Blue Tide
The Nike Chronicles
Book Three
By M.L. Bullock
Text copyright © 2018 Monica L. Bullock
All Rights Reserved
Dedication
To all the immortals.
Table of Contents
Chapter One—Nike
Chapter Two—Heliope
Chapter Three—Cruise
Chapter Four—Nike
Chapter Five—Heliope
Chapter Six—Nike
Chapter Seven—Heliope
Chapter Eight—Cruise
Chapter Nine—Nike
Chapter Ten—Heliope
Chapter Eleven—Cruise
Chapter Twelve—Nike
Chapter Thirteen—Nike
Epilogue—Nike
Yes, ’twas Minerva’s self; but ah! how changed,
Since o’er the Darman field in arms she ranged!
Not such as erst, by her divine command,
Her form appeared from Phidias’ plastic hand:
Gone were the terrors of her awful brow,
Her idle aegis bore no Gorgon now;
Her helm was dinted, and the broken lance
Seem’d weak and shaftless e’en to mortal glance;
The olive branch, which still she deign’d to clasp,
Shrunk from her touch, and wither’d in her grasp;
And, ah! though still the brightest of the sky,
Celestial tears bedimm’d her large blue eye:
Round the rent casque her owlet circled slow,
And mourn’d his mistress with a shriek of woe!
The Curse of Minerva
Lord Byron, George Gordon (1811)
Chapter One—Nike
Unusual Swim
I didn’t have a bucket list—I was a siren and nearly immortal. When would I need one? But I returned to Dauphin Island from vacation feeling as if I had experienced something unique, something I always wanted to do. I probably wouldn’t do it again, not for a few hundred years, anyway. But the excursion proved I was free. Free from service as the gate’s guardian and free to do as I wished, to some degree. No, bucket lists were really for humans whose lives were like blips on a radar screen, bright and pulsating one second and completely gone from sight the next. Yet taking a vacation was a luxury I’d been wanting to try.
I sailed over the bridge in the rental convertible, the wind whipping my long brown hair around me, Springer sitting beside me in his dog seat belt. His pink tongue hung out, and he looked happy to be returning home. No, it was more than a look. Somehow I knew he was happy. I still couldn’t figure out how he was here. I thought perhaps he was a figment of my imagination, but everyone saw him, including Cruise and Ramara.
Cruise and Ramara. Yeah, I’d have to figure all that out. I crossed the highest point on the bridge and shivered. So many suicides from this spot. And a few murders. We sailed down the smooth road another half mile and rolled on to Cadillac Avenue. “Almost home now,” I said, smiling at Springer as his fuzzy face studied me. Then I caught the blue lights in the rearview mirror.
“Are you kidding me?” I slid back my oversized sunglasses and pulled over beside the bayside marina. This had better not be Kendra Tragic. I wasn’t in the mood for any bull. To my surprise, Cruise got out of the car. He straightened his hat and walked toward me. I studied his walk; it was more like an awkward shamble now. He still hadn’t completely gotten over his encounter with the vamps a few months ago. Twisted his ankle pretty good. Still, it hadn’t slowed him down much.
I put the car in park and turned down Def Leppard. It was October and virtually dead on the island, but that was no excuse for pulling me over. I wanted to chew him out but waited to see what he wanted first.
“Welcome back, Thessalonike.”
“You’ve always called me Nik. What’s changed?”
“I like saying it. It’s a pretty name.” He grinned and leaned down to speak to me face to face.
“Um, thanks. Did you pull me over to tell me I had a pretty name?”
“No, I just wanted to be the first to welcome you back. I missed you. Did you have fun? Where did you go? New Orleans? Pensacola?”
I didn’t know how to feel about this conversation, happy that he wanted to see me or ticked off because he pulled me over. A few familiar faces were driving by now. Well, they’d have something to talk about for a while. And what about Kendra Tragic? Didn’t it make sense that a shifter would want to hook up with one of his own kind? I decided to give patience a try.
