Storm Surge

by Melissa Gunn

  “I’ve told you before why we stay on the coast. We are watchers. We keep an eye on the sea and her deities.”

  “Yeah, I know that, Mum. But why us? Why not some other family of demis? And we were fine in the hills away from the sea.”

  Freya’s Mum expertly flicked out a sheet, then rolled it tightly. Her fingers whitened as they pressed hard on the sheet.

  “We weren’t in the hills long. And mistakes were made in the past.”

  “Like what?” Freya was intrigued despite herself. Her Mum almost never talked about whatever kept them near the rising sea.

  “It’s not something I want to talk about. I’ve told you about your Grandad, and that’s all I’m saying. You don’t need to know about the bad things that happened to me in my youth. You’ll just have to accept that we live by the sea. Have you packed up that cat yet? If you spent more time doing the right thing instead of running after him, you wouldn’t be always complaining about where we live.” She jammed the sheet into a partly filled wheeled suitcase that sat beside her.

  Typical, just when I think I’m going to learn something useful about our family instead of just generalities about demigods, and Mum goes off on a tangent. I wonder if it’s because she made mistakes? She certainly doesn’t like to admit mistakes now.

  “You never want to tell us about the important things, Mum. Why do you keep it to yourself? I’m nearly grown-up, and Tammy is an adult, whatever she acts like. You’re going to have to let us in on the secret someday, you know.” Freya had reached her full growth now - a centimetre shorter than her mother, to her chagrin. She was still trying to convince Danae that she deserved full voting responsibilities in the household. Sadly, Danae wasn’t keen on household democracies.

  “Today is not that day. Leave it, Freya. And sort out your cat.”

  “You just wish I’d left Mr Fluffbum in the streets, don’t you Mum?” It was hard not to lash out verbally at her Mum when Danae was being so obstructive.

  “You know that’s not the case, Freya. But cat food is expensive. And you moan about not having friends, but don’t go out and make any. I can’t do that for you, you know.” Her mother picked up a blanket and gave it the same tight rolling treatment as the sheet.

  “It’s not my fault, Mum. I don’t know what to say to people. I’m not like Tammy. And when I do say things, people look at me strangely. At least Mr Fluffbum understands me.” Freya turned away. She felt picked on. Just because no-one else in the family had a pet, didn’t mean they should resent her having one. And she’d make friends if she could. But every time she did make a friend, the family moved on. It got dispiriting after a while, to the point where she no longer tried to make friends. Why bother if she wouldn’t get to keep them?

  Her mother’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  “Come on, Freya, stop daydreaming and finish your packing! We have to be ready to go first thing, you know.”

  “I know, Mum, but I’m still looking for Mr Fluffbum. Have you seen him?”

  “You know I’ve had too much to do, lining up a new job, finding somewhere better than this demolition-worthy place to live, trying to keep food on the table, to notice your cat.”

  “Yes, Mum, I just thought you might have. He usually turns up for dinner around this time.”

  “Sorry, Freya, you’ll have to find him yourself. But pack first, please.”

  Clearly the subject was closed. Freya wished she’d managed to find out more about her ancestors while her Mum was on the topic.

  Oh well, never mind the past, focus on the real problem.

  She went down the hall to investigate her sister’s cupboard-sized room, and interrogate her sister while she was at it.

  “Tammy, have you seen Mr Fluffbum?

  Tammy looked up from the bed where she was arranging lipstick and foundation into her makeup case in colour order. Freya wondered briefly why Tammy bothered with such things – she’d always had great skin, even as a teenager.

  “No, I have not seen Mr Fluffbum. Not since he tried to sit on my best coat this morning. He objected to being removed and scratched me, so I shut him outside.”

  “Tammy! Why would you do that, you know I keep him inside!”

  Tammy shrugged.

  “He’s a cat, he’ll figure it out. Maybe he’ll find a mouse and have the time of his life killing it.”

  “Tammy!”

