Sirens and Scales

by Kellie McAllen

  “Snakes eat fish,” I reminded him.

  “I wasn’t going to eat her.”

  “Well, I’m definitely grateful for that. I appreciate my birth and all. Also, thanks for not eating my mother.”

  “I’m not going to eat you, either.”

  I shot him a glare. “Do I look concerned?”

  “No, which is rather surprising. Every other mer I’ve met was absolutely convinced I was about to eat them. Rather amusing, really. I’m pretty sure your mother thought I was going to eat her when we’d first met, too.”

  “I don’t need or want to know anything else relating to what you did with my mother. I draw the line at the details. Thank you for donating your genes to my existence. Let’s leave the details of your contribution a mystery.”

  He snickered. “Internet already gave you an idea?”

  I shuddered at the memory, which had included a very lengthy discourse on what happened from beginning to end, including how many times the surrogate, in this case, my mother, ended up petrified. That was a number dependent on the number of female gorgons involved in the mating spree. “In detail. I think you’ll find I’ve already been sufficiently educated on gorgon mating practices.”

  “Then I don’t have to tell you that there are princes and kings who’d be delighted to have you as their bride.”

  “They can keep dreaming. I’m more of a one-man kind of girl, and I don’t like sharing with other girls.” I actually took extreme offense when so-called boyfriends started getting a wandering eye. I could count the number of boyfriends I’d had on one hand, and I’d ditched them all for being a little too happy to look at the other offerings. “I hope you’re aware the loyalty of a lycanthrope is not a disadvantage in my perspective.”

  “Anything else I should know?”

  “If you give me a handbook on how I should behave for my birthday or for Christmas, I’ll murder you with it. The only reason I haven’t murdered my mother is because the mer expect me to rule the kingdom upon her death. Fortunately for me, I’m fairly certain her lifespan will surpass mine by centuries, so I should never have to rule a kingdom I can’t even visit because I’m not an aquatic. That’s why my mother keeps conquering islands, so I can visit the boundaries of her territory.”

  “Your mother conquered Madagascar.”

  “I have to admit, that does worry me a little. I’m pretty sure Madagascar actually has a substantial population of humans.”

  “Twenty-five million or so of them.”

  I choked on my own spit. “Say what?”

  “Your mother conquered a nation with a population of twenty-five million humans. There’s also a secondary population of approximately five million other sentients on the island. From what I can tell, I think she conquered it because it has some good ocean shorelines suitable for mer spawning. There’s also a great deal of protected land on the island. I haven’t had a chance to do much actual research, as I was busy trying to locate my missing daughter who had disappeared right out from under my nose in a hospital.”

  “Oops.” I giggled. “That was a work of art, wasn’t it?”

  “I’m expecting a full explanation of how you pulled that off.”

  “Keep dreaming.”

  “All right. Ready for your first lesson on petrification?”

  “Not really.”

  My father turned to me, took hold of my chin, and forced me to look him in the eyes. My tongue tingled, then it started to tickle. Then the tickle intensified into a far more nefarious itch. I yowled, opened my mouth, and stuck my fingers inside, scratching in my desperation to make it stop, which didn’t help. Sticking out my tongue, I blew raspberries, which did alleviate the discomfort a little, but not enough for my liking.

  “That is not the typical reaction someone has to petrification,” my father observed, his tone curious. “By now, you shouldn’t be able to say anything.”

  “It itches,” I wailed, giving my tongue another brisk rubbing. It felt like I expected, although I expected it to break out in hives at the rate I was going. To make matters worse, I got a mouthful of dust in my effort to rid myself of the sensation. With tears in my eyes, I tried spitting, but my mouth had dried out so much I couldn’t. “Make it stop.”

  My father chuckled, touched my chin again, and leaned close. After several moments, the itching eased, fading to a tolerable tingling tickle. “How curious. Let’s try that again, but perhaps on your hand this time.”

