Now I had naught but my own kind about me, those monsters. Those shadows. A small, lost whale navigating the salt-marsh rivers? A sea turtle? Orion? Perhaps only he was there, casting his illusions. Speaking as the dead.
My arms brushed the milky surface of rotting grasses. As I swam downward in a shallow channel my fingertips dug into the soft bottom, stirring up shrimp. They tickled my palms. Reading them sonically, I watched them dance in front of me in the murky black like large, invisible fireflies. This watery world that Landers dismissed as if it were naught but the dank basement of their house was no’ a basement at all; ’twas a whole other dimension, a universe atop which Landers only floated, thanks to their dry boat of an island, unaware that the ocean was big and they were small.
We Mers know the difference. We see the much greater side of the world when we swim. Most of it is noble. Most is breathtaking.
But this marsh, this bloody, black, muddy, haunted marsh, was no better than a maze of dirty alleys in some dangerous slum.
Help us. Help. We’re stranded. Danger. Help. That message filled my head, strong and feminine, a duet. I halted, listening, as I anchored myself with a fist around the corroded flute of some long-lost ship’s anchor, sunk deep in the muck. Danger. Help. Come and find us. Help.
My skin prickled. Tula’s voice. And the notorious Juna Lee. Where are you? I began, then cut myself off with a silent curse. If I sang back I’d give away my position to Orion. I couldn’t risk him cornering me in one of these narrow marsh channels. He’d tear me apart before I could even free my sword from its scabbard.
Help us. Any Mers who hear us. We’re trapped. We have a wounded man. Help us. There’s no time to lose.
Wounded? They must mean Jordan. What the hell had Orion done to the good cousin who was like a brother to me? I pounded a fist on the anchor’s rough surface. I couldn’t help them. I had to face Orion here in this marsh, or none of us stood a chance. There were hundreds of Mers scattered along this section of the Georgia coast. With any luck, one of them would find Tula, Jordan, and Juna Lee.
Giving a low groan of frustration, I headed toward a stretch of open water at the marsh’s heart. When I speared the surface I saw the starlit outline of a small, flat island — just a sandy hummock speckled with clumps of tall grass. I had been drawn there, baited and lured, by Orion. And now he spoke to me from somewhere in the water.
Welcome. Stand on the land and fight.
Dripping mud and saltwater, I climbed onto the tiny spit of sand. A quick pivot revealed naught around me but miles of black ocean on one side and miles of black marsh on the other. Behind the marsh, Bellemeade was just a cluster of tiny lights, winking like the stars overhead. I took a deep breath and slid the ancient blade of Mer tradition from its scabbard.
Come along, you bastard. The fight is waiting.
Across the hummock — no more than two dozen paces from one end to the other — the black nightwater rippled as if some great beast swirled below the surface. A dark shape rose from the water. A large, thick head and massive shoulders narrowed into a sharp V atop long legs with powerful thighs. Heavy arms unfurled and flexed against the starry sky. Broad hands spread, showing the silhouettes of webbing and curving, hooked tips. Claws.
Yet he had the shape of a man. My sister had loved this . . . man. My head tilted back as he straightened to his full height. He towered against the sky, more than an arm’s length taller than me, a Goliath. No Mer was this tall, and no Lander either. I tightened my hand on my sword. This freak of our kind had seduced my sister for years on end, fathered daughters he didn’t want, then lured their mother into danger, deserted her, and finally had the cold-blooded cruelty to steal the only thing left of her — her body.
In the darkness, his eyes settled on me. He heard me hating him.
Give up, he whispered. There’s no way you can win this fight. You’re ordinary. Just a Singer. I can kill you with one sweep of my hand.
Let’s see how serious you are about trying.
Tell me where my daughters are, and I’ll let you live.
Don’t waste my time.
What, no gun? His voice, even inside my head, was streaked with odd lilts and forgotten accents. He was old; he’d spoken lost languages, lived in cities that were archaeological rubble now. He circled me, a giant, a throwback to some past when our kind was more of the ocean than the land.
Since it’s just you and me, I decided to forgo the pleasure of shooting you.
Sentimental, I see. You’re not sure what I am, so you give me the benefit of a doubt. She convinced you to do that. The writer. Molly. She has faith. Perhaps foolish faith.
