For You Faustine by Allyson Bird by Christopher Teague

For You Faustine by Allyson Bird

First Published in 2009 by Pendragon Press Po Box 12, Maesteg, Mid Glamorgan South Wales, CF34 0XG, UK www.pendragonpress.net

This E-Edition Copyright © 2009 by Pendragon Press All Rights Reserved, in Accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988 Any unauthorised reproduction is strictly prohibited. Designed and typeset by Christopher Teague

And when your veins were void and dead, What ghosts unclean Swarmed round the straitened barren bed That hid Faustine? Algernon Charles Swinburne

Austine’s throat looked black and bruised. Her mother wept over the body. Then Lamia removed the rope from around her daughter’s neck and swore an oath to avenge Faustine’s murder. In the haunted waters off Coney Island the horseshoe crabs scuttled along the muddy bed of the ocean floor, scavenging for tiny invertebrates and getting ready for the spawning , when they would climb out of a seal grey sea and mate on the beach. Once ashore they would form in heaps and mounds. Burnt brown masks covering each other, flipping over and

righting themselves with their tails. Lamia could see them quite easily, walking across the bottom, for there she lay too, with the body of her daughter in her arms. The blonde swirl of her daughter’s hair fell over her ravaged face and rose with the water. Her mother held her tightly and swept the crabs away from her fingers. The young woman had been the image of her mother, from the waist up, human and beautiful to behold, the lower half of her body, serpentine and monstrous. Now Faustine was a mutilated corpse whose wounds were not made by the jagged sea rocks. Lamia placed her daughter on a rocky underwater ledge, near to the Lighthouse at Norton Point, wrapped her in seaweed of green and blue, and anchored her there. Lamia recalled how she had begged Faustine to stay beneath the sea and not venture into the world of men, but Faustine had seen the young people laughing on Coney Island, and had become curious about them. Lamia and her offspring had the ability to change the serpent tail for legs and walk on land, and those who did, sometimes never returned to the sea. When Faustine had become old enough to make her own decisions the attraction of land had been too strong and Lamia knew no good could come from it. Lamia rose from the sea. Her dripping blonde hair the colour of bleached bone. She watched her scales change texture and colour to that of skin, and as she left the water her tail transformed into legs. She turned to look back at the ocean with an almost faltering heart. She thought of the ever changing colour of the sea, of the raging winter storms and each season in turn. At the height of summer she had heard the laughter of her daughter, as she had played with the creatures of the sea. Lamia had seen all shades of the colour green. Green had been her favourite colour —the colour of living things. She seethed silently in hatred of the colour now, and of mankind, for green had been the colour of life and mankind had taken a life from her. The keeper and his family lived in a small dwelling next door to the lighthouse. He had put out their rubbish the day before. Whilst rummaging through a black bag containing second hand

clothes Lamia found an old red dress and some shoes. The shoes felt tight. She would rather have gone barefoot but she wanted to look right. She had to—if she was going to get close enough to her intended prey. As night fell, the lights of Coney Island came on one by one, as she walked down the boardwalk towards Little Odessa. Her new legs hurt and more than once they buckled beneath her, causing her to stumble, but on recovery and with each new step, she grew stronger. She almost bumped into a tramp who was rummaging around in a trash can. He stopped, stared at her with a slight look of interest, and carried on. Further down the boardwalk Lamia halted, and was surprised to see a woman defending her head from two male prostitutes, who screamed at her that they didn’t want her on their patch. They yelled at her to get back to Neptune Avenue. Lamia noted that one man looked almost ‘bone bare.’ He was extremely thin, wore tight jeans and a blue satin shirt. The other was holding a gun to the girl’s ear whilst she pleaded for her life. This was the boardwalk at night. One of the most dangerous places in New York. In small groups, crackheads, junkies and prostitutes huddled against the cold wind and traded in drugs and sex. Coney Island was half remembered by Lamia. She had been there many years before and cared not for the smell of men and the rank odour of the boardwalk strewn with garbage. The geek and tack stalls were weather damaged and the greasy smell of hot dogs and the piss poor eateries made her want to vomit. Why did I leave the sea? thought Lamia. I do this for my daughter. I have no choice. Lamia passed the empty Tatiana Café, and along Brighton Beach into Little Odessa, the final destination of many immigrant Russians in the 1980’s. She paused and stared at the freak show posters. They showed a bizarre array of characters. They advertised The Elastic Lady, The Escape Artist and The Lizard Man. As she continued down the boardwalk a young man walked by her from the opposite direction. He smiled at her and disappeared into a sideshow booth. Lamia turned, went back, and looked at the

posters again, wondering if she had imagined the young man’s smile. She stared at the poster of The Lizard Man. His tongue had been split in two, either surgically or he was born that way. She couldn’t tell. She liked to think that it was the latter. She tried the door. It was unlocked so she went in. It was dark inside. There was a strong smell of damp and stale coastal sea air. The young man was busy stacking some boxes and jumped, startled by her entrance. He wore an old army overcoat. He looked her up and down from head to toe and was mildly surprised when he realised that she was wearing only a thin red dress in February. “‘This place is closed I’m just here to drop some stuff off.” Lamia didn’t know what to say. “Are you alright? Do you need help?” said the young man, who looked to be in his early twenties, and seemed a little concerned that she didn’t reply. He then frowned. He didn’t want to get involved in anything that would cause him trouble. She tried to think like the human she once was and react as a person would. “Look – you’ll freeze to death if you don’t get warm. There’s a café not far from here. You can borrow my coat until we get there, then perhaps you can phone someone,” the young man suggested. Lamia smiled. The young man gave her his coat, picked up a carrier bag and they both left. After five minutes of walking they came to the Sandbar Café. It looked a pretty dire place but as the young man opened the door they were welcomed by the warmth and the smell of fried bacon. The food was being cooked on a range in the same room, on the other side of an old blue Formica counter. The ceiling was hung with nets and in them, red plastic lobsters with hard black eyes, looked back at her. They found a seat near the window. It had begun to snow and the temperature was dropping rapidly outside.

