Chapter 6
Six
This is war.
She couldn’t stop thinking of what Bàba said.
As Angie left work the next day, a loud splash from behind jolted her, as though a wave had slammed headfirst into a bed of rocks. Her grip tightened around her backpack straps. It sounded like somebody had cannonballed in. Or a boulder had fallen and broken the water’s surface.
Her body was turned toward the dock entrance, but one leg stayed planted, as if she were being pulled in two different directions.
Must be hearing things. She should just go home.
On the other hand, someone could be behind her. Or fell into the water.
The shrubbery behind her crackled and fluttered.
Someone was definitely here, and better she get the jump on them or help them if they were hurt.
Hackles raised, she checked the time on her phone. Twenty minutes until the next ferry came, but if she caught the following ferry, she could still make dinner on time.
Might be a few minutes late, but she’d take her chances.
So much for her plans to go for a quick round of shooting.
Angie reached into her bag, fingers sliding around the roughshod grip on her Glock. She crept toward the source of the sound, sliding the gun out.
She followed a winding pebbled path to where land joined the ocean. Another loud splash, this time directly in front of her.
Angie held her breath and peeked out from behind a white spruce tree, hands shaking.
A man rested face down ahead of her on shore, the lower half of his body in the water. His head was turned away, covered with thick hair reminiscent of ravens’ feathers, and his torso was exposed, sunbeams reflecting off smooth, light olive skin. Angie furrowed her brow.
Who was this man? And why was he topless in forty-five-degree weather?
Must have been drunk and passed out, the only sensible explanation. Angie took one step forward on the graveled ground so she could lean in closer without losing her balance.
Propping himself on his hands, elbows fully extended, the man gawked at her. A lengthy, maroon fishtail flicked up behind him.
Angie staggered back, agape. The merman hadn’t moved. He appeared unarmed, staring at her in return with an equal expression of shock.
She didn’t know what to do. Images and words flashed through her mind. Of the dead merman from earlier. The diver claimed that he had lunged at her. Then, listening to her colleagues on the Odyssey’s screams on the radio as the mer massacred the entire crew. They were all dead.
To her, there was no question about it. The mer were dangerous.
She drew her gun, aiming the barrel between his eyes. Her index finger trembled while inching closer to the trigger.
The merman held up his hands, tail curling to support his lower body.
“Wait, stop!”