She nods.
I grin.
“Then we have plenty of time—at least two and a half days until I feel the poison. We can go over to Bimini tomorrow, get the antidote and wait until I feel the first pains. I certainly won’t swallow anything you give me until I’m sure I have to.”
“But,”
Lorrel mindspeaks, arguing with me until I tire of it and turn my back on her.
I snap my fingers at Max and walk toward the door. The dog gets up and pads after me.
“I’m going to bed,”
I mindspeak to the girl.
“If you want, you can sleep here or in one of my kid’s rooms.”
Lorrel says nothing more, follows us down the spiral staircase to the second landing. I take her to Henri’s bedroom and open the door. She looks at the bed inside and mindspeaks,
“In our srrynn we sleep on beds of seagrass.”
I frown at the difficult creature, wonder why she can’t just take what’s offered.
“In my family we sleep on regular beds. But others of our kind prefer beds of hay. We keep our infants on such beds. Fortunately for you, my daughter, Lizzie, still has hers.”
Leading the girl to my daughter’s room, I open the door and point at the hay piled neatly in the corner.
“Will that do?”
I mindspeak.
Lorrel nods, walks into the room, humming again, the tune loud enough now that I can hear the harmonics of it. It makes me think of the throat singing they practice in the far east or the drone of an Australian diggery-doo.
“What are you humming?”
I mindspeak.
“An old one taught me this song. Do you like it?”
she mindspeaks, humming even louder.
I listen and nod, a smile growing on my face.
In the middle of the room she turns, pulling off her sweatshirt and undoing her belt. Her loose sweatpants fall, crumpling at her feet. She steps out of them and examines her ghost-white body for a long moment, humming, the tune softer now, the notes undulating as she touches herself with both hands, her nipples blushing pink as she passes her palms over them.
Turning her attention to me, she smiles as if I had just walked in on her, her grin almost a leer.
“I like my human form,”
she mindspeaks. She saunters back to the doorway and, still humming, she stands in front of me—as close as she can without touching.
The fresh, saltwater smell of her envelopes me as she mindspeaks,
“I wouldn’t mind sleeping in your bed with you. It might be fun.”
In my single days I might have chanced it, if she hadn’t attacked me and if she hadn’t filled me with poison. But as tempting as she is, nothing could make me betray Chloe now. Forcing myself to step back, I mindspeak,
“I have a wife.”
“I know,”
Lorrel mindspeaks starting to step forward.
I put my hands on her bare shoulders and stop her from coming closer.
“We mate for life.”
Lorrel trills out a laugh.
“We Pelk don’t.”
16
In the morning, I smile when I go to the dock and find the Yamaha needs only minor repair. By the time Lorrel appears, coming down the coral steps from the veranda, just as naked as she’d been the night before, I’ve already replaced the propeller’s shear pin and stocked the boat with a cooler full of food.
Max jumps to his feet and barks once, his tail slashing from side to side, and Lorrel stops at the bottom step and points at the dog.
“Do I need to worry about him?”
I look at Max, his wagging tail and laugh.
“Only if you’re afraid of being licked.”
“I was hungry, so I woke up,”
the girl mindspeaks, walking toward me. Her black hair, dry now, flows down her neck, some billowing down her front, reaching her mid-stomach, the rest cascading down her back. Her emerald eyes blaze in contrast to her pale face and trim white body.
Turning away, I busy myself undoing the boat’s starboard gas cap, just as glad not to look at her, more conscious than ever of the three weeks that have already passed since Chloe’s departure.
“After I gas up the tanks, I’ll go upstairs and warm up some steaks,”
I mindspeak.
“No. No more beef,”
she mindspeaks. She walks past me, brushing one hand against my shoulder—the way Chloe sometimes does—and then dives, cutting the water with only the slightest splash as it parts to accept her.
I watch the small ring of ripples she leaves expanding on the surface, the pale image of her body shimmering in the clear water as she swims away. When she’s no longer in sight I turn my attention to fueling the Grady White, going to the drums of gas, switching on the pump and dragging the fuel line back to the boat.
Something splashes in the harbor and I look out at the water expecting to see Lorrel. But I find the small gray dolphin instead. It swims toward me, scooting between the Grady White and the Donzi, shooting half out of the water so its belly rests on the dock. I look at its emerald-green eyes, the large fish clenched in its mouth and shake my head.
“I wondered if you had something to do with the dolphin too,”
I mindspeak.
The dolphin opens its mouth, leaves the fish flopping on the deck as it shimmies back into the water.
“What other form would have worked?”
she mindspeaks.
“Neither humans nor you Undrae ever worry about the dolphins around them. The fish is one of my favorites—a yellowtail. Try it.”
I look at the flopping fish and curl my lip.
“I think I’ll have a steak upstairs instead.”
“Suit yourself,”
Lorrel mindspeaks, swimming toward the center of the harbor and diving from sight. The dolphin’s gray form swims toward the dock underwater, thinning and lengthening, turning pale, Lorrel’s long hair flowing in a black stream as she swims. The girl breaks out of the water, grabs the dock with both hands and pulls herself up and out in one fluid motion.
She reaches for the yellowtail, holds it in both hands and sits crosslegged on the deck, seawater dripping from her body and hair and puddling around her.
“You should try this,”
she mindspeaks.
“In my srrynn we will have no beef to feed to you.”
She takes a bite from the fish’s midsection, scales and all, and holds the fish out to me, oblivious to its last dying spasm, the blood and other fluids dripping from it.
I shake my head.
“I don’t plan to stay with your srrynn long enough for that to matter.”
