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ducked, cursing, and nearly fell in. "Come in and we will talk about it."
    "I'm—"
Not getting naked in front of you
, was her first thought, which is when her mom spoke up in her head:
nudity is beautiful and natural
, blah-blah.
    It wasn't getting naked. She didn't have much modesty. She always swam in the nude, unless she had to wiggle into that awful scuba suit. It was swimming with a merman. Someone like her. Except not like her: she hadn't inherited the strong, pointy teeth (doubtless for chomping through raw fish and bone), or the more powerful tail. Did she want to invite comparisons?
    Fuck him and fuck what be thinks.
    She stood, pulled off her shoes and socks, shucked off her jeans and panties, tossed her sweater over her head, unsnapped her bra, and dove over his head, straight down.
    He came down at once, staring at her with unashamed curiosity.
    You look… different.
    Of course. Telepathy. How else would mer -people talk under water?
    Shut up. Why are you here?
    I need you.
    Do tell.
    He swam closer and reached for her waist; she smacked his hand away, hard.
    My subjects do not treat me thus.
    Tell someone who gives a ripe shit.
    They invite my caresses.
    They need drugs. What do you want?
    You, of course.
    Yes, but for what?
    He floated thoughtfully, then zipped past her with a powerful flex of his tail. She turned to watch him go by, and suddenly he was behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist where her scales met flesh. She felt a tingle that shot from her brain straight down her spinal cord and… lower.
    She tossed an elbow back and caught him in the throat, which accomplished several things: he coughed explosively, sending out a stream of bubbles, let go, swam back, and let her get some distance.
    Hands off, chum.
    You are unlike any of my people, Little Rika. I cannot resist you.
    Try hard, chum. And it's Fred. Got it? F-R-E-D .
She swam irritably past: him, keeping an eye on his hands.
    It is unfair that you have an affectionate nickname for me and I am not allowed one for you.
    Affectionate … ? Oh, hell.
    Last time: what do you want? Cough up or I'm back on tile before you can say " ow , my balls!"
    My what?
    Chum!
    All right, Little Rika, do not distress yourself.
    You haven't seen me distressed yet.
    The bipeds are poisoning the harbor waters.
    As far as thunderous announcements went, that one was weak.
    She shrugged.
That's what bipeds do
.
    My father, the High King, has charged me with finding you and enlisting your help to stop it.
    Your father, the High King, can take a long walk off a short
—
    As one of our subjects, you are thus charged to aid us until our task is finished.
    Well, lucky lucky me.
    Wait. What had Pearson been babbling about? Toxins in the harbor?
    Oh, hell.
    Can you walk around on land for a few hours?
    I do not like the surface
, he admitted, swimming circles around her (literally),
but I can tolerate the environment as long as I must
.
    Swell. Because I'm thinking there's someone you should meet.
    She shot up to the surface, switched back to legs, and climbed out. She heard Artur come up behind her but luckily for his continued good health, he didn't try to grab her again.
    "Someone like you?" he asked, almost eagerly.
    "No," she replied. "Not like me at all."
     

Chapter Eleven
     
    Jones stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Fred and who she was sitting with.
    "Whoa," he said by way of greeting.
    "Jonas, Prince Artur of the Black Sea. Art, Jonas."
    "Prince what of the
what
? Oh my God! Your hair! Your eyes!" The prince courteously stood and Jonas wrung the man's hand like Fred would wring a wet washcloth, craning his neck to stare up at the man. "Have you thought about modeling?"
    "I do not know what that is."
    "Didn't you get my message?" Fred bitched. "I told you our dinner thing was cancelled."
    "Oh, you always try to punk out on me. I didn't think you had, you know, an actual real reason. Like a date!"
    "It's not a date," Fred began, but Jonas was already