by Ros Baxter
The three scattered like wild lichen on the waves. But not before Zali fixed wide blue eyes on me and telepathed directly into the deepest place she could find. Rania. I know this is unorthodox, but you must trust me. Do not mention it to him. Imogen. Do not mention her.
Before they went, I clocked the extra dose of fear in their eyes. “Hey, Epaste, enjoying the wedding?” I was talking not telepathing, just to annoy him.
It’s lovely. But his eyes didn’t look so impressed.
I was about to let him know I resent having my conversations cut short by anyone, when I noticed the Princess out of the corner of my eye. She was leaning back on a bed of blue-green silks, her golden hair splayed out behind her, talking with a group of young women. She did that quick, uncomfortable shimmy that I know so well. I thought how much she would be hating this. All these people. All watching her.
But she seemed okay, no signs of lasting injury from yesterday. Thank you Ran.
And then I remembered. I was talking to one of the pompous assholes who’d decided the wedding had to be here. Regardless of what happened to Lecanora yesterday. Men.
“Yeah,” I agreed, half-listening. “Listen, Epaste, I’m sorry but I really need to—”
Of course, you must have much to catch up on. But Rania. He paused, and I noticed that his eyes were quite beautiful inside his mammoth face. Don’t believe all you hear. Times are strange. It is so hard to know truth from myth.
Cryptic asshole.
So many pieces to this puzzle. My dead mermaid, who was looking for me when someone did her. Then tried to do me. Angel-voice Imogen missing. Freaked-out choirgirls. And now a warning from one of the High Triad. None of it was making any sense to me right now. Epaste vacated my head and I kicked off and began to swim over to Lecanora.
But before I could get there, I got another telepathic interruption.
Hey Rania, long time no see, babe.
It was Rick the Dolphin.
Rick and I have been buddies since I summer-schooled in Aegira one year. I’d bonded with him after helping him disentangle his fin from a net one day. He had this awesome dolphin name – lots of squeaks and a series of high pitched trills. But I called him Rick. (As in Astley. As embarrassing it is, She Wants to Dance with Me was huge that year and I was a major fan).
Anyway, by way of payback all those years ago, Rick had let me peek into his head to get help with my algebra. And the shit I saw was out of this world. Whole universes swirled and the secrets of the cosmos peeped out. I knew then that if those guys were really responsible for The Prophecy of Earth and Sea, as legend told it, then I was totally buying it.
They were magical geniuses of the first order.
Anyway, Rick’s spent a lot of time hanging around human ports. He kind of thinks he’s human, although that would be a serious evolutionary demotion for a dolphin.
Hey, man. Whatcha doin’ here? Is the bride an old girlfriend?
Rick laughed into my head. Yeah, right. (He shuddered like only a dolphin can.) What would I do with an Aegiran?
I shrugged. Knowing you, you old smooth-talker, anything you want.
Rick started laughing again.
I asked him what was on my mind. Seriously, though, how come you’re here? Thought only the head honchos got invited to the royal weddings?
He tried to keep the ego out of his mental voice. I’ve ascended.
What? Que?
He shimmed again. To the High Council. I’ve moved up.
Wow. I didn’t know you were even in line.
Rick rolled tiny little dolphin eyes, another trick he’d picked up in those ports. Ha! It’s not like you guys, y’know, your quaint hereditary thing. It’s pure merit. And I’m brilliant. The Seer herself chose me.
The mention of the Seer made me feel sick. Took me back to the day we went to her. The oldest dolphin of all. The wisest and most magical of a race of magical wise-asses.
I touched his forehead gently. Kinda like a handshake. Wow, Rick. Congratulations. And regards to The Seer. But, to myself: Yeah, right, screw her and her Appointed Hour Of Death. Then, back to Rick again: I’m really sorry buddy. I’d love to chew the fat, but…
That cute dolphin shudder again. Ugh, that is a gross saying. I’m not using that one.
I shrugged. Sorry. Look, I really need to go talk to Lecanora. Maybe we could—
That eye roll again. Yeah, yeah, blow me off. But before you go, I need to tell you something.
