Haunted (3 page)

She tilts her head and smiles at me. “Do not be so sure of that.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Absolutely positive. I am
so
not the person you need.”

“Help me,” she says.

This startles me. “Help you what? You know, I don’t even have to talk to you. I can choose to tell myself that you’re not real.”

Mermaid woman shakes that long, snaky, black hair. Droplets of water splash against my legs. Even though I try not to, I shiver.

“You helped Anastasia.” She says it so quickly and matter-of-factly that at first it doesn’t even register. When it does, I just feel angry.

“Anastasia’s dead. You’re part of the supernatural crew. Figured you’d have known that.”

“What if the Romanov girl still isn’t dead?” is how the rusalka answers me. “What if she didn’t actually go back to die?”

“Impossible.” I shiver again, watch her stretch her pale arms in the cramped confines of the slide. “Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt. You know. Or maybe you don’t know, you possibly being a figment of my imagination.”

“Things are not always what they seem, Anne. You look at me, but you do not see what you need to see.”

My heart pumps a little harder as the sound of my name echoes around me. So much for hoping that she had the wrong girl.

The rusalka—if that’s what she is—tips back her head and catches a few stray drops of water on her tongue. Her skin is pale as skim milk, blue veins running the length of her bone-thin arms. “You saw Anastasia disappear. But that doesn’t mean she died. Not like me. Although I suppose not unlike me. I’m here and not here. Everywhere and nowhere. Breathing and still drowning. If I can be as I am, then why not your Anastasia?”

“She’s not
my
Anastasia.” I stand up and edge toward the slide. I can feel my pulse in my throat. “She doesn’t belong to me. And you’re wrong. She made her choice. She went back to die. And I helped her.”

The rusalka smiles at me again. Her teeth are white and shiny and a little bit too sharp. “We all have our stories. Yours is no more tragic than the next girl’s.”

She makes a sound that I think is supposed to be a giggle, only it’s a lot creepier. Then she’s behind me, lounging casually on the bench I’ve just vacated. Tendrils of dark green seaweed dot her hair. The smell of her rises up and surrounds me—water, salt, and something I can’t quite identify. The ocean, maybe.

“Well, then,” I tell her, “if I’m so ordinary, then maybe you should just backstroke on out of here and leave me alone.”

I sound a lot braver than I feel. Being brave, I’ve learned, isn’t really all it’s cracked up to be.

“He cares for you,” she says as though she hasn’t heard me. “But it’s not easy. It never is for men.”

“Whatever.” I’m not even sure who she means. It could be Ethan. Or it could be Ben. My lifeguard, Ben Logan, with normal brown eyes, who’s probably back on his guard stand on the other side of the pool and doesn’t see crazy Russian mermaid women floating in the deep end like I do. Who’d never ask me to help him save a princess. Or turn my life upside down and then leave.

“Things are coming.” The rusalka’s voice—low and soft—yanks me out of my thoughts. “You need to be ready.”

“If that’s an ancient prophecy, you can keep it to yourself. Tell whoever it is that I’m not available. The world’s a big place. Someone else will help. You just keep asking around.”

“Perhaps Anastasia wasn’t the only one who needed help. Perhaps there is more you need to know.” Still stretched across the bench, mermaid lady sits up on an elbow and rests her chin in her hand. She watches me with eyes as gray as storm clouds.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” I ignore the extra beat or two my heart has taken and wave my hand in her general direction. “Shoo.”

“Secrets within secrets, Anne. Stories within stories. Like Anastasia’s pretty little doll. You know how it goes. You know the circle of it. It holds you, even if you pretend it does not. You must pursue this.” She means Anastasia’s
matroyshka
doll—the one I used to help send her back. The one that repeats its figure, smaller and smaller, each tucked within each other. The image of it in my head makes me sad—Anastasia choosing a fate we all wanted her to avoid.

“I don’t have to pursue anything. And you need to just swim back up the slide or slither down the drain or whatever it is you do. Plus, how is it exactly that you know my name? It’s not like I know yours. Or want to, honestly. No offense.”

