Authors: MaryJanice Davidson
Twenty
Before things could settle down, the front door opened and Farrem walked in. Limped in, actually, and he had the beginning of a gorgeous black eye.
Fred was on her feet before she knew she was going to stand. “Jesus Christ! What happened to you?”
“Ran into three or four of the old guard,” he said with dry good humor. “They reminded me that the rash actions of my youth have not been forgotten.” He touched his swelling eye and grinned, showing the exceedingly sharp teeth common to Undersea Folk. Sam nearly choked on his beer—Fred had inherited her mother’s teeth. “Forcefully. But who is this? Not Fred’s lady mother and he who is her mate?”
“H-hello,” Moon said, wiping her face. Then she got a closer look as Farrem closed the distance between them and gasped. “My God! You haven’t aged a day!”
He laughed and took her small hands in his. “If only that were true, Madame Bimm.”
“Please.” She smiled wryly. “I think you can call me Moon.”
“With your mate’s kind permission,” Farrem said, bowing slightly in Sam’s direction. Sam looked non-plussed for a moment, then nodded back.
Moon cleared her throat. “Are you—are you in trouble? Because you’ve come back?”
“Of course,” he replied easily. “Deservedly so. I hope to win my people over in another decade or so.”
Fred was struck, once again, at how Undersea Folk thought nothing of a task that might take twenty or thirty years. By comparison, surface dwellers were fruit flies running around trying to accomplish everything in a nine-day life span.
Did I just refer to my mother’s people as flies?
Eesh.
“—enough of my nonsense. What have you been doing these past decades?”
“Well, raising your daughter, of course.” Moon laughed. “Though once she was about thirteen or so she stopped listening to me.”
“Yes, that is typical among our kind.”
“Our kind, too,” Sam said, smiling a little.
“And it is on just this basis that King Mekkam decided to let his people reveal themselves, I suspect. In many ways, we are not so different.”
“If you say so, pal,” Jonas said, sounding fairly unconvinced. Fred jumped; he’d been so uncharacteristically quiet she’d forgotten he was there. “I guess anyone can get past the tail. And the teeth. And the breathing underwater thing. And the—”
“Don’t you have a wedding to plan?”
“As a matter of fact,” Jonas said with stiff dignity, “I’m late for a tux fitting right this minute.”
“So run along.”
“I will. See you guys later.” And right before he went out the door he said, “Also my fiancée will be here tonight and I don’t want to hear any bitching about it, good-bye!”
“Wait!” Fred yelled, and the door slammed.
She cursed vividly enough to make Farrem raise his eyebrows.
Twenty-one
“Well, that’s just great,” Fred fumed. “I knew I should have just gotten a room at the Super 8.”
“You remind me of my mother,” Farrem commented. “She often complained about events that did not truly upset her.”
“You stay out of this. Dr. Barb. Great! Well, I guess I can try to quit again.”
“Pardon, what?”
“Never mind, Farrem.”
“She keeps trying to quit her job in
“Never
mind
. Suffice it to say I lead a stupidly complicated life.”
The front door slammed open hard enough to shake part of the house, and a furious Prince Artur stood in the doorway.
“Case in point.” Fred sighed as the prince stomped toward them. “You know, surface dwellers do this thing called knocking. If you’re going to hang out on top of the planet as opposed to beneath the waves, you might want to—”
“So it is true,” Artur hissed, eyeing Farrem the way you’d look at a cockroach in your cereal bowl. “I would never have believed it to be had I not seen it myself.”
Farrem turned slowly. “My prince,” he said calmly.
“You will remove yourself from the home of she-who-will-be-my-mate at once.”
“How can he?” Fred asked. “He’s staying in one of the guest rooms upstairs. His stuff’s probably all over the bathroom.”
Artur actually clutched his head. “I had heard that as well, but put it down to uninformed rumor.”
“And that’s quite enough of telling my houseguests what to do. That’s
my
job.”