He sounded serious and I felt myself still. What?
Rick paused, and I could have sworn he was milking the theatrics. Look for the others.
I was paying attention now. Something in his tone. What do you mean, the others?
Look for them. Those who are hurting. And those who will help you. Only you can do it.
My fingers started drumming on my leg. Rick. What in hell does that mean?
It was Rick’s turn to shrug. Sorry, sister, that’s all I’ve got.
My hand stilled on my leg. Are you serious?
Rick had the good grace to look kind of sheepish. For a dolphin. Yep, sorry, gotta fly. Or swim, rather. The pod’s calling. Outta here.
I reached out for him as he started to slide away. Wait, hang on. How will I know where to look? For the hurting? And the helpers?
Rick stood straight up in the water, his tail twitching, a habitual thinking gesture. Listen to the visions. They’ll guide you.
Then the whole pod was gone. Just bubbles and a pinkish aura where they’d been. And a million more unanswered questions in my mind.
My eyes met Lecanora’s as I closed the gap between us. And then I saw him, floating beside some rush mats laden with food, with the casual arrogance of a King, talking to a blonde who could earn a million bucks a day on the catwalks of my world. But he was looking right at me instead. A red-blonde wolf, with a body like a fighter. Looking at me like he’d seen a ghost.
He recovered quickly and as the rush and shock of the moment subsided I saw he was eating Abermonth with his fingers. He held my eyes as he bit deliberately into the soft, fleshy center of the dark vegetable with a lupine look in his eyes.
I suddenly remembered the other reason Abermonth was served at weddings.
It’s an aphrodisiac.
I got all squirmy and warm as the recollection settled in my brain, and slowly, but very surely, spread lower. You know, I’ve never really gone for mermen. Too much angel, not enough pirate. I never imagined I’d break that rule, even for a beautiful merman that had lain wet and naked in my arms. But I took one look at this guy and had to try real hard to convince myself that the reason I needed to talk to him was to get to the bottom of the mystery of Blondie.
He knocked on the door of my mind, and I felt his potency and wanted to give up and let him in. Like damsels have done for Kings since the beginning of time. But there was no way I could let him in with all those impolite thoughts swilling around.
He shrugged, swam over and used that wild and beautiful Aegiran speech instead. “Hello, woman of intense desires. Where are you going in such haste?”
Oh man, I dig the way these fish-folk talk.
“Guess it’s my turn to rush off,” I responded, going for casual, like naked men crash through shower curtains onto me and then disappear again within moments every day.
“Ah, yes, I am sorry about that.”
He smiled at me for the first time, intensely, in a way that reached right inside my lungs and took up all the space. I could tell he was not a guy who smiled easily. He looked like every misunderstood anti-hero down through time. Dark and cool all at once.
I wanted to be cool too. I wanted to play hard to get.
I’ve never been impressed by hot guys. I don’t trust them. I don’t like them.
And I definitely don’t get all girly around them.
But I annoyed myself by responding shakily. “You need to help me with some things.”
“Of course.” There was sorrow in his voice and my brain fl
itted to Blondie.
And then back to him, this man who was looking at me in that direct, arrogant way tall, dark, mysterious strangers have been using to mess with women’s heads for centuries. He could have been Mr Darcy or James Dean or Antonio Banderas in Interview With A Vampire.
But he wasn’t.
He was a merman, and they’re not supposed to look like this. They’re polite. They touch your eyelids and murmur ritual greetings. They establish lineage.
But it looked like no-one told him the rules.
He stared deep into my eyes. “You are right. We have much to discuss.” His mer-voice was low and slow. Deeper than any merman I’d ever heard. The aural equivalent of stubble scraping on your face. The scratchy edge of it set my insides on edge and turned them to jelly. “But many are watching. So…”
“So?” I challenged him.
“So,” he countered. “They’re playing my song. Come.”
Chapter Six
Waltzing and Wondering
Amid blonde Aegirans were creatures of all shapes and hues. Swimming, skimming, undulating. Alone, or with creatures of their own species, or with those of other clans.
