Water Dance

By Jay Greenstein

Ann is in deadly peril. Out of a job, out of money, and out of luck. Harried and pursued, trapped under the waters of Puget Sound, death is reaching for her with hands of icy darkness.

But this night, Ann has had one small piece of luck. She’s been given a magical ring, along with the admonition, “Never take it off. Never tell anyone about it. And be ready for wonder.” And this night, deep under the water, the ring is blazing with light, like the incandescent heart of a star.

A frozen moment, a flick of light, and a new life begins, with new problems and dangers—including the fact that Ann seems to have become a mermaid.

That sort of thing is certain to get your attention. But Ann’s problems have multiplied. When David Nan lifts her onto his boat to protect her from a shark, her legs return and she finds herself in the arms of the most attractive man she’s ever encountered.

If only her clothing had reappeared along with her legs. It’s enough to make a were-mermaid dive back into the ocean.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jay Greenstein
• Release date: Sep 3, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301680061

Jay Greenstein

I'm a storyteller. My skills at writing are subject to opinion, my punctuation has been called interesting, at best—but I am a storyteller. I am, of course, many other things. In seven decades of living, there are great numbers of things that have attracted my attention. I am, for example, an electrician. I can also design, build, and install a range of things from stairs and railings to flooring, and tile backsplashes. I can even giftwrap a box from the inside, so to speak, by wallpapering the house. I'm an engineer, one who has designed computers and computer systems; one of which—during the bad old days of the cold war—flew in the plane designated as the American President's Airborne Command Post: The Doomsday Jet. I've spent seven years as the chief-engineer of a company that built bar-code readers. I spent thirteen of the most enjoyable years of my life as a scoutmaster, and three, nearly as good, as a cubmaster. I joined the Air Force to learn jet engine mechanics, but ended up working in broadcast and closed circuit television, serving in such unlikely locations as the War Room of the Strategic Air Command, and a television station on the island of Okinawa. I have been involved in sports car racing, scuba diving, sailing, and anything else that sounded like fun. I can fix most things that break, sew a fairly neat seam, and have raised three pretty nice kids, all of who are smarter and prettier than I am—more talented, too, thanks to the genes my wife kindly provided. Once, while camping with a group of cubs and their families, one of the dads announced, "You guys better make up crosses to keep the Purple Bishop away." When I asked for more information, the man shrugged and said, "I don't really know much about the story. It's some kind of a local thing that was mentioned on my last camping trip." Intrigued, I wondered if I could come up with something to go with his comment about the crosses; something to provide a gentle terror-of-the-night to entertain the boys. The result was a virtual forest of crosses outside the boys' tents. That was the event that switched on something within me that, now, more than twenty-five years later, I can't seem to switch off. Stories came and came… so easily it was sometimes frightening. Stories so frightening that one boy swore he watched my eyes begin to glow with a dim red light as I told them (it was the campfire reflecting from my ...

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Jay Greenstein

Jay Greenstein

All rights reserved

Published by Continuation Services at SmashWords

Copyright 2013

Other Titles by Jay Greenstein:

Science Fiction

As Falls an Angel

Samantha and the Bear

Foreign Embassy

Hero

Monkey Feet

An Accidental War

Starlight Dancing

Wizards

Trilogy of the Talos

(Sci-fi)

To Sing the Calu

Portal to Sygano

Ghost Girl

Sisterhood of the Ring

(Sci-fi)

Water Dance

Jennie’s Song

A Change of Heart

A Surfeit of Dreams

Kyesha

Abode Of The Gods

Living Vampire

(Sci-fi)

An Abiding Evil

Ties of Blood

Blood Lust

Modern Western

Posse

Romantic Suspense

A Chance Encounter

Kiss of Death

Intrigue/Crime

Necessity

Betrayal

Hostage

Young Adult

My Father My Friend

Romance

Zoe

Breaking the Pattern

Short Story

A Touch of Strange

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This novel is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictitious and created by the author for entertainment purposes. Any similarities between living and non-living persons are purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Ann closed her eyes for a moment as the entrance door swung closed behind her, cutting off the icy wind and bringing a sigh of relief. Likely, the stay would be short, but at least the next few minutes would be warm. That was something.

And fast food or not, it smelled positively wonderful. Eyes closed, she spent a long moment identifying each component of the total while mentally counting the money in her pocket.

Not enough for a burger. Maybe a small order of fries?

Clamping down on her hunger pangs she forced a smile and headed toward the counter.

