A white, iridescent light glows against my closed eyelids. Slowly, they open to see a chandelier overhead. Thousands of tiny crystals hang from the top in concentric circles and cast glitter on the walls lined with bookshelves. The plush, dark gold carpeting zooms in and out of focus for a moment. My head reels; I can barely process anything.

What happened? Where am I?

Memories of the boardwalk trickle back into my consciousness: the ATM, the strange shadow...

The cash.

I blink several times to clear the haze from my vision. Angling my head down, I can see a brown bag by my feet, right beside my purse. I exhale in relief only for my heart rate to spike again. Metal squeaks, and my gaze whips to an easy-chair across from me. A man in a black suit leans against silvery cushions, his legs crossed and his arms folded in his lap. The metallic, scaly pattern of the material reflects the light. He stares at me with the most bored blue eyes I've ever seen.

"Who are you?" I ask. It seems like a reasonable enough question to ask.

"My name does not matter," the man replies, monotone.

I'm not quite sure if I should feel scared or annoyed, though I'm leaning toward the former. But as I tell my clients, panic can derive from a feeling of helplessness. If one asserts control over a situation, it can prevent a fight-or-flight response and promote rational decision-making under pressure. I square my shoulders, noticing for the first time that neither my wrists nor my feet are bound. That's a good sign. It marginally reduces the chance that I've been kidnapped.

"Well, I would like to know who I'm addressing," I say after a moment. "Mister..."

The man just stares at me. There's so much expression in non-expression. His face is sort of oblong with a squared, yet narrow chin, giving him an air of permanent disapproval. His eyes and mouth are small, his nose slender like his face, and besides a deep line running along his jaw, which I'm assuming is a scar, not a wrinkle creases his skin.

There's a click, and the door to the left of the man swings open. A second slender man pokes his head inside the room. He looks identical to the first, from his dark, buzz cut hair to the black suit. The only difference is that his scar runs along the right side of his face.

"She's awake?" Right-scar asks.

"See for yourself," says Left-scar.

"I'm awake," I say. "And I'd really appreciate it if you could tell me where I am right now."

"You're in a chair," Right-scar says dryly.

"I mean location-wise."

Right-scar shuts the door with a slight bang. Irritation — and apprehension — prickle up my spine. Walking out of a conversation like that is extremely rude. I turn to the remaining scar-boy in the room.

"Will you please tell me what's going on? I don't have any—" I cut off, my gaze drifting to the bag at my feet. I was about to say that I don't have anything valuable, but it occurs to me that I do. A new question assembles, though: if they were after money, why wouldn't they just take the $70,000,000?

"We know about the money," Left-scar says. "That's quite a bit you have there. More than I would've expected based on our research."

"Research?" My gaze snaps up just as the door reopens and Right-scar slips inside.

"The Prince will see you now."

"Prince? What Prince?"

"He does not have time to be kept hanging," Right-scar says. "Come on." I hesitate a moment. My brain can't keep up with what's happening. Right-scar huffs. "Come on, you have two legs. Let's get a move on it."

A bout of dizziness swirls in my head as I stand up. I pause, grabbing hold of the chair to steady myself. The room spins, gold, crystal, and old books blending into one.

"C-can you at least tell me why I'm light-headed?" I ask once the room has steadied itself.

"The serum's effects may take a few more hours to wear off," Right-scar says. I glance up just in time to see Left-scar shoot him a death glare. My skin crawls at the thought of a serum, and I decide it might be best to refrain from further questions at the moment.

The room outside is wide open, filled with tables set with white tablecloths. Miniature domed lights dot the ceiling, emitting a delicate, yellow glow over the room. The walls around me are pitch black — no wait. I stop in my tracks. The walls are actually floor-to-ceiling glass windows, and outside, it is dark. In the distance, I spot light, probably from the nearest city, wherever that is. Moonlight shines on rippling, peaceful waves, a stark contrast to my rising pulse.

"How long have I been asleep?" I ask. Though based on their previous comment about a serum, "drugged" might be a more apt word.