Earlier, as the young man had removed his coat, Lamia had caught a glimpse of a tattoo. Now she could take a better look at it. The head and forked tongue of a snake wound around the young man’s neck and rested under his left ear. Lamia smiled in recognition and became more curious about the young man. “Why the picture of the snake?” she asked. “I’m a tattoo artist. Hey – sorry. I’m Matt, from Atlanta. Been here two years.” No one who was from Coney Island actually asked anyone why they lived there. Life there was an attempt to capture some bohemian existence, imagined or actual. Anyway, it didn’t matter to Lamia. She was acutely aware that it had been a long time since she had been on Coney Island. She stared at the poster, over Matt’s shoulder, advertising The Mermaid Parade, and the names upon it. One name in particular. “My name is Miranda.” “I’m not going to ask you what happened. You don’t seem to want to talk too much,” said Matt. He had the sort of smile that stood between half amused and uncertain which charmed Miranda. She looked at the serpent tattoo again and smiled to reveal a row of fine white needlepoint teeth. Matt was a little more than surprised but he had seen many more unusual sights on Coney. Matt poured her a coffee but she didn’t touch it. “Do you want something to eat?” Miranda shook her blonde head. “Do you have somewhere to stay?” Again a shake of the head. She had lived in the sea and been cold and wet for so long. Miranda found the heat in the café slightly uncomfortable. “Look. Do you have any money? You don’t have a bag,” said Matt. “I haven’t anything. I think I was robbed. I can’t remember.” “Anywhere you can go to after here?”

“No,” she said, with all the honesty of a soul who did indeed had no idea of where to find Faustine’s murderer. Matt pushed back on the chair; the two legs at the front lifted well off the ground to a point where Miranda thought it would tip over. He smiled. “You can come back to mine for a few days. I’m cool with that, if you are?” Miranda nodded. Matt lived in a high rise on Surf Avenue. To get to it they walked by vacant lots, run-down buildings, clam and hot dog booths. Everything looked seedy but then it always did on Coney. As Miranda entered the apartment, the first thing she noticed was that one wall was covered with posters. She stared at them recalling an earlier time that she had been on Coney. “They are Tod Browning posters,” said Matt. “This one—” Matt pointed to a poster, “is of his live burial act called The Living Corpse. That one—The Lizard and the Coon Act. Then there’s the film, The Wicked Darling 1919, The Freaks 1935, Mark of the Vampire 1935 and The Devil Doll 1936.” “You collect this kind of art?” Matt laughed, “Hey—no. The man who lived here before me did. I just haven’t taken them down yet. You should see the man down the hall’s apartment. He’s covered the walls with aluminium foil so no aliens can see into his room.” “Ah—right,” she said, sitting herself down on a green, slightly threadbare, couch that rested against one wall. “He thinks the government is watching him all the time. This place is full of weirdoes,” he smiled, “including me.” Miranda smiled back. “Do you invite many women back here?” “One or two but they don’t like the snakes. My ex-girlfriends got a little nervous around them.” “Snakes? I love snakes. What are they?” “Well. I have six but my favourite is the monocle cobra.” Matt seated himself down beside Miranda. “You really aren’t bothered

by them are you? They are venomous—a herper mate got bitten pretty badly by one of them last month.” “By one of yours?” “No. Not one of mine – they are very carefully locked in. The guy was careless, had the habit of letting them out so that they could go and hide in a corner. One of them had different ideas on going back in.” Matt smiled and looked slightly nervous. It was Matt that Miranda was more interested in now and she hadn’t mated for a very long time. Noting Matt’s body language, she smiled, slipped out of her red dress, lay back on the couch and gently pulled Matt down on top of her. She was completely naked. Miranda kissed the snake tattoo behind his ear and then kissed him on the lips. Her tongue flickered for an instant and Matt blinked, unsure of what he had just felt. He was young, eager to get inside her. She let him. When eventually Matt shivered in his orgasm, the cold started to ebb through his body but Miranda felt a new energy surge into her. That night, as Matt lay softly snoring against her shoulder, she stared at the aquarium which was on a table next to the bed. In there Matt kept his second favourite snake. Miranda watched the cobra on its investigative journey around the tank. In her sleep she had entwined her legs around Matt as if they were her tail. She pulled her legs away, gently pushed Matt aside, got up and unlocked the lid of the tank. Miranda then raised the lid. The cobra slid up the side of the tank and through the gap between the lid and the glass side wall. It slowly slithered down to the table. “Would you like to be free?” Miranda asked of it. The white cobra slowly rose before her until it was in a strike position. About a third of its body length was off the table. Miranda became transfixed by the blue - black eyes, as did the cobra, by hers. Then it seemed to look her up and down, thinking, wondering, if she was worth the energy to strike. Miranda blinked her eyes just for a second, amused by the audacity of the snake. The cobra drifted closer and its yellow

