Haunted

by Joy Preble

  “And so you see.” Lily breathes into my ear. She’s walking beside me, and the water’s up to my waist now. “I would rather not. But it really isn’t up to me, is it?”

  As if to purposely contradict this, she drags me backward through the water to the shallows, and when I stumble, she pulls me by the hair. Her nails dig into my scalp. I stumble again, and my back slaps against the water, and then I’m under, struggling on the hard sand beneath. At least three rusalkas materialize from somewhere and nowhere and press their hands on my chest and arms and legs, holding me to the bottom. The memory of Lena’s father flashes through my mind. The water I’m in is shallow—but it doesn’t take much for a man to drown.

  “She’ll come for you, Ethan,” I hear Lily say from above me. “Have faith in my granddaughter. She’ll help you.” She yanks my hair again, and for a few sweet seconds, my head surfaces long enough for me to suck in a few breaths. Then she lets the others push me under once more. My head slams against something hard and sharp, and for a few terrifying seconds, I think I’m going to black out.

  I try to conjure up what little magic I’ve got left. I know it’s there, under the skin—I saw that when Anne’s power mingled with mine yesterday. If I can harness it, I can get out of here.

  “Or maybe she won’t,” Lily calls to me. “Maybe what you had with her last night is all you’re going to have. Maybe someone like you just shouldn’t hope for more. Like me and my Misha. And my darling Laura. Maybe you get what you get, and then that’s it. Don’t be so selfish, Ethan. You’ve wasted at least two lives. What gives you the right to hope for more? Love? It’s just an illusion. It doesn’t keep you from dying, now does it? You’re a man. The least you can do is die like one. Anne will get over you. She’s like me. And her mother. And those that came before us. She’ll go on.”

  I struggle to stand and manage a small protection spell. I feel a brief, grim satisfaction when the two of the rusalkas shriek in pain, let go, and thrash away. The third moans, then shifts her skeletal grip to my throat. My arms free, I attempt to wrench her hands from my neck. The blackness threatens to descend. I refuse to allow myself the fear, but it comes anyway. I’ve lived this long only to die here in the water. The girl I’ve let myself love will find my body on the beach. Or worse, never see me again. Forgive me, Anne, I think. Will you forgive me for dying like this without being able to even hear you say good-bye?

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” The voice I hear then isn’t Lily’s. Or the rusalka’s. Or Anne’s. “What kind of horrible grandmother are you? I mean, I know you’re a cursed mermaid and all, but give me a break. Enough with the Russian melodrama. Everyone doesn’t have to die in every story. Can’t one of you get on board with living happily ever after? ’Cause Anne’s my best friend. Ethan might be an idiot, but he’s her idiot. So why don’t you just leave him alone? Besides, you’re her grandmother—so going after her boyfriend is just plain creepy. Or am I the only one who’s noticed that?”

  If there’s real fear—and I’m sure there is—under Tess’s bravado, I don’t hear it in her voice. But maybe that’s because I’m still gasping for air when, clearly furious at the interruption, the remaining rusalka lets me go, whirls around, and begins advancing on Tess, who’s somehow waded out into the lake, seemingly to save me. I heave myself up and suck in air.

  Then so much happens at once that I find it hard to keep track. Above us, the thunderclouds split open. Baba Yaga swoops down in her mortar. Over on the beach, a tan Volvo sedan squeals to a stop at the water’s edge. The doors fling open. From the driver’s side, Anne hurtles herself toward us, followed in quick succession by Ben and Anne’s mother.

  Even the rusalkas seem startled.

  “Are you going to help me now?” Anne screams up at Baba Yaga. “I mean, honestly, what kind of useless witch are you? The least you could have done was fly us all here, rather than make me drive my mother’s car!”

  “Laura,” Lily sighs. Then more loudly, “Laura. Don’t come any closer. Please, don’t. I can’t be with you. Not yet.”

  “Took you long enough!” Tess calls to them. “I thought you’d never get here! They were trying to drown him, you know. In fact, I think they still are.”

  “Which one?” Mrs. Michaelson says. She’s shifting her gaze from rusalka to rusalka. “Which one is she?”

  I look over at Lily, but she’s disappeared. The rest of her rusalka spell still fogging my head disappears with her.

  “Get out of the water!” I push Tess toward the beach. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to even be here?”

