Chapter 18: The Lamprey

They don't take me to the police station like I expect. Instead, the sheriff and his deputy bring me to his house, this sour look on his face the entire time. When we get there, a one-story ranch with half-assed landscaping, he sits me, still handcuffed, at his dining room table and starts grilling me.

If only I knew a third of all the bullshit he's droning on and on about, but at the very least, I catch onto one thing: he calls Mr. Chambers, by his first name. This isn't a normal arrest; this is a favor.

"So, Mr. Chambers, where's the necklace?" Not only is my patience wearing thin, but so is my comfort in this body. For two hours, I've been shifting and moving, wondering if James found it just as weird how his hands closed or if that just me. It's like there's too many fingers for his palms and every time I clench my fist it just... overflows.

Hitting his hand against the table in front of me, I jolt. The sheriff, named Connelly, rolls his eyes. He's clearly less enthralled by my new body than I am. Granted, it isn't like he knows it's new. "Your father is very keen to have it back in his possession."

I shake my head, feeling James' curls slide over the tip of my ears. It's sort of ticklish. How does James deal with all these sensory inputs? "I don't have it."

There's not a single cell in his brain that believes me. I can tell from his deadpan glare and subsequent sarcastic annoyance. "Sure you don't."

"Honest."

Connelly sighs, tired bags taking up permanent residence under his eyes. "You might not have it on your person, but you know where it is. We're a little smarter than that, son."

The other officer, who's casually sitting in the next room, focusing on his phone more than anything happening at this table, is on a different plane of indifference. "Let's just wait for Dane. Just put him in a room and deal with it later."

While it's technically a punishment, I'm thankful for the time to myself. I'm not planning on changing into Astra, Kai, or Ligeia here, but alone, I can at least let a few things loose. Let my skin shimmer, lose the bulk, shift an eye to gray or allow a patch of freckles to grow for a while.

At first it was easy, gobbling up an hour of alone time. But an hour turns into two, which turns into five, and they hand me a half-assed meal before I realize they don't have any plans to talk to me until Mr. Chambers gets here. And that man is taking his sweet ass time, out of spite or

From what James had told me, that it sounded about right.

I can't help but wonder what he looks like. Does he have sunny hair like James, or a charismatic smile? Or does he have different features, maybe rougher and sharper? I can almost picture his imaginary face, but it's not too human, curveless like a clean-cut rectangle.

There's one thing, I'm sure of, though; I bet they have the same harsh eyebrows.

Imagining Mr. Chambers only keeps me occupied for a little while. In a short time, I'm left to my own wandering, crashing thoughts.

The longer I sit alone, one small ripple collides into another until my chest feels heavier than I can handle and it's crushing my lungs. I'd love to wave it away and blame it on being in a larger body, but that doesn't explain away the slow-growing hurricane in my head and I nearly swear.

What do I expect? To pull this off perfectly? To not get eaten to shit by my own anxiety? I sometimes had panic attacks from looking my Mom in the eyes. Police interrogations eclipsed those by a longshot.

It's only a matter of time until she shows up, and when she does, I expect it. It's in the darkest corner of this stupid guest bedroom, where the lamplight doesn't meet the shadows. Considering I knew she'd show up, it doesn't make that much sense to bother with a dark corner, but oh well.

Who can really tell my hallucination mother she can't have a flair for the dramatic?

Her gray eyes are cutting through the slats of daylight and she's already laughing at me. "Well, this is one way to ruin everything."

I groan. "Shut up."

"I expected something to go terribly wrong, but color me impressed, I quite never expected this." When I don't respond, Mama gives me a scathing once-over. "His vocal chords feel wrong, don't they?"

"Obviously."

She cocks her head. "You should be proud of yourself, sweetheart, honestly. This is quite the accurate facsimile." Mama looks sort of genuine saying that, but it doesn't make me feel better. Just like my own brain, this facsimile's kindness ebbs and wanes and it's not worth relying on. I know that.

But it does make me laugh. Not because she's funny, but because her vocabulary's grown since I found her library. I say, "The fact I can imagine you saying facsimile..."

