Poseidon (Contemporary Mythos Book 5)

As I walked into the gift shop to meet up with Meg after dropping off the equipment in my Jeep, I kept playing his words in my head. I squinted at nothing, moving my finger in the air as if solving an algebraic equation without pencil and paper.

The past days left me with unanswered questions I hadn’t even known I wanted to ask.

“Cory,” Meg shouted, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me.

I jerked within her grasp. “What? What?”

“I called your name three times. From two feet away. What the hell is wrong with you?” She raised her hand in a fin gesture and moved it from one side of my face to the other, keeping her eyes on mine.

I followed her hand before batting it away. “I don’t have a concussion or whatever else you feel the need to check my motor skills on.”

“Are you going to tell me about your chit-chat with Simon, or do I have to drag it out of you?” She’d thrown a plaid shirt over her swimsuit top, letting the rest of the wetsuit hang from her waist.

“He—” I fluttered past her, busying my hands and eyes with a variety of souvenirs. “Asked for my number.”

“Wow. The man works fast and knows what he wants. I like it.” Meg ran her fingers over the seashell keychains hanging from pegs.

“It’s—I mean, I’m probably overthinking it.” I snagged a water globe with a pair of sea turtles swimming between the words West Palm Beach and turned it upside down to make it snow on them.

“Cordelia. Spit. It. Out. Since when have you been so non-forthcoming with information? Normally you’d be talking my damn ear off by now.” She snatched the globe from my hand, putting it back, and tugging on my arm. “Come look at these.”

“He has this sense of urgency to him. Like he’s afraid if he doesn’t act on the prospect of us, I’ll get pulled in with the tide, never to be seen again.”

Meg led me to several rows of shelves filled with miniature sculptures dipped in pearlescent sheen.

“I don’t know, Cor. There’s nothing wrong with a person knowing what they want and going for it. So long as he doesn’t propose tomorrow, I’d ride it out.” She grabbed a hammerhead shark, running her thumb over its dorsal fin. “He seems perfect for you.”

“We don’t know this guy, Meg.” I winced, grabbing one of the sea turtles, testing its weight in my palm.

And it was true. I. Did. Not. Know. Him. But his presence was like a midnight swim—relaxing current mixed with uncertainty and eerie calm.

“That’s the whole point of dating, isn’t it? Getting to know him?” She kept the hammerhead shark in her grasp and reached for a bull shark figurine.

A pile of small replica tridents rested in a far corner, the overhead fluorescent light reflecting off them, making them sparkle brighter than the rest. I hovered my hand over one, and a loud buzzing pounded in my ears, dizzying me. Wincing through the bizarre interference, I snatched one, and the sound floated away, replaced by Meg’s voice still going on about Simon.

“That’s all I’m saying. I’m simply looking out for your best interests,” Meg continued, cradling one of every shark species in her arms with a bright smile.

Holding the trident up to the light, I twirled it between two fingers. “If I text him when we get to the car, will that please you?”

“Yes. Yes, it would. At least one of us should be having a successful sex life.”

“From, ‘you should date him,’ to, ‘you should bang him’ in nearly one breath. Wow.” I moved past her with wide eyes to the register, slapping the trident onto the counter.

“We’re both adults. And gone are the times for judgment over screwing on the first date.” She shrugged and plucked a seashell keychain from a turnstile with her name on it. “Sometimes, it’s even a matter of releasing stress. And that’s a-okay.”

The cashier, a younger woman with ringlets of strawberry blonde hair and a small perky nose, smiled as she rang me up, her cheeks blushing.

“I mean, am I right?” Meg asked, dipping her face to try and look at the shy cashier.

The woman nodded emphatically but couldn’t meet Meg’s gaze.

Biting back a smile, I took my small blue bag and receipt, stepping out of Meg’s way.

As the cashier rang up the dozen shark figures Meg set on the counter, I peered at the trident surrounded by blue plastic within the satchel. If the same weapon in Tides of Atlantis were as powerful as it had been when I wielded it in the game, why did it remain the least popular choice?

“So, you live in West Palm, huh? Ever visit Pensacola?” Meg leaned her forearms on the counter, chewing a pen she’d thrown into her haul at the last minute.

The cashier’s shoulders hunched forward, but she grinned. “Sometimes, yeah. I love that Diesel Fuel drink. Not to mention the huge pile of nachos at McGuire’s.”

Never having been the shy type, Meg pushed the blue arrow on the cash register, making several inches of blank receipt tape appear. After tearing it off, she jotted something down and slid it toward her.

“My number. When you’re in town next, you should get in touch. I’ll buy you a Diesel Fuel.” Meg stuck the pen back in her mouth before beating her palms on the counter in rhythmic succession.

