by Joy Preble
“We’re going to have to try to push through them,” I say to my little group, although I don’t know why I’m even bothering. Between the rusalka magic that’s tempting Ben and the fact that my mother and Mrs. Benson are standing frozen with crazy fear, it’s not like they’re even paying attention to me. The only things that I’m sure of right now are that Baba Yaga doesn’t plan on helping me anytime soon, and that in my jeans pocket, my battered cell phone has begun vibrating every few seconds.
The rain continues to soak us. Once again, because of me, the Jewel Box is being destroyed. The water’s now lapping at our ankles, and things keep crashing to the floor. We’re trapped in the middle of the rusalka brigade, and if the water keeps rising, the mermaids will be the only ones equipped to survive. Already I see tails under some of their gowns, swishing heavily as they advance.
“You’re really part of all this, aren’t you?” My mother’s still gripping my hand as hard as I’m gripping Ben’s—maybe harder, since I’m suddenly registering that our palms feel like they’re on fire. “Is Amelia right, Anne? When I was hurt last fall, was that part of this too?”
“Yes. Mom, yes.”
“My birth mother’s a mermaid?” She’s gasping, but I don’t know if it’s from the weirdness of what she’s asking, or because we are all having difficulty breathing due to the thick rusalka sea smell.
“Well, not originally. I mean, you’re not from a line of sea creatures, Mom. But yes, I think so. And there’s more. If we get out of here, I’ll explain. I promise. I should have explained it to you before. But—well, I will. Really.”
“There’s more?”
“Lots more. I—it has to do with the Romanovs. And Anastasia. And this secret Brotherhood. Like Mrs. Benson just told you. It all started when Ethan—we don’t have time for this right now, Mom. We need to figure out how to get out of here. Then we can talk.”
“Ethan,” she says. “Your friend Ethan is part of them?” Her hands aren’t free, so she gestures to the rusalkas with her chin.
I snort out a crazy-sounding laugh. “A mermaid? No, Mom. Ethan’s not a mermaid. Or merman. Or—he’s a guy. But he’s part of that Brotherhood—or he was, only now he—”
“Ethan?” This manages to snap Ben out of his trance. “So I was right? There’s something going on between the two of you?” How he’s made this intuitive leap in his general condition is beyond me.
The sound of Baba Yaga’s laughter echoes around us. When I glance briefly skyward, I can see her iron teeth gleaming as she tilts her head back and cackles. Terrific.
The burning of my hand against my mother’s stops me from trying to come up with some sort of answer for Ben. Besides, whether I confess to him or not, if I don’t figure out a way to get us all out of here, it won’t matter anyway. I’ll just be the dead girl who cheated on her boyfriend—the boyfriend that the crazy mermaids will drag away once I’m out of the picture. Or possibly even before that, if I don’t do something soon.
Another coughing spasm hits me. I feel my hands start their glow thing and glance down— and realize that the one holding my mom’s hand is shining brighter.
“What is that?” Mom’s voice is shrill. She’s staring at our clasped hands. They’re both glowing. Not just mine, but Mom’s too. My heart—already racing—zooms faster.
“You guys are all lit up,” Ben comments.
It’s just our hands, but he’s right. In that moment, I think I understand something. Lily gave up my mom for adoption and took her out of the loop of knowledge of our line of descent. But adoption didn’t undo who my mother was. She’s got Romanov blood just like I do. Maybe this connects her to my power too.
Overhead, Baba Yaga calls to me. “Stories within stories, my girl. Like your rusalka has reminded you. Like the doll that your Anastasia showed you. It is woven inside the insides. It is never what it seems. Think, Anne! I can only cross into your world so far until you open the right doors. So think!”
I don’t want to think. I don’t want to figure out riddles. I don’t want to stand here choking to death while it washes over me that not even Ethan and Viktor really ever understood anything—that maybe we’ve all been used, and the answers lie so far back that I don’t have a clue how we’ll ever find them. I just want out.
“What am I?” I scream. “What is this all about? If you’d just tell me, then I could do something! I can’t help anyone if I don’t understand! Think about what happened with Anastasia! Is this just more of the same thing? Are you using me like Viktor used her? Is that all this really is?”
