Jonas slurped again. “Duh.”
“What I said.”
“I mean, you’re a mermaid and Sam can’t get himself out of the shallow end.”
“I said.”
“Then what?”
“Then I got my ass back to work and met the new water fellow.”
“What the hell is a water fellow? You scientists and your jargon.”
“It’s a marine biologist who travels around the world trying to explain to the bipeds that they’re destroying the planet. He learns and teaches at every place and moves on after three months.”
“Hey, hey,” Jonas protested mildly. “I’m a biped.”
A pretty cute one, too, and Fred was mystified that, at the ripe old age of twenty-nine, Jonas hadn’t found someone to settle down with. He was tall, blond, lifted weights, had a black belt in aikido, was a brilliant engineer, was kind to children and small animals, and never judged Fred, not even when they’d gone swimming in the ocean a year after they’d met and he saw her tail.
Maybe it was because he was only eight at the time, and children were more open-minded about such things. Maybe it was because Jonas was generally open-minded about everything. Maybe it was because Jonas was—well, Jonas. Regardless, he had never judged her, he’d stuck staunchly by her, and she didn’t have a finer, kinder friend on land or sea.
It made her sad that he was alone, and it drove her mother absolutely batshit. Because she couldn’t understand why two people who had known each other forever couldn’t settle down together. After all, she had married her school buddy.
“So, is he a nice guy? This water fellow?”
“He talked about my hair.”
“Well, people usually notice that first.”
“About how green it was.”
“But it’s blue.”
She sighed and took a gulp of her margarita. “Never mind.”
“So, did you order?”
“Yeah, I’ve got a salad coming.”
“Waited for me like one pig waits for another, huh?” The waitress, as if sensing his need, again showed up out of nowhere. The two of them flirted outrageously while Jonas ordered the lobster and Fred tried not to yawn.
“So, what’s next today? I mean, it could hardly get worse.”
“New intern.”
“Don’t tell me: loved dolphins as a kid?”
“Still is a kid. Perky. Cheerful. Gorgeous. Enthusiastic.”
“How awful for you.” Jonas managed to say such a silly thing with convincing sincerity. “Well, cheer up, She’ll only be around for the semester, right? That’s how long any of the interns stay.”
“Six months is a long goddamned time to put up with Madison Fehr.”
“That’s her name?”
“And she used to cheer.”
“My God! I can’t believe you didn’t slit your wrists on the way over. What else?”
“I freaked out in the tank again.”
“Swam upside down in your scuba suit?” he asked sympathetically.
“Yeah, among other things. And I forgot the fish food. So I’ll wait until the place is empty and go back and feed the little buggers.”
“Are they still on hunger strike? The fish?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I don’t want to hear about it. I want to hear about how hot your mom still is.”
“Nope.”
“Uh…your love life?”
“What love life?”
“Right. I’m in the same boat myself. My trainer ran off with my nutritionist.”
“Tessa and Mari were lesbians?”
“Apparently so. Leaving me high and dry. My one chance to have a threesome,” he sighed, “and it blew right by me.”
“Aw. Don’t say blew.” Fred’s salad came, and she picked at it and tried not to flinch as Jonas tore through his lobster.
“I’m not eating one of your pals, am I?” he asked, butter dripping down his chin.
“No. It just makes me slightly ill to watch you devour—”
“A fellow sea citizen?”
“Something I’m allergic to.”
Jonas snickered. “A mermaid allergic to shellfish.”
“Shut up.”
“Come on. It’s kind of hilarious. I mean, if you lived in the sea, what the hell would you eat? Would you starve? Or would you slip onto shore, steal food, and race back to the water like the Loch Ness Monster, while people took fuzzy pictures of your bare ass? The only time you ever get sick—you have to admit it’s funny.”
“I’d like to get through the rest of this day without talking or thinking about bare asses, please.”
“So this water fellow guy, what’s his name?”
“Thomas Pearson.”
