Authors: MaryJanice Davidson
Fish Out of Water (2 page)
Although there is a Florida Aquarium, I have no idea if it’s open at the top or if it’s possible for people to fall into
Also, although there are many fine naval bases in
Also, salmon pink bridesmaid gowns do clash terribly with green hair.
I love treason but hate a traitor.
—JULIUS CAESAR
It’s silly to go on pretending that under the skin we are all brothers. The truth is more likely that under the skin we are all cannibals, assassins, traitors, liars, hypocrites, poltroons.
—HENRY MILLER
A mermaid’s not a human thing
An’ courtin’ sich is folly;
Of flesh an’ blood I’d rather sing,
What ain’t so melancholy.
—E. J. BRADY, “Lost and Given Over”
A reporter meets interesting people. If he endures, he will get to know princes and presidents, popes and paupers, prostitutes and panderers.
—JIM BISHOP
Time magazine: “Is it true that if you help a mermaid, you get one wish?”
Fredrika Bimm: “Shut up.”
Fuck the fathers. They should know better.
—PAT CONROY,
The Prince of Tides
The Story So Far
Fredrika Bimm is a hybrid—her father was a merman who got her hippie mother pregnant one night on the beach and then disappeared forever. Part of both worlds and feeling out of place pretty much everywhere, Fred’s dearest wish is to keep herself to herself and stay under everyone’s radar.
Circumstances, however, make that impossible. In the last year and a half, she has helped Prince Artur of the Undersea Folk (what the mer-people call themselves) figure out who was dumping toxins into Boston Harbor, fallen for a fellow marine biologist (Dr. Thomas Pearson, who writes romance novels on the side), fought pirates (yes, pirates), attended a Pelagic (don’t ask), met the king of the Undersea Folk (who is obsessed with the HBO series
Dead-wood
), walked in on her mother and stepfather having sex, walked in on her boss (Dr. Barb) and her best friend (Jonas) doing their impersonation of the Thing That Can’t Stop Kissing, visited the Cayman Islands, and watched as several of her father’s people showed themselves (tails and all) to the world.
Also, she’s taken a leave of absence from her job at the New England Aquarium. So, she’s been busy.
Now, six months after the first of the Undersea Folk were seen on CNN, the world is transfixed by the idea that mermaids are real . . . have always been real . . . and there could be one living right next door.
Also, she has to house hunt in
Oh, the humanity.
Prologue
He stared, transfixed. His people were showing themselves to the world! How could the royal family—the
king
—go along with this? It went against centuries of tradition and ingrained behavior.
He instantly started figuring how he could turn the situation to his advantage.
One
“Excuse me, but are you a mermaid?”
“Why?” Fred was poking through the large, airy kitchen and trying not to show how impressed she was with the ocean view. She knew the Realtor would pick up on it like a bloodhound to sweat. “Do I get a discount? ‘Show us your fin and we’ll show you ten percent off.’ Like that?”
The Realtor colored, which, given that she had the creamy complexion natural to most redheads, gave the impression that she was about to have a stroke. Fred wondered how long it would take for the paramedics to show.
“I didn’t mean anything by it.” She coughed. “It’s just—your hair.”
“I know, don’t tell me. I fired my stylist.” Fred fussed with the ends of her green hair, which were now chin-length as opposed to tumbling halfway down her back. Much easier to take care of, though her friend Jonas had shrieked like he’d been stabbed when he’d seen it. “And I’m still getting grief about it from my friend. My stupid, irritating friend.”
“But it’s blue.”
“Technically it’s green.” She opened a cupboard to see how deep it was. “You know how the ocean looks blue but it’s really green? Same with my—Does the garbage disposal work?”
“Wha—Yes. And the house comes with all the appliances, as well as lawn maintenance. So are you?”
“I dunno. It’s pretty expensive. And what do I need four bedrooms for? You know what that’ll mean for me? Drop-in guests. ‘Say, Fred, you’ve got plenty of room, we’re staying here for a month.’ Any idea how much I hate drop-ins? I hate them like a fat kid hates Slim-Fast. Besides, I live in a
“No, I meant, are you a mermaid?”
“The term is Undersea Folk.”
“Yes, are you?” The Realtor was actually leaning toward Fred with the urgency of her question. Fred found she was backed up against the dishwasher, close enough to count the threads in the buttons on the Realtor’s blouse. “Because I know I’ve seen you on TV. On the news. I’m sure of it. So are you?”
“Why, are you afraid you won’t be able to track down all my references?” Fred sidled away from her and walked through the dining area.
