Swimming Without a Net (3 page)

Fred saw the lights on in her apartment and stomped
up the stairs. This time she’d give Jonas a piece of her mind, as well as Dr. Barb, never mind that the woman was her boss. Enough was enough! Clam globs in her face, garlic breath, sexual harassment. And it wasn’t even Wednesday!

She unlocked her door and shoved it open, and was momentarily startled to see the happy couple sitting stiffly on her couch as opposed to grooming each other or, worse, getting to third base.

Standing just inside her doorway were two strangers. One was a young man—early twenties?—with startling orange hair ( jack-o’-lantern orange) and matching eyes. Beside him was a petite young woman of about the same age, with dark blue hair and eyes that were even darker, the way small sapphires almost looked black in the right light.

She knew at once they were Undersea Folk, and mentally she groaned. Apparently the high point of her day was going to be dislocating Number Four’s thumbs.

Before either stranger could speak, Jonas leapt up from the couch, said (too heartily), “Good, great, you’re here, we told your friends we’d wait with them, but now you’re here so we’ll be going, see you, good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” Dr. Barb managed as Jonas dragged her out the door. “Young lady, whoever does your hair is doing a magnificent—”

Jonas slammed the door.

Fred surveyed the mermaid and merman. “Hit me,” she said at last.

The two exchanged puzzled glances. “Those are not our instructions,” the man said. “I am Kertal. This is Tennian. We were sent by the High King.”

“Well, I didn’t think you were here to take a survey. Something to drink? Some chips?”

“No, thank you,” the woman—Tennian—said in a soft, lovely alto. “You are Fredrika Bimm, of Kortrim’s line.”

“If Kortrim is my bio-dad, you’re right. But I prefer to think of myself as being of Moon Bimm’s line. That’s my mother,” she added helpfully.

“Yes, His Highness has told us of your lady mother,” Kertal said. He towered over her and had the ropy muscles of a long-distance swimmer. Which, of course, he was. She was having a terrible time not staring at him. Both of them. Their coloring was so extraordinary! It was odd to be in a room and not feel like she had the freakiest hair there. “We were instructed to try you at your home if we did not find you at the aquarium.”

“You went to where I
work
?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my God,” Fred said, and collapsed on her couch.

“We asked of you, and spoke of you to your friends. They brought us to your”—Kertal looked around the tiny apartment with an unreadable expression on his face—“home.”

“You didn’t tell them who you were, did you?”

“Our business is with you, not them.”

“I’m going to take that as a no.” She rolled over and stared at the ceiling. “Thank God. My boss doesn’t know I’m a mermaid and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Again, the two strangers exchanged glances, and again, it was Kertal who spoke. “We are charged by the High King to summon you to the Pelagic.”

“The Pelagic?” Fred could almost feel her mind buckle under the strain and she giggled until she lost her breath. “I don’t know what you guys think it is, but here a pelagic is an open zone in the ocean that’s not near a coast or even a sea floor. How can you bring me to
a
pelagic? And will you sit down? You look like a couple of Army recruiters. Unclench.”

Neither of them moved. “A Pelagic is a meeting that can only be called by a majority of the Undersea Folk.”

“I thought you guys were a monarchy.”

“Our good king has acceded to the request of his people,” Tennian almost whispered.

“Can you speak up, please? It’s hard to hear you over the roaring in my ears.”

“Will you come?” Tennian asked, slightly louder.

“To this Pelagic thing? Sorry, I’ll need a little more info before I go gallivanting off with you two. Like, what exactly is it? Where is it? And why am I invited? And will you two
sit down
? I’m freaked out enough.”

The two Undersea Folk gingerly sat on her kitchen chairs. Fred’s apartment was an open design. The kitchen, the dining room, and the living room were all one big space. The small bedroom was off to the left, the bathroom off to the right.

Fred had fooled the eye into thinking the place was large and airy by painting all the walls white. The place was stark enough to belong to a monk, which suited her fine. She hated clutter.

She spotted the brand-new Aveda bag beside the kitchen chair, and nudged it beneath the table with a toe. “So. You were saying?”

“As you know, Fredrika, the royal family makes its home in the Black Sea. It is also the seat of our government.”

“Right, the king and Artur. Got it.”

“And His Highness Rankon, and Her Highness Jeredna.”

“He’s got sibs? He never said. And would it kill you guys to have a Jenny or a Peter?”

“It is not for us to know the workings of the royal mind,” Tennian murmured.

“Ha! I know all about the workings of Artur’s mind, and he’s only got one thing on it. That’s—Never mind. You were saying?”

“May I have a glass of water?” Kertal asked.

“Sure.” Fred jumped up, glad to have something to do. She guessed what Kertal’s problem was—simple dehydration—and filled two glasses, one for each of them, to the top. As Artur had told her last year, Undersea Folk could walk around on land, but not for long, and they weakened quickly.

Tiny Tennian drained hers in three gulps and politely asked for a refill. And another. Thus, it was a good five minutes before either of them got back to the subject at hand.

