The Vicious Deep
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He was gone for three days. Sucked out to sea in a tidal wave and spit back ashore at Coney Island with no memory of what happened. Now his dreams are haunted by a terrifying silver mermaid with razor-sharp teeth.
His best friend Layla is convinced something is wrong. But how can he explain he can sense emotions like never before? How can he explain he's the heir to a kingdom he never knew existed? That he's suddenly a pawn in a battle as ancient as the gods?
Something happened to him in those three days. He was claimed by the sea...and now it wants him back.
Where does his ding-dong go? Nobody knows! How fast can he swim? Just step right up to the glass. Remember! He goes to school in your very neighborhood and doesn’t do much else. Actually, come to think of it, he’s not that interesting after all. Yeah, I’m a crowd-pleaser. ••• The sky looks like a gray blanket that has been pulled tight at every corner. Not a spot of blue. It casts a bright white light in the kitchen. Angel light, Mom calls it. When I show up, the laughter
frozen in the middle of their fight. Their carved swords form the peak of the archway into the school. “What I mean is I’ve heard of it,” Kurt says. “And remember, you cannot tell anyone about us. At a time like this it would be extremely dangerous for anyone in our court to get caught. Your parents are safe. But anyone else could get killed.” I nod and lead the way up to the entrance. The steps themselves are too high for sea level. My first day here, I felt like a less glorious Rocky
born.” And she stares at the family too, wonder and confusion blurring her hazel eyes. She takes my hand because maybe she feels how freaked out I am, and maybe she is too, but at least we’re together. At least I can share this with her. She points at the guards. “How come the gladiators are on feet too?” “Something about a squid tattoo,” I joke. “I promise I’ll tell you later.” She squeezes my hand in reply. The soldiers wear metal shields that cover their chest and a chain-link skirt
other mothers call her—but this is different. It’s like she’s actually scared for me. She has to stop watching those conspiracy shows. Layla leans in close to whisper, “Your mom’s been acting a little crazy, but don’t argue. You don’t know what it’s been like for her.” I pull a yellow petal from her hair. “Just for her?” But she doesn’t answer me, because Mom goes, “Okay, just follow me.” And she’s out the door, leaving us to follow her trail of red hair. The hospital is a
“I want to know if you actually have a piece of the trident.” She smirks and rattles the things cupped in her hands, and they click like die. She lets go, and they fall on the surface of the pond but do not move. They float around each other until they’re completely still for her to look at. “Are you sure?” She’d make a good poker player, good enough to even play with Mr. Santos. But then a dark shadow crosses over her features. The seashells sink to the bottom of the water, and I’m