Raging Sea (Undertow, #2)

“She’ll be here soon,” he promises.

“Great! So, the Rusalka were suddenly very powerful, and they realized they didn’t have to be slaves anymore. Long story short, the Alpha refused to let them live in freedom, so the Rusalka declared war on the rest of the empire, and here we are now.”

“So, the Rusalka aren’t actually evil?” a blond teen asks from the back. I think her name is Sophie.

The rest of the kids have the same confused expression on their faces.

“Thank you for the history lesson, Lyric. Maybe we should move on to your demonstration,” Spangler insists.

I shrug and lift my hand high over my head. The glove goes off like a bottle rocket, and the children watch me in stunned silence. I hear my mother telling me to take the shot, but Doyle is right. It’s not going to work, at least not today. I need to make a plan, and until I do, there are just too many moving parts. I need to wait for my moment, just like I did when the silver bowl wouldn’t go through the slot. Someone will make a mistake. I just have to be ready.

For the next few minutes, I use the pool water to create a number of different objects, from spears to tridents to enormous fists. Anything my imagination can conceive becomes a living sculpture of liquid.

“Anything you can imagine, you can make, but I suggest you stick with things you’ve seen in real life. If you understand how long something is or what it’s actually made of, then it’s easier to mold that shape. I know what a hammer looks like. I know how heavy it is. I can use that information to make a larger version. I know a sword is long and pointy—you get what I’m saying. Stick with real-world stuff today. Tomorrow we’ll get creative.”

A blast of liquid springs out of the pool and morphs into the shape of an anaconda. It wraps around Riley and lifts him off the ground. The children gasp.

“It’s okay. I won’t hurt him,” I say, looking little Chloe directly in the eye. “I promise I will never hurt any of you.”

“It’s cool,” Riley says, and his grin is bigger than ever. “But you’re getting my tracksuit wet!”

I set him down, and he leads the applause.

“Water is liquid, but it can be solid, too. You can pack it together to make it dense. You can thin it out to make rain. It’s up to you. So, everyone, let’s aim your gloves at the pool,” I say. “I guess you don’t actually have to point it at the water, but it helps me to focus if I do. Good. All right, now concentrate on the surface, and let’s see if you can affect it. Try to make a little ripple. It doesn’t have to be big. It can be a tiny thing, like you dropped a stone into a still pond. You’ve seen a ripple a million times.”

“I’ve got it,” Riley says as he closes his eyes tight.

I turn to Spangler. He smiles and nods approvingly. I want him to think he’s tamed me, at least until I can get off his leash.

“All right, now, here’s where things get tricky,” I say, turning my attention back to Riley. “It’s not your imagination that makes the ripple. It’s your spirit.”

“I’m confused.”

“I’m talking about you—the big, awesome force that is Riley. The stomping giant that hides in your heart. That’s what fuels your Oracle. It’s the same thing that makes that sarcastic grin.”

The children laugh.

“So it’s like the Force?” Cole shouts from the crowd.

Riley’s face lights up, and he smiles at me. He’s always smiling at me. Why?

“No, not the Force. This is about raw emotion, not calm meditation. The person who taught me to use this told me that if I wanted to make it work, I had to be a force of nature, like a hurricane, all turmoil and raw emotion.”

“Show us,” Finn begs.

I’ve got more than my fair share of raw emotion, and letting some go will do me good. Best of all, I know just who to unleash it on.

I turn to Fathom. He hovers in the shadows, watching my lesson and doing his best to keep his distance. I raise my fist and his eyes widen. When my entire arm explodes and light flies upward to illuminate the rafters, his mouth opens in shock.

“Watch and learn, kids,” I shout, and at once all the water in the pool is in the air. It sails across the room until it is directly above Fathom, and then it swirls into a bubbling whirlpool, spinning faster and faster until his hair and clothes flap in an angry wind. Then I send it crashing down on him. He’s caught in my churning heartbreak, and his body flails about as he struggles to free himself. He’s not quick enough for my attack and his body slams into the floor over and over again, until he comes down in one bone-cracking slam. I direct the water back to the pool and watch Fathom struggle to stand, fighting with his lungs for a breath. He shoots me an angry and frustrated expression but I turn my back on him and face the children.

“Don’t worry, kids. He’s not hurt. In fact, Fathom can’t feel anything. That’s how he’s made,” I say.