He must be joking. Everything about Emma screams Half-Breed, starting with her pale skin and white hair and ending with the fact that she doesn’t have a fin. A stark contrast in every way to the Syrena.

Galen stands up from the bar stool. Maybe stretching his legs will keep him from satisfying the urge to jump across the counter. Where has all this anger come from? “It’s just two weeks, Grom. Two weeks is all I’m asking for. Antonis is okay with it.” At least, Antonis hasn’t expressed any feelings against their trip. And there I go again, raising my voice. In front of a different audience, Grom would be forced to admonish him.

“Antonis is in agreement because he’s so eager to please Emma, having never known his granddaughter. You’re my brother. I’ve put up with your antics for too many seasons already.”

“What does that have to do with anything? Why can’t you just give me your approval so we can move on?”

“Because I get the feeling you’re going whether or not you obtain my approval. Tell me I’m wrong, Galen.”

Galen shakes his head. “I want your approval.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s all I can give you.” He does want Grom’s approval. Truly he does. But Grom is right—Galen wants to get as far away from here as possible. Even if it means infuriating his older brother. The need to flee is almost overwhelming, and he’s not sure why. The only thing he’s sure of is that he wants Emma with him. Her touch, her voice, her laugh. It’s like a seaweed salve to the gaping wounds inside of him.

Grom sighs, pulling open the refrigerator door. With deliberation he places the half-empty bottle of water next to a container full of green something. “I appreciate your honesty. You’re no longer a fingerling. Emma is of the age of independence by human standards. You both know the difference between right and wrong. Your decisions are yours to make. But I have to wonder, little brother. I have to ask. Are you sure this is what you need? Because two weeks does not change everything. Some things … Some things cannot be undone, Galen. I hope you understand that.”

“Stop making everything about Rachel.” Please.

“Stop making nothing about Rachel. Grieve her, Galen.”

“So I have your approval then?” Galen shoves the bar stool back in place. “Because Emma and I have to pack.”

I wish Emma would come back in.

3

I DON’T deserve the way my grandfather smiles at me. It’s as if I’ve never done one single bad thing in my whole life. It’s as if he thinks I’m capable of anything—except wrongdoing.

Clearly he missed out on a good portion of my childhood. I hope he never finds out that Chloe and I baked chocolate chip cookies for my ninth-grade science teacher—only the chips weren’t chocolate at all, they were laxatives, and we … Well, we got more time to study before a particularly hard exam.

I wonder if Syrena have or even need laxatives. What would they use? That’s something I’ll have to ask Mom. I don’t think I could ask Galen without passing out.

I realize then that I’ve been contemplating laxatives instead of acknowledging Antonis. I don’t know why it surprises me when my grandfather speaks or takes me into his confidence. Maybe it’s because all the stories Galen and Toraf used to tell me painted the Poseidon king as an unsociable recluse. Or maybe it’s because I’m not used to having a grandfather at all, let alone one who wants to talk to me. Or maybe, for the love of God, I should try to swallow the novelty and answer his freaking question.

Only, what was the question? Oh, yeah. If I’m up for an adventure.

“Sure,” I tell him. “If Galen is up to it.”

Grandfather scowls. “I was hoping you had one of those drawings on hand, Emma. The ones humans make of land.”

Drawings humans make of land … “A map?”

The older Syrena scratches at his beard. By now I know him well enough to figure out he’s stalling. Stalling must run in our family. “Yes, yes, that’s it. A map. But before we talk about any map, I trust you’ll keep this between us? Oh, no,” he says quickly. “It’s nothing bad. On the contrary, really. But it’s something that I only want to share with you. The others wouldn’t … appreciate it as much as you will. And you may not appreciate it as much if they were to know.”

I’m still trying to grasp not only the fact that my grandfather knows what a land map is but why he would need to know what it is in the first place. Apparently, “the others” are not aware of this knowledge. And it’s clear he doesn’t want “the others”—including Galen—to know. I’m not sure how I feel about this. But I’m too curious not to promise. Besides, Antonis said it wasn’t bad. Maybe it’s like when grandparents give you cookies and candy when your parents aren’t looking. It’s not bad per se, but your parents certainly wouldn’t approve. That must be all it is. An innocent grandfather-granddaughter secret.

“I can pull up a map on my phone, but I left it on the beach. You’ll have to come ashore with me, and if you come ashore, you’ll need shorts. They’re over there,” I say, pointing in the opposite direction I originally sent him. “Under the driftwood stuck in the sand.”

He nods. Grandfather gives me a quick piggyback ride to the shorts, then lets me loose so he can change to human legs.

When he’s properly covered and sitting next to me in the sand, he gives me a knowing smirk, accentuating the small wrinkles tugging at his eyes. Syrena age well. For hundreds of years old, Grandfather’s smirk is youthfully vibrant. The only telltale sign of his age is some saggy skin on his stomach—and that could just be the angle at which he’s sitting right now. I pull up a map on my phone. “I can search the phone and find Neptune on the map.”