Chapter Eight
Jackie
It’s been so long since I had a girls’ night out, I have the actual jitters. Like a teenager going to her first party.
It’s pathetic, I know.
But it’s Friday night and I’m going out with Sylvie at the Siren’s Call. I just met her a few weeks ago, but I already know she’s going to be a great friend. And I’m insanely grateful that she managed to drag me out of my rented beach house for this outing.
To think I initially said no!
I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, mascara wand poised midair as I second-guess what I'm doing. I haven't bothered with makeup since my dad got sick. All I’ve had the energy to do for the last five years was care for him. Everything else went out the window.
Yet here I am, carefully applying a second coat to my lashes before reaching for the tinted lip balm I found at the bottom of my toiletry bag.
"This has absolutely nothing to do with the possibility of running into a certain blue-skinned, tentacle-haired harbormaster," I tell my reflection firmly. "Nothing whatsoever."
My reflection doesn't look convinced.
I smooth down the front of my sundress, another item that's seen no use in years, and fluff my hair, which for once isn't trapped in its usual practical bun. The golden waves tumble past my shoulders, and I'm reminded of how long it's been since I've dressed for anything other than practicality.
My phone buzzes with a text from Sylvie
Outside your house! Hurry up or I'm coming in to drag you out!
I smile at the screen and grab my purse before taking one final glance in the mirror.
"It’s just drinks with a coworker," I remind myself. "Nothing to get excited about."
I jog down the stairs to find Chase in the living room, sprawled on my couch with his phone in hand just as the doorbell rings.
“I’ll get it,” I say, but Chase beats me to it.
He pulls the door open and goes completely still and stays silent for a long moment, which, for Chase, is practically unheard of. My little brother never knew when or where to shut up.
Chase finally moves to the side, revealing the pixie on the other side of the door.
Sylvie stands on my porch in a killer outfit: sky-high heels, a flashy purple dress that shows an impressive amount of cleavage, and a smile that can only be described as feral. Her pink wings catch the porch light as she looks past Chase to me.
"Ready?" she says to me.
"Almost," I say.
"Hi. I'm Chase. Jackie's brother."
Chase, having recovered his senses, gives Sylvie his patented boy-band-meets-golden-retriever smile. I stifle a groan. I don’t need my brother to try to get into my new work friend’s panties, thank you very much.
"Sylvie." She gives him a brief, assessing look. "I work with Jackie at the rescue center."
"Sylvie." He tests the name like he's tasting it. "Great name. I was actually just about to head out myself.”
Liar. You were planning on scrolling through your phone and eating chips all night.
I don’t say it, though. I know better.
“Maybe it’s time I explore Saltford Bay a little." Chase’s smile widens, showing an impressive row of perfectly white teeth and an annoyingly adorable dimple.
"No," I say, making a cutting motion with my hand.
"Jax, I'm just saying—"
"No, Chase."
He shifts to the wounded look he's been perfecting since childhood. The one that got him out of trouble every single time.
"Fine.” He rolls his eyes. “Have a wonderful evening. Both of you." His eyes drift back to Sylvie. "Especially you."
Sylvie's wings do one slow, deliberate flutter. I don’t miss the way her grin widens as he holds her gaze.
Shit. I’m going to have to run interference here.
"We'll do our best," Sylvie says sweetly and turns for the car.
I hesitate only a few seconds more, then I’m on the move behind Sylvie. I leave Chase with a hard glare, trying to convey that my friend is definitely off-limits, but all Chase does is wiggle his eyebrows at me.
Count on my brother to make my life difficult.
At least he didn’t ask me for money yet. Small mercies and all that.
I exit the house and climb in Sylvie’s screaming-red compact car.
The drive to The Siren's Call is filled with Sylvie's rapid-fire chatter about the upcoming fundraising gala and how many tickets they've already sold. Her pink wings flutter with excitement as she talks, occasionally lifting her slightly from the passenger seat.
“The mayor's coming, of course, and the werewolf pack has reserved four tables, along with the police department. Since Sheriff Wolfsbane is also the alpha, it’s kind of expected, of course. The Draak dragon clan is already on board. They always come; dragons just love to show off their wealth!”
It’s impressive, really, that ability she has of speaking as fast as the ending of a medical disclaimer ad. She barely takes a moment to breathe in before continuing.
