Every time the truck hits a bump, my head smacks the top of the barrel. My legs have fallen asleep. Needle-like prickles travel from my feet to my thighs. I am freezing, and my teeth chatter. It's like I'm being whipped around on the Wipeout ride at the Boardwalk, only without the strobing lights, musical accompaniment, or a seat belt. It's so dark I can't even see my hands, and my brain is fuzzy from the thrashing and the depleted oxygen supply. I can't tell how long we've been driving, but thankfully, the truck finally jerks to a stop. Doors slam in the front, and something creaks in the back.

"Where do these old barrels go?" says a gravelly voiced man.

"They're defects," says another man, whose voice has the high, squeaky tone of a dolphin. "Get the forklift and throw 'em into the recycling behind the barn. The boss likes to show what a good guy he is by recycling. How great he is to the earth." The men laugh.

The 'boss' wants people to think he cares about the earth? I am so angry that my hair sparks orange-red. This 'boss' must be the mysterious man from the engine room on the yacht.

There are mechanical sounds, and then something lifts the barrel I'm in. It's rattling against the other barrels. Then it tumbles and hits the ground hard, my shoulder jamming against the side. My teeth bang together, and my stomach burns like a jellyfish sting. Finally, it comes to a halt. I am trying to catch my breath and allow my hair to calm down. After a few minutes of silence, I decide it's safe to get out. I push against the lid. It's on really tight. If I have to force it open, I know it'll make noise, but it can't be helped. I have to risk it.

I push with all my strength. The lid flies off and makes a horrible banging sound, metal on metal. The barrel rolls some more, and I fall out onto a pile of scrap metal. The air smells like metal and grass, manure, and faintly of the ocean. Though I don't know where I am, it can't be too far from the water.

"Did you hear something?" squeaks the man with the high-pitched voice.

"Yeah. What was that?"

"Get the flashlight out of the truck." Humans have terrible night vision. Thankfully.

I know I only have moments before the men return. I can either crawl back into the barrel to hide or make a break for it. My body can barely unfold itself. I ignore the strain in my muscles and stand, picking my way quickly over the pile. There's a gigantic barn on one side of a meadow, and an oak tree on the other. Black and white cows lie about the knoll. They see me and start lowing. I don't speak Cow, and truthfully I don't even know if it's an official language. I think they only know one word—moo, which means everything—but I'm grateful for the noise. Their eyes follow me as I make a run for the tree. I'm hiding behind the enormous trunk when a flashlight beam glances over the spot where I was only moments before. A fat raccoon races over the pile, dislodging debris.

"It was only a raccoon," says the gravelly voiced man.

I silently thank the raccoon.

"You're welcome," says the raccoon. Wait, I speak Raccoon?

"Did you see something over there?" The flashlight beam sweeps in my direction. My heart is pounding, and my hair throws off some orange sparks.

"Where?"

"By that tree. I thought I saw embers just now. Like from a fire."

I stand against the trunk, the gnarled wood pressed against my face, holding my breath and willing my hair to settle. I clasp it in my hands to hide as much of the sparking as I can. The flashlight beam shines on the matted, dying grass next to the tree.

"Must've been a reflection."

"Yeah. Let's get back to the barn fast, or there won't be no more whiskey."

Their footsteps fade, and I exhale. My hair calms. Off in the distance, the barn door slides open and then closes.

Now that I'm alone, I take the time to assess my surroundings. The night is chilly, and the wind is biting. There's one tree, one enormous barn that is five times as long as the yacht, about a dozen parked vehicles, a few dark-blue pickup trucks, and some brand new yellow farm equipment.

I leave the relative safety of the tree to explore. I need to find out what's going on and where the toxic waste is coming from. I can't get the image of those poor merfolk languishing in the tank out of my mind. If they are here, I need to rescue them.

To that end, I telepathically transmit a greeting in as wide an area as I can. "Hello? Is anyone here?"

Hearing no response, I make my way over to the barn. I don't want to go in the same door as the men, so I walk around the back, trying to keep from crunching the gravel as I hunt for another way in.

