“Some. Plane ticket tapped me out.”
“We’ve got you covered,” said Tallulah. “Pav waitressed in New Orleans this winter. She saved all her tips.”
I nodded. It wasn’t that we needed much, but now and then money was handy. Pavati probably had a small treasure trove amassed in the trunk of the stolen Impala. Humans tipped her as if she were serving the secrets of the universe on a blue plate special. She winked at me, popped the plastic cover off her latte, and dipped her finger to scoop out the foam.
A man sitting at a nearby table stared at her mouth.
I couldn’t blame him. For better or worse, nature had designed us all to attract the human eye, but Pavati was a particularly gorgeous specimen as monsters went. Unlike Maris’s and Tallulah’s pale complexions, Pavati’s was caramel and melted chocolate. Like a Bollywood superstar, she had square shoulders, a narrow waist, and dark-lashed eyes that glowed lavender. She was, as Maris called her, “The Perfect Bait.”
Even I, her own brother, could fall into her hypnotic trap and find myself fantasizing about her in unhealthy ways. It was a disgusting and humiliating experience, even when I knew she was doing it to me on purpose. “Just for laughs,” she’d say.
Pavati, I groaned mentally. Maybe I wasn’t totally innocent when it came to toying with my victims before the kill, but at least I did it to ease their fears. Pavati could be downright devastating in her allure. If this Jason Hancock was the one we’d been searching for, he didn’t stand a chance.
Pavati studied my gloomy disposition and chuckled to herself. Maris was less amused by the depression I’d allowed myself to fall into. She narrowed her eyes at me. “We are right this time,” she said.
“I’m keeping an open mind.”
“He’s moving his family to Bayfield—to the old house. What are the chances? This is the right family, Calder. It’s him.”
Now she had my attention, but I tried to hide my excitement just to piss her off. “Let’s say, just for kicks, you’re right, and you’ve found him,” I said. “How do you plan to do this?”
A smile slowly spread across Maris’s face. Pavati looked up quickly.
Tallulah slid her chair closer to me and linked her arm through mine. “Isn’t it good to have him back?” she asked the other two. She kissed my cheek and squeezed my hand; I squeezed hers back twice before slipping my hand away. This outward image of family harmony was like manna to Tallulah. If it were just the two of us, maybe this family would actually work. But there was no use hypothesizing. We’d never be rid of Maris.
Tallulah turned toward her. “Tell him,” she said.
Maris nodded once, happy to have the floor. “We’ve been watching the family for a while,” she said; her eyes glowed silver.
“I assumed as much.” I rocked back in my chair again.
“He has two daughters.”
“They’re close to their father,” said Pavati.
“And?” I asked.
“They”—Maris paused for dramatic effect—“are our ticket. To him.”
I rocked forward, slapping the chair legs onto the floor. “Geez, Maris, isn’t that a little … sick?”
She smiled and sat back in her chair. “Thanks.”
“Seriously?” I glanced hopefully at Tallulah. Was she in on this? “Do we have to make this more complicated than necessary? Why involve children? If he is who you think he is, why not let Pavati just do her thing?”
“Sounds good to me,” Pavati said, perking up.
Maris rolled her eyes. “He’s married.”
“So?”
“Very married. I don’t think he’s the type to fall for the beautiful-girl-in-the-water routine.”
I shook my head. “Obviously you don’t know men.”
Maris leaned in. “He killed our mother, Calder.”
“No. He didn’t. Tom Hancock was the debtor. His son is only the collateral.”
“You know what I mean.”
“What makes you think Jason Hancock knows anything about his father’s promise? Or what breaking that promise did to Mother? Or to us?”
“What are you saying?” Maris asked, her voice wild and incredulous. “You don’t want to collect on the debt?”
I leaned in, encouraging her to whisper. “Of course I do. I want Jason Hancock as much as you do. I’m just saying … if this Jason Hancock is really Tom Hancock’s son … there’s no reason to make this more dramatic than necessary. Let Pavati lure him in. Once he’s in the water, we can all take part in dragging him down. We can all get our justice that way. Short and sweet. Done. Then we each go our own way.”
