“I suppose technically. But I was trying to protect you—”
“Locking Annabelle in a room full of science books is like leaving a podlet in a candy stall overnight, Holter. They’ll feel like shit in the morning, but they won’t complain about it while it’s happening.” Nico finishes one shelf of books and moves on to the next one.
Belle smiles at me. “He’s not wrong. I was salty about not seeing you. But I did kind of lose track of things while I was in here. I don’t think they were originally his late uncle Titus’s books. I think they’re older.”
“Well, Poseidon.”
I glance over at Nico. Ever since people started calling him the return of Poseidon, he’s been finding other expletives. “Pardon you.”
“No pardon for you or me,” Nico says.
Belle laughs.
I cock my head at him. “What are you talking about, Nico?”
“I’m talking about Poseidon. Or at least, the first return of him.”
Belle stands and we both go to the book Nico is holding.
“What is that?” She leans over his arm. “It’s written in Dorian.”
“Yes. And it’s written by the person who is most likely the original owner of this dome. Alaric Herod. The first person to return from the chasm. Only, he knew he wasn’t bringing back the right trident. The trident he brought back was old but not like Nico’s. A plain old hunting trident.”
“Damn.” I read over Nico’s arm. It’s written in a form of Dorian that’s full of Latin and Greek. A slang of our native tongue. “It’s his diary.”
Nico nods. “We can read this at home. Let’s focus on Mom’s book.”
Belle returns to the chair and fires up the machine, sliding a page of mostly the unknown language into it first. The tech whines and complains, like it might start smoking and stop. Instead, the screen comes on. It translates all of Richeal’s text, but the language we weren’t sure about is blurred. Under the blur, it appears to have translated it, but then it redacted it. I turn to Nico.
“What the actual fuck?” Nico glares at the screen. “Move the—” But Belle is already on it. She has hovered over the black box. It reads, “classified, clearance level access needed.”
Nico motions to the keyboard, which glows with the English alphabet. He switches it to Dorian and types in his clearance code. But the tech buzzes back a rejection. For as advanced as we are, our bureaucracy is typically extraordinarily slow. I incline my head and try.
Mine goes through. Sort of. “Military clearance denied,” it replies.
“What did your mother do for a living?”
“Nothing. She was a mermaid who stayed home. As far as we know.”
“Yeah, well, there’s definitely more that you don’t know.”
“Yes.”
* * *
I’m sitting nextto Belle on the sofa, and Nico is making dinner. At least, I think he’s making dinner. There’s tomato splatter on the ceiling and lots of noise. Things clattering on both the counter and floor. He has on an apron but no shirt. Not that he’s trying to entice Belle. No, he spilled half a pan of tomato sauce on his sleeve. When I tried to help, he punched me. Not hard, but I can take a hint. When Belle tried to help, he growled. So now we are watching a very sorry show while our stomachs slowly try to digest themselves.
Belle picks up Richeal’s book again. “I kind of want to go back to your dad’s closet and see if there are any other books with this language in it.”
“I do too. But we’ll have to let Alder settle in for a bit. He ended up getting so agitated, looking at all her things. I don’t want to have him get worse again.”
“Yes, that makes sense.” Belle places her hand on my knee and takes a breath in. Her eyes flick to the kitchen. “He’s trying.”
A pot crashes to the floor, and Nico lets out a string of obscenities.
“Do you want some help?” I yell.
“I do not need any help. Cooking is easy.” His tone is the same as he used with the crew. He doesn’t pull it out much at home.