A Mermaid's Ransom

by Joey W. Hill

  Back when she'd learned to manage her empathy, what had been most difficult wasn't feeling what a lost soul was feeling. Rather, it was accepting the inability of others to feel the way she did about that person. Instead of understanding, they viewed him or her with suspicion or hatred. They would shun a lost soul, thereby making it even more lost.

  As much as her female heart was drawn to the enigmatic vampire, the empathic part of her was consumed by his utter isolation, as he looked at something as alien to him as his world had been to her. Parents playing with their children. Enjoying leisure time, and the beauty of a sunny day. He knew what he was seeing was an accepted standard here, something he'd been denied.

  How would he react to that? She assumed his concept of gods and goddesses, faith and cycles was vague at best; everything was capricious fate, luck or the ruthless application of the strong survive. Maybe there'd been a blessing in that. Someone believing in a benevolent higher power, all powerful and all seeing, would have shredded his soul trying to understand his circumstances, wracked with blame, rage, guilt or any combination of the three. But the only higher powers he'd known had been Cruelty or Indifference, so he had no expectations for mercy from either of them.

  He saw himself as ruthless, but she was carefully collecting instances proving that wrong, building on it. His decision to save her life, even if it meant his freedom. His mercy killing of his mother. Then, this morning, as she'd showered, she'd realized something else that she'd missed during their intense lovemaking the previous night. He'd said he'd never had sex with anything other than a Dark One, which meant he hadn't raped any of his female sacrifices, or human victims the Dark Ones had brought with them before the rift closing.

  His physical appetites were extreme. Even without experience, she recognized that. Using a sacrifice for sexual release wouldn't have interfered with his magic, obviously. The recollection of the female's empty, suffering eyes twisted low in her stomach. While perhaps he hadn't wanted the Dark Ones' leavings, she thought it was something else. He'd been sodomized by the Dark Ones repeatedly. She'd felt the terrible flashes hinting at it. While he didn't hesitate to take a life, he had a line he didn't cross. It wouldn't nominate him for Humanitarian of the Year by a long shot, but it meant something, all part of the puzzle.

  He could change, because somewhere under all the debris of his wrecked soul, he wanted to change. She knew it. Which meant this was where she was supposed to be, what she was supposed to be doing, no matter the risks.

  As she moved back across the playground to him, she knew when his attention focused on her again. Despite the weight of her previous thoughts, she couldn't stop a rueful smile. Physical appetites, indeed. He was watching the way her hips moved. How the breeze innocently molded her shirt to her breasts and the slope of her abdomen. Then his jaw lifted and she knew those fiery eyes were on her throat, the press of her lips, meeting her eyes at last.

  He'd suggested vampires and Dark Ones were very carnal. Perhaps that was why his emotions were so tightly intertwined with his physical responses. He was being overwhelmed by what he saw, with every direction he turned. Maybe the spinning only stopped when he was inside of her, a temporary drug that helped steady him, while knocking her off her axis.

  She sat next to him again. He was leaning forward, his hands gripping the edge of the bench seat, so she curved her palm over one of them, fitting her fingers into the spaces between his. Glancing up into the sky, she studied the cloud formations. "Did you ever do that? Cloud pictures?"

  He shook his head. "I don't know what that is."

  "In your world it would have been different, because the sky was like fire. But here, to pass the time, sometimes we gaze up into the sky and pick out pictures in the clouds. See, over there. That's a pig, with a snout, and a round head. It could also be a bald man with a pug nose. Actually, that fits better. See his double chin?"

  He leaned back on the bench, stretching his arms out so one was behind her. Alexis laid her head on his biceps so they were studying the same thing. "Sometimes I saw dragons in the flames," he said at last. "Blue and green, or gold and silver." His arm flexed beneath her head, and she closed her eyes as his fingers stroked her upper arm during a long pause. Finally, he spoke again. "I was willing to hurt you, but you think I would not hurt a child."

  "I'm not a child."

  He cocked his head, gazing down at her. "You are as fragile. It is the same."

