Fantasy Life

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  Registering Emily, though, wasn’t hard. The secretary had smiled when she’d seen Lyssa and said, “You must be Athena’s granddaughter. She called us this morning and said you’d be in.”

  The secretary had all the paperwork ready, the information typed into the proper sections—all obviously the work of Athena. All Lyssa had to do was sign and promise that Emily would be at her seat in her new classroom promptly at 9 A.M. on Monday.

  The 9 A.M. starting time amused Lyssa. She had forgotten how lax things were at the coast. Early morning meant 8 A.M., because most shops opened at ten. Only the merchants kept regular hours. Everyone else—from the fishermen to the hotel employees—worked various shifts, from before dawn to long past midnight.

  Lyssa would have to get out of the rhythms of a city whose livelihood had three bases—government, corporations, and the university—and back into a blue-collar world of split shifts and hand-to-mouth income.

  Lyssa signed, promised, and found herself out the door before she even realized she was done. She took the back exit, which was closer to the parking lot, an exit she had forgotten existed. When she had come in, she had used the front, just like she had for six long years as a little girl.

  The parking lot was nestled in a group of pines, old ones with thick, knotted trunks and out-of-control branches. Dozens of cars were parked near the trees—mostly teachers’ vehicles—and the visitor parking was closer to the building itself.

  From the parking lot, she had a great view of Anchor Harbor Wayside with its steel railing and modern rest area. The ocean still dominated the scene, however. It still had that bright blue, unthreatening look, and it seemed deceptively calm.

  But something made her shiver as she looked at it, and she couldn’t forget the taste of that tar ball in her mouth.

  She walked to the Bug, unlocked it, and let herself inside. Then she leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

  Part of her was tempted to just drive away—to leave Emily in the very competent hands of Athena and Cassie—and just keep driving until she reached Canada. From there, Lyssa could disappear into the wilderness, become someone new, someone who hadn’t married badly, didn’t have a screwed-up family history, and wasn’t threatened by ghostly tar balls on her first day home in more than a decade.

  That last made her smile and shake her head. No matter where she went, no matter what name she called herself by, she would still be a woman who had married badly and had a screwed-up family history.

  More importantly, she would still be a mother. Only she would be one who had abandoned a child who was already traumatized, abandoned her to people who didn’t know her well at all, people who believed things that, on good days, Lyssa liked to pretend never happened.

  She had no idea how long she sat there, wishing she could run away. But even the daydream wasn’t satisfying. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she left, wouldn’t be able to face any part of her life.

  And she still had a lot of facing to do. Not only did she have to find a place for Emily in this tiny town, but she also had to find a place for herself. What did a professor do in a town that didn’t have a college? The nearest college was in the valley, over the mountains and at least an hour away.

  There was no guarantee she would get work there. Knowing how tight jobs were in Oregon, she probably wouldn’t.

  Not that she was suited to anything else. She hadn’t waited tables since high school, and in her early years, she had gone to college on a hardship scholarship her mother had found. Once Lyssa had married Reginald, his family money had paid for her education.

  She had a Ph.D. courtesy of a family her own hated.

  Lyssa sighed. She would probably end up like her mother, working in various retail shops and playing at tourist scams. Not that she had her mother’s psychic ability or talent, but Lyssa could charm. At least she could make people feel that they had gotten their money’s worth, even if they hadn’t.

  A flock of geese was passing nearby. Lyssa hadn’t heard that combination of honking and gabbling since she had left the coast. Most of the places she had lived hadn’t been quiet enough to hear birds regularly, particularly those heading south for the winter.

  Although it seemed a bit late to her for birds to go south, but what did she know? She knew about the military history of Prussia, but she didn’t know anything really useful.

  The bleating grew louder, as if the flock was flying east instead of south. Then something hit her car, rocking it.

  She opened her eyes and turned. Creatures, tiny and round, scrambled toward her on stubby little legs. Several were already climbing over her car.

