Del Fantasma: Sea Breeze

by Jade Rivers

  WARNING

  This e-Book contains sexually graphic scenes and adult language. Please store your e-Books carefully where they cannot be accessed by underage readers

  Del Fantasma:

  Sea Breeze

  Jade Rivers

  Aspen Mountain Press

  Del Fantasma: Sea Breeze

  Copyright © 2007 Jade Rivers and Aspen Mountain Press

  This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.

  Aspen Mountain Press

  PO Box 473543

  Aurora CO 80047-3543

  www.AspenMountainPress.com

  First published by Aspen Mountain Press, December 2007

  www.AspenMountainPress.com

  This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction fines and / or imprisonment. The e-Book cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this e-Book can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-60168-077-8

  Released in the United States of America

  Editor: Nikita Gordyn

  Cover artist: Nikita Gordyn

  Sea Breeze

  Cassandra Jacobs got tired of listening to the other surfers whine about the dismal waves breaking off the point lately, and moved closer to the fire. Her stubby, callused toes were chilled to the bone, and no amount of rubbing seemed to work. They’d taken years of punishment from the pounding surf and razor sharp coral, but Cassie’s ugly toes were her bread and butter. She could move them all independently; they served as the first and last line of communication to her board—a vintage Hobie Tri-fin—though she’d long ago resigned herself to the fact that she’d never wear open-toed shoes anywhere but the beach. Cassie had dominated the women’s pro class at the Mexican Pipeline a month previously, and in doing so she earned enough to support another year of bumming on the beaches of California and Hawaii.

  Her grandmother’s beach cottage in Vista Loma was her favorite place to winter.

  It was the only time of year the waves were big enough to matter, actually. She loved the diversity of the community. Her grandmother’s new age bookshop did a brisk business and it was right across the street from Hava Necklace Jewelry—a shop that specialized in ornate Judaica made from sea glass, owned by her grandmother’s best friend.

  Cassie noted how high the moon had climbed, and knew her grandmother would be worried. She slipped her cell phone out of the waterproof pocket of her pullover and flipped it open.

  “Hi Nana… No, I’m fine. Yeah, it was ok, nothing curling but some fast latebloomers.”

  Her grandmother has picked up Cassie’s “surfer code” over the years, and employed it in conversations with her Jewish friend, much to Cassie’s amusement.

  “Oh, no, I forgot about the ceremony! No, no, it’s ok, my board is fine, I haven’t had any serious wipeouts this year, and I can wait another three months. Really! No, don’t go to any trouble. I’ll pick up something to eat in town. You go ahead, Nana. And don’t forget to take the gown that keeps tripping you up and knocking down knickknacks in the shop.” She laughed at her grandmother’s response. “Go! I’ll be home later.”

  Cassie yanked her board out of the sand and waved a friendly good-bye to the rag-tag group of die-hard surfers huddled around the small bonfire. Her cheerful, “See you morningside!” was answered with a chorus of grumpy mumbling, but she knew they’d all be out for more punishment in the sub-arctic Pacific currents at the butt-crack of dawn.

  She gently wrapped the board in its protective cover and secured it to the roof rack of her bright orange Honda CRV. Sliding her arms inside her red pullover, she wiggled free of her wetsuit and grabbed a ragged pair of cutoffs from the front seat and pulled them on. After sliding her sandy feet into a pair of ratty Reebok sandals, she jumped into her truck.

  Cruising the main strip, Cassie discarded choices quickly. She wasn’t in the mood for fish and chips, which was available just about everywhere. She hadn’t eaten red meat in almost ten years, so the steakhouse was out. The smell of a perfect, rare filet mignon was too great a temptation. She remembered a friend’s recommendation for the Lobster Queso at the Del Fantasma, and decided to give it a try.

  Walking into the deserted bar, first through a chipped, painted door, and second, through a clicking curtain of wooden tiki beads, Cassie almost changed her mind…until the smells wafting from the back reached her nostrils and wound their way down to her growling, empty stomach. Crossing to the bar, she decided her first impression had been dead wrong.

