Fathom by L. Standage (spanish books to read .TXT) 📕

We climbed into the van while the others finished loading. Eamon took the front passenger seat. Samantha took a seat in the back by the window. I took the middle one beside her. Natasha took one of the bucket seats in the center of the van. The other was loaded with luggage. Through the dripping window, Calder brought out three duffle bags in both hands. He walked around to the back of the van and stuffed the bags in the little space left. Then he came to the open door and looked inside. He hesitated a second. I scooted over to give him room and gave him a small smile. He climbed in and settled on my other side but didn’t return the smile. I buckled my seat belt right as he buckled his, making our fingers touch. An embarrassing level of heat rushed to my cheeks.

“Comfortable, Liv?” Sam asked from the other side. She lifted a brow. I glared at her.

“Buckle up, ihr,” Uther said in his thick German accent. He looked at us through the rear-view mirror. “I’m not paying to replace any lost limbs if there’s a crash.”

Eamon looked over a checklist on a notepad. He and Uther exchanged a muted conversation from the front seat.

“So you said it was that little whelp Seidon who came with Cordelia last night?” Uther asked.

“I did,” said Eamon with a small laugh. “He’s not a whelp anymore though. You’ll see when we get there. He’s all grown up.”

Uther grunted.

I wondered who these people were—Seidon and Cordelia. What position did they have, where they came from? Who were they? The name Seidon made me think of a powerful warrior; the name Cordelia, on the other hand, sort of reminded me of a goldfish…a mean kind of goldfish that liked to play with knives.

“Apparently, all of this business has been a larger threat than we anticipated,” Eamon said. “I suspect there to be disloyalties running deeper than just a stolen vessel.”

“What was on the vessel? Did she tell you?” asked Calder, nodding toward me.

“Aye,” said Eamon with a nod, “and I’m afraid this particular vessel contains the Prayer.”

A silence fell in the car.

“And Linnaeus saw it?” Natasha asked in a hushed tone. Uther muttered something in German. I wanted to ask…

Samantha beat me to it. “What’s the Prayer?” she asked.

“Not something we should discuss lightly,” said Eamon. “Just know that it’s extremely sacred to our oceanic friends.” He didn’t elaborate further.

The silence continued. Traffic remained tight for a few more miles. I felt a swell of eager anxiety grow larger with every passing moment. Somewhere in all this metropolis, certain people waited for us. Merpeople waited for us. Real, live merpeople.

What would they look like in the light of day? I remembered Delfina’s appearance: she was, I supposed, the favorable image of a mermaid with her striking beauty, long red locks, and big eyes. Then there was the one working with Linnaeus. The guy with the missing pinky. But he edged on the creepy side. All I remembered of the merman I saw with Eamon was dark hair and a strong build. And what about Cordelia? A lovely singing voice, a lithe figure, and perhaps, like in all the mermaid legends, a little flirtatious toward men? Well, no. She was too malicious—more like a piranha woman.

This car ride was taking too long.

We pulled up in front of an Olive Garden restaurant. Weird. Shouldn’t we be at some place with lots of seafood? Or wouldn’t it be better if we went somewhere with a reinforced vault guarded by two huge guys holding machine guns?

Uther parked. “Keep your heads down a moment,” he said, then climbed out of the car. Did he mean literally? I looked at Sam, who shrugged.

“He’s our security,” said Eamon with a smile. “He likes to be cautious.”

So, we waited. After a few minutes, Uther opened the door of the restaurant and signaled us with a wave of his hand.

Sam and I climbed out of the car last. I looked up at the neon letters of the Olive Garden sign. Somewhere inside, merpeople waited for us. Though I had seen them before, our last meeting wasn’t the most cordial. My knees locked.

Would she have her knives with her? What if she felt the need to use them again? Someone nudged me. I jumped, but it was only Sam. She gave my back a small push. I kept moving.

Eamon led the way toward the Olive Garden entrance. He glanced at me, sensing my anxiety. “It’s going to be fine. They asked to meet you.”

Right. Meet or meat? Behind me, Samantha looked the same way she did at school before walking in to take a huge test she forgot to prepare for. I took a deep breath and stepped through the glass door Eamon held open.

At the hostess’s podium stood a smiling lady in a white button-up shirt and black slacks. Eamon approached her.

“I believe there’s a party of three waiting for a party of six.”

The hostess’s smile broadened. “Ooh, where are you from?” she asked.

Eamon smiled. “A wee village in Ireland you’ve never heard of. Our table?”

She blinked. “Oh yes, your friends were seated just five minutes ago. Right this way.” She motioned for us to follow her. Menus in hand, she led the way between the aisles of tables, through the heart of the restaurant.

My anticipation was wound so tight, I thought my insides would collapse on themselves. I stared at people in the restaurant bearing any resemblance to the people I saw last night, wondering, is it them? Is it them? I drummed my fingers against my leg, bit my lower lip, and tugged on a strand of my hair. We finally stopped at a secluded little dining area near the back.

I let out the breath I’d been holding. There they sat, Walter next to them in yet another hibiscus-emblazoned shirt.

Merpeople. Cordelia the dangerous goldfish and Seidon the warrior. They