When in human form, mermen liked prettying themselves up almost as much as they enjoyed sharing a bed with human women.
Overnight, my island had gotten very popular for some reason. I supposed I needed to thank my mother for conquering a profitable place for me to live; the resort was like a palace, although most of the staff had no idea I was actually a princess. When I was perfectly honest about it, it was one of my favorite places in the world, and I even booked my own room pretending I didn’t have the best suite all to myself if I wanted it.
Unfortunately, it was also a favored spot for the mermen to visit, and once one of them saw me, they blabbed. I suspected they’d helped my mother enforce one of the more annoying chapters in the Modern Guide to Being a Princess, the one that insisted princesses remain virgins until married.
That rule my lovely mother had broken by having me in the first place, as she didn’t have a ring on her finger, not that mermaids wore rings. Mermen marked their territory with their teeth, leaving a nice set of scars on their mermaid to declare she belonged to someone. The mermaids left their marks, too—and enforced their claim with the threat of biting off something most mermen were rather fond of.
I was almost a hundred percent certain no one had gotten their teeth on my mother. Almost. If someone had, he’d put his teeth somewhere rather private, and if so, I didn’t want to know anything about it.
Did the kitchen have any poison? Indulging in a large swallow of some toxic substance seemed a lot safer than thinking about my mother like that.
Fortunately for me, before I could continue my downward spiral into parent-induced insanity, the kitchen staff finished cleaning, and one of them took my cart on a stroll. I kept my coils lifted, safe from the wheels, and watched the floor so my scales wouldn’t rasp against the tiles. An elevator took us to the ground floor, and from there, to an indoor garage, up a ramp, and into a waiting truck.
I would’ve thought anything dealing with food would’ve been transported in a refrigerated vehicle, but I ended up packed in with a bunch of boxes, the humid air smothering. Waiting until several men shut the doors, I untangled myself from the frame and explored my getaway truck. A lazy packer meant lots of spaces between the boxes, and I hid behind a few, close enough to the doors I could make my escape at the first opportunity, but not so close I’d be spotted.
For not actually having a plan, it had gone off without a hitch. Hissing my satisfaction, I settled in to wait. The truck bounced and rattled as it increased its speed. Within a few minutes, the driver killed the engine, someone opened the back, and promptly wandered away.
I was surrounded by idiots.
Darkness and rain-slicked asphalt greeted me, and I bailed from my getaway vehicle, lifting my head for a better look around. I darted across an empty parking lot to where it met the curb, hissing my displeasure at the miserable weather. Once on the grass, I coiled up and took a better look around.
I recognized the discount fruit and vegetable market, a hefty hike from my apartment. It would take me the better part of two or three hours to reach Lake Superior’s shores near my home. Hissing my discontent, I went about it, determined to sleep in my own bed and lick my wounds—and toss back a few painkillers to banish my headache.
The entire way, I kept close to the curb and used my dark gray body to hide in the shadows and avoid drawing attention to myself. Most times, I rather enjoyed my length, but when I wanted to be subtle, I envied average black mambas, which averaged between six and nine feet long. Fortunately, the streets were mostly empty, and I pegged the time at between two to four in the morning. At four, the morning rush hour started, and I definitely didn’t want to be caught outside when dawn came.
Sometimes, I really hated Minnesota. No matter what time of year, when it rained, it got too cold for me, and it didn’t matter if I had skin or scales. By the time I reached the two-story apartment building several blocks from the water, I wanted to hibernate for a month. Hibernation, however, wasn’t in the cards.
A pissy Terrance stood on my doorstep arguing with my suspected father, one Mr. Shiny Shoes, who I recognized from his snakes and his wet, shiny shoes.
A brief eavesdrop informed me Terrance refused to indulge in Mr. Shiny Shoes’s base desire to petrify my front door and smash his way inside. I’d have to make my mother give the merman a raise. Petrifying and smashing my door in would lose me my security deposit, and if they cost me my security deposit, I’d be pissed.