With my eyes, I trace every line on her face. There aren't many. This Mama is still 34, and she really liked her skin. Mom is the fashion queen, wearing cleverly coordinated outfits under all those lab coats, but Mama was all about eyeliner and skincare. It was good for me, because I spent Australian summer lathered in sunscreen. All my freckles are natural, to her mild chagrin. Not because she minded freckles, but because she was ready to throw hands at every condescending mother at the park who asked about it. "How much sun does a brown kid need to get freckles?". They thought they were funny. Mama thought they were ignorant assholes that wouldn't know anything about brown skin no matter how many painfully ugly spray tans they got. I, on the other hand, found that very funny.

She used to get so worked up that I started to enjoy her grumblings about local systemic racism and why Mom had to fall in love with Australian Cuttlefish. Then telling me all about England and how people were problematic there, too, but at least they had great tea and less sunscreen. And then she'd get talking about her love of England mythology and Arthurian legend and I found that lovely and funny, too.

Her eyes are sparkly like that, right now. England sparkly. But it keeps fading the longer she stares at me. "You know they'll come for you. None of them will take this well." She added, pointedly, "And that James boy definitely didn't leave town."

I pull my knees into my chest, even though it's much harder with these exhaustingly thick, long limbs. "He should."

"That part of you that still thinks you don't deserve him is going to become a problem. You'll need to work through it or when they come back for you, it'll only be a matter of time before you ruin things with him, too."

Rolling my eyes, I say, "Well, if you're my weird hallucinated panic attack, doesn't that mean that part of me knows I have worth and am working on it?"

"Yes, and you're afraid of that." My throat closes up, because it's really annoying when my anxiety hallucination makes sense. "Because you're afraid of how much it'll hurt to realize all the worthwhile things that you've always deserved and still missed out on. But it's up to you to let it go."

Part of me wants to groan again, to argue, to tell her it isn't that simple. And yes, in a way, it isn't. Whatever I'm going through isn't just a "buck up and get over it" thing. I have a lifetime of fears to work through that running away with a handsome boy won't fix.

And the fixing isn't going to stop, not for a while.

Yet, at the same time, I still have to keep choosing to walk forward, right?

I suck up my own pride and, with an annoyed smirk, I say, "Wow, it's almost like you're a counselor."

"Almost."

"I so want a life. I just want to make sure James is okay, first."

"That makes sense." Mama kisses my forehead and I'm already pretending enough that it feels it could be real. "I love you, Astra," she says.

I lean into her, saying, "I really hope you do."

I don't really rest for the next couple hours. I wish I did. Facing James' father on my own is the last thing I'd like to be doing, but if I'm playing James.... There isn't much choice, is there?

My tapping keeps me awake, but I keep my form well enough. That's all I can ask for.

By the time the sun is setting, the grumpy Sheriff Connelly comes in and frowns at me. I wonder if it's as permanent as my mother's smile; they could be the yin and yang of crime and punishment.

Ouch. The half-joke stings more than I mean it to.

"Unfortunate that I'm probably stuck with you all night, kiddo. But it's both our lucky day, Chambers. You're a popular man and have multiple visitors, for some god forsaken reason." Even though the words are supposed to be pleasant, he says them like he's reading my death sentence. Or his.

When he walks me outside, though, the first thing I see through the window is frizzy black hair and frantic, freckled arms. Our eyes met, and she stops yelling at the officer beside her. Much to my surprise, her face lights up with this grin that I've never seen before. It isn't so wide or teethy, or looks like it takes every muscle in her face. It's tired and her skin wrinkles under her eyes and for the first time in my life, I'm sure she's happy.

The only flooring part is that it's about me; she's happy to see me.

Just as I open my mouth to say something, the officer jerks my arm in the other direction, towards his kitchen table. "Don't wander off, kid. I want this to be over as quickly as possible."

My head turns towards the dining room he's dragging me back into and I see a tall, blonde man with peppered strands of gray and a sort of menacing glow about him, the kind that could shut up an entire room. And I was right; they dp have the same eyebrows.

Moving with as little effort as possible, he stands and shakes my hand like we're about to talk about a business deal. "Hello, James. I think it's time we had a talk."

Every movement is in slow motion after that, trying to gather as much information as I can. James said I was good at observation, but that was about Beck, someone I knew a third of my life. Well, or about James himself, someone who fascinated me at first sight. My sample size wasn't exactly encouraging. In contrast, here I'm sitting down with this man who I've only heard about second hand, described as an uncooperative dick.

At the very least, I can tell that though he crosses not a single limb, he's absolutely cross with me. Well, with James. I could burn to death under his gaze; it's icy blue and furious, like his eyes are filled with the sapphire flame of a high fantasy dragon.

