Darkling Green. Kim Thompson

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СКАЧАТЬ shook a warning finger at her. “Be mindful. Do it with intent and not just for a lark.” He sat back wearily. “Don’t overuse it. All powers come with a price.”

      “What kind of price?”

      “It’s not always obvious what you are losing. Not right away.” He rubbed his forehead. “Many would disagree with me and insist that a special ability has no downside, but I feel in my heart that something is lost whenever you gain a powerful skill like this.” He turned to look out the window, and Willa knew he was thinking about his own memory loss. She promised herself she’d practice her ability but not use it lightly. And she never mentioned it to anyone else.

      A few doors down from Horace was Belle’s room. The mermaid was very pleased to have her own space again; she was much more relaxed and less cranky. The porch ramp allowed her to wheel herself out the front door and down into the yard, which she couldn’t do on her own before. The dwarves even paved a walkway for her that circled the house and branched off to the stable and woods. Not that she went into the woods much; Belle regarded the fairies there as nuisances, too foolish to bother with.

      Willa knew Belle liked her privacy, but she gingerly began visiting every day after school, tiptoeing through the dusty disaster zone of the kitchen and making tea, then knocking on Belle’s door. Belle’s scowl would vanish when she saw it was Willa, a fact that Willa noted and cherished. They sat together over tea, and Willa found that if she didn’t ask too many questions, Belle would start talking on her own. She didn’t talk about Grandpa or Willa’s mom, but for the first time she told stories about her early years under the sea, stories about castles on the ocean floor and bizarre creatures of the deep, about playing hide-and-seek in waving kelp beds and hitching the occasional ride on a manta ray. She often said she’d love to show Willa these things.

      “I don’t swim,” Willa always replied, but Belle never seemed to hear it. She was fixated on the idea of taking Willa swimming, and Willa didn’t have the heart to tell her it could never, ever happen. The embarrassing truth was that Willa was scared of the water. Make that terrified. It was some kind of phobia, and her mom had it too.

      “We both have this condition, Willa,” her mom always said. “I’ve had it all my life. If we tried to swim, we’d freeze up with a panic attack. It’s a phobia, it’s all in the mind, but the physical effects are real, and I don’t want either of us to drown! So please stay out of the water!”

      When they were at Grandpa’s house on the beach, Mom didn’t even like it when Willa kicked off her sandals to dip her toes in the ocean. Willa waded a little bit, but only up to her knees. If she went any deeper, she was gripped by a panicky, tight feeling in her chest. She couldn’t breathe, and her limbs became leaden and useless. Her mom was absolutely right; there was no way she could will her arms and legs to move and swim once that feeling came upon her. It was all she could do to stumble backward out of the water and rejoin her parents on the towel in the sun. There she’d sit, staring at the sparkling water. The thought of all the creatures and fish and plants that were hidden out there beneath the shimmer creeped her out.

      Belle’s whole world revolved around water, and Willa was scared to death of it.

      One day, Belle told her she used to pull pranks on human ships.

      “What kind of pranks?” asked Willa.

      “We’d get them going in the wrong direction, sailing in circles, or sometimes send them into the rocks.”

      Willa started. “You mean wreck them?”

      Belle looked uncomfortable. “We didn’t wreck them, exactly, we’d just get them going toward the rocks. If the sailors couldn’t figure that out in time, well …” Belle shrugged.

      “Wait, how did you ‘get’ them going the way you wanted? What do you mean?”

      “Siren song,” she said simply, pouring another cup of tea.

      “You sing, and—?”

      “Any men who hear it do whatever we want them to do. It’s hilarious.”

      “You can do that?”

      “Of course! Every mermaid worth her salt can.”

      “I don’t believe you.”

      Belle laughed and plunked down her cup. “Okay then, miss smarty-pants. I’ll prove it.”

      Willa followed Belle outdoors and around to the backyard, where they found Robert and the dwarves in the middle of a dispute over a game of horseshoes.

      “It was a clear ringer. A perfect shot!” insisted Radsvidr.

      “Doesn’t count if your big fat toe is over the throwing line,” countered Robert.

      The dwarf stomped up to Robert, craning his neck to glare up at him.

      “It wasn’t!”

      Robert leaned a long, long way down until they were eyeball to eyeball.

      “It … was!”

      “Wasn’t!”

      “Was!”

      “Wasn’t!”

      “Was!”

      “Wasn’t!”

      Horace was leaning against the house, smiling affably at Willa and Belle. “Such is the level of debate here,” he observed.

      Belle smiled, then cleared her throat and began to hum. In just a few seconds the argument died away, and they stared blankly at each other.

      “I’m sorry. What were you saying, my good man?” asked Robert mildly.

      “I’ve lost my train of thought,” the dwarf answered, scratching his head. They looked at each other for a moment.

      “Thirsty,” mumbled Belle, just loud enough for Willa to hear.

      Robert blinked and smiled. “Oh well, no matter. I’m parched. How about a beverage, old sport?”

      “By all means. Lead on, friend.”

      Willa stared as the two strolled away.

      “Told you,” said Belle simply.

      “It just works on men?”

      “Yes, unfortunately. You know, all mermaids can do this….” Belle gave Willa a meaningful look, but Willa was thinking about something else.

      “That’s what you used on the policemen and the firefighters, isn’t it?” she exclaimed. “That night at Hanlan’s Hill!”

      Belle smiled broadly. “No comment.”

      Willa nodded, impressed. “Wow. That must come in handy.”

      Belle sighed, glancing back at the house. “I’m not supposed to use it at all — Miss Trang’s rules. It’s for the best, I suppose. Siren song usually causes more trouble than it’s worth.”

      “How?”

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