Fantasy Life (28 page)

Gabriel sighed. “I think the genocide that Zeke was mentioning
has already happened. I think that over the centuries, humans have wiped out most of the fantastic creatures.”

“People kill what frightens them,” Zeke said.

Denne shook his head. “So the leftovers came to Oregon? Get real, Gabe.”

“I don’t know why they’re here,” Gabriel said. “But if you look at other historical examples, like clusters with like, and often in out of the way places. Until a century ago, the Oregon Coast was out of the way. What a great place for the water creatures to come to. They’d be alone and protected and safe.”

“Until humans came to spoil that,” Denne said.

Gabriel nodded.

“You think we’re a danger to them,” Denne said.

“I know we are,” Gabriel said.

Denne stepped forward and touched the little body in front of him. “If that’s the case, then we have more of a problem than I thought.”

“Why is that?” Zeke asked.

But Gabriel was nodding. He had finally brought Denne to the place that Gabriel had reached as Denne started with his theories.

“Because if this was their refuge, and they are smart creatures,” Denne said, “they would be very, very cautious about their dead.”

“That’s why we haven’t found any before this,” Gabriel said.

Denne nodded. “These two have slipped through somehow.”

“Or worse,” Zeke said.

Denne and Gabriel both looked at him. Zeke put his cap on.

“They could be dying in bigger numbers now,” he said.

“Or maybe,” Denne said, “someone has finally found them.”

“And is killing them off, leaving the bodies around as a warning?” Zeke asked.

“A warning to whom, though?” Gabriel asked. “If they were going to warn the fantasylife, wouldn’t they leave the bodies in the water?”

“They did,” Denne said. “This one was in a creek, and the fish woman had been on the beach, in the tide. They were in the water, Gabe. And they were also out of it, close enough to us so that the secret got blown.”

“Two birds with one stone,” Zeke said.

“Not to put too fine a point on it,” Denne said.

“Or maybe they’re like the giant pandas,” Zeke said. “Maybe they don’t breed in the wild anymore, and they’re just dying off. Maybe there’s no one to care for the dead, and so the dead are washing up on the beach.”

Denne looked frightened. “I’ve got a lot more work than I thought.”

The creature seemed so small there, so insignificant. And she wasn’t.

Gabriel felt a small shiver run down his spine, as if fingers had lightly touched him there.

“And, Gabe,” Denne said, “maybe you should talk to Athena. She knows more about Anchor Bay than anyone.”

“Why would Athena help?” Zeke asked.

“Because,” Denne said, “maybe this is one of those things, like a locust year or something.”

“You mean every fifty years the fantasylife crawls onto the beach and dies?” Zeke asked.

“We’ve been discussing stranger things,” Denne said.

Gabriel frowned. He didn’t like how this was going. All he knew was that something had changed. And he doubted that the change was for the good.

Cliffside House

Lyssa sat in the window seat of her bedroom, her knees against her chest and her arms wrapped around them. She wore a flannel nightgown that she usually wore in the depth of a Wisconsin winter, and slippers that were lined with fleece.

She hadn’t been able to get warm all night.

The room was big and drafty. It was square, with a shag carpet that should have been replaced long ago. The bed was king-size, and someone had put thick blankets on it, just as Lyssa liked. The pillows were thick as well, and the mattress had a pillowtop, making it the most comfortable bed Lyssa had slept on in years.

But the chill remained. She couldn’t get warm, no matter how hard she tried. And the boom of the surf had kept her awake, along with her fears, and the caffeine she’d sucked down much too late at night.

When she finally had fallen asleep, she hadn’t slept well. She had gotten up twice to check on Emily. Emily had the room next to Lyssa’s, and it was a mirror image of Lyssa’s, at least in layout. The furniture and the design were different. Whoever had set that up clearly had had a child in mind.

The rooms were linked by a spectacular bathroom. It had three mini-rooms of its own—a shower and bath area, the sink and cabinets area, and a toilet, with its own private door. The bathroom had no carpeting. The floor was marble, and just as cold as the stone walls were.