My rusalka sighs. Something that looks like sadness flickers through her dark eyes. She smooths her hands over her ripped and sodden lilac dress. “I know what I know. I am who I am. So here is what you must know. You have more to do. The witch is not done with you. And neither am I.”

And then she’s gone. She doesn’t slip back into the kiddy pool or melt into the puddles of water that have dripped off her hair. She just stops being there.

“What the hell are you doing back here? Did I just hear you talking to someone?” I whip around to find Tess looking a little concerned and a lot annoyed.

“Talking? Well, I…” So what do I tell her? She’s my best friend, and if I can’t tell my best friend that I’m being stalked by a Russian rusalka, then honestly, who can I tell?

But if I tell her, then I have to admit it’s really happening. I’ll have to do something about it. And right now, that’s about the last thing I need. But she’s looking at me with the wrinkled-brow Tess look, the one that says she’s going to pursue this like a pit bull until I tell her the truth.

I begin. “Something weird is going on,” I say, which is certainly an understatement when it comes to my life.

“Weirder than you talking to the air?” She links her arm with mine, and we walk back to our chairs. I’m still sort of shivery and my hands feel clammy and I can see that Tess registers this. The furrow in her brow gets a little deeper.

“Well, I—” A few yards away, at the entrance counter, Ben waves cheerfully to me. I guess he’s rotated to check-in duty.

I wave back, then brace myself for whatever it is that Tess is going to ask and I’m going to have to deflect somehow because I just can’t do this all again. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

Only Tess isn’t paying attention to me anymore. She’s looking beyond Ben to a figure that’s standing just outside the Aqua Creek Park fence, his arms folded across his chest. He’s wearing jeans and a short-sleeved, black T-shirt. His eyes are very blue, and his thick brown hair is just a bit too long. When he sees me, his face breaks into a smile that’s a little less sweet and a lot more ironic than Ben’s. Even from here, I can see that he’s got a day’s worth of stubble on his very strong chin. It looks good on him. He’s also clearly a little bit older than the last time I saw him. This looks good on him, too. I’d wondered about that. After all, immortal hotties don’t become mortal hotties every day.

And even though Ben is now just a few feet away from me, everything inside me sort of pulses toward the owner of that ironic smile.

Wrong, wrong, wrong!
I tell myself.
This way leads to trouble. Those blue eyes. Those chiseled Russian cheekbones. That tattoo on his back, just at his left shoulder. They’ll get you in trouble, Anne. What if he was the best kiss you’ve ever had? He’s trouble. Nothing but. Aren’t you supposed to be pissed at him for staying away so long? For never pushing for the truth when you told him you were fine each time he called? Didn’t you learn your lesson last fall? Do you seriously need reminding?

Tess is now pulling me toward the entrance, and thus Ben, at a pace that can only be described as race-walking. “Holy crap.” She yanks on my arm for emphasis. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Who?” asks Ben, now in earshot. “That guy over there? You two know him?”

Of course we know him. His name is Ethan. And he’s come back.

Ethan

She’s thinner. It’s the first thing I notice. She’s still as beautiful as she was when I left her. And then I see the boy—this lifeguard walking toward me. He’s with Tess, I think. That makes sense. Only as soon as I think it, he places his hand on Anne’s shoulder—casual yet proprietary—and I know I’m wrong. Something else that Anne hasn’t mentioned each time she and I have spoken. Something I didn’t expect.

In my head, I cross the distance between us. I pull her close, kiss her, tangle my fingers in her hair, and I tell her that I was wrong to leave. That I’m back now, and I’m staying. I don’t tell her I think she’s in danger. Or that I know she’s been keeping things from me and I’ve been choosing not to ask. I just hold her tight and kiss her again.

“Ethan!” Tess’s voice is as loud as I remember it. “Took you long enough to get yourself back here. How come? No planes from Europe to Chicago? Besides, couldn’t you, like, just—”

“Tess.” Anne elbows her. “Enough. Ben hasn’t met Ethan yet, remember?”

The four of us stare at each other.
Is she happy to see me? Has she missed me like I’ve missed her? And exactly who is this guy with his arm still resting on her shoulder?

