Fish Out of Water Read online

  “A year at most. Their mission is to watch. Report. But not intervene.”

  I placed my fingertips at my temples. “And they never know we’re here? The humans.”

  I opened my eyes in time to catch Mom shudder prettily. “By the Goddess, I hope not.”

  “And you really were the only one who ever stayed?”

  Mom nodded, and I knew from experience this was where she would clam up. I’ve always supposed it was something to do with a man, the reason she ran away and never came back. But it’s just guesswork. I do know one thing – she’s pretty down on mermaids. She says she ended up in Dirtwater because no mermaid worth their salt (so to speak) would come within a thousand miles of such a barren place. After tonight, I guessed she was wrong.

  “There’s something I should tell you,” she offered quietly, closing my aching eyes again with her fingertips and rubbing at my temples. If I was a dog, my eyeballs would be rolling back in my head and my back leg shaking madly. “A herald arrived today.”

  “Huh?” I pulled her fingers away quickly and studied her face. “Only good herald’s a dead herald.” I was repeating the mantra Mom utters every time a herald comes calling.

  “Amen, daughter.” Mom’s face was blank. She was totally crap at poker, so I knew she was working hard to keep her face neutral.

  “Weird. So maybe there were four mermaids in the driest town on earth tonight?” I marked them off with my fingers. “One. Blondie. Two. The guy Dirty Dan and Missy saw, maybe? Plus three, the… shower guy -” My voice broke with the effort of sounding casual as I mentioned him. “And now four. The herald.” I picked up a piece of coconut bread and used it as a decoy while I studied Mom’s reaction carefully. “Never rains it pours huh?”

  She nodded, making herself busy with pouring a cup of tea from a fine pot on the coffee table. “Licha. He was only here briefly, used the bath to hydroport out. Such skill.” She motioned at the table and for the first time I noticed the tiny blue-green fish, swimming around serenely in a tall glass of water. It stopped, as if aware of our attention, and blinked slowly at me.

  “Mmm,” I agreed, watching the song-fish. “So what did they want with you this time?”

  “They want us. Both of us.”

  I froze, coconut bread in mid-air. “Us?”

  “They want us home. For a royal wedding. The day after tomorrow.”

  “By the freakin’ Goddess Ran,” I hissed, rolling my eyes.

  I hadn’t been back to Aegira for thirteen years, and I had no intention of going now, like a kid called home for dinner. There’s not an unmarried 29 year old on the planet who likes going home for family weddings, and it’s no different when home is a magical underwater kingdom peopled by blonde guys who look like Gods because they descended from them. The mer-mamas may not harass me about meeting a nice fish and settling down, but they’ll sure as hell wonder why I’m living among barbarians when Mom was a Chosen One. Aegirans find the human tendency to violence so incomprehensible they even have a really tired joke about it. And believe me, they’re not known for their whacky sense of humor.

  It goes something like this:

  What’s the difference between a dolphin and a man?

  Four trillion brain cells and a weapon.

  Those crazy cats. It sends them into hysterics. And okay, okay, so dolphins are smarter than humans, but they’re smarter than Aegirans too. In fact, I’m betting dolphins are smarter than any life-form on Earth. Well, except wild blue Aegiran algae, but really, that’s a whole different form of intelligence and it’s kind of complicated to explain.

  “Rania,” Mom chastised, calling me back. “Don’t profane the Mother. She hears all.”

  Now it was her turn to study me. The flush that had started to speckle my chest when she had mentioned the herald calling us home deepened as she examined me. Her eyes widened and lost all trace of the silvery far-awayness as she pinned me with them. They were the wild, endless blue of the deepest ocean, and I knew where we were headed.

  It was the same look she gave me every now and then when she saw me, hunched and concentrating, trying to meditate. Like Aldus, she tried to tell me once, in her own way, that not everyone is cut out for meditation. Some people are monks and some are warriors, baby.

  But how could I tell her why I need to meditate? How could I break her heart?

  Mom has never asked me directly what sent me off in my self-destructive spiral at sixteen, or why I never went back to Aegira again.

  Just like I’ve never asked her — directly — why she left and went to live on The Land.