It was the Siren Sense. And one thing I knew for sure, my own senses were screaming.
As we danced, the wolf held my hands in his and flicked me away from him effortlessly, like I was a child. I remembered the moves, and lolled and frolicked with the other women before sliding slowly back to him. He pushed me away again and again, and each time we came back together we drew closer than the last. Somehow the flashing colors of the creatures around us – the kaleidoscopic Rainbow Fish, the swirling silver Gynomarls, the almost-lewd purple deep sea squid – intensified the moment, lending it a technicolor edge that was nearly indecent.
His skin was warm, almost hot, where I touched it, and as he took my hands I swore I could almost hear the zap and feel the water vibrate around us.
The first time we came together, our bodies barely connected, the soft whirls of fabric on my dress just brushing his naked chest.
The next time my thighs whispered to his before he thrust me away again at the cue.
The third time he crushed me into his chest and I felt my breasts light up in response.
If we got any closer there was going to be a serious breach of etiquette.
Over the wolf’s shoulder, I could see the watching crowd, including Lecanora, a small frown creasing her brow. I saw Mom too, slightly apart and watching also, her eyes flashing joy and pride, and something else.
Something more worried.
“What are you?” His eyes were wide with surprise, like a man who’d taken a body blow and wasn’t used to it. The scratchy edge of his voice was even harsher, an edge of anger in it that I recognized. I’d known enough people who lived on the edge.
I shook my head like I didn’t understand the question, and he gripped my wrist hard in his big hand, and pulled me further back behind Gag-ai-lan serving area he had spirited us into. It was much darker back here, and I suddenly felt very conscious of our aloneness. And the fact that my Glock couldn’t hydroport. My insides were churning like I was perched precariously at the high point of a roller coaster, waiting for the drop.
His voice was louder this time, and he reached up to grasp my chin in his hand, examining my face like an interrogator demanding the truth. “I said, what are you?” The last three words were separated viciously, and slowed down even further, laced with threat.
“You must know,” I responded finally. “You must know who I am. Everyone here does. What I am. I’m… half.”
He laughed, his raspy chuckle stroking the inside of me in places that hadn’t been stroked for far too long. “No-one was ever half anything.”
I shook my head, ready to explain. But he hadn’t finished. “You misunderstand me, Rania.” The hand that had held my chin so roughly began to stroke it with long fingers. “I know who you are. Of course I do. That wasn’t what I was asking. And you know it.”
I shook my head dumbly, and he dropped his hand, shaking his head. “Whatever you are, I can tell you this. You are not half of anything.” My insides, which had turned to mush some time ago, began to quiver. My heart was thrumming so fast and so hard I expected to see the ripples it created in the water around us. He lifted a finger and traced my lips with it. They annoyed me by parting obsequiously. “You are very, very whole. Very complete.”
Something about his tone made me blush. Me, who hadn’t blushed in whore houses, crack dens or the unisex change rooms at the academy. His voice sounded like he really could see all of me. Like I was standing there as naked as he had been in my arms back in Missy’s dressing room. Like he could x-ray my insides to confirm my origins.
I wanted to tell him he didn’t know anything about me.
But instead I turned the tables on him. “More to the point, who are you?”
His eyes held my gaze. “I asked first,” he insisted.
I wasn’t going to get anywhere until I answered his question to his satisfaction. “Listen, it’s true, I am half. When I’m home, in Dirtwater, I’m very… human. I’m…”
He took my hand as I hesitated, and held it to his heart. Its low thump was like a wedding tattoo as he spoke. Commanded, really. “Tell me.”
“I’m… moved by human things. Axel Rose. Caramel corn. And…” My brain dissected and catalogued the things of home. The things I loved. “Brownies.”
He lifted my hand in his surprisingly warm one and held it to his cheek, which was smooth in the way of mermen. I felt a million miles from anywhere. At least, anywhere I’d ever wanted to be that wasn’t here.
“And what about the rest of you?”
