Saltwater Secrets, Book 2: Death and the Deep

By Jade Varden

I came back to the land because I thought it would be safe. I didn’t know the waves would keep calling me, even weeks after I decided to leave them for ever.

That’s the problem with the ocean. The things we leave behind in the waves have a way of washing back up to the shore. Everything I left in the water is still out there...and I can hear it calling for me, no matter how hard I try to block the sound of the waves.

There is death waiting for me in the deep. Even when I try my best to stay on the land, the ocean won’t stop trying to claim me as one of its own. I’m afraid that soon, it’s going to succeed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jade Varden
• Release date: Sep 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310319297

Jade Varden

Jade Varden is a teller of tales from Louisville, Kentucky. The Deck of Lies series is the first in several young adult series and stand-alone novels Jade will publish in 2012 and 2013.

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Saltwater Secrets

Book II: Death and the Deep

By Jade Varden

Copyright 2015 by Jade Varden.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Created and published in the United States of America

Part I

The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder for ever.

-Jacques Cousteau

Prologue

The water was full of blood and screams. Off to my right, I saw ancient-looking stone walls toppling into the sand. Dust and grit stung at my eyeballs, little flecks of debris that were swirling all throughout the water. My mouth tasted of copper and salt. My ears were filled with the sounds of inhuman shrieking.

I swam to the left, then to the right, back and forth because I didn’t know which direction I ought to take. The water was a fury around me, a swirling mess of mass hysteria.

My eyes focused on a shadowy figure that I could just make out in the bloody water. For a moment, I wasn’t even sure he was real.

Dylan. The name was distorted and strange. It was traveling through the water.

He turned, anyway, though I hadn’t even said the word very loud. Our eyes locked, and I reached out for him. I screamed with real volume when I saw the sword appear, just above his belly button. His eyes, still locked on mine, widened.

Nooooooo!

The tip of the sword became bigger. It pressed through Dylan, puncturing right through him. I saw his body quiver and shake as the sword was withdrawn. The fearsome creature on the other side of it screeched at me as Dylan’s body fell, fell, fell down to the sandy floor below me.

It’s not like being above the waves. It seems like bodies take for ever to fall all the way to the ocean floor.

I screamed again and again, and started to swim in circles again. My mind was a jumble of emotions I couldn’t even name. I kept seeing Dylan’s eyes widening as the sword punched through his body.

Tears came pouring out of my eyes, but the already-salty liquid of the ocean swept them away so they could mingle with the bloody red water. I had lost him. Dylan was gone, and I was alone in the middle of the war.

And somewhere under the waves, my mother was waiting to kill me.

***

I woke up gasping. That’s always the way I woke up, now. It took me a few moments to realize that I was above the waves. I was in my bed. I was breathing air.

I wasn’t under the water, though I was dreaming about it every single night. More often than not, I woke while the day was still young, hours before the dawn broke over the waves of the Atlantic Ocean that sat right outside my window. I could never go back to sleep after The Dream.

It came to me almost every night, The Dream. It was a mix of real events and the horrors that my mind concocted just to torture me. I had not seen Dylan die in that red water, though many others had lost their lives in that battle. I nearly died in that battle. I was the one who got punctured, hit with a spear that my own mother had thrown at me.

The battle ended. It ended, but in my dreams it continued to rage endlessly on and on…and on.

When Dylan and I parted, the ocean was calm and peaceful. He jumped into the waves and disappeared. I turned and walked back to the land, where I belonged. I was still living on the land weeks later.

I was still dreaming of the ocean waves.

The wooden floors were freezing when I climbed out of bed and hurried into my slippers. It was always cold at night, even though summer was threatening to arrive in full force any day. I felt cold all the way down to my bones as I carefully made my way down the stairs, walking just right so I wouldn’t make the steps creak.

I always tried to be quiet, and it almost never mattered. My father was already awake and in the kitchen when I entered. He was sitting at the table in front of an untouched sandwich, staring off into nothingness. He turned his head to nod at me when I walked into the room, but that was it.

We were used to seeing each other in the middle of the night like this. Neither of us was sleeping very well. He stayed silent as I poked through the fridge, looking for something to snack on, and didn’t even look my way when I sat across from him with my cold plate of chicken.

There was nothing to say and yet too much to say at the same time. I knew without asking that my father was thinking about the same thing that I was. I knew that he was having bad dreams, too, like me. I knew that he was haunted by the same ghost as me.