“Fredrika, I insist this man leave your home at once.”
“
This man
is my father, so tough nuts.”
“I do not wish to be the cause of strife between you and the prince,” Farrem said. “I shall go.”
“Sit your ass back down,” Fred ordered. Farrem arched his eyebrows but obeyed.
Then she turned to Artur. “And you! Don’t come barging into my house without knocking and then start ordering people around. In case you haven’t noticed,
Prince
, this isn’t your domain. It’s mine!”
Sam cleared his throat. “Technically, that’s not—”
“You want to boss people around in the Mariana Trench, fine. Don’t pull that shit in my house.”
Artur blinked, scowled, and blinked harder. Farrem brought a hand up to cover his mouth; his eyes were wide and Fred suspected he was hiding a smile.
“Rika, this man is—”
“My father. Whom I’ve never met. Whom I’m getting to know. Who is a guest in my house.”
“I think you might like him,” Moon piped up, “if you gave him a chance, Artur.”
“He tried to kill my father, good lady.”
“Oh. Well, that’s harder to forgive,” Moon admitted. “But he said himself, he was just a kid when—”
“—he committed treason.”
“I will go,” Farrem said.
“Freeze,” Fred ordered. Thinking,
Why am I fighting so hard for this? Because it’s going to stick in Artur’s craw? So my mom can get to know my dad? So I can? Why?
“I suppose Tennian practically broke a leg getting to you to blab.”
“Tennian did her duty.”
“Yeah, she’s not biased or anything.”
“Fredrika,” Farrem said quietly. “The royal family has every reason to distrust my motivations.”
“I get it, I get it. Listen, Artur, it was thirty years ago, okay? He was just a kid. Your dad banished him.
Banished
him. For three decades he hasn’t seen another member of his own species. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
Scowling silence.
“Besides, all this high-handed stuff is no way to get me to agree to marry you,” she teased, hoping he’d lighten up.
Farrem’s green eyes opened wide. “
Marry?
By the king, of course!” He literally slapped himself on the forehead. “When you came in, you called her she-who—but I admit I was much more occupied watching your hands than listening—so you’ll be my princess, and one day my queen?” He shook his head so hard, green strands flew. “Astonishing! O irony, how she makes slaves of us all!”
“That’s beautiful, Farrem,” Moon breathed.
“I haven’t said yes yet, so calm down. And you!” She turned back to Artur, who was looking sulky as well as annoyed. “I can read you like a book, Artur. You’re thinking now that my dad has turned up alive and well, even
more
of the Undersea Folk won’t like me. It was one thing when everyone assumed he was dead. But him showing up . . . it might make marrying me a bit trickier, especially if the court of public opinion doesn’t come back in your favor.”
“I would hope,” he replied stiffly, “I am not as shallow as that.”
“Well, Artur, so would I.”
“Fred!” Moon gasped.
She turned. “Don’t you think you and Sam should—”
And then, for the dozenth time (at least), her front door opened and Thomas was racing into the room. “Fred, Artur found out your father’s in town and he’s coming over here to—oh.” He screeched to a halt, narrowly avoiding slamming into the table. “You, uh, already know.”
Fred was resting her forehead on the table. “I want all my keys back,” she said into the wood.
Twenty-two
An hour later, her parents had departed for their hotel, Artur had dived off the dock in a sulk, Farrem had retired upstairs, and Fred and Thomas were drinking the last of the beer.
“What a day,” she moaned. “And it’s barely half over!”
Thomas grinned at her. “A week with you is more exciting than a year anywhere else.”
“Cut the shit,” she said morosely. “I’m in no mood for idle flattery.”
“Who said it was idle?”
“Idle is your middle name. I s’pose Tennian blabbed that Artur was coming.”
“Tennian?” Thomas looked puzzled. “I haven’t seen her since dinner last night.”
