Waterborn (The Emerald Series Book 1)

F
or Kathy
, because you loved it from the beginning.

I
needed a push
.

I stared at the house through a paint-tray sampling of bug guts splattered across the windshield. One particularly large sucker had met its doom at eye level somewhere near the Alabama/Florida line. I forced my gaze past the fluorescent carnage and a budding pressure squeezed my heart.

It's just a house, Caris. A cute beach cottage with palm trees and wicker chairs on the porch. A sign hung beside the front door, the words "Life's a Beach" painted in sunshine yellow across a beach umbrella.

After fourteen hours of driving, you'd think we'd be anxious to escape the confines of the car. My legs and butt screamed at me to get out, but I burrowed deeper into the leather seat. My dad gripped the steering wheel tightly and I wondered if, like me, he was thinking about my mother. How could he not be? Seventeen years ago I had been born in this small coastal community. My mother had died here. Days later my dad had gathered me up and taken me away from this place, and we hadn't been back since.

Not until today.

I wasn't sure what had prompted him to finally bring me here. We'd never spent spring break here like so many of my friends. Or summer vacation, though I'd done my share of begging. My dad had always been ready with a list of excuses not to. Some of them believable, some not.

"Caris." My dad released his death grip from the steering wheel, hands held in a gesture of surrender, as though instead of a house, we faced a firing squad. He reached across the seat and wrapped my fingers in his cool, clammy hand. Then he looked at me with that same sad, apologetic expression that had plagued his face for the last few days.

"Don't look at me like that. This was your idea."

And it had sounded like a good idea at the time. But as soon as we'd crested the top of the Mid-Bay Bridge coming over the Choctawhatchee Bay, something had stirred in my gut. The feeling had stayed with me. I could already hear it, the echo of some forgotten dream. With the doors of the car still shut, the sound of the surf rolled in my ears like the low rumble of thunder. Confused, I listened while it spoke to me in a language I felt I should know.

"I know. And it was the right idea. You're going to like it here."

I hoped he was right. I needed him to be right.

"Then let's do this," I said with forced enthusiasm. We reached for our door handles at the same time.

I smelled the beach immediately, an eerily familiar smell that hung richly in the warm breeze. It caressed my face in welcome, like a light kiss on both cheeks. A lizard skittered under my feet, speckled gray with a line of horns running down its back. I stifled a squeal and watched warily as it scurried off into the underbrush.

My dad reached the front porch and dug in his pocket for the keys to the door. He had surprised me two months ago with the announcement that we were going to spend the summer on the Emerald Coast. Then he surprised me further when he admitted he still owned a house on the beach. It needed some renovations, which he'd already set into motion so that by the time school was out, the house would be ready.

He gestured for me to go first, but I waved him on. The house smelled like lemon cleaner, fresh paint, and new furniture. Treading over the hardwood floor through the foyer and into the great room was like walking into a happy place.

"Wow." My hand ran over a circular leather sofa. Two smoky blue chairs sat comfortably on either side, the only real color in the room. The focal point was definitely the windows and what lay beyond the glass, framed like a picture in an art gallery, only this one was in 3-D—uneven white sand dunes, waist-high grass bowing in the slight breeze, emerald-green water as far as the eye could see. The sight elicited a thrilling sensation that made my heart beat faster and my palms sweat.

"You want to walk down?" My dad's hand rested lightly across my shoulder.

Was that hesitation I heard in his voice, as if he was afraid I would say yes? Apprehension weighed me down as though the fifty-yard walk from our house to the beach would change my life forever.

I expected the sand to feel gritty, not soft and warm like my favorite blanket fresh from the dryer. The breeze wrapped around me, creating the oddest sensation. If a place could hug, that's what this felt like—comforting and welcoming. My ears filled with the soft lap of the waves as they licked the shore.

We stopped well before reaching the water, staring in silent awe. A gull hovered overhead and spiraled down, landing a few yards away. I eyed him and took a step closer to my dad.

He chuckled under his breath. "He won't bite."

I wasn't convinced. The only thing that rivaled my fear of the water was my fear of birds. A fear I at least understood. Being attacked by a flock of peacocks at three years old tended to leave scars. But my fear of water was another matter. And really, fear wasn't the right word. Maybe it was more of an obsession born from wanting what I knew I couldn't have. Born from dreams that had plagued me since I was thirteen. Dreams where I was at home in the water. Dreams where it wanted me. Dreams that sometimes felt more real than reality. I hadn't shared my dreams with my dad. I hadn’t wanted to add to the list of craziness that seemed to define my life.

