“You’re conducting your own civilian investigation.”
“Oh, come on, Marcus, don’t say civilian with so much indignation in your voice. Civilians are people too,” I joked. I eyed the coffee dispenser to my left but remembered that after the phone call came nap time. No coffee for me.
Marcus didn’t laugh. “Clearly I can’t change your mind on this vigilante thing you’re doing. So what help did you need from me?”
“It’s not illegal to ask questions, to look around,” I reminded him.
“Faline, we both know you’re not going to stop at the asking questions part,” he said.
“I need to know if any females between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five have turned up in any Oregon morgues recently.” I got up and poured ice water with lemon wedges into a clear plastic cup before sitting down on the couch. According to Marie, my missing succubus had a love of body ink. “The female I’m looking for has a slew of tattoos; one in particular is of a snake.”
“No,” was all he said.
“Come on, seriously? You’re going to say no?” I moaned inwardly. If I was going to fast-track this search, I needed that information.
“Do you have any legal documents giving you clearance, as a bounty hunter, to look into this exact case?” he asked.
“No.”
“Then it’d be illegal for me to share anything I found. I won’t do it.”
“Think of it as a favor,” I said. “For leaving me early Saturday night.”
“Yeah, I left early, and I’m sorry. I told you it couldn’t be helped. But that’s not a fair trade. I left early, you probably did too, and you probably went out and did something else equally as fun. Not a huge inconvenience.” Someone else’s voice called for Marcus through the receiver. He had no idea how wrong he was. And the fact that he hadn’t brought up the dead guy found at the same hotel as the party spoke volumes. Whoever orchestrated my attack had wiped up their tracks and mine.
“Are you at work?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said.
I didn’t have all day to convince him. Any minute he’d be pulled away for some task or another. I pursed my lips. If the Hunters had allowed me to be a detective, I would already have had access to these sorts of records. I needed those records. My gut told me that the idea of a young succubus running off to join the mermaids was about as plausible as Shawna deciding to get into an unknown car for a never-ending joy ride. Maybe Olivia was right. Maybe the two disappearances were connected and the mermaids had pulled the strings.
I didn’t want to, but I had to do it. “That’s not what happened that night,” I said. My chest tightened. I’d never allowed outsiders access to my family life. I couldn’t stand the vulnerable state it forced us to step into. “I didn’t leave right after you. Someone attacked me, but I got away. The next day my sister was abducted. And then today I found out that my acquaintance’s family member has gone missing.”
“Oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you report it?” Protectiveness rumbled through his voice.
I spoke quickly, before he got any ideas. “Because I think it’s personal.” I couldn’t very well tell a human cop that it was the mermaids’ fault.
Marcus whispered into his phone, “You think you’re being targeted for putting a skip behind bars?”
I hadn’t thought of that angle. “If what happened to my sister and me is completely separate than the Oregon woman’s disappearance, then that’s a possibility. Which is why I need to know if the Oregon morgues have had any new women brought in.”
“You want me to check the Washington morgues, too? Does your sister have any identifying marks?” The cop in Marcus was trying to piece a case together. His movement of the puzzle pieces tore at my very being.
I dropped the empty water cup. My phone slipped, too, before I caught it.
“Faline? You still there?”
It had been an obvious next step to check the morgues for the succubus. But the reality that Shawna could be lying lifeless, on a metal table too…
“I’m here,” I barely said.
The line went silent, other than the rustling of precinct business on the other side of the call. Phones rang, computers buzzed, people talked. “I’m sorry,” he said in a lowered voice. “That was insensitive.”
“No, I… I—” I stuttered.
“Text me your email and I’ll send you Oregon’s missing persons cases. It may take me a few hours. I’ll let you know after I’ve contacted the morgues.”
I stretched across my queen pillow top bed and grabbed the glass of water from the nightstand. My charging cell phone flashed that I’d received calls, texts, and emails during my restless nap. Reality jolted me from my sleepy haze of where I was and why. I nearly dropped the water in my haste to grab the phone. The fact that I could have slept through that both amazed and horrified me. I must have been more tired than I’d realized.
My heart sank as I scrolled through each one, hoping beyond hope that one would be from Shawna. They weren’t. A text from Olivia included screen shots of San Miguel Island from aerial views. No buildings or people had been caught in the pictures. From what she’d gathered, visitors were rarely allowed on the island due to choppy waters around the land and sudden weather changes. I wondered how many boats in that area went missing every year.
Guess I was about to find out; a huldra venturing out onto open water—only for my sister. It felt surreal that I could even think about something so mundane when my sister was missing. But I suppose that was the analytical part of my mind trying to cope. It’s what made me a great bounty hunter.
I took a closer look at my inbox. Marcus’s name, from what looked like a private email address, caught my eye. He hadn’t included any friendly notes to the attached documents. I opened them and scanned the names. Marie hadn’t officially reported her sister as missing. So I wouldn’t find that name in the missing persons list. I wasn’t sure why Marcus had sent it to me. I spent my time searching the list of bodies found, looking for a Jane Doe with a snake tattoo or the succubi identification numbers on her body. My mood lifted a little more each time I swiped to the next page and didn’t see a female body with a number tattooed on the thigh.