  "That's condescending, but I think that comes along free with the arrogance package." She pinched his hard thigh and earned a bemused look. "All right. It's because you're like a child. You've seen a lot of this, but that doesn't necessarily mean you understood what you were seeing. What it meant. You have to touch, feel, interact, to get that. You don't trust anyone right now, but you'll trust a child, because usually a child's motives are harmless and easily understood. Am I right?"

  "Except for the part about perceiving me as a child." He lifted a brow. "I think that was . . . condescending."

  "Well tit for tat." She smiled. When he sharpened his gaze on the curve of her lips, she held the expression an extra few seconds. His mouth lifted, perhaps to emulate it. Was it conscious, or was something in him responding, learning? Straightening, she closed her hand over his tense fingers, now resting on his knee. Before she could speak, he surprised her.

  "Alexis, what can I be in this world?"

  "Whatever you want," she responded. But then she shook her head at her own automatic response. "I guess that's what we all say," she admitted, "so people will reach for their dreams. The truth is we often don't get to be what we want. But sometimes what we end up being is better."

  The answer didn't satisfy him. For that matter, it hovered uneasily in the pit of her own stomach, like undigested food. She squeezed his hand. "You don't need to worry about that yet. Getting accustomed to all this is enough for now. The rest will come. Want to go see the community center?"

  "Yes."

  As they strolled in that direction, he copied the body language of those around him, adapting so quickly she knew if it weren't for his extraordinary appearance he'd be a true chameleon. Once, he'd been a scavenger. The skill showed, even now.

  She checked them in at the front desk. Her destination from there took them through the main gym area, filled with echoing noise and the movement of young bodies. The scent of sweat and wood cleaner added to the atmosphere. As she guided him around the edge and up the stairs to the second level, she stopped on the top step so he could look down at the entire floor. Boys and girls alike were learning to box from a volunteer coach, and a handful of teen males were busy on a basketball court. Weight training, dance and all sorts of activities were happening, volunteers dedicating themselves to nurturing self-confidence in the hopes it would carry the kids to the top of the heap in their world. Or at least a place that kept them from being crushed.

  As a door opened behind them, Dante faced it, putting himself in front of Lex. A mother had a small girl covered with blue paint in tow. The child gave Lex a wide smile as they headed for the washroom. Fortunately the mother missed Dante's forbidding expression.

  "Look less intimidating," Lex advised, sliding to his side and tugging him by the hand. "Come in the craft room. You're going to love it."

  As they stepped in, Alexis breathed in the comforting aromas of clay, paint, glue and construction paper. The large area had cubbyholes and cabinets stacked with art supplies, everything from buttons and Popsicle sticks to fuzzy, brightly colored pipe cleaners and pom-poms. One of the things she liked best was the large mural on the back wall. It depicted a rainbow-colored Goddess creating the world at a craft table much like these, pondering tiny animal creations, everything from the elegance of the swan to the whimsy of the porcupine.

  Dante slanted a glance at her. "Porcupine?"

  When she gave him the image in her mind, his brows rose further. "The seawitch comes to mind."

  She almost laughed, but then she caught the bitter underton
e to the observation and remembered Dante didn't make jokes. He'd changed position so he was next to the door, his back against the wall, and was continuing to keep her on the far side of him, where she'd be harder to reach by anyone passing by. Giving him time to assess his surroundings, she did the same.

  About six sets of children with parents were working at various projects. A sugar cube castle, a knitting lesson, clay sculpting and a couple of paintings were in progress.

  "You can create whatever you wish in here," she gestured. "Just like your garden, only here you have all the supplies you can imagine." Drawing him with her now, she took him to one of the cubbies and pulled out a fat wad of direction manuals. "Here are lots of ideas, pictures of the things you could do. Hanging out in here for a while, watching the kids and parents, will help you understand human behavior a bit more, and get you used to the noise humans can make in a relaxed environment. I thought the crafts would give you something to do with your hands, if you get restless. I can cram your head with a million facts, but it won't mean as much until you spend time seeing things in action, mingling."