I cannot see another entrance. I'm wondering whether I should risk going in the front door when I hear a faint warning in my head.

"Get out of here," says the voice. It's a merman, his tone weak and pleading.

"Where are you?"

"You are in terrible danger. Go! Now!"

"I will as soon as you tell me who you are, and where you're being held."

"No. Go!"

"She's Fishwater's fingerling," says another voice, this one higher and reedier. Must be a female.

"I don't care, Avalon. She can't help us. They'll just get her too."

"Maybe she's got backup."

"Are you alone?" says the man.

Should I lie to get them to tell me where they are? "I've got a bunch of support." That really isn't a lie, right? I mean, maybe not at the moment, but in general.

"There are security cameras everywhere. Armed guards. Locks on all the doors inside," he says. "We think the lab we're being kept in is on the upper level."

"Don't worry! I promise I will try to get you out!"

I have no choice. I have to risk the front door. As I make my way there, padding quietly on the gravel, a pearlescent white horse, four sleek, black horses, and a shabby brown miniature donkey crest a knoll and saunter in my direction.

"Ho there, mermaid," brays the donkey in a theatrical tone.

I understand him perfectly! I speak Donkey too? Wow!

"Hi!" I curtsey for some reason. The donkey seems to approve.

"Are you hair and makeup? Or catering?" the donkey says.

"Huh?"

He pulls back his lips, baring his teeth. "I see you're not very bright. Perhaps you're the director?"

"What are you talking about?" Maybe something has been lost in translation.

The horses paw at the ground and nicker uncomfortably.

"My fellow thespians and I are not used to such treatment."

"Thespians?"

"We are trained actors. Allow me to introduce Fernanda, Snow Queen, Purple Kisses, Glitter and Bling, and KitKatz, from Hollywood. I am Cyril, from the London stage and screen."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Waverly. From Pacifica."

"Pleasure," Cyril replies politely. "As I was saying, normally we are given clean, warm stalls and plenty of grain. We are groomed several times per day, and as a stunt donkey, I have it in my contract to receive daily massages. None of this has happened. I am afraid I must report this production to the Equine Union."

"Production?"

"You are from the production, no?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Sorry."

"If you're not here for the shoot, then why are you here?"

Do I tell the donkey the truth? What if he's with the bad guys, trying to get information out of me? But humans can't speak to animals. It's probably safe. But I'll still be cautious. "I'm here to, um, scope out the place. Do you know what's going on here?"

"I wish I did. It's the strangest set I've ever been on. Nothing happens except for the occasional delivery. All they give us to eat is hay! And we have to sleep outside. They have a whole barn, yet they do not allow us inside. Not that we'd want to, really. It's most unpleasant. I'm afraid you're the most excitement we've had in weeks."

"You've been in the barn?"

"Yes! But there's no hay or oats or grain or manure. And there are boxes everywhere. It's way too sterile."

"How did you get in?"

"Through there." He throws his little brown head up, indicating a high open window near the roof. It has to be three stories up.

"How?"

"I'm a stunt donkey. It's not that hard."

"Uh, can you show me?"

"If you'd like. I have nothing better to do. Ladies." He turns and steps through his posse. "Coming?" The window is so high, I cannot imagine how we're going to get up there.

"Um—" I say.

"It's perfectly safe. Climb on," says Cyril.

"Where?"

"You are slow, my dear. On my back, of course."

"But, I'll hurt you."

"I am a stunt donkey. I'm professionally trained." He bares his teeth again. He seems miffed that I've questioned his strength.

I climb onto his back. I have to bend my legs and press them against his warm coat so they don't drag on the ground.

"Hold on to my neck."

I grab him around the neck. Wings erupt from his sides just behind where I'm sitting. He launches into the air. "Holy crab!"

In seconds we're at the window. Cyril flaps his wings, keeping us aloft.

"What are you?" I ask.

"I told you, I'm a stunt donkey. I've had some 'enhancements' done in Hollywood."

"Oh, well, wow! Thank you!"

"Go on now. I have to get back to my fillies."

I climb through the window. Thankfully, there is a structural beam inside, right below the window that I clamber on to.