I glanced from the screen of my phone to the empty wall.
I’d been searching for a Jane Doe mostly, but because Wild Women used portions of their goddess’s title as their surname I also searched for a Lilith or, goddess help me, a Frey on the off chance the police had found their ID cards along with their bodies. We used our legal names for our driver’s license and our assigned numbers as identification with the Hunters. This way the Hunters knew us only by our numbers and the world knew us only by our names. It kept the two separate, or so the Hunters had assured us.
But procuring our names was as easy as me scanning this list.
Huldra opted for last names having to do with their goddess, Freyja. My coterie had chosen “Frey” as our last name. From meeting with Marie, I knew that succubi used parts of “Lilith” as their surname. If the other Wilds followed suit then the Mermaids used pieces of their goddess’ name, Atargatis, the harpies used variations of Innana or Ishtar, and the rusalki used Mokosh. If a Hunter took the time to look, he’d be able to locate every single one of us—where we lived, where we worked, where our annual benefits for our pet rescue centers were held.
Shitfuckdamn.
A knot settled in my stomach. If the Hunters had anything to do with the disappearances, my possible suspect list just grew exponentially. I was fifty steps behind whatever this was and definitely not closing in fast. As much as I wished I could run in ten different directions at once, I had to focus on my next step. One step at a time. If the mermaids really were building an army against the Hunters, they’d have a whole lot more intel on the organization than I had. And right now, I needed information to help me catch up. Shawna’s life—hell, all our lives—could depend on it.
Twelve
> I avoided passing through the redwood forest on my drive from northern to southern California. Climbing its ancient trees didn’t seem right without Shawna. And I didn’t want to take the time, not even for that.
I couldn’t count how many times I’d listened to the playlist on my phone from Oregon, through Sacramento, past Bakersfield—which lacked trees and greenery in a bad way—and toward Los Angeles. Though, I didn’t make it to LA because I cut off onto I-5 and headed west until the Pacific Ocean stopped me. Until I was in Ventura, CA. I’d driven all the way through since my hotel nap, only stopping for gas and food.
I parked at Ventura Harbor and twisted myself in my seat to pull clean underwear and socks from my suitcase and then stuffed the articles of clothing into my purse. I jumped out of the car and speed-walked down the dock to where the charter boats were. It was all I could do not to run. If the mermaids had any information that could lead me to Shawna, I couldn’t get to them fast enough. And I had a feeling they did.
“Just a moment,” said the captain of the boat Marie had chartered to take me to the island as I stood on the dock, waiting. I had expected a balding older man with a gut and a worn-out fishing hat. What I’d gotten was a Native American man with thick black hair, broad shoulders, and biceps that just wouldn’t quit. How could I tell he had such biceps through his sweater and wind-breaker? A woman knows these things.
Very few people milled about in the early morning hours of this weekday. The cries of seagulls and the soft breaking of waves filled the crisp morning ocean air.
The captain disappeared down the stairs below deck.
“All right,” he said, poking his head out of the hole that led down below. “Come aboard.”
“Can I…can I get a little help?” I asked, reaching my arm out though still standing on the dock. Unease took over with the possibility of being trapped at sea. The waves were my enemy. I preferred the stability of trees. Though, if I thought about it, standing at the highest point of an incredibly tall tree had a waving affect. Especially on windy days. Still, I could always jump down from the branches and plant my feet firmly on the ground. Not so much with ocean travel.
“Sorry, I thought you’d done this before.” He leaned toward the dock with an outstretched arm.
I had to do this for Shawna. Freyja only knew what horrors she was enduring right now. I wrapped my fingers in the captain’s until he heaved me onto the boat. My huldra responded to his touch by flaring up inside. That was new, and disturbing. The moment I could let go of him, I did. I stood with wobbly feet as the waves beneath us kept the floor moving.
“Here.” He handed me an orange life jacket.
I held it for a few minutes, studying the contraption, wondering how to put the damn thing on. I hated how inept I felt.
“I’m Caleb, by the way,” he said while turning the motor on and messing with the dials near the steering wheel.
I put the life jacket over my head. “Caleb, um, what do I do next?” I asked.
“Ah! Sorry. I don’t normally do this. It’s my brother’s business. He doesn’t go out on weekdays, so he asked me to take you. Just secure the clasps and you’re done.” I decided to pretend he hadn’t just said that he doesn’t drive a boat on a regular basis.
Caleb, satisfied with my safely attached orange vest, backed the boat away from the dock and maneuvered it out into the Pacific Ocean. A grey and blue inflatable skiff trailed behind us, attached by a rope. I found a place to sit as far from the edge as I could and prepared for a white-knuckled ride on calm waters.
Not one word passed between Caleb and me during our first hour out on the water. The obligatory conversation starters didn’t sound right when I played them out in my head.
Until the tip of an island revealed itself. “So which island is that one?” I asked.
“It’s Santa Cruz Island,” he responded. “I can’t believe someone like you hasn’t been out on the water before.” He shook his head while keeping his gaze set on the expanse of water in front of us.
