Diary of a Radical Mermaid

  “For godsake. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Murder. I feel death and violence and misery and your McEvers cousins and . . . murder. Jordan!”

  He headed for me with both hands out, a ferocious frown on his face and his dark eyes hard as jewels. He would grab me and distract me, and if I let him do it I’d never get answers.

  I spun around and made a perfect arc into his pool. He followed. We engaged in a feverish slap-and-grab in the deep end. Under normal circumstances I’d have wrapped him around my little finger, drained him dry, and left him on the bottom with a silly smile on his face. But the pulse of something dark and sad inside him only grew stronger, and I went still. I shivered. Fear for him. Jordan groaned in defeat. We shot to the surface.

  “Tell me what’s going on,” I ordered. “I’ll find out anyway if you don’t. You want to tell me. That’s why I came here. I knew you wanted to talk to me. I sensed it.”

  “I lured you here. I wanted to warn you. I want you to go away. You have to leave Sainte’s Point.”

  “Are you insane? Ali and Griffin’s wedding is in a few days!”

  “After the wedding. Go. Go with the rest of the family on the wedding cruise. Leave the island.”

  I stared at him. In celebration of Ali and Griffin’s wedding, the entire Bonavendier clan from Sainte’s Point was scheduled to leave on a leisurely cruise aboard the enormous yacht of Lilith’s love, Riyad. Lilith, her sisters, their men, Ali, Griffin, even the servants. Everyone who lived on the island would be gone for at least two months. But I was supposed to stay. “What do you mean, leave the island? Lilith is planning to put me in charge of the place. Tula and I are already scheduling parties that will fill the entire mansion, and —”

  “There’s been a change of plans.”

  “No way. Lilith would have told me —”

  “She will. Trust me. You can’t stay at Sainte’s Point. Rhymer McEvers is taking up residence at the island for the next two months.”

  “Rhymer . . . Rhymer . . . Rhymer McEvers?” I had vague memories of meeting Rhymer once during a McEvers clan shindig at the clan’s drafty old castle overlooking a loch. I recalled dark hair, wonderful eyes, a great body, and a Sean Connery voice that could melt a shelelagh, but also I recalled his boring penchant for honor, duty, discipline, shooting people, et cetera. After an early girlfriend of his was killed by European gangsters he’d turned into a vigilante. Now I’m not one to believe rumors, but if one did believe rumors, one would believe that Rhymer tracked down and killed a half-dozen Landers he blamed for that girlfriend’s death. Dragged them into the ocean and strangled them, one by one.

  If one believes rumors.

  At any rate, then he’d disappointed his family by joining the British navy, thus sinking to the level of a gun-toting Lander and an Englishman. He and Jordan were both far too serious for mermen. Jordan and Rhymer had been friends since they were boys climbing icebergs in the north Atlantic. But what did that have to do with now? “Your cousin Rhymer? The Peacekeeper?”

  Jordan arched a brow. “How many other Rhymers do I know? Yes, Rhymer the Peacekeeper.”

  The Council had its own police force, you could say. Peacekeepers, they called them. Hard bodied, hard-assed cops. They were only dispatched in the most extreme cases, when Mers had turned violent or . . .

  “What have you done?” I grabbed Jordan’s hands. “Is Rhymer coming after you? I’ll stand by you. Whatever it is, you’re too well-groomed to be a criminal—”

  “For the last time, this isn’t about me, Juna Lee. All I can do is make you leave, for your own safety. That’s why I wanted you to come here today. So I could convince you. When I come back from Scotland, I don’t want to find you at Sainte’s Point.”

  “If there’s some horrible trouble that requires a Peacekeeper, and it includes you, I’m not leaving.”

  “If I have to shanghai you and send you to the other side or the world, I will.”

  I shoved him and stepped back. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Don’t make me.”

  “What could you possibly—” I searched his mind and shivered. “Rhymer’s in trouble. That’s it. Oh, I always knew he was too stern and Lander-like. All those solemn allegiances and violent inclinations. He’s wrapped tighter than a mummy. He was bound to snap. He killed someone.”

  “No, no, Rhymer didn’t kill anyone. It’s not that simple.”

