“Give my best to the king.”

“We shall.”

I give him one final wave. The human boy stands waiting with his

boots dug into the sand. He holds the cardboard box at his side.

“What’s in the box?”

“A gift to the Sea King from the Thorne Hill Betwixt Alliance.”

Kurt doesn’t seem too pleased with whatever that is. “You know

they’ll give it to the elders before they give it to the king.”

The guy pretends to ignore Kurt and holds out a hand to me. “Marty

McKay.” He looks at Layla. “First time on the ship, I take it?”

She nods, a sheer layer of sweat makes her glisten in the sun.

“Aren’t you boiling? It’s like a million degrees.”

Marty smiles. “I keep cool. You’re in for a treat. You know, if

the king doesn’t get all off-with-your-heady.” He traces his index

finger across with his neck.

“Don’t listen to him,” Thalia interjects. “Our court is more

civilized than whatever happens on land.”

“Tell that to the guy stuck to the ship with electric tape.”

Kurt points a finger at Marty. “I don’t know who you are. I assume

you’re part of the peace treaty, but I will not have you besmirch the

king on our own land.”

“Whoa, easy. I kid. I joke. I make funnies.”

He seems harmless enough. He has a good handshake, and as weird as

this sounds, he smells clean-like clear water.

“Sheesh. Mermen. Feisty as hell.”

“Hey!” I resent that.

Layla shakes her head, and her hair is wild around her shoulders,

like whatever is going on in her head is spreading like wildfire.

“Mermen?”

“Ta-da!” Marty puts the box on the sand and stretches his hands

toward me. Jazz hands.

She laughs. “Get the-”

“-mother-flower out of here?” He picks the box up again. “I most

definitely will not. Baby cakes, we’re on an island that is quite

literally stealing the sunshine out of our world with that misty

curtain over yonder. The tsunami wave last week, the disappearances on

the beach, the funny things you think you see from the corners of your

eyes when you’re out shopping for underwear?” He raises his eyebrows

at her, and I’m about to take back my approval rating. “All of it is

because the all-powerful, ancient-as-hell Sea King is having a

fantastic feast in honor of his grandson.” He stretches only one hand

at me. Jazz hand.

Layla looks at Kurt and Thalia, then back to Marty. She stares at

the white sand and the water stretching across the sand to wrap around

her ankles before retreating back into the ocean. Her eyes fall on

Arion’s ship. She looks up at me with those golden doe eyes.

Everything I’ve been keeping from her, from the moment I sprouted a

tail, boils down to Marty McKay and his jazz hands. Finally she says,

“I’m not speaking to you.”

She doesn’t have to whip her hair at me as she gives me her back.

The wind does that for her. She grabs Marty’s hand, and they walk

toward the inside of the island.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” Kurt calls after them.

Marty turns around, way too happy for a human on a deserted island

full of supernatural creatures. But, hey, he seems like he’s used to

it. “Follow the yellow brick road, right?”

“He’s funny,” Thalia says. “I hope the guards don’t kill him.”

“If they don’t,” I go, “I think I will.” It feels nice making

empty threats. As king, I may not get that luxury.

The moment I turn away from the stormy horizon is the moment that

this is for real. Arion’s ship is a diminishing speck getting closer

to the wall that hides the Coney Island shore-the pier where I put my

hand under Catherine Valdorama’s bikini top when we were thirteen. The

pretty nurse who gave me my tetanus shot when I cut my arm on a broken

beer bottle after diving for a volleyball spike. All of that seems

like it happened to a different person.

Thalia tugs on the strap of my backpack, because I keep stopping

to stare-at the violet flowers that bloom like stars and the sparkling

white sand. I grab a handful of it and let it slip through my fingers.

Tall, slender trees form a path into the island. Their leaves are

a raw green. I pull on one and rub the leafy skin between my fingers.

There’s a thin layer of water on them, and when I let it go, the other

leaves spray me with a thin mist.

Thalia sings a wordless melody, and soon enough we all march to

her rhythm as though she’s our pied piper.

The trail leads us to the mouth of a river. There’s an archway

with pillars that would better fit an ancient Greek temple. But

perhaps this is their temple, their church on the sea. I remember

asking my mom why we didn’t go to church like Layla and her parents,

and she’d say, “Because we have this,” lying out on the Coney Island

sand with her toes tucked under the surf.

Little things like that make more sense now.

The pillars themselves are majestic: each has a long trident

mounted on the front, like the tattoo that decorates my spine. I can

feel the magic pulsing through my being, the ink mingling in my blood

somehow.

Sea lions are sunbathing on stones the color of their skins, so

they blend into each other. They raise their heads, and when they see

us, their bodies shimmer and they become slender girls who dive right

into the river. They bop in and out of the water, joined by young

mermaids and iridescent fish and some things I don’t even have names

for. They simply follow us with their chimed laughter.

The ground beneath us glitters. The river ends in a waterfall that

falls like silk against the boulders. Somewhere inside me, this place

seems familiar, like something out of a dream that I can’t remember.

Layla and Marty have stopped here to wait for us. “I guess this is

where the yellow brick road ends.”

“At least we don’t have to cross a field of opiatic poppies.”

Marty laughs curtly, then adds nervously, “Right?”

“Is there a shortcut?” Layla shields the sun from her eyes as she

looks up to the top of the waterfall. The wall keeps going up even

past the source of the water.

“Court is behind this wall,” Kurt answers stiffly. “Just-stop

asking so many questions.”

She’s about to argue, but she catches my eye, and I give her my

most pleading look to let it go.

“The other way is through the tunnels underwater,” Thalia adds.

“But those are not for foot-fins. The only way is up.”

Marty looks to Layla and mouths, Foot-fins? She shakes her head

and shrugs.

I place a hand on the rough rock wall. Carved steps in the rock

slope up to the top, as though whoever was sculpting the stairs wanted

to keep them hidden. From this angle, it looks like they lead right up

to the sun.

“At least you know there’s only one way up or down.” Marty

swallows hard, tapping his fingers nervously on his box.

“I’ll lead the way,” Kurt grumbles.

“You okay?” I whisper to him.

He holds on to a root protruding from the earth and uses it to

pull himself up, three steps at a time. His violet eyes glance at

Layla, who looks as at home behind me as she does on the rock-climbing

wall at the Y. “I have a lot of explaining to do,” Kurt says.

“She’s not your responsibility,” I go. “She’s mine.”

“Still, I should know better.”

I think if I pat him on the back sympathetically, he’ll push me

right back down the steps. I wonder what it feels like to always be so

wound up. If Kurt is this way and he’s doing all he can, what am I

going to do with an entire civilization on my shoulders? For an

ancient being, my grandfather sure has a lot riding on a teenage