Derrolyn Anderson - [Marinas Tales #1] - Between The Land And The Sea (24 page)

When Boris showed up with the Rolls I persuaded Cruz to drive it, since he had more experience behind the wheel. He was nervous but excited, taking the wheel with wide eyes. Evie asked Boris to prepare the Jaguar for us to take home.

“These cars need to get out more often,” she explained, “And you can come up to see me again in a few weeks and trade it for another.”

We arrived with great fanfare to lunch at Evie’s club, and were given the royal treatment.

Waiters fussed and flapped around our table, showering us with attention. I knew that Evie was an excellent tipper, but they all seemed genuinely eager to please her. Cruz was mightily impressed with everything he saw, hanging on Evie’s every word and gesture. It occurred to me that he was in the early stages of his training to enter the rarified world of fashion design.

Seated at a plush banquette, we were surrounded by colorful saltwater fish tanks. Every time I looked up I saw fishy little eyes watching me, and I decided against ordering seafood. I found myself daydreaming about swimming amongst them, spinning around and under the pink coral.

Evie commissioned Cruz to make her a gown for a New Year’s Eve ball she’d be attending when she wintered in Switzerland. It would be loaded with European high society and “simply everyone” would be there. They chattered away with their heads together, dreaming up the design and color scheme, making sketches on napkins. I was lost in my thoughts of mermaids and their mysteries, wondering if Lue Khang’s theory about water spirits could possibly be true.

“Earth to Marina!” Cruz interrupted my musings, waving a hand before my eyes. “Won’t that be a blast?”

“What?” I asked, coming back to reality.

“I’ve made plans to visit Madame Fatima,” Evie announced. “We’re all going to have a reading of the future! I see a beautiful gown in mine,” she winked at Cruz.

We picked up the car from the valet and drove to the outskirts of the city. Evie directed us to a quiet residential neighborhood, where we parked in front of a small pink stucco house. We passed through a wrought iron gate and entered a courtyard built around an ornate rococo fountain, green with moss. Strange little garden gnomes peeked out from behind lush ferns that lined the pathway, ending at a small black door with an evil eye amulet mounted over it.

Evie’s penchant for visiting psychics, palm readers and new age spiritualists had taken us all over the city, but this was one of the more unusual locations she’d dragged me out to. I knew one thing for sure; Madame Fatima was simply the flavor of the month.

The three of us were led into a dimly lit sitting room by a small, elaborately dressed woman.

The first thing that struck me about Madame Fatima were her large, deeply set eyes. Glittering like polished onyx, they struck me as ancient and reptilian. Those arresting eyes were set in a face that was stoic, unmoving and unreadable. She could have been carved from stone. The overall effect was startling, and I found myself wondering where she came from, and when.

The lighting in the room added to the general aura of other-worldliness. Lamps were draped with lacy black scarves, and the pungent scent of cloves and pepper hung in the air. Fatima motioned for us to sit on a narrow Victorian couch upholstered in a rich brocade.

She must be taking Evie for a lot of money, I thought. Dad and I had never approved of Evie’s passion for the occult, but it made her happy when someone claimed to put her in touch with her late husband, and it usually seemed harmless enough. My father had schooled me in the scientific method, and counseled me to be skeptical about her various supernatural beliefs. I wondered how a man like him could have found himself married to a mermaid.

Fatima chose to do Evie’s reading first, leading her into some inner sanctum down the hallway. Cruz looked at me, wide eyed and clearly spooked, and I laughed so suddenly I snorted.

“Oh come on,” I said between giggles. “What do you think she’s gonna say?” I crossed my eyes at him, mimicking one of Evie’s past favorites, “You vill be reech and famous.” We both dissolved into a fit of giggles. Evie returned with a satisfied air about her, and plunked down next to me. Fatima beckoned for Cruz to follow her.

“Fatima is
different,
” Evie said in a hushed tone, “She has the gift.” When Cruz returned after his reading he looked serious but calm, “I’d believe her,” he whispered with conviction. I flashed him an irritated look and took my turn. Fatima led me down a narrow hall into a darkened octagonal room lined with thin strips of mirrored tile. There was a candle flickering in the middle of a small table, and the ceiling was draped with deep purple velvet. It felt like the inside of a tent except for the fractured reflections on the surrounding walls. I took one of the two seats at the table and Fatima sat opposite me.

She inspected me carefully, and I wondered how much Evie had already told her about me.

She touched the black lace of her collar and sucked in a sharp breath.