This entire side of the house had enormous windows, all of which boasted ocean views of the Gulf side. It was 2:30 p.m. on
“Also, you swam in from the ocean side. Most people drive to the house.”
“Is this your not-too-subtle way of bitching about me tracking salt water all over the floors? Besides, I had to work off the brownie sundae I had for breakfast. What about the washer and dryer?”
“Right through here.” The Realtor, whose name Fred had forgotten, opened a door off the kitchen and gestured. Fred peeked around the corner and observed a full-sized washer/dryer combo in a spotlessly clean laundry room.
“Hmmm.”
The entire first floor (except for the bathroom) was one gigantic room, the front hall leading to the dining area leading to the kitchen leading to the living room leading to a large porch that ran nearly the length of the house. The walls were the color of Coffee-Mate; the furniture and décor were done in Modern Millionaire. All the windows were thrown wide and a fresh breeze made the curtains billow.
Upstairs were several bedrooms and three more bathrooms, one with a Jacuzzi big enough for a soccer team. Two of the bedrooms boasted ocean views as well. The cream-colored walls made the large house appear even more spacious.
Fred stared thoughtfully out over the lawn, eyeing the outdoor Jacuzzi and swimming pool. Her boyfriend/ suitor/someday-sovereign, Prince Artur, had encouraged this move. And she had to admit, it wasn’t the worst idea she’d ever heard.
Ever since Undersea Folk had started coming out of the water closet (heh), she’d been fielding interviews and handling the press and in general acting as go-between for the royal family, the Undersea Folk, and surface dwellers. As a result, the world was assuming the Undersea Folk’s primary residence was here, just off the coast of
They were wrong.
Which suited the king just fine.
But Fred craved her own space to retreat to, and never mind Artur’s argument that she could use the ocean as an escape hatch. The ocean—yech! Seaweed and barracudas and mouthy fish (mouthy telepathic fish, anyway) and silt and frankly, she vastly preferred a pool to the large, messy ocean.
Yes, she needed her own space and perhaps this zillion-dollar mansion was it. Although her stepfather was wealthy, he hadn’t flaunted it when she was a kid, and although she had a healthy trust fund, she’d always been content with her little one-bedroom apartment in
This
place, though . . . Artur had pointed out that, as the girlfriend of the prince, she needed more than a teeny
Someplace worthy of our future queen.
Amazing she even remembered what he’d said, she’d been laughing so hard.
“I dunno,” she said. “It’s really big. And—”
The front door boomed open and there stood Prince Artur, well over six feet, with shoulder-length hair the color of smashed rubies, and eyes almost the same shade. He hadn’t shaved for a couple of weeks and his beard was also a deep red. His shoulders were so broad, and he was so tall, he barely fit in the doorway. He was shirtless, and barefoot, and clad only in a pair of denim shorts.
“Ho, Little Rika! Is the cottage to your liking?” He frowned, glancing around. “It looked more fitting from the outside.”
Fred smirked at the gaping Realtor. “Now, him?
He’s
a mermaid. So to speak.”
Two
“I was told this would be a suitable residence for my little Rika,” Prince Artur said with a frown.
“It’s plenty suitable; don’t be such a royal snob.”
“I do not think it is fitting for one who will one day be queen,” Artur persisted with maddening stubbornness.
That did it. “I’ll take it,” Fred told the astonished Realtor, who was staring at the prince as if she were in some sort of sex trance. “And I’ll pay asking and all the fees and sign whatever I need to sign, but I need to move in by the end of the week. Open-ended lease, six-month minimum, whatever security deposit you need. Okay?”
“Neh,” the Realtor said.
“Great. And quit that ‘one day will be queen’ talk, Artur, I’ve told you before. Just because I’m with you doesn’t mean I’m—you know. With you.”
Which, technically, makes me a tease. Hmm. Not sure I care for—
“Ah, Little Rika.” Artur snatched at her but she managed to dodge out of the way, nearly braining herself on the cupboard she’d left open. “One day you will see the wisdom of our love match.”
“And don’t call me that. It’s Fred. Or Fredrika. Or Dr. Bimm. Or Bitchcakes. Or—”
“I’ve seen you on TV, too!” the Realtor exclaimed. “You’re the prince of all the mermaids!”
“Undersea Folk,” Artur and Fred said in unison.
“You look just like your dad!”
Artur inclined his head, the closest thing to a bow he bothered with. “That is my honor, good lady, and you are kind to point it out.”
