Raging Sea (Undertow, #2)

The double doors on the far wall open, and the children rush into the space. Familiar faces are among the crowd, and a few even smile and wave to me. Most hover around a nine-year-old with bushy black hair and sad blue eyes. I guess this is Georgia, Charles’s daughter. His last moments replay in my memory, the way he looked so eager before he pushed the elevator button, and how his head snapped back when the shot was fired. He was being brave. I wish I could tell Georgia, but Doyle asked me not to speak about it with her.

Angela Benningford’s children, with their bright red hair, gather around me. Angela was the last Sirena to be captured by the government, at least until they got my mom. The oldest of her kids is McKenna, who is my age, pretty with a pale complexion and freckles. She reminds me a bit of Luna, the Sirena girl who died when the Rusalka arrived. I realize that all Angela’s kids are beautiful; in fact, every kid in this park is gorgeous. It’s the Sirena part of them.

Emma Sands and her two sisters, Tess and Jane, are brown-skinned supermodels. Danny Cho and his sister, Sienna, are adorable. Finn and Harrison Cassidy, the twins, are transitioning from cute little boys into handsome adolescents, but there’s something else about all the children I’m starting to notice. They all look tired. Many of them have dark rings around their eyes, a telltale sign I know all too well. They are all struggling with migraines. Samuel Lir and I had the same problem for most of our lives. They kept me awake, forced me to hide away in dark places until the pounding and the lights stopped. It all ended when I put on the glove.

Spangler follows them out, then wades through their midst, leading them all to me. His smile reaffirms our agreement, and he expects me to reciprocate. I nod and grin. He doesn’t need to know that my smile is motivated by revenge and the many ways I intend to destroy everything around me and bring the roof down on his head.

“Children, if you don’t know our new family member already, let me introduce you to Lyric Walker,” he says.

“She’s joining us here in the park every day as your new instructor, helping David with your training. Can everyone say hello?”

The children say hi in unison like an elementary school class. They give me gentle, shy smiles, all except one. A boy in the very back grins wide. He’s tall and lean, around my age, maybe even a year or two older. He’s fresh-faced and olive-skinned, clean and happy, with thick eyebrows and a head full of brown hair. I recognize him from the neighborhood too. His name is Riley, I think. I feel like I’ve been at a party with him, but I can’t be sure. Bex would know. She remembers all the cute ones. I’m not sure about his name, but I remember that smile. I think he went to private school and his mother is a graphic designer, and they had a lot of money for Coney Island standards. He’s looking at me like he remembers me, too.

I break his gaze and turn back to the kids, counting them one by one. Including me, there are thirty-three, as Doyle promised. Only, he told me I would be training all the hybrid kids, and there is one who is not here.

“Where’s Samuel?” I ask.

“Who?” Tess asks.

Spangler frowns. “Samuel isn’t able to join us.”

“Does he have a migraine too?” Emma asks.

“No, he has a few disabilities that keep him from doing things, but he’s one of us and I think he should be here, don’t you?”

The children nod.

“Perhaps we can bring him tomorrow,” Spangler says, stiffly.

“That’s great,” I say. “He’s very special and you will all love him.”

Spangler asks each one of the children to take turns introducing themselves to me, and all at once they’re squabbling over who gets to go first. I meet Lilly, and Danny and Geno, and Alexa, and Dallas, and the boy in the back turns out to be Riley after all. I try to remember each name, but I can’t. It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to be here much longer.

“Did your mom and dad get sick too?” Georgia asks me.

“Sick?” I ask.

Spangler clears his throat.

“Yes, children, Lyric’s father got sick like your human parents. He is helping us develop a cure.”

I turn to Spangler, ready to demand an explanation for this ridiculous lie, when a little girl with a strawberry blond pixie cut and bright green eyes pushes through the group. She can’t be more than six and holds a stuffed rabbit in her hands with the White Tower logo sewn onto the bottom of its foot. Her name is Chloe, and her bunny is Mr. Fluffer. She’s Sam and Jill Norris’s daughter. They managed a furniture store in Park Slope, and she’s the mirror image of her mother.

“Have you seen them?” Chloe asks me, her face drawn and full of worry.

“Lyric hasn’t been here very long, and as you know, kids, all the infected people have to be kept away from the healthy people. That’s why we can’t let you see your families right now. You could get sick too,” Spangler explains. “They need their rest, but I can take them messages from you, like I always do.”

The children deflate with disappointment, but none of them argue. Even the teenagers seem satisfied by his story. He’s got them trained very well.