Undertow

by Jordan L. Hawk

  “No!” I cried. “Irene—she must be here! We have to save her!”

  “The mask,” Persephone panted, and the fear in her voice turned my blood to ice. “It’s made from the bones of a god. They’ve killed a god!”

  A harpoon shot past, burying itself in one of the seats. One of the stagehands tried to block the door, but Persephone blew him back with a blast of wind. A second blast hurled open the doors onto the street—and then we were in the free night air.

  ~ * ~

  Fog had rolled in off the ocean, shrouding the electric streetlights and muffling sound. Neither of us slowed. I half expected to hear shouts behind us, or feel the impact of a harpoon through my back. But neither happened. We’d escaped.

  And left Irene and the other hybrids to whatever fate Ayers had in store for them.

  Once the theater was a few blocks behind us, Persephone slowed. My own lungs burned and my legs ached—and I at least was built to run on land. Her arm slipped from my waist, but I caught her hand and held it tight.

  “What’s happening?” I asked, when I had some of my wind back. “What did you mean about the mask? That they killed a god?”

  So close, the fog didn’t prevent me from making out her features. A sort of blank horror filled her eyes. “That must have been what the other chieftess was trying to tell me. They wiped out her city, and imprisoned her, murdered the god…”

  “How do you know?”

  She drew in a long, shaky breath. “The cabochon in the mask came from the body of a god. It’s how they sing to us in our dreams.” She touched her own forehead, as if to signal its placement. “Somehow, these land dwellers were able to kill a god and turn its bones into something to summon us against our will. I have to return to the sea and warn the dweller in the deeps. Warn everyone.”

  “Yes.” I squeezed her hand. As much as I hated leaving Irene behind—assuming she was even still alive at this juncture—this was obviously so much bigger than a single life. Or a handful of lives, even. “Go.”

  “Your home is on the way back to the river. I’ll walk with you.” She winced. “My legs hurt too much to go any faster on land.”

  I wished I were large and strong, so that I might carry her. “Here. Lean on my arm.”

  She did so. “They must be Fideles,” she said, her voice pitched low. “They spoke of Kansas, and my brother was certain the cult was in Fallow.”

  Trepidation made my voice quiver. “D-didn’t you hear what they said about Dr. Whyborne?”

  She nodded. “He succeeded. Good.”

  Any relief I might have had concerning his safe return had become buried beneath fear and worry. “It’s just…” I wasn’t certain how to ask the questions bubbling in my mind. “They talked about him like he was some sort of monster.”

  Persephone stopped and turned to me. We’d reached the sidewalk near the boarding house. Though we stood mostly in shadow, fog or fear had made us more careless than usual, and the muted light of the electric street lamps showed me her features.

  “Perhaps we are,” she said. “My brother and I. Monsters together, to ketoi and humans alike.” Then she lifted her hand. Her fingers touched my cheek, skating slowly over my skin, until her thumb came to rest just at the corner of my lips.

  My heart rate had started to settle after our run. Now it raced again, the pulse hot in my neck. Wordless longing gripped me. I wanted to turn my head just a little, suck her thumb into my mouth, run my tongue over the claw tipping it. I wanted her arm around my waist again—both arms, or her legs wrapped around me. Something. Anything.

  She leaned closer. Her tendrils had settled into stillness around her, and in the dim light it might almost have been hair. Her pupils were wide, the brown irises reduced to a thin ring. The diffused light lent her skin a warm glow.

  “What do you think, Maggie?” she whispered, so close I could feel her breath on my mouth. “Am I a monster?”

  I parted my lips to give her the only answer I could.

  The cold click of a gun’s hammer interrupted me. “Yes, you are,” Oliver said.

  Chapter 7

  We jerked apart, Persephone turning with a hiss, thrusting me behind her. Oliver stood in the street, his face set with cold fury. The gun in his hand pointed at Persephone.

  “No!” I shouted. I tried to push Persephone out of the way, to put myself between her and Oliver, but she was far too strong. “Stop! Oliver, don’t!”

  Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “Step away from it, Maggie.”