She doesn’t answer. So I stop thinking. I hold tight to my mother’s hand, because she’s part of me, and this somehow makes whatever it is inside me feel that much stronger. I close my eyes, try to breathe whatever air there is to breathe. When I feel the magic build, I yank our two hands out in front of us, visualize what I want to happen, and let it all free.
We’re facing the back of the store, so the power that hurtles from us—blue flashes streaming from our hands—smashes into the newer group of rusalkas first. I pivot quickly—my mother a little less willing to cooperate this time but having no real alternative—and smack the rest of the mermaids with the same thing. They scream and shriek, and some of them clutch at their heads, because even with the rain steadily pouring on all of us, their long, wild hair flickers with sparks of fire. Their hair is burning. The harsh odor of it adds to everything else in the air. Blood runs freely from my nose and down to my lips. I can taste the salt of it in the already salty sea air around us.
“Anne! Anne! What did we just do?” My mother struggles to free herself from me and so does Ben, and I know it’s only a matter of time before one or the other of them is successful. Or before Mrs. Benson—who’s become scarily mute in the past few minutes—does something wacky herself.
In the commotion that’s started—lots of mermaids slithering here and there, lots of screaming and all that burning hair—I see my opportunity. “This way!” I yell. “We can make it out the back! But we have to be quick.” My vibrating cell phone continues to beat a consistent pattern against my thigh. A loud whoosh from above us has me glancing skyward again. Baba Yaga motors her mortar into the thunderclouds and out of view.
“Where are you going?” I call to her. “I’m doing what you want! I’m thinking! So why did you just disappear?” I don’t really expect a response, so it doesn’t surprise me when I don’t get one.
“You hurt them,” Ben says. “You hurt the pretty girls. That’s not nice, Anne. You’re making them cry.” At least he’s not asking about Ethan anymore.
I keep dragging everyone toward the parking lot. My mother typically keeps her car keys in her pocket. If we can get out of here, maybe I can just hustle everyone into the Volvo and drive us somewhere. I have no idea if Swedish sedans can outrun pissed-off mystical Russian mermaids—some of whom are on fire—but there’s no time like the present to find out.
The back door’s been wrenched off the hinges, and it’s half blocking the doorway, so we’re going to have to climb over it to make it outside. I scan the parking lot—no rusalkas in sight—and push Ben ahead of me. “Go to Mom’s car, and don’t move,” I order him. “I’m serious, Ben. Go. I’ll be right there. Go to the car. Then Do. Not. Move.” He looks longingly over my shoulder toward the horde of burning, moaning rusalkas, but he hoists himself over the broken door. One down.
I ease my grip on my mother’s hand. She’s still holding on to Mrs. Benson. “Go,” I tell them. “I’ll be right behind you. Find your keys, Mom. You need to unlock your car. Can you do that? Just focus on getting to the car. Don’t think about what’s behind us. If you can do that, we’ll be okay.” I’m lying about that last part, obviously. We’re not going to be okay. But at least we’re not going to be dead—or worse.
My mother nods. And then things go terribly wrong.
“This isn’t my fault,” Mrs. Benson wheezes out. “I’m being punished—but it isn’t my fault! I tried t
o save her! I kept her secret! I protected her daughter! But now look. You’ve ruined my store. You’ve ruined my life!” The wheezing turns into hysterical crying. The cameo with Viktor’s picture falls from her hand to the floor.
She whirls on me. “It’s you,” she says. “Everything was fine until you. I protected your mother from whatever Lily was afraid of. But it’s found you and taken you. And now it’s come back for me. I can’t have it. I won’t have it!”
“No, Amelia.” Anger and fear mix in my mother’s tone. “Are you crazy? Look around you. Do you think Anne caused all this? We—oh, my God, there’s no time to argue. We need to get out of here now!” She grabs Mrs. Benson’s right arm and starts to pull her toward the back door. It’s only then that I see the residual glow in Mom’s hands. The power surge that she just shared with me isn’t gone.
“You’re burning me! Your hands. Let go! Don’t touch me!” Mrs. Benson wrenches her arm away with such force that my mother stumbles into me.
