Dead Over Heels by MaryJanice Davidson Page A

she decided, and now he smelled like coconuts, so his stomach was full. That was good. Of course, just about anything would have been an improvement.
    “Any problems? Look who I’m asking!” he cried, answering his own question. “Like there’s anything you can’t handle. You should have the survival show.”
    “Mmmm,” she said, turning the fish again.
    “God, that smell is driving me crazy ,” he said, flopping down on the sand. “I—are you okay? Your eyes are all squinty. It’s the fire, isn’t it? It’s bothering you?”
    “A little. They aren’t common at the bottom of the sea,” she said, trying another joke.
    “Well, ooch over, I’ll cook.”
    “Uh—”
    “I’m not that helpless,” he said, exasperated. He nudged her in the ribs and she obediently moved over a foot. Instantly her eyes felt better. “You think they’re done yet? They’re done, aren’t they?”
    “Not quite.”
    “I got a dumb question, here.”
    “I,” she teased, “am not surprised.”
    He smacked her on the thigh and she laughed. “How do you know how to cook on land?”
    “We have banquets—great parties and celebrations—on land. And there is much cooked food at these feasts. The prince in particular enjoys cooked food, so we all learn how to make it when we’re still pups.”
    “Pups? Baby mermaids?”
    “Yes.”
    “What’s the prince like?”
    “Infatuated,” she said shortly, picking up a stick and drawing her name in her own language, a complicated grouping of loops and swirls incomprehensible to anyone but her own kind.
    “Oh, yeah? You jealous?”
    She snorted. “Hardly. I have only met him twice. I do not know him well enough to be jealous of his love affairs.”
    “Affairs, plural?”
    “But because he fell in love with the half-breed—I mean, Fredrika—” She blushed at her rudeness. After all, she had been at the Pelagic, hadn’t she? And Fredrika had handled herself quite well under the circumstances. She had a startling manner about her, a grimness cloaked in sarcasm, but still—she had acquitted herself well at the Pelagic, well enough that—
    “Ree? Hello? Come back, Ree.” He was snapping his fingers before her face in an extremely irritating matter. “Fell in love with the gal who basically talked the king into letting you guys come out of the closet,” he prompted. “Read it in People .”
    “Well. Yes. She has a great deal of influence with the royal family and I—I am not sure that is the best thing for my people. After all, she spent nearly all of her years on land, being raised by your kind. She knows nothing of Undersea Folks. And,” she added in a mutter, “she comes from bad blood.”
    “Oh, yeah? What’s that mean? My daddy was a trucker.”
    “Her ‘daddy’ was a traitor. But the prince—and the king—turn a blind eye to this, and, as I said, she has great influence with the royal family.”
    “Well, it’s a goddamned good thing she does, otherwise I’d be dead of dehydration by now.”
    “Now that is a good point,” she said, cheering up. “I never would have dared approach you even six months ago.”
    “Months? You have calendars?”
    “Don’t be absurd. The fish are done.” She yanked the stick out of the sand, popped a fish off, and tossed it to him. He tore into it, ingesting a good deal of scales along with the cooked meat, but there were no complaints this time. He wolfed down the second, as well.
    “Don’t you want the last one?”
    “I ate while I was hunting.”
    “Oh, good.” He sucked down most of the last fish, then let out a small, contented burp. “Oh, man, that is so much better.”
    “You look better,” she informed him. “Of course, you could hardly look worse.” He smelled better as well; she assumed he had splashed about in the surf and cleaned up a bit. He was shirtless, but still had those—what were they called?—blue jeans?—on.
    “Thanks for that. And for the fish. Delicious.”
    “They’re just fine