“What are you talking about? Aren’t you staying with her? Or she with you? Or however you guys worked out the details? Are you shacked up in the URV, or what?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know what? Never mind, I don’t want to know.”
Thomas was looking more and more mystified. “Fred, what the hell are you babbling about? Tennian and I are just friends.”
“I don’t babble, and what the hell are
you
babbling about? You guys sailed off together last fall to live happily ever after.”
Thomas laughed at her. “The hell we did! I mean, we went off together, but I went with her first strictly as her doctor—she
was
shot, you’ll recall.”
“Well, she
did
board a pirate ship.”
“True,” he admitted.
“And you two were making goo-goo eyes at each other.”
“No, we weren’t.”
“I was there!”
“I’m really fond of her, okay? I thought—think—she’s a fascinating individual. But I was never in love with her.”
Fred tried to digest this, but he wouldn’t stop talking, so it was a lot to take in.
“And don’t forget about the new book I’ve been working on.”
“
Love in the Time of Fish
?”
“
The Anatomy and Physiology of
Homo Nautilus.”
“Oh,” Fred said. “That.” Luckily, this time she managed not to go off into gales of humiliating laughter when he told her.
And he was
still talking
. “So far as I know, I’m the only doctor on the planet who’s treated surface dwellers
and
Undersea Folk. You should do it, too, Fred.”
She was having major trouble tracking the conversation. “What?”
“Write a book. You could write your life story—or at least, a book about the Undersea Folk. Or best of all, a book about the Undersea Folk through the eyes of the only hybrid on the planet. It’d sell in about two seconds. You’d be a bestselling author!”
“I’ve got enough fame, thanks. But about you and Tennian—”
“Well, like I said, Tennian’s been a big help with my book. And to pay me back for taking care of her, she showed me some unbelievable things.”
“I’ll bet.”
He ignored the jibe. “I mean, just knowing you, I thought I’d seen things, but she—” He shook his head. “You know, you really need to get over to the
The URV—Underwater RV—was the submarine Thomas had had built eighteen months ago . . . it had allowed him to observe various Undersea Folk gatherings. It was also ridiculously comfortable, tricked out with a kitchen and a bedroom, among other things.
“So you broke up?” Fred said through numb lips.
“What, broke up? We were never dating.”
Fred did her famous impersonation of a goldfish; her mouth popped open, then closed, then popped open again. Her thoughts, chaotic enough this week, were whirling.
Stop the roller coaster, I want to get off!
Why hadn’t he—why had she assumed—what did this mean for her relationship with Artur—why hadn’t she known this before Artur proposed—why had she so stupidly jumped to conclusions—why—why—why—?
“Are you all right?” Thomas asked, polishing off the last beer. “You look a little green. Even for you.”
“It’s just—it’s just that kind of week,” she managed, thinking,
He must never, never know what I assumed, or what I hoped, or the effect his little announcement had on me. Never.
If he really loved her, he wouldn’t keep going off on months-long trips. If he really loved her, he would have stayed in touch while he was in
And that was fine . . . he had never promised her a damned thing.
But it was clear to her now what her answer to Artur must be.
Twenty-three
Later that night, Fred sat quietly on the couch, pretending to read about herself in
Time
. Around her, the bustle of an impromptu dinner party went on. And on.
Her mother and Sam had come back with groceries, and once again Thomas was manning the grill. Jonas had returned with a catalogue of tuxes, the one he’d chosen clearly marked. Black tuxedo, red cummerbund, yak-yak-yak. He’d also informed her she would be trying on bridesmaid dresses the next day at ten.
And the hell marches on . . .
Dr. Barb, Jonas’s fiancée and Barb’s (former?) boss at the New England Aquarium, was also at the house. She had arrived promptly at four, refused both a written and verbal resignation, then pretended she wasn’t dying for Fred to shift to her tail.
Fred had given in, diving into the deep end of the pool and shifting to tail form more or less without thought. There was a method to her madness; she’d tried to resign yet again while Dr. Barb was fairly dazzled, and it hadn’t worked. Yet again.
