Siren Misfit

by Eve Langlais

  Chapter 6

  “You did what?” I asked, keeping an eye on the carpenter fixing the door as I questioned Claire.

  “I said I put an ad in the paper for a roommate.”

  “I thought we agreed not to.”

  “No, you argued we shouldn’t, and I said we should.” Claire might freeze in the face of predators and dangers, but she had no problem standing up to her friend.

  “What of our lifestyle?” I waved a hand around, unable to speak freely because of the carpenter.

  “No worries. I already thought of that, which is why I placed it in The Hel Times.”

  “The what?”

  “Newspaper distributed in Valhalla.”

  Valhalla was for Vikings who died in battle, and only one kind of woman resided there. Not the kind I wanted living in close proximity.

  I leaned close to my friend and hissed, “You did not seriously place an ad for a Valkyrie. They are violent.”

  “True,” Claire admitted. “But at the same time, they are not around often from what I hear, because they’re always off doing battle and stuff.”

  “They’re usually surrounded by twenty of their closest friends.”

  “So we make a rule, only one friend over at a time.”

  “I’d prefer none.”

  But Claire ignored me. “You still haven’t explained how the door got broken. I thought Gene fixed all the damage from the incident.” The incident being the demon attack that had brought us to Limbo in the first place.

  “It happened this morning.”

  “Were you attacked?” Claire squeaked.

  “Not exactly. Remember that meathead from Limbo?” I could speak more freely as the carpenter closed the door and worked on it from the hallway.

  “Big and hunky? What about him?” Claire’s eyes widened. “Oh my goodness, don’t tell me he tracked you down. How romantic.” She clasped her hands and bounced on the balls of her feet.

  “Stalking a woman is not romantic. It’s creepy and uncool.”

  “What did he want?” Claire gushed, completely oblivious. “Did he declare undying love? Are you guys fated mates? Is he a prince in disguise?”

  At the bombardment, I blinked. “No. Not even close.” Fated mates being the most ridiculous thing I ever heard. “He came here accusing me of making him impotent.”

  “Did you?”

  “Of course not.” His cock worked perfectly fine in my presence. As to his claim that it wouldn’t work on anyone else? Kind of flattering.

  “Did you fix it?” An innocent enough query, but I saw the twinkle in Claire’s eyes. She might be a bit of a prude when it came to sex—ironic considering we worked in a strip club—but she knew how things worked.

  “I did not fix him.” Even if the temptation was there. “He stole a donut from me!”

  Claire sucked in a breath. Even she grasped the severity of his crime. “Guess we won’t be seeing him again. Did you burst his eardrums? Make him jump out in front of traffic?”

  My vocal displeasure had consequences, but I could proudly state that I’d not had an incident in three days. It should have been five, but the cyclist who cut in front of me, splashing through a puddle, totally deserved to flip over his handlebars. Should have worn a helmet.

  “Conan didn’t die. However, I made it clear he wasn’t welcome here.”

  “Conan? Is that his name?” Claire’s wide eyes proved she wanted it to be true.

  I snorted. “Of course it’s not his name. It suits him, though.” Big, muscle-bound jock with a big sword. Er, dagger. Um… I really needed to stop thinking about him.

  Knock. Knock. For a moment, my heart raced, a bird trapped in the cage of my chest struggling to get out. Only to utter a sigh and slow down as Claire opened the door to see the carpenter holding out his invoice.

  Surely, I didn’t want to see that Neanderthal again. What had he said his name was? Jory something or other?

  Not my type at all.

  I wasn’t interested in a relationship either. Not until I could get my shit together. I’d been talking a lot on the conch lately—which was a seashell for the uninformed. It was also the only way to talk to people under the ocean. Forget cellphones and modern technology. Under the sea had its own way of doing things.

  The liaison I’d made at the Seashell Palace, where the descendants of Poseidon ruled, was trying to convince me to visit. When I claimed to suffer from thalassophobia, my contact offered to knock me out and bring me to their kingdom. As to my fear of drowning, she assured me that the magic would keep me safe if my mermaid side refused to emerge.

