Then rewove it—tighter.
Russell cast about for something else to say. “Um—you’re not
as green as most nixies,” he said, hoping that would be taken for a
compliment.
She shook her head. “I’m not a nixie. I’m a kelpie.” She’d been
focused on her braid, but now she raised her eyes to Russell’s face, as if to assess his reaction. “A limnades kelpie, to be specific.”
The word was familiar, but all he could think of was seaweed.
• 99 •
• Warrior Dreams •
Kelp. The other Russell—the pre-deployment Russell—would have
known. The other Russell was good with words.
“Nixies, kelpies—what’s the difference?”
“I’m a shape-shifter,” Laurel said.
Ah, Russell thought. A shape-shifter. In the years since the TBI,
he’d become familiar with many magical creatures, but there always
seemed to be more to learn.
“And a warrior,” she added. “I’m the last remaining guardian of
the lakes.”
“A warrior.” Russell resisted the temptation to roll his eyes, and bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from smiling. A small victory for the old social filters. And the new role of women in combat.
“The nixies are debating whether to kill you.” She said this matter-
of-factly, like she was interested in Russell’s opinion on it.
“I’d like to see them try.” Russell scooped up the iron bar and
rested it across his knees. “I’m not a violent person, but I will defend myself.”
He’d said that, over and over, in therapy.
Laurel watched him handle the iron staff with something like
jealousy. “I can see that you have some skill with weapons,” she said.
“I should,” Russell said. “That used to be my job. Killing people.”
When Laurel’s eyes narrowed, he added, “Don’t worry. I only killed
the bad guys—or at least that’s what I thought. Then I got RFS’d out of the Rangers for misconduct, along with a bad case of TBI and
PTSD.”
“You sure have a lot of letters,” Laurel observed.
“My point is, I’m not considered competent. So nobody is going to
believe a thing I say. Your secrets are safe with me.”
Laurel cocked her head. “What is this ‘TBI’ and ‘PTSD’?”
“I got blown up a lot when I was in the military,” Russell said,
stretching out the kinks in his back. “So now, my brain doesn’t work like other people’s. For instance, I can see and hear you. No offense, but that ain’t normal in my world, so I’m crazy. They claim I was
crazy before I enlisted. Not their fault.”
• 100 •
• Cinda Williams Chima •
She thought about this for a moment. “I can see and hear you ,” she pointed out.
“I didn’t make the rules,” Russell said. “Anyway, what are you
doing so far upriver? You’re surrounded by steel mills, and it’s all iron bridges and what-not. Your kind don’t tolerate iron, right? You’re
gonna make yourself sick.”
“It wasn’t our idea,” Laurel said, “We’ve been forced into the rivers, because the lake is no longer safe. But, you’re right—we can’t survive here for long. The rivers are cleaner than they used to be, but still not healthy enough to live in permanently. Plus, as you said, there’s the metal.”
“There’s the metal,” the nixies sang.
Laurel wrapped her arms around her knees. She was completely
dry, now, and looked like any other half-naked girl you’d meet at
a body-builder’s convention. More at home in her body than most
girls.
“Our time is up, Russell,” Laurel said. “You and I—we are doomed.”
“We are doomed,” the nixies sang.
“You’ve seen the omens,” Laurel continued, “both the Red Dwarf
of Detroit and the Black Dog of Lake Erie.”
“The black dog of—” Russell swung around. Roy was sound asleep
again, snoring and farting by turns. “You mean Roy? He’s just a stray.”
“Call him whatever you like, a Black Dog has signaled doom on
the lakes for centuries.”
“So you’re saying that I’m
Russell cast about for something else to say. “Um—you’re not
as green as most nixies,” he said, hoping that would be taken for a
compliment.
She shook her head. “I’m not a nixie. I’m a kelpie.” She’d been
focused on her braid, but now she raised her eyes to Russell’s face, as if to assess his reaction. “A limnades kelpie, to be specific.”
The word was familiar, but all he could think of was seaweed.
• 99 •
• Warrior Dreams •
Kelp. The other Russell—the pre-deployment Russell—would have
known. The other Russell was good with words.
“Nixies, kelpies—what’s the difference?”
“I’m a shape-shifter,” Laurel said.
Ah, Russell thought. A shape-shifter. In the years since the TBI,
he’d become familiar with many magical creatures, but there always
seemed to be more to learn.
“And a warrior,” she added. “I’m the last remaining guardian of
the lakes.”
“A warrior.” Russell resisted the temptation to roll his eyes, and bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from smiling. A small victory for the old social filters. And the new role of women in combat.
“The nixies are debating whether to kill you.” She said this matter-
of-factly, like she was interested in Russell’s opinion on it.
“I’d like to see them try.” Russell scooped up the iron bar and
rested it across his knees. “I’m not a violent person, but I will defend myself.”
He’d said that, over and over, in therapy.
Laurel watched him handle the iron staff with something like
jealousy. “I can see that you have some skill with weapons,” she said.
“I should,” Russell said. “That used to be my job. Killing people.”
When Laurel’s eyes narrowed, he added, “Don’t worry. I only killed
the bad guys—or at least that’s what I thought. Then I got RFS’d out of the Rangers for misconduct, along with a bad case of TBI and
PTSD.”
“You sure have a lot of letters,” Laurel observed.
“My point is, I’m not considered competent. So nobody is going to
believe a thing I say. Your secrets are safe with me.”
Laurel cocked her head. “What is this ‘TBI’ and ‘PTSD’?”
“I got blown up a lot when I was in the military,” Russell said,
stretching out the kinks in his back. “So now, my brain doesn’t work like other people’s. For instance, I can see and hear you. No offense, but that ain’t normal in my world, so I’m crazy. They claim I was
crazy before I enlisted. Not their fault.”
• 100 •
• Cinda Williams Chima •
She thought about this for a moment. “I can see and hear you ,” she pointed out.
“I didn’t make the rules,” Russell said. “Anyway, what are you
doing so far upriver? You’re surrounded by steel mills, and it’s all iron bridges and what-not. Your kind don’t tolerate iron, right? You’re
gonna make yourself sick.”
“It wasn’t our idea,” Laurel said, “We’ve been forced into the rivers, because the lake is no longer safe. But, you’re right—we can’t survive here for long. The rivers are cleaner than they used to be, but still not healthy enough to live in permanently. Plus, as you said, there’s the metal.”
“There’s the metal,” the nixies sang.
Laurel wrapped her arms around her knees. She was completely
dry, now, and looked like any other half-naked girl you’d meet at
a body-builder’s convention. More at home in her body than most
girls.
“Our time is up, Russell,” Laurel said. “You and I—we are doomed.”
“We are doomed,” the nixies sang.
“You’ve seen the omens,” Laurel continued, “both the Red Dwarf
of Detroit and the Black Dog of Lake Erie.”
“The black dog of—” Russell swung around. Roy was sound asleep
again, snoring and farting by turns. “You mean Roy? He’s just a stray.”
“Call him whatever you like, a Black Dog has signaled doom on
the lakes for centuries.”
“So you’re saying that I’m
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