So much for heading to my nice bed, popping painkillers, and taking a nap. At least I’d get the jump on them. I took the long way around to the back of the apartment building, climbed the rain spout, and entered my apartment through a two-inch hole I’d drilled through the wall behind the pipe and had covered with several metal plates I could nose out of the way to let myself in and out as I pleased. Infiltration complete, I went into my bedroom, shifted, quietly changed into my pajamas, and tip-toed my way to my front door to listen to the two outside devolve into one-word, single-celled amoebas.
Men. Why couldn’t they expand their discussion beyond childish yes and no battles of stubborn pride? Under the cover of them snarling at each other, I unlocked my door, yanked it open, sided with Terrance, and barked, “No. Go away. You’ll wake the neighbors and the dead down the block.”
I shut the door with a firm thump and engaged the locks—both of them.
“Princess Tulip!” Terrance must have been reading the Modern Guide to Being a Princess, too, as he had mastered wailing.
“Have you been in there the whole time?” Mr. Shiny Shoes demanded.
“Are you going to stay out there and bother me all night long if I don’t let you in?”
“Yes,” both replied.
I thought about it, and ultimately, curiosity got the better of me. Unlocking my door, I opened it just enough to indicate they could enter. “Fine. But if you even think about dragging me back to that prison, I’m going to test out how many of my mother’s stupid rules I can break in five minutes.”
“Haven’t you broken enough of them for one day?” Terrance complained, stepping inside before dipping into a short bow. “Your Highness.”
“You fucking owe me a lollipop, Terrance. I’m pretty sure you’re the reason I didn’t get one.”
Mr. Shiny Shoes followed my mother’s head of security into my apartment, and unlike the first time I’d seen him, his black mambas draped over his shoulders, snoozing as far as I could tell. Lucky bastards. I’d show them all I was a better black mamba. Maybe Mr. Shiny Shoes had a baker’s dozen, but I could eat his for breakfast.
“Really, Your Highness? You don’t need a lollipop.” Terrance took a long look at my living room, most of his attention focusing on my couch and coffee table, which still had the ruins of my breakfast on it. “You need a maid.”
Shooting the merman a glare, I snatched the dirty plate, scraped it, and dumped it in the sink along with the rest of my dishes. At least they didn’t smell—I’d made a point of rinsing them off with dish soap before my ill-fated outing to kill my target. My close proximity to my sink put me in easy reach of my dart gun, which could deliver enough sedative to take them out far faster than they could react. I even had some rather lethal ones hidden around in case of emergency. I hadn’t enjoyed the process of milking my own fangs for venom, but I found the results worthwhile.
“It’s not like I was expecting company or a mail bomb today,” I countered, opening the door beneath the sink to get my dish gloves and my dart gun. Temptation, thy name was Terrance—and dear old dad, who had purchased me from my mother for a dollar. Death was too good of a fate for my parents, so I’d enjoy a long life of torturing them, beginning with a little humiliation. Thus armed, I slapped the rubber gloves to the countertop. “In case it has slipped your notice, I’m an adult.”
“You’re a mailman.” Scorn dripped from Terrance’s words, relieving me of any guilt from what I was about to do to him. “You have been caught in the blast of what, five mail
bombs now? You’re not just a mailman. You’re a cursed mailman.”
“I prefer the term courier.” I faked a sniffle. “At least make sure the door’s locked if you’re going to be bothering me. I’ve got enough of a headache without having to worry about any unwanted visitors.”
Mr. Shiny Shoes turned to check the door, and his movement drew Terrance’s attention away from me.
If Terrance found out how many hours I’d spent at a gun range over the years, he would’ve been proud of me. One dart would fully knock someone out within a minute or two, rendering them helpless within a few heartbeats. I nailed both men in the shoulder, smiling while they stiffened. So close to the brain, it wouldn’t take long for them to fall prey to the drug. Terrance even managed to raise his hand to reach for the little dart embedded in his skin, swaying on his feet. With dart gun in hand, I strolled to them, ready to help them to the floor so they wouldn’t get hurt.