Unfortunately, the rusalkas take this as a threatening move.
“Sisters,” one of the rusalkas cries out. “Sisters! Rouse yourselves! You know what we must do! Lily has told us. We act as one, sisters. Lily must have her vengeance! And she won’t have it without the girl! Keep her safe, sisters!”
As one hugely creepy unit, the rusalkas advance on us, so swiftly this time that they surround us before I can even move. Ben’s outside, and we’re inside, and I think that I’m going to vomit or drown in this mucky air—or both at once.
A dark-haired rusalka, her white dress filthy, her teeth sharp as arrows, grabs Mrs. Benson and pulls her away from us.
“No!” I reach for her. My mother reaches for her. But we’re not quick enough. The rusalkas, some still smoldering, circle tightly around Mrs. Benson—a cluster of crazies closing in tighter and tighter.
“Amelia!” my mother shouts. “Amelia! No!”
“I’ve kept your secret!” Mrs. Benson cries as a rusalka in a long gown—gray with age and ripped across the chest, so that the edges of her breasts are visible—clutches at her. “It’s Anne you need! You just said so! She can help you! That’s what you need, right? Someone to help you? She’s right there in front of you, you stupid fools! Don’t you see?”
I guess they don’t. Or possibly they don’t appreciate being called stupid. Or maybe they’re just pissed off in general about being crazy mermaids. In the time that it takes me to process what’s about to occur, the mermaids reach as one for Mrs. Benson. I hear a dull crunching sound as the mermaid in gray twists Mrs. Benson’s arm in a direction it doesn’t want to go.
“Help me!” she cries. Another cracking sound punctuates her scream.
We try to save her. I paw at the rusalkas and pull them aside, and I think my mother’s hands burn some of them again, but more appear each time we remove one. I’m sobbing and gasping, and I barely feel it when my mother pulls me away, forcing me to climb over the fallen door and stumble into the parking lot toward the car and Ben.
“Are you satisfied now?” I scream at the clouds while my mother digs into her pocket for her car keys. “Is this what you want? Is this what makes you happy? They’re killing her! Or turning her into one of them. It’s all the same, isn’t it? Does this make you happy? Are you done with me now? Please! Just be done with me!”
If Baba Yaga hears me, she makes no answer.
My mother thumbs the remote, and the car doors unlock. She looks too shocked to cry, and Ben is just standing where I’ve told him to stand, staring back at the ruins of the Jewel Box. I grab the keys from her, numbly hustle Ben into the back and my mother into the front passenger seat. I don’t know what else to do. I should go back for Mrs. Benson. But it’s too late. Tess, I think dimly. I need to make sure she’s okay. And my dad. And—
I turn the key in the ignition and screech out of the little parking lot onto the street. I don’t even know where I’m going. Ben and my mother are saying something to me, but I don’t even hear them. I just find myself annoyed that the phone has started vibrating yet again in my pocket. I yank it out and slap it open. “What?”
“Anne! Oh, my God, Anne. Finally!” Tess’s panicked voice shrieks from the cell. “You wouldn’t pick up! Anne, you have to come! You have to come now!”
“What? Come where? Tess, you—I can’t. Whatever it is, you need to take care of it yourself. I can’t.”
“You’re not listening. Anne, it’s Ethan! It’s Ethan, Anne! You have to come now. I didn’t trust him. You know I don’t trust him. So I—I didn’t go to work, Anne. I’m not at Miss Amy’s. I followed him. I wanted to see what he was up to. I followed him to the cemetery.”
“You did what? Why? Cemetery? He went to the cemetery?”
“I—it doesn’t matter. Just listen to me. She’s taken him. The rusalka. Lily, or whoever she is. She’s taken Ethan, Anne! I’m at the lake. Right past Lighthouse Beach. She’s got him, Anne. She’s done something to him. She’s got him! And they’re headed toward the water!”
FRIDAY, 1:34 pm
ETHAN
The rusalka is trying to make me look at Tasha Levin. We’re at the edge of the water. Somehow, I’m barefoot, or at least I think I am, and the sand—wet from rain—feels cold and damp and gritty under my feet. I haven’t seen Tasha in so very long, and I wonder if this woman standing up to her knees in the waters of Lake Michigan is actually what she looked like. She’s taller than I remember, and her hands are thin and narrow. Her dark hair—was it really that dark?—is piled atop her head in a loose bun. Did she wear her hair like that? Maybe when she was playing the piano. This is what I remember. At least, I think it is.
