Dreams and Shadows

chapter THIRTY-FIVE

THE THREE LADIES OF LADYBIRD LAKE AND THE SOULS THEY KEEP BENEATH IT

The word lake was something of a misnomer, a polite fiction. It was actually a reservoir—a dammed-up section of the Colorado River, perfectly bisecting the city, that had at one time fallen into disuse. Only later, through civic revitalization, did it become a destination location for hikers, bikers, and joggers on the prowl. Trails lined the lake up one side and down the other, shaded by trees that ran its length both in and out of town.

Colby was given no deadline or timetable, but the weight of the task gnawed at him, demanding he be done with it. So there he was. It was night, and he stood naked at the edge of the lake at a spot a quarter mile west of the expressway, where he could still hear the traffic.

Of course, he knew of the nixie sisters by reputation, but he had never met them. There were often stories in the local news about drowned men that could be little other than the work of a nixie, and an urban legend about a woman who had drowned her husband and baby before hanging herself that local spirits often attributed to them. Hopefully, they knew as little of him as he did them, or better yet, that they had never heard of him at all.

The water was cool, a few degrees lower than the night air, tickling a bit as he slid into it. He dipped his head in the water, getting that momentary nastiness out of the way, then exhaled deeply, forcing every last bit of air out of his lungs. Then he dropped below the surface, sinking deep into the lake.

Beneath the water, Colby began his incantations. First his skin grew a thick green mucus, allowing his limbs to glide through the water as if it were air. Then his eyes grew a milky white membrane that blinked out the water, allowing him to see into the murky depths. A thick green, brown, and yellow turtle shell crept over his flesh, encasing all but his head and stubby little legs. Finally, he shrank several sizes until he was only slightly larger than a family dog. He popped his head above the water and took a deep a breath, an hour’s worth of air. There, he thought. Now I’m ready.

He swam down to the bottom of the lake, paddling quickly but quietly, to the nixies’ hidden lair, careful not to disturb the silt surrounding it. Swimming through the atrium, he entered a cave decorated as a sitting room. Three waterlogged couches sat positioned as if they were meant to host company. Sitting atop one of them—chained down so as to not float away—was the slowly deteriorating, bloated corpse of the nixies’ most recent victim.

Colby tried not to look as he swam past it into the dining room.

As he passed through the doorway—nothing more than a large hole connecting one cave to the next—he saw one of the nixie sisters dining on a stew of things culled from the lake bottom. She looked up at him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked sweetly.

Colby grew nervous. If he spoke to explain himself, she would see through the deception; if he didn’t, there was no telling what she might do.

She smiled. “Aren’t you a cute little one? Don’t spend too much time down here. My sisters are asleep, and if you wake them, they’ll make a soup out of you.” She waved him off with a flutter of her hand. “Off you go then.”

Colby continued, hoping now not to see the other sisters. He passed into another cave, long and slender like a hallway. Along it adjoined several other chambers, four in all, each clearly bedrooms. At the end was the single largest cavern in the underwater den. It was huge, some sixty feet across, the floor covered with a thick layer of silt and sand.

The room was overflowing with jars, nearly 150 in all, each upturned—their necks buried six inches in the sand—upon them carved the names of the suitors they possessed. These nixies had been claiming victims here for decades. Colby eyed the names in the dark, eager to knock over the jar he was here for and be done with it. But there were so many, and he dared not loose them all; there was no telling what might happen then.

He read name after name, each carved messily into the clay with a small knife, until finally he found it: JARED THATCHER.

He nudged the pot with his turtle head, but it would not budge; he was too small and weak to knock it over. The only way he was going to overturn it was to return to normal, leaving him only a minute or so more of air to swim out. Though that left little room for error, he had no other choice. Colby closed his eyes and worked one final incantation, using the last lingering remnants of ambient dreamstuff to revert.

The water was frigid this deep down—a fact he hadn’t noticed until his protective turtle flesh was gone—and the water flooded his ears, the pressure pushing in on his eardrums. He reached down with his arms, dug both feet into the sand, and tugged at the pot. It budged ever so slightly. He tugged again and gained another inch. Straining, he put every last bit of energy into pulling up the pot, finally freeing it from its moorings. A ghostly blue light slipped out from beneath, taking the form of a young man, only slightly older than Colby.

The man gazed upon him with horror, reaching out a single extended hand, his spirit drifting away in the current. “Why?” he gasped. “Why did you do this?”

Colby felt a strange sensation creeping in—a cold, dark, ominous feeling like a distant void peeking through, grasping hold of the spirit in front of him.

“Why?” Jared asked one last time, his eyes full of fear. Then Hell itself reached out from the void and dragged the spirit into nothingness.

What have I done?

Colby’s lungs began to ache for air, the early stages of panic setting in. He needed to get to the surface; he needed to get to the surface now. Colby swam furiously, careless now of how much noise he made. Air. No matter how hard he thrashed, he just couldn’t move swiftly enough against the current. Need air. Without thinking, he grabbed the wall, pulling himself along, casting himself haphazardly through the caves.

He entered the dining room and scanned for the nixie who had spoken to him. She was nowhere to be found.

Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!

He reached the threshold of the atrium, his lungs ready to burst. Then he heard them.

“Someone’s here!” said a voice.

“It’s just a turtle,” said another.

“No. It’s a man!”

Colby kicked up toward the surface, struggling to make his way to fresh air. He shot through the water like a rocket, breaking through with a loud splash. His lungs barked out stale air, and he wheezed desperately to replace it. Behind him, two small splashes.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” asked one of the sisters.

A clawed hand grasped his ankle, dragging him back beneath the water. He sank toward the bottom, flailing for the surface as it drifted slowly away. The nixie grappling with him climbed his body, embraced him face-to-face. She grinned, anxious to drown the intruder for his trespass.

“Now, just who do you think you . . . ,” she said, her voice stopping midsentence, trailing into worry. Her expression promptly changed. “Oh my . . . I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, horrified at the face before her. She kicked with her fin and launched them both upward, breaking the surface, throwing him off her as far as she could. Then she swam away, terrified, as if he bore the plague.

“What are you doing?” screamed one of her sisters.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Please don’t hurt us!” she pleaded.

“What are you going on about?” asked her other sister.

“Him. It’s the boy. The boy sorcerer.”

“Colby?” they asked together. They hadn’t recognized him at first, but they’d seen him around. Everyone knew who Colby was, whether he knew them or not. And they were terrified of him. Without hesitating, the two sisters abandoned the third to the surface, disappearing beneath the waves, leaving her to stare, agape, at Colby. Colby had no idea what to make of what was going on.

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked.

Colby shook his head. “Are you going to kill me?”

“No,” she said.

“Then let me swim to shore and you never have to see me again.”

She nodded and Colby splashed his way back to the embankment across the lake.

He pulled himself ashore, breathless, scared out of his wits, looking back out at the water. The nixies were gone, having vanished beneath the waves. He’d done it, but he wasn’t at all sure what it was. It was probably best not to think about it. With the favor done, the Wild Hunt should not hunt for Colby’s soul, and whoever Jared Thatcher was, he was least where he most likely belonged.