“Someone like me?” I asked, confused as to who or what he thought I was.
He eyed me and I cocked my head.
“Oh! You’re not—?” He cut himself off.
I didn’t answer, but my brows furrowed. Not what?
Caleb spoke a few words that held no meaning to me. The hairs at the base of my skull stood. What did he think I was? What was I walking into?
“What language are you speaking?” I asked, now thoroughly confused.
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“What’s going on? What did you mean, ‘someone like me’?” I pressed.
“Someone from Oregon. That’s what I meant,” he said, his gaze rested on the water ahead. “Your sister’s credit card, the one I ran when she scheduled the trip, the billing address said Portland, Oregon. I have friends up near there,” he said.
His accelerated heartrate told me he was lying, but pushing for answers wasn’t working. Threatening the only person on the boat who knew how to maneuver the thing wouldn’t help my cause. I decided to try a different angle—chat him up and learn whatever I could about anything he’d be willing to share. Something is better than nothing. “Have you gone hiking up there?” I said.
He nodded.
“Then you’ll understand when I say that I’d rather spend my time hiking…on soil…with evergreens towering in all directions.” Or climb the evergreens, but that was too much information.
“I get where you’re coming from, but for me, it’s always been the water. Since before my daughter was born, she’s been on the water.” He stopped and laughed to himself and then shared his little joke, “In the water too.”
I smiled. “So you have a family?” I asked.
“Married five years now. We have a two-year-old girl.” With one hand he held the wheel, with the other he pulled out his cell phone and showed me a few pictures of his beautiful raven-haired wife holding their chubby-cheeked toddler.
It made me think of my own family, my sister, and all that was at stake. The pain must have showed on my face because Caleb put the phone away with a guilty look. Probably to change the subject, he gave me the history of the islands as we sped past them, some larger than others, all sprinkled with vegetation. I didn’t mind. His stories made our trip go by quicker, despite the choppy water. The local islands had been occupied by humans for at least 12,000 years. The island’s earliest known residents were the Paleo-Indians, called the Chumash people. Before San Miguel got its current name, the Chumash people called it Tuguan.
As Caleb spoke, I wondered if his ancestors had lived on one of the islands we’d passed. I also wondered where the mermaids played into all of this. Their existence on San Miguel Island, or Tuguan, wouldn’t be in the history books. But had they lived alongside the Chumash people? Had Caleb grown up hearing folk tales of swimming women? How long ago had they liberated themselves from the Hunters and joined the humans? These were things I didn’t dare ask him and he didn’t offer up.
We neared the island, and Caleb anchored the boat and transferred a bag into the skiff. Despite his offer of help, I walked on my own, down the few steps at the back of the boat, and stepped into the grey and blue inflatable skiff.
Wind beat at us and waves worked to shove us this way and that as the skiff’s motor raced us toward the deserted beach. Salty air filled my nostrils, making it hard for me to discern other scents.
I spit my hair from my mouth only to have the wind smack it back at my face. These mermaids had better have information leading to Shawna or I was going to make fertilizer out of some succubi.
“Calm weather they’re having today.” Caleb gave a laugh and seemed to make the skiff move faster.
He shut the engine off as we neared the crescent-shaped, sandy beach surrounded by cliffs. Patches of green grass clung to the gentle slopes of what looked like wide steps in the otherwise rocky cliff. White sand separated the rocky base from the blue ocean water. Caleb jumped from the skiff and us
ed the rope to pull it to shore. The dry land beckoned me, and before he pulled the inflatable boat completely onto land, I jumped from the skiff. Salt water filled my boots within seconds as I ran through the shallow water. It took willpower to refrain from kissing the sand.
A naked woman ran from a crevice in the cliff. “Ah, Caleb, I haven’t seen you in forever!” she said as she wrapped her arms around the man in an embrace. Her skin appeared dark tan until she stood against Caleb’s much darker complexion. Her thick, inky black hair draped down past her butt. What looked like deep green scales sparkled in patches on her shoulders and hips and a few spots on her long, lean legs.
He squeezed her tightly, picking her up off the ground in the process.
The woman kissed Caleb on the cheek and took a step back. “Let me see how much she’s grown,” she said.
He pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and showed her the newest pictures of his daughter. The woman’s scales disappeared into her skin as she oohed and aahed at the digital photos. The way her scales melted into tan skin reminded me of my bark.
Caleb finished with the pictures and stuck his phone into his pocket. He glanced at me before leaning in to whisper in the mermaid’s ear. “The woman said she was one of you, but she’s never been on the water.”
“Who said I was one of theirs?” I asked. I couldn’t help but stomp toward the two apparent friends; my boots were full of water.
The woman turned to me and smiled. “Welcome. My name is Gabrielle. And you must be Faline.” As she closed the gap between us I noticed tiny shells tied into the roots of her hairline part at the top of her head. Small bits of wet seaweed clung to strands of black.
“I’d better go. It was nice to meet you, Faline.” Caleb headed for the skiff.
I waved. “Thanks for the ride.”
Wild Women Collection Page 9