  But they didn’t seem to be paying attention to her. She doubted they even saw her. They were running due east, as fast as their little legs could carry them.

  And the line of them extended all the way to the ocean.

  Her heart was pounding, hard. She’d never seen so many unknown creatures up close. There had to be twenty on her car alone, hurrying past, fear on their round faces.

  They looked like miniature gnomes, with pudgy cheeks and sparkling eyes. Their hair was white and flowed behind them, and they appeared to be wearing clothing made of seaweed.

  But they didn’t have hands or feet. Instead, they had flat, flipperlike substances with suckers on the end. They were using the suckers to pull themselves up the side of her car, and to keep balanced once they reached the domed back end.

  They chattered as they ran, nonsense syllables, frightening in their variation. Sometimes they would stop to help another up or down, and they would keep running.

  A few looked over their shoulder when they got to the top of the car, as if they expected something else to come after them.

  Lyssa watched, her mouth open, afraid to move. She didn’t dare back up for fear of squashing the little things. She didn’t want to get out of the car either. Even though the creatures were tiny, there were hundreds of them, and if they had something against humans as so many of her grandmother’s fantastic friends seemed to, she would be inviting them to hurt her.

  No matter how small something was, in vast numbers any kind of creature was dangerous.

  So Lyssa slowly, quietly, locked the car doors and made sure the windows were rolled up tight. Then she remained motionless in the driver’s seat, waiting for the stream of creatures from the ocean to end.

  Twenty-Five

  The Trawler Restaurant

  Anchor Bay. Oregon

  The woman standing in the restaurant doorway looked eerily familiar.

  Cassie stiffened, but Emily didn’t seem to notice. She had her face buried in the adult menu, the children’s menu left carefully hanging off the end of the table, making it clear to anyone and everyone that she felt she didn’t deserve cutely named peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches or tiny crab cakes, baked in the shape of a shell.

  The woman was barely five feet tall, with hair as long as Cassie’s, but so black that in the restaurant’s fluorescent light it looked blue. She was young—or at least, she seemed young—with flawless white skin, and wide, oval-shaped, black eyes.

  It was the way she held herself, as if her balance were slightly off, the vaguely flat-footed way she walked—what a former ballerina friend of Cassie’s once called “duck feet”—and the rigid posture as if she monitored each and every one of her movements, to make sure it blended in with everyone else’s.

  She looked around the restaurant, and Cassie kept very still, knowing that the woman was looking for her.

  Cassie didn’t want to be found, especially with Emily.

  Cassie had brought Emily to the Trawler, an old family restaurant on the north side of the bay, because they weren’t getting anywhere on the beach. Emily refused to go near the water and, after that little demonstration of how their powers worked together, did not want to practice any magic at all.

  Emily said she was hungry and wanted to go back to Cliffside House, but that dark and gloomy place was the last thing Emily
needed on this sunny afternoon. Instead, Cassie brought her to the Trawler, hoping it would cheer her up.

  The Trawler was a rarity—a tourist attraction with excellent food. But locals only went to the restaurant in the fall and winter, when the pace was leisurely and the portions generous.

  Emily had chosen a bench in the back, with no view of the ocean at all. The waiter had teased her about that; people came to the Trawler for its magnificent view of the harbor and the open water beyond.

  Emily sat with her back to the gift shop and what small view of the ocean was possible from this table. She had a perfect view of the kitchen and, until the waiter had arrived with their drinks and menus, had watched with great interest as the cooks made lunch for the only other couple in the place.

  Still, she seemed to be enjoying herself. The restaurant was light and airy. It smelled of fried foods and fish, not unwelcome scents after the morning on the beach.

  Like most restaurants on the coast, the Trawler was decorated with a sea motif, but this one wasn’t overpowering. Real Japanese floats, found over decades in the waters of the Pacific, hung from hand-knotted fishing nets attached to the ceiling.

