“Is everything okay? You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” He places his hand over mine on the seat between us.

I relinquish my hand, open the door, and slide out. “Everything will be okay. And I’m not having second thoughts. I want you to take me around town. I want to see it all. In about ten minutes, okay?” Actually, I am having second thoughts because of my sudden revelation. But how rude would it be to tell him to get lost? After all, he was going to take both of us around town today. It’s not like he singled me out.

I find a quiet corner in the lobby of the B and B. Feeling too unsophisticated to sit in one of the fancy French-silk parlor chairs, I pull out a metal seat from the breakfast nook. Then I dial Galen’s number. Of course, he doesn’t answer. I don’t expect him to.

When the digital lady advises me to leave a message, I do. “Galen. I’m so sorry. I just realized how selfish I acted. I didn’t listen, didn’t hear what you were trying to tell me. I’ll listen now, I promise. Please … Please just call me back.” I squeeze my eyes shut, not allowing any tears to escape. My throat feels raw, as if the words I just spoke were miniature blades leaving behind tiny incisions. But it’s not that I don’t mean every word. I do.

It’s that I’m terrified that he won’t call me back. That it’s too late. That I blew it.

My feet feel like anvils as I make my way back to the truck. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Reed.

“Are you sure you want to venture out today? You probably didn’t sleep last night, huh? Maybe you should—”

“That’s nice of you, Reed,” I say, buckling back in. “But I need to get my mind off things for a while. I was hoping you could help me with that.” Which isn’t untrue.

“Ten four,” Reed says, and the worry all but melts from his face. “I was going to take us to the market first. That’s where everyone who’s anyone gets their open-faced roast beef sandwich for lunch.”

I nod. “Lunch. Roast beef. I’m in.”

* * *

Reed is right! Everyone in town comes to the market for lunch. Mismatched tables skirt the street, people line the serving buffet set up on the sidewalk, and steam clouds rise in smoky ribbons over the buffet itself. My stomach gives off a vulturine growl.

Reed laughs. “So you skipped breakfast, huh?”

I nod.

He does, too. “Well, I’ve got a trick up my sleeve. Come on.”

We make our way to the line, and all I can think is that I’m going to start eating my own arm if people don’t start moving. Then Reed rolls up his proverbial sleeve.

“Excuse me, Trudy?” he says, tapping on the woman’s shoulder in front of us. Trudy turns around, then eyes me with surprise. I remember that Reed says they don’t get many visitors here. “This is Emma,” he continues, wrapping his arm around me. I can’t decide if it’s harmless or not. “She’s a descendant of Poseidon, and she’s visiting us from New Jersey. Do you mind if we cut in line so I can introduce her to everyone?”

Trudy grabs my hand and shakes it. “Emma, is it? So lovely to meet you! I had no idea we had relatives in New Jersey. Oh, you’ll want to meet everyone, for sure. Go ahead and cut, Reed. It’s okay by me.” That’s it. No questions asked. I’m immediately and wholly accepted.

I wonder where else they do have relatives. Because meeting a Half-Breed from Jersey doesn’t seem like the marvel I would have pegged it for.

And that’s how we make it to the head of the line—Reed introducing me to other Half-Breeds, and the other Half-Breeds greeting me and being all unsurprised.

A server plops roast beef and peas and a piece of white cake onto my Styrofoam tray. When we sit at one of the wrought iron tables, a few people pull up extra chairs, and it becomes quickly overcrowded. But I don’t care. I have food and good—if not a tad overwhelming—company.

These people know what I am, and they accept me because of it. It’s like I’ve been a part of their secret society since the day I was born.

And deep down inside me, I think I have.

14

THE ROOM has two metal chairs including the one he’s tied to, a blanketless cot, and a card table boasting a small lamp that has seen better days. No carpet. No pictures. No windows—which Galen is grateful for at the moment. Any kind of substantial light would make his head pound twice as hard.

He can only remember fragments of how he came to be here. He remembers running. Tripping. Something hard and heavy connecting with his head. Nausea, angry bile rising as he was transported in the back of his own vehicle to … to … here.

He becomes aware of the cloth in his mouth. It tastes of vomit. It’s wrapped too tightly around his face and head, making his eyes bulge with pain. His hands and feet have grown numb from sitting in the same position too long. His neck feels permanently disfigured from the angle at which he passed out.

He stretches and turns and works his hands and feet as best he can to relieve some of the tension, but the rope is tight. Just as his muscles relax, just as his neck adjusts to the task of holding up his head, the single white door to the room opens.

The fattest Syrena Galen has ever seen closes the door behind him. Sure, by human standards, he’s not fat. Paunchy maybe. But by Syrena standards, the guy is obese. This anomaly swaggers to the other metal chair, scrapes it across the floor to face Galen, then plunks into it. He studies Galen for a long time, holding the vague grin of a shark who’s just supped on a school of fish.