Mr. Shiny Shoes almost managed to turn before he slumped, and I caught hold of his suit in a fisted hand, easing his descent. Terrance didn’t last much longer, and I caught most of his weight with my shoulder, kneeling between them and chuckling softly while they fought to retain consciousness.
I smiled and patted my mother’s head of security on the cheek. “Next time, remember I’m a big girl, ne? Nighty night, Terrance.” Sliding my gaze to Mr. Shiny Shoes, I waved. “Nighty night to you, too, Mr. Shiny Shoes. Nice meeting you. Have a nice nap.”
I gave my victims five minutes to make certain they were fully under before I went to work. First, I removed the darts and checked the wounds to confirm they weren’t bleeding much. Once confident I hadn’t done permanent damage, I relieved them of their jackets and unbuttoned their shirts. As far as sedatives went, the one I favored packed a punch, but it tended to make my victims sweat. Partial nudity would be a lot more comfortable for them, and it’d make them both ask questions. After I dragged them in front of the air conditioner to keep them cool until they woke up, I drew little kisses on them in bright red lipstick to add to their morning dose of panic.
To my relief, both kept their cell phones and wallets in their jackets, and I relieved Terrance of four guns so he wouldn’t shoot someone—me—when he woke up. Suspicious, I patted him down and even checked his shoes, discovering a little derringer hidden in his sock.
Sneaky Terrance. I claimed the tiny, one-round gun as punishment for letting me get the drop on him so easily.
I gave them both a check over, timed their pulses, and determined they would emerge from sedation without issue. I had a counter handy if something went south, and I even had a few emergency tricks up my sleeve, but I preferred a slick, clean job—one that didn’t result in my victim needing a trip to the hospital.
The people I sent to the hospital arrived in body bags.
I began with Terrance, checking through his cards and cash for anything of interest. I found two copies of my birth certificate, both marked with the Flandersmythe family seal and a sunburst seal, except the rays were serpent heads. After meeting Mr. Shiny Shoes, I had no doubts they were meant to depict black mambas. According to the paper, my father’s name was Rufus Dimitri Calens, and I’d never let him live it down.
Rufus was about as bad as Tulip, and if I found out he had anything to do with my name, he’d suffer for eternity. Taking Mr. Shiny Shoes’s wallet, I sifted through the cards until I located his driver’s license. Sure enough, I held the identification of one Rufus D. Calens, resident of South Dakota.
How sweet, hopping over the Minnesota border to see me wearing a hospital gown, daring to smugly inform me my ways of escape were blocked. He deserved a good sedation. Like Terrance, dear old dad had a copy of my birth certificate folded in his wallet. The five pictures caught me by surprise, though. One from when I’d been a baby, three had been taken upon discovering my mother had conquered another island, capturing my speechless fury, and the final one was of me arguing with my mother. Judging from the copy of her precious little handbook in my hand, it had taken been over Christmas.
A closer inspection of his wallet determined my father had three black credit cards, the type without a spending limit reserved for disgustingly wealthy people. Great. My mother had sold me for a dollar to a guy who didn’t need a single one of her pennies. A phone rang, and I fished out my father’s phone from his coat.
According to the display, it was one of his security people, Justin Brandywine.
Hello, opportunity. So nice of it to give me a call. Sliding my finger across the display, I answered, “Hello, Mr. Brandywine.”
Startled silence, then a barked demand, “Who is this?”
“Don’t be too concerned, Mr. Brandywine. I’m not holding your charge hostage or for ransom. He just needed knocked down a few pegs. I thought I’d answer his phone for him while he was taking a little nap. I suppose if it makes you feel better, I could hold him for ransom?”
The long-suffering sigh on the other end of the line was music to my ears. “I’d like to verify Mr. Calens’s safety before we continue.”