“Put your hands on the table, palms facing up,” she commanded in a sonorous droning voice. I sighed and complied, eager to get it over with. She looked across the table at me with a knowing look. “You do not believe,” a smile played about her mouth. “No matter. The spirits do not busy themselves with mortal concerns.”

“That’s good,” I said flippantly, annoyed at the way she rolled her r’s. Madame Fatima took a second deep breath and rubbed her palms together before placing them on mine. Her eyes sprang open wide, blindly shocked, and then went blank.

“There is an inheritance, a birthright you must claim,” she intoned.

Wrong person, I thought, thinking about Cruz. She continued, and it was as if someone else–

someone stronger– spoke through her tiny body, “The spirits require a sacrifice. Something of importance must be surrendered.” She drew a jagged, stuttering breath, “The water holds the key... you have powers... you have powers far greater than mine.” She lowered her chin to her chest, “The ancestral water is the source.”

I yanked my hands back, shocked.

She looked up, face impassive, ancient eyes guarded, “That is all.” The water reference was what got me, and the part about sacrifice. It echoed what Ethan had told me about Lue Song’s predictions. It made me want to find Lorelei again desperately. But how? My mind was racing as I stumbled back into the sitting room. Evie thanked Fatima and we headed out into the fresh air and daylight.

“Well, what did I tell you? Was she not magnificent?” gushed Evie.

We piled into the car for the drive back to the apartment. I sat quietly in the back seat while Evie and Cruz compared notes about their readings, equally impressed with their authenticity.

“She knew about my father!” Cruz gasped in astonishment. He started animatedly telling Evie the shocking story of how he learned about his inheritance. Until today, he wasn’t sure if he was going to respond to the letter or not.

“How heart-wrenching!” Evie empathized. She was fascinated with any kind of human drama, and the story of Abby’s love affair and abandonment really touched a nerve with her. She also loved paradoxes, and the fact that honest, sweet Abby could have deceived Cruz all these years intrigued her.

“Oh what a tangled web we weave...” she said sadly.

Cruz went on to explain that Fatima had asked him about a certain amount of money that was being sent his way, and advised him to accept it. Surprise surprise, the skeptic in me thought.

“She said it was the will of one in the spirit world,” Cruz said solemnly.

“He’s reaching out to you... from the great beyond,” said Evie with her hand to her throat.

I scoffed at them from the back seat, my arms crossed.

“You’re awfully quiet about your reading,” said Cruz, “What did Fatima say to you?”

“Just the usual,” I lied, “You know, I’ll find true love and be wildly successful.” Cruz laughed, “Well, the love part seems to be true already...” Upon which Evie started grilling Cruz for information. I sat squirming the whole way back while Cruz told Evie tales about my friendship with Ethan.

“My little sister... in love for the first time,” Evie said dreamily.

“Little sister?” asked Cruz.

“Sister, niece– whatever!” fussed Evie. She turned and winked at me and I laughed, for that had always been our little joke with waiters and shopkeepers. Evie had a thing about growing old, and didn’t like it when people took us for mother and daughter.

We walked Evie back to the apartment and gathered up the clothes. Cruz took Evie’s measurements, and plans were made for a return visit and dress fitting. We hugged and air kissed our goodbyes, making our way to the parking garage where the Jaguar was gassed up and ready to go.

“Enjoy it sveetie,” said Boris with a nod, handing me the keys.

“You take us home,” I said to Cruz as I passed them on to him. We pulled out of the garage and took the freeway back to Aptos.

Cruz was clearly enjoying driving the sleek silver Jaguar. He turned to me, “You sure weren’t exaggerating!” he grinned and shook his head, “I can’t believe I just met Evelyn Pond!”

“That’s my Aunt Evie,” I said with a chuckle.

“My God! What an amazing woman! You are
so
lucky to have grown up with her. And she’s aging magnificently! She’s like a real life Auntie Mame!”

“I know, and the fortune teller... pure Evie.”

Cruz nodded, “That was freaky. She really helped me, though.”

“So you decided to find out what your father left you?” I asked.

“Yeah, I guess there’s no point in being angry at a dead man. I might as well know.”

“What kind of dress are you going to make for Evie?” I asked, switching to a more pleasant subject.

“Hopefully one she loves.”

We spent the rest of the drive home discussing fabric choices, color schemes and styles that might look best on Evie. When we pulled onto our street there was a figure sitting on our porch. I thought it was Abby at first, but as we drew near I recognized Shayla. She came forward to meet the car as we pulled in.

