by Mael d'Armor
‘Agent Gerald?’
‘He was my eyes in Sydney — besides Jenny. Would get close when she couldn’t. He was a regular visitor to your flat. Not the sharpest lizard in the jar but he kept me informed well enough. Or rather I scanned him for info.’
She remembers the little guy. Sandra had tried to catch him once or twice, with the clear intention of chucking him out of her precious space. She feels sorry for that now.
‘He must hate me. I don’t think I was particularly nice to him.’
‘That’s all right. His brain is too tiny to harbour much resentment. You’ll have no trouble winning him over. I thought we might keep him as a mascot.’
He lays the gecko down on the towel.
‘And I’ve given him new defence powers. A kind of force field. He shouldn’t have to worry about ending up as a black kite’s appetiser.’
‘So you watched me for years? I mean Sandra. You knew where I was?’
‘I did. I was in Sydney when you landed there, about two weeks after I popped up in Mauritius. I had felt your presence when I broke free and later worked out an approximate trajectory. Time flows work a bit like telluric pathways.’
‘Do they? That’s something you never taught me.’
‘A man has to have a few secrets. Anyway, it wasn’t so hard to figure where you might end up, and when. I knew there would be a slight delay since you were not inside the prison — strictly speaking — when the jump occurred. But I hadn’t counted on you splitting into two. Nor on one of you staying in Brittany.’
He picks up his glass and gulps down the last of his Kir Royale.
So he had been there when she thought she was alone. When she was battling with her uncertainties. She had tortured her brain for months for elusive shreds of her past. And gone to see a few specialists.
‘Please don’t take this badly but why didn’t you make a move earlier? It wasn’t easy at the start. The amnesia was a challenge.’
‘But also a blessing. You didn’t have to cope with adjusting to a new time. And I did help you. Smoothed things out with the authorities. Made sure you were set up comfortably. A little tinkering with official brainwaves goes a long way. English was not a problem for you could already speak it. I just gave it an Aussie polish to help you blend in better.’
He reclines on the towel, propping himself up on both elbows.
‘And later, when you got your degree, I made sure you landed the right job. And got your promotions faster than a squirrel can scramble up a tree.’
‘You what?’
‘I can be persuasive when I want to.’
If Viviane wasn’t sitting, she would do so now, with rather less elegance than she might like.
‘Are you telling me you’re the reason for my — for Sandra’s business success?’
‘Not the only reason. Your talents are undeniable. But do you honestly think you could have made senior exec as fast as you did, and looking as young as you did?’
She thinks about it for a moment. He is right, of course. There were many other clever women around — and men for that matter — but none had fared so glaringly well in a large outfit by their mid-twenties. She had allowed her confidence, or more accurately her pride, to blind her to that simple truth.
‘Still, you never showed yourself to me in all those years.’
‘Do you blame me? I didn’t fancy being locked up again.’
‘How much of a threat could I be? You knew I had lost my memory.’
‘Yes, but for how long? I thought it might come back at any time and we’d be back to square one. And I didn’t yet trust myself around you. I had to remain invisible. Watch from a distance.’
‘I take it you trust yourself now?’
‘Look who’s fishing.’ He smiles. ‘I suppose I’m a fraction wiser. I have knocked around in the last few years. Learned more about the human heart. About myself. Some of that knowledge has been quite sobering. So many grey areas.’
She looks away. She knows a few things about grey areas. Or brown. Or dark maroon. Or rather she did. She feels so beautifully cleansed and prays her poise will endure.
‘So why did you turn up when you did?’
He puts an arm around her waist.
‘My lovely Miss Curious. You don’t need to know everything this instant, do you?’
‘Please.’
‘Your trip to France. I thought that might bring back your memories. Which could have implications all around. I wanted to be there before that happened. And by then I felt I should understand your amnesia a bit better. Get to the bottom of it.’
‘Get to my bottom, you mean.’
‘Who says research has to be boring? Jenny told me she had sensed something in you. An unusual need. An extreme form of yin to your yang persona, is how she put it. It was time to investigate.’