  “Then what is it?” I shut my eyes. “I feel . . . I feel . . . what? Something I can’t even fathom. Something horrible that scares even you. Something that could hurt Rhymer, and hurt you. What is it? What? Either you tell me what’s going on, Jordan, or I’ll settle at the bottom of your ridiculous mountain pool and refuse to leave. You’ll have an easier time scraping pond algae off your rocks.”

  He sat down on a heavy wooden bench fashioned from thick logs. My sexy, web-footed lumberjack. For awhile he said nothing, frowning at the stone-dark depths of his faux mountain pool. My heart twisted. Jordan was that rarest of creatures — a Mer prince who would have happily given up the tides to live on a simple mountaintop. And yes, his disenchantment with Mer glamour was, in no small part, because of the heartache between him and me.

  I sank down in a damp pool of silk at his feet, fixing unyielding eyes on him. He finally looked at me. “Do you believe in Swimmers?”

  “Swimmers? Swimmers? Is this a joke?”

  “No. Do you believe Swimmers might really exist?”

  I gaped at him, realized he was serious, then snorted. “No. And I don’t believe in the Loch Ness monster, either.”

  “Until a few days ago, I’d have agreed with you.”

  I was speechless. When I recovered, I said, “So . . . you seriously believe we aren’t the only kind of merfolk in the sea. Jordan, I’m sorry, but this is about as logical as debating the existence of fairies, elves, and heterosexual drag queens.”

  “You don’t think there’s some kernel of truth to our legends? Why shouldn’t there be Mers further up the evolutionary shore than us? We already accept that there are differences between ourselves and Landers. Between ourselves and Mer kin who have no webbing on their feet and no special underwater skills. And we don’t dismiss the existence of extraordinary Mers among us — the Healers, for example. So why isn’t it possible that Swimmers exist?”

  “Because there’s no such thing as a shapeshifting merman with retractable claws!”

  “A lot of Mers think they’ve had a brush with a Swimmer, but they can’t prove it.”

  “For the same reason they can’t prove Big Foot exists! Because he doesn’t! Jordan!”

  “I’ve always heard rumors about Swimmers.”

  “So have I. But those are fairytales.”

  “There are plenty of Mers who believe we’re descended from semiaquatic mermaids. Lilith does.”

  “No respect to my great-aunt, but she’s a hard-core romantic.” When he said nothing but only scowled at me I went on. “And, uh, this has something to do with Rhymer? So Rhymer believes in Swimmers, too?”

  “He believes a Swimmer named Orion got his sister killed last week. She was trying to blow up a UniWorld Oil research ship. This Swimmer, this Orion, convinced her to commit the crime. But he didn’t show up to help her. The bomb exploded while she was being chased by the oil company’s security team. She died in the water off the Scottish coast.”

  It was literally as if Jordan had told me to look behind the nearest moss-draped oak for the Creature from the Black Lagoon. My skin crawled. “If such a thing as a Swimmer exists . . . if this Orion is real, and he’s responsible for the death of Rhymer’s sister . . . then why isn’t Rhymer asking for help from the Council?”

  “If Orion is a Swimmer, he’ll evade anyone the Council sends to track him. And he’ll kill anyone who tries to arrest him. And he’ll seek revenge. We believe he’s already planning something. So Rhymer’s coming to Sainte’s Point.”

  “Rhymer plans to hide out at Sainte’s Po
int?”

  “He’s bringing his nieces there. Orion’s daughters.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. His sister had children with a mythological Swimmer?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “No. She had children. With Orion. And now he wants them. He’s never even met them. He may want to hurt them. We don’t know what he wants. So Rhymer’s bringing them here for protection.”

  I got to my feet. “I have to talk to Lilith. She knows all about this, doesn’t she? She knew when I headed here to see you that you were going to send me away.”

  He nodded. “She knows.”

  “I’ve been ambushed. It isn’t fair. I have to talk to Lilith. I’ll be back.”

  “No, you won’t. Not unless you want to be shanghaied by me.”

  “We’ll just see what Lilith has to say about that.”

  I whirled and headed for the pier.