tongue flickered malevolently, tasting the air, uncertain as to whether to strike or not. Miranda slowly manoeuvred herself into the right position, standing above the cobra. Unafraid, she slowly placed her hand, palm down, above the snake. She moved her hand slowly, left to right, right to left and the cobra followed, mesmerised, calculating, and reluctant to strike. She forced it lower and lower to the table—then she moved in quickly and flattened the head down upon the surface. Glancing at the vulnerable, sleeping form of Matt, she whispered to the snake. “Perhaps this isn’t a good idea.” Using the other hand she picked the cobra up behind the head and swiftly returned it to the aquarium. As she withdrew her hand, there was a flash of white, and she felt the sharp fangs stab into her exposed stomach. The cobra retreated. Miranda quickly locked the lid into place. It was then that she realised that she was beginning to feel real physical pain, something she had not felt for many years. Wine and rank poison, milk and blood, Being mixed therein Since first the devil threw dice with God For you Faustine.

A little stiff but feeling little lasting effect Miranda was up next morning before Matt and made him some coffee. She brought him a mug and put it on the table next to the aquarium. Miranda rubbed her stomach and shook her head at the snake who gave her a sulky look, like he had remembered her from the night before, and was wondering why she wasn’t dead yet. The slight tap of the mug hitting the table woke Matt. “Uh – what?” His eyes were heavy with sleep but he smiled at Miranda who sat on the side of the bed and brushed his hair gently out of his eyes. “What do you do today? she asked, as she checked out the many tattoos on Matt’s chest.

Matt, still sleepy, became aware of Miranda’s stare. He pointed at a tattoo and said, “I do this. Do you want to come with me?” “Yes.” A few stallholders said hello to Matt as they walked down Surf Avenue to where he worked. Matt felt good that he had such a fine looking babe at his side, but most people seemed to be too busy getting on with their work to stop and gawp. The word TATTOO was written on an old red and blue painted sign, above the doorway to a small shop, situated next to Popeye’s chicken and biscuit place. Above the tattoo shop was the run down Surf Hotel with its rotting window frames. If a hotel could look weary with history that place did. It might have had tenants. Miranda looked at it with doubtful eyes. The inside of the tattoo shop consisted of one room with all the paraphernalia of the tattooist stacked in little boxes on a wall side table. An old barber’s chair sat in the middle of the room. The walls were covered with photographs of bodies wearing tattoos – everything from snakes, which were Matt’s favourite, to mythological characters, including one of a squinty-eyed Pegasus on a woman’s left shoulder. “I should take that photo down. It didn’t come out right,” said Matt. “Did the woman complain?” “Nah, she couldn’t see that part of it with the hand mirror.” Just at that moment the shop door opened and two sheepish looking boys came in. “You open?” “Sure. Come in,” said Matt. Miranda decided that this would be a good time to go and look around Coney. She made for the door. “I’ll see you later Matt.” Matt had his back turned to her. He was checking out the equipment on the table but he did reply, “Bye babe – see you later. I hope.” The boys looked at each other as if to say should we just leave now but they were pretty keen to get one of Matt’s famous snake

tattoos. Matt turned to face them. “So what will be boys? King Cobra or Green Viper?” The Bowery was practically deserted on the cold winter morning. The booths were shuttered and the coloured bunting flapped dolefully in the wind. Signs hung from old trolley poles, a reminder of a bygone age. A poster advertised Salsa by the Sea and the B52’s for summer 2006. The year meant nothing to her. The area was dowdy and kitsch, vacant lots in-between kiddie rides. Old newspapers clutched at the posts in the cold. The wind made a low whining noise and as it hit a low spot she thought she could hear the sound of metal against something. Was it rock, stone, metal? Metal upon metal? Miranda turned around. A man fought with a piece of newspaper that the wind had flung into his face at an inopportune moment, as he waved the gun over her head. In his flailing around he had struck the gun against a drainpipe. She punched fist into paper first. The man tried to grab the newspaper, which was covered in blood, away from his face. He stumbled over something on the sidewalk and fell to his knees with a groan. Miranda took a few steps back, then turned and ran. She remembered what a gun was. She had seen a man shot down near the Wonder Wheel, on her last visit to Coney Island. Last time she had been the observer and this time she was a full blown participant. Picking up her pace, she ran down Surf Avenue trying to escape her pursuer. All the attractions were locked up for the winter and there seemed nowhere to run to. The street was deserted and she was still some distance from the tattoo place. Her mind was racing on too—looking for possibilities. Why didn’t he use the gun? Miranda thought again about Matt but she didn’t want to bring trouble to him where he worked. Her legs were hurting her. Beginning to let her down a little. She glanced back over her shoulder but couldn’t see the man running after her. Miranda knew how to deal with him unarmed but he had the