Excuse me, she said, trying to sound casual. Are you accepting employment applications? Arriving between lunch and dinner appeared to have been a good choice. The counter was empty of customers.

The woman, who appeared to be in her thirties, studied her for a moment, lips pursed, before saying, Lawyer?

She sighed. Engineer.

The woman pointed toward an older man, busily scraping down the grill. Sid’s an engineer, too. She pointed to the attendant at the drive-through window. Gail’s a lawyer, and I’m a personal trainer...or was.

So much for that idea.

Before she could turn away the woman said, You look as if you could use a cup of coffee. I’m about to go on break if you’d like to join me.

I, uhh...

The woman flipped a hand as if the offer was no big deal. It’s on the house. She reached under the counter and pulled out two coffee cups, adding, Fill these at the urn and grab us a table. I’ll be there in a minute.

As she turned away the woman added, I like mine light, with two sugars.... I’m Jenna, by the way.

Help yourself, Jenna said, as she slid into the table’s other seat and placed her tray on the table.

Thank you, she said, a bit overwhelmed. You didn’t have to—

Jenna cut her off with a wave of the hand. You’re right, I don’t...but there’s a time limit on cooked burgers. These were about to be thrown away, so it’s not charity. And the fries are for my lunch. Feel free to take some. She pushed a burger box and one of the containers of fries across the table.

With a, Thank you, and suppressed tears for the unexpected bit of kindness, Ann swallowed her pride and tried not to do the same with the burger, at least not all at once.

So, how long have you been out of work?

Almost seven months, she said, around a mouthful of hamburger. A layoff notice was my least favorite birthday present this year.

The sandwich was fantastic. Hunger truly did make the best condiment.

And you’ve had no nibbles?

Oh, I’ve had nibbles...but that’s all.

That’s tough. Jenna took a sip of coffee. I got lucky and walked in here on the day someone gave notice. More gently, she said, We don’t bother taking applications these days because no one quits. But if they did, I’d fill the job in seconds by whispering, ‘I have work available.’ She waved a hand toward the counter, saying, Last year at this time only kids worked back there because the pay is awful. Today there’s no one under thirty. It’s a hell of a world. A shrug, then, So, what will you do, other than pray?

Same as I have been doing, I guess...look for work. What else can I do?

The woman shook her head, then pushed another burger across the table, saying, You had better fatten yourself up, love, because there are lean times ahead for all of us, I think.

° ° °

Ann leaned close to the intercom’s speaker. It’s me, Mrs. Snow. My key isn’t working. Can you buzz me in?

... I’m sorry Ann, but I have no choice. I can’t let you in.

Damn. Fingertips to temples she tried to push away the depression that had its claws plunged deep into her soul. The woman had used the word sorry, but precious little regret warmed the words coming from the intercom box.

Every day, in every way, my life has turned to shit.

Probably a waste of time, but she had to try, so she said, If you could give me another few days, Mrs. Snow? Just... She shivered against the cold and closed her eyes, voice a near whisper as she said, Just two more days?

Out of habit, she crossed her fingers. If the woman would only talk directly, rather than through the damn front-door intercom—if she could see her face—the answer would be yes. But face-to-face wasn’t going to happen, not with two months’ worth of rent unpaid, and no prospects of coming up with it. Not in two days, and not in two more months. The company, and her future as an engineer, were gone—one more victim of the depression eating away at the bowels of the country.

I’m sorry. The ancient intercom made the words almost unintelligible. "I really wish you could stay. I hate doing this, but I need to pay my bills, too. That apartment and my social security check are all I have, and I’ve been eating a lot of macaroni these past two months because you fell behind."

Macaroni? I’d kill for macaroni.... Hell, I’d kill for a single lick of a lollypop.

But self-pity wasted time. Better to focus on what might be salvaged. The laptop was the last thing worth selling, so she said, How about my stuff? Can I—

The old woman’s words took an edge as she said, It’s in the basement. Pay what you owe and it’s yours. Till then... Her voice softened. Till then I won’t throw it out, or sell it. The intercom went silent, then, without even the buzz that said someone was listening. She leaned her forehead against the unfeeling door, the scent of death in her nostrils, tears forming cold pathways on her cheeks. It was over.

° ° °

I’m buying, Blondie. You selling?

She looked up from the gritty concrete. The gaps in the man’s hopeful smile coordinated well with his wardrobe. He wasn’t a threat, though, so she shook her head and returned to her study of the pavement. After a moment, the man left. From the looks of him, bathing was being caught out in the rain.

So it had come to that. Slouched into the doorway of a closed office supply business she was indistinguishable from the skid-row hookers.

