The Lamia

6-4

The chief turned out to be a veteran agent named Fox Underwood, who Dema instantly liked. In spite of Jeff's disclaimer, Fox didn't have much to add to what Jeff had already told her. Jeff would be her handler, her liaison, much the same arrangement they'd had in Philly. 

So the next morning Dema tried to look like a tourist. She slung a big bag over her shoulder, packed with both sunscreen and a rain jacket. She crammed some tourist brochures she picked up at the motel into it, along with her digital camera. Then she made sure she had Jeff's number on her cell phone speed dial, donned her sunglasses, and headed for Anacortes in her rental car.

The line of cars waiting for the next ferry was astonishing. Even as big as these boats were, it looked like three or four ferries would have to come and go before the end of the line got on board. She decided to do the touristy thing, and parked her car in the lot, then went to get a ticket as a walk-on passenger. That made it easier to make sure she would be on Shaunessy's boat.

She watched from the passenger deck as the cars rolled slowly into the holds and the big gates were raised and sealed. She had ridden ferries before, but never one like this. It held over a hundred passenger cars on two decks, and was big enough to carry some delivery trucks as well. 

Like most ferries it was an odd-looking double-ended design, with gates on both ends. It would nose up to a ferry dock and the cars would drive off, and the next ones would drive on headed in the opposite direction. 

There was a wheelhouse on each end, and when the ship was ready to embark the captain would simply walk to the other one. The stem became the stern, and for the next leg of the trip the boat would be going backward. It took some getting used to as a passenger, if you had chosen a comfortable spot in the bow and then found yourself looking out at the ships wake.

Dema leaned on the rail of the top-most passenger deck, right below the wheelhouse. She got glimpses of a figure there on the bridge who might be Captain Shaunessy, and she wanted him to notice her. 

The tourist ride was an all-day affair, as there were some stops in the San Juan Islands before they would reach Sydney, and the same stops again on the return trip. It turned out to be a pretty good day, with not too much haze and occasional breaks in the cloud cover. She left the sunscreen and the rain jacket both in her bag, but she stashed the sunglasses in there with them. 

She got out the little digital camera, and started taking pictures like any tourist would, including shots of the boat as well as the scenery. She took a few shots of the wheelhouse, considering that a legitimate photo attraction, and zoomed in with the hope that Shaunessy might be visible through the windscreen when she was able to magnify the image later. 

She did see him come and go a few times. He was of medium height and build, not a young man but obviously vigorous, with a neatly trimmed beard that seemed to complement the uniform and persona of a sea captain.

The scenery was definitely impressive, and Dema found herself enjoying the ride. Tidal currents were quite strong among the islands, and the forces of erosion had left stark cliffs and bluffs, and convoluted shorelines, all surmounted by towering evergreens. 

There were lots of wheeling gulls, following the boat in hopes of handouts from the passengers, and near the islands there were often osprey and an occasional hawk or eagle. In the water and on the shores there were quite a few seals, some sea otters, an occasional orca and even a few whales.

Dema went into her shaman dream and started soaking up the feel of the ocean life. It was a curious mix of strife and exhilaration; even as they hunted for their very survival the seals and other marine mammals took pleasure in the freedom of movement they enjoyed in the open water. 

The seals in particular, although they felt safe on land, felt free in the water, and relished each return to it. Dema was enthralled by what she felt from them, and began to familiarize herself with their sense of being. She began to hope she might find an excuse to shift into this new form while she was here.

It was mid afternoon, and they were on the last leg of the trip. Dema was still leaning on the rail, deep in the shaman-dream, her camera forgotten, when a voice beside her said, "I thought only the Irish could find this much fascination in the sea."

It took Dema a moment to come back to herself. She was rarely caught so off-guard. She looked up, and there was Captain Shaunessy, leaning on the rail beside her, looking out over the water. 

"I was...imagining what it must be like to be a seal," she said.

He cocked an eye at her. "Oh? And what is it you imagine, then?"

"There is such freedom in the sea. Even as they hunt, they seem to enjoy that."

He gave her a long look. It was an appraising look, but with none of the sexual overtones she might have expected. He was appraising her response, trying to read what was beneath it. 

Dema was still deep in her shaman dream, and should have been able to read him easily, but he was guarding something, hiding something so deeply, so automatically, that she could not read him at all. It was this that had allowed him to take her by surprise, she realized.

He turned and looked out over the water again. "You may be right," he said at last. "The Irish have stories of the sea that speak of such things."

"It must be wonderful for you, seeing this every day."

"You've not been here before, then?"

"No, this is my first trip to Seattle."

"Not that many choose the ferry tour."

"It was at the top of my list," Dema said truthfully.

"What else is on your list?"

"The ferry tour was at the bottom of my list, too," Dema admitted. "Maybe a good seafood dinner."

"Your stay will be short then. But I can help with the dinner, if you don't already have plans."

It was Dema's turn to offer an appraising look. "That's a tempting offer. But rather fast work, we haven't even been introduced! Do you often invite passengers to dinner?"

"You will be my first. I apologize if I seem too forward, but you've been standing in front of my bridge all day. I feel like I've already known you for hours. Ryan Shaunessy, at your service." He raised a hand to his chest and gave a slight nod, in a faint but somehow formal gesture of introduction.

"Dema Culver. Invitation accepted, then. It seems I have some catching up to do."

"Dema? Like the virgin goddess of the pacific islands?"

"Not many people make that connection. My grandmother has a thing for mythology."

"Ah, yes. My Irish grandmother is also steeped in the old stories. I learned my love of such lore from her." He stood back from the rail then and gestured toward the wheelhouse. 

"Come," he said. "We're getting close to port and it's about time for me to go back to work. I'll give you a tour of the bridge."