  “Well, hush about your cat then, Freya. How do you think I feel about this move? I had just started getting a life here, I had friends to see, and now who knows when I’ll get to do that again? Now don’t interrupt, I want my makeup put away properly at least.” Tammy picked up a tube of mascara from the bed and slotted in into her case.

  “You’re no fun anymore, Tammy. We used to do stuff together, now you just spend hours with makeup. And go out for more hours with people the rest of us don’t get to meet. And put my cat outside.”

  “You’re just jealous.”

  “No, I’m not. I wouldn’t want to spend time with a bunch of trolls.”

  “They are not all trolls, for your information. They never are. I don’t know why you always suggest that first. And anyway, who are you to talk, still spending all your time with a cat?”

  It was hard for Freya to argue with that, so she tried to settle her sister’s disgruntled feelings. Maybe Tammy would help her find Mr Fluffbum if she calmed down.

  “You never know, your friends might come visit us in the new town. It’s not that far away. Have any of them got cars?”

  “Yeah. One of them, anyway.” A complete rainbow of lipsticks went into the case, each shade precisely aligned with its neighbour.

  “Maybe you could persuade that one to give you a lift with most of our stuff,” Freya suggested. “Is that one your boyfriend?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What’s your boyfriend’s name again?”

  “I only told you yesterday, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already?” A set of flesh-toned eyeshadow went in next to the mascara.

  “It’s not my fault you change boyfriends so often I can’t remember their names!”

  “I do not! You just don’t pay attention.” Tammy reached behind her and threw a pillow at Freya.

  “Why should I pay attention, if I blink you’ve dumped one and picked up another.” Freya caught the pillow and threw it back, aiming carefully to avoid the makeup case. Tammy might still be up for a pillow fight, but not if it scattered her precious makeup.

  “I’m aiming for quality.” Tammy caught the pillow and fluffed it up, then replaced it behind her with a soothing pat, as though the pillow was an affronted cat.

  “It looks more like quantity,” said Freya.

  “How else will I find the quality ones, if I don’t try them out?”

  “OK, so tell me about the latest quality boyfriend?” Freya ventured further into the room and shut the door behind her, in case privacy would help Tammy talk. If she talked, she might give more information about Mr Fluffbum.

  Tammy gave an annoyed huff, but relented enough to tell her sister.

  “His name is Sigvard, OK? He’s Norwegian. And I haven’t brought him home because of the endless comments I get from you and Mum.” Tammy looked suspiciously at Freya. “Why do you want to know? You don’t usually show any interest in my boyfriends.”

  “He’s got a car, doesn’t he? I saw him dropping you off last week, when you got back at dawn instead of midnight.” Freya sidled closer to the bed.

  “Oh. You didn’t tell Mum, did you?”

  “I didn’t need to; she was beside me. You know it’s worrying when you stay out all night without warning, don’t you?”

  “It shouldn’t be, you know I can take care of myself.”

  “Come on, Tammy, I’m your little sister, I shouldn’t be telling you these things. It should be the other way round, if anything.”

  “Yeah, but you’ve always been the goody two shoes in this family. Look, if I do get Sigvard to take some of my stuff
, can you and Mum not speculate about his heritage, for a change? ‘Cos I’m telling you straight up, he’s part-jotunn, and he gets pretty grumpy if people mistake him for a troll or something like that.”

  “Is it really a good idea to spend time with a grumpy jotunn who could be mistaken for a troll?”

  “Oh, it has its advantages. Jotunns are very well-built.” Tammy smiled meaningfully.

  Freya groaned.

  “If you’re talking about anything other than the size of his biceps, I don’t want to know. Just look after yourself, OK? Stay safe.”

  “Yes, ‘Mum’,” Tammy sneered.

  “So, anyway... could you help me find Mr Fluffbum, since you let him out?”

  “No. I’ve still got half my stuff to pack, and if I don’t do it now, Mum will make me leave it behind. Go find him yourself.” Tammy slotted some peacock-coloured eyeshadow into her case.

  “That’s not fair!”

