by Sarah Porter
Moreland kept going. “We also need to remember what happened to Kathleen Lambert of Grayshore, Washington, when she made the mistake of getting involved with these unnatural beings. It’s certainly a striking coincidence that Ms. Lambert turned up drowned so soon after videotaping this self-styled General Luce. Anyone out there who’s considering aiding mermaids, or trying to contact them—” Moreland’s voice became a bleak growl—“would be well advised to keep Ms. Lambert’s fate in mind.”
Yuan stared. “What is he talking about? You said somebody filmed you, Luce, but—”
Luce felt nauseous. “I don’t know. I only saw those people with the camera for a few seconds!” Had the strange woman Luce had glimpsed that day somehow died because of her? But that made no sense at all.
“The woman who put out the first tape of you was found drowned,” Helene Vogel confirmed softly, her hat sliding over her eyes. “People have been talking about it. I’m not accusing you, General Luce . . .”
Luce stared up at the humans lining the shore, bewildered and heartsick. Their skin was damp with fog, hazy with the faded afternoon light. No matter how she struggled to put a stop to the killing it seemed that there was always death, and more death, and maybe in some obscure way it was her fault . . .
“General Luce,” Helene Vogel asked, gently but steadily, “did you kill that woman? Or order her killed?”
Luce shook her head miserably. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I’m so sorry if . . . if she died because of . . .”
Helene nodded. “Then don’t allow anyone to manipulate you into feeling responsible, general.”
Yuan’s arm was tight around Luce’s shoulders, silently urging her to be strong, and meanwhile the voices from the interview kept beating into her mind. She needed to focus on what they were saying, no matter how she felt.
“So—I know you’ve stated before that there’s no possibility of agreeing to the Twice Lost Army’s demands—is it correct that General Luce’s letter doesn’t change the White House’s position on that?” The newscaster’s voice pounded on like a drum.
“I’ve said it before and if necessary I’ll say it again,” Moreland droned. “We do not negotiate with mermaids!”
That made Luce jerk back in shock. “But—why shouldn’t they negotiate with us! It just means talking to us. Like we count.”
“And as for resolving the blockade of San Francisco Bay?” the newscaster pursued. “You’ve appealed for patience, and of course there’s been a real outpouring of support from the business community so far. But—”
“All options are still on the table,” Moreland snapped. “Naval traffic will be redirected to alternative ports until such time as we’re ready to move on this.”
Luce bit her lip and leaned toward Imani’s shoulder. Her eyes squeezed shut with the effort to hold back tears. Beyond the darkness of her closed eyes the newscaster nattered on, thanking Moreland for taking the time to talk to their viewers. Why were mermaids the only ones who were considered unworthy of meeting in conversation? If the humans wouldn’t even talk to them, it was hard to imagine what else the mermaids could do.
There were a few commercials for cars and alarming-sounding medicines. How much longer could she ask the Twice Lost to go on this way if there was no hope of negotiations at all? A blurt of shrill music announced a return to the news program.
“Well, we’ve all been wondering about the crowds who can’t seem to tear themselves away from the Golden Gate Bridge,” the newscaster’s voice suddenly thudded on. “It’s certainly hard to understand why some people in the Bay Area are expressing support for the mermaids.”
“That’s San Francisco for you!” a man’s voice smirked.
The female newscaster gave a dull laugh. “That’s certainly one explanation, Tim. But now we’re getting reports that even in Chicago—far away from the crazy Bay Area—there’s a demonstration happening right now. A crowd estimated at around five thousand people is marching in support of the Twice Lost Army. To you, Constance.”
Luce looked up again—and what she saw was even more intolerable than Moreland’s bland, cold face had been. The screen showed a large procession of people carrying signs. And right there, unmistakably, at the very front of it—
“Oh my God!” Cala squealed. “That is just so sweet of them!”
