Sand Witches in the Hamptons (9781101597385) (19 page)

“Eggth.”

Shit, that was Matt talking in his sleep, not snoring. I tossed a rock from under my elbow at him. “You better not be dreaming of your ex.”

Then the voice came from behind me. “Petth have eggth!?”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-FOUR

I
had found my lost friend at last. My friend had a lithp. Oey also had the persistent notion that we humans from the mundane realm had to be cared for, tended, and taught. Like pets. No matter how many times I tried to explain that people had pets—dogs, cats, gerbils, and parrots—not the other way around, Oey claimed us. According to Oey's understanding of pethood, the master was the one with higher intelligence and greater skills, which I suppose defined any being from Unity who was telepathic, able to disappear at will, call forth superpowers we humans never dreamed of, and travel between universes.

Okay, we were Oey's pets. Which ought to mean she looked after us, guided us, protected us from sand-stealing, rash-inflicting Lilliputians. I was counting on it.

And there she was, finally, the feminine parrotlike side, perched atop our fire bucket, with the masculine fish side dangling in the water. Oey, which was the closest I could come to the given name of the magical hybrid, a name filled with mental images, emotions, heritage, history, and future expectations.

“Oey! I missed you! I am so happy you came back.”

She swiveled her head to stare at me with round black eyes that gleamed in the fire's light. “Oey never left. You did.”

I'd returned to the city, thinking all was well in Paumanok Harbor, that Oey'd be living with Professor James Harmon at Rosehill, watching over the elderly gentleman. “But Jimmie couldn't find you.”

“Bithy.”

What kind of responsible pet caretaker left their charges to fend for themselves? “You could have called or sent a message.” Shoot, now I sounded like my mother. “That is, we all worried about you. Jimmie got sick searching, then despondent that you were never coming back.”

“Didn't thay good-bye, yeth?”

“I don't think so. He would have said.”

“Then I didn't leave.”

Here I was, speaking to a creature half bird and half fish, and I was expecting it to follow our customs. I crawled out of the sleeping bag and went over to Matt and shook him awake.

“What? Did they come? Did I miss them?”

“Yes, and yes, they're all over the place. But it's Oey, who didn't leave, because she didn't say good-bye.”

He shook his head as if jostling his brains could make my words make sense. “Am I still sleeping?”

“Look!”

He did. “I see sand.”

I worried about that, that he couldn't see what I did. His newfound ability gave me support and proof I wasn't hallucinating, wasn't letting my imagination run amok, wasn't crazy. “Not at the sand, at the bucket.”

He looked. “Oh. Welcome back, Oey! Glad to see you.”

“Do you see his tail?”

“Sure, in the bucket, keeping the scales wet.”

Whew. I exhaled in relief.

“But Oey doesn't look good.”

In my excitement to see the birdfish, hoping she or he could communicate with the Andanstans and solve our sand problem, I hadn't really looked at the creature. Now I found the flashlight and shined it at the bucket. Matt was right. Oey's previously magnificent rainbow-colored feathers seemed bedraggled and faded, with bare spots showing pale pink skin to match the pink toes the fake Oiaca always had. His fish tail hung limply, not glittery with iridescent, changeable hues, but dull, barely more shiny than a dead flounder's. Even Oey's eyes appeared tired, showing no sign of the spinning kaleidoscopes they sometimes resembled.

“Did these little bastards do that to you? Have they been attacking you the way they do each other?” I pounded the sand near my foot.

“Not hurt. Molt.”

“Molt? Like dogs shed a couple of times a year? Then this is natural?”

The parrot head bobbed. “Natuwal. Thed happenth.”

The vet in Matt took over. “We have vitamins for molting birds, skin lotions, too. One parrot breeder even made little sweaters for her birds so they didn't take chills.”

Oey clacked her beaks together, her sign of disgust, like my mother's sniff.

Matt shrugged. “Yeah, I guess our stuff wouldn't help you. But you could come into the clinic to see. Or to Rosehill, where Jimmie'd look after you.”

“Can't let Immie thee. He thinkth Oey ith beautiful.”