  I pulled free of his grip and shook my head so hard my hair whipped side to side. “Hell no.”

  “Or perhaps your feet so you can’t run away.”

  My eyes widened. “I’m not a coward.”

  “No, you’re just a fish. I’m a snake.”

  Oh hell no. I stomped my foot. “Who are you calling a fish?”

  “You.”

  “Oh, like you’re much better with those rat snakes on your head,” I snapped.

  “Black mambas,” he hissed. Then he made with the magic again but, instead of targeting my tongue, the tickling itch raced through me from head to toe. The next thing I knew, I was on the floor writhing in my desperation to make the torture stop, snarling curses and threats while my father crouched beside me, watching with interest.

  My father rose to the number one spot on my shit list, and I swore a lifetime of revenge for inflicting so much misery on me for well over an hour. He timed it, fascinated with my reaction to his attempts to petrify me. Instead of turning me to stone, he gave me a case of the itches so bad he had to restrain me to keep me from ripping my skin off with my nails. He kept me pinned with disgusting ease, one foot on my left wrist while he held my right, checking my pulse every now and then while I panted to catch my breath.

  “Your nails turned a lovely opal,” he commented, turning my hand over in his, inspecting my fingers with interest. “While your mother has limited resistance to petrification, you seem to have taken after my side of the family.”

  I sucked in several gasped breaths and asked, “What do you mean?”

  “Petrifying another gorgon is more a battle of wills. The stronger gorgon will win, but the time it takes for petrification to take hold is dependent on the difference in strength. How long the gorgon remains petrified is also a matter of strength and ability. The weaker ones require neutralizer or magic, while the stronger ones will reverse the petrification on their own given time, usually few days. It’s a good way for rival gorgons to settle disputes without death. Consider it a few days in time out for the loser while the victor gloats over their statue. It’s polite to reverse a petrification after a week, however. When I attempted to petrify your tongue, I treated you as I would a regular human. That requires a lot less effort on my part. I’ll have to ask your grandfather to have a try. He has the finesse of his long years backing him.”

  “He’d better not. I’ll feed his snakes to him!” I strained to pull my wrist out of my father’s hand. “Let go.”

  “Are you going to claw your skin off? Your nails are going to do a little bit more damage than you’re used to until the petrification reverses. Wasn’t I nice? I focused on your fingernails. I could’ve done your tongue instead. Are you still itching?”

  “I’m not going to scratch,” I grumbled.

  He released me and shifted his foot away from my arm, and stood. “When your fingernails return to normal, mark the time.”

  Bracing for the worst, I peeked at my hand. Nail polish wasn’t something I indulged in often, although I liked some of the more flamboyant colors. I was no expert in gemstones, but my fingernails had turned a rather pretty blue and purple, and the way the colors melded gave the illusion they burned. “If I notice. Or had something to mark the time with.”

  Reaching into his pocket, my father pulled out my cell phone and held it out. “How about with this? Also, your boss called, and I notified him you were not going to be coming in to work due to medical reasons. Apparently, he seemed to believe unless you were still in the hospital, there
was no excuse for you to miss work. We had words.”

  “You got me fired, didn’t you?”

  “I thought you’d prefer quitting over being fired, so I beat him to the chase and informed him you were quitting.”

  Death was definitely too good of a fate for my parents. “Your days are numbered, Mr. Shiny Shoes.”

  Instead of displaying the appropriate amount of fear, my father smiled. “Your mother warned me you’re rather proud.”

  “You’re lucky I was planning to quit anyway.”

  “She didn’t tell me you were sensible, however.”

  “Someone in this family has to be.” I flung my hands in the air, and more dust rained down from my pajamas. “You have met my mother, haven’t you? The mermaid who decided it was a good idea to conquer Madagascar?”

  “Astonishingly, I have met her. In fact, we spent most of the time you were napping discussing how best to keep you contained, as you seem to attract a great deal of trouble.”

