in a different way.”
“You’d be a fantastic lead singer in a band.”
Elizabeth sat up straight, nearly knocking Miaka to the floor. “That’s exactly what I thought!”
I watched them, marveling at the fact that three such different people, born to different places and times and customs, could balance one another out so well.
“What about you, Kahlen?”
“Huh?”
Miaka propped herself up. “Any new big dreams?”
We’d played this game hundreds of times as a way to keep our spirits up. I’d had dozens of ideas over the years. I’d considered being a doctor as a way to make amends for all the lives I’d taken. A dancer, so I could practice controlling my body in every way. A writer, so I could find a way to use my voice whether I spoke or not. An astronaut, in case I needed to put extra space between the Ocean and me.
But deep down I knew there was only one thing I really wanted. I eyed the large history book that rested by my favorite chair—the book I’d meant to take back into my room last night—making sure the bridal magazine inside was still hidden from sight.
I smiled and shrugged. “Same old, same old.”
I swallowed as I set foot onto campus. Unlike some of my sisters, human ears set me on edge. But even now, I could hear Elizabeth’s voice in my head. “You don’t need to stay inside all the time. I’m not living that way,” she had vowed, maybe two weeks into her new life with us. And she stayed true to her word, not only getting out herself, but making sure that the rest of us also had as much of a life as possible. Venturing out was half to appease her, half to indulge myself.
Our current home was right near a university, which was perfect for me. It meant slews of people wandering around on open lawns and mingling at picnic tables. I didn’t feel the need to go to concerts or clubs or parties like Elizabeth and Miaka. I was content merely to be among the humans. If I sat under a tree, I could pretend to be one of them for hours.
I watched people pass, pleased we were in such a friendly area that some people waved at me for no reason at all. If I could have said hello to them—just one tiny, harmless word—the illusion would have been perfect.
“. . . if she doesn’t want to. I mean, why doesn’t she just say something?” one girl asked the crowd of friends surrounding her. I imagined her a queen bee, the others hapless drones.
“You’re totally right. She should have told you she didn’t want to go instead of telling everyone else.”
The queen flipped her hair. “Well, I’m done with her. I’m not playing those games.”
I squinted after her, positive she was playing a completely different game, one she would certainly win.
“I’m telling you, man, we could design it.” A short-haired boy waved his hands enthusiastically at his friend.
“I don’t know.” This boy, slightly overweight and scratching a patch of skin on his neck, was walking fast. He might have been trying to outwalk his friend, but his counterpart was so light on his feet, so motivated, that he probably could have kept up with a rocket.
“Just a tiny investment, man. We could be the next big thing!”
I suppressed a smile.
When the crowds dispersed in the afternoon, I made my way to the library. Since moving to Miami, I’d gone there once or twice a week. I didn’t like to do my scrapbook research at the house. I’d made that mistake before, and Elizabeth had teased me mercilessly for being morbid.
“Why don’t you just go hunt for their corpses?” she’d said. “Or ask the Ocean to tell you their final thoughts. You want to know that, too?”
I understood her disgust. She saw my scrapbooks as an unhealthy obsession with the people we’d murdered. What I wished she understood was the way those people haunted me, the way the screams stayed with me long after the ships sank.
My goal today was Warner Thomas, the second-to-last person on the passenger list of the Arcatia. Warner turned out to be a relatively easy find. There were tons of people with the same name, but once I found all the social networking profiles with posts that stopped abruptly six months ago, I knew he was the right one. Warner was a string bean of a man who looked too shy to talk to people in