimmed glasses leans forward so hard that I think she might teeter toward him. “Well, there was this thing on the History Channel about how this lady was trying to prove Helen of Troy was really real. But some text is missing. Or was it a building that was missing? I can't remember.”

“Ah, yes, the best thing about history is perhaps also the most frustrating. There are some things you can't prove. Because the evidence has crumbled or washed away, or in some cases, it's been hidden.”

“So was she real or what?” a girl in the back asks sweetly.

The girl beside her says, “I'd like to think she was. It's romantic that they went to war over her.”

“Kingdoms go to war over less,” Kurt says darkly.

“You're right,” Van Oppen says. He stands in front of Layla and lifts her chin with his finger. If he weren't my teacher, I'd shove him off her. “Was this the face that launch'd a thousand ships, / And burnt the topless towers of Ilium? / Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss. / Her lips suck forth my soul: see where it flies!” He hands her the handouts to pass along, and I can swear I can hear their tiny hearts fluttering all over the classroom.

“That wasn't in the reading,” someone says.

“No, it was written by Christopher Marlowe. This story has fascinated people so much that they've spent their whole lives trying to prove it could've been true. They don't have much to go on, but they chase all over the world for clues. Sometimes it's something as small as a rumor about a distant island claimed to be the home of the oracle that warned Menelaus about protecting Helen.”

That's a thought. I raise my hand. “What do you mean, Menelaus and the oracle?”

“I'll forgive the question, since you had a concussion for a few days. I'll assume
that's
the reason you don't remember the reading on it.”

“Uhm, thank you?” I go. “So what did Menelaus
do
to talk to the oracle?”

Mr. Van Oppen bares his teeth in a curious smile. “I do not wish to fill your head with fodder, Mr. Hart. The Greek oracles were girls chosen for their beauty. It was their burden, but it also was a great honor. The oracles would sit in a room with burning herbs and stones, the smoke so potent it would make them hallucinate. This would be translated as the prediction or sight. Hardly more than a girl's delirious ramblings. It'd be like the president taking advice from a socialite tripping on acid, which, well—never mind.”

“So you believe Helen might be real but not oracles?”

“I did not say that, Mr. Hart. I merely stated what I know about village oracles in ancient Greece.” I just remembered why I always fall asleep in his classes or take extended bathroom breaks. “Now, if you're asking me about real oracles, that's a different story.”

Maybe it's his sharp blue eyes, maybe it's that he dresses like something out of a Jane Austen novel, or maybe it's the slightest trace of an accent. Whatever it is, the class is transfixed by his words.

Kurt shakes his head at me. It's not like I'm going to pull off clothes to show my Spider Man costume and reveal my true identity or anything.

Thankfully, Layla asks for me: “Did he just go up to an oracle and ask?”

“If only it were as easy as that. It's not the high-school cafeteria where you ask Lourdes for extra fries and she gives them to you. You present the oracle with a tribute, and if she's in a good mood, then she may give you an answer.”

“What kind of tribute?” I go. And they say you'll never learn anything useful in high school.

People start to whisper.
He's so weird. Good thing he's cute. Can you believe those are his cousins? I don't care what anyone says, green hair is
so
clichéd.

“Half your herd of cows. Your second wife. The blood of a virgin. The usual.”

The sharp whistle of microphone feedback slices through the loudspeaker. A small voice announces that all after-school activities are canceled. I know we have a meet tomorrow and all, but my head's not in it right now.

Just then a sweet, soft hum fills the room. At first we look to the speakers, because it's not the first time the announcer has left on the microphone while he's jamming to his new-millennium pop collection. This time it's different. The temperature in the room rises. The sound is like a lullaby, a pitch that wraps around you and leads you wherever it wants.

Van Oppen smacks a book against the desk. “Whoever that is, please turn it off. Now!”