“Well, other than needing to change his contact lenses, he seems okay. I mean, you’ve hardly bitched about him at all. And honey, you bitch about everything.”
“He’s all right. His hair is cute.”
Jonas froze, his lobster fork halfway to his mouth. “Oh my God, you’re in love.”
“I’m not in love.”
“ ‘His hair is cute’? You never say anything nice about anyone. Coming from you, cute hair is a mating call.”
“I talked to the guy for thirty seconds. And then he waved at me while I was in the tank.”
“Holy fuck, you’re getting married, aren’t you!”
“Will you simmer? I certainly am not.”
Jonas tore through a claw, dunked the meat in butter, and slurped it like spaghetti. “You two were destined to be together. A marine biologist and a marine biologist. Meeting at an aquarium! What are the chances? It’s, like, fate. God, what do they put in this butter—nectar?”
Fred pushed her salad away and pointed to his bread. “You going to eat that?”
“And fill up on empty carbs? Go on, take it. You’ll swim it off anyway, you rotten bitch.”
She grinned and grabbed the bread.
Chapter Seven
Fred crept back to the tank a little after midnight, let herself in by on of the employee entrances, climbed the stairs to the top level of Main One, stripped, grabbed a bundle of smelt, and dove in. She shifted from legs to tail without conscious thought; it was like breathing.
And in her mermaid form, it was a lot easier to hear the fish, demanding buggers that they were.
A barracuda passed by. More fish more fish girl with fish more fish.
I’m here, aren’t I?
A sea turtle floated above. Pounding more pounding outside pounding.
Like hell. I’m not playing Pet Shop Boys for you guys anymore and that’s it.
As happened with sea creatures confined to the same space for long enough, the fish and turtles and eels and everything else in the tank reverted to a group-mind.
It was nearly deafening.
Not eat, not eat, NOT EAT!
You’ll eat.
NOT EAT NOT EAT NOT EAT!
Shut UP. You think I’ve got nothing better to do than come here at midnight and wave chum at you? You’ll eat what I give you and never mind what I play on the speakers. You can barely hear it in here, anyway.
With the exception of the barracuda and a single shark, the rest of the occupants ignored her fish offerings. And the pair of hunger strike scabs were so loudly shouted down, they swam behind a boulder to sulk together.
Fred knew the hunger strike meant trouble. If they didn’t eat, soon the larger fish wouldn’t be able to help themselves: they’d prey on the angelfish and sunnies and other small fish stuck in the tank with them. Which would raise questions. Which would get Fred into a lot of trouble with Dr. Barb.
She had to admit she admired their principled stance—especially the smaller fish, who had the most to lose. But like hundreds of little finned “Ghandis” moving in glimmering schools, they valued their dignity (or at least their musical taste) more highly than their own lives.
Morons.
Not to mention the larger problem: she freaki
ng hated the Pet Shop Boys. Any band who relied more on a mixing board than actual talent wasn’t in her mind, a real band. And who was in charge here, anyway?
A damselfish wiggled by. Pounding more pounding outside pounding.
Fine! Starve! She dumped the rest of the smelt into the water and lifted herself out of the tank, shaking out her tail and cursing under her breath.
Chapter Eight
“You have a lot of food left this week,” Dr. “Barb told her.”
“The fish don’t seem to be hungry,” Fred lied.
“Yeah, and like, that’s not Dr. Bimm’s problem, right?” Madison chirped, carefully applying lip gloss. “She can’t, like, make them eat, right?”
“Umm. That’s… hmm.”
Fred almost grinned at Dr. Barb’s discomfiture. She’d since heard through the office grapevine that Madison’s parents were descendants of Mayflower embarkees (the original tourists and, later, the original illegal immigrants), owned half of Boston waterfront, and thought their little girl should be able to intern wherever she wished, as long as she wished. And given how dependent the NEA was on private donations… “Thank you, Madison, Dr. Bimm, how are the levels?”
“They’re perfect.” Fred tried not to sound insulted.
