Rising Tide

By Chel Coleman

On the surface Claire seems like the typically beautiful, conceited, teen heiress with men swooning at her feet. But is there a reason for her incredible luck and charm? And is she more than what meets the eye?

Growing up Claire was never allowed near the water. But an intense desire to be near the ocean leads her to go to fashion school in L.A., where all of her stereotypes are about to be discarded when she falls in love with a handsome beach bum named Sebastian who seems oddly out of place on land. When Sebastian turns out to be a merman, Claire is transported to a dark underwater world she never could have imagined, and finds that she is the one out of place. Or is she?

Secrets seem to lurk beneath the dark underworld, from a mysterious great grandmother, a moody lover, a lying uncle, a legendary savior, and a series of unexpected and unexplained natural disasters on land. Claire finds that she might be the connection between all of these, or at least told she is. But the only answers she receives are through unwanted, horrific, visions and dreams of what’s turning out to be a real nightmare. And if she isn’t already too late, she may be the only one who has the power to stop what seems like impending war between the land and the sea.

Rising Tide is a dark, romantic YA novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chel Coleman
• Release date: Aug 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311708632

Chel Coleman

Chel Coleman is an aspiring author and artist from Orem, Utah. Rising Tide is the first of a three part series, and her first publication. Chel started out as a local artist in Utah, selling custom oil paintings and illustrating/writing her own children's books. Chel is also a soon to be mother to a beautiful baby girl. You can access Chel's art @chelcoleman.com or on Facebook at Art by Chel, or follow her on Facebook and Twitter for more information on her upcoming book, Rising Tide.

Book preview

RISING TIDE

By

Chel Coleman

Editor

Jane Coleman

Copyright © 2014 by Chel Coleman. All rights reserved.

First Printing, 2014

Smashwords Editon

License Notes. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with someone else, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

For Claire, my darling daughter

And my mom, who helped me along the way

CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1 Green Eyes

CHAPTER 2 Tsunami

CHAPTER 3 Stormy Seas

CHAPTER 4 Sebastian

CHAPTER 5 The Cave

CHAPTER 6 Merman

CHAPTER 7 The City of Records

CHAPTER 8 Family

CHAPTER 9 Dorothy

CHAPTER 10 The Sealskin

CHAPTER 11 Nightmares

CHAPTER 12 The Hurricane

CHAPTER 13 Creatures

CHAPTER 14 The Vision

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER 1

GREEN EYES

I was buried. My chest hurt. I couldn’t breathe. My long white hair twisted around my face and neck, making my visibility limited. I lifted my arm to try and wipe the hair from my eyes so I could see what was in front of me, but my arms wouldn’t move. Neither would my legs. I panicked, knowing my breath would escape me soon. I struggled harder inside of my prison, but it was useless. I gave in and decided to die with dignity. Why had I come down here anyway? Something had caught my attention. What was it again? It was hard to remember so long ago. It seemed like I had been trapped down here for eternity.

Wait, I remembered. It was the light. The blue light! I’d seen it from the shore. A soft turquoise light that seemed to emanate from the depths of the sea. It sent a ghostly glow along the shoreline. It transfixed me, and I followed it into the water as the waves crashed around me. There was something about that light that held me bound. I moved as one dead, held captive by death into my inevitable grave. Now I had sealed my fate. And just as mysteriously as the light had appeared, it disappeared.

Was that flickering in front of me? The soft current beneath the sea sent my hair into disarray. Through the folds of my hair I caught a glimpse of, yes, the blue light again. It was directly in front of me, taunting me playfully to come and get it. Even though I knew it was futile, I couldn’t resist stretching out my arm and straining to touch it. I cried as helplessly as a child reaching for something that was out of their grasp. The light licked the tips of my fingertips, mocking me. I cried harder, wanting what I couldn’t have. And then it was gone. And everything disappeared.

I woke up abruptly, still feeling a desperate longing in my being for the blue light. I wiped the sweat from my face and looked around me at the other passengers. The stewardess was on the overhead again. Man, that is so irritating! How many times do they have to really explain that you need to put on your seat belt for landing? We’re not idiots! Well, I’m not an idiot at least. I was still annoyed from my dream.

I had graduated at the top of my class and was accepted into Harvard and Yale. I could have gone anywhere I wanted. But instead I chose the path of beauty. I would be going to the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising in L.A. I figured it’s not every day that people are blessed with my kind of beauty. I mean, my skin is a flawless white, my hair is also white, which is partly why I worked so hard on my skin. I wanted to look dramatic. And I have a killer bod. People photo shop to look like me and still don’t come out so nice looking. Not to mention an amazing style. Of course it helped having a rich father who could pay for all the latest fashions. But, hey, that’s part of the luxury of being wealthy. How could I waste all this in a library? The simple answer, I couldn’t. Or I wouldn’t. I was going to be big and take advantage of L.A. just like I’d done with New York. Maybe that’s the real reason I wanted to come to L.A. I wanted a challenge. Something new, something fresh, where I didn’t already have all the connections. I would have to do that on my own, without a rich father or socialite mother to get me an in. Me, Claire, would make it on her own. I knew even as I thought it that this was a lie. It was the light and the water that was drawing me to L.A. This was the third time now that the light had come to me in a dream.

