Rhea laid out a soggy sleeping bag to dry while Tristan poked at some kindling with a lighter. They’d talked it over and the closed campground was where they would be spending the night. Just long enough to get formally caught up about Maine, the deep cities, her date, and whatever had gone down during family game night with Tristan’s step siblings and as an added bonus, most of what remained of the scheduled “bonding time” with “Ivy League-” a nickname Rhea could agree with for her friend’s most annoying step-brother. Acceptance at Harvard went straight to his head, yet he still hadn’t realized his new little sibling was bisexual. Or that half of the family was now magical.
“Your parents almost wouldn’t let us out,” Tristan remarked, pushing a pile of dried leaves onto a tiny flame just beginning to take.
Rhea smiled for a moment, but the feeling was fleeting. She recounted her experiences before finding herself in another state. Every turn, every sight, every guess of her location was important if they were going to piece together a timeline, but it wasn’t much to go on.
“Hector Bay… to Cobble Beach,” he mused, still maintaining their pitiful campfire. A bag of marshmallows they’d picked up en route sat neglected on the ground. “You’re right about it being a simple trip, but there’s some nasty stuff the way you were going.” He’d been smart enough to bring a book of maps to their meeting. After removing it from its several layers of waterproof plastic, he opened to a page with sparse sketches of the region. Few words were scrawled in the space between landmarks- ‘sea meadow,’ ‘weird rocks,’ ‘empty & creepy…’ They confirmed the lapse in judgement it had to take to deliberately navigate it in the dark.
“Where’s the city on that map?” Rhea searched the maps for any indication of the deep mer, but to no avail. Tristan pointed to some sloppy hatch marks made in orange gel pen.
“I mark the deep ones with color. Their location is approximate, and there are almost no accurate maps of the sea floor online.” The hatching came very close to where Rhea had meant to go. She would’ve had to be very far off course not to see anyone.
“The weird rocks…” she asked, pointing to the landmark. “I think they were near the ship.
Tristan squinted at his drawing and bit his lip. “Can’t disprove it, but if there was anything even a little bit like a sunken ship, that would be pretty notable…” He strained his mind, trying to remember what he’d seen when he charted the area. “The rocks… I didn’t go through them all, and it’s possible they cover a wider area than I thought.” He set the book down. “We need to go over the whole place in detail when it’s light out,” he said calmly. “My notes are… meh.”
Rhea was quiet. There was something humbling and unnerving about going so far off map all alone. Perhaps revisiting it in the daytime, not alone, would take some of the fear and confusion away. Picking up on her feelings, Tristan waved a glowing screen in front of her face- his phone.
“You know, I think we can ask someone else about the sharks. Our new mer-friend, the one you can’t control!” The contact page for Hazel was open. She’d forgotten to mention their date that morning.
She brushed the phone away. “How do you know she’s one of us?” It was becoming a strong suspicion, but Rhea would never consider it proof without further investigation.
Tristan grinned slyly. “I just know.” Rhea didn’t believe it- no logic, no certainty. Her doubt showed. “That hurts! If you don’t believe me, I know somebody who’s a little in the loop about the mer community. Old guy, archeologist, we talk when he swings by the museum-” he stared at something on his phone screen. “He says almost anyone whose family has been local long enough has a little mer in them. Thinks she’s seen stuff too deep down to not transform.” Rhea couldn’t think of a delicate way to explain the conversation they’d been having over ice cream. “I showed him a few of her texts about the A-sub, sea floor geography…” Rhea couldn’t help but furrow her brows- this was leading directly to a wall. “He thinks she’s really seen them, even though she isn’t old enough to dive like that.”
Rhea put a hand on his shoulder and began to explain their encounter earlier. As the story concluded, his face fell. “Okay, we’re not sure yet…” he admitted. “But I still think we can ask about the ship if it wasn’t in Maine already… And next time,” he slipped into a teasing tone easily, “You might wanna use the boobs.”
She dug her nails into his arm shoved him. “Too soon!”
He laughed. “It worked on that straight girl!”
The ‘straight girl’ was a sore spot, even after it was over, but that was something she still hadn’t gotten him to fully understand. The fact that she’d picked her up after a wardrobe malfunction was more humiliating than funny. “Let’s not joke about Desiree. She’s a bitch.”
“Alright…” He was still snickering, but he quickly changed the topic. Scrabble with his stepsiblings, Darleen being oblivious, an invitation to do karaoke with a bunch of people who worked at Marina Splash- all better topics than backstabbing exes.
When the fire burned out and a few, dim stars became visible in the sky they prepared to sleep. Their efforts were interrupted by a shrill laugh from elsewhere in the woods. Ape-like grunting and cracking noises put them on guard while the laughter climbed octaves. “So funny…” Nasal voice. Dishonest tone. It couldn’t be…
Tristan was quick to find and turn on a flashlight. Rhea fumbled a bit before clicking on a weak, sputtering beam. The sound of bark being ripped from a tree interrupted the laughter. There were a few cracks, like breaking branches. They exchanged confused glances. It continued.
A short, fat, emo boy approached their campsite with a glazed over expression on his face. He didn’t look away or blink when hit with a beam from a flashlight. Behind him, a silhouette with a chameleon-like quality followed, continuing to laugh wildly. Was it Desiree? Or a false alarm? Lynn? Amy? Stella? They were a small handful of classmates who looked about the same except the details of their faces, details that eluded Rhea’s dying flashlight.
“Hey… What’s up?” Tristan used a slightly enticing tone. His track record for successfully manipulating people was poor, but he could shatter the trance from a song whether it was his or someone else’s in a heartbeat. “Unless you need something, can you let us sleep?” There was a massive shift from song to normal speech to general command by the end of the sentence. Both figures froze.
“Oh, my bad- didn’t know other people came out here!” The boy turned away. His escort stepped forward to block his exit.
“And why are you doing what he says? That was rude! You can ask him his name, at least.” There was no more mistake. It was Desiree. “We didn’t come out here to be quiet!” Her composure was too far gone for her to even try to charm him. It was all a human appeal.
Rhea’s flashlight flickered out. In the dark with a demon, or maybe the devil himself.
“Uh, cookie, we don’t own the woods- if they’re already here, we should try to get along-” There was a whine as Desiree, now in almost complete shadow behind her companion, stomped her feet and crossed her arm.
“People don’t come here to sleep! They’re just drug-dealing hobos. If you keep your back turned I bet they’ll mug us!”
Tristan cleared his throat. “DZ, why so sketchy?” DZ was Desiree’s nickname. Some temporary friends were its inventors. “If anyone wanted your drama, we would’ve invited you.”
The boy took on a defensive posture, realizing nothing good was about to happen, and ran away. That left all the remaining light to be cast on Desiree’s face. Bitter, disheveled, and menacing were the words that came to mind as Rhea looked over the dull, green eyes, straightened hair, and whitened teeth gritted in their general direction.
“How did you even get here?” She yelled in frustration. “Is there like, a secret trail somewhere? A cave I don’t know about?”
Rhea put her light down. “Go home.” It wasn’t a request, but an order. A magical order. As Desiree turned to leave, a sparkly object fell from her pocket into a pile of leaves.
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