How had it happened? Every job review heaped praise for her talent, energy, and the fact that her projects came in on time and under budget. She was the youngest project manager in the company—or had been before the disaster. Finding another job should have been easy. But even the job placement firms that used to call her, week after week, trying to pirate her from the company, had nothing.

Damn this depression. Damn my life. Damn Mom and Dad for going broke...and for dying in that damn fire.

Perhaps she should have taken the man up on his offer of money for sex. A couple of bucks would pay for something to eat. Perhaps chastity wasn’t as sensible a strategy as it once seemed. But not yet. Maybe when she was hungrier.

She checked her watch. Well after midnight, and past time to find a safe place to sleep.

A shelter? Unacceptable. The depression had them overflowing. And if the news stories of the past week were to be believed, there was a better than even chance she’d end up a group sex-toy when they found a decent body under her clothing. Better to sleep out of sight behind a dumpster.

But better not to stand in one place too long, either, and announce that she had nowhere to go. That invited attention of the kind she didn’t want.

With a sigh, she pushed away from the building and started toward the harbor, seeking a place out of the wind by one of the old warehouses—a place to get a few hours’ rest and mull over how to survive.

Are you okay? Hands caught Ann’s shoulders, bringing her to a stop, and back into the world.

What? Head down, she’d almost walked into someone.

I said, are you okay?

I’m fine, she muttered, without looking, as she took a step back, then to the side, to go around the woman. But she stepped in the same direction. That happened twice more before it became obvious that her action was deliberate, not the accidental parody of a dance.

She looked up to see what new disaster fate had in store for her, but a wide smile and laughing eyes met her frown.

I wondered how many times I’d have to do that before you noticed, the woman said. I called you three times before I stepped in front of you, and I was beginning to think you were sleepwalking. Are you okay? The woman must have come from one of the office buildings, because there had been no one walking toward her the last time she’d been paying attention.

What? I... Was she okay? Hell no, she wasn’t okay. But she’d die before admitting that to this woman. Dressed in a tweed coat that probably cost more than everything in her wardrobe, combined, the woman might have stepped off the pages of the latest fashion magazine.

It might be the act of a fool, but she still had some pride, so she straightened her spine a bit, and said, I’m sorry, I was distracted. Can I help you?

The woman didn’t respond. She’d taken a step backward, and was, obviously, studying her, head cocked a bit.

What the hell? She spread her hands in inquiry. I don’t know what you—

You’re the one, I think.

I’m.... What? She had to stop saying that word.

As though reaching a decision the woman nodded, slipping something from her finger as she did. Yes, there’s no doubt of that. Give me your hand, please. She said it as a request, not an order, but the words were spoken with such assurance that her request would be honored that she extended her hand—or at least began to before she forced herself to stop, hand half-raised and feeling foolish. Then, curious, she continued, holding out her hand, wishing her fingernails were not so battered looking. But she’d been chewing them a lot lately, and a manicure was another luxury not in the foreseeable future.

Warm fingers touched her own as the woman took her hand, then turned it to receive the ring she slipped on the third finger. She retained a gentle grip as she said, You’ll wear this until it’s time to give it to another woman...as I did to you. Never take it off, and never tell anyone about it.

I... She studied the ring. Heavy, carved from a circlet of stone as a single piece, far from what she might normally wear, it could be pawned, and buy a day of eating and a night of sleeping—maybe two. That would provide time to think, and perhaps time for a miracle. Lord knew she needed one.

The woman released her hand, saying, Just be ready for wonder. With that, and a good luck, she stepped past and walked toward the corner, her heels tap-tapping as she walked, not looking back, the whisper of expensive cologne a reminder that it hadn’t been a dream. Then she passed around the corner and was gone.

Had that actually happened? Had the woman been real? She thought for a moment of following her. But what if she hurried to the corner and the street turned out to be empty? Not the ghost of a footstep, now. Were they simply muffled by the remains of the snow? And of more importance, where had she come from? The street’s buildings were shuttered and dark. Someone working late would certainly have parked in front of the building for safety. But the woman had been walking. With a shiver that wasn’t for the weather, she turned toward the harbor and hurried on her way. Had that been an encounter with a guardian angel? If so, it was damn late in the process of having life come unraveled.

It wasn’t until she crossed the next intersection that a cough from behind brought her back to the present. She held her breath and softened her footfalls to give hearing more of an advantage. She was being followed, and by more than one person, from the sound of it. They must have been in that alleyway she passed in the previous block. Perhaps they’d seen her with the woman—had seen her take the ring. Perhaps they had just...seen her.