I grabbed Terrance’s phone and tested his old passcode, which still worked. “I should be scolding you for leaving him unattended. Really. You do him absolutely no good if you aren’t nearby.”
“Who says I’m not?”
“I do.” The pops from my dart gun were noisy enough anyone nearby the property would’ve heard them, although they were far softer than the concussive blast of gunfire. Anyway, I’d checked around the complex while sneaking in, and if he’d been on the block, I would’ve spotted him. “He ran away, didn’t he?”
My father’s security officer heaved another long-suffering sigh.
“I’ll text you a picture in a moment. Could you please give me a number to send it to?”
He did, and I chuckled when Justin’s name showed up in Terrance’s contacts. So much humiliation in so little time. How could a girl resist? To make it perfect, I moved my father until his head rested on Terrance’s chest. I took my time arranging his serpents, braiding them together. Just to be a bitch, I dabbed lipstick to the tips of their little noses. Only then did I snap a photograph of my sedated prizes.
“Sending a picture now.”
“From Terry’s number, I see.” There was a startled silence, then my father’s guard laughed long and hard. “To answer your question, yes, he ran away. I assure you, you wouldn’t have gotten away with that had I been on duty.”
Poor Mr. Brandywine. Had he been present, he would’ve been the first I had taken out, as much of a threat as the gorgon—if my father decided to petrify me. I probably deserved it. “Do you really want him back? If he ran away, he seems like trouble.”
Since my mother had sold me to my father, I thought selling my father back to his security detail was appropriate.
“That would be preferable. Otherwise, I’d have to rescue him.”
“Help a lady out here. If you had to rescue him, how humiliating would it be for him?”
“Very.”
“If I give you an address and leave the door unlocked, can you humiliate Terrance, too?”
“Arrangements could be made.”
“With pictures.”
“That seems probable.”
“I think this may be the start of a beautiful relationship, Mr. Brandywine. I’ll sell your charge to you for small fee, copies of all photographs, and future blackmail material.”
“Before I agree to anything, I would like to know who I’m speaking to.”
“According to the latest rumor, my mother sold me for a dollar. I’m very offended, as I’m worth far more than that.”
“Ah, I see. Everything becomes clear. Good evening, Your Highness. It’s a pleasure to finally be able to speak with you. I believe I have a better understanding of the situation now. Her Royal Majesty had called, informing us you had become indisposed.”
“I am definitely not indisposed. I escaped from the hospital at my earliest opportunity and found these two men at my apartme
nt.”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
“How much is he worth, anyway?”
“Should the Calens family agree to pay a ransom, you could probably get several million for your father without having to negotiate. If you’re a good negotiator, I suspect you could get more for him. There are other factors, of course.”
I cast a doubtful look in my father’s direction. “Is he really worth that much?”
“I’m afraid so, Your Highness.”
“You can rescue him from my apartment.” I gave my address and grumbled a few curses. “I’ll leave the key in a magnetic holder underneath the handrail. I’m taking some painkillers and going to bed. I expect breakfast and better painkillers as part of my fee.”
“I’ll see to it. Thank you for containing him. You’ll want to use a lightweight cloth, cheesecloth if you have it, to make hoods for his serpents. A blindfold would not go amiss, as I’m certain His Royal Majesty will be rather surly when he wakes up.”
“Noted.” I hung up and went to work, leaning the two men together and tying them up. To ensure they couldn’t escape, I wrapped their hands with linen, wrapped duct tape around the cloth, then bound their wrists together with rope. A nicer person would have unbraided the black mambas before tying little blindfolds over their equally tiny eyes. I blindfolded them both so Terrance could suffer a bit, too.
Once satisfied neither would be going anywhere without help, I tossed back some painkillers and hit the hay.
4
The smell of cooking bacon lured me from sleep with some help from my landline. I fumbled for the wretched thing so I could fling it across the room. I found its cradle, but my phone was missing. After a few more rings, it quieted, and I heard my mother’s grumpy head of security in the living room.
Sirens and Scales Page 33