“Yes, I had fun. No, I didn’t go to either of those places. May I go home now? Springer needs a bath, and I really want to see what shape my house is in. I left Heliope there alone.”
He looked hurt but didn’t argue with me. “Sure, but first let me write you this ticket.”
“Ticket?”
“Yeah, you were doing 50 in a 35. Watch your speed coming off the bridge there, Speedy.” He wrote on his pad while I stared at him incredulously. He ripped off the ticket, folded it in half and handed it to me. “So that’s your first ticket, I would imagine. Don’t worry. I’m sure the court won’t throw the book at you since you’re a new driver. I’d ask to see your driver’s license, but I’m afraid to know the answer to that question.”
Furiously I dug in my purse and pulled out the photo ID. “For your information, Cruise Castille, I do have a license. I insist you write it down!”
He took the license, stared at it and jotted the number on the ticket before handing it back to me. “Have a nice day, ma’am.”
I didn’t say another word and turned out of the gravel driveway, kicking up rocks before taking off down Cadillac. “What a jerk!” I told Springer. “And to think, I was ready to…well, you know…with him.”
I drove down Chaumont, made the curve and saw my house was still standing. There were no gaping holes where the kitchen used to be. No gypsy caravans on the front lawn, no drunken gods passed out in the garden. I pulled the car into the tiny driveway. Maybe I’d buy this car, or one like it. I had some savings left from Jack. Having a car proved to be pretty handy, quite freeing and not at all hard to learn. But then again, I hadn’t chosen a standard shift like Liliana had.
“Here we are, boy. Let’s grab our stuff and see what the inside of the house looks like.” I pulled the crumpled ticket out of the console and read it. There was no citation, just a note that read: I love you, Nik. Welcome home. Call me later.
I crumpled the note again after staring at it for a few more seconds. Springer watched me, and I talked to him as if he knew exactly what I was saying. “You’ll never guess what’s on here. He says he loves me. I can’t believe he’d do that.” I tossed the ticket in my purse and stood in the driveway. Heliope didn’t come running out, and the sound of the ocean commanded my attention. I’d been gone only a week, but that had been such a long time. I wanted to swim. Not think about Cruise’s declaration or Ramara’s lack of communication. As if he read my mind, Springer bounced off the seat and ran to the shore, barking excitedly.
With a smile, I ran after him and jumped in the ocean completely clothed, minus my glasses and sandals. To my surprise, Springer swam with me, only not as deep or as far from the shore. He splashed along, doing his best to keep up with me. After about fifteen minutes of pure frolicking, I bobbed up next to him. “I’m going to the Down Deep for a few minutes. Don’t worry about me. Stay near the shore, okay?” He whimpered unhappily, and I smooched his wet head. “That’s the way it’s going to be, boy. Wait on the shore for me.” He splashed away from me, paddling to the shore with his little dog legs. He’d just have to understand—I needed this. I needed to sing.
In recent days I’d been thinking of a new song. Or maybe it was an old song that I was
just now recalling. I couldn’t tell anymore. As I swam down, down, down, I hummed the tune. The notes climbed and sank as I lazily pushed myself forward. The water swirled over me, and I reveled in the sensation of being lost in the vastness of it all. A school of blue angelfish zipped past me; their bright yellow and blue colors shone in harmony as they made every move together. It was a beautiful sight. I never grew tired of spotting these gentle fish. Then the peacefulness of the moment passed and my sense of danger awakened. Somewhere just beyond my sight, a predator watched, maybe a shark of some type. Sharks typically ignored me, but this one was curious. Its sonar touched me as it assessed what I was. I wasn’t too concerned at the moment, merely aware.
I swam as deep as I wanted to go, yet there was much more of the ocean beneath my feet. It was dangerous to go much deeper alone—that seemed especially true today. And I felt the danger more acutely now; it hovered right at the edge of the artificial reef, waiting. Watching me.