  Where first she’d seen a cheesy reproduction of a surfside café, now she felt the welcoming familiarity of a comfortable surfer hangout. Scattered around the tiny dining room, she noticed the long plank tables set for ten or twelve. This place was the real deal. Surfers were only lonely on the wave. Out of the water, no one was ever a stranger. She studied the crazy, tribal signatures scrawled and carved on every available surface, and her grudging respect was replaced with quiet awe. “Noli Lihani!”

  “Fine lady, fantastic surfer.”

  She jumped at the voice coming out of nowhere.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “No, it’s ok.” She studied the man in the dim light of the bar. He was well built, and had the look and carriage of a great surfer. But his sandy brown hair was a shade too dark, as if it never saw the sun.

  He wiped his hands on a towel and extended a hand. “Cody Warren. And you’re Cassandra Jacobs. Vista Loma’s pride and joy.”

  Cassie narrowed her eyes and took his hand. “Follow the circuit some, do ya?”

  He nodded then laughed. “Even if I didn’t, I’d recognize you from the posters the widow Jacobs forces me to hang every time you land another endorsement deal.” He nodded at the wall behind the jukebox, and Cassie’s cheeks grew warm.

  “Oh my God! Really, you don’t have to leave those up. How embarrassing! I mean…my friends eat here!”

  “Yeah, they do. They’re here all the time. Which brings up the question, ‘Where have you been all my life?’”

  Cassie relaxed. “That was cheesy. I couldn’t tell you, Cody. I’ve been…around. I usually have a Power Bar for lunch and my Nana is the best cook in Point Loma, so I don’t go out very often.”

  Cody motioned to the stools barside. “You might as well sit over there and keep me company. It’s stone dead tonight and I’d feel weird waiting a table for one.”

  Cassie laughed and slid onto one of the high stools, propping her elbows on the bar. “Got any carrot juice?”

  Cody groaned and shook his head. “Oh man, not another health freak. Tell you what, since it’s your first visit to Del Fantasma, your drinks are on the house tonight. I’ll surprise you.”

  Cassie pursed her lips, then nodded. “As long as it’s not too strong, and there’s some kind of juice involved to cut the alcohol. I don’t like the taste.”

  “So what’ll it be? The grill is yours, milady.”

  “Umm… My friend Destiny recommended the Lobster Queso?”

  Cody nodded. “Best thing on the menu. I serve it with toasted blue corn tortilla chips and a side of ranch style black beans. Sound ok?”

  Cassie’s eyes were nearly crossed with hunger. “Sounds divine, I only hope its fast!”

  Cody nodded and served her a tall glass of ice water garnished with an orange slice. “Best not to
drink anything stronger on an empty stomach. I’ll be back in a few minutes with your dinner.”

  Cassie could see him working by peeking over the swinging shutter-style doors into the kitchen, and sighed with pleasure as tantalizing smells wafted into the dining room. In less than five minutes, he was back with her plate.

  She gasped. Huge, tender chunks of lobster tail swam in a dish of melted Mexican queso fresco, cilantro, poblano chili, tomatillo, and paprika. The aroma made her mouth water, and when the first morsel hit her taste buds, she moaned in ecstasy.

  Chewing slowly, she savored every texture. The crispy chips against the succulent lobster, surrounded by that heavenly sauce… It was almost orgasmic. “Wow. I mean, holy mackerel! This has got to be one of the best things I ever tasted.”

  Cody pulled a black sharpie from his pocket. “Then you’ll sign my bar?”

  Cassie laughed. “Well, if it’ll make you happy.” She grabbed the sharpie, and quickly scrawled her signature alongside famous names from ranks of surfing royalty.

  “Are you kidding? Maybe now I can get Nana Jacobs off my back! She’s crazy about you, you know. She wants me to name a sandwich after you.”

