Dreams and Shadows - By C. Robert Cargill Page 0,23
speak of the changeling—Nox, meaning “night,” named for the night he first came to the nixies—they heard it as Knocks. The changeling, who knew not the difference, wouldn’t protest until he was far older. Sometimes names just happen. Such was the case of Nixie Knocks the Changeling.
“Mama, I’m hungry,” said Knocks, all of four years old.
“I know, baby,” said Laila. “Mama’s gonna get dinner for you.”
“But I’m hungry.”
“Mama knows. Stay here and don’t let anyone see you.”
Laila was the eldest of four sisters. And while her younger siblings Annalise, Elke, and Rebekka had all agreed to adopt Knocks as a group, Laila was the only one he called Mama. To him they were all his mothers, but there was only one Mama. And Laila took that honor very seriously. So it was she who took charge of his feeding. While he wasn’t hungry often, Knocks was a handful when he was. Downright dangerous even.
Nixies don’t look like ordinary women. Their skin is a pallid green, smooth and scaly, their smiles lined with razor-sharp, needle teeth with which they feed upon fresh fish. Instead of legs they have large, powerful tails that pound them through the water at incredible speeds. And much like Knocks, they possess the ability to shroud themselves in glamour and walk amongst the city dwellers unnoticed.
Laila stepped away from the tall grass along the shore, putting a stiff finger against her lips to remind Knocks to keep quiet and hidden, then slipped silently into the water. Her skin grew pale, then rosy, her hair shimmering a golden blond; her breasts swelled, stiff nipples poking out through the thin pink fabric of her bathing suit. Her eyes grew large, her lashes long. She smiled big and bright, treading water in the lake just beside a biking trail, lying in wait.
Within moments a biker happened upon her. He was fit, tattooed, straddling an expensive, showy mountain bike. Skidding to a stop by the water, he looked out, giving her a flirty smile. “Swimming alone?”
“Unfortunately,” said Laila with a hint of disappointment.
“Boyfriend a no-show?”
“No,” she giggled. “I don’t have one. My friends. They canceled.”
“That’s a bummer. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t have to swim alone. I’d join you, but I don’t have a suit.”
Laila smiled. She reached back with a single hand, undoing the tie on her bikini top and flicking it off in one fluid motion. Without missing a beat, she shimmied out of her bottoms, tossing the wadded-up suit onto the shore with a wet SLOP. “There. Now neither do I.”
The biker managed a single kiss and a hand swept up the inside of her thigh before he found himself drowning beneath the waves. Knocks crouched on shore, his hands balled into white-knuckled fists, savoring the agony of each gasp for air. The man thrashed beneath the surface. He was strong and a good swimmer, but Laila was stronger.
The fear. The pain. The desperation. Knocks’s hunger began to subside.
When the man had finally given up and the lake was allowed to claim him, Laila secured his body to the bottom with a tangle of lakeweed and swam back to shore. She stood over Knocks, dripping wet and smiling, stroking his cheek. “There, there. Is that better?”
Knocks nodded.
“Good. Now, let’s get his wallet and go shopping. Mama wants a new dress.”
BY THE TIME he turned six, the nixies realized that they could no longer keep their adopted son around the lake. Stories cropped up about a ghostly child lingering around the spots where people had drowned. Other tales whispered of an ethereal, disembodied giggle heard as grown men flailed for their lives. And while the authorities never took any of these claims seriously, the nixies had noticed an uptick in interlopers searching for the Ghost Child of Ladybird Lake; that was attention they could no longer ignore. So by a vote of three to one the nixies decided to leave Knocks in the Limestone Kingdom—which was where he now resided. Laila, the only sister to vote against abandoning him, followed him out to the court, raising him among the fae of the Hill Country.
And he hated it there.
The Limestone Kingdom was far from the hustle and bustle of the big city; far from the traffic snarls, the hulking stone buildings, the excess of weekend nights. There were no shootings, no stabbings, no drunken date rapes. No homeless lay suffering on the corner, no despondent teens slit their wrists over self-centered teenage crushes. No children were beaten, abused, or