  “Do you have any idea how dead you were about to be unless I did something?”

  The words aren’t even out of her mouth when the blond rusalka—the one who’d been wearing Tasha Levin’s face—grabs Tess, and in a blink of an eye, pulls her through the small rush of waves. She’s out of reach and beyond standing depth before I can react.

  Just like that, they both slip under the water.

  “No!” Anne rushes into the lake, her hair wild around her from the rain and wind. “No! Tess! Tess!”

  It takes all the strength I have left to stop her from swimming after them. “You can’t,” I say. “Don’t. You can’t—”

  I feel Ben race into the water before I even turn to see him. He wades swiftly to us. “What are you waiting for? Someone has to go after her. Jesus, Anne. I can’t even see her anymore, but it’s not that deep out there. I’ll dive under. Don’t worry. I can find her.” He stops only to slam his fist into my jaw. “Whatever this all is, Ethan, it came with you. So what are you going to do about it? Just stand here? I’m going after Tess. One of you needs to call 911, get a boat or something. I don’t know why no one’s around—so call and get someone the hell out here.”

  He wades past us and hits the water smoothly, starts to swim with long, even strokes. The rusalkas, bobbing in the water, begin to smile at Ben in their very inhuman way.

  “Ben, no! Wait! Ben! You can’t fight them this way! You don’t know what you’re dealing with. You’re not going to help Tess. You’re just making it worse.” Anne manages to grab his ankle, but he kicks free of her, leaving her sputtering lake water in his wake.

  “They enchanted him or something. I thought it had worn off, but I don’t know. Ethan, the rusalkas attacked us at the store. They took Mrs. Benson. I think they—God, Tess. Ben.”

  “I need to you calm down.” I feel a trickle of blood oozing from what feels like a split lip from Ben’s fist. Over Anne’s shoulder, I see one of the rusalkas swimming in tandem with Ben, matching him stroke for stroke. Above us, Baba Yaga continues to circle in her mortar. “I need you to breathe. I need you to focus, Anne. I can help you, but I can’t do it without you. That’s how it’s been—you know that—and that’s how it is now. So breathe. And think.”

  “But Ben—I can’t just let him swim after her. I can’t! But if he doesn’t, then Tess—”

  “Stop. Breathe. Think.”

  On the beach, Mrs. Michaelson is shouting something. Overhead, the witch laughs. “Girl!” she howls into the wind. “Girl! Your man can’t help you. Only I can do that. I think you need to promise me now. Promise me that you’ll drink from my stream. Promise, and then see what you can do. You are mine, girl! You’ve always been mine. It’s been your destiny—everything and everyone leading you to this moment!”

  “Don’t tell me about my destiny! If you won’t help Tess, then don’t tell me anything at all!” Anne grabs my hand in hers. We stand in the water, the rain pouring on us, thunder booming, lightning flashing jagged edges through the purple sky. Her skin against mine. I feel when Anne focuses and centers, feel as she draws her power up and outward until it rests just under her skin.

  “Ya dolzhen,” I begin. And then again in English, “I must.” I squeeze Anne’s hand in mine. “We need to bring them all to us. Safely. Breathing. We may end up bringing the rusalkas too, but we’ll deal with that when we get Tess back. Concentrate. We can
—you can do this. I’m here with you. Don’t look at Baba Yaga. Just hold my hand and focus. Focus, Anne. Tess needs you. Ben needs you.” I need you. And I’ll lose you if I don’t help you do this—maybe even if I do.

  “What if I can’t?” Anne says. She tries to pull her hand from mine, but I hold tight.

  “Of course you can. You know you can. You’ve been able to for a long time. Don’t wait any longer, Anne! You can’t wait! You have to act! I’m here. I love you. I’m here.”

  If she’s heard anything I’ve just said, she doesn’t give me a sign. Even in the freezing water and the icy downpour, her hand feels warm as I link my fingers with hers. I savor the feel of it, even though I know it’s just the magic—Anne’s magic now, not really mine.

  “Don’t let go of me,” Anne says. “Do you feel it? I’m stronger with you here. Help me, Ethan. Please. Oh, my God—Tess. She could be—and Ben—we need to do this. Now!”

  I close my eyes. I don’t remind her how little magic I really have, or tell her that accessing it is like scooping water from a well that’s almost dry. I just hold her hand and tether her to me. It isn’t enough. It probably never will be. But it’s all I have.

