A Mermaid's Ransom

by Joey W. Hill

  Suffering is one of the important ways we grow, Lex. You must allow others to suffer. Use your understanding wisely, when it is truly needed, or when it will not derail someone from the path they need to walk. If you do not have that wisdom, it is best not to interfere.

  Sometimes, she wondered why the Goddess had given her the gift at all, because the only way it seemed useful was to make people feel happy-fuzzy being around her. In short, she could give a moment's breather to a girlfriend experiencing the blinding agony of being jilted by a guy, or stop someone from jumping off a building. Everything in between needed to be hands-off. Since she couldn't switch off either ability, they drew people to her.

  She didn't really mind that. What was frustrating was that the same light that sent out a "come hither" feeling also had a "too good to touch" vibe when it came to males. Unconsciously, they remained at arm's length, keeping their hands off.

  Alexis scrubbed her face. "At least the guy in my dream was different, even if he was sort of a hellspawn, scary demon-vampire type."

  Clara slid an arm around her, a reassurance Alexis gratefully accepted, along with her friend's cautious but teasing smile. "Tell all, girlfriend. Was he hung like a moose?"

  "Oh, Goddess." Alexis rolled her eyes. "Is that all a guy needs?"

  "No, of course not. I expect intelligence, a sense of humor, an enormous bank account and a great body coupled with a decent but manly fashion sense. The well-hung component only becomes requisite if we get that far. But in dreams you can assume those things are given and jump ahead to the good parts. Literally."

  Alexis tried to laugh and instead drew a deep, shuddering breath, thinking of the man in her dream again. While she could feel his emotions, for the first time in her life, they'd been so overwhelming they were mostly incomprehensible. Maybe because it was a dream. Just a dream. When she pressed her face against Clara's shoulder to stop the spinning, the girl closed both arms around her, rocking her.

  "Take it easy, now," she murmured. "I got you. You're such a strange friend, Lex. I don't think I've ever loved anyone more, because you love back like it's the easiest thing in the world, and you have enough for everyone. But you also worry me. Sometimes you're way too alone, even though everyone adores you. It's as if you're pulling away, toward a destiny that's kind of scary. I don't want to lose you."

  Okay, here was one of the reasons having a clairvoyant friend was not fun. Clara's observations always held truth. Since Alexis had the same lingering feeling, her anxiety swelled, tempting her to tell Clara everything. But that was one of the rules that couldn't be broken.

  Over twenty years ago, a huge apocalyptic battle had happened. Humans had briefly seen angels in the sky, even fought beside some of them to push back the tide of Dark Ones unleashed through a rift. After that, for reasons known only to the Goddess, the angels had been commanded to disappear from human sight again, leaving humans to wonder whether they'd experienced a spiritual revelation, a visit from outer space or some mass hallucinatory trip brought on by sunspots. Budgets to investigate extraterrestrial life had tripled in all developed nations. As accounts varied, life returned to normal again, angels and other paranormal creatures remaining speculative fantasy to all but the select few humans ready to handle the truth.

  So Alexis hugged her, straightened and pushed Clara's straight red hair away from her forehead, touching the delicate diamond and gold ring she wore in the right nostril. "I already told you, you're going to lose me one day. I'm going to run away with the circus. I'll free all the lions, tigers and elephants, and take them back to Africa on a raft I make out of wishes."

  The shadows cleared from Clara's gaze. "There you are. Doing that thing you do."

  "What?"

  "Talking like a kindergarten teacher, while all of us eat it up like five-year-olds."

  Alexis made a face. "By the way, he was well-hung. I didn't see it. I felt it."

  "Yuck." Clara giggled and shoved her away, throwing the Tigger so it bounced off Alexis's shoulder. "I never imagined my kindergarten teacher wrapping her fingers around anything except a piece of chalk. Was he someone we know?"

  "No." Alexis sobered, picking up the stuffed animal and considering the foolish face, the broad nose, while her fingers flexed in the soft fur. "I don't think so. It was kind of a crazy dream. Lots of fire, darkness."