gun. She found her way down to the boardwalk and ran alongside the garish painted fence. The sea was immediately to her left and her first impulse was to run towards it and throw herself in, but no, she would not go back until she had found her daughter’s murderer. At that point it crossed her mind that he had found her. Miranda came to the end of the fence and saw a sign. THE NEW YORK AQUARIUM There was still no sign of her pursuer. The entrance to the aquarium was partially blocked by ladders as if someone was just about to start some work. Miranda couldn’t see anyone but she thought she would stay off the boardwalk for a while and look around inside. She walked through into a large reception hall containing reef exhibits. Eels and brightly coloured fish upon pink coral all turned in her direction. She walked on into an open area where artificial sea cliffs stood above an enormous open tank. Penguins stared at the water. None of them seemed interested in entering. Miranda took the downward pathway to the right and went into the underwater viewing area to see what was going on there. The floor was covered with water, as if the aquarium was leaking a little. She peered through the glass tank wall into the blue - green water. No wonder the penguins wouldn’t swim, she thought, for in that tank swam sharks. Miranda couldn’t work out why anyone would put penguins in with sharks. Miranda placed her hand on the cold tank window. From below something rose up and bobbed against it. She saw one reddishbrown tentacle ripple over the glass wall, then another, until a creature came into full view. Miranda smiled in recognition at the large Pacific Octopus, a monster of a creature, with a huge bulbous head. She heard a noise behind her. She turned quickly to be confronted by the man from Surf Avenue, red in the face, and blood still running from his nose. He was nodding his head in recognition, waving his gun in the air as he spoke. His shabby

brown suit had mud all over it. “I thought it was you but it can’t be,” he muttered, “you dead and all that and now back, but then I look at you and see you’re a few years older, doesn’t make any sense.” “I don’t know what you are talking about.” Miranda was feeling calmer now, more confident with the tank behind her back and the octopus at her shoulder, but then she thought about the gun again, and the look on her face changed to one of fear. The man was suddenly distracted by the sight of a large tentacle slapping against the tank. There was also a loud bang on the wall of the tank to his left. He jumped—startled, to see the gaping jaws of a large grey shark which had rammed the panel. Miranda took the opportunity and kicked the gun out of the man’s hand and across the wet floor. In a second she was upon in him, her needle like teeth into his neck. Blood spouted from an artery and splashed against the glass wall of the tank. Miranda backed away slightly and he sunk to the floor, his hands flapping around the wound. There was blood all over the place. When he was dead, Miranda searched through his pockets and took his wallet. Inside was the man’s name. She dismissed it instantly. There was also a photograph. The photo was of her daughter Faustine, of the man she had just killed, two other men and a dark haired woman. Faustine was tied to a chair and the woman was holding Faustine’s head hard back and laughing. In her rage Miranda resisted the impulse to tear the man before her apart. She couldn’t spare the time. Miranda looked at the giant octopus and then back at the man. When the aquarium keeper came along ten minutes later he saw a body in the tank. In the corner where he felt that nothing could get to it, was the giant Pacific Octopus, 100lbs, with its tentacles around the man, hugging him like he was a big doll. All round the foul fat furrows reeked, Where blood sank in; The circus splashed and seethed and shrieked All round Faustine.

Miranda headed back to Matt’s apartment to get cleaned up. He put on a CD and the lyrics of Lou Reed’s Coney Island Baby could be heard throughout the rooms. “Come on Miranda, we’re going out.” “Where to?” “It’ll be fun. To a birthday party.” Miranda raised her eyebrows, “I really don’t think that I want to go out right now. I have a lot to think about—decisions to make.” Matt put his head to one side, “Come on Miranda, you look like you could do with going out. Meet some of the Coney people.” The photograph that she had taken from the man was inside the bodice of her dress. She thought for a moment and then changed her mind. “Yes. I’d like to meet the people who live on Coney Island. Let’s go.” As Matt closed the door to the apartment the monocle cobra slunk into its shift box for the night. Miranda then realised, to her dismay, that she had forgotten to pick up the man’s gun in the aquarium. The minute Miranda walked into the building she wished she hadn’t agreed to come. The noise was too much for her. She couldn’t think clearly. Apparently it was Tanya Baranov’s twentyfirst birthday party and half of Little Odessa had been invited to The Kit Kat Club. The place was full of people with thick Russian accents. The women were dressed to kill in stunning gowns and likewise heels. Most held a glass of champagne in one hand and a vodka martini in the other, whilst dangling Versace bags on their plump arms. Miranda felt decidedly under dressed in her old red dress. White tables bowed under the weight of the banquet. There was every type of smoked fish, shell fish and meat known to man and there was bread, a mountain of it. The

wooden floor was having trouble supporting the weight of a 450lb woman dressed in yellow, who was on her fifth helping of crème brulee. By her side was the smallest man Miranda had ever seen. He reached up to the table to get a plate. The fat woman in yellow grabbed it for him, filled it with food that almost equalled his body weight, and passed it on down to him. He laughed and grabbed the Georgian sausage off the top. He made a rude gesture with it which made her laugh. Food fell from her mouth. Matt led Miranda to the back of the room, to a corner table, where a mermaid waitress dressed in a sexy sea green number, offered them a bottle of champagne and two glasses. Matt accepted and she poured them both a glass. Miranda stared with disgust at the waitress dressed in green. The waitress caught the look. “They make us wear some real crap but the money’s okay.” She threw some napkins on the table and left. “Here’s to better times for you Miranda,” said Matt, raising his glass. “To better times,” she replied. Miranda liked Matt but she wasn’t going to be around for long. The sadness in her sea saturated soul grew stronger as she thought about her daughter. She was only using him for somewhere to stay whilst she found Faustine’s murderers. Without any warning the lights went out and a spotlight hit the stage. The dancing girls came on. They were dressed in blue and green, the colour was still making Miranda nauseous, and they danced to an arrangement of an old Cher song. Their plumed headdresses looking like deflated peacock tails. The fat woman in yellow was jigging about too, for there was not a chair in the nightclub that could take her weight. Miranda was fascinated by the Russian people who looked happy to be alive and celebrating the birthday. After the girls left the stage the music stopped and the audience clapped wholeheartedly. A thick set man with white hair and wearing an expensive looking suit came into the