“Maybe they don’t like the new guy,” Thomas joked. He glanced at Madison “Or girl.”
Dr. Barb looked at him over the tops of her reading glasses. “Very funny, Dr. Pearson. I don’t like where this is going. If an aquarium guest sees a shark gobble a few angelfish—”
“Stampede?” Thomas guessed.
“And rilly rilly gross, too!”
“Visitors don’t want to see blood,” Fred said gloomily.
“None of that ‘nature, red in tooth and claw’ stuff for them, eh?”
“Quite right,” Dr. Barb said, handing back Fred’s clipboard. “Keep an eye on it, Dr. Bimm. Let me know if things don’t change in the next few days.”
“I’m off tomorrow,” she reminded her boss.
“Right, right. Well, see how it goes Monday, then.”
“Yeah.”
“Dr. Pearson, you had something else for us?”
“Well. Yeah.”
Fred waited. Dr. Barb waited. Madison blotted her lip gloss. Finally, with poorly concealed impatience, Fred said, “Well?”
“It’s just, the levels in the harbor are really off. I mean, by about a thousand percent. And since we’re right on the harbor…”
“Is that why you were sent here?”
“It’s why I came here. I’ve been sort of following the toxic levels. The source is here, in Boston.”
“Oh.”
Fred thought for a moment. She hardly ever went into the ocean, vastly preferring Main One or her parents’ pool. But she hadn’t sensed anything off in the water the last few times she’d jumped in.
On the other hand, she had a ridiculous metabolism. She never got sick. Either mermaids could filter out toxins, or as a hybrid, she wasn’t affected by poison in the water.
That’s not to say the algae weren’t, which would lead to the fish, which would lead to the bipeds.
Not that they cared, exactly.
“I could really use some help figuring this out,” Thomas was saying.
“Well, we have several dozen—”
“I was thinking of Dr. Bimm.”
“Me?” Fred nearly gasped, badly startled.
“Her?” Madison said, a little sharply. Obviously two coats of lip gloss and sparkly eye shadow had left Pearson unmoved. Certainly he hadn’t done more than glance in her direction all morning. Fred wasn’t sure why, but she thought that was just fine.
But this?
She was dealing with her parents adopting, a fish strike, trying to find the right woman for Jonas, and still, after twenty-six years, learning to swim. She had no time to play Nancy Drew. “Uh, that’s not really my field, Dr. Pearson. I’m just in charge of the big fishie tank.” At Dr. Barb’s frown, she added, “Main One.”
“I could help you, Dr. Pearson!”
Pearson ignored Madison, who had begun to bounce again.
“Oh, come on. I looked you up. You’ve got just as much book learning as me.”
Fred gaped. “Book learning?”
“And I could really use the help,” he coaxed, twinkling at her with those amazing dark eyes yet again.
“Yeah, but—”
“And we’d make a great team.”
“But—”
“It’s settled, then,” Dr. Barb commanded.
“What is?” Fred felt like the planet had started spinning faster.
“I could help both of you,” Madison announced. Just then, Fred’s cell phone trilled the Harry Potter theme.
Saved by the bell. She flipped it open and practically barked, “Yes?”
“Fred, dear, it’s Mom.”
It was? Her morn sounded rattled. Really rattled. Missing her yoga class three times in a row rattled.
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s, uh, we have a visitor.”
“Okay.”
“And he wants to see you.”
“Okay.”
“Very badly.”
“Okay.”
“Very badly.”
Fred puzzled it out. Her mom hadn’t been this upset when Fred had caught her on all fours. Who could be visiting? A Republican? After Sam had run the last one off with an empty shotgun, you’d think they would have—
“Well, I’m at work now, but—”
“Yes, I know, but I think you should come home right now.”
Fred lowered her voice. “Mom, are you in danger?”
“I don’t… think so.”
“Is this stranger standing right there?”
“Yes.”
“Put him on.”
“I don’t think—”
“Mom. Right now.”