“Dr. Bimm, if I may—” Dr. Barb was always perfectly polite, even squatting beside a pool dressed in madras shorts and a white button-down, talking to a mermaid. “How do you breathe underwater? Do you have internal gills? And if so, do they—”
“No. I just pull oxygen from the water through my cells. I hold my breath, of course, but I still get plenty of air, so to speak.”
“But you don’t know for sure?”
“Well, I’ve never seen a post on a fellow Undersea Folk, so I couldn’t say for sure . . .”
“But, Dr. Bimm, you’re a marine biologist.”
“Really? I forgot all about that. So that’s what that diploma is for . . .”
“Surely you’re curious about your own . . . ah . . . unique physiology. Blood tests at the very least could . . .”
“I didn’t want to call attention to myself in college. Or grad school. Or anywhere,” she said shortly, and that was the end of that. At least, Dr. Barb was too polite to bug her further.
But Fred knew the real reason she, an alleged scientist, knew so little about her own body: she had been a freak all her life. She had no interest in running tests that confirmed her freakishness. She wanted to blend, not call attention to herself. (How annoying to find that hair dye never took; it washed out the moment she grew her tail . . . thus, cursed with green freak hair.) Ignorance, at least in this one case, was bliss.
Well. Cowardice, really. But dammit, she was fine with that. She’d had a loaded gun in her face, for Christ’s sake. She’d been
shot
, even. She was entitled to be a coward in the minor area of her extreme freakish appearance.
Now, Dr. Barb and Jonas were snuggling at the dining-room table and tossing the salad. Or snuggling the salad and tossing each other; Fred was careful not to look too closely. The scenes she’d walked in on star-ring the two of them . . .
yurrgh
.
And now what the hell was this? There was a funny sound reverberating through the house. Fred looked up from reading about herself (“That’s the dumbest question you’ve asked so far.”)
and listened, puzzled. It sounded both familiar and strange at the same time. She’d heard that sound before in her life, but under which circumstances? So hauntingly familiar . . . it was on the tip of her tongue . . . it was . . . was . . .
The doorbell!
No wonder she couldn’t place the sound, she thought as she got up to answer it. Nobody ever used it! Most of them didn’t even knock.
“Someone’s at the door!” Jonas yelled, showing Moon a picture of his tux.
“I’ve got it,” she called back. She opened it and saw Tennian standing with another Undersea Folk. This new mermaid had such striking coloring, she made Tennian seem almost drab: waist-length, deep purple hair, and eyes the color of wet violets. Pale skin, almost milky—the complexion of an Irish milkmaid, with the faintest blush at her cheeks. She came up to Fred’s shoulder and was, without question, the most beautiful woman Fred had ever seen.
“Whoa,” she managed before she could stop herself.
“Good evening, Fredrika Bimm. This is my friend Wennd.”
Wennd said nothing, merely bowed her head in greeting.
“Well, hi. What brings you two here?”
Wennd shot an anxious glance at Tennian, who said, “Wennd is really very curious about surface dwellers. But word of what happened to me has spread and she’s somewhat . . . apprehensive. I was hoping you would perhaps introduce her to your friends and family, who are really very nice surface dwellers and won’t shoot anyone.”
“Probably,” Fred said. “You sure, Wennd? Haven’t you heard? I come from a short, undistinguished line of traitors.”
Wennd’s gorgeous purple eyes widened. “That was your sire. Not you.”
Fred knew, then, that Wennd was young. So damned hard to tell with these guys; she could have been twenty or fifty. She’d noticed the real grudge holders were the ones who had been around during her father’s disastrous attempt at a coup. But the younger generation . . . the ones who hadn’t had to fight, hadn’t had to choose sides . . .
“Sure,” she said, stepping back. “Come on in. This place is crawling with unwanted g—uh, surface dwellers.”