10

ANGEL WAS GONE.

Mariana swam through her sister’s condo, making a mental list of what was missing: the slate tablets of notes Angel kept stacked on the desk in the study, the box of urchin spines she stored next to the Human perfume bottle of octopus ink, that bottle of octopus ink, and the sea-pak from the foyer closet.

The shutters were closed on every window, and cloth¬ing was strewn all over the bedroom, the Human shirts Angel had bought at the Salvager’s Market floating atop the furniture in the soft current that wended through downtown Atlantis. This mess wasn’t like Angel. She was a total neat freak about her “treasures,” only getting maniacal like this for one reason.

Mariana somersaulted back to the living room. The sea stars were missing. The little colony of colorful echinoderms Angel had recently adopted from Rod’s office usually spent the day wandering around the coral sculpture Mariana had designed for just that purpose.

She swam over to the kitchen sink. Yep. The he