Each time Lyssa got up, she forgot to put on her slippers, and that trek through the bathroom only chilled her more.

Emily slept like a baby through the rest of the night, her arms wrapped around Yeller, a slight smile on her face. Whatever had happened to Lyssa the night before in that closet had been worth it to see that smile, a real, contented look, something that Lyssa had not seen in nearly a year.

Her daughter was happy and Lyssa was not, and for the moment, that was all right with Lyssa. She would reassess the situation each day, and the moment she felt this place was bad for Emily, they would leave.

Lyssa just had to figure out how to afford it.

She shivered again. The chill stayed with her—even when she’d woken up, not long ago, to find a tray at the side of her bed. Pastries covered the tray’s surface, along with a glass of orange juice and a thermal mug filled with fresh coffee.

The orange juice was welcome, the pastries sinful, and the coffee delightful. But it hadn’t warmed her up any more than anything else had.

Sitting in the window seat didn’t help either, but she wasn’t ready to go downstairs yet. She needed some time alone before she faced the day.

The window seat was carved into the stone wall, and even though someone had placed thick cushions on the base and the sides, a draft still came through the window itself.

The window was thick and had no screen. If Lyssa opened it, she could stick her arm out over the beach below. When she sat back like this, she had a grand view of the Goblet and the ocean beyond.

If she sat forward, she could see the beach far below.

She couldn’t believe she was here, not after all this time. The sunlight reflecting on the basalt gave everything an air of unreality. She had forgotten that sunlight could be so crisp.

In the Midwest, sunlight was only this crisp on cold winter days, often when the temperature was below zero. Then the entire world had a sharpness to it, edges upon edges, from the
ice-covered sides of buildings to the stark points of the leafless tree limbs against a blue sky.

Here the sky seemed endless, like it probably had at the beginning of the world. The rocks looked softer than they really were, their edges worn away by water and time.

This place had a deceptive beauty, a beauty that made her trust it even less than she normally would have.

Or maybe she was just uneasy from the conversation the night before—and from that damn tar ball. Her dreams had been filled with tar balls, floating in seawater. She was swimming beneath the surface, so far down that sunlight didn’t reach, and she followed tar balls into the light, filtering through the water like a glimpse of heaven.

And the fear. Fear had run through her sleep as it had every night since Reginald had died. Since before Reginald had died. Since he’d gone crazy—something caused, her mother and grandmother told her, by Emily’s uncontrolled power.

Lyssa wasn’t sure what kind of power that was. Lyssa never really had a lot of abilities, not like her mother, who seemed connected to every part of the universe, and not like her grandmother, who, Lyssa had learned, could sometimes summon the strength of ten men.

Lyssa had a subtler gift. She had the ability to charm, something that had seemed unimportant when she lived here. Outside of Anchor Bay, though, she had learned that gift had its benefits. It made her a popular teacher and got her through some of the difficult hurdles in college life. She had never had political problems within the university, not even after Reginald had gone crazy, and she attributed that to her ability—magical or not—to make other people feel comfortable.

Reginald’s death hadn’t changed that much. The dean had offered her the house permanently, and university support throughout any trials that might happen. Lyssa had resigned
not because she had to, but because she didn’t want Emily to stay in Madison any longer.

Emily did not have the ability to charm. All the good press that Lyssa had once got had had no effect on Emily. People could smile at Lyssa and ignore Emily completely. And then, after Reginald’s death, people had failed to transfer that good feeling they got from Lyssa to her daughter.

Charm. What use could that have, here and now?

Lyssa sighed. She would have to talk with Athena, find out how long the training would take. And then Lyssa would have to see if Emily could survive outside Anchor Bay, in a world where most people did not have the ability to protect themselves with a single thought.

At least, that’s what Lyssa guessed had happened. She still didn’t exactly know. She figured Emily had thought of something to get her father’s hands off her, to keep her from drowning. But what it was, and why Reginald had died so hideously, Lyssa still wasn’t sure.