You met her in Savannah. You could have killed her that night, or you could have kidnapped her. But something about her stopped you from harming her. If there’s anything decent about you, she brought it out.
I let her live. A trade. Now give me my daughters.
So you can betray them the way you betrayed their mother?
You’re going to wish you’d brought a gun.
I want your daughters to know I gave you every chance to surrender.
Tara always said you would be the last man standing in any battle. She said you never gave up. You’ll have to prove it.
Do no’ quote my sister’s words to me, when you’ve done nothing honorable by her.
On that point, you may be right. Regardless, I want my daughters.
To hell with you.
I will kill you slowly.
I raised the sword. You’re welcome to try.
We began.
* * * *
Help us! Hey, aren’t any Mers listening? It’s me, Juna Lee Poinfax, of the Charleston Poinfax’s. Knock knock, who’s there? Ivana. Ivana who? Ivana get some freakin’ help out here!
The screeching, drawling, sarcastic voice skittered along the inside of my skull like fingernails on a chalk board. I pulled the bus off onto the road’s sandy shoulder, cut the engine, and clutched my head. “Juna Lee,” I said aloud. “I’d know that caterwaul anywhere.”
Please, someone, a kinder voice hummed. We need assistance. Send a boat. We have a wounded man aboard.
I dropped my hands. Tula.
The girls gathered around my driver’s seat. “Jordan is bleeding,” Venus moaned. “I can feel him hurting.”
I pivoted in the seat and stared at them miserably. They gazed back the same way. Stella nodded. “It’s true, Aunt Molly. Jordan’s hurt.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t go back —“
Isis frowned. “Then we’re just running away? And they need us! Just like Uncle Rhymer needs us! Would Hyacinth just run away? No!”
“Hyacinth isn’t in charge, here. It’s out of the question. I’m sorry. It wouldn’t be safe to go back—”
Pain ripped across my right shoulder. I bent over, gasping. The girls huddled around me, patting me with anxious hands. “Molly! Molly!” Heathcliff, perched atop the headrest of my plush seat, meowed worriedly.
I raised a trembling hand to the arm of my white sundress, convinced there should be blood and gashes — but all I felt was undamaged cotton and skin. “I don’t know what just happened to me.”
“Uncle Rhymer’s been hurt,” Stella said. “Our father just injured him. You love Uncle Rhymer, so you felt it as if you’d been hurt yourself. Aunt Molly, you have no choice. You’re meant to go help Rhymer. He’s your mate. Mers don’t just love, Aunt Molly. They breathe together.”
Oh, Rhymer. Shaking, I forced myself to face forward, then put my hands on the wheel. “I promised him. We have to keep moving. He’s doing his job, and I have to do mine—”
The girls shrieked as I clutched the wheel and bent over it again. Pain flashed across my back, just below my shoulder blades. The girls stroked my hair. “Molly,” Stella cried, “Uncle Rhymer’s going to die if we don’t try to help him!”
“I have to protect you girls—”
Stella knelt beside me. “Do you think our father won’t find us, no matt
er what? If he kills Uncle Rhymer, then there’ll be no one to stop him at all! And Molly, maybe we can talk to him. Maybe he doesn’t want to hurt us! Our mother loved him. She couldn’t be so wrong. If you don’t let us try to meet him, he’ll keep hunting for us until he finds us. In all your books, Hyacinth has faith that her parents want her to find them on the other side of the abyss. You believe our father may not be an evil person. Give us the chance to have faith, too!”
I groaned. The pain faded away — for the moment, at least. I pushed a button on the dash. The bus’s door folded back with a hydraulic whoosh. I slung the holster of Rhymer’s pistol around one shoulder then grabbed my cane. “Out of my way, please.” The girls stepped away. I went down the bus’s deep steps and stumbled onto the sandy roadside in the dark. We were a few miles east of Bellemeade, on a deserted stretch of bay road lined with pine woodland and small marinas. Bellemeade Bay lapped at the pilings of ramshackle docks where a dozen small fishing boats were tied.
The girls crept down beside me. “We can help you steal a boat,” Isis whispered. “We know how to start an engine by just thinking about it.”