I'd forgotten Oey's vanity and pride. “You are beautiful, even now. But he'd love you with no feathers, or faded colors on your tail. He loved you when he was a sickly boy, remember? And you saved his life.”

“Pet.”

Now it was my turn to shrug. “I suppose.”

Oey tilted her head the way parrots did, as if their necks were on elastic bands. “Pink?”

“Yes, he'd love you if you were all pink, with no feathers.”

Matt said, “I think Oey means your hair.”

Damn, another critic. “Yes, it's pink. Matt likes it fine.”

Matt coughed.

“Molt?”

“No. Nothing falls out.” At least not yet. “Just a change.”

“Eggth?”

Double damn. “Yes, she has red hair, but that has nothing to do with anything.”

Those powerful beaks clacked again. “Eggth. Eggth. Eggth. Willow layth eggth, then moltth?”

“Oh, no. I am not pregnant. Are you? That is, did you lay eggs? Is that what you've been telling us?”

“Eggth.”

I didn't know if it was proper to congratulate an avian for producing an omelette. That is, a clutch. I returned to Oey's question. “Human females do not lay eggs. We give birth to live babies, like dolphins and, um, dogs.”

“No eggth?”

“We do have eggs, inside. The eggs form babies, with the help of male sperm.”

“Waithful.”

“Well, we cannot all be as versatile as you, with interchangeable male and female parts and shapes so we can do it ourselves. We manage.”

“And I bet we have more fun,” Matt put in, his hand around me.

Oey stared at us, deliberating. Then she bobbed her head. “Ith good.”

“What's not good is these, uh, people.” I waved my hand toward the sand at our feet and around our campfire. “We call them Andanstans. And they are stealing our sand.”

Oey made a sound halfway between a chuckle and a cluck. “They can't thteal thand. They be thand.”

“Yes, but they keep disappearing with ours.” I pointed to the land side, getting closer all the time. “Soon the waves will wash over, if there is no sand.”

“Thaved the thip.”

“Yes, I know they did, and we are all grateful. But why don't they go home now?”

“Eggth.”

“They lay eggs? But they're sand.”

Clack. Clack.
Yeah, I got it. Stupid humans.

“Your eggs? They stole your eggs?”

Oey puffed out her chest. “Many eggth.”

“We'll get them back for you. The whole village will help. We can get divers and diggers and, um, where would they hide your eggs, anyway?”

Matt rubbed my back. “I don't think Oey would let anyone steal her eggs. Would you, Oey?”

She clacked her beak, showed the talons on her toes. Then changed to a large fish, with razor sharp teeth. A lot of them.

“You gave them your eggs as a gift? They're going to eat your babies?”

Glub.
That meant absolute frustration for all three of us. “Okay, please explain so we can understand.”

Oey went back to her bird shape, the one that could talk to us. “Oey called on Thandmen for favow. Oey do favow in wetuwn.”

“By handing over your next generation?”

She preened at her nearly bare chest feathers. “Thpethal. Ith gweat honow to hatch eggth of—” What followed was a mental picture, a wash of feelings and sensations, parrotfish as companions to sea gods, wisdom, beauty, rare eggs destined to become powerful allies.

Matt let his hand drop to his side. “Holy shit. What was that?”

“Oey's true essence.” I turned to the feathered fish. “Thank you for sharing that. We are honored, too. But don't you miss your eggs?”

“Pain in the netht. Watew, aiw. Watew, aiw.”

Now Matt and I both saw an image of the Andanstans rolling the eggs, more colorful than Ukrainian Easter eggs, toward deep water at night, toward instant dry sandbars by day for the sunlight. I supposed both sides had to be nurtured.

“What happens when they hatch?” I shivered at the thought of finding homes for the many eggs, when people only saw the bird part.

“Go home.”

“The—” What? Chicks? Sprat? “You'll take the infants home to your world? We'll be sorry to see you go.”

“Oey thtay. Oeineth go. Find own petth.”

I'd have to think about that later. For now, I had to work on the sand issue. “What about the Andanstans? Will they go when the eggs hatch? Will they give back the sand?”

Oey's entire body swayed side to side. “Not without curtthy.”

“They want me to curtsy to them?” I tried a Scarlett O'Hara deep bend at the knees. Matt had to grab my elbow before I fell over on the little bastards I could hear yelling beneath me.