Below me is a cold, cavernous room lit with pale amber light, half-filled with cardboard boxes stacked almost to the roof. The boxes are labeled "Elixir of the Sea." What could that be? If the boxes are solid enough, I can jump to the nearest stack and work my way down. I reach my foot and test the stability of the pile. It seems okay. In less than a minute, I've clambered safely to the bottom. The floor is concrete, and the air smells like chemicals and cardboard and something acrid that burns the inside of my nose.

The merman I was tele-speaking to said that they were being kept on an upper level. I walk around the perimeter of the space, searching for stairs or a door. A rat skitters across my path, and I almost cry out. It's a little embarrassing that I'm afraid of rodents and not sharks, but hey, everyone's got their irrational fears. Even a powerful mermaid. The rat squeezes under a crack at the juncture of the wall and the floor, and I realize it's a door.

On the other side, someone screams; then I hear the clomp of heavy boots running away. I take a chance on that meaning whoever is standing guard on the other side is as terrified of rats as I am. I turn the knob and find myself in a modern grey stairwell. I take the stairs two at a time, go through another door, and end up in a long white hallway with bright lights on the ceiling that hum and crackle.

I don't see anyone. There are so many doors. Where would they be holding the merfolk?

"I'm on the upper level," I tell them. "Which room are you in?" I stand quietly, waiting for an answer, listening for guards. There is laughter coming from a room farther down the hall. My heart pounds, and my palms sweat. Poseidon's beard, please keep the humans from coming out into the hall.

"We don't know exactly where we are," says the merman. "The humans drugged us and brought us in. One minute we were swimming in the ocean, the next we woke up in this tank. We don't even have any idea how long we've been here."

"Well, keep talking to me." I walk toward their telepathic voices. They keep telegraphing warnings at me about the danger, and I want to scream back that this is not helpful while I'm trying to rescue them single handedly. But I can't say that because I told them I have backup.

Following their voices, I find myself in front of a door marked: 'Lab - Authorized Personnel Only. Trespassers will be eaten by sharks.' How welcoming. "Do you know how I can get the door open? The knob's not turning."

"No idea how. Look, they're going to deliver our food in the morning. Someone will come into the room then. You and your group can take him. Do you have weapons?"

"Uh, well ... wait, I hear someone coming." Down the hall, a door opens and closes. A man in black, with what looks like a weapon hanging from the belt at his waist, walks toward me. Actually, he is weaving more than walking, first hitting one wall with his shoulder, then the other.

"It's probably security," the merman says. "I hope you're well-trained."

There is nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. The only thing I can do is stand my ground and try to talk my way out of this. Debate club champ, here I go.

The guard draws his weapon and points it at me. "And what do we have here?" The man has greasy hair, a bulbous red nose, and horrible yellow teeth.

"I'm here, uh, for a surprise inspection of the boxes of, um, Elixir of the Sea. I'm from DOT headquarters," I say, recalling the name of the corporation from the contract in Mr. Sharkweather's stateroom on the yacht the night of the party. "I think I got lost. I'll just head back downstairs now." I try to walk past him, but he grabs my arm.

"In the middle of the night?" He narrows his bloodshot eyes.

"If I came during the day, it wouldn't be a surprise." I could probably take this guy out, but I'd like to avoid violence if I can. Plus, he might scream and warn others.

"I suppose you're right. Okay." He lowers his weapon.

That was easy! I am really good at espionage!

As I'm rejoicing in my victory, another man, this one in a white coat, with sparse white hair and watery pale blue eyes, enters the hallway through the stairwell door. "Who's this, Pellicose?"

"She's here inspecting the product. From Corporate."

'Doc' regards me with interest, then looks at the guard. "Pellicose, you idiot! Drinking on the job again?"

"It's Quinn's birthday," Pellicose says, hiccupping.

"You fool! She's a mermaid. Help me bring her to the lab."

"Sure thing, Doc." Pellicose tries to twirl his gun but ends up dropping it on the floor. "Oops!" He scoops it up and points it at me again.