They gaze at the sea in silence. She weaves her fingers into his.
‘Do you think we shall ever go back?’
‘Go back? You mean to our time?’
She nods.
‘Don’t you like it here?’
‘The world has changed so much.’
‘It has.’
‘I remember the forest.’
‘I remember it too.’
‘Brocéliande is not what it used to be.’
‘It is not.’
‘I’d love to see it again someday. As it was. But I know that’s impossible.’
He is silent.
‘No one’s found the key to time travel,’ she adds.
‘Yet,’ he says.
She turns to him.
‘I’ve picked up a few clues here and there.’
‘Clues? Where?’
He shrugs.
‘Ancient philosophies. Mermaid lore. Warp travel. Quantum physics. Everything’s there if you know where to look.’
Her hand tightens on his.
‘Are you saying . . . ?’
‘Nope. Not saying anything. Still early days.’
She is beaming.
‘I don’t mind waiting.’
‘Good. You are learning.’
She searches for Gerald. Then finds the gecko sunning himself in Yaouen’s empty cocktail glass.
‘Can I ask you something?’
He puts on a patient look.
‘Be my guest.’
She stalls, for she is not sure how to approach this.
‘I know what’s on your mind,’ he says. ‘Jenny. Good old Princess Ahes.’
Her eyes are pinned to his.
‘She already got her second chance. She blew it. She paid the price.’
Viviane’s hand drifts to his cheek.
‘But she was a good friend to me, before everything went haywire. In fact, my only friend. And my Breton half did put a mean old charm on her in Vannes. If you had to be harsh on anyone, it should have been me.’
‘All you did was remove the restraints I’d put on her.’
‘That’s as may be. But I can’t help feeling she got the rough end of the stick. She didn’t plan any of this.’
Her finger traces a meandering course to his chest.
‘Don’t you think she should have been . . . realigned too?’ She has whispered the word.
‘She’s in the process of.’
Viviane cocks her head.
‘I thought she was dead. Or back to haunting the coast as a Mari Morgan.’
He rises to his feet, then turns to her, palm held out in invitation.
‘Let me show you something.’
42
She gets up and they saunter to the waterline, hips touching. Then wade in all the way to their waists. The sun is pasted on a backdrop of deep-hued streaks just above the horizon, coating the sea in the last brilliance of the day.
He points just beyond the shadows of the closest corals. Out there, not a hundred feet from them, a few fins have broken surface.
‘Don’t worry. Those are not sharks.’
The backlit triangles close in on
them, then begin to circle them. One or two rostrums rise above the water, split by toothy grins.
‘Meet the Celtic Dolphin Squad.’
Viviane puts out a tentative hand to the closest fin. It’s been a while since she met the creatures in the flesh. Not too many of them in the lake at Komper. And she never got the chance in Sydney. Too busy.
‘The one you’re touching is someone you know. Can you hear her?’
She closes her eyes. A voice is calling. So faintly at first she can hardly hear her name. Then the sound amplifies and she recognises Jenny’s sparkling tones.
‘I’m glad you’re whole, Viviane! Truly whole, and freed from yourself.’
Viviane withdraws her hand in surprise. Then responds telepathically.
‘What . . . What are you doing here? I thought you had drowned.’
‘I was only in underwater stasis. Yaouen had other plans. I got my third chance after all. Quite decent of him, considering.’
Viviane looks deep into her dolphin eye.
‘And how did you get here so fast? You swam all the way from Brittany?’
Jenny flaps the water with her beak and her grin seems to stretch past her eyes.
‘If we had, we’d only be halfway down the Portuguese coast by now. Luckily, there are gateways underwater too. You should know that. There’s one on the southern side of Belle-Ile which opens out near Exmouth.’
She goes for a quick duck, then rolls over on her back.
‘How do you like my flukes? And my flippers? Don’t they look cute when I curl them up like this? My blowhole will take some getting used to, though. I’ve choked a few times already.’
‘So this is it? This is the sleek new you?’
‘It wouldn’t be so bad if it was. No fish smell at least. Much better than being a Mari Morgan. Dragging men to their deaths can be such a tiresome affair. I’ve had my fill.’