But it isn't coming from in here. It's coming from the hallway. There's a hole in my stomach when I fear that somehow Nieve has found a way to get me, that my dream after I fought Elias is coming true. I grab my bag for my dagger at the same moment that the door flies open.

My breath is caught in my throat.

I hold on to my desk, because I feel as if I'm trying to wake up from a nightmare.

She fluffs her messy white-blond hair, stepping into the room in a slinky black dress under a bright pink motorcycle jacket and heels that look like they're made of sequins and glitter.

Elias's fiancée.

“Hi.” She leans against the doorframe. Her gray eyes find mine without even searching the room. “I'm Gwen. Tristan's cousin.”

They say the sea is cold, but the sea contains

the hottest blood of all, and the wildest, the most urgent.

—D. H. Lawrence

Gwen.

So that's her name. So sorry about your future husband, Gwen. It wasn't my fault. There's this sea witch, you see?

“Don't forget about us.” A sharp soprano voice echoes through the hallway. Behind Gwen is a cluster of girls, girls I've only seen as mermaids.

The court princesses are at my school. It's one thing for me to have this secret I can barely keep from my friends; now I have to deal with the rest of the school. I'm halfway sitting, halfway standing. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Come, now, Tristan.” Gwen steps forward. “That's no way to treat your family.” She hands Van Oppen a piece of paper, along with a smile that would have most men on their knees pledging their love for her. Not me, of course.

From where I stand, it's just a blank piece of paper, but he nods with a tense smile and tucks it in with his other papers mumbling something that sounds like “more of them.”

As the princesses walk in, there isn't a single person who isn't staring at them. The glamours may disguise their naturally raw colors and their flawless faces. But nothing can disguise their hourglass figures as they move through the desk aisles like snakes in the desert.

There are four of them, from the princess with a lush head of chestnut waves who wears a shirt so tiny she might as well be wearing two clam shells on her breasts, to the one with ivory skin and plum-purple hair gathered in a bun. Like Thalia, nothing disguises the slight point to their ears or the gem-like eyes that glance giddily around the classroom.

“Dude,” Angelo goes, “can I come to your next Christmas party?”

Sure, if Christmas is going to be ten thousand leagues under the sea and Rudolph is going to be a sea horse named Atticus.

Gwen takes the empty seat behind me just as the bell rings. I get up right away, because part of me is afraid she's going to take out a knife and stab me in the back. She thinks I killed her fiancée, and now she's going to try to kill me on my own turf.

My classmates stand aside to let Gwen leave first. I lean against the lockers just outside the door, and she stands in front of me. The metal bits of her leather jacket
clink, clink
. The gray of her eyes is harsh, and they're set on my face. Still, when she smiles, everything about her softens.

“I'm guessing this isn't your first time on land,” I say.

She shakes her head slowly. “I've got a few years on you, foot-fin.”

“You're not allowed to call me that.”

“I can do whatever I want.” She crosses her arms over her chest, which pushes her cleavage up and out. Not that I'm noticing or anything.

“What do you think you're doing here?”

She shrugs. “It's tradition for eligible princesses to seek a champion for courtship. Brendan and Dylan are being visited by
dozens
of mermaids from every inch of the seas. Technically, I'm betrothed, so I don't have to be here. But my fiancé's gone missing because of some half-breed claiming the throne.”

Fine. If she wants to go that route. “I'm flattered you've chosen me to rebound on, especially after what
you
did to your champion.”

If she weren't already so white, I'd say she goes pale at that. But the shock that registers on her face is all the proof I need that she helped Layla win, that
she
did something to Elias, which makes her guiltier than it makes me.

“That's right, Princess. I
know
.”

She purses her full pink lips, seething. For a moment, I think she's going to hit me, but she just turns on her heel and struts down the hall as if she's done it a hundred times before.

When the other princesses come out, they walk past and touch my face and poke my abs and my butt. The one with the plum-purple hair tries to go right for the goods, and then the princesses disappear. They mingle into the flow of students. Angelo pushes past me, hot on the trail of a girl who could probably eat him alive in a second, not that he'd complain.