Probably the shark from a moment ago, I reasoned as the water turned icy cold. For humans, it was late in the season for swimming, but my siren blood kept me warm. My special ability was being challenged by an influx of freezing water. I tried to outswim the cold current, paddling faster now, no longer easing through the water. I headed back toward the shore, but whatever followed me seemed fixed on me. Its sonar didn’t disconnect from me. By its behavior, I could tell it had decided I was the appropriate target. The school of angelfish puffed past me, and then I had an idea. I accelerated and swam beside them, using them as a barrier against whatever followed me.
What the heck was this? No. Not a shark, but familiar.
Then I felt the first wave. A wave of hate rolled over me and slowed me down. I barely had time to think about it before another wave crashed over me. This one was stronger than the first and nearly took my breath away. Regaining my senses I began to swim, albeit slower than I normally would. The creature’s hatred weakened me, made me sluggish.
I can’t stay here. I can’t wait!
With all my might I kicked my way to the surface, allowing my body to rise like a top. Springer barked wildly on the beach, and I raised my arms to swim to him.
As I made for the beach, the creature slowed its track and I felt the sonar cease. I dipped back under the surface and looked around me. I had to know what it was that stalked me so boldly. I saw a few fish that, like me, fled from the current of cold water. I turned my attention back to the shore, but not before I saw something out of the corner of my eye.
A large tail, green and shimmery, flicked once and disappeared into the depths just beyond the drop-off.
A mermaid’s tail.
Chapter Two—Heliope
Love Potion
I heard the car pull up, but I was glad Thessalonike didn’t come racing in the house. How embarrassing that would have been! Smoke billowed out of the oven, and I’d forgotten all about the rice I’d put in the pot on the stove. This wasn’t how my first attempt at a family dinner was supposed to turn out. I missed the days when you summoned a servant and requested a tray. Maybe we could do that? Find a cook or a housekeeper? No, that would not satisfy my need to create something—this was a new development in existence. Imagine, after all this time, I’d finally become domestic. Or reasonably so.
The girl had been gone for a week, and during that time I’d fallen in love with the cooking channels. So many exotic dishes to prepare, and the human chefs made it look so easy. If they could do it, why couldn’t a newly widowed goddess? Like a student, I’d taken notes, picked out a few recipes, purchased the ingredients and gone to work. My first attempts were okay, but how hard was it to make a grilled cheese and some spinach dip? I realized now that I might have bitten off more than I could chew with my recipe selection.
A failure as a wife, and now a failure at this, I thought as the fire alarm screeched. Angry at myself and everyone else, I smacked it with a broom handle until the plastic machine broke and fell on the floor.
I sniffed at the thought of Agrios, but I was over the foolish old thing. I had to be, didn’t I? He’d made his bed, now he could lie in it. For all eternity. Even as I thought the words, I knew I didn’t completely feel that way. He’d tried to give me an island, for goodness’ sake. He wanted to make me a queen again, but as usual, he did everything wrong. And by his actions he had proved that all he really cared about was himself. Always a selfish being—we were so much alike. Despite all the evil he’d done, cooperating with those vampires, trying to gift Thessalonike and the eloi to Vega in exchange for Dauphin Island, I loved him. His sins didn’t kill that love, and it didn’t stop me from visiting his resting place every day, but the Order had spoken. My husband would never rise again.
Oh well. On to other things.
I frowned at the blackened beef Wellington and the scorched rice. I don’t think even magic could save this. I tossed the burnt pan on the stove and ran to open the kitchen windows. As the smoke cleared, I peered out the window over the sink. I could see the dog, or whatever it was, on the beach barking at the water. No doubt it was an enchanted, albeit benevolent, creature. The girl must have gone for a swim. Who could blame her? She’d been plotted against twice now. She must have felt as if she had a virtual and perpetual bull’s-eye pinned to her back. Well, I’d stick by her no matter what. She was the last of my family, the last connection I had to humanity and who I had been before. I would not let her down. Not this time.
Except for dinner.
