“If you understand so well, why did you get yourself into this mess? I cannot get you out of it, but I’m going to ask you one favor. Please do your mother one favor.”
I feel as though I’m going to regret it, but I say, “What do you need me to do?”
“Do not speak to her. Not until the time comes to announce your engagement. Give it one year, then I will reconsider how I treat your future betrothed. A bottom feeder? What is the world coming to?”
My gaze meets my mother’s in surprise. Will she truly accept it? Maybe my mother is more reasonable than I ever thought. Maybe all this time that I’ve allowed myself to do those things which were dishonest to my heart, all that I had really done was give myself ulcers instead of harming anyone else. Maybe peace can still be found even while I am doing those things which make me happy instead of everybody else.
“Go to your nesting. I am tired, and I will have much hardship to face come morning.”
I nod her direction and then dash toward my nesting, my heart filled with the excitement of my mother’s partial approval. It is more than I expected—more than I had even hoped to gain. My heart beats wildly in my chest, and the morning sun could not come fast enough for me. What I need, what I want right now, is to see Verona.
The next morning, I go to see Verona’s father. I have no urge to go to schooling and to study. So instead I decide that I will keep my unspoken promise to Verona, and be sure that her father remains okay. When I reached the cove, three of the nestings are full. The healer is helping a couple in their nestings side-by-side. One male, one female. And then of course, there was the father whom I had come to visit. Across the expense between their nestings, the couple reach out their arms and hold each other’s hands.
I frown. While the healer talks to the couple, I settle in the sand next to Verona’s father. Verona’s father continues to look in the distance calling her name, and while I sit there, I hear him say many of the things that I heard from Verona about fear and other issues over the past few days. Her father must’ve been a wise man. How did he ever end up becoming a bottom feeder?
“Verona?” the old man whispers as he continues looking in the distance. He never really talks directly to me, or the healer, but he did talk directly to Verona every time. It makes me feel that maybe he does recognize her, even though he seems programmed to say the same thing over and over by his dementia.
I sigh and glance over at the healer and the couple in the nestings. The two of them continue to look at each other in a way that makes me feel uncomfortable. And why do they feel the need to touch each other in this manner publicly? They seem close, perhaps brother and sister, or maybe life-mates? None of the life-mates I’ve ever known show this level of affection. Something inside makes me desire that kind of relationship.
They are too busy for me to discuss things with them, so I decide to leave. The sky overhead is blackened by storm clouds. I feel that it’s about zenith, but I’m uncertain. As I pass by the schooling reef, I find it empty, but voices carry on the current.
“But, I’m lonely,” a whining female voice carries to me. The familiarity of the sound quivers my stomach and freezes me in my tracks. Stacia.
“You’re always lonely,” a familiar male voice answers from over the ridge of the reef. Brandeeb. “When are you going to get over being without your invalid brother?”
She lets out a long, loud sigh. “If only he’d never been injured. Twins are not meant to be so far apart.”
“You and your father sent him away, and now you’re salty about it?” My brother chuckles. “He’s ashore with the full moon last night. No changing that now.”
“I know it’s too late, but it doesn’t make it hurt less. In fact, it feels more permanent now.”
Gabriel went on land? Like a bottom feeder? I shake my head. No, not like a bottom feeder. Gabriel’s family is influential enough to have a proxy. So he wouldn’t be going on land alone, like a bottom feeder. Instead, he would have humans whose sole job was to take care of and protect Mer who go ashore.
Brandeeb sighs. “Fine, baby, I’ll make you feel better. You won’t be lonely as long as you’re with me. Come on, let’s go.”
I sink into the sand trying to digest everything I just heard. Because Gabriel was an invalid, they sent him ashore at the full moon? It makes me wonder if Stacia had been lying when she told me before that Gabriel was with his mother. No one knew where his mother went. Was it possible that she had gone ashore as well? How often did Mer go ashore and stay? Maybe this was why I had never seen a handicapped merman before. Which island would the proxy be on? Was Gabriel in Bermuda? The Outer Banks of North Carolina? Or one of the barrier islands in Virginia or Maryland? Would he go as far north as Long Island or Canada? My world suddenly didn’t seem so small. Overhead, lightning struck, brightening my surroundings in a surreal, shadowless glow.
A shiver runs down my spine, and I leap into the current. I swim through the rest of the township with my thoughts occupied. I find Kellum and Wade together, and they nod to me conspiratorially as I pass and continue northeast.
My mother had told me not to speak to her, so I stay at a distance and watch her again. I am so tempted to break my promise every time I see her face. Emotions I’m not supposed to have overwhelm me. Either way, I can keep my distance, and accept this as my life, because I know it’s temporary.
14
One year later…
At zenith, it had become my habit to swim northeast and find Verona. I came several times a week, usually, but I hadn’t been able to get out to the barrier island for three days. She doesn’t know I watch her, but every chance I get, I do. I know that she often sleeps in, because she stays up late watching television through the window of a house on the occupied island of Chincoteague. So, when I can’t find her on the shoreline of Assateague today, I don’t panic right away. Instead, I wait.