“I assume you guys hang out in the Black Sea because it’s enclosed? Easier to stay hidden? I mean, up here, you’re—we’re—myths. No one’s been able to prove the Undersea Folk exist.”

“You are correct, Fredrika,” Kertal said, setting his empty glass down on the kitchen table. “Your studies of the sea have served you well.”

“Yes, I have my name on all sorts of pretty papers.”

“Many centuries ago the royal family chose the Black Sea for precisely that reason. That is not to say we all live there; the Undersea Folk are scattered all over the world.”

“I live in Chesapeake Bay,” Tennian whispered.

“But the seat of power has always been in the Black Sea. However, there are so many of us, and it can be a difficult place to get to in a short time without rousing suspicion. So the Pelagic will be held in the waters of the Cayman Islands.”

“Ah, the glorious Caymans. What are you, repping the chamber of commerce?”

“No,” Kertal the Humorless replied. “We will wait while you collect your things.”

“Hold up, hold up. So this Pelagic, the purpose of which neither of you have bothered to explain, won’t be where the royal family hangs out, and we won’t be going to Turkey. But we’ll have a fine time hanging out in the Caymans.”

“I do not know how fine a time it will be,” Kertal said soberly.

“Oh, here we go.”

“Many of our people do not wish to remain myths.”

“Oh, ho.”

“This goes directly against the wishes of the royal family.”

“Fascinating.”

“Thus, the Pelagic: a meeting of all Folk, to decide a common action. They are quite rare; the last one was held—ah—” He glanced at Tennian and the small woman shook her head. “—was a while ago. Decades.”

Fred smelled a rat. Or a fish. But there was time to get to the bottom of that later. “So you guys are getting together to figure out whether to go public or not?”

“Not ‘you guys.’ All of us. You, too, Fredrika.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that a fact?”

“The High King insists.”

“So? I’m not one of his subjects.”

“Excuse me,” Tennian murmured, “but you are.”

“Want to arm wrestle for it?”

“The king requires your presence,” Kertal droned on. “As does His Highness, Prince Artur.”

“And I’m
definitely
not at
his
beck and call. Sorry you came all this way for nothing, help yourselves to more water, good-bye.”

“The prince suspected you would be…intractable.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Try unbudgeable.”

“He asked us to remind you that he saved your life.”

“He didn’t stop me from getting shot!” And why was the thought of seeing the redheaded bum again so thrilling? Not to mention the idea of meeting other Undersea Folk. Of course, if they were all as stodgy as these two, it’d be a long time in the Caymans. Which reminded her…“How long is this Pelagic supposed to last?”

“Until the majority comes to an agreement, approved by His Majesty.”

“But that could take—I have no idea how long that could take. How many mer-dudes will show up?”

“Thousands.”

“Thousands?”

“Perhaps. There is no way to tell.”

“Is there anything you
can
commit to?”

“We cannot leave without your agreement and attendance.”

“Oh, friggin’ swell.” Fred rested her chin on her fist and thought. The other two watched her do it, and said nothing. Finally she said, “Is Artur sending duos of ambassadors to
all
the Undersea Folk?”

Again, they exchanged a look. But this time Tennian spoke up. Barely. “No. You are considered a special case, and essential to this gathering.”

“According to whom?”

“The entire royal family.”

Fred gave thanks she was sitting down, because otherwise she was fairly certain she would have fallen on her ass.

“But why?” she managed after gasping like a landed
trout.

“It is not for us to know.”

“Just ‘go fetch Fred,’ is that it?”

“Yes,” Kertal replied.

“And I’m supposed to pack a bag and follow you guys to the Caymans?”

“Yes.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You owe a debt to the royal family,” Kertal reminded her.

“And you’re a subject,” Tennian added unhelpfully.

“I am not! And I do not.” Still. Talk about a once in a lifetime opportunity. The marine biologist in her was itching to get a look at a meeting populated with thousands of mermaids. But it chafed, being ordered to go like that. Shit, her mom had quit trying to give her orders by the fourth grade.

She wondered how the other Folk knew to come to the Caymans, then remembered how her father’s people communicated: by telepathy. Duh. How
else
did you talk underwater?

Fred opened her mouth to argue more when she heard the rattle of keys and her front door burst open. Jonas was framed in the doorway, panting, clutching her doorknob so hard his knuckles were white. “What’d I miss?”

“Apparently I’m going to the Caymans.”

“How come?”

“Super secret mermaid business.”

Her friend beamed. “Great! I’ll go pack your things. Good thing you’ve got tons of vacation time coming. Don’t worry, I’ll fix it with Barb.”

Fred covered her face with her hands. “Shit.”

“Will I need a passport?”

“You’re not coming,” she tried, already knowing the outcome.

“Ha! Think I’ll miss out on a chance to stock up on some of that yummy rum? And do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a vacation? Never mind how long it’s been since
you’ve
had one.” To Tennian and Kertal: “Classic workaholic, you guys. No hope at all.” To Fred: “Besides, you’ll just get into trouble by yourself.”