She didn’t turn. At this time of the night the chance of a police car, or anyone, coming by was slim. So, best they were unaware that she knew about them. If they thought her ignorant of their presence they might take their time, and give her a better chance of finding help. One more block to Front Street. Then, only the waters of the harbor. But if memory served, a pier sat close to the intersection, which might bring safety.

What other options were there? Perhaps barter for her life with the ring as tender toward staying safe? She worked her fingers around it, trying to slip it off and into a pocket, where she could get at it quickly as an offering. But the ring stuck, and even trying to remove it using the other hand didn’t work.

With no time for more than a muttered curse, she increased her pace.

Hey Coot, you figure she’s gonna be worth all this God-damn walking? Someone with a voice like loose phlegm wanted her to know they were there. Another voice, equally unpleasant, answered in kind. Bad news. There were at least two of them. Also bad was the dark pier that stretched its empty way into the harbor. The next pier, a long walk to the right, pushed back the night, spotlights silhouetting equipment in motion.

But heading there meant crossing the street, and one of the men was already on that side, nearly abreast of her. While she was fast, the distance was such that he’d almost certainly cut her off.

Would nothing go right?

Left with no choice she sprinted for the darkened pier. Best not to give the men a chance to act. Certainly, they didn’t run for sport as she did, so perhaps, if she hid among the shadows and equipment of the pier until they passed, she could double back to the street and run for the lighted area.

As she came up the ramp onto the pier, a flat expanse of snow-speckled concrete stretched before her, lit by a nearly full moon. The closed mouths of roll-up doors lined the building that stretched the length of the pier. Here and there the bulky shape of loading equipment shouldered up from the concrete. No sanctuary to be had there. Snow piles dotted the concrete, left from the freak storm—some nearly waist-high—but they offered no shelter in this deadly game of hide-and-seek. As she ran she risked a glance behind her. Three man-sized silhouettes showed against the lights of the city. They weren’t strolling, but they didn’t appear to be hurrying, either. They didn’t have to. Each step she took placed her further out over the water. She ignored their shouted catcalls.

Maybe something useful at the end of the pier? Something to use as a weapon? Unlikely, but perhaps there was a matching roadway back to shore on the other side.

Well ahead of her pursuers, she turned the far corner of the building and stopped.

Shit! What kind of an idiot builds a pier and doesn’t use the other side to at least tie up a ship till it can be unloaded?

Obviously, the one who designed this one. Scarcely a car’s length of concrete extended past the end of the building, and the roadway didn’t continue on the other side. She sagged, in mind and body. But then, the significance of the waist-high concrete at the outer corner of the pier brought hope, and the advantage she needed. In a single leap, she’d be atop a platform from which to launch herself over her pursuers. The timing would have to be perfect, with the men close enough to leap over, but that seemed to offer the best, perhaps the only, chance. And if the distance was too great to jump over them, she’d have the satisfaction of jumping at one of them and driving a foot through someone’s teeth—perhaps several someones.

Scents and sounds, even the texture of the night, seemed spiced by the danger, as the night and the waiting pressed in. But fright was oddly missing.

I should be scared. Why am I not scared? Maybe because there wasn’t time to think about what was going to happen? Maybe because the men pursuing her were about to find she was no rabbit, timidly accepting what came. Maybe because she’d been visited by a guardian angel. Stupid thoughts, but she could no more control them than will herself to stop breathing.

No need to listen for the sound of approaching footsteps. The men were free with their suggestions as to what they would do when they caught her—that and their anger over the prolonged chase. But they were puffing as they shouted, and that was to the good.

While she waited, she blew on her hands to warm them, then stole a moment to look at the ring. Designs were carved into the stone, a dark tracery in the moonlight, but she couldn’t make them out. Probably someone’s souvenir of a foreign vacation. But now wasn’t the time to wonder about that. Now was time to focus.

As she counted off the seconds an odd tingling sensation crawled her skin, as though an electric field was gathering, growing stronger with every second. Lightning getting ready to strike? No way to tell, and no time to dwell on that because the men burst around the corner.

As expected, they were spread out, killing any chance of sprinting past them. The moon hung high in a cloud-free sky. No chance they’d overlook her form, huddled against the side of the building, so she moved away.

So be it, you bastards. Catch me if you can.

She took a fast step toward them—a taste of the unexpected. Then she shot both arms away from her body, to startle, adding an angry, Ya!

Giving them no time to recover, she shouted, "Follow me,