Fathom (Mermaids of Montana #3) - Elsa Jade Page 0,4
the same name seeking to find some commonality that might change their fate.
She’d taken a chance, traveling halfway across the galaxy… Only to find out that her inheritance wasn’t a potential prank but a lethal problem, not just for her but for the planet that should’ve been her home.
Fire-witch.
“What even is that?” she muttered to herself.
“What is what, Miss Lana?” Thomas appeared behind her chair in that dapper, quiet way of his that reminded her of a very nice bookstore cat.
Still, she jumped, bumping her elbow on the carved marble arm of the chair. She couldn’t help but think of it as Marisol’s throne, and it wasn’t particularly comfortable to sit in, either physically or mentally, but it did seem to take the edge off the worst of her symptoms. The stone was cool under her palms, the silvery veins in the white rock seeming to draw off the bad zaps, dispersing through the carved whorls of a nautilus shell, going deeper and deeper…
She jerked upright, bumping her other elbow, and she winced. “I’m sorry, did you say something? I was drifting again, wasn’t I?”
“I’m worried for you, Miss Lana.” His gaze rested on her solemnly. “I wish there was some way I could contact Miss Wavercrest or the commander or someone.”
She bit her lip and glanced away. Maybe she wished that too, but… “It’s better this way,” she said. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. Or cause more trouble for everyone.” She gave him her best commanding stare, something like Marisol or Ridley would use. “Including you. You can’t come too close, I told you.”
He held up both hands—clad in thick rubber gloves. “You told me, and I’m taking precautions. But I wanted to bring you a dinner tray before I retire.”
All the command draining out of her, she slumped back in the throne. “Thank you. I couldn’t do this without you.” And by this, of course she meant live.
He only gave her that little bow and smile as usual when she whined. “I’m here to serve.”
If he’d been younger and bigger and not human, he could’ve easily been one of the Tritonyri warriors she’d met, pledging themselves to defending their world. Instead, he made a mean red beans and rice with killer cornbread and honey butter. He served up while she stood at a distance, her hands clenched behind her, trying not to drool.
He stepped back with another one of those smiles. “Can I get you anything else, Miss Lana?”
“A clue,” she muttered. “A chance. At least some meaning to this existential crisis that I call my life.”
“Maybe dessert?” He lifted the cover off a silver salver to reveal the chocolate cake underneath.
She had to laugh. “Okay, yeah, that’ll do it.”
“I can stay and keep you company while you eat,” he offered. “I promise to sit at a safe distance.”
As tempted as she was, she shook her head. Sometimes when she drifted now, the zaps went too far, and neither stone nor rubber gloves nor anything else she’d found would divert the electrical power. “I know Marisol left you a ton of work to continue the foundation. Also, I’d be much lonelier if I, like, accidentally killed you.”
This time, he gave her a little frown. “As you suggested, I’ve made arrangements to set up informational relays leading to our anonymous dropbox. Anyone on Earth researching symptoms that might correlate to the Wavercrest syndrome will trigger our alarms and we’ll be able to guide likely candidates to the attention of the Tritonans.” He clicked his tongue. “Those Tritonesse should be grateful that you’re helping them find their long-lost kin since they need the new blood to revive their planet.”
“I’m helping them because I want to give other Wavercrest descendants a chance to live.”
“You deserve that chance too.”
“They don’t want me on Tritona,” she reminded him. “Like I said, it’s better this way.”
He didn’t look entirely convinced but inclined his head. “Then if there’s nothing else…”
Even as she waved him off, she bit her lip to stop herself from asking him to stay anyway.
Why did it still hurt to not be wanted? Shouldn’t she be used to that by now? She’d certainly had enough practice over the years.
The little pang from the edge of her tooth seemed to sink all the way down, and a crackle across her dessert plate snapped her back to focus. She’d been drifting again and now the chocolate buttercream was a molten rivulet across the fine china.