Artur hit with a spectacular splash, wriggled around beneath the surface for a moment, and then popped up beside Fred, his shorts whirling toward the bottom of the tank, momentarily covering a sea turtle. Artur’s tail was easily seen in the water—more easily, in fact, than Fred’s had been.

Thomas gaped down at them. They stared up.

“Okay,” Thomas said after a long moment. “I’m gonna need a minute, here.” And he sat down on the deck, propped his exhausted chin in his hands, and just gawked at them both.

Chapter Sixteen

“Until you came along, nobody but Jonas knew my secret,” Fred bitched.

“Do not keep your rightful self hidden.”

“Who’s to say legs aren’t my rightful self? I’m just as much a human as I am a mermaid.”

“Undersea Folk.”

“Don’t correct me! If I want to call myself a Havmand there’s not a damned thing you can do about it.”

“Havmand?”

“Scandinavian mermaid,” Thomas called, still staring at them like a kid getting his Saturday morning cartoon fix.

“Right. Or a—wait.” She focused on Thomas who, she was relieved to see, no longer looked like he was going to stroke out. “Oh, don’t tell me.”

He shrugged. “I’m afraid so.”

“What?” Artur asked sharply.

“Mermaid geek,” Fred sighed. There were, she had noticed as a grad student, three types who went for the doctorate in marine biology: women who lurrrved dolphins as little girls (see: Madison, the annoying), men and women who wanted to come up with the newest bioactive drug and make big bucks working at a pharmaceutical company (see: the greedy), and men who fantasized about mermaids. Thomas, it appeared, had no interest in pharmacology or dolphins.

“I am not surprised at all,” Thomas was saying. “That’s what’s so surprising.”

“Sure. You staggered around looking like an M.I. about to happen because you were unsurprised.”

“M.I.?” Artur asked.

“Heart attack.”

“Okay, I was taken off guard for a few moments. But I’ve since recovered,” he insisted, still pale. “Because I’ve had this theory since I was eight—”

“Yeah. Well. Theory realized.”

He crept closer. “So, obviously you’re more the Daryl Hannah-type mermaid than the Hans Christian Andersen-type—”

“That’s enough of that,” she said, nicely enough.

“Is this the biped you wished me to meet?”

“Huh? Oh. Prince Artur, this is Dr. Thomas Pearson. Thomas, this is Artur, High Prince of the Black Sea.”

Thomas had scooted all the way up to the edge of the tank as she talked, and now stuck his arm out. Artur leaned up, balancing on his tail like a dolphin, and they shook hands. Thomas nearly fell in while trying not to make it obvious he was still staring at them. “Nice to meet you. Sorry about kicking your ass right into the tank like that. You sort of surprised me.”

“Indeed,” Artur said dryly. “I, also, was surprised to see your mouth on one of my subjects.”

. “I’m not one of your subjects. I mean it, Artur, cut that shit out right now. I was born in Quincy, for God’s sake. I have American citizenship, okay?”