“Those were the only times?”

“More commonly the exception is that the male betrays the mermaid who loves him for a human girl. Then the mermaid remains in the water. Alive for the moment, but with her honor gone, her life newly broken.”

That almost sounded worse. The thought of Dorian lying beside some human was intolerable: her bare legs wrapping like pink tentacles around his body, her tinny, empty voice squawking along with some song on the radio.

“In such cases,” Nausicaa observed coolly, “it is the man who will not survive. The mermaid will kill him. Then die of grief herself.”

13

The Grays

The storm thrashed against the cliffs for three days. When Luce darted out for food, she found for the first time that the force of the water almost overpowered the quick dancing flow of her swimming, and she hardly had the strength to fight her way back into the cave. The currents jerked her back and forth, and waves caught her and threw her into the air before she had a chance to compensate for their aggression. Even if she used the full power of her singing, Luce realized, the storm would be even stronger. Its roar was enough to drown out her voice. Trying to reach Dorian was hopeless, and then he’d certainly be shut up indoors himself. Nausicaa repeatedly made quick forays out of the cave, only to return in frustration minutes later. She listened while Luce practiced singing or else swam in circles like a shark trapped in a tank.

On the fourth day Luce woke to waves that suddenly beat a drowsy cadence, and she slipped out into the open sea. The late, lazy dawn smeared the eastern sky with peach and crimson and pale bluish lilac, and the waves rose and fell as if they could hardly be bothered to make the effort. Even after the terrible things Nausicaa had told her, the change in the weather meant one thing to Luce: later that day she’d be able to see Dorian again. He’d run his hands through her hair, then down around her throat; kisses would settle on her shoulders like soft, tiny, loving animals. It would be obvious that all their problems were insignificant compared to what they felt together, and maybe she’d sing for him again . . .

“Do you see them, Luce?” Nausicaa was suddenly beside her, and Luce glanced over sharply, annoyed at having her daydream disrupted. “Look there. To the north.” Luce looked. A kind of pale disturbance traced the distance. It reminded Luce of a scene in a movie she’d once seen, where a far-off cloud of dust revealed the approach of a vast army. What could that mean out here in the sea? Nausicaa’s eyes flared with green exultation. And, Luce realized, the water popped, trilled, and hummed with sounds, still far away but all coming from the same direction.