“And how to stop one,” Stella said quietly. “Aunt Molly, please don’t be mad, but you can’t keep driving. We’ve . . . we’ve told this bus not to crank again.”
“Don’t crank, bus,” Venus said to the bus for emphasis.
I turned slowly and stared at them. They looked apologetic but stubborn. Rhymer, forgive me, but I can’t bear to desert you, and neither can they. “I want your solemn vows, your most sacred promises,” I said, “that when we get near Echo Marsh, you’ll stay in the boat and let me go on, alone, to find Rhymer and your father. Promise.”
They nodded and crossed their hearts with webbed fingers.
* * * *
I dripped blood, but so did Orion. Not as much as me but still, I’d wounded him. He’d slashed my shoulder and then my back; I’d sliced a ten-inch stripe across his hairless, silver chest. When I cut him, he didn’t even flinch.
“Where are my daughters?” he said, as we circled each other. That was his chant. “Where are my daughters?”
“You can’t find them because they don’t want you to find them. Leave them be.”
“Where are my daughters?”
“Not where you’ll ever find them, as long as I live and breathe.”
“Where are my daughters?”
“Safe and alive, which is more than I can say for their mother, thanks to you.”
He lunged. I stabbed at him with the sword, nicking his side. He danced back, yet he had such broad reach with his long arms that, quick as a whip, he swatted me. The blow caught me alongside the head. The tips of his claws sliced like razor blades, and the force of the strike knocked me off my feet. I landed at the water’s edge, rolled, got my footing in the muck, and sprang upright. A neat recovery, except for the roar of pain in my face, the ringing in my ears, and the way my lungs grabbed for air.
Orion could have charged at that moment and won, but he stood back, flicking the tension from his webbed hands, observing me with what seemed to be casual loathing. “Where are my daughters?”
“You might as well change your question. There’ll be no answer from me.”
He made a guttural sound, something like a laugh. “I’ll rip it out of you eventually.”
He lunged again.
Another round.
* * * *
“Someone heard us!” Tula sang out.
I touched Jordan’s sweaty forehead. “It’s about time.”
We rushed to the rail as a fast little cruiser approached. It was just a black blob in the night, except for the running lights. Suddenly, someone turned a searchlight on us. Tula and I shaded our eyes from the blinding glare. “Turn that down!” I yelled. “I’m getting a sunburn!”
“Mi dios, I see you haven’t learned any gratitude.” The voice was female, Spanish-tinged, and sardonic. “And here I was, worried that Orion would be wearing your skin by now.” The deck lights came on. Instantly I recognized the tall, dark and voluptuous woman standing on the bow with the attitude of a smirking dogcatcher.
Aphrodite Araiza.
Mounds of braided black hair swung to her waist. She looked tough in booty-hugging black leggings, which she had topped with a booby-cradling red tank top. She held a deadly looking rifle in her hands. Stroking the gunstock, she looked me up and down — I was sweaty and speckled with Jordan’s blood — then feigned disappointment, as if she’d like to take a potshot, but I wasn’t worth the trouble. Her cruiser slid next to our anchored yacht.
“Juna Lee, you look the worse for wear. Isn’t it time you shed your skin for the summer?”
“Oh, spare me,” I snarled at her. “You should be embarrassed. No self-respecting kidnapper lets the Creature from the Black Lagoon steal the kidnappee. But I have to admit, Orion does do a good impersonation of you. His ass is smaller than yours, though.”
“Juna Lee!” Charley — the real one — bounded down the steps from the pilot house, grinning.
“Charley!”
“I told your parents I’d find you!”
“No thanks to Queen Latifah here.”
Aphrodite curled one hand near the rifle’s trigger. “Listen, you anorexic puta—”
“We have to help Rhymer,” Jordan said weakly.
He pushed himself up from the deck, swaying a little. I grabbed him and slid an arm around his back. “You’re right, Jordan. I’m sorry.” He leaned heavily on me. I patted his cheek apologetically, then glared at Aphrodite. “No more bickering,” I ordered. “Jordan’s hurt, and we have to follow Orion pronto, okay? Throw us a line. We’ll pull you close and climb aboard.”