“Why don’t you want to stay with us, Calder?” asked Pavati. Her full bottom lip thrust out in a seductive pout. The man at the neighboring table licked his lips reflexively.
“Have you three looked in the mirror lately?” But I was only looking at Maris. Summers were bad enough. The thought of wintering in New Orleans with my sisters was beyond imagination. “A solidarity of vengeful mermaids? It’s charming.”
Maris’s eyes flashed with an electricity that made the overhead lighting fizz and blink. A pimply-faced boy who got too close stutter-stepped away. The other patrons looked up at the ceiling.
“I’ll tell you what, Calder White.” She spit my name through her teeth. “You play nice. Do this my way. And when it’s over, I promise you can leave without us ever bothering you again.”
“Maris,” Tallulah pleaded.
Maris waved her off. “What do you say, Calder?”
It was tempting. I’d been with my sisters since I was three. From then on, I’d been tethered to them, our minds connected by an invisible thread I could not sever. When Mother died, Maris became the head of our little family—now only she had the power to cut someone loose. If Maris was suggesting she’d let me go … No, it was impossible to imagine. But if she meant it … Well, if I ever missed my sisters, I could find them. But it would be on my terms. No more emergency summonses. No more guilt trips. No more physical urge to reconvene each spring. Independence wasn’t natural for our kind, but I never claimed to have come to this life naturally. Maris never let me forget that.
Tallulah’s fingers tightened around my bicep, and Pavati looked back and forth from my face to Maris’s.
“Deal.” The word was bitter on my tongue. Tallulah made a softly strangled sound, but I didn’t look at her. “What do we do now? Assuming you’re right.”
“You get close to one of the sisters,” said Pavati.
“How?”
“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” Maris leaned over the table and ran her fingers through my thick curls. “You’re not entirely hideous.”
Tallulah fidgeted as Maris touched me.
Laughing, Pavati tossed her hair, and her necklace jangled. Beads of sweat popped up on the upper lip of the man to her left. My eyes darted to him, and he quickly looked away.
Pavati drew closer, putting her arm around my shoulders. “Get invited to the house, Cal.” Her breath was still warm from the Mississippi Delta, and her full lips brushed my ear as she said, “Meet the parents. Be the boyfriend.”
I nodded. The proposed seduction played out in my mind like a movie—the fake smiles, the deceitful kiss …
“Get Jason Hancock to trust you,” Pavati continued. “Tell him you’ve never been fishing. Let him invite you out on the lake.”
I closed my eyes.
“Then we’ll just show up,” she said brightly.
I pictured the three of them transformed, circling the boat like sharks, their lithe bodies cutting through the water, then slinking over the rail.
“Then what?”
“He’ll beg for mercy. He’ll ask us why,” Tallulah said, her voice ringing.
“We’ll take our time,” whispered Pavati.
“We’ll tell Jason Hancock about his father’s boat accident,” said Maris. “We’ll tell him how our mother saved his father.”
“For a price,” chimed in Tall
ulah.
“We’ll tell him that his father was weak. That he promised his infant son in exchange for his own miserable life. We’ll tell him that our mother agreed. We’ll tell him,” Maris said, spitting through her teeth, “that Tom Hancock may have broken his promise, but he, Jason Hancock, still belongs to us.”
“And then we’ll take him down.” Tallulah leaned her head against my shoulder.
“Slowly,” Maris added. “We’ll let him come up for air, and then we’ll drag him down again.”
I shook my head.
“And then do it again,” said Pavati. Her light giggle raised goose bumps on my smooth arms.
“He’ll be screaming,” I said. “It will call unnecessary attention.”
“Trust me, little brother,” said Maris. “By the time anyone comes, we’ll be long, long gone.”
4
LILY HANCOCK
Maris pulled down a quiet street in South Minneapolis, made a U-turn, and parked on the side of the road, a few houses down from a Tudor two-story with a For Sale sign in the yard and a moving van parked out front. My eyes focused on the name stenciled on the mailbox.