She rises halfway out of the water and begins to swim backwards, standing on her tail and clicking happily. Her human voice has faded out.
Then she speaks again.
‘It’s just been a day, and I’m much more content. Something to do with my metabolic change, I think, and dolphins’ social behaviour. It opens out radically new perspectives. I’m starting to think beyond myself. Even thinking of getting a calf one day, or even two. If I meet the right Mr Bottlenose.’
Yaouen’s voice bounces in.
‘Jenny will stay like this for twelve moons. Long enough to develop a new outlook on life. More organic. For starters, she’ll have to look after the rest of the girls.’
‘The girls?’
‘The Karnag showgirls. You can say hi, guys.’
The pod breaks into loud greetings. A mixture of clicks, jaw-popping sounds and fin-flapping. Translating in Viviane’s head as a chorus of cheers and laughter.
‘But the happiest of the bunch is probably this little fella,’ he adds out loud. ‘The only male in this outfit.’
Yaouen is pointing at a smaller dolphin circling them with the rest of the pod.
‘Karadeg begged me for an extended tropical holiday. One without his Korrigan nose or boar’s trotters. Pity. He came in very handy as an odorous squire. But I could hardly refuse him that.’
He directs his brainwaves to the small dolphin. ‘Any regrets? You’re a long way from your menhirs.’
Karadeg’s merry tones echo back.
‘Regrets? You must be kidding.’ The dolphin points his snout at the two lustrous ladies next to him. ‘I have scored twice in twenty-four hours! And I’ve got a couple more smooth moves planned out for tonight. How could I possibly have any regrets?’
Yaouen looks at Viviane and clears his throat.
‘Well, err . . . An organic lifestyle does not mean you can’t have fun.’
He turns to Jenny.
‘Time for you to hit the waves. You know how to get in touch.’
The dolphins circle them one more time, clicking boisterously and waving their flippers, then begin to fall away. Jenny’s voice fades to a whisper.
‘Catch ya later, honey. I’ll make you proud of the new me.’
Viviane watches the creatures swim away lazily. She turns to Yaouen.
‘Knowing you, the whole dolphin thing is not just about personal rehabilitation, is it?’
‘Well, I thought of killing two birds with one pod. Jenny and her girls will be my echolocators.’
She throws him a puzzled look.
‘My ears, if you like. I’m sending them on a tropical mission. Starting with the Great Barrier Reef. They’ll keep an eye on coral blanching, rises in water temperature, illegal fishing, dredging and dumping of sediments in sensitive areas. I’ve given them small powers to police the small stuff themselves. Anything big they’ll report to us.’
‘Us?’
‘Yes. I thought you might like to go dual on this. I need a close advisor. Someone with a deep affinity for the world around us. The people in charge have been yapping for far too long about global warming and all the rest, and doing far too little. The world needs a push in the right direction. And we can make a difference, even if our methods are a tad unorthodox. Or precisely because they are.’
‘That’s what I believed a short while ago. That I could make a difference. But I told you — I’ve lost the link to whatever dark magic I possessed. I’ll be no good at this. I can’t manage a single brainwashing spell. I’m the keeper of the sword, Yaouen, not a secret agent.’
‘Precisely why I need you. Black magic can lead you astray. It can blind you. I can strike the right balance most of the time but I was counting on you to set me right if I lose my way. If the going gets tough. And it will, I’m sure of that. I’ll need you to be my conscience. My inner voice.’
‘Your inner voice?’
There is a smile on her lips.
‘And perhaps,’ he adds, amusement flicking in his eyes, ‘we should ease off on the intimate front. To make our job easier. To avoid any ambiguity that might have crept into our relationship recently. We shouldn’t blur the lines. We should keep things between us — how shall I put it . . .’
‘Strictly business?’
‘C’est ça, oui, strictement professionnel. It would help with our focus.’
‘It goes without saying,’ she replies, leaning deeper into him.
‘We’ll have a beautiful working rapport. I will consult you regularly. Probe your mind. We’ll have in-depth discussions.’