Since I can remember I’ve always had a fascination with the water. When I was about five, my parents and I were vacationing in Italy. We were on one of those river boats, and as soon as my parents weren’t looking, I had jumped in. I don’t even remember kicking my feet or struggling for air.  They pulled me out so fast. Almost instantly. Both my parents were unusually frantic, and now that I think about it, it’s the only time my father has ever been angry with me. I just remember his perfect grey-streaked hair being disheveled as he shook his finger at me. He kept repeating the word no, like he had memory loss or something and that’s the only word he could recall.

My mother, on the other hand, kept relating stories from her childhood and how the Jones weren’t swimmers and never would be. And that why would I want to go swimming and ruin my perfect white skin? The only thing I’d get is a sunburn. Only trashy women tanned. I’ve heard that a million times since then. Only trashy women tan, Claire honey. And we’re not trash. So needless to say, my family never goes to the beach or swimming, Ever!!

That’s why I started collecting seashells. Mainly large, spirally, conch shells. I love when you put them to your ear; it’s like hearing the sound of rushing waves. It enthralls me. It always has. Maybe because I’ve never set foot in the ocean. Or maybe it just has to do with the idea that I’m not allowed near water of any kind. When I told my parents that I wanted to move to L.A., naturally they were suspicious of why I chose there of all places. I assured them it was my love of fashion, which isn’t a lie, but secretly, I wanted to be near the ocean. My parents assumed my intentions were sincere and didn’t push the subject further. I think they thought that L.A. was far enough away from any beach so I would be safe. I came to learn later that Henry, my driver, was given strict orders not to bring me anywhere near the water. I didn’t mind really. Right now, I really did just want to pursue my career in the fashion world. How much time would I have for collecting sea shells and swimming anyway?

I thought back five hours ago when my parents dropped me off at the airport. We usually took a private jet, but daddy had to leave to Frankfurt that night. My parents cried saying their goodbyes. I couldn’t stand when they cried, but daddy is the paycheck, and mom, well… she’s the hand that controls the pen that writes the checks. So, what can you do? I sighed and wondered how long their hug was going to last and how long I had to pretend that I was that sad I was leaving home for an exciting college life… away from my parents.

I don’t know why in particular I’m so excited to leave New York to travel all the way across the country to live in a place where the sun never stops shining (especially with how fair my skin is). It has taken at least four years to get my skin as white and milky as it is right now. I’ve used daily sunscreen, hats, and spent no long periods in the sun. It takes work to have skin like mine, but it’s paid off. In high school, I never lacked for dates, was voted prom queen, and, well, I was offered quite a few modeling opportunities here in New York. When I think about it, I still don’t know why I decided on L.A. where the weather is always the same, the fashion resembles something like a beach bum meets couture, the women all are implanted, and people think that the natural color of skin is orange. But then my mind wandered back to the blue light and I knew why I had chosen to come to L.A. again.

Claire, I heard my father say in my head.

Yes, Daddy?

Now, honey, you know that your mom and I are just one phone call away. And don’t be shy to call every once in a while. And you know that we will take care of everything. Don’t you worry about a thing, sweetie. Your old dad will make sure his little dumpling has everything she needs.

I hated the pet names. OK, I kind of liked them. It made me feel secure and confident. I didn’t even mind the little chuck under the chin as he was saying it. I was his little girl, and, well, with a rich father and a doting mother, a girl could do a lot worse.

Now, Claire, honey. Listen to your father. We expect you to call us. But have fun, honey. Ooh, to be young and beautiful and adored!!! You’re really going to have fun. I just think back to my younger days, when men would do anything for me… My mother trailed off.

Mom was sliding off into memories again. I hope I never get like that. But she’s right. It is nice to be adored. And I don’t know a guy who wouldn’t do anything to take me on a date. New York was going to miss Claire Leblanc. Here I come, L.A.

My driver pulled up to my new house. OK, hotel/house. Whatever. It was mine. All mine. No parents, no roommates, no anything. Well, besides the maid, and the cook, and my driver Henry. But they were servants. That didn’t count. Oh, and I had to share my floor with another girl. I think she was from Georgia or something. I don’t know if that’s the state or country. But I had my own penthouse; we just had to share the same elevator. I could handle that, as long as she didn’t mind parties. I expected to have a lot of those. My parents wouldn’t approve. They would think it was low class. But this was L.A., not New York. People didn’t have tea parties in L.A. Besides, how else was I going to be able to meet people?

