Undead and Underwater

Page 16

No, she was afraid of how the other two would react. Though she had outed herself as a mermaid-human hybrid to the world, she was still overcoming decades of conditioning to keep her deep dark secret a deep dark secret.
Speaking of which, time for the show, especially since she couldn’t swim without her tail, which made snorkeling a challenge: she stretched, wiggled in place, and felt her legs recede and her tail come forth. Not that her legs went anywhere, or her tail came from anywhere. It was difficult to describe the process, which she’d found personally frustrating as someone with a background in biology. It was like her legs were . . . subsumed, she supposed. Like getting a tan: the tanned person looked different, but they were still the same person. Even when she couldn’t see her legs, she knew they were there, knew they were a part of her.
She swam back and forth for a minute, letting Betsy get a good look and glad for a chance to work out some muscle tension. Then with a powerful flick, she zoomed up to the top, her head popping out with a satisfying splash.
Betsy was clutching the top of the tank, white-faced. “Oh my God.”
“I see you’ve grasped the situation.”
“Oh my God!”
“This is what I was talking about.” Fred made sure she was within reach of the ladder before shifting back to her legs and climbing out. “Somehow you’ve missed the fact that an entirely new sentient species has existed with yours for millennia and picked the last six months to expose themselves.”
“I’ll say,” she muttered, eyeing Fred as she gathered up her clothes. “Nice rack, by the way. Unreal! Not your rack. The situation.”
“Only to some.” But she smiled to soften her comment, then wondered why she wanted to soften anything for the tote-bag-toting, nonsense-spouting, thought-hijacking bitch.
“I can’t believe it!”
Betsy seemed so astonished, and so sympathetic (though that was a little weird—why would she have sympathy?), Fred found herself warming up to her.
“You sometimes have a tail? You’re a half mermaid thingy or whatever so sometimes your feet just disappear?” Betsy sounded more distressed now than when Fred was tossing her into break room walls. “So half the time you can’t wear shoes! Half the time you can’t wear shoes! Even—”
“What?”
“—if when, even if when you have feet and buy the cutest pair ever, sometimes your feet just vanish!” She staggered and, startled, Fred put out a hand to steady the tall blonde. “I’m so, so sorry!”
“It’s not that bad.” Was she serious?
“No, just—I don’t mean to—you’re very brave. I could never be as brave as you with this; I’d take it much harder. I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.”
She was! Why am I surprised Madison asked an idiot for help? Fred went to the secret towel cache she tucked beside the exit, briskly dried herself, then started putting her clothes back on. “Anyway. Per Madison, here, somebody tried to kill her because they thought she was me. Is that right?”
“That’s the condensed version, yeah.” Again, Madison stared at the floor. Fred didn’t know if she was glad the girl had no comment about what she’d just seen, or miffed. You’d think someone who rilly, rilly loved dolphins would be just a teeny bit blown away by seeing a real mermaid in the flesh, so to speak. “The long version makes me out to be pretty stupid.”
I’m sure. “So now that—”
“I have to tell my husband about this!”
“As you like, but right now we have to deal with—”
“Whoa, okay? Whoa, whoa. I’m gonna need more than thirty seconds to process what you just did.”
“You’ve had months, like everyone else,” Fred forced out through gritted teeth. “Unless you’ve been off the planet, there’s no excuse for—”
“I wish it was as simple as being off planet. You know? I absolutely wish I’d been only off planet, fighting space lizards or feeling Khan’s wrath or whatever, so instead of someone yowling, ‘Khaaaaaan! Khaaaaan!’ they’d be all, ‘Betseeeeey! Betseeeeey!’ But I was time traveling and in hell and getting my friend Jessica pregnant and things just sort of stacked up on me. And big damn deal! I don’t have to justify my to-do list to you. Great, you’re a fish.”
“Part fish. No, dammit, no fish, I’m a mammal!”
“Yeah, a mammal with fish scales. Is that why you were able to shrug off my mojo, and smell weird?”
Remembering her desperate battle to think her own thoughts, Fred muttered, “Shrug off isn’t how I’d have described that. And I do not smell.”
“I don’t think you smell, either, Dr. Bimm.”
“No, no,” Betsy soothed. “Don’t take it wrong. It’s not a bad smell. It’s just different. It’s not your fault—I’ve got a super sensitive nose. And I’m still learning, so at first I thought it was just me, but now I know it’s just you.”