“Jordan!” Charley exclaimed. “I’ll carry you, buddy!” He headed for the cruiser’s railing, posing to dive in.
“Don’t do that!” I yelled. “Orion left us the main homeboy from his entourage.” I pointed down between the boats. Charley gaped as a huge dorsal fin pierced the surface. An enormous marine body swirled beneath the dark water.
Aphrodite clasped her big-boobed heart. “What a beauty! Oh, mi querido, mi amor, come here!” She set her rifle aside and leaned over the bow rail. To my astonishment, she began talking baby talk — in Spanish — to the shark. Even creepier, I could feel him listening. After about a minute of her Latin goo-goo-ga-ga he uttered a soft sonic hum, like a purring cat.
And then he swam away.
“Amazing,” Tula whispered to me. “She’s a shark soother. I’ve never met one before. Did you see that? How the shark responded to her?”
“One shark to another,” I muttered, as I helped Jordan move toward the rail. “He was just showing her some professional courtesy.”
Molly to the Rescue
Chapter 23
Use the force, Molly Skywalker. Or maybe it’s Molly Oceanwalker? Either way, I felt like a bumbling, apprentice Jedi as I steered a stolen speedboat across the starlit Atlantic. I estimated our position at a few miles off the coast, somewhere west of Bellemeade. The girls stood close beside me, their long dark hair whipping in the wind, their arms twined around me and each other. “Turn a little bit that way,” Stella directed, pointing. “Slow down to a wee crawl now. Quick!”
I reversed the engine and brought the boat to a slow pace. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Aunt Molly. But there are two small whales off the bow, only about twenty meters long, just yearlings. They’re calling hello to us. Hear them?”
Molly Oceanwalker was too rattled to eavesdrop on whale conversation. “I’m distracted. Interpret for me.”
“They’re Right whales, Aunt Molly. Right whales are very polite. I’m going to ask them directions.” Stella was silent for a moment. “They say the marsh is just a wee minute away.” She pointed, again. “There. In that direction.”
“Are Right whales ever wrong?”
Isis harrumphed. “Not like tuna. Tuna are just plain, sneaky liars.” Venus tugged at my sundress and looked up
at me worriedly in the pale light of the boat’s console. “Hurry, Aunt Molly. I feel . . . I feel blood in the water.”
I looked from her agonized expression to those of Stella and Isis. They nodded.
I gunned the engine and headed for the marsh at top speed.
* * * *
Orion knocked my ribs to my backbone. ’Twas how bad it hurt, anyway. I fell into the black marsh water and sank to the bottom, dazed and gulping water, then spitting it out and gulping more. Even to a Mer, a mouthful of saltwater is no treat, though our throats are better than Landers’ when it comes to shutting off our windpipes. Worse, the saltwater tasted of my own blood. I gagged. I’d have liked nothing better than to rest on the marsh bottoms a few days or so, or at least until the strangling pain eased from my left side.
Up. Get up and out of here, I ordered myself. Or else Orion will be on you like a piranha.
Gripping my sword in one fist, I kicked off and shot to the surface. Before I so much as anchored my feet in firm muck of our tiny island battleground, Orion had me by one arm. “McEvers, only a fool would swim back to the surface so quickly,” he said.
“Scared you, eh?”
He slung me about twenty paces. I landed on the hummock’s opposite end, sinking into the shoreline mud with a splash and a great mashing of marsh grasses.
I felt another rib crack. Fire spread through my right side. Well, at least I was symmetrical now.
“I’m out of patience,” Orion said. He advanced on me, his huge hands spread, his claws flexed and ready. “Tell me where to find my daughters, or I’ll rip your throat out.”
I staggered to my feet and managed a nasty, bleeding smile. He’d cracked my lower lip with an earlier fist. I swung my sword. It caught the underside of his right arm. I felt the blade connect with bone. Blood spurted. He roared but backed away, clamping a hand to the wound. I braced my legs, put both hands around the sword’s handle, and held it up in a hacking pose. Starlight glinted off the crimson-stained blade. “I’m out of patience, too,” I said, wheezing. “But I’ll give you one last chance to turn tail and swim off.”
Diary of a Radical Mermaid Page 18