But here’s what the rusalka does not seem to know. I may not have much magic left now that I’m mortal, but I’ve got enough. And I’ve got my years of discipline. I know what I’m looking at is a glamour. I just don’t know how to break through it. And she’s strong enough that I’m finding it hard to think.
“See?” the rusalka’s voice whispers in my ear. Her wet breath tickles my skin. “Do you remember how she made you feel?”
“Of course,” I tell her. “But that was a long time ago. I’m not quite as young as I look. But I guess you know that, because neither are you.” I have to force the words out. My tongue aches to form other words—ones the mermaid wants me say. I can feel them in the back of my throat. Words of endearment for someone I no longer love try to slither their way out of my mouth. My arms tingle with the urge to reach out for Tasha, so I shove my hands in my pockets and grip the sides of my legs, digging my fingers in hard enough to make myself wince. Pain is a great focuser, and right now I need to focus. If I know Anne even a little, I know that she’ll end up here at the water with me eventually. And when that happens, I damn well better be able to protect her.
Lily whips me around to face her. She bares her sharp rusalka teeth. Her breath is dank and wet. I focus on this too, use it to help me block out my desire to do what she tells me. The wind’s picked up again, and it’s spraying drops of lake water against my back even as the drizzle continues overhead. The rusalka’s in her element. “No need for insults, Ethan. That’s not really the way to win me over, now is it? And here I thought you were a fine, old-fashioned gentleman.”
I shrug, work to keep my breathing even and my pulse steady. “I don’t find it insulting. It’s the truth. Both you and I have been around for a while. But we also both know that’s not Tasha Levin. So what’s your purpose in showing me her face?”
My tone is almost pleasant, but it makes no difference. Against my will, my feet propel me into the water. Tasha beckons, gestures at me with those long, graceful fingers—and in a rush of memory, I see her hands at the piano keys, feel them against my skin.
“Think. You are not that foolish.” Lily’s voice sounds pained. I walk deeper into the water, my jeans growing heavier with each step I take. “My granddaughter would not fall in love with a foolish man. She is smarter than that. She is better than I was—better tha
n those who came before me.”
With an enormous effort, I dig my toes into the bottom of the lake and stand still. I blink, hard—try to remove my gaze from Tasha Levin. But when I open my eyes, she’s still there.
“Sister, no!” Lily says sharply, and in the tiny space of time where those words hang in the air, the image in front of me wavers. Tasha disappears. In her place stands a rusalka with long blond hair and a gown so torn and ruined that I can see most of her naked torso underneath. She looks human but only barely. She waves me toward her with pale, emaciated fingers, then submerges one hand in the water. Something thin and barbed twists and cuts at my ankles.
Behind me still, Lily grabs me around the waist, her grip impossibly strong. And in that moment, I understand my situation. I hear Lily’s voice. To be a rusalka is to grieve. It is to know how men see us. It is to have everything and nothing. The power to seduce and the pain of never knowing love. Seducing me to drown isn’t a choice. It’s what she has to do as long as she is one of them—even if it means that she thwarts her own desires in the process. Back and forth we’ll continue to go, neither of us really in control of the outcome.
“No!” Lily cries. But as abruptly as she’s held me back, now she releases me. My traitorous legs force me even deeper into Lake Michigan. Water laps at my thighs. But my brain finally understands. Whether I manage to get myself out of here or not, no one is going to have a happy ending. If I drown, Lily will have nothing to hold over Anne’s head. If Anne doesn’t go into the forest, Viktor will remain where he is. Lily will be bound to the rusalkas forever. And if I don’t drown, then I’m still bait. Anne will—once again—save me. Or at least attempt to. And if she agrees to free Viktor from Baba Yaga, then what? And what about the witch? What will she do?
Of course, the real question is this: if I’m face-to-face with Viktor, exactly what will I do? Lily might not have to worry about extracting vengeance herself.