At the first glimpse of Kurt's face, I throw my hands in the air and yell at him. “I have to
court
the princesses? Why didn't you
tell
me?”

He seems as surprised as I am. “I honestly didn't remember that part of the championship. I didn't think they'd be interested in you.”

“
Thanks
. I really feel the love, bro.”

“That's not what I meant. I meant that you're human.
Part
human. I should've taken into account that you're the grandson of the king. The princesses are sort of—”

“Shallow?” Layla suggests, seemingly too happy at my misery.

“I've swum in deeper puddles than them,” Thalia snarls. “They don't want mates, they want meals.”

“Cool, so mergirls are easy,” Layla says. She shoots a finger toward me. “Hey! That explains you.”

When I don't laugh, she pats Thalia's shoulder. “No offense.”

“None taken. I absolutely loathe those girls.” Her cheeks puff up. All things considered, Thalia is pretty cute when she's angry.

“They don't seem so bad,” Ryan says, strutting out of the classroom and slinging his arms around Thalia's waist. He picks her up, and they're suddenly in their own world, away from the merrows, the princesses, the sea witch, and my championship. They're in high school.

Layla looks away from them guiltily. I wonder if she's thinking about Alex. Maybe she's thinking about Kurt. She sure isn't thinking about me, the way she keeps avoiding my face. “Maddy really said she doesn't have it?”

I nod. “Yep.”

“Explain to me why you can't give the oracle something else.” Layla reaches over to my chest and picks off a bit of lint. She smooths the fabric on my chest, absentmindedly, then pulls her hand away like she didn't realize what she was doing. I wonder if she can feel my skin grow hot at her touch.

Kurt answers, “That seems like the best idea, but all the other champions will be taking similar gifts—from family jewels to promising their firstborn children. This is specific. The Venus pearl is something that was taken from her.”

“So then
don't
give her something else,” Layla corrects herself. We're in front of Ms. Pippen's English class.

Jerry runs out of the room. “Pippen's a no-show.”

“Again?” Thalia goes.

“Figured I'd wait a few more minutes in case the sub shows and I can get attendance in, but she's not here either.” Angelo runs past, saying something about “red-hot girls in school in the caf.” He jets down the hallway, chasing the hot mermaid trail.

•••

Under the cacophony of students shouting, singing, or just being general pains in the asses is the same lullaby hum of the princesses. If I weren't so irritated, I'd say it was the greatest thing I've ever heard—it makes your heart sigh and burn all at once.

We take a smaller table away from the swim team. On a regular day it would be considered a huge diss to leave your team's table. Today they're all fawning over my mermaid cousins and don't even notice. That explains the way everyone was behaving in the halls before. Well, except that you never really know with Angelo. If I don't do something, the whole school may end up either making out or duking it out.

Over at the swim team's table, Gwen and the mermaid princesses have formed a makeshift court with Gwen at the epicenter. Their shoulders peek from their sheer dresses, and their legs—which would normally be hidden beneath layers of scales—are crossed and exposed by the slits of their skirts for the enjoyment of every guy, girl, and pervy lunch monitor in the cafeteria. Their gem-like eyes, so much like mine, watch their surroundings carefully.

“I'll be right back,” I say, ignoring Kurt's warning not to do anything irrational and to remember this is all court politics.

Gwen settles her stormy gray eyes on me. They're lined with black makeup. She arches an eyebrow, which is kind of funny, because she's so blond and fair that it doesn't look like she has eyelashes or eyebrows unless you're up close. “Have you been formally introduced yet?”

I smile as charmingly as I can. “Can't say I have.”

“That over there is Violet, Adaro's cousin. She's got the prettiest purple hair in her region. This is Kai, Brendan's aunt. She's a bit shy, but she'll come along. And that's Menana, a freshwater princess from the Rocky Mountain lakes. She's like our very own Pocahontas.” They wave with their fingers, some more interested than others. Then again, I shouldn't mistake interest for amusement.