The Gulf of Mexico stretched in front of me, almost mocking in its power as white-capped waves rolled over each other, the crash of each one filling my ears until I was nearly deaf from the sound. My dad stiffened beside me and his fingers tightened on my hand. I tried to take a deep breath, but it was as if we were both waiting for something to happen, as though something should happen.

Finally, when nothing did, the tension eased out of him and he dropped my hand. I shivered despite the heat of the sun. I couldn't help think of my mother and what being here again meant for my dad. As far as I knew, he had never had any kind of long-lasting relationship with another woman. And while I had always found his dedication to her romantic, it was also tragic. It made me feel sorry for him.

"Is it hard being here?" I broke our momentary silence, shielding my eyes from the sun so I could see his face. Lines of tension still bracketed his eyes and mouth.

I thought maybe he wouldn’t answer, or maybe he had decided to just ignore the question, when his chin dropped and he looked at me with a forced, half-hearted smile.

"Not as hard as I thought. I have good memories of this place."

He had bad ones too. Not that he talked about them much.

"We should start unloading," he said, and I got the feeling he was trying to keep my questions at bay. Questions that churned in my head one after the other in time with the waves washing up on shore.

"You go ahead. I'm going to stay a few more minutes."

The caress of the wind held me in place, the sand cementing my feet. I don't think I could have left had I wanted to.

"Don't get too close." He cast me a warning glance then his gaze drifted to the water as he slowly scanned the horizon.

"I know, Dad. I won't."

As if the warning was necessary. Being close enough that I could feel a light mist blowing off the waves hadn’t magically erased my fear of the water, not like I’d hoped it would.

My dad opened his mouth to say something else then stopped himself. It was obvious by the way he studied my face that something was on his mind.

"What?"

"Nothing." He lifted his hand to the back of my head and drew me in, placing a kiss on my forehead. "Just be careful."

I watched him plod through the sand, knowing as he did, he felt the weight of this place and the burden of memories, both good and bad. And I hated that, for whatever reason, he wouldn't share them with me.

Since I didn't dare go near the water, I sat, mesmerized by the turn of each wave, relishing the whir of the wind as it played through my hair. My eyes searched the horizon where water met sky. Lazy clouds drifted around the sun as it glittered over the surface of the water. The Gulf reminded me of the paint card the decorator had sent that displayed every shade of green. I could almost convince myself there was nothing to be afraid of, that here in the place of my birth it would be different. It had to be different. I was counting on it being different because I was tired of pretending like I was normal.

Isn't that what my dreams were telling me? That in this place I could be normal?

The waves taunted me, each one rising closer to where I sat. Because I had to know, I dared to get up and meet them as they came. Warm water splashed over my feet, prompting step after step until it covered my ankles. It was pleasant at first, and I closed my eyes against the sensation of the water rushing over my skin, even if it only covered my feet and ankles. As soon as I felt myself relax, the water came alive, grabbing at me with greedy fingers. The sudden weight in my legs dragged at me, threatening to pull me over. I stumbled back onto the sand and then crawled away in a frantic mimic of a crab. I deflated on a surge of disappointment, far enough away from the water where it couldn't touch me.

It wouldn't be better here. It would be worse.

I lay back on the sand and closed my eyes. The melody stirred from some inspired place in my soul, my response instinctive. I drowned myself in the noise in my head, a song of my own making.

M
y name meant
nothing to the tribe. I could almost forget who I was with the Deep surrounding me in her nurturing embrace. We scavenged for food in the wake of a fishing boat, the faint drone of the propellers an unwelcome reminder of life above the surface.

I preferred the Deep—a muted world where everything was cast in blue-green and was heard and seen through echoes. I could stay here. It would be the easy way. I blocked out the voice that insisted it would be the coward's way. Every day it was easier to banish the thoughts of what had driven me to the Deep in the first place: an impossible search for my brother.

No official report had been filed. No explanation had been given because there was nothing official about Marshall's plan to turn my brother into some kind of hero. Marshall had simply sent him on an "errand," and Jamie simply hadn't come back. A couple of the bad guys’ bodies had been recovered. Both of them had drowned. Our kind didn't just drown, and MIA was a classification I’d refused to accept. So Marshall had pointed me in the general direction and I had searched. But months of searching had yielded nothing, not one sign my brother was still alive.

Now I only searched for food, attaching myself to one tribe or another, scouring the Deep because life was simple here. I almost convinced myself I believed this, but for the last hour, something kept echoing through my head. I thought it was just the propellers from the boat, or maybe it was coming from one of the dolphins. I filtered through those sounds and still it persisted, growing louder, and demanding my attention. I slowed to a near hover, letting the tribe swim ahead and the boat fade into the distance. But it was still there.