“Ooh, and I convinced Callum to auction off a private swimming lesson with him! The selkie moms are going to lose their minds bidding on that one.”
I smile, letting her enthusiasm wash over me. After weeks of working nonstop and getting my new house in order, it feels good to relax and enjoy myself, though butterflies dance in my stomach at the thought of socializing in my new town.
"So, is the Siren’s Call the popular spot in town?" I ask, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. “The place where everyone just likes to go and chill?”
Sylvie's lavender eyes gleam with mischief.
"By everyone, do you mean a certain grumpy kraken?" Her grin widens as I remain stubbornly mute. "All I can tell you is that the harbormaster does occasionally grace The Siren's Call with his presence on Friday nights. Can’t say anything about tonight, though."
"I was just wondering," I mumble, cheeks heating. “I wasn’t asking about anyone in particular.”
Sylvie chuckles but doesn’t argue. We both know I’m lying through my teeth, so I keep my eyes on the road as she pulls up in the parking lot.
The Siren's Call is a converted sail loft on the waterfront, its weathered exterior illuminated by strings of golden lights.
As we push through the door, the Friday night energy hits me immediately.
A wall of warmth, conversation, and live music spilling from a small stage in the corner invades my senses and I have to stifle my impulse to turn around and run back home.
No. You can do this. This is good for you.
Inside, amber lights cast golden hues on the wide-plank floor and exposed beams. The bar itself is a masterpiece.
Sylvie informs me that it’s a massive slab of polished oak salvaged from a shipwreck.
The space is packed with both humans and Others, just like the population of Saltford Bay.
I spot mermaids with webbed hands at the bar, a group of trolls playing darts, the iridescent shine of werewolf eyes in a corner and selkies singing in a corner booth.
Here and there, humans mix with the crowd.
A great crowd, for a great night out, I decide, pushing down the knot in my throat.
"Come on!" Sylvie tugs my arm, navigating through the crowd with confidence. "Zinnia! Hey, Zinnia! This is Jackie, our new wildlife rehabilitator!"
A statuesque Dryad woman with bark-like skin and flowering vines for hair smiles warmly. "Welcome to Saltford! How are you liking our little town?"
"It's lovely," I say, meaning it. "Everyone's been so welcoming."
Before I can say another word, Sylvie is dragging me to another group, then another.
By the time we secure a small table with a view of both the bar and harbor, I've met more locals than I can possibly remember: a barista who's part djinn and doubles down as a yoga instructor, the lighthouse keeper's grandson who's studying marine biology, a pair of woodland fairies who run the bookstore on Main Street.
I feel both excited to belong and slightly overwhelmed as a newcomer. And yes, I'm absolutely scanning the room for a certain tall figure, though I pretend I'm just taking in the ambiance.
"He's not here yet," Sylvie says, eyes twinkling as she flags down a server.
"I don't know who you're talking about," I lie.
"Sure you don't."
The server arrives, a gorgeous orc woman who looks like she could deadlift our table with both Sylvie and me sitting on it. I don’t miss the way Sylvie’s smile brightens as she greets her or how she leans in at her joke, exposing even more cleavage.
Clever girl. And good taste, too.
If only I was interested in anyone else other than a grump with glow-in-the-dark tentacles.
I let Sylvie order us cocktails since I have no idea of what actually tastes good. Names fly from her bright-pink lips and I catch a Selkie's Kiss for me and a Mermaid Tears for herself.
Whatever those are, I hope they’re fruity and sweet.
A few minutes later, our drinks arrive. Mine is a shimmering blue concoction garnished with a sugar-crusted tentacle of kelp.
Sylvie’s is a color-changing liquid going from purple to lime green, in a tall, fluted glass.
After another short and not-so-subtle flirtation with our orc waitress, Sylvie raises her glass to me for a toast.
"To new beginnings and interesting entanglements," she says with deliberate emphasis on the last word.
I clink my glass against hers, rolling my eyes but unable to suppress a smile. The drink tastes like blueberries and sea salt with a surprising kick of ginger. Strange but oddly compelling.
The conversation flows easily. We discuss work, Rumple's progress (he's gained almost six pounds now), and the upcoming fundraising gala. Sylvie insists I need a proper dress for the occasion and volunteers to take me shopping.