Mermaids And The Vampires Who Love Them

25. OKAY, MY VAMPIRE IS HOT

Their footsteps fade, and I exhale. My hair calms. Off in the distance, the barn door slides open and then closes.

Now that I'm alone, I take the time to assess my surroundings. The night is chilly, and the wind is biting. There's one tree, one enormous barn that is five times as long as the yacht, about a dozen parked vehicles, a few dark-blue pickup trucks, and some brand new yellow farm equipment.

I leave the relative safety of the tree to explore. I need to find out what's going on and where the toxic waste is coming from. I can't get the image of those poor merfolk languishing in the tank out of my mind. If they are here, I need to rescue them.

To that end, I telepathically transmit a greeting in as wide an area as I can. "Hello? Is anyone here?"

Hearing no response, I make my way over to the barn. I don't want to go in the same door as the men, so I walk around the back, trying to keep from crunching the gravel as I hunt for another way in.

I cannot see another entrance. I'm wondering whether I should risk going in the front door when I hear a faint warning in my head.

"Get out of here," says the voice. It's a merman, his tone weak and pleading.

"Where are you?"

"You are in terrible danger. Go! Now!"

"I will as soon as you tell me who you are, and where you're being held."

"No. Go!"

"She's Fishwater's fingerling," says another voice, this one higher and reedier. Must be a female.

"I don't care, Avalon. She can't help us. They'll just get her too."

"Maybe she's got backup."

"Are you alone?" says the man.

Should I lie to get them to tell me where they are? "I've got a bunch of support." That really isn't a lie, right? I mean, maybe not at the moment, but in general.

"There are security cameras everywhere. Armed guards. Locks on all the doors inside," he says. "We think the lab we're being kept in is on the upper level."

"Don't worry! I promise I will try to get you out!"

I have no choice. I have to risk the front door. As I make my way there, padding quietly on the gravel, a pearlescent white horse, four sleek, black horses, and a shabby brown miniature donkey crest a knoll and saunter in my direction.

"Ho there, mermaid," brays the donkey in a theatrical tone.

I understand him perfectly! I speak Donkey too? Wow!

"Hi!" I curtsey for some reason. The donkey seems to approve.

"Are you hair and makeup? Or catering?" the donkey says.

"Huh?"

He pulls back his lips, baring his teeth. "I see you're not very bright. Perhaps you're the director?"

"What are you talking about?" Maybe something has been lost in translation.

The horses paw at the ground and nicker uncomfortably.

"My fellow thespians and I are not used to such treatment."

"Thespians?"

"We are trained actors. Allow me to introduce Fernanda, Snow Queen, Purple Kisses, Glitter and Bling, and KitKatz, from Hollywood. I am Cyril, from the London stage and screen."