The cashier’s cheeks turned rosy, and she folded the receipt tape with a smile. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

Meg winked before scooping the bag full of sharky souvenirs onto her arm and joining me near the entrance.

“Back on the saddle?” I elbowed her.

She continued to chew the pen. “Trying.”

Curling our arms, we tossed our bags into the back of my Jeep and crawled in, heading back to our hotel for the night. My cell phone vibrated in the glove compartment, echoing off the plastic walls until Meg popped it open and grabbed it.

“Who is it?” I bobbed my brows at her.

With a sly grin, she scrolled the screen with her thumb. “Looks like you won’t have to be the first to make a move after all. I should’ve guessed.”

“Is it Simon?” I reached for the phone, but she leaned away.

“Uh-huh. He’s asking if you want to come to his surf competition in two days.”

“Surf competition? What kind of a date is that?”

She lowered the phone to her lap and gave me an exasperated stare. “Why am I having to school you on men? This is so incredibly backward, Cor.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He wants to show off at the competition. Afterward, I’d bet my favorite plaid shirt he plans to take you to dinner or drinks or whatever for a nightcap.” She twirled her hand in a circle, waiting for the lightbulb to go off in my brain.

“Oh.” I wrung my hands on the steering wheel. “I suppose that makes sense.”

Meg nodded once and rested my phone in the cupholder between us. “I already replied that you’d be there.”

“What? Why would you—” I gripped the wheel tighter.

She pointed a stern finger at me, silent.

“Fine. I suppose I can pretend to be way more into surfing than I actually am for a day.”

“No.”

I snapped my head in her direction. “No?”

Nerves bubbled in my stomach from taking my eyes off the road, and I quickly returned them.

“You’re not going to pretend anything. That’s bullshit. You’re going to watch Simon show his athletic prowess half-naked and hang out with him afterward. That’s it.” She sliced her hand through the air in front of her.

I sunk in my seat. “You’re considerably fiery lately.”

“A new leaf, Cor. A new leaf.”

It was our last day in West Palm, and we chartered a cage dive to get some prize-winning shark close-ups, hopefully. We sat on a bench aboard the boat, and I checked for an SD card, ensured my regulator worked properly, and pulled my hair in a low ponytail.

“I’ve gotten so used to full-face dive masks.” Meg tossed around the mouthpiece of her regulator with a snicker. “It’s going to suck not being able to talk to you.”

I slipped on my flippers. “I think we’ll survive for twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes, huh? Wow. Has Cordelia Bourne grown an ego?” Meg poked my shoulder.

Flicking her in the leg with my flipper, I guffawed. “Ego? What are you talking about?”

“You’ve had such a lucky track record lately with your photos that you think we’re going to nab a sell-worthy shark shot in twenty minutes?”

I squinted into the sun with a slight shrug. “Or under.” Peeking at her reaction from the corner of my eye, she didn’t disappoint. Her jaw almost touched her chest. “I’m kidding, Meg.” I smiled at her, flicking her shin with my flipper again.

“Five minutes,” the captain announced.

We both stood, helping the other secure the tanks on our backs. It must’ve been comical for anyone who watched me assist Meg, considering I had to practically make a running start to throw the straps over her shoulders. After we were suited up, we flopped to the edge of the boat, watching the cage lower into the water from an attached crane once the boat came to a complete stop.

I glared at the cage’s bars and tugged on Meg’s arm. “Don’t those bars look a bit too far apart to you?”

She peered into the water. “Maybe an inch or two beyond what we normally see, but it’ll still do its job. Keep the knife teeth away from us.” After winking at me, she yanked her goggles over her face.

“Right.” I forced a smile and shoved the regulator in my mouth.

The world around us quieted as we jumped into the water. The only sounds passing over my ears were the metal groans of the boat bobbing in the water, our steady breathing, and water churning around us. The cage lowered after locking ourselves inside and tugging on the cord secured by the crane operator on deck. The metal fastenings keeping the bars closed jangled when it came to a halting stop. We both lifted our cameras and began swimming circles with our backs to each other, staying toward the center.

They started to chum the water from the boat, marred bits of torn fish floated through the water, fresh blood curling around it in a spiral. My grip tightened on the camera handles as a fish head darted past my gaze. Bile crept up my throat, but I gulped it away. Vomiting in my regulator wouldn’t be an ideal situation.

We’d been floating in the cage for ten minutes, schools of fish swimming on either side, but nothing larger—not the big game we sought. A curious female bull shark circled nearby, moving in a zigzag pattern as she gained closure on the cage. I elbowed Meg and pointed, encouraging her to frame a shot in case it graced us with its presence.

The shark swam closer and closer until suddenly it zipped away, leaving a trail of bubbles behind it. For a bull shark of that size to flee on a whim could’ve only meant one thing—an even bigger fish swam nearby. I whipped my head in every direction, straining to see an outline, movement, anything in the distance.

