“Ben Ellison’s trying to get me to go back to Chicago, and I said no because of you! You think I want to stay here?”
“I guess you don’t have any real reason to stay anymore.” Zoe’s black-clad arms moved up, almost as if she was stretching, but then they stopped in front of her face. Her pale hands gripped at her messy pink-blond hair. “It sucked so bad when I wanted you and you kept ignoring me. But having you hurts even worse.”
“Zoe, we’re together now—”
“You think you’re helping me by staying here, but you’re not. You’re just fucking me up. Just because you won’t admit stuff doesn’t mean I don’t know.” She lowered her arms. “Get lost. Go to Chicago. But tell me the truth first.” Her face was pink and swollen, but she wasn’t crying. Dorian was. His back shuddered with every breath.
“Jesus, Zoe.”
“Tell me the truth and we’ll stay friends. Close friends. If you don’t I don’t ever want to talk to you again.” She came closer and rested her hands on his shoulders. Her mouth suddenly twisted into a plaintive smile. “Are you in love with Luce?’
“Yeah,” Dorian barely whispered. He was staring at the bed. Zoe reached with one hand and coaxed his head up, making him look into her eyes. “I’m not lying that I love you, Zoe. A lot. But yeah. I am.”
Zoe kissed his forehead. Her pink hair brushed his face, striping the room in front of him. “Then I hope they don’t kill her.”
8
Golden Gate
That evening Luce stared across the ocean at the lights of what looked like a good-sized town. Rows of golden windows and streetlights tangled like vines through the dusk, and there were a few bonfires out on the shore. Things hadn’t gone so well the last time she’d slept under a dock, but even so Luce realized that the margins of human towns were the safest places for her now. Those divers would probably be searching any caves they could find along the waterline, any secluded coves: the kinds of places mermaids usually lived. They’d be a lot less likely to come waving their huge black guns through clusters of people laughing and toasting marshmallows out on the beach.
She swept closer, keeping under the water as much as she could. There was some kind of boat club up ahead, with ranks of yachts parked along neat piers. She slipped below and found a quiet spot on the shore, a ceiling of planks only a foot above her, beer bottles and rusty chains scattered on the sand. She could hear human voices nearby; it sounded there was a small party going on, with soft, delicate music. Luce slept for a long time, and no one disturbed her.
Being so close to human habitations made her self-conscious about her nakedness. Normally clothes weren’t something she thought about at all, but now when she found a tattered black bikini top wadded on the shore, she smoothed it out and tied it on.
This was the best way she could travel, Luce realized: swimming as far from shore and as deep as she could manage during the day, sleeping under docks at night. For the next week or more she kept going like that, surprised to find herself enjoying the water and even her own solitude. Human towns used to make her so nervous; now Luce realized that she liked hearing people talking or laughing around her. It was oddly comforting. It almost made her feel the way she had as a little girl, drifting off to sleep in the back of her father’s van while chatter and music softened the night’s harsh edges.
Listening to the ordinary happiness of strangers, she could almost forget that the divers were after her. That the mermaids were still being slaughtered.
The coast turned wilder, full of cliffs and twisty inlets and beaches closed in by pinnacles of rock tufted with wildflowers. Even from a distance Luce could hear children squealing as they played in the water and the roar of motorcycles swooping along the winding roads. The town where she found shelter that night was small, but its gardens were so thick with flowers that even the dimness under the docks breathed with their perfume. And there were many more living things around her now: seals and sea lions sprawled on sandbars with their spotted bellies exposed, fins flashed in the water, and so many hawks wheeled above that they almost seemed to be gears turning in an immense blue clock. Whenever she swam near the seafloor tall anemones pulsed their wispy fronds in the current and enormous sea stars spread their radial arms. The animals crowding the bottom all seemed to have invented new and fantastical sunset colors for themselves: they came in peach-speckled lilacs, rose-spined saffrons, peculiar moody pinks. Luce could barely feel worried in this outpouring of vibrant beauty.
Light wings of fog settled over the water as Luce swam on the next morning. She began to wonder if the black-suited divers had given up searching for her. After all, there had been no sign of them for days. Maybe she could try to find other mermaids and ask them for news without inflicting danger on them. Luce was wondering this as the green house-dotted cliffs to her left rolled back, disappearing completely behind hovering cloud-fronds, and something huge and airy and geometric loomed above the mist. It looked so familiar, but for a fraction of a second Luce couldn’t place it. Its two metal peaks were dully red, high and elegantly curved.
Then she recognized it. It was the Golden Gate Bridge.
Luce could hardly believe it. She’d swum all the way to San Francisco. She remembered it from when she’d briefly lived there with her father: a dreamlike city with, Luce recalled, a lot of rundown and half-abandoned areas along the waterfront. She could remember slipping with her father through a gap in a chainlink fence to explore a cavernous building with soaring walls of milky glass panes; it had once been used for building ships, he’d told her. She remembered the rusting hulks of forgotten boats, an inlet mysteriously heaped with dozens of barnacle-crusted shopping carts where herons perched. All around the network of bays tucked behind the Golden Gate there were places like that, he’d told her, partly wild and partly ruined.
Luce couldn’t help grinning to herself as she realized what was in front of her.
For a mermaid in desperate trouble, this city was the perfect hideout.
For the rest of the day Luce lurked under the dock of what looked like an unused vacation home near a town she guessed was Sausalito. Sailboats swept nearby, voices shrieked with laughter. Even if she was careful to keep well below the surface, it was clear that staying in San Francisco Bay meant that she could go out only at night. But it was hard to keep calm as she waited for the darkness that would free her to go exploring. She needed somewhere sheltered and lonely without too many boats around, and especially she needed to find someplace with a reasonable supply of shellfish. Hunger needled at her, sharp and insistent.
Even more unbearable than hunger was a new idea that kept intruding on her mind, no matter how many times Luce told herself she was being irrational. She couldn’t help imagining Nausicaa’s greenish bronze face looking up in warm surprise, her wild black hair cascading back from her face as she dashed grinning through the water to pull Luce into her arms. Her friend might be somewhere in the bays in front of her. Luce wouldn’t have to explain anything because Nausicaa would already know; she wouldn’t have to think about the horrors she’d witnessed. The ancient mermaid would know exactly what they should do, and Luce would help.
At least that was the fantasy. The problem with going out to search, Luce realized, was the way she’d feel if the fantasy proved not to be true. Outside her hiding place the fog receded, and Luce could glimpse a bit of the gray mass of skyscrapers prickling upward along the far shore of the bay. An endless procession of ships heaped with neatly stacked cargo containers skimmed below the bridge and out to sea.