The hell with it
, I think. And then somehow, we’re hugging. She’s moved toward me, and I’ve moved toward her, and she’s in my arms. Not just in my thoughts, but right here in the sunshine. Her hair smells like rainwater and peppermint, and I bend to kiss her—lightly on the lips—when the wave of images jolts me: a blur of faces I can’t make out. The sound of voices murmuring. Another voice weeping. A scream. Colors—reds and blues and blacks. The unmistakable feeling that I’m underwater. And then something more. For a second, it’s like the first time she and I collided: that moment last fall when I touched her arm and knew she was the girl for whom I’d been searching. There’s an electric surging. A spark.

Just a flash, then it’s gone. My stomach clenches. I hadn’t thought the connection between us would still be so visceral.

Anne’s bare arms are still looped around my neck. The fragrance of her is still everywhere. “Um,” she whispers in my ear, “we’ve got to talk about this. About a lot of things, actually.”

“I know,” I whisper back. “It’s why I’m here.”

I wince inside as the surprise of that registers in her eyes. Did she expect otherwise? I’ve kept my distance, telling myself that’s for the best. I’ve confused her life enough, haven’t I? Still, what I’ve told her isn’t the entire truth, and I’m sure she knows that.

“Oh.” She’s no longer whispering, and I’m sensing this is not a good thing. Nor is the heat I feel coming from her hands, which are still resting on my neck. “I should have known, shouldn’t I? That you wouldn’t come back unless you thought there was something going on.”

“I’ll explain,” I say quickly as she yanks her hands from my neck and steps back a few paces. “When we can talk. We need to—”

“Took you long enough to get your ass back to the states, Ethan,” Tess interrupts me. “And by the way,” she grabs the boy’s hand and pulls him with her to stand next to me and Anne. “Ethan Kozninsky, Ben Logan. Ben, Ethan.”

Ben holds out his hand. It hangs there in the air a beat too long until I finally reach out my own hand and shake his. His grip is strong. Mine is stronger, though less than it used to be—mortality tends to have that effect—something else I’ve realized while I’ve been away.

“Old friend of Anne’s.” I realize that I’m squeezing his hand just a little harder than I probably should.

“Family friend,” Anne adds quickly. Tess snorts, and we all stand there uncomfortably. I realize I’m still shaking Ben’s hand and let go.

The family part isn’t a lie, I suppose. Viktor had been my friend, and he was Tsar Nicholas Romanov’s illegitimate son and Anne’s great-great-grandfather. He’d offered himself up to the witch so she would stop destroying everything in sight once we had rescued Anastasia but were unsuccessful in breaking the spell that compelled her to protect a Romanov. Tricky business, that ancient magic.

“So is Tess right? You were in Europe?” Ben asks after another awkward pause. “I’m going during my junior year at U of I. I’m majoring in econ, and they’ve got a study-abroad program where you can work at The Hague for a semester. Learn finance. Kick around Europe while you’re there. I backpacked for a couple of weeks last summer with my cousin, Josh, but I don’t think you really learn a place until you’ve lived there, and I—”

“Slavic studies fellowship. I’ve been in Prague, mostly. A few months in St. Petersburg.” Interrupting Ben Logan mid–travel monologue seems preferable to listening to more tips about maximizing the European experience. I’ve maximized it, and then some. Over many decades.

“Oh, yeah,” Tess chimes in. “Ethan’s got the whole Slavic folklore thing nailed. Don’t you, Ethan?”

“Ben!” One of the other lifeguards gestures from the check-in desk. “I need you to guard the deep end at shift change, remember? So what are you doing out there?”

“Crap.” In one impressively slick motion, Ben slings an arm over Anne’s shoulder. “I gotta get back.”

“I’ll see you later,” she tells him. “Java Joe’s. Eight o’clock. Extra whip on my mocha, okay?”

Ben hesitates, and for a moment, I think he might question the “old family friend” story. But instead, he puts his other arm around Anne, pulls her to him, and presses his lips to hers. She kisses him back, and he grins at me over her shoulder when he breaks the kiss before she does. Clearly, Ben Logan is a fan of slick moves.

