CHAPTER 7: Current Control

"AS ICONS, you are to use your gifts to help Poseidon perform the many tasks he is responsible for daily," the Temple Matriarch lectured—her voice, honestly, was becoming more than a little grating as she spoke to the group of us in the grand hall the next day.

We already knew all of this. Anyone born with two ears in Atherall understood that the gods, while wielding formidable power, were unable to do every little thing demanded of them each day. Poseidon had to care for all the animals in the sea! The waves! The temperature and currents! There was no way one god could supervise all the details, every second of every day. ...That's why they fathered children in the human race—half-god, half-man. That's why we were all taken from our families at an early age. It had been drilled into us ever since we could speak—even breathe:

The gods gave us everything.

Especially life.

It was a small price to be raised in the temple to see if we were chosen to use our gifts to help them back.

I was supposed to be grateful.

...So, why did my mind keep racing with escape plans and my eyes keep darting to every exit?

The large, colosseum-like room where we'd been presented only yesterday now stood empty and silent around us—the arches, overhead, were hollow and dark like the holes in Swiss cheese. ...And the place was silent too—save the Temple Matriarch's braying voice. In the warm light, sparkling down from what appeared to be the surface of the water above our heads, the other Icons looked ethereal.

The skin of their cheeks seemed to shimmer.

Their eyes were glossy.

Their hair...perfectly in place.

All of them...looked like gods.

...And, then, there was me...

...Why did I keep noticing that? I needed to focus on what the woman was saying—

"Pricilla and Marcus?!" the Temple Matriarch screeched.

My head shot up.

"Both of you will learn the ropes of current control today," the woman quipped quickly, pointing, "Go with Romero."

The dark-haired man she gestured at was an older Icon with a figure that could have been carved from stone and an expression which reflected the same as I walked towards him.

"Come with me," he said briskly, betraying no emotion, as he turned on his heel and towards a long hallway.

The boy the Temple Matriarch had called Marcus shot me a raised-eyebrow look, and we both followed.

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...As I ducked my head and tried not to turn brilliant red.

Marcus was kinda cute in a 'I'm-trying-not-to-be-cute' way: rudy cheeks, high cheekbones and a curly mop of brown hair which flopped into his eyes...

The downside?

He'd most definitely been hanging out with that bully Hadeon yesterday. ...Just thinking of the jerk made me wince and the still-recovering tattoo on my arm throb. I lowered my eyes, told myself I didn't need a crush right now, and followed the Icon who seemed to float soundlessly down the hall in front of us.

We reached a large, portal door. With two easy twists, Romero heaved open the wheel lock, and the door hissed open.

My jaw dropped as I stepped inside.

The room was floor-to-ceiling glass on all sides, allowing for a view of the deep, swirling, turquoise ocean around us. In the center of the room, a tiny gold star sat perched on a white column.

I could barely look at it.

It burned my pupils with the strength of its glare—a million, tiny, golden threads wove from its brilliance, fanning out linearly in every direction, through the glass walls and into the waves beyond.

"This is one of the current control rooms," the older Icon said blandly, his fingers reaching up to scratch at his ear—from boredom? The guy took Demure to a whole new level; his face betrayed nothing—"There are seventy rooms. Each day, every few hours, Icons must manually adjust the tides and currents or else the entire planet will be underwater in a matter of milliseconds."

I gaped at him.

His face was marble-smooth.

No line of worry.

Just a statement.

Like he'd just said he preferred jam on his toast.

I turned to shoot an incredulous look at Marcus who, also, balked but covered it with a grim smile.

"Priscilla, hold out your hand," Romero instructed.

I turned just in time to catch the Icon attempting to hand me the star at the center of the room. I nearly dropped it. It was light on my palms, but scorching.

Panic immediately seized my heart.

I tried to give it back.

"Uh—no, I mean, if this thing could flood the entire world with one mistake, I—" I stuttered, blinking into the brilliance of the thing and Romero's shadowed face behind the light rays, "maybe Marcus should go first—"

"Close your eyes, Priscilla," Romero dictated calmly.

Calmly.

Right.

Breathe.

You're Demure.

Emotions are nothing.

...But, then, again, the Temple Matriarch had said I was supposed to follow my heart...my spasming heart that wanted to chuck this star-of-impending-mistake-disaster back at the Icon it belonged with and run out the door like a scared rabbit?

I clenched my teeth.

Demure.

Fucking Demure—

"Hold the image of a calm ocean in your mind," Romero's voice insisted, his voice even and, somehow, relaxing, "See the foam washing up on the sand. Hear the woosh of it, the lulling sound..."

I shook my shoulders free from the tension balling there.

And I imagined the ocean.

The gulls, flying overhead...calling...

The warm sand, seeping in between my toes.

Mama had taken me there once when I could hardly walk, but, somehow, I remembered it.

The wash of the tide, hitting my tiny, baby-fat-wrinkled knees.

Over.

And over.

The strength of it.

Nearly knocking me down.

"Hold that thought," Marcus said quietly, "Now, gather your magic—"

Dread dropped in my stomach.

I didn't have any magic—

Poseidon had tried to summon it, and there'd been—

Been—

Nothing!

"Summon your magic," Romero demanded.

I squeezed my eyes more tightly together.

I let a breath hiss out through my teeth.

I prayed.

And I dove.

Inward.

Trying to find it.

The blackness of my mind hummed to life like an army of angry bees.

The image flickered.

Glitching.

Purple, turquoise, pink and gray streaks flashed across my mind's eye like lightening—

Sizzling—

I tried to corral them—

To bundle my hands around their furious mass, but it was like trying to wrap my fingers around the base of a redwood. I felt them struggling against me—

"Down!" Romero shouted.

His voice sounded—afraid?

Terrified?

—Wait—

"Down!! Priscilla! Drop the star right now!" he screamed.

My breath hitched.

My eyes flew open.

I met Romero's petrified gaze—

Right before he blew into a million bits.