"Five hours," Right-scar says. He grips my elbow and yanks me forward. "Let's go."

I stumble down a corridor, tripping over my heels. At least the red carpeting is soft under my feet. The men stop at the second door, and Left-scar knocks twice.

"Come in!" a light, tenor voice calls. The door swings open to a huge water tank. Orangy sand and shells line the bottom, and a few pink and red fish meander through the water. My gaze traces along the seaweed all the way to the top, where a man perches on the glass side. Red, curls frizz over his head, and only a scaly vest hangs over his shoulders. And then there's the tail, his blue tail, which flicks back and forth in the water, much like a serpent's tongue.

Vaguely, I hear the door click behind me. But it's difficult for me to fully process what's in front of me. Sure, I heard about the recent discovery of the merfolk kingdom a few years ago, about how they've been trading goods with states on the East coast and pressuring the UN for greater oceanic rights, but I've never seen an actual-factual mer-person.

And here one is, right before my eyes.

"Greetings, Miss Jessi," the merman says. "Or as I suppose you humans prefer to say, Miss Albright."

"J-Jessi is fine."

"I suppose you're wondering why I've brought you here."

"The thought definitely crossed my mind."

A smile spreads on the merman's face, and dimples dot both of his chubby cheeks. He leans back in the water, folding his arms over his chest. "Well, to start with, my name is Prince Tewen of Aqualan. You may call me Too."

"Too? Like, just too?"

"Yeah, too. What's too with you?" Prince Tewen bursts into laughter. He slaps the water, spraying droplets in his face. A few land in his hair, which is strangely dry now that I think about it. I remain deadpan, not getting the joke. Prince Tewen's laughter subsides after a moment with a sigh. "Just think of the number Two. That's what all my friends call me back home. And I have a feeling you'll be my first human friend."

My eyebrows twitch closer. "Uh, thanks..." I say, unsure how to respond. It's all too weird.

"I come to you because I'm in sort of a predicament," Two continues. "You see, there's this girl I like named Taylor Fife."

"Wait, Fife?" I know it's rude to interrupt someone, especially a prince, but I'm certain I've heard that name before."

"Yes, as in Senator Fife, the Representative from the Eversea District."

Recollection returns slowly. Now, I think I remember seeing his name on the ballot a few months ago when I voted, pretty sure I voted for him, too. I probably also saw his name posted all around town during campaign season.

"Anyway, Taylor Fife is the girl of my dreams," Two says. "Perfect hair, perfect smile, I hear she's even going to college." My brows knit closer together, but I refrain from commenting. "A few days ago, as I was scrolling through her Instagram, I decided that I wanted to meet her in person." Two pauses, like he's waiting for me to respond. The only thing I can muster is,

"Stalker much?"

"Stalker?" Two scoffs. "No, no. I just follow her on Instagram."

I nod slowly. "Sure."

"It was on her Instagram that I found out that she's going to a luncheon social this weekend. I decided, that you know what, I've waited long enough to meet her. That's why I need your help. I need you to help me meet her."

I'm speechless for a moment. This merman must be delusional. Perhaps he's not even a real merman, just some creep who likes to dress up as one. Which begs the question: what am I really doing on this boat? A chill runs down my arms, and my shoulders shrink in on each other. I want to get as far away from Two, or Tewen, or whoever this guy is.

"Uh, Jessi?" Two says, waving his arm. "Burst the bubble, Jessi."

I snap back to attention. "Excuse me?"

"Burst the bubble." Two leans back again. "You know, like come out of dreamland?"

"Earth to Jessi?"

Two waves his hand. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Stop being so airy."

"Spacey?" I try. This guy is unbelievable. Either that, or he's a merman with little experience around humans.

"You going to help me or not?"

"Not," I say. "I don't know Taylor Fife."

Two flicks his hand, and water droplets spray forward, landing on the carpet in front of the tank. "Technicalities. It won't matter once you're done."

"With...?"

"Me! I follow you on Instagram, too."

My head is starting to spin again, along with a dull throb. I feel like I'll either scream or go insane if this conversation continues.