  Me, under tons of water?

  Cold. Dark. Clutching.

  I shivered. Nope. Not ready for that yet.

  The door fixed, I had no qualms about getting ready for work and leaving Claire alone. This week was my turn to do the night shift at Hot Buns. A strip club. Mock it all you liked. The money I could make in one night beat any minimum-wage job. It also helped that my boss was understanding about my water breaks. As to my outfit behind the bar?

  Take one guess. If it included a seashell bra and a shimmery short skirt stitched to look like scales, then you hit the jackpot. Totally gimmicky, but the tips were awesome.

  The high heels on the other hand? Made my feet hurt.

  So, when I got home, you can bet I was eager for bed and less than impressed when I tripped over a duffle bag on the way to the kitchen for a late-night snack—I had some leftover take out in the fridge. There was a note taped to it.

  New roommate moved in this evening.

  Which seemed rather fast to me.

  Paid six months up front.

  So at least they weren’t a bum.

  Don’t eat the chocolate in the cheese drawer.

  As if I’d touch Claire’s obsession.

  I popped the chicken bites into my mouth and wandered into my room. Stripped, and fell onto my waterbed, the rocking of the mattress soothing, as were the ocean sounds I played from my smartphone.

  I drifted off to sleep…

  And fell into my nightmare.

  * * *

  The day shone brightly, the sun high in the sky, beaming with warmth. It kissed my exposed shoulders, and I turned my face to the bright rays. Ever since Mama took me away from the scary place, I took every chance I could to be outside.

  “Lana-bee, wait.”

  I couldn’t wait. The water called to me, the waves lapping at the shore begging me to answer.

  My mother couldn’t keep pace with me. In my enthusiasm, I almost fell, the sand dipping and sliding as I ran across it barefoot, my shoes left behind in the backseat of the car.

  The waves beckoned, the sun dancing off the blue peaks. They frothed as they hit the sand, creeping higher and higher.

  I splashed through the shallows, the saltwater hitting my skin and sending a tingle through me.

  “Lana-bee, slow down!” my mother hollered at me, but not in anger, more laughter because she understood my eagerness. A visit to the beach always ended with me in the water. She said I had the briny sea running through my veins. All I knew was that I felt at home in the surf.

  I didn’t wear panties under my sundress. Mama told me to stop wearing them when we came for a swim. She couldn’t afford to keep replacing the ruined pairs. It was why the shoes now stayed in the car, too.

  The dress floated around me, exposing my bottom half. No one to see. It was why Mama brought me here. A place where I could be me.

  As soon as I was submerged to the waist, I let the change take me. The people in the white coats used to ask me all the time how I did it. How to explain instinct? Changing was as natural to me as sneezing. But not everyone could do it. According to Mama, I was special.

  My legs fused together and no longer held my weight. I flopped into the water, a face full of it forcing my eyes closed. Blinded, yet only for a moment until my second lids opened, and I could see. See the tiny fish darting just above the sand.

  My lips
pressed together, keeping out the water, and for a moment, my lungs were tight, begging me to take a breath. I didn’t fear. I knew this would pass.

  The hidden slits on my neck opened, filtering oxygen from the water, and I gasped. Then exhaled, blowing out bubbles as my lungs filled with fluid instead of air.

  My summer dress floated around me, but I knew better than to just remove it and cast it adrift. Clothes cost money. Mama was always saying we had to be careful with it. We didn’t have a lot. Mama had quit her job when she took me from the place with the doctors.

  She loved me so much.

  My dress came off, a sodden mess of fabric leaving me free, with only my hair to cover me. I lifted a hand above the surface of the water and flung it in the direction of the shore. It wouldn’t be dry before I finished my swim, but I didn’t worry. Mama kept spare clothes for me in the trunk so I wouldn’t be going home naked.

  “Lana-bee.” I could hear her calling me by my nickname—because I was her little buzzing bee—her voice muffled by the liquid all around me. Other sounds distracted, that of an ocean full of life and adventure. The clear waters beckoned, their call much stronger than my mother’s.