  She raised her gaze to Clara. "He needed me, more than I think anyone has ever needed another. So strong, he'd shatter the universe to get me."

  "God, that's romantic."

  Actually, it was pretty frightening. Because Alexis knew just how fragile the universe was.

  Two

  DANTE'S chest worked like a bellows, his fingers digging into the bloodsoaked stone beneath him. Curling back his lip, he let his fangs stab flesh as he pulled in more air. The pain had become so intense, he'd feared he would have to shatter the spell. Right before he'd retreated back through the dream portal, his internal organs had been cooking. Even now, they were uneasily simmering, reminding him what it would have been like to be incinerated from the inside out.

  That didn't matter. Vicious triumph surged through him. Though he would be dangerously weak for several hours, he'd done it. Damn the seawitch, and all the angels, he had defied them, created a way to touch the world outside of his prison. The single-minded focus of twenty years had at last paid off.

  Blood trickled down his sweat-drenched flesh to the growing pool of it around his bare knees, pressed into the stone. He'd used the blood to paint the proper symbols on himself, and heat had dissolved them to streaks. But they'd held long enough, seared into her dream soul. He'd connect with her far more easily next time.

  His attention shifted to the body lying several feet away, the staring silver eyes and tangled brown hair of his female sacrifice. Now that he'd figured out the proper order of symbols, incantations and timing for the release of blood, he could use the same vessel several times to open the portal. But it wouldn't be necessary. The next time the girl gave herself to dreams, she would be here, and his.

  A surge of hunger went through him as he thought of her silken skin, the vivid feel of it even through the illusory world of dreams. He'd be willing to sacrifice ten times as much blood if he could burn the marks into her physical flesh now.

  Despite the solitary fierce pleasure that gave him, he reined it back. The powerful rages and needs of his dark soul had to be harnessed if he wished to achieve his objective. He'd learned that long ago.

  Perhaps he had the devil-cursed seawitch to thank for that understanding. If he had the opportunity, he'd thank her personally. By ripping off her head, drinking her blood and casting her body into the deepest pit of vile waste he could find.

  Focusing on the dead humanoid female next to him again, he imagined it was her. Satisfaction intensified, like the grim pleasure of stealing a meal and having the time to savor it, the closest thing to a miracle in the Dark One world. Well, until now.

  Twenty years ago, the seawitch had destroyed all the rifts that allowed exit from the Dark One world. Piecing together the magic to re-create even one had been painstaking. He'd discovered a way to do it underground, under this tower, knowing her eye could turn upon his world whenever she chose. His early attempts created a limited, weak conduit that allowed him access to barren worlds. But at last he found one which included a humanoid species.

  They were a primitive, nomadic people with only rudimentary defenses. Despite their pronounced brows, broad faces and incomprehensible babble of language, their blood was a rich food source for him, after having been nourished on the weak poison of Dark One blood these two decades. Their strong, sweet fear of the unknown enriched and strengthened him as much as their blood.

  He couldn't go into their world, because his physical body couldn't cross any rift, even one he'd created. Which was why the dream portal was his victory, his way of circumventing the curse that had locked him here.

  While Dark Ones couldn't survive long away from this hated
world, they could hunt anywhere for limited time periods. He controlled exit and entry through that rift, and they knew if they displeased him he would leave them there to weaken and die. Because they were as eager for the fresh blood as he, they went. And because knowledge was a power of its own, the Dark Ones brought him choice pickings for his blood needs and rituals like this. So far, only one Dark One had not returned. Dante let it be known that the Dark One had displeased him and was cut off from this world, a death sentence. In reality, he assumed the creature had fallen upon some mishap, but additional fear of his power was always useful.

  His place here had certainly changed over these twenty years. When the seawitch had come, he was a skulking scavenger, probably no more advanced or articulated in his desires or goals than this dumb creature he'd just killed.

  Then came the apocalyptic battle between the angels and the Dark Ones for possession of the human world, and the seawitch's decision. Dante didn't like to think back on that terrible day. This world had always been a prison for him, but it had windows, a way for him to gaze out into other worlds. When she chose to destroy them, she'd bricked up his cell door, sealing out everything, condemning him to relentless fire and darkness. A coffin with no death, nothing but screaming and terror, pain and anger.

