Read Legacy Lost Online

Authors: Anna Banks

Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Fantasy & Magic, #Love & Romance, #Mermaids, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Collections & Anthologies

Legacy Lost (6 page)

“Uh, we didn’t get your name. Did you get his name, Emma?” she asks, as if on cue.

“I tried, Chloe. But he wouldn’t tell me, so I tackled him,” I say, rolling my eyes.

The guy smirks. This almost-smile hints at how breathtaking a real one would be. The tingling flares up again, and I rub my arms.

“Hey, Galen, are you ready to—” We all turn to a petite black-haired girl as she touches his shoulder. She stops mid-sentence when she sees me. Even if these two didn’t share the same short dark hair, the same violet eyes, and the same flawless olive skin, I’d know they were related because of their most dominant feature—their habit of staring.

“I’m Chloe. This is my friend Emma, who apparently just head-butted your boyfriend Galen. We were in the middle of apologizing.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and count to ten-Mississippi, but fifty-Mississippi seems more appropriate. Fifty allows more time to fantasize about ripping one of Chloe’s new weaves out.

“Emma, what’s wrong? Your nose isn’t bleeding, is it?” she chirps, enjoying herself.

Tingles gather at my chin as Galen lifts it with the crook of his finger. “Is your nose bleeding? Let me see,” he says. He tilts my head side to side, leans closer to get a good look.

And I meet my threshold for embarrassment. Tripping is bad enough. Tripping into
is much worse. But if that someone has a body that could make sculpted statues jealous—and thinks you’ve broken your nose on one of his pecs—well, that’s when tripping runs a distant second to humane euthanasia.

He is clearly surprised when I swat his hand and step away. His girlfriend/relative seems taken aback that I mimic his stance—crossed arms and deep frown. I doubt she has ever met her threshold for embarrassment.

“I said I was fine. No blood, no foul.”

“This is my sister Rayna,” he says, as if the conversation steered naturally in that direction. She smiles at me as if forced at knifepoint, the kind of smile that comes purely from manners, like the smile you give your grandmother when she gives you the rotten-cabbage-colored sweater she’s been knitting. I think of that sweater now as I return her smile.

Galen eyes the surfboard abandoned against the wood railing. “The waves here aren’t really good for surfing.”

Galen’s gift is not small talk. Just like his sister, there’s a forced feel to his manners. But unlike his sister, there’s no underlying hostility, just an awkwardness, like he’s out of practice. Since he appears to be making this effort on my behalf, I cooperate. I make a show of looking at the emerald crests of the Gulf of Mexico, at the waves sloshing lazily against the shore. A man waist-deep in the water holds a toddler on his hip and jumps with the swells as they peak. Compared to the waves back home, the tide here reminds me of kiddie rides at the fair.

“We know. We’re just taking it out to float,” Chloe says, unconcerned that Galen was talking to me. “We’re from Jersey, so we know what a real wave looks like.” When she steps closer, Rayna steps back. “Hey, that’s weird,” Chloe says. “You both have the same color eyes as Emma. I’ve never seen that before. I always thought it was because she’s freakishly pasty. Ow! That’s gonna leave a mark, Emma,” she says, rubbing her freshly pinched biceps.

“Good, I hope it does,” I snap. I want to ask them about their eyes—the color seems prettier set against the olive tone of Galen’s skin—but Chloe has bludgeoned my chances of recovering from embarrassment. I’ll have to be satisfied that my dad—and Google—were wrong all this time; my eye color just can’t be that rare. Sure, my dad practiced medicine until the day he died two years ago. And sure, Google never let me down before. But who am I to argue with living, breathing proof that this eye color actually does exist? Nobody, that’s who. Which is convenient, since I don’t want to talk anymore. Don’t want to force Galen into any more awkward conversations. Don’t want to give Chloe any more opportunities to deepen the heat of my burning cheeks. I just want this moment of my life to be over.

I push past Chloe and snatch up the surfboard. To her good credit, she presses herself against the rail as I pass her again. I stop in front of Galen and his sister. “It was nice to meet you both. Sorry I ran into you. Let’s go, Chloe.”

Galen looks like he wants to say something, but I turn away. He’s been a good sport, but I’m not interested in discussing swimmer safety—or being introduced to any more of his hostile relatives. Nothing he can say will change the fact that DNA from my cheek is smeared on his chest.

Trying not to actually march, I thrust past them and make my way down the stairs leading to the pristine white sand. I hear Chloe closing the distance behind me, giggling. And I decide on sunflowers for her funeral.




THE SIBLINGS lean on their elbows against the rail, watching the girls they just met peel the T-shirts off their bikinis and wade into the water with the surfboard floating between them.

“She’s probably just wearing contacts,” Rayna says. “They make contacts in that color, you know.”

He shakes his head. “She’s not wearing contacts. You saw her just as plain as you’re seeing me. She’s one of us.”

“You’re losing it. She can’t be one of us. Look at her hair. You can’t even call that blonde. It’s almost

Galen frowns. The hair color had thrown him off too—before he had touched her. The simple contact of grasping her arm when she fell dispensed any doubts. The Syrena are always attracted to their own kind—which helps them find each other across miles and miles of ocean. Usually that attraction is limited to water transmission, where they can sense the presence of one of their own. He’s never heard of it occurring on land before—and never felt it so strongly, period—but he knows what he felt. He wouldn’t—
react that way to a human. Especially given how much he despises them.

“I know it’s unusual—”

“Unusual? It’s impossible, Galen! Our genes don’t come with the ‘blonde’ option.”