Once we're both sitting, he says, "I know losing your mother was hard. It was hard on all of us. But all this? Running off? Stealing her jewelry?" He scoffs, in the way only a materialistic man could, straightening his golden cufflinks along the way. "I mean seriously, hiding in some woman's house for over a month? I thought I raised you better."

I try to play it blunt and cross my arms, because if I'm James, I don't care if my body language is so obvious, right? "I don't think I have much to say to you after what you've done."

"Are you sincerely still bitter about me rejecting that podunk job you tried to take? Being a teacher's assistant in Sammamish? You're a Chambers. Be serious." With every muscle in my face, I have to cover up my shock. Uncooperative dick indeed. No wonder James is so determined to be anywhere but here. "I let you do whatever degree you wanted because I figured it was like Liz's gap year; a way to blow off steam. I never thought you'd actually try to use it."

When it comes to teaching, I know where James stands, and it's not anywhere near "blowing off steam". My own nostrils flaring instinctively, I reply, "I love teaching. Of course I was going to use it."

Mr. Chambers only looks more annoyed. Were his son's life choices really just inconveniences to him? "And I love billiards, but I'm not dumb enough to try to get a job in it." He extends his hand forward like something would naturally be put in his open palm within seconds. "Just hand over the necklace and we can go home and prepare you for law school."

Trying to picture James as a lawyer almost makes me laugh. Him, trying to argue in legalese? Full Phoenix Wright and everything? When he decided to open my eyes to anime on one long, rainy day, and I offered the lawyer story as an option, maybe this is why he said no so aggressively.

This isn't him.

I hold my face together and say, curtly, "No."

Mr. Chambers snorts through his chest and out his nose, and he even seems a little surprised by it. "A simple answer out of my son, now I'll at least admit that's encouraging. Normally you go into one of your long, tiresome lectures." With a surprised, sarcastic smile on his lips, Mr. Chambers looks at me with this measured gaze that seems like it belonged in a business meeting, not...

I keep my expressions to myself as much as I can, but maybe I can understand a little why James might like the thought of a blunt, honest cuttlefish.

Interrupting my thoughts, Mr. Chambers says, "I'll give back the boat house and I'll fund all the schooling you need. I'll even build you that damned library that you and your mother cooked up. It can be all yours. Just give back her necklace and come home so we can find a better future for you."

"It's my degree. I'll do what I want with it."

Also, I don't have the necklace. But like he'll believe that. The sheriff definitely didn't.

He grumbles. "And I paid for it. If I could, I'd take it back. I told your mother it was foolish-"

"But you can't, can you?" I cut him off, and he reacts with this teeth-grinding frown.

"James Elijah Chambers, after all the money I've spent on you, don't you dare look at me like I'm the bad guy."

I stare at Mr. Chambers, then. He's fiddling with his cufflinks again, but not like a selfish businessman this time. More like he has to keep touching them to hold himself together. I hate the comparison, but it reminds me so much of James on the beach: a dazzling, charismatic man who is desperate for something to hold onto.

For Mr. Chambers, it's things like his cufflinks and necklaces. For James, it's his degree.

James is right, isn't he? Without their mother, the entire family is out of balance.

It made me wonder what his sister, Elizabeth is holding onto.

But my curiosity doesn't matter, not in the face of his indomitable father. And I needed to find a way to push him back.

I can't believe how easily the words come, but they feel right, for more people than just Mr. Chambers. I reply, "You don't have to be the bad guy to be wrong." And the second after I hear James' voice say it, loud and clear, I can feel something fall away from my shoulders.

Outside, my Mom is still there, arguing, and I desperately want to tell her how wrong she was, too. I want to make her listen. Even if I'm pretty sure at this point that she never will.

My eyes are on the woman outside, but Mr. Chambers is standing up and stuffing all his frustrations down his shirt. "And your mother said it was good to raise willful, independent children." He steps away from the table, and me, pushes in his chair. "Fine. You can run off and be a cute, underpaid little teacher living paycheck to paycheck if that's the life you really want for yourself. But you give back your mother's necklace or else I'll get more serious about these arrest charges."

I suck in a breath. Right. But Mr. Chambers doesn't wait for an answer, just walks to the door and says to Connelly, "Call me when he cracks."

