Of Poseidon

glass, Galen tries to swallow his heart back down into his chest. When Emma moves—then growls when Rayna pulls herself up—he’s able to breathe. Rayna shields herself when Emma kicks her legs out from under her. And it begins again.
    Toraf shuffles up beside him in the living room and crosses his arms. “Rachel left,” he says, sighing. “Says she’s never coming back.”
    Galen nods. “She always says that. It’s probably for the better tonight, though.” They both wince as Rayna plants the ball of her foot in Emma’s back, splaying her across the sea of shards.
    “I taught her that,” Toraf says.
    “It’s a good move.”
    Neither of the combatants seem to care about the rain, lightning, or the whereabouts of their hostess. The storm billows in, drenching the furniture, the TV, the strange art on the wall. No wonder Rachel didn’t want to see this. She fussed over this stuff for days.
    “So, it kind of threw me when she said she didn’t like fish,” Toraf says.
    “I noticed. Surprised me too, but everything else is there.”
    “Bad temper.”
    “The eyes.”
    “That white hair is shocking though, isn’t it?”
    “Yeah. I like it. Shut up.” Galen throws a sideways glare at his friend, whose grin makes him ball his fists.
    “Hard bones and thick skin, obviously. There’s no sign of blood. And she took some pretty hard hits from Rayna,” Toraf continues neutrally.
    Galen nods, relaxes his fists.
    “Plus, you feel the pull—” Toraf is greeted with a forceful shove that sends him skidding on one foot across the slippery marble floor. Laughing, he comes back to stand beside Galen again.
    “Jackass,” Galen mutters.
    “Jackass? What’s a jackass?”
    “Not sure. Emma called me that today when she was irritated with me.”
    “You’re insulting me in human-talk now? I’m disappointed in you, minnow.” Toraf nods toward the girls. “Shouldn’t we break this up soon?”
    “I don’t think so. I think they need to work this out on their own.”
    “What about Emma’s head?”
    Galen shrugs. “Seems fine right now. Or she wouldn’t have bashed the window into pieces with her forehead.”
    “Do you think she faked the whole thing?”
    “No.” Galen shakes his head. “You should have seen her on the porch. Terrified. More than terrified. She even let me carry her into the house. That’s not like her. I mean, she wouldn’t let me carry her backpack at school. She tried to snatch it out of my hands. No, something happened. I just don’t know what.”
    “Maybe she knocked everything back into place then. Or maybe Rayna did.”
    “Could be.”
    After a few minutes of watching the gore, Galen pulls off his shirt. “What are you doing?” Toraf says.
    “We should head toward shore. If Rayna’s smart, she’ll lure her to the water where she has the advantage.” They can already see that Rayna is doing exactly that. She’s made it past the pool, her arms roped around Emma’s neck, dragging her as she kicks and bites.
    “But what advantage does she have over Emma, if Emma’s one of us and of Poseidon, on top of that?”
    “Rayna knows what she is. Emma doesn’t. But I think now’s as good a time as any for her to know.”
    A bolt of lightning strikes close on the beach, startling the girls from the melee. Emma recovers first and fills Rayna’s left eye with her knuckles, then slams a knee into her gut. When Rayna hunches over, Emma throws an uppercut to her chin, toppling her backward in the mud. Rayna rolls over and crawls toward the tide.
    “What if Rayna gets her in the water and takes off with her?” Toraf says, peeling off his shirt in the rain.
    Galen rolls his eyes. “She’s almost as slow as you. I’ll catch her.”
    They plod down the waterlogged beach. Emma thinks she has the upper hand by dragging Rayna by the hair to the water. “Looks like Emma’s toying with the idea of drowning my fragile little princess,” Toraf says, frowning.
    “Why don’t you ever call me my prince?” Galen says, feigning insult.
    “Shut up, my prince. There, is that better?”
    Galen laughs, but Toraf insists on defending his love. “I think everyone just misunderstands Rayna, you know? Sure, her passion sometimes comes off as—”
    “Viciousness?” Galen offers.
    “I was going to say, ‘rude.’”
    “So, accusing Emma of killing her best friend was rude ?”
    “Among other things, yes.”
    “It was evil and you know it.”
    “I admit she could have been more