spotlight. He repeatedly removed his glasses and put them on again, as if he really needed them, but was too vain to wear them. “Ladies and Gentleman. I’d like to present my daughter to you. As you all know it is her twenty-first birthday. She goes to Europe next week, as a birthday present from me.” At this the Russian paused and the audience stamped their feet and applauded more. “My friends, my friends, let me present to you my most beautiful daughter, Tanya Baranov.” Here, the applause recommenced and Tanya walked upon the stage. Tanya was not tall and elegant at all, in fact she was the smallest woman on high heels that Miranda had ever seen. The crowd shouted her name and applauded louder. The tiny woman curtseyed in her pink and gold ball gown, which hugged her petite but perfectly formed body, and clapped them back. Matt smiled at Miranda and joined in the applause. “That’s Tanya!” “So I gather,” said Miranda. After the applause Tanya left the stage with her father and as the cabaret recommenced someone came up to Peter Baranov, Tanya’s father, and shook his hand. Peter Baranov greeted the man. “Vasiliy. You should not be here. Not tonight. You should be at home.” “You know I had to be here. I had to give Tanya her birthday present myself.” Vasiliy handed Tanya a box wrapped in gold paper with a pink bow on the top. “Thank you Uncle Vasiliy,” she said and blew him a kiss. She never got too close to Uncle Vasiliy. Inside the box was a Coney Island Mermaid on a chain. The mermaid’s tail was covered in emeralds from just above the breasts to the tip of the tail. She had tiny sapphires for eyes. Vasiliy smiled at Tanya then took Baranov by the arm and drew him to one side. “Thank you for coming to the funeral this morning, Peter, my father would have appreciated that.”

“I could not let today pass without paying my respects, now could I? Sit down and have some champagne.” “That is kind of you but I have to get back to the house, you know.” “Of course Vasiliy. Give my condolences to your mother.” As Vasiliy walked away from Peter Baranov he stopped dead in his tracks. He saw Miranda’s face. It couldn’t be her. She was dead. It couldn’t be her, he thought. Vasiliy checked himself. No —this woman was older. God—he needed to sleep. His father’s death had taken its toll. Miranda noted the look on his face as he walked by her table. She thought about the photograph. Miranda could have reached out to touch him if she had wanted to. She excused herself from the table, brushed against the man with the lizard tongue and followed the man from the photograph. The lizard man raised his head and smiled right at her, his tongue flickering as he sought the mouth of the woman next to him. Miranda paused and looked back at Matt. Tanya walked across the dance floor and put her arms out to him. He picked her up and placed her on his knee. Their familiarity was all too apparent and Miranda, momentarily distracted, quickly resumed pursuit of Vasiliy. Matt gently tipped Tanya off his knee and rushed after Miranda. She lost track of Vasiliy but Matt bumped into him in the foyer as he was coming back in for something. Suddenly there was a flash from a camera. Vasiliy grabbed Matt by the collar, just as the photographer started to take more photographs. Vasiliy cursed and turned to leave again. Matt spotted Miranda. “Hey. Miranda. Wait,” he shouted, “the party is just getting started.” Miranda paused for a moment. Then as a limousine quickly pulled away from the Kit Kat Club, Miranda vanished into the night. Matt caught up with Miranda eventually. In the morning he found her sitting outside his apartment. They didn’t talk. He just

pulled her up by the hand and smiled. When he got back inside he fed his juvenile cobra. It took fuzzies well. Matt liked the fuzzies—the young mice that had grown hair but were not yet moving around. However, it didn’t stop him from feeding them to the snake that lived in a tank in the hall. In the kitchen he banged the head of a rodent on the newspaper covered floor and brought it back into the main room to another aquarium that sat on the floor. Miranda followed him, with interest, over to the aquarium. The monocle cobra was in the shift box within the tank where it could hide away. The small door to the box was half open, so Matt dumped the rodent, near the entrance, with the long metal tongs. He quickly withdrew the tongs and replaced the lid. He had been keeping the cobra for several years and he wasn’t about to be bitten now. Matt didn’t ask where Miranda had disappeared to the previous night. She didn’t say, but he was beginning to feel at little uncomfortable around her. Miranda unfolded the newspaper. The headline instantly caught her attention. VASILIY VOLKOV FOUND DEAD ON THE DAY OF HIS FATHER’S FUNERAL “Matt. Remember you said last night that you’d wished you’d not bumped Vasiliy Volkov?” “Yes.” “Well. He’s dead.” “What! Let me see that.” Miranda handed him the newspaper. Matt began to read. “It says that he was found in the bedroom of his apartment and an undisclosed source indicated that all his ribs were crushed and he was asphyxiated.” Whilst Matt continued to read the paper Miranda stared intently at the aquarium. The rodent was still twitching at the