  He swept me into his arms from behind, without touching me. He filled my body, filled my mind, nearly absorbed me in a devoted hum of energy. You still love me, he whispered inside me. You’ll do what I tell you to do. Because you know you’ll always love me and that I’ll always love you.

  I moaned but shoved him away mentally. Someone has to protect you from your own pride and stupid independence.

  And you from yours, he countered.

  I ran for my yacht without any dignity at all.

  Somewhere off the coast of Scotland, on a state-of-the-art research ship owned by UniWorld Oil

  Chapter 5

  The naked body of the stunning brunette lay on the stainless steel gurney, only a small purple area of discoloration marking the side of her face where the underwater concussion had ruptured her brain. Her sea-green eyes stared up blankly into the antiseptic lights overhead. Unlike the emptiness of most dead faces, her expression was tragic, as if her life’s mission and the loves she had left behind still lived in the memory of her flesh. A dozen scientists gathered around her, all of them employees of the world’s largest oil conglomerate. None of them knew the true nature of the group they worked for, a cabal headed by a man code-named Leviathan.

  “The corpse is identified as Tara McEvers,” a British researcher said into the miniature microphone attached to the collar of his blue scrubs. “A marine biologist alleged to have been involved in numerous vandalisms of UniWorld research vessels in these waters. According to data provided by UniWorld Security, Ms. McEvers was born near or on one of the lochs. Specifics unknown. Only known living relative is a younger brother, Rhymer, age uncertifiable. Former British commando. Whereabouts now unknown. Ms. McEvers also has three daughters, ages six to twelve, whereabouts now unknown. Father of the children — unknown. Ms. McEvers died while attempting to plant an explosive device on the hull of the S.S. Deep Gold, moored off the coast of Arcmoren.”

  The head of the autopsy team turned to his fellow doctors, who were all staring at the McEvers corpse with unprofessional awe and no small degree of grisly attraction. Even dead, she was a charismatic force of nature. “Before we begin dissecting this cadaver, any comments, doctors?”

  A female forensics specialist from Nigeria splayed Tara McEver’s muscular toes apart. “I want to go on record as saying I’ve never seen any webbing as remarkable as this before. This is truly a superior specimen.” Soft, iridescent folds of skin, as translucent as butterfly wings, unfurled. The webbing extended to the tips of each toe, pliable and yet tough. “This woman was an unusually powerful swimmer,” the Nigerian continued. “She easily out-swam Security’s dive team for more than thirty minutes in frigid waters at a depth of more than sixty feet.”

  The British physician said tersely, “That is precisely why Leviathan wants a thorough report on all the autopsy results. All tissue and organs will be sent directly to Research and Development. I intend to dissect and study every centimeter of this specimen. Let us begin.”

  He turned toward the razor-sharp instruments arranged on a steel cart. As he reached for a scalpel, a chime sounded at the laboratory’s windowless steel door. The doctor frowned. “No one is authorized to—” Lights blinked a code on a small console beside the door’s latch. The latch opened with the soft hiss of elegant hydraulics. The massive door slid aside.

  A slender man in blue scrubs stepped inside. The bright antiseptic lighting did not quite color his eyes; if the men and women standing around Tara McEvers’ body had looked closely into those eyes they might have seen the deadly coldness, the flow of bloodlines they had never imagined. “Good morning,” the newcomer said pleasantly. “Sorry I’m late.”

  The heavy security door eased shut.

  The team leader stared at the visitor. “Dr. Fortson, I thought you were in London for the week.”

  The newcomer turned slightly, watching the door’s digital panel run through a sequence of numbers that ended with the muted click of the bolts. He was now locked in with the team who planned to cut Tara McEvers to pieces. And they with him. He shifted his gaze to the overhead security cameras. As if disabled by some silent pulse of energy, each made an unnatural whirring sound. Then, silence. Finally he settled his strange, cold gaze on the assembled researchers. They saw the first flicker of change, something impossible to contemplate. Something unbelievable and merciless had joined them.

  “Dr. Fortson is in London, indeed,” the visitor went on, his voice flowing downward, becoming a soft, fluid growl. “But I am not.”

  Then he was visible, large and powerful, a shapeshifting fury, an impossible violation of nature as they believed it to exist.

