Page 59 of Crashing Tides

Not for the first time, I’m furious she didn’t tell me. If someone is looking for me, I deserve to know. I can’t protect myself if I don’t have any details.

“I can ask some questions,” says Duncan, looking down at his waffle like he’s expecting to find the answers written in maple syrup. “I don’t know anyone like you, but I could—I know someone who would.”

Of course. Duncan has connections to other shifters. Someone out there who might have ties to the mer, or know someone who does. And while a part of me is offended that he won’t tell me who these people are, I can appreciate that this isn’t his secret to tell. “Do you trust them?”

Gray eyes land on me. “With my life,” he says.

Something in me relaxes.

“Do it.”

Chapter

Seventeen

Idream of the sea. I follow my feet to the edge of the shore, where a full moon hangs ominous in the night sky, reflecting on the still, black water.

I am completely nude, unabashed as I step into the ocean, sinking deeper with each step.

The shift, when it comes, is excruciating, but I don’t wake up this time.

Instead, I blink my eyes open underwater, and everything is clear. Fish dart around me, their silver scales glinting in the distant moonlight. I move fluidly, easily, as if I am one with the current. There’s no panic, no flailing, only a deep sense of contentment.

Along the cliff, I spot a haze of wreckage among the rocks. A wooden beam encased in barnacles, something else that looks like a picture frame, a life preserver.

Something prickles along the back of my neck. A warning. Don’t go in there.

But there’s something shiny and red as a ruby buried in that rubble, and I am desperate to see it.

A mistake.

As I approach, a cloud begins to take shape. Pale, almost dusty, it gathers into a form that is nearly human, turning bloody red eyes on me⁠—

I wake up gasping, scuttling backward across the mattress until my spine smashes against the headboard. For a split second, I am convinced those eyes have followed me, that the creature in my dream can see me even now, all the way in my bedroom.

But it’s just me, a snoring, content Aleo, and the ever-oppressive darkness.

It takes me a long time to fall back asleep.

In Prophecy and Prediction, we talk about ghosts. Who’s seen one, who can talk to them (three women raise their hands, all looking embarrassed), who has doubts, who’s just plain terrified, and why.

“The dead choose who can see them,” says Professor Almara. “Who they interact with, and why. If you don’t want to talk to them, you can tell them to leave, and they will.”

She grins at us. Snaps her fingers.

The lights dim. A single candle puffs to life in the middle of the room.

“And now, it’s time to summon a ghost.”

We work in pairs. I lament that this isn’t a class I share with Jane or Duncan. Instead, I’m stuck with Jordan, who has already witnessed me hurl a flowerpot at a wall with entirely too much force today, and laughed when Professor Elarion pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned, “You were supposed to levitate it, not launch it into another dimension.”

I nearly died on the spot.

“Remember,” says Jordan, smirking at me. “We’re summoning a ghost, not a leviathan.”

“Fuck you,” I hiss.

When he grins, he shows too many teeth.