  With a flick of my tail, I splashed the surface to show her I listened. My face stayed under water. There was no point in emerging because I couldn’t talk, not while I had my gills.

  When I was a mermaid, just like the princess, Ariel, my voice disappeared.

  My hands talked to Mama, our secret language. The one even the doctors didn’t understand.

  I signed, “I’ll be careful.”

  Through the film of water, I saw her hands moving in reply. “Don’t go far.” She worried about me. Always peeking through the curtains which we kept closed. Taking a different path home each time.

  Mama said we had to be sneaky so the bad men wouldn’t find us.

  Hiding was important, but so was my time in the water. I had to have it. Had to swim. I got sick when I didn’t.

  Mama waded into the shallows. I could see the brown skin of her legs under the pants rolled up to her knees. Her legs didn’t turn into a tail like mine. Mama said it was because she was human. Her toes caught the attention of a few minnows. Tiny little fish that softly pecked at the chipped nail polish. She wouldn’t wear the red for much longer. When we finished a swim, we had nail night with pizza. The polish never lasted when I flipped into my tail, so it was a ritual to fix it after.

  I moved away from the shore, heading to slightly deeper water, enough that even if I could stand, my arms wouldn’t penetrate the surface.

  A simple flip and I coasted on my back, momentum keeping me moving in the water, while the thickness of the fluid held me aloft.

  Being in the water made me feel light and agile. On two feet, if I ran too quickly, I stumbled. In the ocean, I could zip as fast as I wanted and never hurt myself. I wasn’t clumsy here, and it felt great.

  The warm water turned chillier as I shot past the shallows of shore right into the ocean proper. I slowed and bobbed, turning around to orient myself. The space under me appeared dark and deep. A sudden drop-off, the type Mama warned me to stay away from. I could practically see her hands moving in warning. “Predators hide in the shadows. Always swim in the sunshine.”

  The sunshine barely penetrated where I’d gone. Time to move back. I began swimming in the direction I’d arrived from, only to struggle against rougher water. Overhead, the sunlight hitting the water faded as dark clouds moved in. A storm arrived on strong, whipping winds.

  I arrowed for shore, finding the shallower seabed, feeling relief that I was getting close to Mama. However, in the shallow waters, I was subjected to turbulence. The waves and water churned.

  I bobbed, momentarily ejected from the water, mouth open wide to heave in a breath, gills fluttering and gasping in the air, reverse suffocating.

  My open eyes saw through a slimy film meant for liquid, but even blurry, I noticed the shape of my mother, moving towards me, battling the tossing sea.

  The splash of my landing jolted me. I hit the seabed hard, and bubbles expelled from me. I floated upwards and saw fingers grasping for me.

  Mama. I reached out, and she dragged me close. “Hold on, Lana-bee. Looks like the gods are going bowling.” What she always said when the thunder rolled, and the lightning streaked. Safe with my mother, I kept a hold of her as I changed back, forcing my face above water, letting the panic when I couldn’t breathe trigger the change.

  I wrapped myself monkey-style around Mama as she waded for shore. The air proved hot and stifling, the ozone in it sharp, the humidity keeping us wet. Yet I shivered. There was a wrongness in the air.

  But worse. There was something in the water.

  It slid over the small of my lower back, sinuous, scaled, probably really dangerous.

  “Mama.” I whispered her name and could barely hear my own voice.

  She didn’t hear my warning, of course, but she somehow knew we had company. She sloshed faster, aiming for shallow water, only something bumped into the front of her. She stumbled. I hung tighter.

  “We’re almost on shore, Bee. When I put you down, you gotta run for it. Okay?” she demanded.

  I nodded. The tone of her voice warned me of the gravity. The slide of scales over my skin brought a whimper because this time, it sizzled. Hurt.

  Mother grunted. “Now.” She pried me off and tossed me. I hit the water with a screech but didn’t sink far. The sifting sand cushioned my fall. I knelt on my knees as my mother yelled, “Run, Bee. Get away from the water.”