“Oh, my God,” Tess says once Ben is out of earshot. “What was he going to do next, Anne? Pee on the ground and mark his territory? Good thing Ethan here isn’t too much magic guy anymore. He could have zapped him or something. Maybe turned him into a newt or a toad or—”

“Give it a rest,” Anne says dryly. “Seriously.”

“I’m just saying. The testosterone is pretty thick around here.”

Anne ignores this and turns to me. “Ben’s my boyfriend. My really, really sweet, normal boyfriend. So let’s make things clear. Everything that’s happened? That’s not stuff Ben needs to know about.”

Is there some gentle way to tell her this might not be possible? But I don’t have to find one because Tess interrupts—no surprise there.

“Ben’s gonna find out eventually, Anne. Personally, I don’t know how he’s missed it. You’re a mess, you know?”

Tess shifts her gaze to me. Her tone is fierce. “She hasn’t been telling me most of it.” Tess crosses her arms over her chest. “But I’m her best friend. She doesn’t have to tell me. Stuff is going on. I know it. I can’t see everything she sees, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know. All that power—I don’t believe that it’s gone.”

“It
is
gone,” Anne insists. But her eyes had told me something different only a few seconds earlier. “Give me a break, Anne,” Tess snaps.

“Is that true?” I rest my hand gently on Anne’s arm. “You have to tell me.”

“I don’t have to tell anyone anything. And besides, there’s nothing to tell.”

Tess rubs her arms as a brisk breeze picks up around us. “What about that day in English class right before school let out? And don’t look like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Brett Sullivan—stupid, muscle-bound idiot—knocks my pencil off my desk so he can take a peek at my boobs when I bend over to pick it up, only when I lay it back on my desk, it somehow rolls off, bounces on the floor, and stabs him in the ankle. Then I look up, and you’re smiling. You think I believe that just
happened?
That pencils have a mind of their own?”

“Wonderful.” Anne turns and starts walking back to the pool. Tess and I have no choice but to follow. The breeze has turned into a wind. Anne’s auburn hair is blowing behind her. “That’s what you think, huh? That I’ve got magic power left inside me that I could do
anything
with, but I’m using it to manipulate number-two pencils? You really think I’m that lame?”

“She stabbed someone with a pencil?”

“Oh, great, Ethan,” Anne says as the three of us reach the pool entrance. Her brown eyes look darker. “You’re back like what, five seconds, and already you’re talking about me like I’m not standing here?”

“Well, did you?” She still hasn’t answered about the pencil.

“You two are amazing.” Tess shakes her head. The wind picks up even more. Someone’s towel lifts from a lounge chair and tumbles across the concrete into the shallow end. “And by the way, Ethan, in case you haven’t figured it out, what with the jet lag and everything, your girlfriend can do more than poke jerks in the leg with pencils. I’m pretty sure she can make the wind blow when she gets pissed off—not that she’s going to admit it. But just so you know—it’s scaring the crap out of me!”

“I’m not his girlfriend.” Anne stalks past us. She seems headed for the far side of the pool, where lifeguard and European traveler Ben has just climbed up the guard stand and seated himself.

“Anne, wait.” I put a hand on her arm. “We need to talk about this. You can’t just walk away like nothing’s happening.”

She glowers at me. Isn’t she even a little happy to see me? I’ve learned a lot over my many years, but obviously female logic isn’t something I’ve managed to master.

“I can do whatever I want to. You went to Europe. I can go to the other side of the pool. And you”—Anne flips her gaze to Tess—“need to stop having such a big mouth about everything. It’s no big deal. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I mean, look around you. It’s a lovely day. We’re at Aqua Creek Park, remember? Swimming pool. Suntan lotion. Kids playing Marco Polo. What could possibly happen at—?”

The shrill sound of a whistle breaks through the air. My pulse picks up a few notches. On the guard platform, Ben stands. The whistle on its chain, its sound still echoing in the air, flops back against his chest. He hesitates only a second, scanning the water. I track where he’s looking in the deep end. Nothing’s there.

