Sera released her illuminata, leaving it to float in the dusky water. She swam to the altar, slowing as she saw what was above it—a mosaic, at least twenty feet high, of the fearsome Morsa.
It was only an image, yet it scared her. Morsa, the scavenger goddess of the dead, had once taken the form of a jackal. When she started to practice necromancy, the forbidden art of conjuring the dead, Neria transformed her into a creature so loathsome, no one could bear to look at her.
The creature staring back at Sera from the wall of the temple, with its glittering eyes, was a woman from the waist up, and a coiled serpent from the waist down. Her face was that of a corpse, mottled by decay. A crown of scorpions, their tails poised to strike, sat atop her head. On the palm of one hand rested a flawless black pearl.
What was on the floor of Morsa’s altar, though, frightened Sera even more—a large, deep stain, as deeply red as garnets. She knew what it was. What she didn’t know was why the seawater hadn’t washed it away centuries ago. She was filled with dread as she bent down to touch it, yet strangely compelled.
Driven by the urgency of her mission, Serafina had done a foolish thing—she’d entered a place that had only one way in and one way out.
When the hand came down on her shoulder, she had absolutely nowhere to go.
SERAFINA SCREAMED.
She whipped around and thrust her dagger up through the water, catching her attacker under the chin.
“Maybe I should have knocked.”
“Ling?” Serafina cried in disbelief. Her voice was shaking almost as much as her hand.
Ling tried to nod, but couldn’t. The tip of Sera’s dagger was poking into her skin.
“I could have killed you!” Serafina said, putting her dagger away. “I almost did! What are you doing here?”
“Keeping an eye on you.”
“How did you get into the ruins?” asked Sera.
“I came out of Vr?ja’s mirror in Vadus. A vitrina told me I was in the Hall of Sighs. I found a mirror that led to an eel’s house—a very angry eel. When she told me I was the second mermaid who’d invaded her space today, I knew I was on your tail. The tunnel was a bit tight with this thing on my arm,” she said, patting the splint she wore to protect her broken wrist, “but I got through.”
“How did you find out I was going to Atlantis?”
“Ava. You know how she can sometimes see the future? She saw that you were coming here, then used a convoca to contact me. She was really worried, so I told her I’d go after you.”
“I’m sorry, Ling.”
“For what?”
“Almost cutting your head off.”
“No worries,” Ling said, smiling. “If you had killed me”—she nodded at the mosaic—“good old Morsa could bring me back.” Ling swam up high and peered at the ancient inscription over the goddess’s head. “It means Soul Eater,” she said.
Ling was much quicker at translating than Sera. She was an omnivoxa, a mermaid who could speak all languages.
“Soul eater. Wow. That’s comforting,” Serafina said.
Ling swam back down and looked at the altar stone. “Whoa. Is that—”
“Blood? I think so.”
“Why is it still here? How is it still here?”
“I was wondering the same thing,” said Serafina. She reached for the dark stain again.
“What are you doing?” Ling asked.
“Pulling a bloodsong.”
Even after four thousand years, the blood came to life under Sera’s hand. It brightened as if newly spilled, then spun up from the floor in a violent crimson vortex.
The mermaids heard a voice. And then another. And more. Until there were dozens of them. Screaming. Sobbing. Pleading. Shrieking. They sounded so terrified that Serafina couldn’t bear to listen any longer. She ripped her hand away with such force that she toppled backward. The blood spiraled back down into the altar.
Ling had backed herself against a wall. “Something bad happened here,” she said, pale and shaking.
“There’s got to be a way to find out what it was,” Serafina said. “We could comb through more temples. Go to the ostrokon and the Hall of the Six. Read every inscription we can find.”
“Yeah, we could. If we had a year or two,” said Ling. She thought for a moment, then her eyes lit up. “We’re in the wrong place, Sera. Forget ostrokons and temples. What we need is a hairdresser’s. Or a toga shop. Someplace with lots of mirrors.”
“Why?” Serafina said. Then she understood. “Vitrina! Ling, you’re a genius!”
“SO, TELL ME, does my hair look better up? Or down?”
“Four thousand years go by, and this is what she asks us?” Ling grumbled.
“Shh!” Serafina hissed, elbowing her. “Up, Lady Thalia. Definitely,” she said to the figure in the mirror. “It frames your face beautifully that way. And shows off your lovely eyes.”
The vitrina twisted her hair up and pinned it. “Oh, you’re so right! Now, which earrings? The ruby drops or the gold hoops?”