  She had said, "Prove to me you deserve to be set free. And perhaps I will come back and do just that."

  He hadn't believed her of course. Words meant nothing. But she had affected him. Because of her, he accepted two absolutes. Power was the only avenue to change. And hatred was the fuel that would allow him to obtain it, if he honed it to accomplish his ultimate objective. Within a month of the rift closings, mad with bloodlust, he'd brought down his first Dark One and forced the creature to submit to his feeding upon him.

  She'd taken away his fear and left rage. Rage combined with cunning was a formidable weapon. All the stronger Dark Ones were gone. What was left were a few thousand lower and middle echelon Dark Ones who had been rudderless.

  Straightening, he swayed, but forced himself to walk across the now broken ritual circle, stepping over the woman's body. He took a seat on the throne he'd created for himself out of the hard, shiny black wood that came from the only type of tree in the Dark One world. Appearances were important, so he ensured his posture was one of casual indolence instead of physical exhaustion before he sent a mental compulsion to the Dark One he knew was waiting outside the chamber. He released the spell cast on the chamber door to allow him entry.

  When the skeletal creature slid in, talons scraping against stone, red eyes quickly darting over the area and then hungrily latching onto the fallen corpse, Dante inclined his head and spoke in the rasping language the creature understood. "You may take her for your own food now. However, you will go through the rift and find me another as soon as you are done, or I will remove her from your belly before you digest her."

  There was no night or day in the Dark One world, only unrelenting gray earth and fire in the sky. Time had no meaning, existence measured by breaths and meals, pain and survival. Either you were alive to eat the next meal, or you weren't.

  "Yes, my lord." The creature's voice rasped, as grating as its talons on stone. Another reason Dante liked having his private chamber. He could shut them all out, not hear the grunts and hissing, the interminable roar of fire, the pops and snaps of flame. The whistle of icy winds over a landscape devoid of anything but the skeletal black trees and the creatures that pulled themselves through the ice and mud, serving as food for the Dark Ones when nothing fresh from the outside was handy.

  As the creature departed, dragging the body by a stiff arm, Dante's eyes followed the tangle of brown hair that was long enough to trail down the female's back. Snarled and bloodsoaked though it was, it made him think of the girl's brown silken curls under his hands. When she turned toward him at the end, he'd wanted to tilt up her chin so he could see her blue eyes, bring her mouth closer to his.

  He didn't want to think about the softness of her flesh, the catch in the back of her throat as he'd touched her. Those had been unexpected things, a different, disquieting form of pleasure. Something inside him stilled when he touched her, was close to her, and he'd never felt still. Everything about his world was movement, change, agitation.

  The surge of hunger returned, but it had a different quality to it. Perhaps it was a yearning for what he'd never known, what that despicably innocent girl represented. He'd been passive during the first forays into her dreams, drifting there as a silent witness before he ever entered onto their stage, because interacting with her physically took far greater amounts of power, as his abraded internal organs knew. But this time he'd experienced her emotions, things that seemed as if they should be familiar, but were disconsolately not. It angered him past the point of frustrated fury, but he was still too weak to rise. He settled for a low growl, his fingers gripping the chair.

  He would prove to the seawitch he deserved to be set free, all right. She'd have no choice, unless she wanted her goddaughter to suffer torment beyond anything she'd ever known. He almost hoped that Mina would take her time in deciding. He wouldn't mind making her goddaughter suffer as the witch had made him suffer.

  "THAT'S a great big rock."

  Alexis crouched next to the young girl peering dubiously through the glass of the viewing tank. "No, that's Buick. Manatees are very still when they sleep, and the darker ones can look like great big stones. Here." She lifted the child, and let her reach down over the rail into the water to touch the placid creature's back.

  "He feels all prickly."

  "Yes, they have tiny, coarse hairs all over them. See right there? That's where a propeller hit him. Once he's all healed up, they'll take him back to a cove in Florida where a lot of other manatees live, and he'll be free again."