  “We have to go. The Queen has specifically asked both of us to come,” she said firmly.

  Mom never refuses a herald, although they spook her. Says it’s because we’re Gadula, the royal line descended from the first councilors to Aegir. But I know there’s something else.

  “Wouldn’t you like to see Lecanora?” Mom quizzed me with a soft frown.

  Oh yeah, and then some.

  I sighed. “I dunno, Mom,” I mumbled. “It’s kinda complicated.”

  Mom gave me a sad little frown and my heart squirmed uncomfortably under the spotlight of her misery.

  So I decided.

  Maybe this visit could be more closure. Say goodbye to all the pieces of my life. See Aegira, one last time. I pulled myself together and reminded myself that I didn’t need to be afraid of going to Aegira anymore because I was totally cool with the fact that I only had three weeks to go.

  I embrace my fate and welcome each moment until my end.

  “Okay, Mom,” I said, warmth suffusing me as I watched her face change. “I’ll come.” Mom opened her mouth but I just had to have the last word. “Although it’s not really fair, of course. You know, I’m not really Aegiran. Only, you know…” I shrugged. “Half.”

  Mom opened her mouth again and just as quickly snapped it shut.

  She wriggled a little nearer to me on the couch. When she was close enough that I could smell the honey sweetness of her hair, she picked up my hand in her cool, smooth one and turned it over. One long finger caressed the web of veins that lay there and she waited, her breath keeping pace with mine. We both saw it at the same time. “There,” she pointed triumphantly as the Alorah darted past our vision on its relentless journey through my bloodstream.

  The fish of life. The mark of an Aegiran.

  And here I thought I always had to have the last word. I shot her a look. The look daughters have been shooting mothers who know better down through the ages.

  “You’re not half anything, baby,” Mom trilled happily, holding my wrist up to her cheek tenderly before placing it gently back down in my lap. “So. When should we leave?”

  I shifted huffily, my brain still searching for the last word but realizing it had been trumped. “Just got some loose ends to tie up first. Speaking of which, you baking tomorrow?”

  “Of course,” she smiled again, glad to be back on safer ground.

  “You might need a double batch. Pay-off for Billy leaving Blondie alone til tomorrow.”

  She laced her fingers delicately and lowered her voice. “What happens tomorrow?”

  “It actually happens tonight. But I can’t tell. You’re the Mayor. You need deniability.”

  “Okay,” she conceded. “So I’m making a double batch of brownies.”

  Like a segue in a crappy dinner theatre farce, there was a knock and when I opened the door, the original Cookie Monster himself was standing there grinning from ear to ear. All big, dark six-foot-six of him. Like a pirate crossed with a very hot cowboy. I smiled into eyes the color of Swiss chocolate; the only soft point in a face that could have been carved by an Italian sculptor hundreds of years ago. If the nose hadn’t been broken so many times.

  That nose sliced into an overdose of puritan beauty and lent him a rakish thrill.

  And then there was the chin dimple…

  It was good to have moments like this, with him lounging in my doorway like sex on
legs, to remind me just what a fine piece of booty he was, and that I wasn’t so crazy to have messed with the easiest friendship I ever had by sleeping with him. But it sure was crazy that I was mentally comparing him with some guy I’d only met two hours ago.

  Some strange, wet guy. Some very off-limits guy.

  “Hi Doug,” I sighed. “Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to come calling at three am?”

  “Yeah, Sheriff, but I shot him,” he offered, still grinning and in one swift move stepping over the threshold, picking me up and squeezing me in an almost terrifying bear-hug, surprisingly agile for such a muscly guy.

  “Okay. Anyone ever tell you it’s poor form to keep dropping in on a girl you dumped?”

  “Nah,” he sighed, depositing his tidy ass on the couch next to Mom, sweeping her along a little with one hip and helping himself to some coconut bread as he did. “And we’ve been through that. Interpretation error.” I sniffed and he scowled. “Anyway, I’m on a mission.”

  It was only then that I noticed the parrot on Doug’s broad shoulder. I shook my head in case I was just having a misplaced pirate fantasy. Then I remembered it wasn’t the first time this had happened. The bird thing, I mean, not the pirate fantasy. Let’s not even go there.