  I smirked, a rather sinister idea bubbling to the surface. A good girl would have resisted, smothering the impulse. Me? I could get a little bit of revenge against my parents and get a much closer look at Justin Brandywine at the same time. “Mother has been complaining every time I pick up a boyfriend, I end up ditching the cheating bastard before I can produce an heir. That bodyguard of yours is a lycanthrope and he’s young enough. I bet he’d produce a decent heir or three.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  My smile widened into a full-fledged grin. “But he’s a single lycanthrope. Aren’t lycanthropes the ultimate father material? Loyal to death, protective?”

  Narrowing his eyes, my father looked me over. “You’re doing that on purpose. You’re not actually interested in him, are you?”

  Laughing, I got to my feet and dusted myself off, spreading the mess around rather than ridding my clothes of it. “I’m not telling.”

  “It seems I truly did help spawn a devil.”

  “A devil? Don’t you mean the devil? And anyway, I wasn’t actually spawned. And no, I don’t want the details, thank you very much.”

  “The true irony here is that among gorgons, the fastest way to insult someone is to call them a spawn.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “I was told mer had a spawning season. Is that incorrect?”

  Was I really going to have to give my own father a biology lesson on mer? I shuddered. “Two forms, two ways to reproduce. If you want to know more than that, I recommend the internet—or ask my mother. I’m sure she’d be happy to give you the details. If we could pretend this conversation never happened, that’d be great.”

  “There are several gorgon kings and princes interested in making your acquaintance.”

  “I’m pretty sure we already went over this. Unless they’re coming over to say hi without trying to get me to participate in their little mating rituals, they can go fuck themselves with sticks.”

  “How eloquent.”

  “Would it be more polite of me if I provided the sticks? I’m sure I could find a few somewhere.”

  “No, that’s be quite all right. I’ll make certain they’re aware you’re not currently entertaining the prospect of joining a hive as someone’s bride.”

  “When you pitch them that, do make sure ‘currently’ is not used. I’m not entertaining it, period.”

  “I’ll make them aware, but they’ll make offers anyway. The opening bid is typically around five million for a single mating. A permanent arrangement is far more lucrative.”

  “Well, at least you gorgons appreciate a woman’s worth. I approve. Still not happening, though. Just because my mother’s adventurous doesn’t mean I am. Ask any one of my former boyfriends. I do not share, period—and I’m not lesbian or bisexual.”

  “How did two polyamorous individuals produce a monogamous one?”

  I laughed at my father’s weary complaint. “Magic.”

  In truth, I lied, but I wasn’t quite ready to tell dear old dad I hated the idea of leaving my future child adrift. No, when I got around to picking a partner, he’d be sticking around for life, and any heir of mine would have a mother, a father, grandparents, and the whole works. My parents would just have to deal with it.

  7

  Justin waited for us near the door leading to the labyrinth, and his scowl made it clear he wasn’t happy with one of us—or both of us. I could readily believe luring his charge away would put me near the top of his shit list. I liked the thought of consuming his attention enough I smiled.

  Then, careful to keep my tone light and chipper, I said, “I stole your body.”

  There were so many different ways he could interpret my words, and my father’s sigh confirmed the gorgon knew exactly what I was implying—and threatening.

  The list of reasons I wanted Justin for myself kept growing, and his ability to glare at me without wavering made its way onto my list. “Thank you for returning him only slightly damaged this time.”

  “He isn’t damaged. He’s dirty. A little dirt isn’t going to hurt him. If it does, I’m going to suggest a refund or a therapist.”

  “I’m going to need a therapist,” Justin muttered, soft enough I doubted he meant for me to hear him.

  Did a more perfect man exist for me? My target recognized he was doomed, which enthused me more than it should have. “Anyway, you should be more concerned for my health. He almost knocked me off a cliff.”