bottom of the tank. The cobra darted out of the shift box and went for it. Matt never had to force-feed his cobras. “They’ll be hell to pay on Coney now,” said Matt. Miranda still didn’t say anything. She picked up a bagel bag, checked its contents and put it down again on the table. Then she examined the various snake handling tools that Matt tended to leave lying around. A few moments later she decided to check the contents of the freezer. Miranda was hungry. She stared into the icy compartment. Something stared back at her. She shut the door making a mental note to check it out again later when Matt wasn’t around. “That would be snake food in the freezer, right? asked Miranda. Matt didn’t answer. He was still engrossed in the newspaper. After a minute or so he looked up with a concerned look on his face. “This happened just after the party at the nightclub.” Miranda looked at the photo of Vasiliy and Matt. “I gotta go see Tanya.” Matt reached for his jacket. “You know, after that photo, the police are going to want to see you,” replied Miranda. Right on cue, at that moment there came a knock at the door. Matt tentatively opened it. Miranda sat down on the couch. “Matt Stevens?” “Yes.” “I’m Detective Anderson of the New York Police Department. I’d like to ask you a few questions about the disappearance of Vasiliy Volkov.” “Come in,” Matt held the door open wider for the detective to enter. Detective Anderson gestured at the paper. “You’ve seen the news I see. Do you know anything about this?” “I don’t know anything about it.” “Well, you did appear to have a run in with him at that party.” “I bumped into him, that’s all.”

“Believe me nobody usually bumps into someone like Volkov. Where did you go after the Kit Kat Club?” “He spent the night with me—here.” Miranda smiled. Detective Anderson noted her sharpened teeth but he was used to all kinds of geeks and freaks on Coney. He just thought that she had them made like that for one of the fairground acts. He then glanced around the apartment, back at Miranda, and then his gaze landed on the aquarium containing the monocle cobra. It was relatively interested in the movement around him. “Nothing to do with why I’m here but you do know that it is illegal to keep venomous snakes in New York, even here on Coney?” Matt shrugged. “Right. So you say you were with this young man since you left the Kit Kat Club and all night? “Yes, I was.” “All night?” “Yes.” “Okay – I’ll leave it at that but young man...” “Yes.” “Expect a call from me about those snakes.” What adders came to shed their coats? What coiled obscene Small serpents with soft stretching throats Caressed Faustine.

Later that afternoon, after returning from the market, Matt put the key in the door of his apartment. He was anxious to see the snakes again before the police sent someone to pick them up but it wasn’t just the snakes he was worried about. He ran it through his head—it would take more than a photograph of Matt with a mafia boss to convince the police that they should take seriously the notion that he had something to do with Vasiliy’s death— wouldn’t it? Sure they had a herper trader dealing with illegal snakes but that’s where they thought it stopped, he hoped.

“This little fellah seems hungry,” Miranda tormented the monocle, trying to rile it and get it to sway from side to side with the movements of her hands. Matt just thanked God it was within the tank. Matt knew just how hard he was being screwed over—in so many ways. He wondered where Miranda had been last night. The alibi was handy for him. If Miranda was using him it wasn’t as if he wasn’t getting something in return. She smiled and drew him over to the couch. As her tongue licked the full length of his cock he thought that if she left soon it would be a shame. An hour later, when Matt was stroking Miranda’s thigh, she whispered in his ear. “Do you know where I can get what?” Matt said. Miranda lay back against the cushion and pulled him back on top of her. As he was working up a sweat again he was oblivious to her whispering. Just as he came he thought he heard the words. “Do you know where I can get a gun?” As Miranda and Matt left the apartment they met someone on the stairs who had been sent by the police. He had come to take away the snakes. Matt simply threw him a key. “Lock it on the way out and put the key under the door. I have a spare.” Matt brushed by the man whom he recognised as someone who knew about snakes. The fellow herper, who had obviously been the only person the police could find who would take the job on, threw Matt a look of contempt. Zoo Ed was what most people called him. “You know its people like you that give licensed herpers a bad name,” said Zoo Ed. Matt was about to jump back up the stairs and throw him a punch when he felt Miranda’s firm hand on his arm. Zoo Ed couldn’t resist shouting down the stairwell. “Why don’t you move to a legit state where you can keep them?” Pulling him down the stairwell Miranda said, “Well? Are you going to tell me where we can get a gun?”

“Yeah – I know just the place but first I want to know exactly why you want it.” They both sat at the bottom of the stairs. With a nod of the head Miranda agreed, “I’ll tell you Matt. Well, most of it anyway.” Miranda told him about Faustine but didn’t show him the photograph. It contained something beside the pitiful scene of Faustine tied to the chair—something that she did not want him to see. “So you found your daughter’s body and you haven’t told the police yet?” “Yes.” “You want to go after these guys all on your own?” He looked a her in disbelief. Miranda put her head in her hands and felt tired, so very tired. She was sick of being on land and fighting off the urge to return to the ocean. “Yes. I don’t care what happens to me Matt. I have to do this.” “Okay, I’ll help you get a gun but after that you are on your own. I don’t want to know about what you’ve already done and what you are about to do. Right?” Miranda looked up at him, her blue – black eyes so very full of sorrow and nodded. Matt carried on to give her a million reasons why she shouldn’t do what she was about to do and then they left the building. The icy cold wind blew in from the bay. Miranda fought the call from the sea. With great determination she turned her back on it and followed Matt down Surf Avenue. There would only be a short amount of time left before her natural instincts kicked in. The nightclub was the first and the last place that Miranda thought that Matt would take her to get a gun. Tanya was watching a line up of girls, dressed in red leotards and fishnet