  FRIDAY, 2:28 pm

  ANNE

  I can do this. I can do this. Both hands out in front of me, Ethan’s fingers still linked with those of my left hand. Visualize what I want. But what is that? Think. Think!

  In my mind, I picture Tess. Blond hair, denim skirt, footless tights, T-shirt. Tess Edwards. I say her name over and over, because names are important and powerful, and even if they aren’t, it feels like the right thing to do. Then I hear myself scream without knowing that I’ve even made the sound, because out in the lake, one of the rusalkas edges closer to Ben.

  “Ben! God, Ben! Come back!” Can he hear me? Can we save them both?

  “Promise me, girl!” Baba Yaga says again. I refuse to listen. I can’t listen.

  “I can’t. Ethan, I can’t. I can’t think. Help me think!”

  Ethan’s grip tightens. I feel him hesitate. Then he pulls me to him, cups my face with his hands and kisses me. “Whatever I have left in me, let it go to her.” His voice is fierce as he speaks the words against my lips. “Ya dolzhen. I must. Ya dolzhen. I must. Ya dolzhen. Let her take what has been mine. Let it be hers.”

  The force of what he’s just offered smacks into me like the waves crashing against us. “No, Ethan! Don’t! You shouldn’t!” Before the words are out of my mouth, I feel a surge of energy course through me, rushing from toes to my scalp, more potent than when we opened the locked gate at the pool, stronger even than when I wrapped my hand around his and healed his cut.

  “Shh,” he says. “It’s done.”

  I start to protest again, but he places a finger on my lips. “It’s the only way I can help you.”

  A million thoughts race through my mind, but only one stands out. I need to save Tess and Ben. I close my eyes. There’s no time to think about how I’m going to do this, so I just focus on getting it done. Picture them both coming back to me in the first image that pops into my head. Waves.

  “Anne.” Ethan’s voice is low and steady, so low I can barely hear him above the roar of the surf that now crashes into our legs, slapping hard enough that I’m knocked off balance every few seconds. My feet shift in the sand at the bottom of the lake. “Anne,” Ethan says again. “Can you control this? Anne. You need to open your eyes.”

  He says it like you’d tell someone to bring you a drink or pass the salt—no hint of panic or anything. Just hey, Anne, could you do this little thing for me, please?

  Lake Michigan has waves. In storms, they get dangerous. The undertow can be deadly. But what I see when I open my eyes is more than deadly. It’s huge. Tsunami huge. And it’s chugging steadily toward us. A rusalka dances on the crest of it, her tail beating against the water, her arms fluttering in the air like she’s conducting an invisible symphony.

  “You need to push it back,” Ethan tells me. “You need to hold it.” His voice is still unnaturally calm.

  I, however, am not.

  “I can’t! Did I do that? How the hell did I do that? I’ve killed them, Ethan! I know it! I’ve killed them! Shit! Shit! What am I supposed to do?”

  “No choice, Anne. Stop talking. You need to hold that thing off and lower it. Lessen it. That’s what you need to visualize.”

  Visualize? Everything is as wrong as it can possibly be. For the millionth time in the past few minutes, I wonder why Baba Yaga has appeared if she’s doing nothing to intervene. Except maybe that’s the whole point—some kind of sick challenge to see if I’m worthy of something I don’t even want.

  “Make her help me!” I’m crying now, clutching at Ethan. “Don’t any of you understand that I don’t know what I’m doing?”

  “Anne. Stop! There’s no time. You need to do it now.”

  I glance back at the beach. My mother is standing there, staring out beyond us to the impossibly large wave of doom that continues to push toward shore. Lily stands near her, but Mom seems unaware of her presence. It’s just another crazy piece of this whole mess: a rusalka who wants me to give her a chance for vengeance. A witch who won’t explain herself. And the rest of us out here in the water, where we’ll probably die if I don’t get my act together. Not exactly how I planned on spending the first week of my summer vacation.

