The Vast and Brutal Sea: A Vicious Deep novel (The Vicious Deep) Read Online Free Page B

thighs where I leave the scales because, even though I’m alone, I don’t feel like running around an unknown island buck naked. I rub the scales on my knees and they dissolve into blue sand. It takes me two tries to stand up, and even then my legs shake.
    I take it in. A white sun and purple moon hang at opposite ends of the sky, creating a gradient of night and day, as if the heavens are stuck. I suppose in a land hidden from the human plane, it’s about right. A sea breeze guides me inland where patches of grass rise to calf length and a forest fans as wide as the shoreline and beyond.
    I empty my backpack and take inventory of my weapons. A tiny knife that can fit in my palm. I won it from a redheaded demigoddess with an attitude. Some wet shirts and underwear—thanks, Mom, but I prefer my tail. Rope. Empty water bottle with my school’s logo—the Thorne Hill Knight. A flattened bag of chips. And a red stone from Shelly, the sea oracle of Central Park.
    I don’t know what the stone does, but it was enough to raise the stakes of our poker game, which means it has to do something. I hold it in my palm and envision the source of its magic. Before I can stop myself, I imagine Gwen saying that magic is gradual and not instant. I roll my eyes at no one, and because the red stone does absolutely nothing, I throw it back into my bag. I readjust my harness, the wet leather cold on my skin.
    I take a precarious step on the grass, hoping it doesn’t give beneath me. The ground is solid, the grass dewy, like it rained not too long ago though there isn’t a single cloud in the sky.
    I wait for the call of birds, the whisper of insects, the rustle of hooves behind bushes. Something, anything that would let me know I am not alone in this place.
    But I am alone, with only the trail ahead of me, a clear dirt path leading inland.
    With every step I take, I wish for the familiar sound of Brooklyn sirens—the ambulance kind, not the magical kind—blaring down Surf Avenue.
    I use my dagger to hack off a branch. In two strikes, the wood breaks and falls at my feet. Shimmering liquid seeps from the wound like honey. I let it fall on my open palm and it spills until the bark starts to heal itself, and slowly, the limb shows the tiniest sign of growth.
    The branch at my feet has lost the color of the tree it was a part of. The leaves wither instantly and I slice off the bark so it feels like I’m holding a super long bone. A smile pulls at my mouth when I think of what my friends back home would say of my oversized staff. Then I keep walking, periodically hitting my staff between bushes to check for wildlife or anything else that might be looming in the shadows.
    I walk.
    And walk.
    And wait.
    And think. Maybe I should go back and search for my friends. Maybe I’m on the wrong island shrouded by magical mist. What if Kai and Brendan are still out there? No, they’d want me to keep going. What if Arion is dead and washed away to surf and tiny bits of flesh? Why don’t we leave our whole selves behind? Why do we become nothing?
    My head snaps up when I hear the rush of water. There’s a waterfall nearby and waterfalls mean rivers. So then where the hell is the River Clan?
    The waterfall is a spill of sunset colors. I scoop some water in my hands. It smells of the most intangible things, like dreams and promises. My tongue is as dry as bricks, and my throat raw and scratched. I drink the water in my palms. I fill up my bottle for later. I stick my head right into the waterfall, the weight of it pushing down and beating over my head. I let myself sink down on the slick boulders, and when I move my hands to push my hair back, I’m surprised at the stubble and remember that it’s gone.
    When my skin begins to feel numb, I make my way back to my backpack and freeze. I can feel something or someone watching me. I hold out my dagger and wade toward the bank. A panic floods me when I start wondering what kind of creatures live on this