tights. They finished dancing just as Matt and Miranda approached. Tanya told the girls to go for a break and as Matt stooped down she gave him a hug. The look Tanya threw Miranda spoke volumes about how she felt about Matt. Miranda tried to focus her mind on the task before her. She would get revenge as swiftly as possible. Vasiliy was dead but there was the second murderer to think about now. Tanya looked dismissively at Miranda. “What can I do for you Matt?” “I do need a favour. I need a gun.” Tanya looked annoyed. “You can’t expect me to fix everything for you Matt.” “You do still owe me more favours than I owe you,” he said. Miranda stared at Matt. Tanya blushed. Miranda didn’t want to know what had gone on between the two of them before she came along. “What trouble are you in?” asked Tanya. “I’m not in any trouble.” “Then why the gun?” “I just need a gun.” “How big a gun?” “Just a gun, gun, you know a gun.” Matt was trying to keep calm. Tanya, who looked like a miniature Madonna during her Blonde Ambition tour flicked her pony tail and fiddled with her nails. “You expect me to get you a gun, no questions asked.” “I can understand why you would be curious but …no questions asked,” said Matt. “You never ask for fucking much Matt.” “Only from you Tanya. Only from you.” A few phone calls and an hour later Miranda had her gun. Matt made sure the safety catch was on before Miranda picked it

up. Unseen by him she took the safety catch off and placed it in a red shoulder bag that Tanya had reluctantly given to her. As Miranda and Matt left the nightclub a worried Peter Baranov entered. Miranda pulled Matt close and kissed him on the lips. Matt smiled at Baranov. To Baranov, Matt was simply a blur, but the bodyguard seemed to know him and nodded. Baranov nodded too. He was too deep in conversation to want to engage in pleasantries with anyone. Miranda moved quickly. She reached into her bag and pushed Matt to one side. Seconds later Peter Baranov and his bodyguard lay dead in the foyer. One bullet each—to the head. Matt staggered backwards, caught Miranda’s arm, and shouted at her. “Christ. Miranda. If I had known you were going to do that…” He quickly dragged her out of the nightclub just as Tanya appeared in the doorway and started to scream for help for her father. There was blood was everywhere—brains stuck to the wall too. Matt slipped and stumbled as they ran. “For fuck’s sake Miranda what have you dragged me into? Come on. We have got to get out of here and get off Coney Island.” “No Matt. I can’t leave yet.” They paused for breath in an alley way. Matt started walking up and down swearing and cursing the fact that he had helped her. “Look Matt. You know why I did that. Just hang in there with me for a little while longer.” “You just killed the leader of one of the most import mafia gangs in New York and you want me to hang around here with you. Are you mad?” “Matt. That was one of the men who killed my daughter.” Matt looked confused. “Tanya’s father? Her father? Miranda —what the fuck is going on here?” “You have to believe me Matt,” she said quietly.

“You are freakin’ crazy Miranda.” Matt reached out for her but hesitated. “When they catch up with me I’m a dead man. What am I supposed to do now?” “I really didn’t want to drag you into this Matt but when I saw the opportunity I had to take it. You’re right, get off Coney whilst you can. From here on in I’ll do this on my own.” Matt caught Miranda by the arm. “How do I get in touch with you again?” “I’m sorry Matt but you don’t.” Miranda gently kissed Matt upon the lips. Her lips were getting cold again and Matt felt that. Miranda knew that she didn’t have long left. Her limbs were beginning to ache and stiffen up but she needed to get the last of Faustine’s murderers before the mafia finally brought her down or the call of the sea became too much for her. Curled lips, long since half kissed away, Still sweet and keen; You’d give him – poison shall we say? Or what, Faustine?

Miranda cleaned herself up. She had no difficulty is breaking into an old clothing store on the corner. The back door lock was old and suggested that the owner didn’t much care about the merchandise inside. She took a brown fur coat and pair of high heel red shoes which she had great difficulty walking in. It was not far to Anna Volkov’s luxury apartment on Stillwell Avenue. It had an expansive view of the ocean and once again Miranda momentarily lost her concentration. Anna Volkov’s bodyguards were used to having pretty boys and women visit her. All hours of the day and night. That night was no exception even though Vasiliy wasn’t cold in his grave yet. The bodyguards were too busy arguing about whether the Brooklyn Cyclones would win the baseball minor league or not. They didn’t even search Miranda. Once clear of the bodyguards at the door, she walked down the blue carpeted hallway and into the lounge that belonged to Anna Volkov.