  The tables were plank wood, and instead of chairs, there were benches on either side. The center of the tables held condiments and old-fashioned napkin holders, as well as a tiny pail complete with a tiny shovel that could be purchased if the patrons wanted to go outside and dig in the sand.

  Cassie had never seen anyone buy a bucket, but she had seen many a tourist stop in the small gift-shop area near the cash register and buy overpriced earrings, postcards, and seashell sculptures. She never had completely understood the attraction of junk, but then, she never had liked possessions much.

  Emily was still studying her menu when the strange woman entered the restaurant. Cassie had long since given up on hers. She knew what she was going to order—she had since she had come in here. The Trawler had the freshest halibut in Anchor Bay, and they poached it lightly, making the fish seem as if it had been cooked just enough to bake in the flavor. With their steamed broccoli and rice pilaf, a recipe that Cassie loved and couldn’t get out of them, the Trawler had created a perfect fish meal.

  The woman finally entered the main portion of the restaurant. She peered past the waiter, shrugged slightly, then turned around to leave.

  That was when she saw Cassie.

  Cassie stiffened. Emily looked up from her menu, frowned at Cassie, then turned and followed her gaze.

  The woman lifted her narrow eyebrows, and a small smile played at her very red lips. She walked across the restaurant with purpose.

  Cassie made her body relax. She didn’t want to seem at a disadvantage, although she already was.

  The smile continued to play on the woman’s face as she walked. She wore a black suit, with a skirt that came down to the tops of her ankles. Little leather boots covered her feet, and in her right hand, she held a beaded purse that was better suited to evening wear.

  It was her only mistake.

  She stopped beside the table like a waiter would, and Cassie caught a faint musky scent. Emily must have too, for she squinched up her nose and gave Cassie a pointed frown.

  “Cassandra Buckingham?” the woman said. Even her accent sounded familiar. Her pronunciation was crisp and flawless, but the accents she placed on the syllables were wrong.

  Most people emphasized the second syllable in Cassandra. This woman accented the last, as well as the ing in Buckingham. The difference was subtle, but noticeable, and marked the woman as a nonnative English speaker.

  “Yes,” Cassie said.

  The woman’s smile had a softness to it that made her look as if she were posing for a cheesecake shot. “I am Roseluna Delamer. Perhaps you have heard of me?”

  “No,” Cassie said.

  Emily watched the exchange with interest. She set her menu on top of the child’s menu, as if to hide it.

  “Really?” Roseluna said. “I have heard of you.”

  She clutched her purse in front of her like a supplicant. Cassie wanted to tell her to go away, not to bother them, but she didn’t know how to be that kind of rude in front of her granddaughter.

  “Might I join you?” Roseluna asked after a moment.

  “This is our special time,” Cassie said, stopping herself from adding, my granddaughter and me. “We were hoping to be alone.”

  “It will only take a moment.” Roseluna sat on Emily’s bench, forcing Emily to scoot over.

  Emily gave Cassie a confused look.

  “We really don’t have the moment,” Cassie said.

  “You need to have it,” Roseluna said. “Besides, among my people, such things are courtesy. We are family, after all.”

  Cassie stiffened again. She couldn’t help it. She wished she had the ability to control her movements as Athena did, but like so many things Athena did, this was something Cassie hadn’t learned.

  “You’re a Buckingham?” Emily asked, and for the first time all day, her voice held awe. It was as if this exotic woman impressed her, as if being related to someone like that helped her own self-image.

  The woman turned her soft smile on Emily. “Regretfully, no, child. Cassandra and I, we are related by marriage.”

  Cassie made a small gesture with her hands, hoping to stop Roseluna.

  “Marriage?” Emily asked.

  “Yes,” Roseluna said. “I am sister to Daray, Cassandra’s husband.”

  “You’re married, Grandma?”

  Cassie felt her cheeks flush, and her eyes fill. She blinked hard, willing the tears back. “I was, once.”

  But her evasive answer didn’t help. Roseluna knew from the moment Emily spoke, maybe even the moment she saw her.