  It’s the absurd humor of that last thought that actually yanks me out of the paralyzing fear that Ben and Tess might be lost forever: the ridiculous realization that other girls might spend their summer getting a tan, earning money, and hanging out with their friends. But I was never going to be one of them. Why? Because I have a destiny. And a formerly immortal guy who’s given me magic and told me he loved me, possibly because he figured I was too panicked to hear him. I’ve just outed my magical self to my mother. My boss—the one with a secret identity—my best friend, and my almost former boyfriend have been dragged off by mermaids. And if I don’t pull off a miracle in the next five seconds, we’ll all be pulverized by the humongous wave I’ve conjured up while trying to save everyone.

  “Ah.” Baba Yaga is still above me, but her voice feels like it’s inside my head. “That’s my girl.”

  This time, I ignore her.

  “Ya dolzhen!” I call to the wave. I have no earthly idea if I need to start like Ethan did or if I’m even saying it correctly, but I figure it can’t hurt. The words feel potent, and I need to feel strong. “I must.”

  I force myself past my main desire right now—which is to squeeze my eyes shut and just pretend this all isn’t happening.

  “Ya dolzhen!” I shout into the wave that’s riding toward us, impossibly tall. And then, because it feels more like me, “You need to listen to me, wave. You will do what I say. You will not kill my friends. You will not let the rusalkas take them. Whatever I have—whatever it is that I’ve been given—it’s mine now. I am not Baba Yaga. And I am not Lily. I’m Anne. And you will listen to me. You will give me back my friends.”

  “Keep going,” Ethan says. I risk a quick glance at him. His blue eyes are as intense as I’ve ever seen them. His jaw is set tightly, and his thick brown hair is blowing in the wind. “I’m here. I won’t leave you, no matter what happens. I’m here, Anne. Keep visualizing what you want.” He nods at me, then sloshes through the water to stand hip to hip with me.

  My own hair whips around my face, and because it distracts me, I pull Lily’s hair clip from where it’s still shoved into my pocket. I snap it into my hair so quickly and clumsily that I scrape my temple—hard—as I do so. But it’s not just to keep my hair out of my eyes. I need Lily to think that I’m on her side. If she and the witch are both unpredictable, then maybe that’s what I need to be too. Let her think that I’ll do her bidding, that when this is over, I’ll go back to Baba Yaga’s hut and let Viktor free. If they can be cagey about everything, well, so can I.

  I stare down the wave. It’s so close now that I don’t have time to th
ink about anything else except what I want. Tess and Ben. Tess and Ben. A smaller wave that does no harm. A wave that won’t kill us all. Keep me safe. And Ethan. And my mother, whose life just got as crazy as mine and who—I realize with a sharp pang of fear—has just waded into the water next to me and Ethan.

  Mom’s hair is plastered to her head. Her white blouse is ripped and splattered with mud from the rain and blood is oozing from a cut on her forehead. She pulls on my arm. “You can’t stay out here, Anne! Look at that! What are you doing? It’s going to kill you! It’s going to kill us all! Please, get out of the water!”

  “Mom, no. I can’t talk right now. It’s going to be okay. You need to let me do this.” My fingers suddenly ache to press themselves to my mother’s forehead, to heal that cut, which wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t for all this mess.

  “Do what? What is it that you think you can do?”

  Ethan moves around from the other side of me. “Mrs. Michaelson. Laura. She can’t listen to you right now. You’re not helping her. You have to believe me.”

  I tell myself to block out whatever else they say to each other. I can’t block out my mother’s presence next to me, though, so I use it to intensify my focus. If I don’t finish this right now, then my father will lose both of us. Our family has lost enough. I can’t let that happen to him.

  So I take all of it: the pain and the fear and my magic mingle inside me with Ethan’s. With whatever it is that connects me now to something greater than myself. “Let me do this,” I say. “Please. Please! Please let me do this!” The wave is so close now that its own power crashes against me as I fight to control it.

  I force myself to imagine a calm day at the beach. I’m walking along the shoreline with Ethan and Tess and Ben. Other people sun themselves on towels. A guy in board shorts, hooked up to his iPod, jogs at the water’s edge. A boy about six is building a sand castle. The sun is shining, and in my mind’s eye, I see a school of silver fish darting through the water. In the distance, a sailboat steers south. Farther out, a couple of tankers chug along slowly. I can make out the water pumping station in the distance, the red buoys bobbing peacefully. A lifeguard sits atop his tall white stand, his nose covered in zinc oxide. The old lighthouse sits behind us, and farther west, on Sheridan Road, traffic moves steadily.