I feel like I'd rather take my chances with Nieve than try to calm down a horde of mermaids. Like my dad says, hell hath no fury like when your mother doesn't get what she wants. And here I am with a pissed-off wannabe queen and her posse.

Bertie notices me for the first time. His eyes are glassy, but there's a joker smile plastered on his face. “Man, I wish I were part of your family.”

No, you don't.

“I need you to please call them off, Gwen.”

“Whatever do you mean?” She stares at me so innocently that I almost want to believe her.

“I'm half human. Not half stupid.” Most of the time.

“You're not king, Tristan Hart.”

“My grandfather—”

“Your grandfather isn't king anymore either. So for now we're all free to do as we wish.”

“Yeah!” Angelo pumps a fist in the air. “Who made you king of the world, bro?”

“If you want to do it that way…” I grab Gwen by the waist and throw her over my shoulder. She beats her fists against my back, but she's not trying very hard. I take her to a corner of the cafeteria and set her down. She smooths out her dress and her hair, but doesn't hide the smirk on her face. The table whistles and cheers at us.

“The way I hear it, my ex-king grandfather makes everyone with powers reveal themselves. From where I'm standing, no one knows about you and your little voodoo tricks.”

She looks like a girl who's just been caught smoking and I'm threatening to tell her dad. “It's not voodoo. Voodoo is filthy, unnatural magic. I'm organic.” She presses her hands on her chest. She really needs to stop doing that.

“I don't get it. Why did you help your future husband lose to a girl?”

Her full pink lips curl into a smile. “He's—a jerk, as you people say. Why did you help
hurt
my future husband?”

“He was alive, Gwen. Something was down there with us, and it got him. Look, I'm sorry about Elias. I didn't think it would go down that way. But this is now. We're not on Toliss. You're on my land. I've got enough to deal with without worrying about any of you drowning my teammates.”

“I thought you were all swimmers,” she purrs. She looks off to the left and chews on the inside of her lip. I get the feeling she could do anything she wants right about now, like blow my head off or set me on fire with the heat in her eyes. I can smell her power. I didn't know that power had a scent, but hers does, like firecrackers being lit. Instead she sighs softly. “I'm sure Elias just took the tunnels out of the island to avoid the humiliation of losing to a human.”

“So here's hoping he's out there trying to beat me.” I cross my fingers in her face and repeat, “
The
princesses
.”

She traces a finger along my jaw, and all of my parts tingle. She's truly beautiful once you get past the immense bitch part. “Maybe they're wrong about you. Maybe you do have it in you after all.” She saunters back to the girls and whispers to Violet of the purple hair. There's a collective sigh from all of them, and suddenly the air feels lighter. The humming dies down. All around the cafeteria, kids who were kissing, fighting, standing up and shouting, look around as if they've forgotten what they were doing and why.

I nod thanks to Gwen, who gives me her cheek.

“Congratulations on your first political negotiation,” Kurt says as I sit beside him.

“She really gets under my skin,” I say, reaching over to Layla's plate of fries.

She pulls it away and my fingers grab at the air. “Seemed like more than your skin.”

“I don't like my girls with a side of crazy, thank you.” Even though the effect of Gwen is still lingering in my pants. Stupid mermaid princesses.

“I don't get it,” Layla goes. “Why are they here if none of them even look your way?”

“I resent that.” I grab one of her fries while she's not looking.

Thalia taps her finger on her lips, thinking. “The way I see it, the entire courtship is a way to throw the champion off his course. Think about it. You're competing against their brothers and cousins, so why would they want you to win?”

“On the other hand,” Layla says, squinting at me the way she does when she thinks I'm being a creep, “if you were to pick one of them, then she'd no longer be a princess, but a queen. And why do they affect everyone so much more than you guys do?”