  Cassie blushed again. “Please don’t!”

  Cody laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m not into gimmicks.”

  He stepped back and grabbed a tall Collins glass from the shelf under the bar, filling it so quickly Cassie didn’t have time to notice the ingredients.

  She stared suspiciously at the drink before taking a tentative sip. “Hey, that’s pretty good! Cranberry juice? I like it, not too sweet. What’s it called?”

  Cody smiled. “I didn’t think you’d go for the frou-frou stuff. It’s called a Sea Breeze. Makes you think of the sea. Cool and seductive… There’s a story, actually more of a legend, really, that comes to mind. My father used to put me to bed with it when I was a kid. Supposedly it’s connected to Point Loma.”

  Cassie took another drink and waved a chip in invitation. “Please, take a load off. Have a few chips and tell me the story. I love crazy local folklore. I can take the story home to Nana for some major brownie points.”

  Cody hesitated, then shrugged. Well, it’s not like there’s anything else happening tonight…”

  Cody slid a high round stool from behind the cash register, placed it directly across from Cassie, and settled into a casually intimate pose, his crossed arms resting on the bar. “I can’t tell you when the story got started, or what really happened, if anything. I think my dad was just a kid…”

  As a child, Arryc was often black and blue about the ears, from the frequent flicking and twisting of his parents’ impatient fingers.

  Precocious and sensitive, Arryc realized at the tender age of six that he was very different from his simple, hard-working parents. He was enchanted with every stray whistle and click that drifted through the high windows of the sweltering kitchen of The Salty Skillet, his parent’s busy fresh-catch café. He helped his father by stacking the plates and trays to load into the hulking dishwasher that belched steam almost hot enough to poach his young fingers and nose. In the lazy lull between lunch and dinner, he stepped outside and wove cozy baskets from the tall sea grasses that grew over the dunes. He took them home and entertained dozens of songbirds while learning to mimic their tunes, before sending them home to the treetops.

  He didn’t speak for the first five years of his life, and his first words were communicated in song. When he entered the kitchen singing a cheerful nursery rhyme in a strong, clear voice, his mother dropped her best china to the floor in shock and clasped him to her breast, offering silent and heartfelt thanks to the Goddess that her adopted son wasn’t entirely mute.

  Arryc minded his parents as best he could, but he listened more attentively to the songs on the wind, and frequently didn’t hear their demands. He was always sternly admonished to “get his head out of the clouds.”

  The family lived in a comfortable apartment loft above the Salty Skillet, just steps from the sea, though neither knew how to swim or ever bothered to teach Arryc.

  The wild-eyed fishermen who brought their choice catch to his father’s door in the dim light of dawn told haunting, tragic tales of seductive sirens of the deep; who enticed men into their watery embrace when the harvest moon shone full and bright, and never surrendered them back to the light of day.

  No one knew exactly where these men disappeared to, the fishermen hazarded a guess that they were taken to hidden underwater caves, magically enslaved by the lyrical and malevolent maidens, but the fisher wives who collected the torn and discarded nets that washed ashore after a storm knew different, many a fisherman was unknowingly clad in the stiff leather leavings they picked from the nets, sometimes with decaying portions of the doomed men still attached. The women never spoke of these grizzly discoveries; an ancient primordial connection to the daughters of the moon compelled their silence.

  Arryc sometimes imagined he heard the sirens’ song, sliding down the beams of the full moon through his open window. The notes circled round his head and soothed his stinging ears, a tenderly enchanting lullaby to the melancholy lad.

  * * * *

  Serai escaped her sisters’ clutches and darted to the ocean’s surface, eager to touch the sparkling coins that rippled there. When she reached out to capture a shimmering golden disk, it flickered and disappeared. She was bitterly disappointed, and pouted as she drifted down to rejoin her sisters.

  Her mother gently stroked Serai’s soft blue mantle and led her in search of a snack. They passed the cave of the wailing moon, and she overheard her sisters practicing the songs in the ancient tongue. Serai’s throat had not developed yet, and she was expressly forbidden to sing. She was warned that vocalizing without training could cause illness or even madness in humans.