“Here comes trouble,” said Cruz under his breath. I knew instantly there was something wrong, and I jumped out of the car, my heart pounding in my throat.

“What is it?” I cried.

“It’s Ethan,” said Shayla, “He like, had a accident. He’s in the hospital.” The blood ran out of my face and I steadied myself, clutching the car door. A voice in my head was screaming “I knew it! I knew it!”

“What happened?” I gasped, the wind knocked out of me.

“A bunch of us were surfing up the coast when some local dudes showed up. They kept dropping in on people. One of them wiped out on Ethan and nailed him in the head. He was bleeding real bad. He was asking for you.”

My hands were shaking as I reached to Cruz, “Give me the keys,” I said, my voice flat.

“I’d better drive you,” Cruz said, glancing over at me. He turned to Shayla, “Thanks for telling us, can we give you a ride anywhere?”

Shayla looked surprised that Cruz even spoke to her, “Uh, no... Thanks. I can walk home from here.”

We got in the car and rushed over to the hospital. I was sick to my stomach, because I knew it; I had a feeling something was going to happen to him. I remembered the cold fear that had washed over me in San Francisco. I knew with an awful certitude that he had been hurt at that precise moment. The pain in my head returned. Cruz got us to the hospital and found out what floor he was on. We raced over to the nurses’ station and a man approached us.

“Cruz?” He said, looking a little taken aback at his appearance. He turned towards me, “You must be Marina.”

“Marina, this is Ethan’s dad,” said Cruz.

“Call me Dutch,” he said, shaking my hand. He was tall like Ethan, with graying sand colored hair. He had the weather-beaten face of an outdoorsman, and kind eyes that were deep blue like Ethan’s. I had another sharp twinge of pain in my head and saw a crystal clear picture of Abby and Dutch standing hand in hand in our doorway. I felt like I was losing my mind.

“How is he?” I asked, fear and pain in my eyes. Dutch looked a little alarmed at my intensity, and he filled us in as he led us down the hall.

“He’s going to be alright,” he said, trying to soothe me with his voice, “He needed a lot of sewing up but they tell me it looks worse than it is. They’re keeping him overnight to make sure.” He turned to me at the door, “He’s resting now, but he’s been asking for you.” Ethan was lying with his eyes closed and a huge swath of gauze bandage wrapped around his head. I rushed to his side and studied him acutely. I took his hand in mine and was relieved to find that it was warm. He was breathing regularly but he didn’t stir. I looked up to meet his dad’s eyes.

“Can I wait here?” I asked, “Until he wakes up...”

“I think he’d like that,” said Dutch, looking at me perceptively, “Are you sure you’re gonna be alright? You look like you could use some rest yourself.”

“I’m OK,” I said, nodding reassuringly at him. The pain in my head was beginning to recede. I turned to Cruz, who was standing awkwardly at the door, “You can go home, I’ll be fine. I’ll call you to come get me later.”

Cruz gave me a quick hug, said he’d be waiting for news, and left.

Ethan’s dad stretched and yawned, “I’m going to get something to eat, can I get you anything?”

“No thanks,” I pulled a stool up alongside the bed.

He turned to go, “Thanks for coming,” he said, “I didn’t want to leave him alone ’till they’re sure he can go home.” I could see he was tired and worried too.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said firmly.

As I watched Ethan’s sleeping face, I couldn’t help thinking about the mermaids. Could they have been behind the accident? I felt a surge of anger at the thought. This was between me and them. I resolved to confront them. Whether or not they were responsible for this, I couldn’t go on constantly worrying about what they might do to him.

I leaned over the bed, stroking his cheek with my fingertips. His eyes fluttered open and focused on my face.

“You’re here,” he smiled.

“Ethan,” I whispered, hot tears burning my eyes, “I’m so sorry...”

“Don’t cry,” he said. He reached for my hand clumsily, “I’m okay.” He pressed my hand to his face and sighed. He closed his eyes again, “Don’t leave me,” he mumbled. On an impulse, I bent down and kissed him on the forehead, moving down to kiss him again softly on the lips. He drifted back to sleep as I laid my cheek alongside his, willing him to get better. His face felt rough against mine, and his hair smelled like salt water. I wanted to crawl into bed and wrap myself around him, as if I could somehow protect him. Instead, I sat on the stool and rested my head against his chest, reassured by his strong and steady heartbeat.