  Persephone snarled. All her shark teeth were exposed, her tentacles drawn up to sting. “It’s all right,” I said. “Persephone, please, calm down. Oliver isn’t going to hurt me.”

  She hesitated, but dropped her arm. Her tentacles relaxed slightly, but didn’t fall to her shoulders. I moved toward Oliver, my gaze locked on his face. “Oliver, put down the gun. You don’t understand.”

  “No,” he said. “I’m afraid you’re the one who doesn’t understand. But you will.”

  He fired the gun.

  My scream drowned out Persephone’s cry. She crumpled to the ground, and blood from her torso turned the sidewalk red.

  “No!” I tried to rush to her side, but Oliver’s hand locked on my wrist like an iron vise.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded. “Stay away from that thing!”

  I fought him, striking him about the head with my free hand. “Let me go; let me go.” I had to get to Persephone, had to help her. She was hurt and bleeding, and Oliver had shot her, and oh God this couldn’t be happening.

  “Stop,” he ordered. When I continued to struggle, he struck me on the side of the head with the heavy butt of the gun.

  Pain exploded through my skull, and stars flashed in my vision. I sagged, dazed, and he began to drag me stumbling down the sidewalk. I tried to turn and catch another glimpse of Persephone. Her side moved—didn’t it? Or was my blurred vision tricking me?

  Dizziness overwhelmed me, the world spinning like a merry-go-round. I went to my knees, barely conscious of my dress ripping.

  “I don’t know what you were doing in that creature’s company, but I will find out.” He tugged on my arm, sending a bolt of pain through my shoulder. “Get up.”

  “I can’t.” Tears slicked my face. Everything seemed strangely distant, either because of my head wound or the shock of what had happened. “Why? Why did you do that? You hurt her, hurt my friend!”

  “Those things don’t have friends, you little fool.” I couldn’t make out his face through my tears, but his voice was implacable. “I killed a monster. And in doing so, I saved you.”

  “Saved me?” I would have laughed if I could.

  “Yes.” He hauled on my arm again. “You’ve been tricked, somehow. That’s the only explanation. But I’ll show you the truth, whether you want me to or not.”

  I wanted to scream again, and pray help came for me. But if the police answered, would they side with Oliver or with Persephone?

  It wasn’t even a question. They’d believe Oliver when he said I was hysterical after being attacked by an inhuman creature. They’d realize Persephone was still alive and kill her right in front of me.

  Making a fuss would only endanger Persephone. And the longer we lingered here, the more likely it was Oliver would realize Persephone was still breathing.

  Was she still breathing?

  I didn’t know, and couldn’t look. If she was still alive, I couldn’t risk drawing Oliver’s attention to her.

  I forced myself to my feet, fighting off a wave of nausea as I did so.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I must say, it was a bit of a shock, seeing you speaking with one of them. But you don’t understand, that’s all. You will when I explain.”

  I didn’t reply, only let him drag me along. Either shock or concussion stole moments of time from me, and the unreality of the thick fog helped nothing. It wasn’t until we stood beneath the unlit marquee that I realized where he’d been so bent on taking me.


  The Undertow.

  ~ * ~

  “You must have a great many questions,” Oliver said as he entered the green room. “Of course, so do I.”

  He’d dragged me into the theater and backstage, where he’d removed my coat—and with it, the summoning stone and knife in my pockets. Then he’d locked me in the green room.

  Exhaustion, my head wound, and despair did their part. I collapsed to the couch sitting along one wall and lost consciousness, for how long I didn’t know. The old stones of the original church formed the back wall of the green room, and no windows opened to the outside. It might still be night, or after dawn, or even the middle of the day for all I knew.

  Was Persephone safe? In pain? Had she made it to the river, to the ocean, to her people?

  Was she even still alive?

  If I thought too long about the latter possibility, I’d be reduced to a sobbing mess. Later there would be time for tears, but for now, I had to think clearly if I was to have any hope of leaving the Undertow alive.