  Freya made a lunge for the pillow and threw it at Tammy again, this time deliberately jogging the makeup case, before rushing out of the room. Tammy swore at her, the words mostly cut off by the closing door. The sisterly chat had not been illuminating, and she still didn’t have someone to help her find Mr Fluffbum.

  Freya stepped outside with a shiver. The weather had been quite mild, before the cluster of storms swooped in. However, the storms came from the north, dragging chill air with them as well as howling winds and sleet. The few late summer gardens Freya passed would be devastated once their owners managed to dig them out of the hail. At least that was one worry Freya’s family did not have with this move. There would be no crops for their family to lose. They hadn’t managed to get an allotment in this town and unusually, they had little growing in their pocket-sized courtyard. A year of drought had caused widespread crop failures. Now they were moving, they’d no doubt end up at the bottom of another allotment waiting list in their new town. Maybe they’d be moving to somewhere with a garden. Freya hoped so, even though it was Danae who would be doing the growing if they did.

  Freya and Tammy had been sent out foraging often in the last few weeks. Although she was better at identification now than she had been when she was ten, Freya still would have preferred to be able to grow or buy food. Some foraged food was delicious. Other such foods - such as the ubiquitous dandelions - Freya thought would be best left for wild rabbits to enjoy. She certainly didn’t get much enjoyment out of the bitter greens. This time she wasn’t looking for foraged food, however. Freya ran from house to battered house, calling her cat’s name and peering through windows.

  “Fluffy... Fluuufbum.” She was torn between embarrassment at her pet’s name, and worry for her cat. The result was an urgent whisper that probably couldn’t be heard above the wind, punctuated by louder calls that died away whenever she saw a movement that could mean someone had heard her.

  Is Mr Fluffbum hiding in someone’s garage? Has he got stuck in a house that had already been abandoned to the rising sea, tempted in by the promise of shelter, or the hunting of mice?

  Freya searched the nearest ring of houses, knocking on doors despite her shyness of strangers. While most who answered the door were sympathetic, no-one had seen a stray cat. It seemed no-one had been watching the storm at all, preferring to ignore it so long as the batteries held out for their streamed movies. Freya started back along the waterfront, checking the row of houses closest to the thundering waves, calling out her cat’s name as enticingly as she could, with her voice raised to a shout to be heard, her growing fear for her cat overcoming embarrassment. There was no answering meow.

  The shriek of the wind increased as the day wore on, another storm front on its way. Freya’s ears began to hurt from it. After hours had passed with no sign of her cat, Freya returned home and risked putting a bowl of precious dried cat food outside the front door, hoping that the lure of food outside mealtimes would attract her cat back home. By late afternoon it was soaked, swollen by rain into a gummy mess. A small procession of ants were busily biting off tiny pieces and taking them away, but Mr Fluffbum hadn’t appeared. Freya sat by the bowl watching the ants. Each morsel of disappearing food was a needle piercing her heart. She felt empty and cold without her cat.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  STORMY WEATHER

  By evening the increasing violence of the storm forced Freya indoors despite her worry. She sat by a window with a view of the front strip of concrete. The window itself was covered with strips of tape to prevent shattering in the event of a particularly violent wind gust. Her first choice of window had not been available - it was already covered with a sheet of plywood, since a wind-flung branch in an earlier storm had smashed its glass. Freya huddled in a blanket for warmth.

  “Can’t we turn on a heater or light a fire or something, Mum?”

  Danae was chopping onions with a practised hand. Onions were almost always cheap.

  “No, Freya. You know the electricity has been off for days. And there’s no wood left for a fire.”

  Freya turned away from the window to look at her mother.

  “Why is the electricity still out, anyway? Isn’t it someone’s job to fix it?”

  “Yes, well. That woman who runs the corner store told me that every time they try to fix the lines, they get blown down again. Too many storms for them to cope with. If you ask me, I think there’s probably some Thor-kins around in this town. They’re often associated with storms.”

  Danae’s stormy expression as she searched through the sprouting potatoes for ones that weren’t too soft to use suggested she herself might be related to the thunder god, though Freya was sure that wasn’t the case.