Something moved down on the beach. Lyssa frowned and leaned forward. People were near the water’s edge—two people, small figures bright against the sand. They appeared to be the only ones out there, and that made them slightly crazy.

The water was still churning from the storm. The waves were high and the ocean had a swollen look. A lot of debris was still washing ashore.

Lyssa bet the beach looked different this morning from what it had days before. Storms like last night’s brought in logs and garbage, as well as interesting treasures from other places.

Once, as a child participating in a beach cleanup, she had found a refrigerator. At another beach cleanup, she had found a diamond ring, glinting in the sand. Things that the ocean had stolen—large and small—and eventually returned, for no apparent reason at all.

The figures faced the water. Then one of the figures ran toward the beach grass, arms flailing.

Lyssa leaned forward. She squinted, then realized she didn’t have to.

Her mother was still standing beside the water, her long hair flowing around her like a scarf. She was watching the shoreline, watching Emily, who had run away from the surf as if it were going to attack her.

Lyssa should have warned Cassie. Ever since Reginald’s death, Emily hadn’t liked water. She had been a fish before—impossible to get out of the lake, even out of the bath, and if they ever stayed at a hotel with a pool, she would remain in that pool until some official hotel employee came in and closed it down.

But on the trip out, Emily had refused to climb in the pools, claiming she was too tired. She didn’t even get out of the car to look at Lake Coeur d’Alene—one of the prettiest lakes in entire country—and she turned her head away from the Columbia River as Lyssa drove them down the gorge.

Water had gone from Emily’s friend to her enemy, something that the shrink who had seen Emily after the death had said was perfectly normal.

Over time,
the shrink had said,
you’ll have to get her used to water again. But it will take time. And she might never swim in lakes again. Don’t push her. Let her chose when to make the plunge.

Lyssa had disliked the pun then, and she disliked it even more now, since she hadn’t been able to get it out of her head. She heard that as a warning as much as advice, and it seemed the warning was fair.

Emily had bolted from the water’s edge like someone possessed. Lyssa had seen it from a hundred feet up.

Cassie was gesturing, but Emily was not coming toward her. The waves rose behind Cassie as if they were beckoning
too, but Emily huddled on the grass, her posture mimicking Lyssa’s.

Lyssa sighed again, then swung her legs off the window seat. It was time to start her day. Her mother had promised to watch Emily so that Lyssa could take care of mundane things associated with the move—opening a bank account, getting Emily registered at school.

Looking for a job.

Lyssa grabbed another pastry before she walked to her suitcase. She wasn’t ready to search for work yet. She wasn’t ready to make any commitments to Anchor Bay.

But she would let Emily stay here for a while—provided the place wasn’t as dangerous as it had seemed last night.

Lyssa was going to remain vigilant. But she had to admit, it was nice to watch someone else deal with Emily for a day. Lyssa could get used to it.

She just wasn’t sure she wanted to.

The Beach

Emily sat in the beach grass, her arms wrapped around her legs, her face pressing against her knees. She could hear the ocean slap against the sand, the sound remarkably loud. The salty smell seemed familiar somehow, even though she had never been to an ocean before. The air had a tang of mist to it, and a chill that was built into everything, including the sand beneath her jeans.

Gulls cried above her, and mixed with their caws was Grandma Cassie’s voice, calling to her, telling her it was all right.

But it wasn’t all right. The water had reached for her, formed a hand and tried to touch her Nikes, and she didn’t want anything to touch her. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

We’ll go to the beach to start your lessons,
Grandma Cassie had said, and Emily thought that would be a good idea, even though she wasn’t sure what the lessons were.

She knew that someone had mentioned them the night before, but they had mentioned a lot of things in that long conversation, and she had listened to all of it with her eyes closed, so she still wasn’t sure what she’d dreamed, what she’d made up, and what they’d actually said.

All she knew was that when the grown-ups did wake her up, they gave her some egg-and-cheese meal that had to be microwaved and was kinda gluey. Then they took her to this huge bedroom that was cold, but had this great bed and even neater window seat.