It happened with such speed, force, and pure power we didn’t see it coming until a Great White shark’s head plowed between the bars on the side of the cage. Bubbles surged from our mouths as we both screamed. The shark either thought we were food or a threat or possibly both and had planned a long-ranged attack.

I lifted the camera, using it as a shield once the shark started thrashing and biting—stuck. My breathing grew erratic, staring in horror at the poor creature panicking, writhing for its life to no avail. Meg swam to the farthest corner and pushed her back to it, her eyes as wide as beach balls behind her goggles.

With as deep of a breath as I could manage given a regulator, I steadied my heartbeat. Blood floated from the shark’s gills, and I knew if it kept thrashing, it would make itself bleed to death.

If only I could tell it to stop so I could help push it through to spare its gills.

If only the risk of losing a hand in the process weren’t astronomically high.

It. Was. Going. To. Die.

I couldn’t live with myself if I stood there watching it hurt itself until going lifeless and sinking to the bottom of the ocean—forgotten.

Stop.

The shark’s glossy eyes peered back at me, continuing to squirm against the cage bars.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

Swimming closer, I kept the camera between us.

The shark’s writhing slowed, but the blood leaking from its gills didn’t.

A spark sizzled up my spine, and I let the camera float to the cage bottom. Moving in front of the shark, a breath away, so close I could see the dozens of scars on its nose, I ripped the regulator from my mouth.

“Stop,” I shouted into the water, sending a barrage of curling bubbles into the shark’s face.

The shark stopped—its gills flopping helplessly against the cage, its tail idly whipping back and forth to keep it afloat. I stared at the shark’s eyes, keeping its gaze as I reached a shaky hand forward. Meg’s fingers brushed against my wet suit from behind me, but I ignored her, entirely focused on the shark, and locked our gazes.

The shark jerked as I neared its gills, but I fought every compulsion to snap away. Nudging my hand between the shark’s gills and the cage, I grunted and pushed with all my might. The shark did a small shimmy with its head before it dislodged—free. Like the swell in the ocean, my chest soared, almost bursting, beaming at the sight of the freed shark. A film flapped over the shark’s right eye before it swam away with solid strokes of its tail.

My lungs burned. The regulator. I shoved it back into my mouth and took several long gulps of air. Meg grabbed my shoulder and turned me around, frantically grabbing for my hands, checking all fingers were still intact. She shoved my shoulder before pulling on the rope, signaling the boat to make the cage ascend. I rested a hand on my throat, recalling the swirling pattern of bubbles from my underwater yell.

My head breached the surface, the sun warming my skin and calming my rattled nerves. The shouts from the boat’s captain, birds flying overhead, and the water crashing against the boat faded into my ears—I felt like a stranger in my own skin.

No sooner had we climbed back on board, Meg tore off her goggles and grabbed both my shoulders. “What the ever-loving hell happened down there, Cor?”

“Miss, are you alright?” The captain asked, running a hand over his bald, sweaty head. “That shark was throwing the cage around like a damned seal. Never seen that happen before.”

I furrowed my brow, dropping my focus to the laugh lines bordering Meg’s mouth. “I’m fine.”

“I got this handled, Captain. Can you get us back to the dock as soon as possible, please?” Meg guided me to the bench and pushed me down to sit.

“You never being threatened by sharks, Cory, is one thing. What I witnessed down there was damned shark whispering.” Meg grabbed her camera and held the digital screen on the back out to me.

I rubbed my lips together, eyes shifting to the screen. She’d taken several succession shots of me reaching my hand to the shark and even more when I pressed my hand on its gills and pushed. Closing my eyes, I turned away, my head dizzy and pulsing. “You can’t publish those.”

“No shit. I wanted you to see for yourself what you did.” Meg rested the camera on the bench beside her and scooted closer to me, rubbing my arms. “How did you know it wouldn’t bite your damn arm off, Cor?”

My body jostled as she rubbed, beads of water from my wet hair falling on my upturned hand resting on my thigh.

Drip. Drip drip.

“I didn’t.”

“Jesus. Why did you do it, hm? Why?” She switched to rubbing my shoulders.

“It was either do something or watch it die.” Tears welled in my eyes at the mere thought. “You know I couldn’t let that happen.”

She side-hugged me, pulling me in tight. Given our height difference, I was able to rest my head on her shoulder comfortably. She placed her head on mine. “Please don’t ever do it again. I couldn’t earn enough money on my own. Kinda need you.” She chuckled, making my body vibrate.

A smile pulled at my lips but faded.

There weren’t any telltale signs of a shark’s emotions. No gleams in their eyes. No thinned lips or reddened cheeks. But I knew with every fiber in my being—that fish not only understood me when I yelled but also thanked me before swimming away.