  I sat up and eyed Oliver warily. He grabbed one of the chairs and dragged it closer to the couch, before seating himself. “I thought you were still the sweet, innocent girl I always knew. And yet here I find you, consorting with a ketoi.” His face twisted with revulsion. “How did you learn about them? Did that abomination Dr. Whyborne lead you astray with false promises?”

  Oliver knew about the ketoi. Was he a part of the cult?

  My heart sank. We’d been friends most of my life, and yes, we’d drifted apart. But none of his letters had ever led me to believe he’d changed to such an extent.

  Then again, he must be thinking the same thing about me right now.

  My head ached fiercely, and I wanted nothing more than to lie back down on the couch. To sleep, and then wake and find it was all a dream. But it wasn’t, so I had to decide just how much of the truth to give him. “She—the ketoi—saved my life,” I said, which was close to the truth. Persephone would surely have killed the rat creature to keep it from me, if the cat hadn’t gotten it first. “I owe her.”

  “Ah.” Oliver’s expression relaxed, the hardness leaving it. “Of course. I see it now. You’ve been led astray by girlish naïveté.”

  If that was how he wanted to see me, it would be folly to argue. “She said Irene might be here,” I said, doing my best to look abashed. “You remember me telling you about how she disappeared? Irene is my friend; I had to help her.”

  “There were things you didn’t know about Irene,” Oliver said regretfully. “You can’t imagine my dismay the other night, when she proved to be a hybrid.”

  I pasted a look of shock on my face. “A hybrid?”

  “Yes.” Oliver nodded. “Between your association with her and Dr. Whyborne, Mr. Ayers thinks you’re in league with the forces of darkness. Those who would bring about the end of the world.”

  Could Oliver have simply misunderstood? Had he been the one led astray, fooled by the lies of the Fideles? I widened my eyes in what I hoped was a genuine look of horror. “Dr. Whyborne? Oh no, you must be wrong. I told you before, he’s a gentleman.”

  “A mask of flesh over…well, I won’t trouble you further.” Oliver leaned forward. “Maggie…there are things I have to tell you. I’d thought to keep them from you, because the truth is terrible. The sort of thing no woman should be burdened with. But seeing as you’ve already been drawn into the web, used and taken advantage of by these villains, I fear I have no choice.”

  Dread pooled in my limbs, but I fought not to let it show. “Then tell me.”

  He took one of my hands. I forced myself to let it remain in his grasp, when all I wanted was to snatch it back.

  “You thought Irene was your friend,” he said, looking into my eyes. “And the female ketoi as well, it seems. But what you don’t know is the Bedlam didn’t simply founder in a storm. Everyone on board, including Captain Parkhurst and my father, were murdered by the ketoi.”

  ~ * ~

  All the blood seemed to drain from my extremities. Surely I had to have misunderstood. “Wh-what?”

  Oliver released my hand and sat back in the chair. He looked tired, suddenly, as if reaching the end of a long struggle. “I don’t know if you recall, but one of the few remnants of the Bedlam found was the cork-lined trunk my father owned. It contained his diary, a few odds and ends…and a strangely carved rock.”

  A summoning stone? I kept my face as neutral as I could.

  “I didn’t know what it meant at first,” he went on. “Of course, I read the diary at once. He spoke of the trip across country, from New Bedford to San Francisco, and of his first look at the Bedlam.”

  I nodded. As the number of whales decreased in the Atlantic, the company had begun to send its senior captains and crew to the more plentiful waters of the western arctic. It had been their first expedition to that portion of the globe.

  We’d remained behind in New Bedford, along with Mrs. Young and Oliver. Papa and Mr. Young hadn’t wanted to uproot us from the homes and neighborhood we’d lived in for so long.

  In the end, it hadn’t mattered. We’d lost it all anyway.

  And now Oliver said it was due to the ketoi.

  “After the launch,” Oliver went on, “Father merely recorded the ordinary thoughts of a man at sea. Minor infractions on the parts of the sailors, the weather conditions, how the Bering Sea differed from Hudson Bay. I kept reading, though, because it…it helped me feel closer to him.”

  His mouth tightened with emotion. An unexpected twinge of jealousy ran through me. If only Papa’s log and diary had been recovered as well. At least Oliver had something of his father’s to keep, whereas we had nothing.