"What? Why? I haven't done anything!" I cry.

"The boss has been waiting for some new merfolk, and you are a wonderful specimen. So young. A teenager, I believe. So emotional. You will be a wonderful asset."

"What do you mean?" I'm an idiot. Why hadn't I thought of wearing a wig and contacts? Of course, these humans would know I was a mermaid with my green hair and stupid rainbow eyes. I'm more angry with myself than scared.

"You'll see very soon. The boss will be thrilled. He has been worried that we have been falling behind in production. Now we will finish in time for the press reveal. Every major network will be there. It's going to be the biggest media event since the introduction of the iPhone."

Doc presses a code onto a numerical panel—2416256. He doesn't even bother hiding it from me. The door slides open. "Come on, Pellicose. Keep that gun aimed at her, and get inside."

"But I thought no guns are allowed in the lab," Pellicose slurs.

"Shut up, and do as I say!"

"Shut up and do as I say," Pellicose silently mimics when Doc isn't looking. I can smell the man's acrid breath.

Even though Pellicose seems to loathe Doc, the drunk guard obeys orders. He pushes me inside with one hand, the weapon in his other still pointed at my head. We are in another bright white room with those same annoying lights. A gleaming metal table occupies the middle of the room. The counters against the wall are covered with microscopes and strange bottles of various-colored liquids. It's even colder in here than in the other parts of the 'barn.' There is an ominous-looking contraption in one corner. It's a chair surrounded by strange devices made of metal and glass, needles, and straps.

"What's happening?" It's the female mermaid speaking to me. The one the male called Avalon.

"Uhhhh ... nothing. Nothing's happening. I'll get back to you." No sense worrying them. Plus, their voices are so close. I think they're right on the other side of the inner door. I'm sure I could take both these humans. What I'm not sure about is the weapon pointed at my head.

"Hand me the gun and get her in the Lachrystractor. Quick. Merfolk are stronger than they look," says Doc. He takes the gun from Pellicose and holds it right next to my head. "Don't try anything, mermaid. This gun can kill you instantly."

I can't help it. My hair starts sparking bright purple.

"What the hell?" Pellicose jumps away from me.

I'm about to grab the gun, but Doc hits me in the head with the weapon, and as much as I want to fight it, I can feel consciousness slipping away.

I wake strapped to that horrible chair. Pellicose is pointing the gun at me, and Doc is turning dials on the machine. "Welcome back, mermaid."

"What are you doing?" My voice is shaking.

"Harvesting your tears." He covers my eyes with strange goggles, sort of like the ones human divers wear. But I cannot see anything through them. Tears! I was right. They're doing something with mermaid tears. They're magical. They can alter life forms, change the species of animals and plants. They must do something on a molecular level. Something humans would want. It has to be related to the boxes of Elixir of the Sea. They are manufacturing something for humans and are planning a big press event to tell the world about it. The toxic waste must come from manufacturing Elixir of the Sea. I've got to get out of here and stop them. I'm the only one who knows what's happening. I pull against the restraints. They dig into my arms.

"Now, this won't hurt me a bit," says Doc. He's laughing.

"Why do you want my tears?" I ask, hoping to stall him. If I can just loosen the restraints a little more ...

"None of your business, mermaid. But I suppose it won't hurt if I tell you, since you'll never leave this place. You are far too valuable. Mermaid tears are the secret to eternal youth, my dear. Our skin moisturizer will stop the aging process. We will make a fortune. That's why we want your tears. Now, no more questions."

A slight pain forms in my chest. It gets worse and worse, but I refuse to cry.

"Cry, dammit. I don't want to kill you, but trust me, this can hurt a lot more. Stop fighting it."

I can't cry. I pull against the straps. They're loosening. Only a little, but they are looser. I focus all my attention on the straps. This becomes harder as the pain intensifies. It's like someone is burning a hole through my chest. It's almost impossible not to cry. My hair is sparking; I can't see, but I know it is. I'm straining against the straps. I can almost get one hand free.

There is a tremendous boom inside the room.

"What the hell is that?" says Doc.

"Crap," says Pellicose.