“Huh?” It was too distracting feeling the pulse jump in his neck and the hard tangle of muscle in his jaw.
“What about the mermaid part? What moves her?”
The music.
I closed my eyes. It had been a long time since I’d thought for too long about Aegira. I was usually too busy meditating all thoughts of the place out of my head so I didn’t go mad. I opened my mouth to say it, to say “the music”, but I choked on the words and took the safe way out. “I can’t remember.”
He laughed again, the moment broken and his mood changed. I felt a swift flash of grief until he spoke again. “Okay, then. Looks like a little reminder is required.”
I was surprised by the saying. His way of speaking told me he’d been a watch-keeper, which surprised me too. Watch-keepers are intense, clever, often beautiful. But not with this wolfish grin, and some crazy, hard-but-fluid body that I kept remembering naked.
Down, girl. No sleeping with the fishes.
He grabbed my other hand, so that he was holding both, and danced his fingers down my arms, past wrists and elbows to rest on my waist. Then he slowly traced them up the inside of my arms again. I was heavy, molten and unable to move. It was like hypnosis by touch. He used the advantage to grasp my shoulders in those long, strong fingers and pull.
“Come.”
I didn’t move, but neither did I resist. “I don’t even know your name”.
His eyes flicked down and up again, quickly. “You will, soon enough. It’s better we go before you do.”
Looks that would have to do, for now. “Where are we going?”
He looked at me with a heady indigo smirk, parroting my words. “I can’t remember.”
An hour later we were at the surface.
The moon glittered becomingly on inky blue swell that was like soft glass as our faces broke the surface. He grinned at me like a child. “Remember how that feels?”
I couldn’t help but smile back. My limbs ached with exertion but my heart was zinging.
“I do now.”
“It gets better.”
“How?”
“Enough with the questions.” He held a still-warm finger to my lips before planting a strong hand either side of my waist and pirouetting me through the water like I was as dainty as a ballerina instead of a
muscly deputy Sheriff from a place with no water.
I waited for him to say: No-one puts Baby in the corner.
But instead, he slowly turned me 180 degrees, and I saw where we were. Directly above the deepest place on earth. Further from land than most people have ever been. There was no distant glimpse of shore, no comforting horizon.
We were bobbing on a silver-blue blanket under the light of a zillion stars.
“Lie on your back.” Somehow he managed to say it without sounding creepy, or like an ob-gyn. He guided me gently but determinedly into a floating position as he spoke softly into my ear. “Can you see the stars?”
“Uh-huh.” I was a little worried I was sounding too syrupy, drugged by his touch and his voice and the soft lap of his breath at my ear. But I was too loose and warm to try harder.
He picked up a hand and trickled cold water onto my neck. “Can you feel the water, all around you?”
Feel it? I think I’m turning to water. “Yes.” This time I was clearer. Because as he guided me through the sights and sensations I could feel myself coming alive again. I could feel the ocean caressing my skin in a way I had barely registered seven miles down.
He leaned closer to my neck, that toffee-tobacco voice barely more than the lowest whisper but warm and insistent against the sensitive skin of my ear. It shot straight to the centre of me. “Can you feel my arm around you?”
Oh yeah baby. “Uh-huh.” Back to being inarticulate as the possessive weight of that arm sent dizzy kicks all around my insides. I tried to not imagine the hardness of the rest of him.
“What else can you feel?” His whisper was so low it was hardly audible but it didn’t matter. I was like a tuning fork, responding to his commands.
I relaxed in the pose, as far as I could with his arm burning a white-hot hole against my side and his voice and breath stroking fire into my brain and between my legs.
“I can feel… something.” I tried harder to concentrate. Ignore the hormones a moment and focus. There was a subtle shift in the body of water below me, slow and low at first, and then quickening. Something was coming. Something big.
The turbulence in the water became unbearable, but he used that vice-like grip to hold me in place, only releasing me as I felt the water fracture in pieces around me. At that precise moment he lifted me bodily above his head, like Swan Lake on the high seas.