Lorrel laughs and returns to devouring her fish. It takes her only a few bites. Standing, she tosses the fish’s remains into the water and then looks down at her bare skin, the streaks of fish fluid and the red splotches of fish blood now staining it.
“I will be back in a moment,”
she mindspeaks, diving from the dock, swimming out of sight.
Putting the gas nozzle into the fuel tank, depressing its lever, I smile at the mechanical flutter of the fuel pump going into action. Without it, I’d have to venture to the mainland or Key Biscayne for fuel. I doubt Lorrel would like me to do so this morning.
The Pelk breaks from the water again and joins me on the dock. Her body rinsed clean, she stands next to me dripping, sniffs the air and grimaces.
“It smells bad,”
she mindspeaks.
Tilting my head toward the fuel nozzle, I mindspeak,
“It’ll go away as soon as I finish fueling.”
Lorrel nods, reaches behind her neck, gathering her wet hair, wringing it out.
“I don’t understand why you bother with all this,”
she mindspeaks.
“That stink, all the boats, all the machines, the clothes, as if you were humans. Mowdar says the Undrae lost their way a long time ago. He says you have forgotten how to live the old way.”
Her words make me think of how my father objected when I first installed generators on the island, and how Chloe’s parents complained when we installed both power and a satellite phone in their home. Yet Don Henri soon came to like the convenience of having frozen beef whenever he wished, and while Charles and Samantha Blood rejected their phone, they’ve been perfectly pleased to have electric lights and running water.
“The old ways aren’t necessarily the best,”
I mindspeak. Lorrel shrugs, turns toward the sun, closing her eyes, spreading her arms and legs as if to catch every last warm ray. A quiet hum breaks from her lips.
I look away from her pale, trim body, the tight, round curve of her buttocks, and busy myself topping off the tanks and stowing the fuel line. By the time I’ve finished the sun has baked her dry, yet she still stands spread out to its heat.
“You like that don’t you?”
I mindspeak.
Lowering her arms, turning toward me, she nods.
“All Pelk like to bask. I think it is because of all the time we spend below.”
She looks at the boat and then back to me.
“Do we leave now?”
I shake my head.
“No. There are some other things I have to do first. Besides, I want to eat and find something for you to wear while we’re on the boat. . . .”
She trills out a laugh and moves closer to me, her ocean smell filling my nostrils.
“You want to make me wear clothes so you do not have to see me? I have seen how you look at my body,”
she mindspeaks.
“You say you are mated for life, yet you still stare at me that way.”
Once again I wish Chloe hadn’t gone. She remains the only female I desire. But Lorrel is far too correct in her assumptions for my comfort. I certainly never would admit such a thing to this irritating creature. I turn away from her and walk toward the house, mindspeaking,
“You Pelk have a high opinion of yourselves. I’m not about to risk being stopped by a patrol boat with a naked girl onboard who looks hardly more than thirteen.”
“I am no girl! I have twenty-nine years,”
Lorrel mindspeaks.
“And no mate?”
“Never.”
I turn and stare at her, amazed how much older than my wife she is.
“Has no male come for you?”
I mindspeak.
Lorrel glares at me.
“Until now Mowdar has forbidden it. Pelk females are not slaves to their bodies like the Undrae. We do not spray our scent into the air as soon as we reach our maturity. We do not come into heat and have to accept the first male who comes close enough to poke his thing into us.”
“Yet you wanted to come to my bed last night?”
“Because Mowdar willed it,”
she mindspeaks.
“He will be disappointed that you refused me.”
“It had nothing to do with who or what you are. I told you that I’m mated for life.”
“And I told you that Mowdar would be disappointed.”
Lorrel gives me a huge smile.
“I was perfectly pleased to sleep alone.”
Upstairs, Lorrel once again mindspeaks,
“No beef,”
when I offer to maker her a steak. Still naked, she lounges in Chloe’s recliner, staring open-mouthed at the morning shows on TV, reclining and righting her chair over and over again, ignoring me as I eat and then call the office and ask for Claudia Gomez.
“Hey, Peter, what’s up?” she says.
“Quite a bit,” I say. “I’m going to have to leave for a little while. . . .”
“Ian isn’t going to like that. You have a deposition coming up.”
“I know. I know. But I’m not really concerned with what Ian likes or not. This thing has come up and I have to deal with it.”
“Whatever you say, Peter. Just tell me what you need.”
I smile, glad once again that Arturo had insisted that his daughter come to work at LaMar. In all the centuries that the Gomez family has worked for mine, not one of them has ever disappointed my father or me. “Chloe’s out of reach right now and I didn’t want to say too much on her answering machine. I told her to call you if she couldn’t get me when she came back. If I’m not back by then, tell her I’ve run into a problem with the Pelk—probably somewhere in the Bahamas.”
“P-E-L-K?” Claudia says.
“Right. Tell her I need for her to come back but she should leave the children with her parents until everything’s resolved.”
“And she’s going to understand all this?”
I sigh, not entirely sure whether I understand completely why a naked little seadragon would want to disrupt my life. “I don’t know, but she’ll understand enough to know I need help.”
“You sure I can’t help more on this?” Claudia says. “Whatever this is.”
“No, just pass on the message,” I say, arranging for her to also visit the island each day—to feed the dogs and make sure all remains as it should.
Before I get off she says, “Oh, Peter, get this, Toba says that guy, Pepe Santos, is for real. She absolutely adores the guy. They’re both freaks about fishing. She says he has his own boat—a Mako eighteen-foot open fisherman—they even take it out night fishing a couple of times a week. She has a great time with him.”