  “Just spent two hours getting Bridie here out of that old tree in Memorial Park again.”

  Mom sighed this time and held her hand out to the brilliantly-colored bird, which hopped on her finger happily. “Doug dear, you are a soft touch.” Then, to the bird, “Come sweetheart, I’ll walk you next door to Mrs Murphy. She’ll be fretting and we can’t let Doug take you back again. He scared the daylights out of her last time he came knocking in the wee small hours.”

  I’m pretty sure Doug is not Doug’s real name. It just doesn’t sit well. The thing is, I never bothered to ask about it when he moved to Dirtwater shortly after I moved back home two years ago. Kindred spirits, we’d hang out down at the range, or shoot pool at The End of Days. He made me laugh. And he made me forget. It was an easy friendship. And then, once the inevitable happened, it was kinda hard to ask “‘Scuse me, but what’s your real name...?”

  As Doug watched Mom leave with clear affection in his eyes, he whispered to me from the corner of his mouth. “You know it wasn’t like that. I did not dump you.”

  A lie. I raised my brow.

  “You left town,” I reminded him. “Without telling me. For. Six. Months.”

  He wriggled uncomfortably in his seat and ran one enormous paw over his stubble-dark jaw. He opened his mouth to speak but I beat him to it, speaking real slow and nasty. “It was my birthday. You said you had a surprise. I just didn’t know the surprise was standing me up.”

  He opened his mouth again but I wasn’t done.

  “Janice Dean was waiting table. I had to crawl out the potty window.”

  Doug guffawed loudly, wiping away tears with that big hand. “Oh Sheriff, you know I feel real bad, but I sure do love that part of the story,” he grinned. “Especially how you tell it.”

  I managed a tight smile. “That makes one of us.” I actually wasn’t as pissed as I liked to make out. I’d been milking Doug’s wrongdoing for a year.

  “Aw come on, Sheriff.” Doug inched closer. “I told you I had no choice. I told you that even though I can’t tell you what happened I definitely, definitely did not dump you.” At these last few words, Doug’s voice came over all smoky growly and he slowed right down, moving one hand up to brush away the piece of hair that always fell across my eyes. His fingers felt hard and calloused on my cheek, the light, rough touch igniting the skin under it.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I sniffed, smelling the pine needle and armor oil scent of him as I batted his hand away. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I would’ve gotten sick of you eventually, I’m sure.”

  But the smoky look in his eyes as they met mine told me he knew I was lying this time.

  “I’m sure,” Doug agreed. But he didn’t look sure. He looked like he thought I was spouting five kinds of horseshit. “Like I was too old to keep up with your fine young patooty.”

  A third lie.

  We avoided looking at each other as our minds went to the last time Doug had seen my fine young patooty. Something shifted in the air between us, hot and fast. I became aware of how tightly the black denim was stretched across quadriceps whose long, tight beauty I recalled only too well. I could count each rung on the six-pack outlined by the black t-shirt moulded to him by the sticky summer night. And, worst of all, I could hear each of his breaths as the moment stretched like so much elastic and I wondered which one of us would snap first.

  “Anyway.” I patted his hand, going for casual. “That was a year ago. I heal fast.”

  Doug sighed. “Course you do, Sheriff.” He studied those big brown hands of his as if weighing up the merit of trying something else with them. I tried to decide if I wanted him to. He lowered his voice. “Anyway, it’s easier being pals.” A clatter from the kitchen and Mom came back in. He lowered his voice further. “Not nearly so much fun, but easier…”

  As Mom made her way back to the living room, the hot, dark moment disappeared as quickly as your self-respect when your dinner date stands you up. On your birthday.

  “Any brownies, Mrs Aqualina?”

  Mom looked at Doug with adoration. “Sorry, darling,” she clucked. “All gone.” Then, hopefully, artfully, “I’ll have made some more if you drop by tomorrow?”

  Doug sighed like he was recalling a lost love, but consoled himself with coconut bread.

  Mom loves earth people, thinks they’re original and cool. And I get it. Aegira is pretty vanilla, and Aegirans are like… underwater Swedes. Sometimes, when I’m there, I yearn to get messy. Not to mention going into serious nicotine withdrawal.