  My father’s bodyguard narrowed his eyes, his attention sliding away from me. “Why?”

  My father’s smug smile made it easy for me to believe his genes had contributed to my tendency to be a troublemaker. “Opportunity knocked.”

  Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Justin lifted his hand and massaged the bridge of his nose. “Which one of you am I supposed to be protecting again?”

  I pointed at my father while he pointed at me.

  Not one to allow a perfect opportunity to escape, I redirected my finger, pointing at myself. “I don’t come equipped with a baker’s dozen of venomous snakes, and I can’t petrify people. I also attract mail bombers. If you have to protect me, you need a raise. You should also add a clause to your contract stating you’ll be reimbursed for any bacon purchases.”

  “You present a good argument. Sir?”

  “She presents a good argument,” my father agreed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I intend on keeping you, Justin.”

  “I intend on kidnapping him, taking him home with me, and forcing him to make me bacon for the rest of my life. Since his lifespan—and yours—is probably far longer than mine, you can have him back after I kick the bucket. I’m the jealous type, so I develop urges to stab women when they catch my man’s attention. I also wander off at my whim, and I won’t be nice enough to notify anyone when I’m wandering.” I smiled at Justin. “I recommend begging my father to let you stay with him. A smart man would be begging right now.”

  The game had begun, and I waited for Justin to make his move. Would he rise to my challenge or play it cool?

  “Princess, should I have the misfortune of being assigned as your bodyguard, I’ll be investing in a leash.”

  I would enjoy making him regret that comment. “I don’t actually need a bodyguard. I just need to find a better job, which I’ll be doing as soon as you contain your charge and get him out of my hair. If you wouldn’t mind arranging a rental for me, that’d be fantastic, as I have to get back to my apartment and pay my rent.”

  My father coughed, and alarm bells rang in my head. Justin refused to meet my gaze. Whatever my father had done, he’d had help from his bodyguard. Neither spoke.

  “What have you done, Mr. Shiny Shoes?”

  “I may have permanently relocated you here. It’s a matter of your safety,” my father confessed.

  My father would live to regret his decision to screw around with my apartment, and I would need to reevaluate Justin, his bacon-making skills, and his sexiness rating to better prioritize my theft of his perso
n. “What did you do to my apartment?”

  “I relocated its contents, which are currently being cleaned.”

  Oh, shit. If they’d emptied my apartment, my various stashes of illegal compounds would be found; most weren’t hidden all that well, within easy reach so I’d have them if I needed them. I’d made some efforts to disguise the truly dangerous stuff, but the vials with my sedative were obvious, as were some of my other tools, like my guns.

  I owned a lot of guns. Maybe if I used them to distract from my other belongings, I could cover my tracks.

  “My guns don’t need to be cleaned,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “I take good care of them, thank you very much.”

  “You do,” Justin agreed, lifting his hands in surrender. “Your guns are safe. I looked them over myself, confirmed they were in good working order, and ordered a gun safe on your behalf. There are often children in the house, so all weapons are locked in a safe unless being carried.”

  “And my dart gun?” I demanded, planting my hands on my hips.

  My father pulled his hand out of his pocket and dismissed my concern with a flippant wave. “In my safe. We’ll be having a talk about that compound you used, young lady. I don’t know where you got it, but you will procure any additional supplies through approved channels. I’m not against self-defense tools, but let’s keep your arsenal legal.”

  The only legal items I owned were my handguns, which I never used on a job. When I needed to shoot a serial killer, I acquired a weapon from the black market and melted it down once done, scattering the twisted remains in a junkyard to hide them.

  Junkyards made excellent places to hide things; the police often checked them for incriminating evidence, but once the compactors got a hold of the trashed weapons, it was impossible to get anything of use. Even if they found my tools of the trade before they made it to the trash compactor, law enforcement rarely thought to check the fragmented bits I left scattered around rusting cars about to be pancaked and smashed into tiny cubes for recycling.