Page 27 of Caroled
Charles stood and followed, abandoning his coat.
He exited onto a dock, with ten feet of planks separating the back of the Sea Dog from the Bay. Water moved under the gaps in the wood, and he fancied he could feel himself bobbing up and down, although that couldn’t be right. Maybe it was the whiskey.
Fish stood facing him, his heels hanging slightly over the edge. He was still singing, but now Charles recognized neither the words nor the tune. He didn’t even recognize the language, although it reminded him of storms and of the cries of foghorns.
Charles suddenly noticed that Fish was naked. His skin was hairless and as pale as Charles’s. His legs glittered oddly in the starlight.
Scales. Those were scales on his legs, although Charles couldn’t make out their color. And he wasn’t surprised to see, when Fish stretched slightly, that there were gill slits on each side of his ribcage.
Fish beckoned.Come to me, said his song.I will hold you andwewill hold you and you will never worry again. No wars. No loneliness. No aging. No stares from strangers. No memories of your mother dying. No wondering about your father. No more being an outsider. No more bitter holidays. Come to us.
It was a beautiful song. Themost beautiful song that Charles had ever heard. And Fish wasn’t the only one singing it. When Charles moved closer to the water and looked down, he saw at least a dozen people slowly circling in the water, all of them watching him, all of them singing. Notpeopleexactly—sometimes one would plunge deeper into the water and a broad tail fin would breach, its faint splash providing percussion to the music.
With his hand extended toward Charles, Fish smiled, revealing several rows of razor-sharp teeth.
Come to us.
Charles’s limbs felt heavy, and although he was coatless on this frigid night, sweat beaded on his brow. It would be so easy to take Fish’s hand and be pulled into the Bay. He would float for a moment or two, perhaps even join in that song, until hundreds of sharp teeth ripped the flesh from his bones. And then whatever was left of him would join Bertha’s nephew and Collins and all those other men lost among the peacefully swaying seaweed.
Swaying like his mother when she listened to the radio.
Dreamlike, Charles began to reach for Fish.
But then a faint beam of light—perhaps from a far-off boat—hit Fish just right, illuminating his pale skin, pale hair, pale eyes. And that was all wrong, because Tenrael had dark skin, black hair, eyes like flames. His Tenrael, who served him and slept with him and worked with him. Who… who loved him, even though Charles wasn’t lovable and demons cannot love. Tenrael, who was worth living for, even though Charles would always be a stranger to humankind and even though someday Charles would be separated from him.
“No,” Charles rasped, drawing back his hand. He repeated it more loudly. “No. No!”
For a split second, Fish looked astounded. Then he snarled and pounced. He was much shorter than Charles and not especially heavy, but he was strong and fierce, and his bite was worse than the vampire’s. Charles’s gun was in his coat inside the Sea Dog. He wrestled desperately with Fish, trying to wrap hands around the scrawny neck and snap it, but Fish was slippery and sharp and was trying just as desperately to drag or push Charles into the water. The other merfolk splashed and screeched. Charles heard their jaws snapping.
Fish bit viciously at Charles’s upper arm and didn’t let go until Charles pressed a thumb against his eye. Even then, Fish only backed up a few steps and plowed into Charles’s midsection, then tried to latch onto his belly. Fortunately Charles was skinny, and Fish got mostly a mouthful of shirt. Unfortunately, Charles’s blood didn’t have the same effect on Fish as it had on the vampire—and Charles had already lost quite a bit of it. The liquor was taking its toll as well, making him lightheaded and unbalanced. Fish struck again, this time knocking Charles off his feet and landing on top of him, reddened fangs flashing.
Charles kicked and punched, but Fish was like a lamprey, hanging on and tugging. The wood decking was damp and slick and tilted slightly away from the building, as if it were a slide aiming him into the water. God, he hurt. His head spun. He couldn’t focus his eyes. It was hard to move.
Jesus Christ, were merfolk venomous?
The Bureau would know. Too bad he’d never get the chance to ask them.
He was now at the edge of the planks, one leg hanging over, fingers scrabbling but unable to find purchase. Something grabbed his ankle and gave a savage tug before dropping back into the Bay with a splash. Charles swung at Fish again, but although his fist connected satisfyingly with skull, Fish barely seemed to notice. He managed to shove Charles’s other leg over the side, leaving Charles hanging by his weakened, savaged arms. This time, two merfolk leapt at him, one pulling hard enough to wrench Charles to the side. Now he hung from the dock by only one arm.
I’m sorry, Tenrael.
Charles fell.
The shock of the icy water made him gasp, and his lungs filled at once. Hands grabbed him everywhere, yanking as if to dismember him. Countless fangs pierced him, and he couldn’t even scream, and—
Something strong grabbed him, pulled him out of the merfolk’s grips, swooped him out of the water and into the sky. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Oh, but the body against him radiated delicious warmth, and when Charles looked up, he saw a pair of scarlet eyes burning so hot he had to look away.
“Ten….” he whispered. And then the darkness swallowed him.
Go Tell It on the Mountain
He thought he was dead.But he could hear his heart beating, so he must be alive. He was in a strange bed in a strange room and he couldn’t move. And goodlord, he hurt all over, from his pounding head to his stinging ankles. Deciding that sinking back into oblivion was the best course of action, he reclosed his eyes.
“Drink this,” said a soft voice as someone slightly raised his head and shoulders and held a glass against his lips. It was easier to obey than argue, so Charles swallowed. Orange juice. Freshly squeezed, a little pulpy, and with added sugar. Just how he liked it.
“Ten?” He’d recognized not just the voice and the warm arm supporting him but also the beloved bittersweet scent. But he still didn’t open his eyes, in case he was imagining this. Maybe he was a ghost, dreaming at the bottom of the Bay.
“No questions now. You’re safe. Drink more. Rest. Heal. Master.” The last word came with an audible smile.