Two teenage boys were leading the march. A large banner stretched between them was emblazoned with the words All Life Came from the Sea. A wild wind stirred the tarnished bronze-blond hair of the boy on the left, and his expression was grim and determined even as his dark-haired friend grinned absurdly.
But even worse than that—
“Oh, I love that boy!” Cala called giddily. “Do you see what his shirt says? That is just the sweetest, most adorable thing—”
Yuan wasn’t looking at the screen anymore. She’d suddenly craned forward to stare into Luce’s face. Luce wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“He’s got no right to call himself that!” Luce snarled. “Cala, it’s not sweet at all! It’s like he’s stealing our name!”
The bronze-haired boy wore a black T-shirt, and printed on it in huge white block letters were the words—
“Twice Lost Human? Luce, he’s totally being nice! He’s just saying he’s, like, on our side. And he’s cute.”
TWICE LOST HUMAN. How could he dare—after everything he’d done—how could he possibly have the gall to call himself that?
“Cala,” Yuan said coolly, strongly. “Cut it out.”
“I just don’t think he means it like stealing our name! He—”
“Don’t you get it?” Yuan’s tone was oddly matter-of-fact. “That’s Luce’s boyfriend. She doesn’t need to hear you going on about how sweet he is!” Luce reeled in the squeezing crowd of mermaids, spinning toward Yuan in outrage. Yuan only raised her eyebrows. “Isn’t he, Luce? That’s Dorian.”
All Luce wanted was to dive away and disappear. Eyes, both mermaid and human, came at her from all sides, curious and demanding, as if they wouldn’t be satisfied until all of Luce’s private suffering was dissected in front of them. She felt stripped and prodded; coarse fingers seemed to go fumbling through the chambers of her heart. Luce choked wordlessly, her tail lashing against the tails around her, wild with the urge to escape.
But Imani’s arms were around her and so were Yuan’s, and she was still their general—and their friend. She couldn’t just run away from them. Not anymore. She inhaled hard, forcing her tail to slow.
“Luce?” Yuan said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s just—”
“He was my boyfriend,” Luce announced flatly. “He betrayed me. For a human girl.” She couldn’t believe that she’d actually spoken those words aloud.
“And you let him live?” Cala asked, wide-eyed—then looked self-consciously at the humans watching them.
“No,” Luce snapped. After all the horrible things Moreland had said and then the shocking appearance of Dorian, her emotions still seethed inside her, threatening to sweep her away. “I made him live. He wanted to die.”
“Either way,” Yuan said sardonically, nodding at the screen, “it sure looks like he wants you back! Why do you think he’s doing this?”
The news show cut away from the protestors. Now the two newscasters were talking about a movie star who had just been arrested for drunk driving.
The sudden disappearance of the marchers hurt Luce more than she would have believed possible. Could Yuan be right? Luce gaped at the screen, where Dorian’s absence seemed to form a cataract of emptiness. And far too many people were still watching her.
“Let’s get to work,” Luce said. Her voice sounded dead. “It has to be almost six by now.”
For once, her followers ignored her. “But if they won’t even negotiate with us—I mean, what’s the point of trying so hard?” someone muttered behind her.
Most of the humans waiting by the bridge were friendly, but Luce knew there had to be spies mixed in with them. “We’ll tal
k about—about our options later. But we’re not giving up that easily!” Luce braced herself to say something she didn’t entirely believe. “That Moreland guy was bluffing, anyway. Couldn’t you tell?”
Still no one moved. “Luce?” Cala whispered nearby. “Do you still love him? Dorian?”
Before Luce could get upset by the question she was distracted by a commotion some distance to their left. A young, strikingly handsome man in a beige trench coat was fighting his way toward the water on that side, where there were fewer police—and where a lovely chestnut-haired mermaid Luce didn’t know had actually come close enough to rest her crossed arms on the embankment. With a touch of bitterness Luce thought that the two of them were probably falling in love; they seemed to be gazing at each other with ravenous fascination. “You’re amazing,” Luce heard the young man say. “It’s hard to believe that anything could be so beautiful. How can you be real?”
