Page 67 of Hot Summer's Prey

She gasps as something large fills my vision. As the slippery tentacle brushes against my face, I recognize my savior. A kraken. Most likely here for vengeance, not to save me.

“You’ve gone too far, Witch,” the Deep One bellows.

She is not alone. There are two others with her—including Cirro. His eyes widen as he sees me. The male between him and the one who spoke is missing a tentacle.

I am in the wrongest place at the wrongest time. Never have I been in the midst of extreme danger like this before. Though Cirro can be counted on, the Abyssal Ones are not generally led out of their depths. The only reason I befriended Cirro is because I took care of the octopus nursery. He was sent to warn me away, but when he saw what I was doing, he spoke on my behalf. I can only hope the rest of the Abyssal Ones think of me with any level of affection at all…

But in a war with the Lantern Witch, I will be the last thing on their minds. Desperate to get out of here, I try to swim away as quietly as possible. This proves difficult as the fighting starts—each attack sends a current so strong, I can barely stay my course. Time and time again, I’m thrust into a rock until I am delirious. My desperation to see Teresa again keeps me going as I fight to pull myself out of the destruction zone. I’m hit with one more forceful current and this one takes me out. The world goes black as I’m knocked unconscious.

When I wake, a dull roar not too far away tells me I am still in danger. A tentacle wraps around me, pulls me to it. There’s that panic again. I try not to struggle, hope that whatever reputation Cirro put before me is enough to keep me safe. They pull me inside a cave, and when they finally turn me to face them, I let out a sigh of relief.

“Why are you here?” Cirro asks.

“I had a deal to honor,” I tell him. “The witch lent her eyes to the surface, I needed to return them.”

“He was arranging a treaty,” he says, referring to the Abyssal Elder with only pronouns. The elders are so ancient, They have no names, nearly gods in the eyes of the other Abyssal Ones. “In the middle of it, the Lantern Witch ripped off His arm and started destroying everything.”

“A treaty?” I ask, then realizing this isn’t the time for Deep One politics, I ask a better question. “How do we end this?”

“She seeks retribution. The Lantern Witch is lost in her own mind—whatever her grief is, it is not with us. Perhaps I can talk them down, but only if she stops attacking. Do you know what she wants?”

“The Cliffside Lady,” I say without pause. “Some part of the Lantern Witch broke when she died.”

Cirro growls with frustration. “Then we are lost without her ghost.”

29

HOLLYWOOD HONORS NINA MARTIN

TERESA

“Look, they even mention it in her obituary,” Dawn mumbles behind me to Taara.

Wrapped up in a blanket with a cup of hot cocoa between my hands, I haven’t moved since Taara and Anelisa dragged me inside. After trying to get answers out of me for half an hour, everyone gave up and left me to my devices, staring out the window, waiting for the seas to calm and Pacari to walk out of the ocean, beaming.

But the ocean only got worse. The skies only got darker. My cup of hot cocoa is a lie at this point, lukewarm at best.

“Nina Martin, former Hollywood starlet, dies at an impressive one-hundred and fourteen years. Though her age has not been verified, her history has spanned almost the entirety of Hollywood—from early silent films to Prohibition, talkies, and beyond, her last film appearance was Wolf Animation’s adaptation of a Hans Christian Anderson classic, Daughters of the Air. While the film was panned in reviews, many remember the movie fondly as a bookend to a glamorous career. Ms. Martin is recorded as having done the film for her—uh—grandchild.”

Dawn pauses.

“Thanks for correcting them,” Zephyr smirks.

“Though much of her life has been private since the 1950s, Ms. Martin’s past is a star-studded account of some of Hollywood’s greatest. She survived all of her contemporaries, including Charlie Chaplin, Clara Bow, Mary Pickford, and Greta Garbo, as well as six husbands. Today is a sad day in Hollywood to lose such a legend. She is survived by her four daughters and a single grand—child.” Dawn corrects aggressively again.

Zephyr sighs. “There’s so much they missed.”

“Nina Martin?” Dawn asks. “In her obituary?”

With a shrug, Zephyr explains, “Obviously her real name is on the internet. But she always liked to keep her private life and her movie life separate. I guess they were honoring that. Originally she went by Nina Martin because she was afraid to lose money because of ‘nativist sentiments.’ Mom later told me that in the 1910s there was a series of attacks on Mexican-Americans by like the Texas Rangers and other white mobs. So it was probably fear, too. Abuelita was really white-passing, so people never knew unless they dug deeper.”

“I can’t believe how old she was,” Taara says.

“She was born the year Edison demonstrated the first talking motion picture,” Zephyr says. “Fun fact she liked to bring up all the time.”

“She’s older than bras,” Dawn says in awe.

Everyone else laughs.

---