“Sir, you are not invited,” Kertal said.

“Sir, I’d like to see you stop me. I would also like to find out who does your hair.”

“Bipeds are not welcome,” Tennian mumbled.

“And
your
hair.”

Fred saw her chance, and jumped at it. “I’m only going if he goes.” Had she really just said that? She mentally replayed the last five seconds. Yes, she had. “That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

This time, the Grim Duo didn’t bother exchanging glances. They just nodded in perfect weird unison.

“Woo-hoo!” Jonas yowled. “I’ll go pack my swim trunks.”

“I don’t know why
you’re
so excited,” Fred grumbled
as Jonas stomped on the accelerator. As it was fall, and midweek, traffic to Cape Cod was light. And Jonas was enjoying his new toy, a gray Ford hybrid. “I haven’t even decided to go.”

“Yuh-huh!” He beeped the horn at a dawdling tourist—they both hated it when morons went fifty miles an hour in the passing zone—and whipped past the small blue Volkswagen.

Fred slammed her finger down on the window button and yowled into the wind, “Passing zone is for passing, shithead!”

“Don’t make me put the child locks on the windows again,” Jonas warned. “And you did so say you were going. You told what’s-their-names you’d go if I could go.”

“Yeah, well, I lost my temper there for a second. Frankly, I can’t figure out why we’re even going to my mom’s.”

“Because
nice
and
loving
daughters
tell
their hot moms when they’re
leaving
the
country.
”

“That’s enough about my hot mom,” Fred warned, knowing it was no use. The former hippie, Moon Bimm, was in ridiculously good shape for a woman in her early fifties. To Fred’s eternal despair, she had personal knowledge that Moon still had the sex drive of an eighteen-year-old.

“Say,” Jonas said cheerfully, reading her mind as usual, “remember last year when you walked in on her and Sam doing the wild thing on the—”

Fred jabbed the volume button.

“Didn’t your stepfather have to go see a chiropractor after you threw him off your mom?” Jonas screamed over the music.

Fred rolled the window back down and stuck her head out, doglike, for the next half hour.

“Come on, show me,” Jonas begged.

So she took her friend around the side of the cream-colored Cape Cod house with the hunter green shutters, and showed him the now-fixed sliding glass kitchen door. The one she’d broken through last fall when she thought her mother was in danger at the hands of a merman. The first one she’d ever met.

“Jeez,” Jonas said, impressed. He rapped his knuckles on the glass. “This shit is
thick
. And you just walked through it?”

“Kicked it in. Then walked.”

“The extreme always makes an impression,” Jonas said, quoting a line from his all-time favorite movie,
Heathers
. He’d had an absurd crush on Winona Ryder since
Mermaids
.

“Then what?”

“Then I met Artur, High Prince of the Undersea Folk, whom I had assumed was committing felony assault on my folks.”

“Not knowing,” Jonas added, having begged to hear the story about a thousand times, “that Moon had already charmed him with her extreme hotness and everything was fine.”

“Anyway,” she continued with a glare, “Sam got the door fixed the next day, end of story.”

“Ah, Sam. Ridiculously fortunate (wealthy) hubby to the delicious Moon, trodden stepfather to the grumpiest mermaid on the planet. Agh!”

Fred flinched, then looked. The man in question, her stepfather, was blinking at them through the glass (and his bifocals). Sam was a few inches shorter than Fred, with graying brown hair pulled back in his usual ponytail, which only highlighted his bald spot.

He hit the latch and slid the door open. “Hello, Fred. Jonas. We have a guest.” Code for: ix-nay on the ermaid-may uff-stay.

“We won’t stay long,” Fred promised, stepping past her stepfather.

“Maybe only for dessert. Did Moon make ice cream again?” Jonas asked.

“Are you kidding?” Sam smiled and opened the freezer. “What’s your favorite flavor?”

“Wh-who’s that?” a trembling voice asked.

Sam stretched out one of his rough amateur carpenter’s hands and, after a long moment, a little girl (Fred put her age at about five, unless she was malnourished, which was certainly likely given her bone structure and large, almost bulging brown eyes) reached out and grasped one of Sam’s fingers. “Ellie, this is my daughter, Fred, and her best friend, Jonas.”

Ellie was now standing almost behind Sam, and Fred could only see one big brown eye. Jonas, busily building himself a six-scoop sundae, looked up from licking a spoon and waved.

“Who’s he?” Ellie whispered.

Sam knelt, very slowly, and took Ellie by the shoulders, very gently. “That is my daughter’s very best friend in the world. He was picked on all the time in school and Fred had to watch out for him. She protected him. He would never, ever hurt you.”

“But you don’t know.” Ellie’s expression had the faraway look of a child in a nightmare she would never wake from. “Only God knows everything.”

Fred coughed, which caused Sam and Ellie to look over at her. “Hey, Ellie. Watch this.”

Mentally apologizing to her oldest friend, Fred seized Jonas by the shirt collar and heaved him out of his chair and through the (fortunately open) sliding door.