Sleeping with the Fishes (5 page)

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.

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 family," 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."

"We only spent an hour together but—but now Fred will never meet him. And I'll never get to thank him for giving her to me." Her mother covered her eyes like a child and sobbed.

"Okay, that's
it
. Get away from her right now."

The prince ignored her. "Our people will tell her all she wishes to know. And her sire was—he was not the type to appreciate his progeny," the prince said carefully.

"Bio father was kind of a dick, huh?" Fred guessed.

The prince patted her mother, almost sending her sprawling,
then
straightened. "Shall we adjourn?"

"Now?
Right now?"

"Yes. Shall we?"

Fred noticed it was a command disguised as a question. But even though they seemed to be getting along, she was wild to get this huge redhead away from her folks. "Okay. Sorry about the door, Mom."

"It was one of your more dramatic entrances," her mom said, perking up right away. "I kind of liked it."

"Indeed," the stranger murmured, and led the way to the pool as if it were his house and not the place she'd grown up.

"So.
High Prince
Artur
—can I call you Art?"

"You may not." The prince was—
eep
—stripping. The shirt went flying, followed by the pants. No underwear, she couldn't help but notice. Then he dove into the saltwater pool, giving her a glimpse of a muscular back and taut buttocks, and then he was under. She squatted by the side of the pool. "Well, I'm sure as hell not calling you Your Highness," she yelled to the water. "I live on land. I'm not one of your damned subjects!"

He popped up, water glistening in his beard, and grinned at her, showing a great many teeth.
Almost… pointy?
How had she not noticed
that
before? "Oh yes you are, Little Rika."

"Fred."

"Ugh."

"Fred. Not Rika. Not Ugh. Fred. Not little anything. I'm five ten, for crying out loud."

"Little Rika," he said, and dove back down, splashing her with his tail.

His tail.

His
tail
?

Much longer than hers, wider at the hips, too.
A much darker green than hers.
The fins were wider at the base, and longer. She instantly deduced he was a faster, stronger swimmer—and she'd never met anyone or anything, land or sea, that could beat her in the water.

Well, shit.

"So why are you here?" she said to the water.

He popped up again and blew a stream of water at her. She ducked, cursing, and nearly fell in. "Come in and we will talk about it."

"I'm—"
Not getting naked in front of you
, was her first thought, which is when her mom spoke up in her head:
nudity is beautiful and natural
, blah-blah.

It wasn't getting naked. She didn't have much modesty. She always swam in the nude, unless she had to wiggle into that awful scuba suit. It was swimming with a merman.
Someone like her.
Except not like her: she hadn't inherited the strong, pointy teeth (doubtless for chomping through raw fish and bone), or the more powerful tail. Did she want to invite comparisons?

Fuck him and fuck what be thinks.

She stood, pulled off her shoes and socks, shucked off her jeans and panties, tossed her sweater over her head, unsnapped her bra, and dove over his head, straight down.

He came down at once, staring at her with unashamed curiosity.

You look… different.

Of course.
Telepathy.
How else would
mer
-people talk under water?

Shut up. Why are you here?

I need you.

Do tell.

He swam closer and reached for her waist; she smacked his hand away, hard.

My subjects do not treat me thus.

Tell someone who gives a ripe shit.

They invite my caresses.

They need drugs. What do you want?

You, of course.