The mermaid’s reddish fins fluttered up behind her, haloing her in falling droplets. “Well, thank you. I’m really not about to vanish or anything, though.”
“Noooo,” the man drawled, and Luce looked at him more sharply. “No, I know you’re just as real as me. And you have such a sweet face, such gentle eyes.” His voice was purring, seductive. “It’s hard to believe you could kill people. Have you really done that?”
Luce wondered if she should try to interrupt the conversation, but her friends pressed in around her; it wouldn’t be easy to get over there. And anyway, she had said her followers could talk to anyone they wanted. But this was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable.
“Oh, I used to,” the mermaid acknowledged casually. She tucked her long hair behind one pale, exquisite ear. “But I really do think General Luce is right, like, there wasn’t much of a future in hunting ships and everything. I’m pretty much over that stuff now.”
“Pretty much?” the man crooned. Both his hands sank deep in the pockets of his long coat. “Do you think one of the people you killed might have been this woman?”
The mermaid’s eyes went reflexively to the photo the young man suddenly held in front of her—so that she didn’t watch his other hand as it came up pointing a gun. Luce was already screaming at the chestnut-haired mermaid to dive. The girl had just time to pivot her head quizzically in Luce’s direction before the air cracked wide and a blood-bursting hollow opened where her perfect ear had been.
27
Ringing
“We made the news!” Theo was already busy with his phone, scanning through the Internet results about their march barely over an hour after it was over. They were sitting in a dark café, all thrift-store chairs and tables plastered in collaged pictures cut from magazines. “Look, you can totally see us! I think you look better than I do, though. Why did I have to make that stupid face? You’re doing this killer noble-and-determined thing. Wait, I’ll go back in a minute, you can see . . . And—ooh, shit—it looks like some freakazoid shot some random mermaid’s head off right afterward. You don’t think the Twice Lost will decide to wipe out San Francisco, do you? To retaliate?”
Dorian’s heart slammed up in his chest, and he reached to snatch Theo’s phone, but his friend was too fast, jerking the phone far out of reach at the end of one ropy arm. “I made a point of saying that she was random, good sir. ‘Some random mermaid,’ I said quite clearly. So you’d know I wasn’t referring to that very not-random mermaid whom you’re going to such lengths to impress.”
Dorian relaxed but only slightly. “Luce is okay? But, Jesus, one of them shot . . . Was Luce there?”
“Kind of hard to tell.” Theo was back to watching tiny images scrolling on the phone’s screen, images made even tinier by the fact that he was still holding his phone as far from Dorian as he could. A taxidermy pheasant loomed from a bookcase behind him, its beak gaping as if it couldn’t believe what it was seeing. “Oh—wait, it looks like she was. You can see her in the background of this one. She’s screaming.” He pulled farther away, anticipating Dorian’s leap from his chair.
“Let me fucking see that already!”
“It looks like General Luce, screaming loudly. Surely you can take my word for that?” Theo groused even as he surrendered the phone.
A still photo on the screen showed a man in a trench coat aiming a gun at a mermaid who was looking away from him, her waves of vibrant chestnut hair startling against the pale gray water. She was looking in the direction of two crowds separated from each other by an expanse of sea: one gathering of humans and one of floating mermaids, both a short distance away. And there in the center of the mermaid crowd was Luce, her mouth wide and her face frantic and contorted as she shrieked in warning.
And he couldn’t hold her, couldn’t comfort her, couldn’t do anything to help . . .
“Hey,” Theo said. There was a sudden note of seriousness in his voice, maybe even of concern. “General Luce will probably hear about the march, since it was on TV? And then she’ll know there are people who want to help, and we’re not all rabid mer-bashing jerks, right? And that might make her feel a little better?”
“Maybe,” Dorian muttered. But the march he’d helped organize suddenly seemed pathetic, overshadowed by this outburst of violence. How could the support of a few distant humans make up for seeing one of her followers murdered that way?