  “You always think everything’s due to some demi or other, Mum. Couldn’t it just be weather?”

  “Not in my experience. There’s usually more demi effects around than most people realise. They just don’t know what they’re seeing.”

  “OK, Mum, if that’s how you see it. Where’s the camping stove?” Freya didn’t disbelieve in the gods - she’d seen plenty of river gods, after all. But she did think her mother’s attitude was rather extreme.

  “It’s in the kitchen box. But we’ve only got a bit of fuel left for it, so keep it for hot drinks, after I’ve used it for the soup.”

  “Can’t I have a hot water bottle, Mum?”

  “There’s not enough fuel for that, Freya. And you spent too much money on cat food for that cat of yours for us to buy more fuel.”

  “He has to eat, Mum!”

  Freya’s family had invested in some camping equipment at their last house when there was a little extra money for a change. It was worthwhile to be able to cook even when the electricity was off, as it so often was. But a camp stove didn’t keep anyone warm. Warmth was a luxury item these days. Coal fires had been banned for a few years now, and only rich people had hydrogen or solar heating. Freya kept her vigil in the cold, her head resting on the chilly window.

  The potato and onion soup was good, though, seasoned with foraged herbs. Freya felt a little better after she’d had her share.

  Mum makes the best soups, even when we have almost no food.

  Despite her concern for Mr Fluffbum, she felt happier for being fed.

  I just hope Mr Fluffbum has found the food outside. Even if it is all anty, now.

  “Are you going to bed, Freya?”

  Danae had collected the dishes and left them in the sink.

  “No, I want to stay up and see if Mr Fluffbum comes back.”

  “Are you packed for tomorrow?”

  “Mostly.” It was almost true. Freya didn’t have much to pack, so she didn’t think it would take her long.

  “Well, finish it off now please. Then, you and Tammy make sure the dishes are done. I’m going to bed.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Goodnight, Mum.”

  Freya resumed her watch of the street, without packing, hoping that soon a twitch of an ear or swish of a tail would announce her missing cat’s return.

  It was closer to d
awn than midnight when she awoke, dismayed to discover that she’d slept. Her watch had been unsuccessful. No cat had slunk nonchalantly into view. She checked out the window again, hoping to see Mr Fluffbum waiting outside the window. Instead, her view was unexpectedly obscured. At first, she thought her vision was faulty. Or maybe the night was just really dark. Then she realised that her window had in fact been covered by a layer of leaves.

  “Seriously? We don’t even have a street tree here.”

  Freya tugged at the window latch, but it resisted.

  Oops. I forgot it’s painted shut.

  Freya creaked to her feet. Surely, she was too young to feel this stiff. But she’d slept so long in one position, her legs had gotten numb. Wind still battered the house, but she wouldn’t do any good trying to see through a dark window. She lurched down the stairs, clutching the banister for balance. Her legs weren’t working properly after her long stint at the window. She wriggled her toes until the feeling came back into them, then proceeded in a more normal fashion. The blanket around her slipped off halfway down, and she had to pause to rearrange it scarf-style over her shoulders, or risk tripping on the trailing edge.

  I’m sure other demigoddesses don’t have to fight with blankets on the stairs in the night. Why does this sort of thing always happen to me?

  A few more steps saw her safely to the ground floor and creeping down the hallway. The floor was uncovered - probably it had been polished a couple of decades ago, but it was now returning to its original state. The surface was chilly beneath her feet, and the floorboards creaked in an uneven cadence as she walked along the hall to the front door. Peering out, she was relieved to see that the rain had stopped. However, no cat mewed in grateful greeting. Remembering another night like this one, a few years ago, Freya stepped out of the house and pulled the door closed behind her. The night they stayed in a bed and breakfast, that dreadful day their house had washed away. Back when Mr Fluffbum had been just a kitten, he had led her down to the beach on a stormy night, begging for fish from the wind demis. Had he gone looking for Lio in a storm again? It had been years since that had happened - since they moved to the hills, in fact. Freya headed for the sea, just in case.