Straight On Till Morning (Disney Twisted Tales) - Liz Braswell Page 0,49

Some had very tightly coiled curls, some had braids. Some had decorated their tresses with limpets and bright hibiscus flowers.

Their “human” skins were familiar tones: dark brown to pale white, pink and beige and golden and everything in between. Their eyes were also familiar eye colors but strangely clear and flat. Either depthless or extremely shallow depending on how one stared.

They sang, they brushed their hair, they played in the water. In short, they did everything mythical and magical mermaids were supposed to do, laughing and splashing as they did.

“Oh!” Wendy whispered. “They’re—” And then she stopped.

Tinker Bell was giving her a funny look. An unhappy funny look.

The mermaids were beautiful. Indescribably, perfectly beautiful. They glowed and were radiant and seemed to suck up every ray of sun and sparkle of water; Wendy found she had no interest looking anywhere else.

Sometimes when he’s down he goes to Mermaid Lagoon. Wasn’t that what Cubby had said?

Of course, it made sense: just a few moments of watching these mysterious beings made Wendy feel light and happy all over. But…imagine having to compete with them.

Even if the fairy and Peter Pan weren’t—involved, romantically, this would have been a hard act to follow. What kind of girl, even just a friend, wouldn’t grow jealous of a crowd of the most extraordinary, delightful creatures on the planet? Ones to whom your best friend turned whenever he was down?

Stupid girls. There are so many…all over Never Land…and you in London.…Skipper had said that. Who knew what other sirens populated this island? Selkies? Fairy princesses? Normal princesses? Pirate queens? Dryads? Naiads?

Wendy decided to say nothing about the exquisite beauty of the mermaids.

“Ah, there they are. But I don’t see Peter Pan,” she said instead, narrowing her eyes and casting her gaze to every obvious shadow and cranny.

Tinker Bell shook her head slowly, thoughtfully.

“Perhaps we should…” Wendy’s voice trailed off.

The old Wendy would have stood up and marched on down to find out where he had gone, questioning the pretty mermaids closely.

The new Wendy, Never Land Wendy, paused.

She had been held hostage by blackhearted pirates when she had thought she had made a simple deal.

She had nearly been killed when crossing a harmless-looking clearing.

And these beautiful, innocent-looking mermaids, in their beautiful lagoon—were they actually what they seemed?

Were their teeth just a little sharper than those of their human counterparts?

“Perhaps we should continue to surveil the situation from up here,” Wendy said finally, sitting up straight-backed, her legs crossed. She cupped her hands around her mouth.

“Hallo down there! Good afternoon!”

Immediately the mermaids froze. Some dove down into the water. They made esses of their bodies like snakes, keeping their heads above the surface. All fixed her with their large, unblinking wet eyes.

The one on the largest rock alone stayed where she was. She had tightly braided purple locks and gripped the sides of her gray stone with fingers that now seemed a little more clawlike than human.

She relaxed when her eyes found Wendy.

So did all of the other mermaids, as if they all saw her at the same time. As one.

“Don’t be afraid!” Wendy called. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” the—leader?—said. Her tail began to swish behind her on the rock, the tip of her fin just touching the water, flipping it so little droplets spit into the air. The other mermaids began slowly moving again as well, treading water or beating their tails. They kept their faces halfway below the surface, however, noses firmly beneath. It was more than a little disturbing. While Wendy knew logically that mermaids could breathe underwater, it seemed very unnatural to hold themselves that way. No bubbles burbled up.

“Humans are always trying to catch us,” the purple one said, pouting. “Nasty piratesss…”

“I’m not a pirate!” Wendy said quickly. “I’ve just escaped from being their prisoner, in fact.”

“Nasty piratesss,” another one said, pink-haired, kicking herself above the water for a moment so she could speak, her tail working and sliding.

A little surprising, because serpents can’t speak, of course, Wendy thought.

Then she wondered what had suddenly made her think of serpents.

“Humans want to steal from us. A lock of our beautiful hair…” a red-haired one growled. Her locks weren’t merely ginger; they were a flaming, tomato, poppy red. Red as a ladybug or the lips of some inappropriately dressed woman.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” Wendy promised. “Though your hair is beautiful. It’s the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen.”

Tinker Bell rolled her eyes. But the mermaids rolled in the water, smiling and—hissing?