Of Poseidon

is one of us, I don’t want to know! Because then I’d have to kill her for letting her friend die!”
    Galen is on his feet before she can finish the last sentence. “So if she’s human, you hate her, and if she’s Syrena, you hate her. Have I got that right?” He tries to keep the defensive edge out of his tone. His sister would probably have a different opinion if she’d just seen what he had. But she didn’t. And since he’s still not ready to tell her anything—not what Dr. Milligan said and not how the shark acted—he’s going to have to be patient with her misconceptions about Emma. And he’s going to have to do better than this.
    “She’s not Syrena! If she was, we would sense her, Galen.”
    This shuts him up. He’d assumed Rayna could sense Emma the way he could, since she is his twin. But who ever heard of sensing another Syrena on land? Did he just make it up? Could it be that he’s just attracted to a human?
    No. He knows what he felt when he touched her. That means something, doesn’t it?
    “Wait,” Rayna says, jabbing her index into his bare chest. “Are … are you telling me you did sense her?”
    He shrugs. “Did you get in the water?”
    She tilts her head at him. “No. I was in the boat the whole time.”
    “So how do you know if you can sense her or not?”
    She crosses her arms. “Stop answering my questions with questions. That only worked when we were young.”
    Galen cringes inwardly. There is no way to explain this to his sister without sounding foolish. And his answer would only lead to more questions—questions that weren’t any of her business. For now, at least.
    He crosses his arms, too. “It still works sometimes. Remember a few days ago when we came across that lionfish and—”
    “Stop that! I swear by Triton’s trident if you don’t answer—”
    Galen is saved by the faint sound of music coming from beneath their feet. They both step away and listen. Galen gently kicks the sand around, looking for the cell phone. He finds it on the last ring. He picks it up, brushes it off.
    This phone doesn’t look the same as the one Rachel—his self-appointed human assistant—bought him. It’s pink with little jewels all over the cover. He presses a button, and a picture of Emma and Chloe lights up the screen.
    “Oh,” Rayna says, her brow wrinkled. “Whose … whose is it?”
    “I don’t know.” He checks the missed call, but it only says, “Mom.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know how to tell who it belongs to.”
    “Would Rachel know?”
    He shrugs. “Is there anything Rachel doesn’t know?” Even Dr. Milligan admits that Rachel could likely be the most resourceful human alive. Galen has never told him her background, or how he found her, but if Dr. Milligan is impressed, then so is he. “Let’s call her.”
    “She won’t answer from this number, will she?”
    “No, but I’ll call the safe number and leave a message.” He dials the 800 number she insisted on buying. It goes to a fake company, a “shell company” Rachel calls it, that’s supposed to sell car warranties. She hardly ever gets a call, but when she does, she won’t answer. And she only returns Galen’s calls.
    When he hears the voice prompt to leave a message, he says, “Rachel, call me back on this number, I don’t have my cell phone. I need to know whose phone this is, both names if you can get it. Oh, and I need to know where Jersey is and if I have enough money to buy it.”
    When he hangs up, Rayna is staring at him. “ Both names?”
    Galen nods. “You know, like Dr. Milligan’s names are Jerry and Milligan.”
    “Oh. Right. I forgot about that. Rachel said she has more names than a phone book. What does that mean?”
    “It means she has so many names that no one can figure out who she is.”
    “Yeah, that makes perfect sense,” Rayna mutters, kicking the sand. “Thanks for explaining.”
    The phone rings. The safe number lights up the screen.
    “Hey, Rachel.”
    “Hiya, cutie. I can get you that name by morning,” she says. She yawns.
    “Did I wake you up? Sorry.”
    “Aw, you know I don’t mind it, sweet pea.”
    “Thanks. What about Jersey?”
    She laughs. “Sorry, hun, but Jersey’s not for sale. If it was, my uncle Sylvester would already own it.”
    “Well then, I’ll need a house there. Probably another car, too.”
    He turns away from his sister, who looks like she might eat Emma’s poor shirt. He prefers that she does—if it keeps