“Going in!” Ben shouts. He dives, straight and clean, into the deep end of the pool, and pushes through the water to the bottom. And unless I’m mistaken, he begins to wrestle with something that only he can see.

“Ben!” Anne screams. “Ben!” She races to the edge of the pool. My brain forms a single word.
No.

“No!” I yell. “Don’t!” I stop thinking—just kick off my shoes, push Anne aside, and dive in after Ben. Another lifeguard hits the water as I do. It’s freezing—colder than it should be.

On the bottom of the pool, Ben’s struggling. He’s tugging fiercely at the invisible something, trying to pull it toward the surface.

I reach him first, grab his arm and try to yank him up from the bottom. Whatever he’s got pulls him back. The other guard pulls at Ben’s other arm, but neither of us manages to budge him.

Seconds pass, then more. What breath is left in my lungs burns, and I know I can’t stay underwater for too much longer. We pull at Ben again, harder this time. I catch a glimpse of his eyes, and I can see the confusion—not fear, really, which impresses me, because at this point, he should be afraid. But I know that any second now, he’s going to realize that he’s trapped, and he’s going to panic.

Then I see her. Just a glimpse, a shadow. A woman? Her arms draw Ben to her. Her long fingers pull at his hair.

Above us, somehow, I hear Anne shouting. “Let him go! Please! Let him go!” And then she’s in the water too, and my lungs are bursting with the need to breathe.

The woman at the pool bottom lifts her head. Storm gray eyes stare at me. There’s something about her, I think, although it’s hard to think when all I want to do is kick to the surface so I can breathe. A few months ago, this wouldn’t have been a problem. I was immortal then. But now I’m not. I try again to free Ben from her grasp when suddenly, she speaks.

“Only you,” the woman says. I don’t know if what I’m seeing is real, and it should be impossible for me to hear her clearly underwater, but I still do. She reaches out one bony finger and points at Anne. “Only you truly dare to swim with the rusalkas. Go to her, girl. You need her. She’ll grind you with her pestle and pull you out whole and make you what you are not. Then you can come back to me. The Death Crone, girl. Go to her. Only then can you heal. Only then can you do what you must.”

With that, it’s gone. All of it—the woman, the cold, the wind that’s been whipping waves in the pool. The three of us drag Ben to the surface. We all hoist ourselves out of the pool, and Ben coughs up a few lungfuls of water.

“There was a woman.” Ben coughs some more. “There was a woman down there.”

“Ben, buddy.” The other lifeguard bends over him and rolls Ben to his side, where he coughs some more. “There was no one down there. But the suction was wicked. The filter, maybe. I don’t know, man. I think the pool equipment is malfunctioning. We need to close the pool. Get someone in here to look at this. God, Ben. Why the hell did you dive in? There was nothing there.”

Ben sits up, shakes his head. “But there was. I—I thought there was. It was the weirdest—”

“Jesus, Ben!” Tess tosses a towel at Anne, who’s sitting between me and Ben on the pavement, her face drained of color. “What were you thinking?” She flops down on the ground next to Anne. “You okay?” she asks her.

“I’m—I don’t know.” Anne pulls the towel around her and looks away from Tess to Ben. “There was—she was…I don’t know.” Anne pushes up to stand in one graceful motion. “Ben,” she says. “Oh, Ben.”

She flicks a quick glance at me—anger? Confusion? Fear?—and kneels next to Ben, reaches for him. He leans into her embrace. A variety of emotions wash over me, the strongest being the wish that he wasn’t holding her.

“Did you do something?” Tess is standing in front of me, scowling. She pokes a finger at my chest.

“Lower your voice.” I move away, and she follows me. “And no,” I add once we’re over by the Coke machine. “Is that what you think?”

“Of course it’s what I think. If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be asking you.”

“You think I got Ben to leap into the pool and almost drown himself? And you think this
why?
”

“Why? After last fall, you have to ask me that? You’re the one who got her into all this in the first place: witches and trapped princesses and crazy bad guys. You’re the one who almost got her killed like half a dozen times, the one who opened the door to everything that’s been going on since and then left her here for me to pick up the pieces.”