‘Yes, in-depth,’ she agrees, standing on tiptoe to bring her lips closer to his. ‘Very much in-depth.’
‘We’ll make sure that . . .’
She shuts him up with a kiss, and for a while, only the fading clicks of the dolphins can be heard in the distance.
‘Take me,’ she says when she comes up for air. ‘Take me right now.’
He smiles. ‘I see.’ ‘Being bossy again. I wonder if the triskele really worked.’
‘I need you inside me,’ she husks in his ear. ‘And I won’t take no for an answer.’
‘Yes, a magical top-up might be in order.’
‘Of course, of course. Anything you say,’ she coos, letting him lift her, then ease her down onto something deliciously firm.
‘I’ve never done this in the sea.’
‘Then that’s a first for both of us,’ she breathes.
‘We might drown.’
‘We might not.’
‘We’ll have to do something about the Eiffel Tower, you know.’
‘Yes, yes.’
‘And you can keep calling me Yaouen, if you’d rather. I don’t mind either way.’
‘By the Dragon’s Breath you talk too much,’ she says, trapping his lips in a new kiss.
Acknowledgements
Some books are like monsoon plants. They lie dormant for months in the subsoil of the mind, then bloom overnight when the first rain hits. This book, however, was in no such haste to flourish. It started as a humble shoot in a dusky gully – somewhere in a corner of my hard dr
ive – and for a few seasons eked out a muted existence in floral limbo. Then, one day, for reasons which only a water diviner might fathom, it started growing a timid stalk, which got taller, and taller still. Slowly, the stem thickened, unrolled sap-filled branches, sprouted buds and flowers and large verdant leaves, and then juicy red fruit. This was no quick, sudden florescence. Growth was measured and accretive.
But enough with the fancy metaphors. What I meant to say is, this novel started as a short story. The sort which could have found a niche in a collection of glossy blue tales. This would have been fine. Satisfying enough. But you know how it is. Or if you don’t, I’ll tell you. There was something in that story I couldn’t let go. Something about Sandra. About Yaouen. Oh, the chemistry between those two! The deep, subatomic, multi-nuclei attraction! I just had to give those guys more scope. Draw out their titillating secrets for all to see. Allow their hidden sides to cast their long, pregnant shadows. I had to give them a potent past, and a raunchy future. Give them motivations. Motives too, for behaving in ways which some might see as less than exemplary.
So I put fingertips to keyboard again and let the plot unfold, and veer this way or that as events or my characters’ whims dictated. Minor figures were thrown into the fray, some of whom – to my surprise – made it to the big league. The big, morally ambiguous league. Yes Jenny, I am looking at you, so stop staring at the ceiling with those wide ingenuous eyes. Anyway, my story grew into a novelette. Matured into a novella. Blossomed into full-fledged fiction. Perhaps not the easiest path to tread in the garden of saucy literature, where short and pithy is often best and you thrive or die depending on how fast you can bring your readers to the edge of desire. Be that as it may, I enjoyed mingling all those ingredients together. Plot, people, myth, pheromones. A strong, heady brew, made from plant magic and spiced with a good deal of Celtic enchantment. I hope you enjoy the flavour of this blend.
My gratitude goes to the whole Impulse team for their help in making this a better book – in making this a book at all, in fact. Without their dedication, Shadow Girl would have languished in that dusky gully. Special mention to Mary Rennie, my guiding light at Harper Collins, and to Julia Knapman, for her shrewd editorial work (spotting inconsistencies and smoothing out my little quirks is an art form in which she excels). My thanks to my family too for putting up with my introspective moods at various stages of the creative journey. And for humouring me when my laptop and I were sprawled over the kitchen table. Or the couch. Or the lounge floor. Sprawled over any space in the house but my desk, as it turned out. Lastly, I would – if I had one – acknowledge my cat for being there and giving me comfort and inspiration while I was searching for yet another elusive phrase. But there is no tabby in the D’Armor home. No dog either. A serious breach of writerly etiquette, for which I apologize. I have other pets though, but you don’t want to know what they are. Believe me, you don’t. You really don’t.