CHAPTER 1 FISHER THE WIND WHISTLES at about twenty knots, permeating the air with a mix of salt and brine. Not a single cloud mars the bluer than blue sky. Serene, unlike the sea below, the waves rolling off the horizon and billowing up in rhythmic unison. But it’s the water world that invites me in. Like a Siren singing her sweetest song, she lures me to discover her deepest secrets. Greedy with her charms. If only I could survive such a life here forever—away from people and their constant commotion and the unpleasant odors accompanying them. But I’m mostly human. My body requires air and rest, and what’s left of my family, alas, are all land-born and wouldn’t be able to join me. As I swim away from the roar of whitecaps crashing against the boat’s hull, my muscles burn from slicing through the ocean swell. I fight with Herculean will against the current to inspire the mergirl in training. We need to warm our blood before descending into frigid depths. She cries out. I turn, treading water to check on her progress. She’s barely made it beyond the second crest. Is she doggy paddling? That alone is worth a failing grade. Disgusted, I swim to her as she continues to bob and thrash. “Sorry, Fisher,” she says, shrill as a gull. “That’s okay.” But it isn’t. If she can’t manage the surface, how in Neptune’s name will she survive the deep? Skipper must’ve stuck me with the trainee on purpose. The old sea dog. Probably snickering himself stupid. I ask the floundering fledgling, “What’s your name again?” “Snook,” she splutters before sinking underneath. Taking with her what’s left of my good mood. Pitiful landlubber. I dive and bring her back up. She spits half of a bucket’s worth of seawater onto my face. Drops drip from her carrot-colored hair and down her freckled face. She grasps my arms, her overly white hands stark against my black rubber uniform. Where did this girl train? The city’s indoor kiddie pool? I wait until she finishes her coughing fit. “Listen, Snook, not everyone can be a scavenger.” Though in my opinion, it is the best job ever. “Let me help you back to the boat and you can request a transfer. Something less strenuous.” Less dangerous for your partner, goes unsaid. Oh, no. Her bottom lip trembles. “Please, Fisher, I need to try at least once. My merpa is Pike the Perfectionist. He’ll be so disappointed with me.” As a young rookie, I’d taken Pike’s class a few years ago. The man was an absolute ball-breaker. But it is better to suffer a brief embarrassment than to end up dead. “Sorry, it’s just too risky. Savvy?” Her eyes, the same shade as dried seaweed, narrow. “Then I’ll go without you.” What? Yeah, right. She won’t make it half a fathom deep. I call her bluff. “Okay, I’ll wait here.” Her face scrunches, soon replaced by something unexpected. Determination. Like a pufferfish, she balloons her cheeks and dives. Mermaiden mutiny! I wait a moment and then a while more. Senseless sprat. Launching off a wave, I propel myself downward with a whoosh. Vibrations from nearby sea life dance over my skin and tickle the insides of my ears. My vision blurs before coming into sharper focus. Rays of sunlight beam through the water onto darting, curious, and brightly colored fish. I spread my fingers and toes to form more webbing, allowing faster traction. Where is she? My gills flutter, extracting and absorbing oxygen from the moving water, maintaining constant motion. Did they teach her that in class? That in the darkness of the ocean, if she stops moving for longer than she can hold her breath, she’ll drown. The thought and the chill of the deep clamp my bones. A fast school of rainbow fish shifts and parts ways, slapping against me. The last few at the tail end are chased and eaten by Jawjacks. Whether above in the city or here below, if you lag your team, you’re just begging to get gobbled by the big and mighty. Cruelly, that is just how things work. It doesn’t take long for me to reach the bottom at twenty-some fathoms. My skin stretches taut as mussel meat inside an open shell. The change in pressure causes my ears to pop, and the colder depth muffles sound. My hearing strains for which direction to explore. Ruins of a long-ago civilization come into view. The blue-tinted buildings are half-buried in silt and encrusted in a garden coral reef. No longer fit for humans, it is now a habitat for fish, squids, jellies, and bottom-dwelling crustaceans. Creatures glow inside windowless skeletal structures, inviting in clueless prey. My exposed skin casts a blue-green light for