Waiting can be difficult, especially when you’re not a very patient person. Today is significant though, because I am finally allowed to speak to her. We are both of the age to be legally betrothed, allowing Verona to return to the township as a member of my own family until our marriage.
After waiting a short bit, I approach the rocky shoreline where she usually resides. I find her trove of collectibles that she had stored in a dry area of the rocks. When I break the surface of the water again, it takes me a moment before I can will myself to release the last of the water droplets of life from my lungs. When I take the first breath, my body racks with coughs, trying to dispel every last molecule.
On the shore, brown and white horses collect in a herd. I have even watched her interact with them. Excitement tingles my skin, as well as nerves. Because we have not spoken in over a year, I worry. Although she knows my intentions, I never was allowed to ask her for hers. Mer are not forced into marriage; we get to choose our life-mates. I have chosen her, but will she choose me?
I cannot imagine a reason for her to do so.
I scan over all of her things, and everything appears to be in the same order as I had spied months before, not much new. One of the first things I would love to have her do is get rid of that ugly sweater she had begun wearing in order to stay warm when she spends time with her top half above the surface of the water. I wait a few more moments, but she is still nowhere to be found. The sun is beginning to set, throwing orange hues across the blue sky. A breeze blows and picks up my wet curls. That’s a new feeling. And it’s one that makes me smile.
After I sink back below the surface, I allow the bubbles to escape my mouth and rise to the surface once more. The sweet ambrosia of saltwater enters my lungs with its soothing pressure. I swim along the coastline, keeping my eyes open for where she might be, but it’s no use. First, I decide to go north and find the cave where she had helped me recuperate. The narrow passage to the bioluminescent cave doesn’t feel so small, or the path so long. The cave itself seems to expand forever, and I called into it, “Verona?”
Her name echo
es off the sides of the wall, and that in itself makes me feel nostalgic. Nothing in the cave seems to have been touched since the day we had left it together. Satisfied, I head back out of the cave, and then I decide to cover the opening once more with stones. They will help me to know whether she is there or not next time, and it just seems to be right. Once finished, I head south again. Darkness has fallen. And now the worry begins to set in.
I can’t find her. I head into the channel where I know it’s too early. There will be boats gliding along the surface heading in both directions, and I should stay away. But my heart is racing, and I feel cold in the base of my stomach. Where could she have gone? All this time she had found safety, with me watching over her and keeping other Mer away. She had to know that I was the source of her safety, even if we didn’t speak. In the darkness, I swim through the channel, weaving around the ropes and flotation devices which are attached to the crab pots in great number. When I reach the shore where Verona would regularly watch TV, my heart skips a beat.
Verona sits upon the pier of the house next door. From a distance, I break the surface of the water to get a clearer view, holding my breath of saltwater. Her hair is more golden in the waning moonlight. And my gaze fixes on her long, white legs, dangling just above the surface of the water.
The full moon had been a few nights ago, and she went ashore. The overwhelming cacophony of insects and frogs drown out the many questions I have, but the biggest one, is “Why?” A breeze picks up and blows her hair around her face. She pushes the long tendrils back behind her ears. She’s watching something in the distance, and my heart breaks looking at her. Why do I feel such a sense of dread?
A human man approaches her from the house, and I slip below the surface of the water. My lungs had been ready to burst, and now I release the breath of seawater I’d been holding. This couldn’t be right. She had said she had no intention of going on land. Why did she decide to now?
Large, bare feet break the surface of the water near where Verona had been sitting. The young man sits next to her. His deep voice warns her, “What are you doing? You’ll fall in.”
His hands are on her shoulders. My heart sinks further.
“No, I won’t,” Verona says, shrugging from his grip. She leans back, and her feet break the surface of the water. If I reach forward, I could take hold of her foot and pull her in. But it wouldn’t help anything.
“So now you’re an expert at being contrary?” the young man asks. It had only been a few days. How could he be so familiar with her already?
Verona pulls her feet from the water, and the two of them continue talking. I listen to them laugh and talk about the stars. The young man doesn’t trip over his words the way I always do. He says things as he feels and doesn’t worry about reason or emotion. A pinprick of jealousy spikes in my heart for the human boy.
Eventually, the two of them leave me by the pier, and I break the surface of the water once more. I watch the two of them walk together, much more comfortable with each other’s presence than Verona and I have been together. I shake my head and sink below the waterline. No. She and I are of the same kind. I can wait.
I stay nearby the shore, waiting, watching, not sure what to do next. I need to see her, to speak to her. But for now, I’ll wait.
The End
Thanks for reading!
