“Oh yes,” Heliabel said. “He says he’s come to rely on you in many ways.”
“Percival is stupid,” Persephone muttered. “And he has stupid hair.” She glanced at me. “Not like your hair, Maggie.”
“Well, then,” Heliabel said. I had the strangest impression she was trying not to laugh at us. “I’ll leave you two ladies alone.”
“No!” I exclaimed, then blushed again, this time at my own rudeness. “I’m so sorry. I mean, you can go, of course you can, but I summoned you here for a reason. Not you, that is, I was hoping to speak to Persephone, but you might be able to help, too.” Oh dear, I sounded like a babbling idiot.
Persephone let go of my hand. “You need my help? What’s happened?”
“Irene Vale is missing.” I struggled to keep any sour note from my voice. “It was her stone I used to summon you, so I assume you know who that is.”
Heliabel shot me a curious glance, as if I’d given away more than I intended. “Sings Above the Waves?” she asked, using her daughter’s sea name. “Do you know this Miss Vale?”
Persephone’s features settled into a serious expression, such as I seldom saw on her face. “Of course,” she said. “Irene is one of ours. A hybrid.”
*
“A ketoi hybrid, you mean?” I asked, shocked. “But she seemed so…normal.”
“So did I, once upon a time,” Heliabel said dryly. “And I imagine you didn’t think Percival a monster, when you first met him.”
“Of course not.” Dr. Whyborne was shy and gentle, kind and brave. “I mean, I don’t. He isn’t…there’s nothing monstrous about him.”
Heliabel arched a brow, then glanced at Persephone. “Even some among the ketoi fear the twins.”
“Fools,” Persephone said dismissively. “Maggie, Irene was sent to guard you.”
“Wait. Guard…me?” I stared at her blankly.
Persephone looked down at her feet. Her long toes flicked a stone away. “The rat creature attacked you in July. I didn’t wish anything to happen to you, and I couldn’t watch over you myself, so…”
“Oh.” I wasn’t entirely certain what I thought about that. “And neither of you bothered to tell me?”
“The hybrids—those who are even aware of their heritage—are instructed from birth not to tell anyone who isn’t of our blood themselves,” Heliabel said. “I doubt it ever crossed Irene’s mind to confess to you. She knew only that her chieftess had told her to keep you safe.”
“So she wasn’t really my friend at all.” My shoulders sank beneath the revelation. “It was just an act.”
“No!” Persephone put a hand to my arm. “She liked you—she said she did, when I spoke with her. I…I should have told you. Or let her tell you. I was afraid you’d argue, try to send her away, and there wouldn’t be anyone there to protect you.”
“Considering she’s the one who’s vanished, it seems Irene needed the bodyguard,” I snapped. “I know I’m just a-a secretary, that I can’t cast spells, or shoot guns, or read dead languages. But that doesn’t mean I appreciate being deceived.”
Persephone glanced down, then back at me. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
I wanted to stay angry, but it was impossible when she looked at me like that. “Just don’t do it again,” I muttered.
“Irene wouldn’t have simply left, not without letting us know.” Persephone let her hand fall away from my arm. “Tell me everything that happened.”
I related all I knew or guessed. Heliabel sat on the rock I’d used earlier, and Persephone crouched on the sand, the fins of her arms and legs jutting out. When I was done, she stood up again in a single, smooth motion. “Burton was also one of ours,” she said.
“Oh no.” This didn’t sound good at all. “So two people with ketoi blood became ill at the same performance, and then disappeared later that night.”
Heliabel frowned. “Was there anything else? Anything which might provide a clue?”
“No.” I tried to think. “Just that Irene had a nightmare before she disappeared, but I can’t see how that’s relevant.”
Persephone idly tapped a claw against her chin. “Did she say what it was about?”
“No. But when I came in to wake her, she was talking in her sleep. She said something about a song, calling to her.” I glanced between them. “Do you…do you think that meant something?”
“Yes,” Persephone said, without hesitation.
I frowned up at her. “How can you be so sure?”
Her hair curled and writhed. “The summoning stones sing to us. The god sings to us.”
I had the feeling whatever god she referenced had never been spoken of in the churches I attended. “The god?”
“The dweller in the deeps.” Persephone paced a few steps away, leaving tracks in the sand that would no doubt confuse any beachcombers who saw them. “It sings in our dreams, sometimes. Then I dive, deep, deep. To the temple, to stand before the god, where it sings its wishes to me.” She turned back to us. “It sang to Percival once. Fanned the sleeping ember into a flame.”