  "So he's in the hospital?" The child's brow furrowed.

  "Exactly. You're one of his visitors. And visiting hours unfortunately are up. We're about to close."

  As Alexis set the little girl back on her feet, the child held on to her neck. She gave her a squeeze, noting with amusement the girl's shoes had mermaid laces. Her mother approached with a boy in tow, obviously looking for their errant family member. "Be sure and come back again, so you can learn more about him," Lex mentioned, and was gratified by the girl's enthusiastic nod.

  "She's usually shy with strangers," the mother marveled, giving Alexis an assessing look. "You must have a way with children."

  "She has a way with everyone." Branson, the aquarium manager, spoke from his perch on the deck at the deeper end of the pool. He had his bare feet in the water as he untangled diving gear. Leroy, the other manatee in the tank, nuzzled his toes each time he passed on his circular patrol. Sometimes he would float there, letting Branson use his callused soles to give him a good back scratch. "Anytime we have anyone come in with an attitude problem, she straightens them out with just a smile. Even crying babies," he added with a wink. "She can tame anyone down."

  On a normal day, Alexis would have teased him, suggesting that was just an excuse so he didn't have to leave the tank, his favorite place. But thinking of surly or unpleasant Conservancy visitors turned her mind back to the angry man of her dreams. While she was glad for the distraction her job at the Florida Conservancy gave her, it hadn't completely worked. The dream lingered as if burned on her brain, the reality around her fuzzy.

  Absently, she watched the family drift out of the main marine viewing area, the girl chattering about her encounter with the manatee. Branson gave her a curious look, but Gwen called from the lab area, saving Lex from questions as he got to his feet to check on her. Alexis glanced into the tank as Leroy butted Buick in the side. "Leroy, he's sleeping. Give him a break."

  A whuff, and the manatee rose again, this time to secure a floating piece of lettuce. Alexis leaned on the rail and rubbed her brow with her fingers. Classes had been a total waste. She'd dutifully gone with Clara to snag the Greek professor's attention. If there wasn't a true attrac
tion between the two, Lex's gift wouldn't have any lingering effects after her departure, so helping "bait" Clara's trap never bothered her. Of course, Clara was pretty much irresistible. Lex likely wasn't needed for such romantic efforts. In this case, that was a good thing, because she could barely focus on his lecture. Normally, Lex was so eager to learn something new Clara likened her to a sponge. Her friend often teased her, claiming she'd be a hopeless geek if it wasn't for her peace-and-love mojo.

  Maybe that was true, but it wasn't a facade. Whether or not it was truly useful, the aura and her empathy were a part of herself, no different in Lex's mind than her blue eyes or brown hair. Sometimes it was a little lonely, since only Clara could wade through it all to see the real Alexis was even more than that. But being among humans was nowhere near as isolating as growing up among mermaids and angels who expected the range of her quietly subtle power to alter the course of the universe, because her parents had done so with theirs.

  Right now, she felt that isolation keenly, as if viewing everyone else through a long lens. She didn't like it. She should meditate tonight. Or maybe she should take some type of over-the-counter sleep aid to keep her deep in sleep, not quite as aware of her dreams. The thought startled her, brought her up short. She never used any kind of drug, because while she could shift to human form, her blood was not human.

  Definite meditation night. After she checked with Branson and confirmed he didn't need her help with anything else for the afternoon, she bid the manatees a good night in their own language, admonished the younger Leroy again to let the convalescing Buick have his space, and left the center. It was only a short walk down to the marina, and from there she picked up a short, sandy path to an isolated strip of beach along the waterway, little used since it wasn't really wide enough for walking or sunning. It was nearing high tide.

  Leaning against the retaining wall, she let the water rush over her bare feet. As always, the touch of seawater, the smell of the ocean, sent a reassuring shiver through her. But an unfamiliar prickling of heat came with it. Not entirely pleasant, it made her skin ultrasensi tive, as it might feel after a brief encounter with a hot stove.