"How do you even have an Instagram?" I ask, the tiniest amount of annoyance coloring my voice.

"There's cell service on my yacht, obviously." Two tosses his head back, and his curls shimmy slightly. "That's how I learned about your business. You know, 'makeover your life with Jessi Albright.'"

Oh. Finally, something is starting to make a little more sense.

"I don't know if you noticed, but I can't exactly meet Taylor looking like this." He motions to the singular garment he's wearing. "I need a full wardrobe, a wash and style for my hair, legs, transportation, maybe even some makeup..."

"Hold on a second," I say. "Did you say 'legs?'"

"You don't expect me to swim on land, do you? If I try to flop onto the beach like this, I'll suffocate."

"Right," I annunciate. Because fish need gills to breathe. "But if you've done your stalking right..."

"Research," Two interjects.

"...then you'd know I can't help you with getting on two legs. I can only do the wardrobe and manneral aspects of the job."

Two stares at me for a moment. "I'll put this another way. You have two choices right now." Two giggles. "Haha, get it. Two choices."

"I heard you."

An easy grin settles on Two's face. "You can either transform me into a human in all aspects over the next two days and get me to this galla with Taylor Fife, or be impaled."

Left-scar suddenly grabs my arm, twisting it behind my back. A cry of surprise escapes my lips, and something sharp prods my back. When I look over my shoulder, I see a tiny trident in Left-scar's free hand. My lips part, but no words form on my tongue.

What is happening? This has to be some weird, psychotic dream. Maybe even the ATM machine did this to me. Was the ATM even real? Did I fall asleep in my car, or did I even come to Saltport? Maybe I'm at home, asleep in my bed, and the past hours have only been a nightmare.

Except the trident nudging my back feels very real and very sharp.

"What will it be?" Two asks. He swims the length of his tank. "Help me, or be impaled. Kind of a fun decision to make."

"Fun?" I manage an eyebrow raise.

Two pauses. The end of his tail flicks up over the water, posed in a question mark. "Perhaps 'fun' is the wrong word to use. Anyway, make your decision fast. We'll need to get ready as soon as possible if you're going to makeover my life."

"I—"

I don't know what to do. On the one hand, this is crazy. I can't do the impossible, turn him into a human with a wave of my hand, much less get him into a luncheon social that's probably highly exclusive. On the other hand, Prince Tewen is crazy. He might actually kill me if I don't comply.

"How... how do you plan to pay for this?" I ask at last. I need more concrete details to work with. I need a way to make this realistic.

"I've got tons of sand dollars," Two replies. "My father is a king, after all."

"How about real dollars?"

"Spent 'em on these guys." He points to Right and Left-scar. I exhale, my head hanging forward. "But you have cash, right? Seventy-million if they counted right."

Why am I not surprised that he had his minions count all those one-hundred dollar bills?

My foot taps against the ground. Under ordinary circumstances, this "job" would be a hard no. Under ordinary circumstances, I wouldn't touch the cash. But when there's a trident pointed at your back, you'll do crazy things. You'll make crazy choices.

Actually, I don't really have a choice. This is a matter of life or death. I have to do what the merman says, use the seventy million as he sees fit. And even if I did "steal" the cash, even though the machine's behavior is not my fault, then maybe I can at least claim plausible deniability or something like that.

"I'll make a deal with you," I say. "I'll do my very best to turn you into a human. But if any roadblocks come up, any that are completely out of my control and that there is no feasible solution to in the next, what two days, you said?" Two nods. "Right two days. If there is no feasible way to solve the issue, then you must release me from my deal and not kill me."

I would never have dreamed that I'd need to add the last part to a contract, but that's just how insane this situation is.

Two taps his chin for a second. "Okay. It's a deal."

I wait a moment. When the room remains silent, aside from the gentle swishing of the water, I clear my throat. "Uh, do you mind if I get that in writing?" I'm not taking any chances with a psycho merman prince. And I have a sinking suspicion I'll have to terminate the contract pretty early on, once I prove that there's no way to turn him into a human.