“I am proud of you, Lyric Walker,” he says.
And then two forms spring from the water. One is Minerva, and she wraps her arms around Fathom’s neck. The other is his father, who plunges his arm blades into his son’s abdomen. Fathom lets out a cry of surprise. He looks down at the savage wound, then back at me. For the first time since I have met him, since he has won my heart, he looks afraid.
“No!” I scream.
“I will see you in the Great Abyss,” he gasps, but I cannot tell who he was talking to. Arcade is standing by my side.
“No!”
Suddenly, I am unleashed. I am energy, and along with Arcade’s rage and Ghost’s determination, I let loose everything I’ve been holding back for three long years. No more hiding. No more keeping my head down. I am Lyric Walker multiplied by a thousand and fueled by revenge. I am a wild thing. Power explodes out of my fingertips. Even Ghost looks at me with awe in his odd little face. Is this what he was trying to explain? Is this how I control the water, work with the Great Abyss—or whatever it is that’s talking to me? The Voice sounds pleased. It coaxes me on: Push, push, push. Let it all loose, Lyric Walker. You are bigger than the world.
And like the flick of a switch, the three of us have control over the Rusalka’s killer wave. It’s so sudden, it’s startling, but it’s ours. In fact, when I reach out into the sea, I can feel that the Rusalka’s gloves have been turned off completely. Somehow, we have shut them down.
A black figure springs out of the wave and charges forward, punching me in the chest. It doesn’t hurt, but it knocks me off balance and I fall backwards. It’s a Rusalka. Ghost and Arcade attempt to stop the creature, but it leaps on top of me, kicking my ribs until they are on fire, trying to stomp on my neck and face with its horrible webbed feet. I try to stand but it knocks me back again. This time my head smashes against the wall, and the monster takes advantage, leaping on top of me and using its hands to slam my head into the filth over and over again. The world is going black. All I can see are its broken fangs and the glowing orb hanging from its head. It’s going to kill me and eat me. It’s saying as much in its fierce, gurgling language. I should be scared. I should be in tears. Instead I am angry. Angry that this is how I end: not knowing where my father is, not knowing if my mother and Bex are safe, watching the boy I love die in the fight.
I hear a crunch and then a slice and assume it’s my skull, but then the Rusalka’s body is thrown back off of me. I get to my hands and knees and see that a long, jagged strip of metal is impaled in its chest. It dies fumbling with the steel. I look around for the Alpha who killed it, but there is no one, just me.
“Lyric, we’re losing the wave!” Arcade cries.
I hear her, but my brain is still trying to recover. I look at the wall behind me. The wave that crashed against it soaked everything inside. It’s full of water, water that can cling and hold on to objects, water that does what I want it to do.
“It’s coming!” Ghost cries. “We can’t hold it back!”
The Voice keeps whispering its secrets to me. You can’t stop the wave, but you can make sure another one doesn’t come. See the sharp things I kept for you in the sea? See how you’ve stacked them? They can fly and stab and cut and kill.
“Ghost, Arcade—get everyone out of the water! Now!” I say.
“What are you talking about?” Ghost snarls.
“Pull them out. Every single one of them, before the wave hits. I’m going to end this right now.”
Arcade nods, but Ghost is enraged. “Have you lost your mind, human?”
“Ghost, just do it!” Arcade shouts.
Ghost raises his arms higher, and I watch hundreds of my people flying out of the water, held aloft above the waves.
“Whatever you plan, do it now, Daughter of Sirena!” Arcade says. “Because the Rusalka are coming to finish us off.”
I lift my gloved hand.
You cannot fail, Lyric.
No, I can’t. Not now. I let loose all my anger, all my joy, all my frustration, all my hopes and dreams and energies, all the love I have for a fallen prince. I let the wild thing loose. Javelins of trash fly out of the wall and zip through the air like missiles. Car bumpers, umbrellas, stop signs, poles, nails, loose change, driftwood, broken bottles—anything that can hurt them is snatched up by the water and flung as hard and as fast as my imagination will allow. They crash into the water like torpedoes, and the ocean turns red.
“Lyric, it’s coming!” Arcade warns.
I keep flinging my jagged missiles until the tidal wave roars over me, coming down like a massive fist from God himself. Water invades my throat and fills my lungs. I’m going to drown. I can feel it. If only I can focus, calm myself, maybe I can use the gauntlet to help me, but the water is too loud, too chaotic. I can’t get it to talk to me.