  Daughter of the deep, heir to the Queen of Sirens, the power of the song young Serai suppressed, swelled in her soul and burned her gullet. When the moon was full, Serai floated on the surface, ever-so-softly chanting the slow, sweet harmony of her heart, unaware that her notes rose and were carried by tempestuous ocean breezes through the open window of a sensitive young musician.

  Seasons passed with excruciating slowness, as Serai dared to creep closer and closer to shore in her nocturnal explorations. Her fascination gave way to longing, and she dreamed of the night she would finally answer the call of the moon and fulfill her destiny. Worlds apart, but almost close enough to touch, a similar longing ignited and flared in the soul of a romantic young man.

  * * * *

  Arryc hugged the wall beneath his lover’s bedroom window like a shadow, stealthily seeking the freedom of the rolling dunes.

  When the winsome and nubile Amanda’s husband had returned from a long naval voyage unexpectedly, Arryc was forced to flee in silence.

  Hastily, he tucked his shirt into his worn Levis, leaving it unbuttoned. Running a hand through his shaggy brown hair, he shook off the adrenaline rush, relieved at having avoided discovery and averted disaster, again.

  The flat sand was the soft gray of an overcast sky, reflecting the cool glow of the solstice moon, while the dips and ridges dropped softly into the night. Here and there, prickly tufts of sea grass stood, cantankerously puncturing the occasional zephyr.

  Slick as a serpent, he crept from shadow to shadow over the dunes and beyond, to the jagged shoreline. Two stones’ throw from the ancient loblolly pine, he found the tide pools, and dropped to a crouch beside the largest.

  The sea crashed against the other side of the huge rock that sheltered the crystal clear pool, occasionally showering him with icy spray. The sand around the pool was cool and soft, peppered with the shattered and abandoned dwellings of clams, oysters, and sea snails.

  He carefully examined the sides and bottom for crabs or sea anemone, then stripped and waded into the chest deep water, still warm from the scorching afternoon sun. Stretching out on his back, he floated, gazing at the stars.

  Young Arryc had no knowledge of a
stronomy or the constellations, but he sensed great power in the stars. He imagined a noble sorcerer inhabited the moon, guarding the magical lanterns that guided earth’s navigators.

  Completely relaxed, it took several moments before his mind registered the seductive melody drifting on the ocean breeze, wrapping about him body and soul like a silken shroud.

  He was completely paralyzed with painful longing, unable to escape the hypnotic clutches of the siren’s song.

  When it finally ended, Arryc found himself fighting for breath, having sunk like a stone to the bottom of the pool. Rushing from the water he lay gasping on the sand, the tranquil, poisonous notes of the haunting melody still echoing in his mind. Hastily, he pulled on his clothes and headed for the welcoming light and warmth of Salty Skillet.

  * * * *

  Serai crooned softly to herself as she combed slippery tentacles through the long silvery tendrils that drifted around her proboscis like liquid silver. She felt the pull of the moon in her core, and sensed her body’s transformation before it even began.

  She was in her seventeenth season, and could no longer resist the lure of the moon. Milky beams penetrated to the ocean floor, caressing her soft skin, stirring passions she was powerless to resist. Giddy with anticipation, she awaited the changes her mother had spoken of, teaching her the words to describe the new form her body would take.

  First, her hair had sprouted. She felt the silky-soft spikes with her tentacles and delighted in the new texture. It grew steadily, until it was nearly the span of a human, swirling around her like a silvery mist.

  When her hair stopped growing, she could feel four of her tentacles begin to tingle and slowly fall asleep, as circulation was re-routed to her other extremities. Even as the four tentacles began drawing up into her body, the remaining four took on new abilities and definition. Her arms and legs drifted gently in the current at first, then came to life with jerks and spasms as she learned how to manipulate her new limbs.