  Jumping to my feet, I ran. It was a race. We’d done this many a time. Usually, with a shining sun and laughter. Not the wretched scream now coming from behind me.

  At the edge of the licking waves, I turned around. And there was the most horrifying seascape I’d ever seen.

  A dark, roiling mass of clouds seethed across the horizon. Lightning shot jaggedly from it. The thunder boomed hard enough to vibrate my teeth.

  The water pitched roughly. The waves crashed and peaked in white froth. Amidst the violence of the sea, my mother stood, a solid presence in a tiny maelstrom. The ocean around her churned in a circle, and every so often, the sinuous hump of the large eels penning her would surface.

  Small jolts of light crackled in the water, and each time they did, Mama shrieked.

  After the third one, she looked me right in the eye, her lips mouthed one last message. “Run.” Then she sank. Under the waves.

  I ran back into them, screaming for her. Screaming my anger. Sending it out in a wave of sound. A horrible, never-ending cry of despair.

  Then…nothing.

  The dawn found me huddled in the dunes. Dressed in my damp dress, face streaked with tears. Mute. The city worker who’d come to check for debris after the storm called social services and local scientists to check on the sea creatures that washed ashore.

  Fish, crabs, even eels and other water denizens, dead. Not a single mark on them.

  They never did find my mother’s body. They told me I was lucky to be alive.

  Didn’t feel so lucky. Did they miss the fact that I faced the world alone?

  My mother was gone. The ocean had killed her, and despite its siren call, I never set foot in it again. Couldn’t, because every time I did, I saw her face. Saw how it was my fault she died.

  It should have been me who died that day. And I had a feeling the ocean knew it. It wanted me. Wanted the prize it lost.

  That fear of big bodies of water grew. As I got older, it intensified. The biggest body of water I could handle was the tub. But the liquid had to be clear. No bubbles. I wouldn’t use bridges over water. Even walking by a public swimming pool made me twitch.

  Which was why the next part of my dream was always so terrifying. Because it hadn’t happened. However, I got the feeling it eventually would. The ocean wasn’t done with me yet.

  My dream rewound to the part where I was thinking about returning to shore. What if I’d gone deeper that day?
Then I would have never drawn those electric eels to shore.

  I would have swum deeper, the water getting colder. Murkier. The rocky shoals creviced and shadowed. Swimming amidst them proved frightening, but at the same time, so beautiful. There was life among the sharp coral. Bright, colorful, and yet dangerous, too. The coral could slice, and blood would bring attention.

  Thinking of it, caused it to happen. A moment of inattention sliced the skin of my arm. I could taste my own blood on the current.

  Still, the reaction came quicker than expected, the snake-like body immediately circling around me. Despite knowing the danger, I couldn’t help but admire it: the sleekness of its scales, the gracefulness of its body.

  It was less impressive when it wrapped around me, the coils tight enough to pin an arm to my side. My free hand did little good against the bulky shape holding me prisoner. My slaps against the muscled body doing nothing to loosen its grip.

  Sinking, there was no fear, rather a relief of knowing I’d saved my mother. This time, it would be me that died. Me, as it should have been in the first place.

  Except that eel wasn’t interested in my death. Rather it acted as a soldier for something else.

  There was a hum in the water, a strange vibration that wasn’t my imagination because the eel felt it, too. It loosened its hold and fled, without even shocking me first. Anything that could frighten off a predator had to be bad.

  I saw the blur in the water first, a disturbance in the force. I bobbed and stared, not the least bit frightened. Not yet.

  The shapes causing the commotion grew more distinct. Seaweed-like tendrils floating, pale arms moving, boobies jiggling.

  If I could have laughed underwater, I would have. Forget seashell bras. The mermaids’ breasts were hanging out for everyone to see.

  Mermaids like me.

  Yet not.

  Their features bore an alien cast—the noses flatter, the hair much greener, even their skin was a different hue from mine. One of them drifted away from the rest, her dark eyes examining me.