She was practically in the room with us, her presence was so big. I could almost feel my mother seated at the table, in the chair that was always hers, staring at us both with hatred. My father and I were haunted. We were both hostages of our own demons, too afraid to sleep. Neither of us even dared whisper her name, as if that might make her appear. Saying her name might give her ghost life.

I knew, of course, that I couldn’t conjure my mother up at will. She was far away from my father and me, hundreds of miles away from my tiny Maine hometown. But she still had power over us. Her choking influence still permeated every corner of the house.

Of course I couldn’t sleep. I was breathing in her hatred every time I used my lungs. I could still see the look of rage and loathing on her face, that look she had when she threw the spear that nearly killed me. That expression of disdain, because I didn't hate the merfolk she had to share the ocean with.

My mother wasn’t in the house with us, but I could feel her out there in the ocean. Across the miles, across the waters, I could feel her hatred still touching me. She was out there. And as long as she was out there, I ran the risk of seeing her again.

…Of course I couldn’t sleep.

Chapter 1: Not-So-Sweet

May the fifteenth was bitterly cold. The salt air coming from the ocean stung my cheeks and tossed my hair about my head. I could practically feel it turning into a tangled mess of frizz, but I stood there motionless as it whipped against my neck. I could almost, almost, hear the screams coming from under the water.

My house was lit up like Christmas, just behind me. Lights poured out of practically every window. It was warm inside the house, too warm. Someone had cracked a window, or maybe two, and the sounds of Arianna Grande spilled out across the sand. She was singing about a party, or partying, and I could hear the dull hum of voices underneath her incessant yelling. Cars were parked up and down the road by our house. I don’t think it had ever held so many people before.

They were all inside celebrating my sixteenth birthday without me. It was my party, and I just wanted it to be over.

Inside, the house was a sea of balloons in shades of pink and red. Crepe paper hung from the banister and all the light fixtures. There were cups of pink punch everywhere, and almost every single available surface had been covered with red tablecloths.

The color scheme was Stacey’s idea, of course. My best friend had determined, in her wisdom, that decorating my party in my favorite colors was the worst thing for me right now. I had always favored cool colors, the shades of the sea. I like greens and blues. There wasn’t a speck of it at my party. Stacey had even written on the invitations that everyone ought to wear pink, orange and red.

Hot colors! She had declared, when I asked her why she’d picked out four different shades of pink cupcakes. To make you think of warm places and fun times.

Only, it didn’t. Seeing all that pink and red draped everywhere just reminded me that everything had changed, now. I couldn’t be the person I used to be anymore. I couldn’t even look at colors that might remind me of the ocean.

I was supposed to be inside, now, maybe cutting the pink cake or nibbling on a red velvet cupcake. I was supposed to be dancing with Luke, who had spent the last week helping Stacey and my dad get the house ready for the party. I was supposed to be twirling around in the ridiculous pink dress that Stacey insisted I ought to wear, or opening up the big box my dad had wrapped for me in shiny paper.

I wasn’t doing any of that stuff. I was staring at the water, as always, and barely feeling the cold that stung against my skin. I was too busy listening, listening. When I listened hard enough and long enough, I could almost hear the waves calling my name. Sometimes it was so clear, I thought for certain it was Dylan calling to me. But every time I ran down to the beach, the waves were the only thing that greeted me.

I really did appreciate all the effort Stacey went to for the party, even if I didn’t like all of her choices. I knew she had worked hard, her and Luke and my dad, too. But I couldn’t stand being inside that room anymore. Wherever I went, whatever I did, I knew that people were staring at me. My house isn’t all that big, and with all those people crammed inside of it I felt like some sort of sideshow attraction. There were all around me, looking at me. Whispering about me. I could feel their eyes raking over me, taking in every detail. Everything would be memorized. I could see them studying the house, watching me. It made me aware of how I held my drink, how often I smiled at Luke, whether or not my hair was doing something weird. It made me feel like I was on a stage.

I just couldn’t perform for them anymore, so I escaped to the beach. Breathing in the salty air and listening to those crashing waves was more peaceful than any party could ever be. I let the wind whip my hair as I stood staring at the waves. I felt the salty spray coating my skin and clothes. I didn't have to worry when I was out here. All I had to do was remember. It was loud out there by the shore, yet this was where my mind was quietest.

But peaceful moments were hard for me to come by, these days. I saw them pulling up to the house just as I began to walk back towards it, resigned to my fate and determined to make myself go back into the party. I think we saw each other at the same time. The car came to a stop at the exact moment that I did, and the door opened right away.

Brenna Douglas, good evening.

