“Doe,” I sigh.
“I thought maybe Brody had sent me a message,” she argues. Her voice is tight, and I get the feeling she’s on the verge of tears.
But I know better than to show her sympathy. If there is one thing Doe cannot stand, it’s embarrassment. She tends to process the emotion poorly and turn it against others, in the most cool and calculating ways possible.
“We understand, dear,” Aunt Rachel says, way more accepting than me, as always. “It wil take you a while to adjust to life on land.”
“Life on land? There is no life on land,” Doe shouts, and we al jerk back at her sudden outburst. Her reactions are usual y far more control ed, far more cutting than explosive.
“I don’t want to adjust, I don’t want to be on land. I hate being stuck here.”
I’m stunned into shock.
Not by her statement, because I know how she feels about land. But Doe is almost always in control, never betrays any true emotions or feelings stronger than mild annoyance. No one has ever gotten this kind of raw reaction from her, not even when Kitt and Nevis cut off al her hair when she was eleven.
Maybe it’s her land temper. Most merfolk spend at least some time on land, and that teaches them how to control their runaway emotions to some degree. Since her parents died, Doe hasn’t set foot on land for more than a few minutes at a time—and then only to get to the next body of water. When she visited me and Quince on Isla Amorata for our couples-counseling chal enge, I was shocked that she stayed on the island for a couple of hours.
Her hormones must be going crazy after a whole week.
Her eyes are wide and a little wild. I’ve never her seen her quite so out of control. I have a bad feeling that things are about to go very wrong.
“I just want to go home,” she screams. “I don’t want to be surrounded by you horrible humans anymore.”
“Horrible humans?” Brody breaks the silence. “Is that what you real y think?”
To her credit, Doe only blinks once before answering. The control is back in place. Everything about her—her voice, her demeanor, her eyes—is icy cold as she says, “Yes.” She takes a deep breath, and her chest is shaking. “I hate al humans. They’re vile, selfish, dangerous creatures who don’t deserve to live when my parents are dead.” She looks Brody right in the eyes as she says, “I wish Uncle Whelk hadn’t stopped me.”
After Brody’s beachfront confession, this must feel like a swordfish to the heart. I tried to tel him what Doe is real y like, but I can’t take any joy in this particular I-told-you-so.
The tension between Doe and Brody chil s the room. If Doe had her powers, I’d think she’d chil ed the moisture in the air. In this case, though, her frigid emotion is enough to do the job.
I think Aunt Rachel, Quince, and I al sense that this does not involve us, because we al remain frozen and silent.
I knew Doe hated humans—no one who grew up with her could know otherwise—but not like this. Not enough to wish them harm. That bad feeling I had earlier? Wel , it’s back, times a thousand. Because if Doe has this kind of pure hatred inside her, I can only imagine that it has something to do with her exile. Something very, very bad.
In the end, it’s Brody who poses the question we’ve probably al been thinking. It’s Brody who counters her emotion with flat, emotionless words.
“Why did you get exiled?” he asks cool y. “What did the king stop you from doing?”
Doe is like a statue. Arms rigidly at her sides, breathing shal ow, back stiff. The only sign that she is alive is her mouth moving as she says, “I stole the king’s trident.” I gasp, shaking my head as if I can ward off the statement I sense is coming next. Daddy’s trident is one of the most powerful magical instruments in the seven seas. In the hands of someone ful of burning rage and hate… Tears sting at my eyes.
“And I tried to wipe out the East Coast with a tsunami.”
“Oh, dear,” Aunt Rachel gasps.
Quince, stil clutching Prithi in his arms, says, “Damn.” Brody doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t betray any reaction at al , as if Doe had said she tried to send us a rain of hibiscus blossoms. Then again, what kind of reaction should a boy have when he learns that the girl he loves tried to kil him and al of his kind? That’s the kind of situation that pretty much defies reaction.
Robotical y, his movements jerky, he turns to leave.
“Brody,” Doe cries, her ice cracking.
But he doesn’t look back.
A few seconds later the sound of the screen door clanging shut echoes through the house. Quince catches my attention across the kitchen and lifts his brows in question.
I open my mouth, wanting to say something, but no words come out. In the end I just shake my head. This is beyond my comprehension. I knew Doe was a brat and that she hated humans, but I never would have guessed that she was this malicious. To think of al the lives…
The tears spil from my eyes, and I can’t bring myself to imagine the devastation.
“Let me take the gul ,” Aunt Rachel says, her voice shaking with careful y contained emotion as she crosses to me. I hand over the bird, and Aunt Rachel disappears into the living room, presumably to send the gul out the front door.
Also, I’m sure, to get as far from Doe as possible.
Several long moments pass before I recover my ability to speak.
“Do you know,” I begin, “what kind of destruction you might have caused?”