There was a short silence, and then a deep, gravelly voice said, “Yes?”
“Chum.” It wasn’t an affectionate nickname. She meant it literally: the fish guts and heads you feed sharks with. “You’re scaring the shit out of my mom. Cut it out, unless you want to find out what your colon looks like.”
“Fredrika, darling. So nice to hear from you after all this time. Your mother is a charming hostess, but I really insist on speaking with you.”
“Oh, we’ll speak, chum. You’ve got my word on that one. But if I get there and she’s still freaking out—if she’s so much as got a hair out of place—you and I will talk for about thirty days. And you won’t like it. At all.”
“Looking forward to it,” the deep voice purred, and then there was a click.
“Gotta go,” Fred said, dropping the clipboard on her desk with a clank and grabbing her purse.
“But—” Dr. Barb and Thomas butted at the same time.
“It’s rilly rilly important,” she said, and walked out.
Chapter Nine
She didn’t bother with the front door. Went around the back, by the kitchen entrance (where her mother’s phone was, and where she entertained, and where she was the most comfortable), and kicked in the glass door.
Everyone at the table—Sam, her mother, and the redheaded stranger—froze, then looked up at her. Fred brushed glass out of her hair and stepped into the room.
Dead silence.
“I’m here,” she said unnecessarily. Damn. How had glass gotten into her jeans? She wriggled for a second and said, “On your feet, Red. Let’s go outside and dance.”
“Dance?” the redheaded stranger said blankly. He was looking at her with the oddest expression: admiration, and annoyance, and a little awe.
“Dance. Fight. Smackdown. I’ll beat the shit out of you, and you’ll go away. Then I’ll go back to work before my parents—never mind. Step up. Right now.”
“Fred, it’s not exactly what you—” Sam began.
“I was a little startled at first,” her mom added.
“I apologize if I upset your f
amily,” the stranger rumbled. “That was not my intent.” He stood up. And up. And up. He towered over all of them, even Fred. Towered. He had shoulder-length hair the color of crushed rubies, and eyes that were—okay, were those contacts?—about two shades lighter than his hair. Cherry cough drop-colored eyes.
His shoulders were so broad, she wondered how he’d gotten through the front door. He was dressed in a white shirt, open at the throat, and khaki shorts which showcased his powerfully muscled legs. No shoes, or socks. Big feet. A closely cropped beard the color of his hair. A broad forehead, a strong chin. And that voice! Deep, rumbling… like verbal, velvet.
“But I think it’s fine to step outside.”
“What?”
“I think it’s fine to step outside,” the stranger repeated. “Or we could make use of your sire’s pond.”
“My what’s what?”
“The pool,” In a low voice, as if Fred couldn’t hear perfectly well, he bent down (and down, and down) and murmured into her mom’s ear, “Is something wrong with her mind?”
“No,” her mom practically snapped. “She’s a Ph.D., for crying out loud. Don’t do that, it’s freaky.”
“Get away from her,” Fred ordered, still edgy. Okay, she was usually edgy. But it had been a rough forty-eight hours.
“It’s all right, Fred. I’m sorry I scared you. It’s just—you’re not the only one who makes dramatic entrances. This is—well—this is the High Prince Artur.”
“Prince Artur,” Fred repeated, like a parrot.
“Of the Black Sea,” the stranger added helpfully.
“He says—he says you’re one of his subjects,” her mom continued.
“Oh, does he?”
“And that you owe him fealty and loyalty and such.”
“Really.”
The prince bowed. “It is always my great pleasure to meet a comely new subject.”
“Really.”
“And we, uh, we didn’t really know what to think when he showed up and said all this and also said—uh—”
“Spit it, Mom.”
“That your father is dead,” her mom said, and burst into tears.
“Good lady,” the prince said, looking distressed for the first time, “I did not mean to upset you so. I had been told you but barely knew each other and that my subject had known your mate as her sire.”
Sleeping with the Fishes (v1.1) Page 3