About the Author
Pauline Creeden is an award-winning, USA Today Bestselling Author of contemporary fantasy, apocalyptic thrillers, and steampunk. She tries to keep her stories bright and inspirational but reflective of the dark world surrounding us. Caught in the Current is a part of her series of Mermaid Tales. Look for Scales and Salt to read more about Verona and Bailey.
Read More from Pauline Creeden
http://paulinecreeden.com
Serial Killer Princess
A Magical Romantic Comedy (with a body count)
RJ Blain
Serial Killer Princess
A Magical Romantic Comedy (with a body count)
by RJ Blain
* * *
Copyright © 2017 by RJ Blain
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Warning: This novel contains excessive humor, action, excitement, adventure, magic, romance, and bodies. Proceed with caution.
Why would anyone think putting a mermaid and a gorgon in the same room together was a good idea? While Tulip enjoys being alive, her lineage brings her nothing but trouble.
Snakes eat fish, and the mer love tearing apart their serpentine nemeses with their hands and teeth. As for the gorgons… she’d rather not think about them at all.
The last thing Tulip wants is to rule the mer kingdom. First, she can barely swim. Second, she’s packing more than her fair share of her father’s genes. Third, what is a landlocked princess supposed to do with an aquatic kingdom?
If she gets her way, nothing. Add in her dirty little serial killing secret, and she’s an international disaster waiting to happen.
There’s just one small problem: for better or worse, her father’s bodyguard is tempting her to change her ways and contemplate the stable sort of life reserved for normal people.
Nothing about her is normal, and she likes it that way—or so she thought.
1
What the hell did a girl need to do to catch a break? I’d spent the worst six months of my entire fucking life hunting a limp dick with a complex so I could finally wring the life out of his wretched little body only to discover someone had gotten to him first. To add insult to injury, I could’ve done a better—and more interesting—job with a rusty spoon. Forget a rusty spoon, I could do things with a toothpick capable of making detectives weep.
Where was the art in a slit throat? Matthew Henders hadn’t slit the throats of victims. He was the take them home, lock them in his basement, and rape them kind, and he didn’t give a shit what species or gender his victims were. I would’ve done such a better job of murdering him, and I resented the piss poor albeit effective technique.
Who slit a serial killer’s throat and left his body lying around for anyone to find? What ever happened to the artistry of a good premeditated murder?
I’d spent months planning his death, right down to the day and time, exactly ten years to the minute after his first killing. I scowled at the body, which was sprawled on his front step, and heaved a sigh. Twice. One sigh simply wasn’t sufficient. It had to be two. Three was a bit too dramatic, even for me.
Since finding his body on his doorstep wasn’t part of my plan, I did the only sensible thing a woman posing as a mail courier could do. I screamed, I flailed, I flung his package up and over my head in the general direction of the street, and screamed some more. Instead of wasting half a year hunting an asshole serial killer, I should’ve gone to Hollywood and made some money screaming for pay.
I could teach sirens a thing or two about a good, shrill scream, and if those bitches tried to tell me otherwise, I’d break their teeth before taking my time finding an appropriately gruesome way to kill them. Sirens counted as serial killers. Sailors around the world would thank me for thinning their population.
And since my day wasn’t sucking enough already, Matthew Henders’s box exploded.
Why did I always get the mail bombs? Oh, right. I liked posing as a delivery girl when hunting serial killers. I really needed a new life—or a better gig. Instead of a mail courier, I’d switch to pizza. At least pizzas smelled good and didn’t tend to blow up in my face.
As far as bombs went, I’d gotten a small one. I could deal with small ones. I could even deal with them while flat on my back on my target’s sidewalk, little bright bubbles of light swirling prettily in front of my eyes, the shit stunned out of me. Fortunately for my dig
nity and pride, it wasn’t literal shit.
There was an entire chapter in the Modern Guide to Being a Princess handbook dedicated to the subject of bodily functions. Under no circumstances did a princess have the shit startled out of her. A feminine scream, even a piercing one, was permitted, but there was a solid ban against brown trousers time. The handbook’s author also had opinions about princesses who had the piss scared out of them, too.
In a word, no.
I really hated that book. It sucked the joy out my life.
At least it didn’t have anything in it banning lying prone on the ground in a dead man’s blood. My blood was a different matter.
According to the Modern Guide to Being a Princess, princesses farted floral-scented rainbows, always found someone to bleed for them, and cared more about their nails than life itself. I had three words to say to the author of the book the next time I saw the bitch: fuck that shit.
Unfortunately for me, the bitch was my mother.
One day, I’d take my mother to task for her stupid idea of a joke. What sort of mermaid queen wrote a handbook for a land-locked princess? Her stupid little handbook, a mocking Christmas present meant to remind me she hadn’t forgotten about me, had made the rounds, polluting the bookshelves of royal families around the world. I bet my father and his hive of gorgon ladies had a copy just to spite me. I’d never even met the man, not that I wanted to.
All of life’s problems began and ended with mermaids and gorgons, and I did my best to avoid both sides of the fence.
Sirens and Scales Page 30
