Marjorie M. Liu - In the Dark of Dreams: A Dirk & Steele Novel

In the Dark of Dreams

A Dirk & Steele Novel

Marjorie M. Liu

Dedication

To my Daddy

Epigraph

My own songs awakened from that hour,

And with them the key, the word up from the waves,

The word of the sweetest song and all songs,

That strong and delicious word which, creeping to my feet,

(Or like some old crone rocking the cradle,

swathed in sweet garments, bending aside)

The sea whispered me.

Sea Drift, Leaves of Grass,

W ALT W HITMAN

There are sleeping dreams and waking dreams;

What seems is not always as it seems...

A Ballad of Boding,

C HRISTINA G EORGINA R OSSETTI

Contents

S he found the boy at dawn, during her morning escape from the big house on the hill. Not running, not walking eitheroccasionally skipping down the narrow path to the rocky shore, dragging a beach towel behind her and a tote bag for her drawing pad and pencils. Dawnlight was the best; but it was always cool and windy, and she was bundled in so many layers of wool and cotton, she felt fat.

It was a relief to leave the house. Her grandparents were kind, but their business occupied them all the time, and the girl did not always care for their guests, or the fights those strangers brought with them. She also disliked the way some of them looked at herwith puzzlementand sometimes, disdain.

Twelve, she had overheard one of the visitors say, the night before. Twelve years old and ordinary.

Better ordinary than rude and mean, thought the girl, listening to the gentle throbbing roar of the waves rushing the shore. She had better things to do with her time than listen to stupid men who wore stupid suits and smelled like ladies perfume. That, and her grandfather had told her more than once that she was perfect the way she was. The girl knew that was a lie, but it was enough that he loved her.

The path curved. Gulls cried. The sun was just beginning to peer over the ocean horizon, a glint of gold carved in an endless wash of peach light. The girl inhaled deeply, throwing out her arms. Pretending she could fly toward the dawn and burn in that light.

A fantasy interrupted by a low moan.

She flinched, heart thudding, and spun around to search the beach for another person. Ready to run if she had to. But she saw nothing. Just rock and driftwood, and the water rushing in, dark with glints of silver that lengthened, and were lost in shadow, again and again, shimmering as the sea sometimes did, as though the foam were made of diamonds.

Nothing. The girl saw nothing, until she heard that moan again, soft and anguished. She took a step, staring. Sensing movement behind one of the pale, twisted logs that had drifted onto shore.

She almost fled. Her grandparents were always telling her to be careful, that bad people might try to take her, that she should trust no one but them, ever, because their business made enemies, and even though they had taken precautions, even though no one but a handful, mostly family, knew their faces...

The girl took another step, then another. Slow, halting, her lungs aching from holding her breath. She was going to run, she told herself. Fly in the opposite direction and go get help.

But that voice sounded so pained. What if someone was really hurt? What if there was no time to get help?

She had to see. Had to be certain.

It seemed to take forever to cross the distance. Just thirty feet, but it felt like a mile. The girl finally got close, though. She was short, and the driftwood was large. All she could see on the other side was a shimmer of light covered in tangled seaweed. And then that light shifted, and became... scales.

Her breath caught, again. But scales were less frightening than human legs. Emboldened, she walked quickly around the end of the log.

And saw the boy.

She did not expect him. Something else, maybe, but not him. Not a boy her age, with a gaunt white face covered in dried salt, or large eyes the pale blue of a sea glacier. His lips were cracked, and his hair was long, tangled, a white-blond halo glinting silver around his face. The sun was rising behind him. She felt blind for a moment, her knees weak.

He had no legs. Just a tail. A fish tail.

The girl staggered backward, and fell into the sand. She sat there, frozen, so terrified she could not breathe. She tried to cry out for help, for anyone who might be near, but her voice caught in her throat, and all she could do was wheeze. Tears pricked her eyesand for a moment, just one, she imagined the same terror in the boys face. He tried to push away from her, and she saw a bright splash of blood on his pale, skinny chest.

The blood woke her up. Snapped something free inside her chest. She could suddenly breathe, opening her mouth to scream

and stopped. Just stopped, staring into those pale blue eyes, which were glinting with tears, and fear. And the girl thought of her grandparents, whom she trusted, and those visitors whom she did not, and the choice flowed through her before she was hardly conscious of it.

She bunched her fingers into the cool damp sand and closed her mouth. Forced herself to breathe, then slowly, carefully, angled forward. She had seen strange things before, she reminded herself. Not as odd as this, but she could cope. She would cope.

The boy tried to slide away toward the water. His tail hampered him. It was like watching a seal flop, only more disturbing. He was human above the waist, though his white flesh merged at his hips with silver scalesthe rest of him, long and muscular, glimmering in the early sun. The girl felt like she was losing her mind, but the cool air nipped her hot cheeks, and her heart beat so hard she knew that she was alive, conscious.

This was real.

The boy had a cut on his chest, still bleeding. He seemed weak, and kept wincing as he tried to get away. His low, muffled cry was dull, keening. The girl flung out her hand but did not chase him.

Dont be afraid, she whispered.

Her voice made him stop, and he peered at her over his shoulder. He was breathing hard, his eyes narrowed with pain. The girl slowly, carefully, crawled toward him. She was afraid to stand, that it would scare him. He tensed when she got close. She froze, then moved again. Humming a song her grandmother liked to sing to her at bedtime. The boys gaze flicked down to her mouth, then returned to her eyes.

A moment later, he began to hum the same melody.

His voice was unearthly. Chills swept over the girl, but she found herself smiling, and the corner of his mouth ticked upward, ever so faintly. She settled down in the sand, watching himnot too shy to let her gaze travel down the length of his body. He did the same to her, staring at her toes. She pushed her feet toward him, just a little, and wiggled each one into the sand. The boy stopped humming.

Youre hurt, she said softly, and pointed to his chest.

The boy touched the cut, very gingerly. It was a clean wound, as though a knife had been used. Blood still seeped from the wound. Red blood, like hers.

He gave her a mournful look, and the girl remembered the beach towel. She had dropped it only a few feet away. She found a corner still untouched by the sand. Watching him carefully, she mimed rubbing her chest with it. The boy hesitated, then nodded.

The girl crept close. So close she could feel the warmth of his skin, and the heat of his breath against her face. She dabbed at the wound, then flinched as the boy suddenly covered her hand with his and pressed the towel hard against the cut. For a moment her mind went blankall she could think about was that he was touching herand then she remembered the basic first aid she had learned in school and realized that he was trying to stop the bleedingnot clean the wound, as had been her first instinct. She felt like a fool.