  “This is your grandchild?” She didn’t want for an answer. “So she too is family.”

  Cassie sighed. “She’s Daray’s granddaughter.”

  It felt odd to say his name. Cassie tried not to speak it aloud. Her voice trembled as she did so, and she cleared her throat to cover the momentary loss of control.

  Roseluna shifted on her bench and leaned forward so that she was closer to Emily.

  “Look at me, child.”

  Emily raised her head slightly. Roseluna took Emily’s chin in the thumb and forefinger of her hand, turning Emily toward the light from the windows.

  “It is in her eyes,” Roseluna said. “She has the dark.”

  “She does.” Cassie had noticed it when Emily had been a baby. The dark was the way that the iris bled into the whites, so that there was more darkness than light in Emily’s eyes. Unlike in Lyssa’s, in Emily’s eyes the darkness wasn’t quite as pronounced. A person had to look at her closely to see the difference.

  “Dark?” Emily asked, her voice tight because she was trying not to move her chin.

  “It marks you as ours,” Roseluna said, and then her hand moved up, into a caress of Emily’s cheek, before falling away.

  Emily touched her chin as if Roseluna had hurt her. “How’re we related?”

  “I am your . . .” Roseluna paused, as if searching for the word. “Your. . . great-aunt.”

  She looked at Cassie for confirmation. Cassie nodded, then blinked hard one more time. She didn’t want to see this woman. She certainly didn’t want to talk to her.

  But neither Roseluna nor Emily noticed Cassie’s distress. Emily was looking at Roseluna, and Roseluna laughed.

  “Although I do not think of myself as old enough to be a great,” she said.

  She certainly didn’t look old enough. She looked no more than thirty.

  “How come you and Grandma don’t know each other?” Emily asked. “Didn’t you come to the wedding?”

  Roseluna turned her head toward Cassie, not quite meeting her gaze. She clearly wanted Cassie to answer the question, but the answer was complicated.

  “Your grandfather and I didn’t have a big wedding,” Cassie said.

  “Like Mommy and Daddy,” Emily said. “Nobody came to their
wedding either.”

  She spoke so matter-of-factly, as if her parents were still alive and still happily married. Cassie felt her breath catch. Emily was giving her the answer.

  “Sort of,” Cassie said.

  “You are how old?” Roseluna asked Emily.

  “Ten,” Emily said.

  “This is in human years?”

  “Huh?” Emily looked at Roseluna as if she had asked an insane question. From Emily’s point of view, she had.

  “Yes,” Cassie said. “She knows no other way.”

  Roseluna’s mouth tightened slightly, and she nodded, moving her head just once. At that moment, the waiter came over.

  “Will there be three?” he asked.

  “I should like some coffee,” Roseluna said, “and the shrimp cocktail without the ridiculous sauce.”

  Apparently it would be three then. Cassie sighed, ordered, and waited while Emily ordered as well. Emily had opted for the fish and chips, which made Roseluna wrinkle her nose.

  So they shared that gesture at least, although Cassie didn’t point it out. She didn’t want to see all the similarities between Roseluna and Emily, because that would make Cassie think about all the similarities between Roseluna and Daray. And thinking about Daray, at least like this, was more painful than she wanted to admit.

  “You’re not looking me up today because you’re suddenly feeling like hanging out with family,” Cassie said as soon as the waiter left. “What’s up?”

  Her fear was that Roseluna knew about Emily, that somehow word of Emily’s power had reached Daray’s family, and they too would want a piece of her.

  Lyssa would hate that. Emily wouldn’t understand it—at least not yet. Cassie needed time to prepare her, to ease her into her abilities, to let her know what was in trust to her, both here in the town of Anchor Bay and in the ocean itself.

  Roseluna took the plastic glass from the pile of 1970s amber glasses stacked in the middle of all the long tables. Then she grabbed the water pitcher and poured. Her movements were languorous and graceful.