Louder.

I stopped completely, suspended in uncertainty. The dolphins had become mere shadows in the murk, fading in the distance until I could no longer see them with my eyes. I waited until even their chatter was gone. But the sound persisted, pleasant and compelling. A siren’s call. With a thundering heart, I realized what it meant.

It was coming from shore, the one place I didn't want to go.

I swam in circles of indecision and dove for the sandy bottom where a school of stingrays fluttered through clouds of floating sand. I was a fast swimmer, faster than most. I could catch up with the tribe if I wanted to, but the call held me in a watery web. I floated on a current of denial.

No, not now. Not yet.

I fought it, heart thudding in my chest, jaw clamped against a silent protest. My muscles twitched, and with a shot of anger, I surged toward shore. I told myself it was anger spurring me toward her—that it wasn't need or a loss of control.

I rode in on the surf, a shadow under the foamy white caps. I gasped when my head emerged above the surface. Air burned my lungs as my legs carried my weight across the sand for the first time in too many weeks to count. It was odd at first, and I stumbled over the sand's unevenness. I breathed in the warm salty air, filling my lungs. I paused long enough to find the sun, the heat foreign on my back. It fell in the western sky, a fiery ball setting the sky ablaze.

I’d missed the sun.

My eyes scanned the shore dotted with landers enjoying the sunset. Sugary sand spread in both directions. At least I was miles from the overcrowded developments of high-rises and hotels. This stretch of beach was mostly private homes of rich landers. My own house was less than half a mile away by water. The thought brought with it a quickly suppressed wave of guilt. I wouldn't have been here at all except for the sound. And not just any sound.

A Song.

Her Song.

She was lying on the beach with a gray sweatshirt bunched beneath her head, and I thought there had to be some kind of mistake. This girl wasn't a breather. Her skin was too pale and chalky, and her hair—the same color of the sea oats bowing in the breeze over the dunes—barely reached her chin. Who the hell was she? Where had she come from? There weren't that many of us that we didn't all know each other, and I had never seen this girl before. I crouched beside her for a better look.

How long had it been? Weeks? Months? Time was lost in the Deep. I couldn't remember the last time I’d spoken to another breather, much less a human—the last time I’d touched one. And I was compelled to touch. My knuckles turned white as I gripped my knees in an effort to not reach out to her. Just another reason to hate her. And I would hate her. Then maybe this incessant ringing in my ears would stop and I could go back to the Deep.

The breeze coming off the Gulf wrapped around me and the cry of a gull sounded overhead. For the first time in months, contentment stole through my blood. I took one last desperate look at the Gulf. I belonged there, surrounded by the expanse of the Deep. How dare she come to my beach and sing her Song. One thing I knew for certain was I couldn't leave, not while she sang to me.

Her Song was a subconscious call, one that went straight from her brain into mine, a vibration of sound that only I could hear. I didn't want to take the time to consider what it meant. It wasn’t so rare a phenomenon that I hadn't heard of it. Hell, all of us had grown up on stories of generations past with abilities few of us possessed today—genetic throwbacks to the days when such things were necessary for the survival of our species. "Gifts,” they liked to call them. Only this didn't feel like a gift. It felt like a curse. I had known exactly what it was and I had answered her call, and I had known exactly how to find her. And the question I had to ask myself was why her? Followed by an angry, why me?

I didn't know how long I’d been sitting here crouched over her. Long enough that the sky had turned from fiery orange to molten gray. She looked vulnerable, as if a good lick from one wave could knock her down. Before I could stop myself, I leaned over and pressed a kiss to her lips. Not a romantic kiss. My heart felt like ice in my chest, lips rigid and infused with anger. She couldn't control me and damned if I would let her. She didn't have to know. I sure as hell would never tell her that she'd sung her way into my head. I was pretty sure she was unaware of it anyway. Her eyelids fluttered and I had the absurd thought that somehow my kiss had roused her from a deep sleep. Screw that. I was no prince. I probably barely looked human at all.

It was mean and juvenile but I just couldn't stop myself. My brother used to do the same thing to me when we were kids, a stupid prank. But apparently I could do stupid, so I called on them. Because now that I'd felt the sand between my toes and the fading heat from the setting sun on my skin, all the longing was back, and with it, the responsibilities I’d abandoned to go in search of the brother I never found. And it only seemed fair since it was all her fault, this girl with short hair and freckled skin and her compelling Song.

So when the tiny army of crabs assembled, I didn't feel the least bit guilty.