  “I don’t understand,” I said, by way of prompting him.

  Oliver seemed to come back to himself. “Forgive me. It was hard to read—it both comforted me and made my grief keener. As I said, at first the entries were ordinary. Then, one day, the men dropped nets to catch a bit of fish for their dinner. And when they pulled one of the nets in, they found tangled in it a creature such as they had never seen.”

  I sat up straighter. “A ketoi?”

  He nodded. “It hissed and snarled at them. Started to bite through the nets with those awful teeth.” He shuddered. “One of the men, Martinez, shouted they had to put it back in the water. Let it go.”

  I had an awful feeling I knew where this was going. “But they didn’t.”

  “Of course not.” Oliver looked at me as though I’d be mad to think otherwise. “For one thing, it wore a small fortune in gold and jewels, even if it wore nothing else. And for another, they’d just captured a creature, a human like creature, of the sort no one had ever seen. P.T. Barnum made a fortune exhibiting the mummified body of a monkey sewn onto a fish. How much more would a real mermaid be worth?”

  Oh God.

  Bile stung the back of my throat, and my head throbbed in time to my heartbeat. “They killed her.”

  “Of course,” Oliver said, as though there were no other possible outcome. “She was too dangerous to keep captive, that was apparent from the first. And a dead mermaid would be nearly as valuable as a live one.”

  I’d asked myself what Papa would have done, faced with a woman from the sea. And now I had the awful answer. He’d responded not with awe, with love, but with greed and fear.

  “Martinez tried to stop them,” Oliver went on. “He screamed that it would bring ruin on the ship. Captain Parkhurst had him put in irons for insubordination.”

  “He should have remembered the ballad,” I said through numb lips. I have a wife in Salem town, / But tonight a widow she will be.

  “He wasn’t to blame, and neither was my father,” Oliver snapped. I opened eyes I didn’t remember closing and found him glaring at me. “What they caught in the net was worse than an animal. A monster, with monstrous kin. As soon as Martinez was out of irons, he tried to break into the crate where the ketoi’s body was packed in ice. There was a struggle; he slipped on the ic
e and struck his head. He died a few days later. They found the stone amongst his belongings, and Father took it when the captain wasn’t interested. They sewed Martinez’s body into a bit of sailcloth and threw him in the ocean. But as it was sinking, one of the other men swore he saw hands reaching up to drag it down into the depths.”

  I took a deep breath. Martinez had probably been a hybrid, then. Did he know the ketoi in the net, or had she inhabited a different city than the one from which he sprang?

  Two deaths, now, aboard the Bedlam. Did the ketoi believe the ship had come to destroy them?

  “After that, everything went wrong,” Oliver said. As if everything hadn’t already gone awry. “No fish, no whales, nothing but the endless sea. Father wrote it was as if the very creatures of the ocean hid from them. The ship sprang leaks it shouldn’t have, and sometimes moved slowly, as if something dragged on the hull from beneath. The men began to mutter among themselves, certain some bad luck had befallen them. Even Father began to feel it. It was as though some ill fortune stalked them across the waves. Which of course it did.”

  Cold crept up my spine. How frightening must it have been, to be so alone on the vast ocean, certain they were being hunted.

  “Men began to vanish,” Oliver went on remorselessly. “Snatched off the deck in the hours of darkness, with no trace of them remaining. Father and Captain Parkhurst did their best to keep the men from mutiny. But they were half-crazed with fear, and some of them took a whaleboat at gunpoint. The captain had no choice but to let them go. The ketoi swarmed the boat within sight of the ship and dragged every soul into the sea.”

  “Oh no,” I whispered.

  “The diary ends there. Or almost there. There’s a single entry more, undated, that merely says God help us all.” Oliver shook his head slowly. “You can imagine what went through my mind when I read that. I wanted to tell you—to tell everyone—that our fathers hadn’t died from some act of God or nature. They were murdered by fiends from the very depths of hell. But if I had tried, everyone would have thought Father mad, his journal either the ravings of a lunatic or some sort of forgery on my part.”