  "What is their purpose for doing this?" He nodded to the groups.

  "It varies. Some people come here as a way to unwind. Or to spend time with their kids, or with friends who like to do crafts as well."

  Spotting an empty place toward the back where they'd be in a corner facing the door, she gestured. "Why don't we sit there? You can watch and think about what you'd like to do."

  He nodded. Halfway to their table, he stopped by the child and mother making a castle out of sugar cubes. The boy was adding glitter to the upper turrets while the mother cut out construction paper flags to put on the top ramparts. She glanced up at Dante, did a double take, and Alexis moved in smoothly to his right. "That's lovely," she told the child, a boy with rumpled red hair and long-lashed green eyes. "Is it your castle, or someone else's?"

  He produced an action figure Alexis recognized from television. "Well, I think he'll be very happy with that."

  When Dante squatted down to the child-sized table to touch the castle, it placed him well within the mother's personal space buffer. She inched away, but Dante ignored her.

  He'd assessed her and determined her as harmless, Alexis realized. On top of that, he'd done what any dominant animal would do. Taken over her space and made her move, acknowledging his superiority. The child, not as attuned to such nuances, was across the table, studying him curiously. Dante picked up one of the cubes to examine it. Digging into the box of sugar cubes, the boy handed him one. "Eat this one instead. That has glue on it. Though be careful, cause if you eat too many, you can go crazy and drive your mommy into a loony bin. That's what Mama says."

  "Will," the mother began, but Dante took the cube. When he did, his larger fingers closed over the child's smaller ones. He stopped, going very still, and then closed his hand over the child's wrist, turning the palm.

  "Sir--"

  "My friend means him no harm." Alexis laid a hand on the woman's shoulder, giving her a strong push of calming energy. She was a fortyish woman with green eyes like her son, and laugh lines. Lex sensed a busy life, stresses over money, childcare . . . in short, a normal human, well balanced between the forces of good and evil. She was a good parent. "My friend has been in a special home, and hasn't seen a child in a very long time."

  "Why are your sunglasses so dark?" Will asked. "Are you blind?"

  "No." Dante stared at a scratch on the small palm. "How did that happen?"

  "School. I was playing kickball and fell down. But I kicked it really far. I get picked at least third when they're choosing teams. Try the sugar." He disentangled his hand from Dante's and extended it toward his mouth. "It's really good. I like sucking on it until it melts."

  After a pause, Dante opened his mouth and let Will put the sugar cube on his tongue. Alexis was relieved to note the gesture didn't noticeably expose his fangs. He closed his mouth, and his jaw moved, rolling the cube over his taste buds.

  "See? But remember, too many and you go craaazy." Will giggled. "Right, Mama?"

  Alexis smiled at him. Dante rose and jerked his head at their table, moving away toward it. Lex nodded to the boy and his mother. "He doesn't talk a lot, but he's happy to meet you." With a last bolstering shot for Will's mom, so she didn't run to the front desk and tell them there was an odd adult male touching the children, she followed Dante.

  The metal chairs were far too small for his large frame, but he perched gracefully enough, reminding her of how he'd looked like a hunting raptor when he crouched on the wall in Mina's cave. Alexis sat next to him. Cupping the back of her neck, he drew her toward his mouth. Knowing he intended to weaken her knees and flood her mind with warm molasses, she had a brief thought to stop him, not wanting to incite any more interest in their presence. But she suspected he would never permit her to deny him on this, which actually weakened her knees more. When he teased her lips apart this time, though, his kiss was mild. For him. Merely incendiary instead of full conflagration. She made a surprised noise as he tumbled the partially melted cube of sugar onto her tongue, bringing sweetness with the heat. He pulled back. "It is a different taste. But I prefer your blood."

  Alexis took in a steadying breath, wondering how many of those she would need before the end of the day. Hyperventilation was a real possibility. "I think meals should also be a private thing. Else they'll be calling the police."