  “If you can keep the rest of the scavengers away,” I bit off a little meanly.

  Then something clicked into place, and I realized maybe Ran was helping me out.

  “Drink, Doug?” Doug was looking confused as I got up to fix the drinks. Mom’s a teetotaller, so she got a hot chocolate. “Southern Comfort or Southern Comfort?”

  “You know, you really let yourself down with that girly trip, Sheriff,” he clucked sadly, looking at me like maybe another choice would magically drop from my lips. “I guess it’ll have to be Southern Comfort,” he sighed when it didn’t.

  “Good choice,” I consoled him. “And I am not the Sheriff.”

  He snorted.

  “Deputy,” I conceded.

  I sized Doug up and considered the best way to ask my favor.

  I sometimes wonder what Doug would think if he knew about us. He’s pretty shrewd, so he knows something’s different. For a start, I’m the only person (man or woman) who’s ever beat him in an arm wrestle. But he’s also kinda mysterious himself. Ex-Special Forces, when he turned up in Dirtwater with his special charge in tow, folks wondered but never asked. After all, it’s the kind of place people tend to use to lie low. Then there were his disappearing acts. I was in a better position than most to know that each time he comes back, he’s cashed up and has an extra scar and a new tattoo. And that sometimes he stays away a long time.

  But Doug’s motto is “don’t ask, don’t tell”.

  Or it was, until I explained that was also the official US policy regarding homosexuality in the forces. Now it’s “ask no questions, get no bullshit.”

  I zoned back in and realized Mom was chatting to him. “So, darling, how is your Ma?”

  The briefest flicker of grief flashed across that wanton profile before it was banished with a chuckle. “Well, yesterday she turned all my best underwear into a piece of modern art. I couldn’t get annoyed with her, she was so proud of it. And she gets upset real easy.”

  Mom covered her mouth and Doug touched her free hand. “Mostly, she’s real good these days, Mrs A. Happy. Always singing.”

  Mom nodded and twisted a lock of that golden hair around her finger.

  “Actually, I’m heading
off again next week. Don’t suppose you girls’d look in on her while I’m gone? She’ll have care round the clock, of course, but it’s not the same, y’know…”

  As he started his favorite rant about how hard it is to get nursing staff who pay attention to the little things, Mom and I took a moment to admire the finely sculpted work of art that was Doug, before we started talking over him. It’s okay, it was telepathy. He couldn’t hear us.

  Lovely boy, takes such good care of his Ma. Remind me why you broke up with him?

  I ignored her. If she was a normal mother, she’d know that Doug falls into the category of guys you shouldn’t sleep with. Don’t get me wrong, he’s real funny, and sweet, and he can do things in bed that make it pretty clear where the Special Forces got the “special” bit from. But I bet Janice Dean’s Ma would have told Jancie that guys who can’t tell you where they’ve been or what they do for a living are not gonna be the most reliable lovers. I bet Janice Dean never climbed out any potty windows. I took a moment to think about the reliable Mrs Dean, with her blue rinse, yellow roses and green-eyed envy of everyone else’s lives. I shrugged inwardly.

  Thank Ran for mermaid mothers.

  I zoned back into the head of mine. Mom…about tonight. I need to…

  I barely finished. It’s okay. You do what you’ve got to do. Just stay safe, my love.

  I smiled at her. I’ll be home for brownie baking in the morning. Promise.

  She frowned a little in response. Should I ask?

  No way. No. I shouldn’t think so.

  She was on the job immediately, yawning delicately. Part kitten, part woman.

  “Mercy me, I am beat.” She leaned over and planted a soft kiss on Doug’s cheek.

  He looked momentarily dazzled before squawking out a hoarse “Ni’night.”

  Then he started talking again, but I wasn’t zoned in. I was visualizing his van, and how I was going to get it. It’d be tricky. Last time, Doug got his Harley back kinda bent out of shape.

  “Oh, baby,” he crooned. “You really gotta try the shrimp fry over at the Dirty Boar.”

  I momentarily forgot that I was trying to be nice so he’d let me borrow his van.