another reason. If I can’t see Snook, maybe she will find me. To my right, a flock of rays take flight, followed by a cloud of sand. A grey, dark-spotted potato fish trails me. Its fishy brow mimics my worry as though it is thinking hard about something or as if it has a pressing problem of its own. Usually, I’d take the time to help, but time is ticking. A distant form wriggling along a building catches my eye. There. I dolphin kick my legs. With my arms I use a stroke named after butterflies, though I’ll never get to see one. They’ve been extinct long before I was born. I reach the opening that has now gone dark. Even as experienced as I am, entering a building comes with risks. The structures are unstable and can quickly collapse, causing one to get stuck or injured. Bleeding in deep water. Not a good thing. Sharks and other predators can smell it hundreds of meters away. Surely she’s not dumb enough to go inside. I move along. The part not buried is three stories high and at least a hundred meters long. If she’s entered, I’ll never find her in time. But going back without her is not an option. There must be a way to draw her to me. If she can’t see me, sound will carry farther. I’m good at mimicking the noise from ocean dwellers’ chatter: the pops, clicks, hums, and back of the throat rattles. The soft crackling of shrimp. None of which are helpful at this moment. Think, darn it, think. I need something man-made and firm. The potato fish is back again and caresses my shoulder. I shrug it off, now annoyed by its presence. It circles a corroded metal bar hanging from the building. That’ll work. Holding my breath, I stop long enough to pry it loose. From the dark, a brown and yellow specked eel lunges at my face, its jaws stretched. I block it with my arm at the last moment, and its protruding snout bounces off. Bright orange eyes piercing, it wriggles its serpent body, aggressively comes at me again, and clamps onto my wrist. Its sharp teeth jut backward, the pain instantly excruciating. Bubbles burst out of my mouth, and an involuntary breath funnels water down my windpipe. My throat muscle spasms then tighten, as if my own body is trying to choke me on the inside. Air. I need air. With the metal bar, I hit the eel. From the corner of my eye, I spot the potato fish taking bites along the eel’s tail. I struggle to swim, but the eel is strong and I’m growing weaker. Black spots float in my eyes. My head grows dizzy. If I pass out, it’s the end of the game. I’m dead. Then Snook is here. Relief takes the place of my fear of dying. She takes something from her collection bag and spears the plastic blade under the eel’s head. The will to live spurts me into a frenzied swim, clawing for the surface. Danger from the bends is miniscule in my thinking. Only sweet oxygen soothing my throat and filling my lungs is paramount. Something grabs my ankle. The weight slows me down. Snook. Is she trying to drown me? I motion to kick her off, but then I see the white underbelly of a great white shark. I would have hit it with my head. A heavy thrum accompanies the vibrations it gives off. As I watch it drift over, my muscles lock up, stiff as a board. Air. I need air. Snook wraps her arms around my torso. We move at a slow pace. The shark creeps a turn and moves toward us, its mouth wide open, revealing jagged teeth. I look down at my hand, still streaming a thin line of blood. This hadn’t made the list of all the ways I had envisioned myself dying. I’d swum with all kinds of sharks multiple times, never worried one would attack me. But my blood is dinging its dinner bell. With helpless horror, I see its eyes roll back as it comes in for the kill. An intolerable sound almost more than I can bear screeches close to my ear. The waves it gives off propel the shark back. In pain, I clamp my hands over my ears and block the holes with my fingers. Sideways, the shark rears its head and then bursts away. We break the barrier. Gasp! A coughing fit follows as I try to remove the ocean water from my lungs. Snook’s mouth is moving, but I hear nothing. Her scream that had chased away the shark still rings inside my head. How did one so small make such a forceful, ear-piercing sound? I take deep breaths and scan the surface for the boat or the top of a shark’s fin. It’s drifted, but I spot The Naga bobbing in the distance. Weak from the experience, I flounder clumsily, swallowing my fill of seawater. But then an arm surrounds my neck and guides me, gliding toward heckles and jeers that are sure to follow.