Would you like me to take your bag, miss? Henry asked politely.

Sure…I hesitated looking up at my new place. Well, actually I’ve got this one, I insisted.

It was nice having hired help. Just for fun though, sometimes I liked to feel like a normal person and carry or do my own things. Nothing big or too strenuous, of course. I couldn’t afford to break a nail, especially because I was starting school on Monday. How would it look if I showed up with one short nail, or, worse yet, having all short nails? I guess I could get fake nails, but I’ve always thought fake nails were for trashy women who aspired to wealth and assumed class came along with it. No, those types of things were only done in desperate times, my mom always said. And I’m not going to say I disagreed. So I carried my own bag up. Well, my purse up.

Wow, Daddy spared no expense. It wasn’t New York, but this house was going to suit me just fine. I’d make quite the impression having my own penthouse at 17. Almost 18. The place was fully furnished. Mother and I had spent the summer shopping in Milan and buying vintage furniture. I wanted to fit in here, but still wanted my own style. I wouldn’t be caught dead with plush sofas or words of inspiration on my walls. Who buys that crap anyway?  No, Daddy had allowed me to take a few of his prized paintings from his private art gallery. He was hesitant at first, but after a few hugs and one please, he couldn’t say no. I was his main prize, and he never said no to me. So here I was looking out my new windows at the city of L.A. (I wouldn’t call it much of a city) with a Picasso hanging on the wall behind me.

Would that be everything, ma'am?

Of course, Henry. Thank you.

I handed him a 100 dollar bill. I always felt so awkward slyly slipping the help a tip. I’d known Henry since I was a kid, but my parents we’re always the ones who dealt with any sort of money things. I personally felt like Henry was more part of the family, but my mom always reminded me never to try to relate or build any sort of relationship with the servants, other than to treat them with kindness and to be precise with any orders to be given. She said they’re people, but not our people. It would make them uncomfortable and feel out of place to be treated like anything else other than a valued employee. We tip them generously so they feel appreciated, but that is as far as our relationship will ever go. I still hated the formality, but I could see where my mother was coming from. It would be nice to have a friendship with Henry though.

When I was younger I used to tell him all my secrets and the boys I had crushes on and the boys who had crushes on me on my way to and from school. He would always listen politely and smile, but never said much. I used to get annoyed, but over time I kind of liked his listening ear. As I got older and had more girlfriends, I turned to them as confidants for advice. When I think about it now, it would still be nice to have a friendship with Henry, to have that listening ear now, but what would happen when he has to be the help again?  Maybe he would feel used after that. My mom was right again. It’s better to sacrifice a few friendly moments to avoid the potentially awkward servant-employer times after.

Commoners are so wrong about wealthy people. They think we’re just some snooty, uptight, party-throwing, think-you’re-too-good-for- everyone type with half a brain. Well, they’re dead wrong. What they don’t see is the game between wealth and power. They don’t see the manipulative people always trying to weasel money out of us or trying to use us for their benefit. They don’t see the constant necessity to keep up appearances for the sake of never being exploited in the tabloids. Or the parties being thrown to secure a business deal. And rich people are anything but dumb. How do they think we obtained and kept our wealth? No, we keep our circles tight to keep others or ourselves from being hurt or used. Granted, there are some wealthy people who, like I said before, are wealthy but classless and take advantage of poor people. Or who seem to like waking up to their face or body parts immodestly spewed across some lewd tabloid or in the headlines of the Times. But they’re more the exception, not the rule. Those sort of wealthy people are usually the ones who’ve gotten lucky with some Internet site or pyramid scheme. Or won the lottery. They weren’t born rich. And certainly don’t understand the responsibilities of having money.

My family came from old money. My great-grandfather was a lord in France but had too much of a free spirit to stay put. He dreamed of life in America and immigrated after his 18th birthday. When he landed in New York, he knew he was home and founded one of the largest financial firms in the heart of the city. The business has been passed down from father to son since. Daddy currently runs the company, and one day my husband (whoever that is) will run it in my name. It’s funny.  My life was already planned for me since before I was born: where I’d attend school, the kind of person I’d marry, what we’d do for the rest of our lives for employment. The ironic part about it is that I’ve never actually had a boyfriend. I know it sounds strange with the amount of suitors I’ve had. But that’s just it. In New York, I’ve always been pursued by the right kind of guys, ones who know my family…and the family plan. I know that I’m very attractive and all, but I still have always wondered if these men were pursuing me or my life. Again, that’s partly why I decided on a career in fashion and a move to L.A. Nobody knows me here. Or my family plan.