HANCOCK
“Go on,” said Maris. “See what you think.”
I hesitated. Breaking and entering wasn’t really my style.
“Listen, little brother. If you don’t find out for yourself, I’ll have to listen to you bitch all the way up north. Get in there. Check them out. If you aren’t convinced it’s the right man, well … we’ll cross that bridge later.”
I gave her a jerky nod and got out of the car. Budding sugar maples lined the street. Other than the bustle of activity surrounding the moving van, it was quiet.
I crept along the neighbor’s privacy fence and climbed over the top, dropping silently into the Hancocks’ backyard. The yellow grass crunched under my feet as I edged my way to the rear door. Barely opening it, I slipped inside. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in an actual house, but the kitchen—even stripped bare of its appliances—was strangely familiar, what with the yellow walls and silver sink. But as I struggled to pull a memory out of the darkness, the smell of bleach overtook me, and I crinkled my nose against the fumes.
I slunk through the empty rooms, looking for any clues that Maris had found the right Hancocks, but there wasn’t much left inside. A few cardboard boxes marked Mom’s Paints and Supplies stood stacked by the front door. Another box, labeled Photo Albums, gave me pause. I opened it carefully and paged through the album at the top of the stack. Three sheets in, I found a family photo. The father stared up at me from the happy composition. Could this be Tom Hancock’s son?
I closed the box and watched through the front windows as one of the moving crew carried a wheelchair up the ramp into the van. Another man pointed and gave instructions about its placement. Before I could give any consideration to the second man, floorboards creaked above my head. I knew I was pushing my luck, but my curiosity was piqued.
Stealing along the wall, I crept up the stairs, controlling each footstep, avoiding squeaky treads, until I got to the first bedroom, where a hand-painted sign still hung on the door. Lily, it said. Someone was moving around inside, making clinking sounds and dropping things onto a hard surface.
I slipped through the door and into the bedroom closet, positioning myself so as not to jostle the wire hangers, and adjusted the slats in the door with my finger. My eyes darted around the room as I peered through the gap. Deep indentations marked the spot where a bed had been. Rectangles of darker paint and bits of tape marred the walls.
The en suite bathroom door stood ajar, and a teenage girl bent over the white counter, leaning into the mirror. This must be Lily, I thought as I assessed her: average height, with dark auburn curls that tumbled down her back.
She readied the sharp point of a charcoal pencil by the corner of her eye and drew a thick line along her lashes. She smirked at some private thought and drew the line thicker, shifting her weight. My eyes settled on her backside, round and nubile in a black miniskirt, and my stomach twisted like a snake in a jar.
The girl returned to her bedroom and was now just several feet from where I hid. She dropped a green velvet bag on the floor and sat down to lace her tattered combat boots, worn over plum-colored tights. In her richly textured colors and auburn hair, she reminded me of a classical oil painting. I memorized her every detail, wondering if she should be my target, wanting her to be my mark.
A circle of skin showed through a hole in the knee of her tights. It mesmerized me. Just the size of a quarter, like a bright pink petal floating on dark water … The flow of electricity bounced from my fingers to the wire hangers, making a tiny snapping sound. Then there was a flash, and I spun toward the movement. Still jumpy as hell. God, what was I doing in here? I re-adjusted the closet door slats to get a better view.
A smaller girl—her sister?—was standing in the doorway. She was younger than I expected. Small with blond ringlets. Her pink backpack, partially unzipped, bulged with books and dolls. She twisted up her mouth and eyed her older sister.
“What are you wearing? You look weird.”
The older girl flinched but didn’t respond.
The smaller one leaned against the bedroom doorframe. “Did you hear me? I said, ‘You look weird.’ Why do you have to dress like that?”
I thought I saw the older sister stifle a smile.
“Y’know what? ‘Weird’ was kinda the look I was going for. Thanks, Sophie.”
“If you ruin my chance to make new friends, I will kill you.”