How kind of him, to assume his son would crack. I'll bet I know James better at this point, and that stubborn man? He's impossible. Mr. Chambers may see his son's books and goals as a sign of weakness, but I'm pretty sure they were what made James so strong.

Before I get up, the grumbly Sheriff pushes my shoulder down and says, "You got a second one, Chambers. I'm feeling generous." He scoffs and cocks his head to the window. "And I'd like to shut up the screamer outside."

Connelly opens the door and someone new walks in. Practically launching himself into the seat, in front of me is a tall, arabic man in a sweater looking somewhere between stunned and amused. He tucks a hand under his chin and strokes his beard, looking at me like he's in on some elaborate joke.

Though, technically Beck is the only one inside this house who knows I'm not really James Chambers.

He says, sarcastically, "Thanks oh so much for cutting my family trip tragically short."

"I'm-"

Beck rolls his eyes. "If you say I'm sorry I'll vomit. You need to take a little break from it. So to the quick updates, because Dr. Caspen working her way towards getting a restraining order." My head spins a little, watching him take this all in stride. I knew Beck was my best option for that whole "partner in crime" title, but I never expected it to be so... literal. Counting on his fingers, he says, "Your friend is still at the house. He's not happy with you. Neither is Dr. Caspen of course, but that's a completely different hellscape that I won't address."

"I'm not surprised. But I'm not sorry about what I did." Running a hand through my hair, I frown when my pinky gets caught. I really have to talk to James about some detangler. "She can't whisk me away if I'm in jail, right?"

"Not wrong, but I feel like there could've been better plans."

"True."

Taking a quick glance around the room, looking absolutely conspicuous, Beck says, "Your friend told me to bring this to you. He said if you give this back, you'll be home free." Luckily Sheriff Connelly is wildly uninterested and on his phone in the hallway, because Beck is not subtle about passing the diamond and pearl necklace across the table.

At first, I'm startled that they thought to get it here so quickly. But James would know exactly what his dad wants, wouldn't he?

I shake my head, trying to push the necklace back his way. "He shouldn't give this up just because my mother screwed everything up. This is my responsibility."

"Yeah, and he told me to tell you to shove it if you tried to say that." Beck shrugs and amends, "Something like that, at least."

"That does sound like Beck Faysol ad lib." I joke, but on the inside I'm incredulous, especially since Beck is stubbornly not taking the necklace back from under my hand and I look like a panicked idiot terrible at smuggling anything. If Sheriff CFonnelly even so much as looked at me-

I can't believe this is the situation we're in. James deserves better than this. If we had left that night instead of the morning, we would've missed her and we could be on a plane to Baltimore, with necklace and each other hand in hand. It could've been the closest thing to a fairytale victory that we'd ever get.

But I chose to wait 'til morning, and I chose to keep giving my mother chances.

This is my-

"It's not your fault, so shut up inside your head there." I blink. How did he...? "The space between your eyebrows gets like, frighteningly crinkled when you start blaming yourself for shit. By the third ice cream container you offed the same week you failed your Organic Chemistry mid-term, I figured out a few of your non-verbal tells. Words aren't your forte, but you aren't as cryptic as you think, Sea Monkey."

Even though Beck is smirking at me, it feels so wrong. This is a terrible situation. There shouldn't be smiling. There should be escape plans to get James far away and how to get Mr. Chambers to back off while I stay here and-

But I keep getting tripped up by Beck's expression, the smirking scientist I know so well who got me through the hardest days of being Kai. He grabs my hand and squeezes in this annoyingly knowing, wise, and comforting way. "Hey, kid. We're going to get you through this, and you can't stop us. We want to help you. So just take the damned necklace, will you?"

I feel my eyes tear up. "Thank-"

"Your friend told me not to get you too squishy, whatever that means, so don't worry about it." Wrapping the necklace around my wrist, I finally pull my hands under the table. Beck, on the other hand, stands and gives me a salute. "See you on the other side."

As Sheriff Connelly escorts me back to his guest room, grumbling about having to go to work in the morning, my head is swimming. James wants to give up the most important memento in his life to get me out of here, even though all I've ever done was make his life harder. I should have sent him away that first night. Or snuck the necklace in his bag before he left and let him find it on his own.

But I kept him there because his smile was absolutely luminescent and I wanted, desperately, to bask in it.

They put it all in my hands, literally, with a mother-of-pearl shining up at me in the moonlight. What am I going to do?