  She had to explain how law enforcement worked, then, which he viewed with great suspicion. Soon after, she had him distracted with other things. He investigated glue, felt, sequins, pipe cleaners, clay, yarn. As he took things out of the cubbyholes, he left them wherever he put them down, moving on to the next thing which caught his interest. Alexis patiently returned them to their proper place, except when he said that he wanted to use something. Then she took it to their table.

  As she moved around, she noticed that when others came near him, even the children, he tensed, watching them closely and determining their intent before he returned to his own rummaging. In contrast, however she approached him, there was no tension when she laid a hand on his back or arm, as if he always was aware of her presence, no matter where she was.

  Bemused, she saw a small girl slip into the child-sized space between his body and the cubbies to squat down and pull construction paper out of the lower area. He watched her, tension turning to curiosity as she bit her lip with the effort of pulling the yellow out from beneath the red and brown. The curve of her young back pressed against his shins. Unconcerned by adult presence as children were, she rose after obtaining her objective, returning to her table.

  Shaking her head and holding on to her smile, Lex turned to organizing the items he'd wanted thus far in a way that ensured he had a clear work space. But when she returned to him, he'd changed tactics. He was putting away the things he'd been looking at while she was busy. As she approached, he looked toward an older girl working on a clay bunny. She gave him an approving nod, her multiple pigtails and bows nodding at different velocities.

  "She told me I had to put away my own things." He gestured at a rule board on the wall. "Every person cleans up their own mess. Not mommy or daddy, or even my friend. You."

  "Oh." She lifted a shoulder, not sure what to say to the faint accusation in his tone, even as her mouth quirked at his dutiful obedience to an imperious nine-year-old. "I like being considered your friend."

  He gave her an assessing look. "My mother said vampires have few close friends. She said we do not trust easily, and we are very territorial. A close friend was someone who could be trusted, relied upon to help if there was trouble. When I asked why her close friends didn't help her now, she said they were too far away to help. That they might not even know she was in trouble, because vampires often disappear for long periods of time."

  Looking down at the multicolored pom-poms he held, he closed his fingers over the soft give of the balls. "So far, it seems you are my friend."

  Her humo
r gone, Alexis nodded, closing her hand on his forearm. "I hope I am. But a close friend also looks out for your best interests, even if you don't agree with them. They have to be brave enough to risk the friendship, tell you the truth when you need to hear it."

  He gave her an ironic look. "So why didn't you tell me the rules? Why did you . . . clean up my mess?"

  Alexis sighed, gave him a helpless shrug. "Sometimes a friend also knows when to ease up. When you need room to figure things out, without a lot of interruptions."

  "All right." He digested that, turned toward their table. Before they got there, however, he stopped again, drawing her face up to meet his eyes. "A softhearted friend may give too much. Make herself too vulnerable, causing me to be more protective than she thinks I need to be."

  Alexis narrowed her gaze. "I'm sorry, we're only psychoanalyzing you today. You're the one from an alternate dimension."

  He raised an eyebrow, but before he could say anything else, the nine-year-old piped up. "You can't fight in here. That's rule number eight." She pointed to the board for emphasis.

  "No fighting," Dante agreed, glancing at Alexis. "You must accept my opinion, so we will not fight."

  Alexis had a colorful response to that, but she issued it in her mind so she didn't break rule number four. His mouth twisted, and she waited, hoping she might see his first smile. Instead, he gave her a quick look over the top of his glasses, his red eyes glinting with the promise of a retribution so adult, it wasn't covered on the rule board.

  "Behave," she whispered, though she couldn't help the shiver as he slid his knuckles down her arm.

  Fortunately, he did for a time. While he tried paints, clay and other mediums, each scrape of a chair on the floor, a higher decibel of laughter, would earn a quick tilt of his head, a flicker of the extraordinary eyes behind the glasses. When five women entered, a craft club who wanted to work on their scrapbooking, there was a new level of chatter and gossiping to assimilate. As she hoped, he appeared to be analyzing how children and adults alike interacted with one another.