Hello, Officer.

Awful cold night to be out here without a jacket.

I didn’t know lack of outerwear was a crime.

That wasn’t me answering, of course. I was just standing there staring at Officer Malone, saying as little as possible, because this is how I always acted with Officer Malone. But Stacey had come outside, probably to look for me, and caught his comment just in time to toss out a smart rejoinder.

Stacey could afford to smart-mouth the police, because her father wasn’t being investigated for murder right now. Like mine was.

Good evening to you as well, Miss Wright, Officer Malone answered her politely. Looks like you have a special event happening tonight, Miss Douglas.

It’s her birthday, Stacey snapped. And I’m afraid the police department wasn’t invited.

So it is. He was standing just outside his police cruiser, leaning against it really, trying to look casual. I wasn’t fooled. His eyes were intense as ever, staring right at me. He always looked at me like he could see through me, all the way down into my secrets. We came to wish you a happy birthday.

Yeah, I’ll bet. Again, Stacey.

And to remind you not to make any summer vacation plans. This was Malone’s partner, Officer Grant.

You or your father, Malone added.

Yes, Officer. I think we both know that we’re not allowed to leave Maine.

That’s enough. Stacey had been standing on the back stairs; now, she purposefully marched down them and straight over to me. She took my hand. We have a party to get back to, Officers, and this is private property. My father said that you have to have a warrant to come inside, so please leave. We’re not even violating the noise level laws. Come on, Brenna. Stacey pulled and pushed me into the house, slamming the door behind us when I turned to look back at the officers. They were still standing by the car, watching me.

I fell against the door after Stacey shut it. God, why are they here again?

You know why. To shake you up. I told you they would try to do that. It happens all the time on those cop shows.

Well, it works. I’m shaken up.

Don’t let them get to you. Here. Stacey shoved a pink cup in my hand. She scooped her arm under my other hand and pulled me back toward the party in the living room. Luke’s been dying to dance with you. I’ll make sure they play that song you love.

I don’t feel much like dancing.

That’s just because you’re cold. Your skin feels like ice.

Does it? My voice sounded dull even to my ears. I knew I should try to be more enthusiastic, but I was thinking about the beach more than dancing at my party.

Yes. And Luke is just the thing to warm you up.

So she pulled me into the room where pretty much everyone I went to school with had gathered. Seriously, I don’t think one single person failed to accept their invitation to the party. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I’m popular at school, or anything. I’m not a cheerleader or the captain of the soccer team or anything like that.

They all came, mostly, to see my dad. None of them had ever seen a murderer before.

A few weeks before that party, my mother did something unexpected. She was a friendly woman, my mother, beautiful and interesting to talk to, but sad. I didn’t understand the source of that sadness until she jumped right into the ocean one night. That was the day I found out that my mother isn’t human. That was the day I decided to go after her in my father’s boat, so I could bring her back home to us.

It made national headlines when I went missing. Cable news hosts talked to the camera with my picture above their shoulders. The Coast Guard launched a massive effort to find me on the water. Someone held a candlelight vigil for me in Boston.

They were all looking in the wrong place. The search for me focused on Bermuda, where I wrecked my dad’s boat. Where I met Dylan. He was a real, live, honest-to-goodness merman. Dylan taught me to use the selkie abilities I inherited from my mother. He taught me how to go under the waves, into parts of the ocean that no human has ever seen before.

The Coast Guard had no way of knowing that I was deep under the waves of the Irish Sea, caught up in the bitter battle between merfolk and selkies that has been raging for centuries. When I finally emerged from the water on the other side of the world from my Maine hometown, the cops had a lot of questions.

I couldn't exactly tell them the truth when they asked. I was evasive and hesitant instead, unwilling to talk and too careful about what I said. They kept telling me that everything was fine, everything would be all right. Just tell them the truth.

Ha! Tell them the truth, and I would end up in a mental hospital probably for the rest of life. Or maybe I'd even be in jail because the cops thought it was me, that I was the one who had killed my mother.

They thought she was dead, and I guess I don't blame them for that. She had disappeared into the water without a trace, and any human who did that probably was dead. But my mother was all too alive and well. She had survived the battle that had nearly killed me. She had hurled the spear that nearly did it.

And because I couldn't say all that, I wasn't saying much of anything. My father never reported my mother’s disappearance, but he did report mine. When I came back from Ireland without a very good story, the police figured they knew what all the missing pieces looked like. Lately, they were suggesting that maybe I was trying to cover for my dad. Like maybe I knew all about him killing my