The older girl finished tying her right boot, and this time she did smile. I did, too. There was something about a little girl handing out death threats that appealed to my twisted, darker side.
“Then I’ll try not to make you the social outcast of the North Woods,” she said.
The younger girl made an exasperated sound while the older one leaned forward to grab a book off the floor. Her blouse rode up, exposing her lower back.
“Oh my gosh, Lily! Is that a tattoo? I’m telling Mom and Dad.”
The girl called Lily pulled her shirt down and stood up. Turning toward her sister, she said, “No, you’re not.”
“Why not?”
She put her hands on her sister’s shoulders. “Because you wouldn’t do that to me, and I would never do something like that to you.”
Sophie Hancock lowered her chin and looked at the floor. I waited for her to laugh and run to tell her parents. But she didn’t move. I couldn’t understand. Any one of my sisters would have jumped at the chance to make me miserable. Even Tallulah on a bad day.
“Fine. I won’t tell. But they are going to find out.”
Lily Hancock nodded. “By then I’ll have figured out a way to soften the blow.”
Sophie turned away, and I watched her leave, analyzing her from a strategic standpoint. She was smaller, probably easy to manipulate. It wouldn’t be a seduction with her. Too young. I’d have to think of a new tactic.
The room was now empty save for Lily Hancock, and me in her closet. She reached again for the book on the ground. It was old, oversized, its binding loose and its cover cracked. It flopped open, exposing a page that was blank except for a smudged inscription written in a large, looping hand:
An insignificant sacrifice for one so loved as you.
I doubted the inscription was for her. Probably written before she was born. She couldn’t be more than seventeen.
The girl let her fingers caress the inscription before gently closing the cover and cradling the spine. I caught the title before she slipped it into her bag: An Anthology of Victorian Poets. Geez, the book was ancient. What did she like about the old thing? My curiosity was interrupted by a woman calling up the stairwell, and I jumped again, almost giving myself away.
“Lily honey?” she asked. “Are you still up there? It’s time. We’re all waiting.”
“Coming, Mom.” Lily Hancock divided her ponytail and pulled it tight. She buttoned
a black brocade vest that accentuated her hourglass figure, then slung the velvet bag across her chest and shoulder. Taking one last look around her room, she headed for the door. A car horn beeped just as her feet crossed the threshold.
“I said I’m coming, you guys. Geez.”
When Lily’s combat boots hit the stairs, I made my move from the closet. But I had to dodge back into my hiding spot when she unexpectedly returned to grab the Lily sign off the nail on her door. She stared at the closet handle for too many seconds before clomping down the stairs. After that, I don’t know what was louder: the front door slamming or my heart pounding through my chest.
I went to the window and leaned my forehead against the glass. Below me, the Hancocks threw their last small items into the family SUV. The father assisted the mother into the passenger seat, making sure she was comfortable, and he handed her a wooden cane.
They weren’t exactly happy about the move. I could tell that much. Their auras were all wrong. Anxious, maybe? That was my best guess, judging by the muddy green light that hovered around the car. I wondered if they knew what their family was going toward. Did they know their Hancock family history? If Maris was right, did these girls know their dad was in danger?
I slunk down the stairs and slipped out the back door. A neighbor’s dog followed me, a growl rumbling deep in his chest. I met his eyes and thought, Beat it. The dog yelped and ran away, leaving me to find a place to spy.
“And we’re off,” said the man behind the wheel, but he didn’t put the car in gear. “I can’t believe it. I’m finally going.” I flinched at the sound of his voice, muffled because the car windows were closed but still clear enough for me to hear.
From behind a tree, I listened to their conversation. How many times had I imagined Jason Hancock—his image changing with each passing year as he turned from baby to boy to man? His face, his hair … his voice. Never had I imagined the sound to be gentle.
“This is going to be good for all of us,” he said. I wasn’t sure whom he was trying to convince. “Nothing but blue sky, fresh air, clean water …” He paused then, and the family waited silently for something more. When he didn’t say anything, Lily Hancock leaned forward and put her chin on his seat back.