I’m not really the sentimental type either. I don’t necessarily believe in love. I believe in choices, daily choices that a person makes for the best possible situation they can obtain in marriage and life. Being wealthy, I’ve considered not ever getting married. It’s not something I necessarily want to put in the work for day in and day out. I don’t believe in the fairy tale ending crap that the media likes to feed to the middle class. Marriage is work. And how do I know that I’m going to stay in love with just one person the rest of my life? Or that they’ll stay in love with me? I think I read somewhere that only 50% of American adults are married. And let’s not even begin to count the number of divorces. I know, stereotypically, that women are naturally supposed to yearn for marriage, love, and a family. But I never have. I’m quite content being single and having month long flings with beautiful men, and once they get attached, moving on. I’m not a floozy or anything. I’m actually still a virgin and am old- fashioned in the way that I think that stuff should only be done in marriage. How great could it really be anyway? I’ve heard from a lot of my friends that sex is for men. And that it's not really as great as everyone makes it out to be.

But then, I think about 20 years from now and not being young and pursued by countless suitors and just being alone without children or grandchildren surrounding me. And when I think about it that way, well, that would really suck. I don’t want to end up alone when I’m old and undesirable. So I figure sometimes it takes sacrifices now to end up with what you want in the end. I’ll eventually get married. But I refuse to settle. That’s one thing I know for sure. And besides, why would I? I’ve got plenty of men knocking down my door.

Ding, ding, ding.

4:00 AM!!! That’s one thing I’ll have to get used to for sure, lol. Time to go to bed, Claire. Stupid! I chided myself out loud.

My maid Sally always woke me up or reminded me of appropriate bed times. I’m going to be dead tomorrow for school.

"Hi, I’m Claire Leblanc. I moved from New York and I collect art and seashells. Weird, I know, ha-ha. And…my favorite animal is a seal.

Yeah, is that all?" I asked, introducing myself.

Thanks, Claire, we’re glad to have you with us, my teacher replied.

I hated the awkward first day introductions that every teacher thinks is a good idea. The favorite animal was new, though. Usually, it's something fun or unique about you. Or the best, what’s your talent? Give me a break. I don’t have any talents. Unless you consider shopping and making men swoon a talent. I think it is, at least, lol. But I’ve never had any real talents. I’m not musically inclined; I can’t dance. I’ve always been a bit awkward on my feet, to be honest. As far back as I can remember, my parents were always chuckling and calling me Clumsy Claire. I certainly can’t cook. But I’ve never needed to. Jose has always been our family cook. And I definitely can’t swim.

Hi, I’m Beth. What’s your name again? The black-haired girl said, introducing herself.

Hi, Beth. It’s nice to meet you, I said smiling.

I had noticed Beth when she had walked in. She was stunning. My opposite, she had long, black, curly hair. Mine was long as well, but stick straight. And white as a pearl. Her skin was an olive color, and she had dark eyes with thick lashes. Mine were sea blue. Green, sometimes, when it rained. We were going to complement each other very well.  I know that sounds shallow, but I didn’t like having ugly friends. It made it harder to meet men. It was just easier this way.

Beth was smiling at me; we we’re smiling at each other. I’m pretty sure she had the same idea as me and had sat next to me intentionally. Yes, this was going to be a great friendship. At least as far as getting where I want, it will be. The rest of class I tried to listen to what the teacher had to say. If I was going to have an edge on the rest of my classmates, I actually had to listen.

Ring, ring, ring.

I must have dazed off again. Class was over. Beth had already packed up her things and was heading out the door.

Hey Beth, wait up a second, I said, while clumsily chasing after her.

What’s up? She was still smiling.

So, I’m new in town, and I have this great penthouse I was hoping to have a party at this weekend. You know, to kind of meet new people. Men, to meet men, ha-ha. But I was wondering if you would like to come, and if you knew of some other people who might want to come as well? Like people it would be good to know and all.

Beth didn’t say anything.

You know what I mean, right? I questioned.

Ha-ha, of course I know what you mean. And sure, I’d love to come. And don’t you worry, I know all the right people. You’ll be a hot commodity, especially next to me, she said with a smirk.

Talk to you tomorrow then. Bye, she said while walking away.

Bye, Beth. And thanks, I said, smiling back.

I knew she had sat next to me intentionally, for the exact same reasons I had wanted her to sit next to me. We were definitely on the same page. And we were going to look great together.

The rest of the week whirled by with school and, when I wasn’t busy with school, planning my party. It had to be amazing! Back home I was used to having parties. Not anything quite like parties in L.A., but still. When I was younger, I would follow my mom around and be her shopping assistant and hostess. When I was 16, I did the majority of the planning. Now I do it all. It’s one of those mother to daughter pass downs that every rich socialite teachers her daughter. What would the world come to if there were no parties, ha-ha?

Ding dong.

Come on in, Beth…and who might this be? I was looking straight at Beth’s handsome friend.

Beth was holding the arm of a very attractive brunette. Is swarthy a word? If so, he was the definition of