This dinner wasn’t going to happen. Oh well, I tried. I thumbed through the many restaurant menus that the plastic penguin held in its beak. What a weird ornament for a house. I sometimes wondered about Thessalonike’s taste in decorating. It took a while, but I finally found a place that delivered. Not too many island restaurants open this late in the year. I called Voyager’s and placed an order for two big baskets of french fries. That was her hands-down favorite. I also ordered a half dozen chili dogs, two root beers and two ice cream cones.
If my attempt at dinner didn’t bring a smile to her face, well, maybe the small changes I’d made at the shop would. Business was picking up, thanks to my ingenious idea. I smiled at myself as I began trying to hide the evidence of my failed buffet. Unless she swam for a few hours, there would be no way to hide this stinky disaster.
The dog continued to bark in the distance. I raced around the kitchen, wiping down counters and washing dishes; finally I shoved the pans in the oven and closed the door to hide them. This time I remembered to turn the appliance off. Ransacking Thessalonike’s cleaning supplies, I found some scented spray and doused the kitchen with it until I could almost pretend I didn’t smell the burnt food. I returned the half-empty can to the basket under the sink and then went to tidy my hair when the doorbell rang. I had gone for a modern hairdo yesterday, a sling-cut bob with feathered bangs. I couldn’t resist looking at it every time I passed a mirror.
The doorbell rang again. Geesh, that was fast. I dug in my pocket for some cash. I liked keeping cash on me. It was a modern vice I’d recently discovered. Maybe one day I’d get one of those credit cards. Then I could buy anything I wanted, whenever I wanted. I greedily began plotting how I could fill up the cabinets with nonstick skillets and interesting griddles that left cartoon characters on charred meats—and pancakes! Whatever those were. They looked delicious on television. Maybe I’d try that this weekend.
I opened the door with my money in hand, but there wasn’t a soul there. A bouquet of pink roses wrapped in a large piece of pink tissue paper lay on the concrete porch. I rolled my eyes. I wonder which one it was—the cop or the angel? Surely not Ramara. He had too much pride to show up with flowers. I picked them up, brought them inside and plopped them on the kitchen table. A small white card fell out, and strangely enough that wasn’t Thessalonike’s name on it. It was mine.
What the…? I picked up the neat envelope and rubbed my finger across my name. I slid the card out and read it aloud:
You are more beautiful th
an any flower.
Your Secret Admirer.
Torn between feeling flattered and uneasy, I scrambled back to the front door and cast a supernatural eye up and down the street. The only other person I could see was Mrs. Bannister, who was waddling out to her mailbox in her worn pink shift and dirty slippers. I sure wasn’t going to ask her if she’d seen a sexy calendar hunk delivering flowers to my door. I’d spoken to the nosy old woman once and vowed to never do that again. She wasn’t a nice human. Not at all. In fact, I half wondered—
“Heliope! What have you done to my kitchen?” The girl walked in the back door of the house and dropped her bags on the floor. “Did you start a fire? Was anything burned?”
I slammed the front door and went to face my accuser. “Nice to see you, too, stepdaughter. No, I didn’t start a fire. The only thing damaged was a pot. And a pan.” I couldn’t believe she would interrogate me when I’d done all this for her.
“You’re too old to pout,” she scolded me.
“Okay, so I admit I made a slight miscalculation on the cooking time, but I’ve ordered some food. I’ll replace the accoutrements as soon as my credit card arrives.”
“Credit card? How did you manage…never mind. I’m sure I don’t want to know.”
I grinned at her. “How does french fries and root beer sound? Phew, you two smell like the ocean. Does this animal have to be in here?” The usually friendly dog growled at me, but he didn’t flee out the doggie door as he sometimes did when we were alone. I guessed he felt emboldened to show a modicum of bravery with his master so close by.
“Yeah, you’re right. We’ll go get cleaned up. Thanks for ordering the fries. I hadn’t even thought of dinner. I appreciate the effort. It’s nice to come home to someone.”
She kissed my cheek as she skipped off down the hall, and I just blinked after her. She left her bags near the laundry room door. I wondered if I was expected to do laundry now that I was a widowed goddess with not much power and no prospects whatsoever. Except a dying bouquet of cheap roses.
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