“Stop being dramatic. She
one of us. You can see how bad she is at being human. I thought she was going to brain herself on the rail.”

“Okay, let’s say by some off chance she figured out how to bleach thousands of years of genetics out of her hair. Now explain why she’s hanging out—no,
—with humans. She’s breaking the law right in front of our faces, splashing around in the water with her obnoxious human friend. Why is that, Galen?”

He shrugs. “Maybe she doesn’t know who we are.”

“What do you mean? Everyone knows who we are!”

“Obviously not. We’ve never met her before, remember?”

She snorts. “Are you dehydrated? She can see our mark. It’s not like we were hiding it.”

“Maybe she thinks it’s a tattoo,” he offers.

“A what?”

“Look around, Rayna. See the markings on that human girl’s ankle?” He points toward a man walking up the stairs. “See that male? He’s got markings—humans call them tattoos—all over him. Maybe she thought—”

Rayna holds up her hand. “Stop. She’d recognize the trident.
she was one of us.”

Galen nods. She’s right. A Syrena knows a Royal by the small blue trident on their stomach—and dressed for the human beach, it’s visible on both of them right now. So, she has blonde—white—hair, and didn’t recognize them as Royals. But he knows what he felt. And she does have the eyes….

Rayna groans. “Oh, no.”


“You’re making that face.”

“What face?”

“The face you make when you think you’re right.”

“Am I?” He watches Emma straddling the surfboard, splashing waves of saltwater in her friend’s face without mercy. He grins.

“We’re not going home, are we?” Rayna says, propping herself against the rail.

“Dr. Milligan doesn’t call for just anything. If he thinks it’s of interest, then it probably is. You can leave if you want, but I’m looking into it.” Dr. Milligan is one of the only humans Galen trusts. If the doctor were going to tell anyone about the Syrena’s existence, he would have done it the day Galen had saved his life all those years ago. Instead, Dr. Milligan returned the favor by denying he’d ever seen Galen—even when his scuba companions called the press. Since then, they had built a friendship by sharing sushi, afternoon swims, and most importantly, information. Dr. Milligan is a well-connected and highly respected oceanographer and the director of the Gulfarium here on the coast, in a prime position to monitor the activities of his professional colleagues.

When Galen received Dr. Milligan’s urgent voice mail yesterday about a blonde Syrena visiting the Gulfarium in human form, he swam the gulf in a day. If Dr. Milligan is right about Emma’s abilities, he’s found more than just a rule-breaking Syrena. The good doctor might have found the key to uniting two kingdoms.

But since Rayna’s specialty is not discretion—she would even tell on
when she was younger—Galen knows he must keep this secret from her. Besides, he’s not sure he believes it himself. Even if he
believe it, if he
confirm it, would Emma do what she must? And where has she been? And why? Everything about Emma is a mystery. Her name doesn’t originate with the Syrena—or her hair or skin. And the way her lips turned red when she blushed almost knocked the breath out of him.

“What?” his sister asks.

“Nothing.” He wrenches his gaze from Emma.
Now she’s got me muttering my thoughts out loud.

“I told you, you’re losing it.” Rayna makes a phlegmy gagging sound and wrings her hands around her neck. “This is what Father will do to me if I come home without you again. What should I say when he asks where you are? When he asks why you’re so obsessed with humans? ‘But Father, this one is a pretty blonde with nice contacts’?”

Galen scowls. “He’s going to regret not taking an interest in them. At least Grom’s reasonable about it. It’s only a matter of time before they discover us and—”

“I know, I know,” she drawls. “I know how you hate humans. Sheesh, I was just kidding. That’s why I follow you around, you know. In case you need help.”

Galen runs a hand through his hair and leans back over the railing. His twin sister does follow him around like a sucker fish, but being helpful has nothing to do with it. “Oh, are you sure it doesn’t have anything to do with settling down with—”

“Don’t even say it.”

“Well, what am I supposed to think? Ever since Toraf asked Father for you—”

“Toraf is foolish!”

Toraf has been their best friend since birth—that is, until he recently made his intentions toward Rayna clear. At least he had the good sense to hide out and wait for her death threats to subside. But now she gives him something worse than threats—complete indifference. No amount of pleading or coaxing from Toraf has thawed her. But since she turned twenty this spring—two years past the normal age of mating—Father couldn’t find a good reason not to agree to the match. Toraf is a good candidate, and the decision is made, whether Rayna chooses to ignore it or not.

“I’m starting to think you’re right. Who would want to attach himself to a wild animal?” Galen says, grinning.

“I’m not a wild animal! You’re the one who isolates yourself from everyone, choosing the company of humans over your own kind.”

“It’s my responsibility.”

“Because you asked for it!”

This is true. Galen, stealing an old human saying about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer, asked his older brother, Grom, for permission to serve as an ambassador of sorts to the humans. Grom, being the next in line for kingship, agreed with the need to be cautious about the land dwellers. He granted Galen exclusive immunity to the law prohibiting interaction with humans, recognizing that some communication would be necessary and for the greater good. “Because no one else would. Someone has to watch them. Are we really having this conversation again?” Galen says.

“You started it.”

“I don’t have time for this. Are you staying or going?”

She crosses her arms, juts out her bottom lip. “Well, what are you planning to do? I say we arrest her.”


“You know what I mean.”

He shrugs. “I guess we’ll follow her for a while. Watch her.”

Rayna starts to say something but gasps instead. “Maybe we won’t have to,” she whispers, eyes big as sand dollars.

He follows her line of sight to the water, to a dark shadow pacing beneath the waves where the girls share the surfboard. He curses under his breath.


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