“What?” Nothing. Nothing this woman babbled made sense, ever.
“Okay, this is a terrible example, but I’m hoping it’ll help so that you’ll be able to overlook the terribleness of it: You know how when you walk into a good sushi restaurant, you smell fish? And it’s not a bad smell, but it’s a smell? You’re the sushi restaurant of my . . . er . . .”
“Olfactory canyon?”
“Yes! That! But again, not in a gross or smelly way.”
“I dislike you intensely,” Fred said. She’d had enough of the blonde, enough of the other blonde, enough of the tank, and enough of the entire mess, which still had not been explained to her satisfaction. “Did you mean it about wanting a smoothie?”
“Really?” Betsy’s face lit up and Fred was startled at how quickly she could go from pretty to gorgeous. “You’re not teasing, right? Because if you are, that’s just not funny. So are you? No? We can? Smoothies? Now?” She threw her arms around her, which Fred found alarming and touching. A little touching. Barely touching. Not really touching at all.
She figured the woman had a lot of friends. Probably she made positive first impressions on others, ones who didn’t mind her penchant for thought rape. She could see how Betsy could grow on her. Like a fungus. Like . . . blonde athlete’s foot.
So I’d better work doubly hard not to let her in me or let her win me over.
Thus resolved, Fred explained how easy it would be to score smoothies in Boston on a Tuesday night.
CHAPTER SIX
“Whoa.”
She must say that a lot, Fred concluded, though she was pleased to see Betsy enjoying the marketplace. The scents, sights, and lights were dazzling to Fred, and she’d lived in the area most of her life. What must it be like for . . . er . . . for someone who was from . . . uh . . .
Fred realized that she still knew nothing about Betsy except she could hijack brains and didn’t need to wear makeup. So that would have to be rectified while they ate.
“It used to be a meeting hall in the seventeen hundreds,” Fred explained, finding herself in tour-guide mode but not minding. She loved Boston. It was a city that looked old but felt young. “No taxation without representation was debated right here. Samuel Adams and George Washington were both here to pitch their cases. Ted Kennedy and Bill Clinton have been here.”
“Great, but it’s weird you’re counting those last two as a mark in this place’s favor. Whoever’s been here, it’s great. Look at all the food to choose from!”
“And all thanks to the cradle of liberty. You’re welcome, the rest of America.”
“I had no idea the Founding Fathers invented smoothies.”
“Of course they di—” She glanced at the blonde, who grinned back. “Ah. Very funny.”
“Yeah, well. Couldn’t resist messing with you.”
“Try harder.”
“This . . . is . . . so . . . cool!” During their conversation Betsy took in everything she could. She was walking while staring, looking all around and even up at times; it was amazing that she hadn’t stepped on someone or knocked them over. “What are you guys gonna get? Can we eat inside? It’s cold out. Where should we sit?”
Not that cold. Most people are so happy when spring shows up, they’ll sit outside in a thirty-degree drizzle. Hmm.
Fred, obeying the demands of her shellfish allergy, opted for a salad. Madison had a daiquiri; Betsy opted for a strawberry smoothie. “It’s so fresh,” she moaned around the straw. “Tastes like they picked ’em this morning. I live near farms—I married a former farmer—and this is still the best one I’ve ever had.”
“Yes, fascinating. Glad you like it, now let’s get to it.” I don’t know why I’m here, but it’s not to be her tour guide. They had picked a (relatively) private table on the second floor, in the far corner (if a round room could be said to have corners). As it was past the dinner hour, they had most of the tables to themselves. “You said you live near farms? Where are you from?”
“St. Paul. Which, you’re gonna point out, is a big city and farm-free, and it is, but it’s not farmer’s market free, and that’s where we get a lot of our fruit.”
Fred looked at Madison. “You dragged whoever she is out here from Minnesota?”
Madison looked uncomfortable but, to her credit, managed a truthful answer. “I didn’t drag anybody anywhere. I was hoping for help, though. I don’t want to lie about that.”
Fred turned back to Betsy. “How do you even know Madison?”
“I don’t. I don’t know her mom, either, but her mom knows me, so here I am.”
Her hip buzzed; Fred ignored it. “Let’s try this again. From the beginning. What’s going on?”
“Madison’s mom called me,” Betsy said between slurps. “Said her kid was in trouble and would I please go see what I could do, and my husband is going insane so I figured a change of scenery might help, and here I am drinking the best smoothie of my life after meeting a grouchy mermaid.”