“Hey, you want to text those girls we met? The hot one—wearing all the gothy shit?—said something about a party tonight. Want to go?” Theo nudged Dorian’s arm, trying to make him look up again.
“I can’t deal with a party.” For Dorian that image of Luce’s screaming face veiled the shadows. He needed to get home to his own computer, find out everything he could about the day’s events in San Francisco. “You go, okay?”
“I got the distinct impression they really wanted you to come, though. They were just talking to me because you seemed all like brooding and romantically unapproachable. You seriously need to give me lessons in that, dude. And they were all really into your T-shirt.” Theo eyed Dorian’s black shirt covetously. “Would you make another one for me?”
Privately Dorian thought that Theo was about as un-lost as they came. But whatever. “Oh—sure. Just get me the shirt you want and I’ll do the screen print.” He considered the idea for a second. “Maybe that’s what we should call the whole movement? Twice Lost Humans?”
“Oh!” Theo stared. “Yeah! That’s way better than whatever those other names were, like ‘Human-Mermaid Solidarity Front.’ Too freaking long.”
“Right.” Dorian shook himself and stood. “You go on to that party. I’m going back to the house. I want to do some work on the blog.”
“If I drive you it’s going to be way out of the way. She said they live way over in—”
“I’ll take the bus.” He wanted to be alone with his thoughts anyway.
“But we could just go to the party for, like, a couple hours? And you could work afterward?” Theo pleaded.
Dorian just shook his head and lifted one hand in a perfunctory goodbye before he stalked out of the café. The city was glazed in the moist heat of a midsummer evening. Slabs of deep blue air rested between the elegant brick row houses and vintage boutiques. Dorian caught himself staring into one window at the mannequins in their cowboy boots and quirky veiled hats, wondering how Luce would look—as a human, of course—wearing that midnight blue dress with the pearl embroidery around the neckline.
***
The tall narrow house where Dorian now lived with Theo and his mother was dark when he reached it. He was relieved by the opportunity for solitude. Maybe he could find out more about what Luce and all those other mermaids had been doing, hanging around so close to the humans onshore; maybe he could find videos that would reveal more of her reactions, more of her feelings. In that squeezing, jostling crowd there must have been several cameras pointed Luce’s way. Dorian sat on the bed and curled around his laptop, clicking eagerly.
At first he found mostly dross: a sappy tribute song for the Twice
Lost that had gotten inexplicably popular, another song that made fun of the first song, some clips of various senators denouncing the mermaids at press conferences. But then he noticed “Twice Lost Mermaids Watch the News” in the sidebar. His hand shook a little as he started it.
It was a strange video. Whoever had shot it seemed fixated on Luce and the mermaids who were pressed around her. The camera never swerved from their faces or showed what it was they were looking at with such intensity. There was one corner of a laptop screen visible but it was facing away, toward the water. By turning up the volume as far as it would go Dorian could barely distinguish their voices, interspersed with the louder voices of the humans onshore and the babble of a news program. Someone was being interviewed, and after listening for just a few moments Dorian made out enough of what was being said to understand why the mermaids all looked so upset.
But—whoever that man was who kept droning on—what he was saying was plainly ridiculous. Luce had never been human, even though plenty of people remembered her as a regular schoolgirl? She’d murdered herself, stolen her own face? Nobody would believe that, would they? Then the stuff about Kathleen Lambert: old news as far as Dorian was concerned, though clearly it wasn’t old to Luce. He watched her raw dismay and craned to hear the faint notes of her voice. He could catch only a few blurry words.
Dorian couldn’t sit still any longer. He started pacing, his stomach tight, watching the screen from the corner of his vision. He was doing everything he could think of, but it wasn’t enough. Luce could still die any day. He stopped to stare out the window at the dark street, the trees like masses of congealed night, the lonely glowing rounds under the streetlamps.