‘‘Which one?’’ I asked as we set off toward them.

‘‘The one who looks like Neptune, of course,’’ she said with an exasperated roll of her eyes.

The two men stopped in front of the third, shaking water from their hair as they set their boards down.

‘‘Brah!’’ the dry man said to one of the two guys. ‘‘That was sick air! Epic, totally epic! It’s just too bad that frickin’ Grom snaked you and knocked your stick. You’d have that tail slide otherwise.’’

‘‘Snakes suck,’’ the taller and blonder of the two surfers agreed. ‘‘It was a perfect barrel, too. The big mama is fully macking some sick grinders. For a couple of groats I’d shove a tin of surf wax up that snake’s . . . whoa, femmes.’’

‘‘Er . . . hello,’’ I said as the taller man noticed us. The other two men turned to look at us. ‘‘I’m sorry, this is completely random, but snakes? In the ocean?’’

All three men looked at me as if I was the crazy one.

‘‘You didn’t actually mean snake snakes, did you?’’ I asked the largest of the men. He had an air of relaxed command that I took to mean he was the head of all the water elementals.

‘‘Dude, a snake is someone who drops in out of turn.’’

‘‘Not epic,’’ the dry man said, shaking his head. ‘‘Totally.’’

‘‘No, of course not,’’ I agreed, not having the slightest clue what they were talking about, but deciding to leave the surfer lingo alone. I turned back to the large man. ‘‘Are you by any chance Neptune?’’

‘‘Name’s Ned when I’m on the circuit, but you two femmes aren’t heavies, are you?’’ the man said, flashing me a very white-toothed smile before his gaze slid over to Cyrene. His eyebrows rose a smidgen. ‘‘Dude! You must be the naiad with the dirty doppel! Tasty! But weren’t you like totally owned last week?’’

‘‘I don’t suppose any of you speaks actual English?’’ I asked.

Cyrene gripped my arm and made a half bow, half curtsy, hissing at me as she did, ‘‘May! You don’t speak to Lord Neptune like that!’’

‘‘Groms,’’ the dry man said with a little shake of his head as he headed out into the surf.

‘‘I meant no disrespect, I assure you,’’ I told Neptune as he hoisted up his board and started up the beach. ‘‘Maybe we’d better start all over. I’m May Northcott, and this is my twin, Cyrene. What exactly is a Grom?’’

‘‘Grommit,’’ Neptune said, setting his board down on a blanket. ‘‘Wallace and Grommit, you know? Groms are noobs, kinda clueless. What are you two beach bunnies doing here? Yo, dude, I’m starving. Go find us some grindage?’’

‘‘On it,’’ the other man said, and headed off to where some food vendors had set up.

Neptune cocked an eyebrow at us, clearly waiting.

‘‘Lord Neptune,’’ Cyrene said, making another of her odd little curtsies. ‘‘My twin and I have come to explain about the recent unpleasantness with my spring. You see, May is a wvyern’s mate, and also, through a very complicated series of circumstances, bound to Magoth, the demon lord.’’

‘‘Totally gnarl,’’ Neptune said, nodding. He leaned a hip up against a wooden table that held the surfboard. ‘‘But nothing to do with your puddle.’’

‘‘I can see why you would think that, but . . .’’ Cyrene shot me a pleading glance.

I took pity on her. ‘‘Cyrene helped me avoid banishment to the Akasha. In the process of doing that, she devoted a great deal of time to my welfare and couldn’t attend to her spring as she wished.’’

‘‘That so?’’ Neptune looked thoughtful as he eyed first me, then Cyrene. ‘‘Brah, word on the street is that you’re shackled to a dragon, and that’s why your puddle got barreled.’’

‘‘Er . . .’’ Cyrene looked as confused as I felt.

I picked out the words that made sense and drew a few conclusions. ‘‘Because of my involvement with the dragons, Cyrene has been drawn into their society as well. But I can assure you that she takes her position very seriously and is totally devoted to the welfare of her spring. If you could see your way clear to reinstating her as a naiad, I’m sure you would have no reason to regret it.’’

‘‘No reason,’’ Cyrene said hastily. ‘‘No reason at all! I’m so into my spring!’’

Neptune pursed his lips and unzipped his wet suit to scratch a spot on his chest while he thought it over. Cyrene clutched my hand in a grip that was almost painful.

‘‘Sorry, brah, can’t do it,’’ he said finally. ‘‘I hate to bowl you, but there’s rules, you know?’’

Cyrene’s lower lip quivered as she turned large, liquid blue eyes on me. ‘‘May, please,’’ she whispered.

My heart broke for her. Oh, Cyrene was no end of trouble, but she was my twin, and I knew how much being a naiad meant to her. ‘‘What would it take for her to prove to you that she is worthy of the position?’’

Neptune grabbed a couple of cloths and started wiping down his board. ‘‘Gonna take some work, dude. Lots of work.’’

‘‘Wait a minute. What sort of work?’’ Cyrene asked in a suspicious tone.

I pinched her and said, ‘‘She’s not afraid of work and is fully ready to prove herself to you. What exactly does she need to do?’’

Neptune grabbed a can of surfboard wax. ‘‘You took from the big mama. That’s not cool, not cool at all. You gotta give the big mama back her own, and then we’ll see.’’

I toyed briefly with the idea of asking for a translation but figured we’d just end up with more snakes and Grommits, and decided the less time Cyrene had to put her foot in it, the better. ‘‘We’ll do that. Thank you. And . . . er . . . break a leg, or whatever it is you do out there.’’

The sound of his laughter trailed after us as I hauled Cyrene down the beach. She was prone to argue with me, but I had neither the patience nor the time to tolerate it. That didn’t stop her, however, from unloading her opinion of both Neptune and my high-handed (as she called it) treatment on the way back to Faro.