  He gave none of them so much as a moment to scream.

  A Brother’s Duty

  Chapter 6

  My name is Rhymer McEvers, and I am a Mer Peacekeeper. I have naught against Landers, except that they’ve overrun the dry world and now believe they can take over the great waters that surround it. They never will, but I bear them no ill will for trying. The waters are seductive. Even Landers realize their allure. I’ve worked among Landers, protected them, made friends with them, been a lover to more of their women than they’d like to count, and listened patiently as they’ve told me their version of the ancient history they assume all humankind shares. Which, of course, ’tis woefully ignorant of my kind. So be it.

  If Landers will just stay out of my way, I won’t be forced to hurt them.

  Or any Mers, either.

  * * * *

  “Stop there, Colonel McEvers.”

  I got stares. Hard ones. Standing on the steel and concrete dock of the UniWorld compound, with a cold morning wind making everyone but me shiver, I should have sensed trouble. I should never have set a foot inside the electrified gate. But a hearse waited in the parking area; I was ready to tend Tara’s corpse. At the moment I had only that mission.

  “I’ve come for my sister’s body. I’ll take only that much for now, and be back later for answers. She was no terrorist. The charges against her are a lie. But we’ll settle that discussion after I take her home to her daughters.”

  “You’re not giving orders here, Colonel. I am,” a snot of a private security chief said, stepping up to me in his heavy camo, one hand on his belted pistol. A half-dozen of his armed lackeys edged into a circle around me.

  I contemplated pulling him into the bay and drowning him. Instead I said, “It’s not Colonel. The name’s just McEvers. Rhymer McEvers. I left the Queen’s service two years ago. So drop the formalities. Your bosses have been told to expect me. I’ve come for my sister’s body. Now.”

  The bloody little tyrant leveled a pistol at me. “Don’t move.”

  “Now you’ve said the wrong thing to me.”

  “Everyone calm down,” a man called. “Colonel, relax.” A UniWorld executive strode from the walk of the big ship berthed at the dock. Fine long coat, good tweeds, the look of a smiling bastard about him. “Mr. McEvers. Please come aboard. We’ll talk.”

  A low hum of warning rose in my mind. I had my spies, my people, my kind, in the
area. A given. Jordan Brighton suddenly called to me. He was stationed nearby.

  Careful, cousin, careful, Rhymer, something’s happened. I just got a tip. Don’t set foot aboard the ship. He’s been there. Orion. He’s been there, cousin. And he’s killed again. He took Tara’s body. The UniWorld people think you have information on the attack. They think you and he are collaborating.

  The message froze me in place.

  “Mr. McEvers.” The smiling executive gestured toward the ship. “Relax. Come aboard. We want to talk with you. That’s all. Of course we’ll release your sister’s body to you. We just want to ask you some questions first.”

  The broad north Atlantic shifted in gray-green plains before me, empty of all but the massive gray UniWorld research ship and a UniWorld drilling platform in the distance. The emptiness insisted that nothing of humankind lived beyond the rocky shores around us; call us what you will, fact of fancy, but my brand of humankind was out there in the waters. These Landers had no idea. I was in my element.

  I shifted my mind and stared at the ship towering above. Mers have a sort of sonar; above water you Landers call it being psychic. A silent song. A vibration. Radar. I searched. She’s not here. Tara’s body was not inside the ship’s steel hulk.

  Jordan was right. The bloody bastard, Orion, had taken Tara’s body in death just as he’d used it in life. Next he might come looking for her daughters, his daughters, my nieces. They’d never even met him. He had never shown himself to them. Who could say what he intended? To murder them the way a tomcat kills his mate’s abandoned litter?

  “I have no need to talk,” I said to the UniWorld exec. “Let me know when you’re ready to release my sister’s body. I’ll come back. With the Queen’s own blessing, if you push me.”

  “Don’t threaten us with rumors of your connections, Mr. McEvers. UniWorld is bigger than the Queen.”

  “The Queen will be the least of your worries.”

  I turned to go. The circle of guards stepped closer. Of course I expected that. I was only confirming it. The executive stopped smiling. “We can’t let you leave, Mr. McEvers. Now, please, cooperate and come aboard.”