“Do you love him?”
“Yes,” I say, with the rain rolling down my face and neck. I don’t want to cry about the stupid, impossible daydream I allowed myself to live in for a couple weeks. I can’t be heartbroken by my own dumb decisions. But it sucks. It really, really sucks. I let the sky cry for me.
When the rain stops, Bex sleeps and I practice yoga. I’m rusty, and surprisingly un-flexible. My arms and legs are stiff, my tendons tight, but I do my best. It helps the migraine, gets it down to a more manageable level, and I start feeling better, just in time to hear a Selkie barking from the wall.
“There are humans gathering outside,” he shouts. “Hu-man soldiers with guns. They seek an audience with Lyric Walker.”
“Me?” I say. The noise wakes Bex and pulls me out of my meditation.
“Ignore them,” another guard shouts.
“One calls himself Doyle.”
Terrance approaches, looking tired. “Do you want to talk to him?”
“I want to know about my mom,” I cry.
“She’s being held and awaiting trial. She’s safe and they are not mistreating her,” he says. “It’s all I know.”
“Fine,” I say, feeling slightly relieved. “Yes, I’ll talk to Doyle. He might know something about my father.”
Ghost uses his glove to make a door. Water rushes up the beach and swirls around the base of the structure. A tire, a pogo stick, a cardboard box, and an antique baby carriage are all swept aside, revealing an arch large enough for us to walk through. I pass under, only to be met by soldiers pointing guns right at my head. I see Bonnie among them.
Doyle is with them. He peers through the arch, then looks back at his soldiers. They all lower their weapons.
“I brought you your homework,” he says, then smiles.
“I hardly recognize you without the coffee cup.”
He nods. “Are you okay?”
“I need to know my father is okay,” I say. “I think he broke a rib.”
“Your father was arrested, but his paperwork was never processed. At the moment he is missing.”
“Missing?”
Terrance sighs. “They’ve taken him to the camp.”
“Tempest,” Doyle says.
“You knew about that place?” I cry.
“A conversation for another time. Right now, you have another crisis. I don’t know if you’ve noticed what’s going on behind me,” he says.
I peer beyond and see hundreds of jeeps, tanks, soldiers, and what look like rocket launchers on the boardwalk. All of them are pointed at the wall.
“I thought I’d give you the heads-up,” he says. “They’re going to attack sooner rather than later. I’d really like to try to get you off this beach if I can, especially before the Alpha Cavalry show up.”
“What?” Terrance says.
“A British submarine detected more of your friends in the water, about a thousand miles off the coast,” he says. “Bit of an international screwup, but they’ve got photos. It’s making a lot of the Alpha’s friends in Washington into former friends. They’re not going to sit around and wait to be invaded.”
“More Alpha?” Terrance asks. “That’s not possible.”
“Unless there’s another race of people who can breathe underwater and swim a hundred miles an hour.”
“The Rusalka,” he says, then turns and sprints back into the camp.
“How is your mother?” Doyle asks.
“They’re putting her on trial as a traitor,” I say.
“Damn, kid, trouble really does seem to find you. How about Becca?”
“She’s surviving.”
“Her stepfather is missing. Think she knows anything about it?”
I shake my head, but I know she does.
“I’d get out of here, kid,” he warns, then he’s gone.
Terrance shakes me awake. I struggle to focus my eyes. The purple sun is kissing the horizon, but it is still dark.
“Gather your things. It’s time,” he says.
“Time for what?” I ask.
“Your mother’s trial.”
“Wait! What?” I cry.
“You have to hurry,” Terrance says as he urges us to follow. With stiff legs and arms, Bex and I do our best to keep up with him. He leads us through the newly built camp. The roads and tents are back, magically recreated in the night. It makes no sense to me how Ghost’s glove works, but the results are awe-inspiring.
“I have spent the night talking to anyone who will listen about your mother. Alpha law is not my specialty, but this is what I know: Justice is swift. Once the trial begins it can end at any moment.”
“Any moment?” I cry. “What does that mean?”
“It means when the prime feels he’s heard enough, the trial is over. Now, the high accuser is sort of like a prosecutor. He will state his case against your mother and she will defend herself.”