Monstrous Beauty (30 page)

“I lost your barrette,” she said, her eyes pooling up again.

“Your hair seems to be too short for it now.”

She reached back to feel her hair—strawlike and hacked.

“That length suits you.” His smile was tinged with concern. “But I’m not sure about your nose.”

She laughed, in a half-crying way. “Come with me for a second,” she said.

She took his hand and walked the few yards to the graveyard stairs. She guided him past the spot where she and the police detectives had stood and then ducked under the iron railing onto the grass. He followed her.

Ezra’s gravesite still had yellow police tape around it. The headstone was no longer upside down, but had been laid flat until it could be set properly.

She couldn’t see for the tears in her eyes. “Read it to me?” she sobbed.

Peter put his arm around her and hugged her shoulder.

“E. A. DOYLE

1853–1873

Death is the privilege of human nature

And life without it were not worth our taking

Thither the poor, the unfortunate, and Mourner

Fly for relief & lay their burdens down.”

Hester’s throat was too tight to say anything.

Peter tipped his head to look at her. Her cheeks were soaked with dirty tears. He squeezed her to him.

“Let me take you home.”

She nodded. “Please.”

Epilogue

1873

T
HE DOWNDRAFT FROM
N
OO’KAS’S MAGIC
had knocked Syrenka onto the baby in the graveyard. She heard its muffled cry beneath her and pulled back onto her knees to examine it. She had not injured it, but without a soul it would not live long. She intended to rush to the beach to see Ezra, but something about the baby kept her there for a moment, transfixed.

It was crying weakly and growing pale. Its skin was beginning to wrinkle, as a plum does when dried in the sun. It was as if the baby were desiccating before her eyes. The legs were exposed through the bunting opening, and flakes of dry skin had loosened on them. In a moment the flakes seemed to be forming into scales.

Scales.

Syrenka’s chest tightened, as if an invisible hand squeezed her heart.

She slowly unwrapped the baby’s blanket. The scales began layering themselves—growing, shingling. The legs kicked feebly, pitifully. The cotton diaper had come loose, and Syrenka saw that she was a girl.

A little girl.

She was the right age. She was pale, with beautiful green eyes. The vestigial scales, reappearing as her life faded, were unmistakable.

At once she knew it was her child. And she knew that she had killed her.

“No!” she cried, with tears welling in her eyes for the first time in her ancient life.

Syrenka had learned much from Ezra’s gentle devotion, and from her own responsive mortal heart. The grief over her error was immediate and profound. It spread through her like flames consuming a dry forest. Every selfish thought for herself disappeared. Every care for her own life and happiness dissolved. There was only the urge to protect her child.

She scooped the baby onto her lap. She enveloped her with her body. She pressed her cheek against the baby’s delicate scalp and whispered a plea, with every part of her: “Take me, instead.”

Marijn’s thirsty body reached out for Syrenka’s warm soul. Syrenka released it willingly. From the ocean, Noo’kas provided the magic, with pleasure. The baby took a deep breath and cried lustily as her mother collapsed.

Syrenka’s unanchored life began to ebb away. With her face pressed to the ground, her thoughts turned back to Ezra. He had died at the beach. If Noo’kas had dealt fairly with her, his pinned spirit would be there. She might see him one last time. She might say goodbye.

She willed herself to her knees, and then to her feet. After a thousand years of physical strength she was overwhelmed by what it felt like to be frail. She swaddled the baby as best she could and lifted her, staggering to the threshold of the church door. She kissed the baby and laid her gently on the stone floor. Her legs buckled. She clung to the doorjamb, resting. Time was running out.

The journey was downhill, but her steps were short and faltering. Twice she crumpled to the ground, and twice she rose through determination alone, until she was nearly there. She crossed the grassy lawn to the stone steps, fell to her knees, and descended backward, like a child. The tide was high, and the last step was submerged. She turned to push against the iron gate and let herself fall onto the flooded sand. She lifted her head, trembling. She searched the beach north and south.

Ezra was not there.

She wanted to call out to him, but she had no voice.

As her head dropped and her vision clouded to black, she saw her sister pulling herself through the shallow water to reach her. Needa gently tugged Syrenka into the ocean and swam her body to the depths, where it belonged.

Syrenka’s final breath escaped slowly from her lungs in a slim stream. Minutes later, the last evidence of her human existence danced up through the ocean as air bubbles, softly breaking on the moonlit surface of the water.

Farrar Straus Giroux Books for Young Readers

175 Fifth Avenue, New York 10010

Copyright © 2012 by Elizabeth Fama

All rights reserved

First hardcover edition, 2012

eBook edition, August 2012

macteenbooks.com

The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

Fama, Elizabeth.

    Monstrous beauty / Elizabeth Fama. — 1st ed.

        p.    cm.

    Summary: In alternating chapters, tells of the mermaid Syrenka’s love for Ezra in 1872 that leads to a series of horrific murders, and present-day Hester’s encounter with a ghost that reveals her connection to the murders and to Syrenka.

    ISBN 978-0-374-37366-5 (hardcover)

    ISBN 978-1-4299-5546-1 (e-book)

    [1.  Mermaids—Fiction.   2.  Ghosts—Fiction.   3.  Murder—Fiction.   4.  Supernatural—Fiction.   5.  Massachusetts—Fiction.   6.  Massachusetts—History—19th century—Fiction.]   I.  Title.

PZ7.F1984Mon 2012

[Fic]—dc23

2011031668

eISBN 9781429955461