“Vomit, vomit, vomit,” Fred mumbled.
“Let’s see, you were on CNN . . . and
People
did that big cover story on you guys . . .” The Realtor snapped her fingers and pointed at Fred. “I knew you looked familiar. The hair threw me—it was longer in the pictures.”
“Congrats,
“Forgive the lady,” Artur said, gallantly offering the dazzled Realtor his elbow and walking her to the door. “She has been seeking a temporary home on land for many days and it has left her in ill humor.”
“Being saddled with a stupid nickname has left me in a worse humor!” Fred bawled after him.
“More so than usual, though the thought makes me tremble,” he added in a mutter. “How kind you were to show her this small and charming cottage; we are sure you will be as efficient in the rest of our business dealings.”
“Yeah, thanks a heap,” Fred called. “Bye.”
“Oh. Oh! Yes, of course. Good-bye! Oh. But I can’t leave you here, since technically this isn’t—”
“The lady and I will be leaving as well.”
“Oh. You’re going to jump back in the ocean, aren’t you?”
“It’s quicker than calling a cab,” Fred said, taking a last look around her new home before following Artur out the back door.
Three
Fred stripped out of her shorts, T-shirt, and panties and left them on the lawn. What the hell . . . in a few days this was going to be her home, anyway. She wondered who had left the clothes for her on the lawn in the first place—it’s not like she could swim with a tail in a pair of shorts. One of Artur’s crew, probably.
She shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d be underwhelmed by the house—he was used to enormous underwater palaces. When the Undersea Folk built something, they thought big. And why not? Wasn’t most of the planet covered with water? They were used to having three-quarters of the planet to spread out in.
There was no beach leading to the Gulf; instead there was a sharp drop-off and a long dock. She trotted to the end of the dock, cast an amused glance at the shit-caked plastic owls perched on the pier, and dove off, shifting immediately to her tail form. Artur was several feet ahead of her, effortlessly moving through the water with powerful thrusts of his tail.
As a hybrid, her tail wasn’t as long as his, nor as wide, nor as beautifully colored. Artur’s reminded her of a peacock’s, all greens and blues, while hers seemed less magnificent, almost dull.
Be grateful you have a tail at all,
she reminded herself. She might have taken after her human mother, after all, and not have been able to shift. Bad enough she couldn’t swim in her legs . . . imagine not being able to breathe underwater.
She caught up with him after a few more strokes, glaring at a barracuda that was swimming annoyingly close. The fish sneered at her and darted away, the predator’s thoughts
(big thing can’t bite the big thing hungry not big thing)
setting up an echo in her mind.
Hey, Artur.
Yes, my dear one?
I gotta say, it was pretty smart of your dad to let the world think your HQ is here.
HQ?
Headquarters. The seat of the government, or power, or the capital—everyone thinks it’s here instead of the
He flipped over and floated on his back, a good thirty feet beneath the waves. She swam beneath him and then over him, waiting for his response.
It will take some time before we can completely trust your mother’s people, Little Rika. I hope this gives you no offense.
Offense? Who warned you about them in the first place? Hmm, lemme think—oh yeah! It was me. You know how many people have been fucked over in the name of scientific advancement? It’s pretty damned smart, actually, letting the world think we all hang out here. But one thing your dad’s got to spare is brain-power.
Artur laughed in her head.
So true, my Rika!
They passed two more Undersea Folk—a man and a woman, the man with hair the color of daffodils; the woman with hair so pure a black it seemed to swallow up the light.
Greetings, my prince.
Ho, Prince Artur! Fredrika.
Fred nodded to them both. It didn’t escape her notice that only one had acknowledged her and called her by name, though she knew damn well she was notorious enough that all the Undersea Folk knew her on sight.
Notorious.
Shit.
She was somewhat mystified that it bugged her—she’d never been one to sweat what strangers thought. But dammit, the Undersea Folk who didn’t like her didn’t know her. They didn’t like her because Dear Old Dad had been a traitor. Big believers in the whole “the guppy doesn’t fall far from the frog” school of thought.
And dammit, it wasn’t
fair.
It was fine if someone didn’t like her based on her own merits—and the list was long and distinguished, both of her odious faults and the people who didn’t like her—but they ought to at least get to know her before they decided she was a shit.
I know your thoughts, my Rika. Shall I thrash the one who dared ignore you?
Don’t make it worse. It’s no big deal.
Ah, Little Rika. Your lady mother did not teach you to lie. How unusual for a surface dweller, even one as noble as your mother.
Fred had no answer to that.