“I think Oey means courtesy, not curtsy,” Matt said.

Oey bobbed her head. “Big favow they did petth. M'ma thent. Oey told how. Petth got thaved.”

They kept the cruise ship afloat, then helped with the tsunami. “Yes, and we are grateful. And sorry if any of them got hurt, but we need the sand back.”

“Not without big favow. The way it thould be.”

Oh, Dad. Not backstabbing, not backbiting. Not even wanting the sandbar back. They wanted
pay
back. A favor for a favor. Courtesy. “What in the world can we do for them?”

Oey raised her wings without answering. For once she did not know.

Matt wanted to know if that was how all of Unity operated, a favor for a favor.

“Honowable. Inthult othewwithe.”

“Oh, boy, we've insulted an entire universe?”

Oey gave that gesture of unenlightenment.

“But you did us a bigger favor, many, many big favors. What was your payback?”

Oey considered the new word. “Payback. Good curtthy. Honowable.”

“Yes, but what did you get?”

“Petth. Immie, you. Whole village. Petth.”

Good grief. “And M'ma?” The magic dolphins who'd rescued drowning passengers, the fire lanterns who'd shown the way through the ship, they were all his creatures, his sendings. I supposed the Andanstans were his too.

“Payback, fow help M'ma molt.”

“So now we are even with everyone except the Andanstans, even if we didn't ask for their help?”

“Oey even, with care of eggth. Big honow. Petth?” She flapped her wings again. A feather fell out.

I picked it up. “What could we possibly have that they'd want?”

“Not our babies!” Matt shouted. “I'm not letting any invisible midget creatures raise my children.” He took my hand. “Our children.”

We were having children? We hadn't had sex in a month.

Oey seemed as offended at the idea of giving my babies away as Matt was. “Not my petth!”

“Someone else's baby? Never!” I thought of my friend Louisa, who'd finally given birth to her third child, another daughter. I'd get to see the new infant this week. I already had a bib and a book to bring, but I promised a painting of her to add to the family portrait I'd done. I could not imagine doing a Moses in the bulrushes thing, letting grains of sand get near that baby, any baby. “What else? Do they want a virgin sacrifice like pagan gods? I doubt we have any in the harbor. Money? A temple to their worship?” I could see me trying to get that past the village board. All ridiculous ideas. “We have nothing they could want or use.”

“Hath to be thpethial now. Inthult.”

“An animal sacrifice? That's barbaric!” I thought about Little Red, about Moses, the Newfie pup that Oey—and the Andanstans—had helped save. “No, we are not giving up our pets, any more than you'd give up yours.”

“Want thand back?”

“Oey, this is our world. They do not belong here, and must be breaking a hundred rules to stay. Besides, they cannot expect us to follow a code of behavior repugnant to our own beliefs.”

Matt asked if Oey could find out what they would like from us.

“But what if they want us to clean up oil spills? Stop global warming? Good grief, the whole planet hasn't figured a way to do those things. How can we? Can't we just thank them?”

“When eggth hatch, they go home. With thand.”

Shit. “When?”

“Full moon.”

Halloween eve. When my mother will be here to hold the women's convention on the beach, if there was any beach by then. I thought briefly of offering up Mom to the Andanstans. Just briefly, of course.

“Can I talk to them myself? Maybe explain that we didn't know your traditions, but we are very, very grateful, for the professor and the other passengers they helped save, for the village.”

“And Moses,” Matt added.

“Too big.”

“Yes, Moses is too big to bring, but I could apologize for not knowing they existed. But I didn't know, so I never asked for their help. It was you who called them, or M'ma, who wanted help to vanquish his own enemy. We cannot keep repaying favors forever, in circles.”

“Oey athk.”

“And tell them to stop with the rashes, too. They got our attention. Now we'll try to negotiate.”

Matt jumped up as if something bit him. I knelt down to see about thirty sand people climbing his sneakers to get to his bare ankle, all with shell shards or tiny twigs. A bunch actually worked together to jab him again with the end of a horseshoe crab's tail. He jumped and cursed.

“I don't think they want to negotiate.”