At first Anna did not see Miranda enter. She was playing about with a young woman, whose pale blue dress was on the floor. The young woman looked a little like Faustine. Something clicked into place in Miranda’s brain. Miranda looked familiar to Anna. Anna patted the naked girl sharply on the back. “Get out of here.” Throwing her dress over her head, the young girl put on her shoes quickly and left in silence. Anna sat back and drew her dark hair from her face. She screwed her brown eyes up a little. “You’d be something to do with the girl then, the slippery one, the one that has caused me no end of trouble.” Miranda took the gun out of her pocket and aimed it at Anna’s head. “That would be so.” “Before you use that thing perhaps you’d like to think about it for a while.” “Like the thinking you did before you dumped Faustine back in the sea.” “Perhaps this will stall you a little. Andeeee!” Anna shouted. It was Matt who Miranda saw first, coming through the bedroom door, followed by a bodyguard holding a gun to his head. Matt just glared at Miranda and didn’t say a word. “I think that you should put the gun down now, er—what’s your name?” Anna gave Miranda a smug look which made Miranda want so badly to rip off the woman’s face. “Miranda.” “I like that—sounds like you come from the sea too, mermaids and all that. And you were to Faustine?” Miranda took a deep breath and placed the gun on the floor. “Her mother. Actually call me Lamia and I’m not a mermaid.” Anna ignored the not a mermaid bit. “Ah, I should have known – the likeness you know and of course we will be returning you to the sea too.” “Returning?”

“Well that’s where Faustine said she came from, just before she died. But before you go I have a little film to show you.” Anna searched around in a pile of DVD’s on the table in front of her and popped one into the player. The screen flickered momentarily and then Miranda saw her daughter tied to a chair, the one in the photograph. Miranda flinched as she watched her daughter crying and straining at the straps that bound her hands. Her hands were covered with blood. “Let me go,” Faustine pleaded weakly. Miranda felt sick. She couldn’t breathe. “Why did you do this?” she whispered. “Why not?” replied Anna. “After all she wasn’t one of us.” Miranda fought back her tears. Her daughter looked dishevelled. There was blood all over her white dress. The camera then zoomed in on her face and Miranda could see the look of terror in one blue-black eye. Her other eye was concealed behind a swollen hood. It looked as if Faustine had been thrashing about and Miranda could see that Faustine, in her desperation and confusion, had tried to transform her legs back into a serpent’s tail again. One leg was covered in green scales, the other twisted and the skin broken where bone poked through. Matt just stared at the screen in disbelief, the bodyguard too, both motionless. Anna laughed at that. Lamia’s rage and grief flooded to the surface. What happened next wasn’t a slow transformation. Lamia was aware that she could see the room from a different perspective. She wouldn’t be able to hold the body of her prey with her hands. Her spine cracked, she felt herself stretching and her whole body became wracked with pain. Perhaps with this last kill Hera will let me go from the curse, she thought. It came upon her with a violent shudder. Suddenly Lamia loomed above Anna until she was in a strike position; about a third of her considerable body length off the floor. When Lamia swayed, her green scales became iridescent. Anna, transfixed by the blue-black eyes, could not move. Lamia’s face came closer. She hissed and her yellow tongue flickered malevolently,

tasting the air, taking her time as to whether to strike now or not. Anna felt the dank breath on her cheek and she whispered to Lamia. “You can’t kill me. That wouldn’t be right. I’m pregnant.” Lamia laughed. “I can and I will.” “You are no better or worse than I am then,” Anna screamed at her. Lamia hissed. “For years I have suffered Hera’s curse and been made to take the unborn children of others. I was human once.” In her fury Lamia slithered back a little, rose up again and opened her mouth to show a row of needle point teeth. She struck repeatedly at Anna’s stomach—all the while she could hear Matt screaming at her to stop. The blood filled her vision. In his terror Anna’s bodyguard froze, just long enough for Matt to shake himself from the horrific sight before him, bring his elbow sharply back into the man’s ribs, spin around and grapple for the gun. It only took one shot. Matt sank to his knees, shaking with the sheer horror of it all. Before him were the coils of a fully formed giant snake. The head rested in a pool of blood that was still flowing from Anna. But it was the look in the blue-black eye of the snake that would dominate his nightmares from now on. It was the look of fear itself. oOo

About the Author Allyson Bird lives on the edge of the South Yorkshire moors in England, with her husband and young daughter. Occasionally she is drawn to strange places and people- occasionally they are drawn to her. Her favourite playground, as a child and adult, has been the village graveyard. Once she removed one of the green stones from a grave. She has been looking over her shoulder ever since. Her collection, “Bull Running for Girls”, is short listed in the British Fantasy Society Awards 2009 – “The Caul Bearer”, a short story from the collection, is short listed too. “Kid, I like all your stories. Your book is killer and a class act for a first collection. Allyson Bird is a rare bird indeed. An original voice in a world of plain vanilla. She rides some dark waves with grace and a heart full of light and shadow. If there's any justice, she's on her way to real recognition.” Joe R. Lansdale “Allyson Bird's stories are richly informed by folklore and literature, and use a range of weird fiction narratives to explore female perspectives in terms of the unknown and the supernatural. Bull Running For Girls is reminiscent of both the Gothic fantasies of Tanith Lee and the empathic ghost stories of Mary Elizabeth Counselman. The strangest of Bird's stories, ‘The Caul Bearer’, also recalls the stark emotional landscape of Robert E. Howard's classic ‘Sea Curse’. For Bird, the supernatural is an aspect of life, not something from outside it. Her ghosts and demons are as likely to have a stake in our world as in their own withered hearts. [Bull Running for Girls] brings you witches, revenants, mummies, spirit mediums and ritual murderers. Above all, it brings you face to face with real human issues that few of us, however we pass through the night, can safely avoid.” Joel Lane