Chapter Sixteen
I didn’t think I’d actually fall asleep when I laid down on Owen’s couch, but having a full belly, feeling utterly relaxed and safe in a way I’d never felt before–sleep came quickly, easily. I dreamt of Owen, his blood seeping into the ocean, with the waves spreading it in a ghastly, horrid, inevitable scene.
But it was just a dream, because when I jolted awake, Owen was sitting right where he had been. He had the sketchbook open, and I knew he was drawing me. I wanted to see what he saw, but it would have to wait. Owen’s shoulders had not yet recovered from my little declaration that I wasn’t staying long.
I had to tell him though. I couldn’t keep this secret from him.
I had to pray that he wouldn’t fall in love.
Every part of me screamed to just sing for him to put him under the siren’s spell. It would be easier–he’d be a hapless, love-drunk fool and follow me easily to the seas .
And yet, I didn’t want to– couldn’t –do that to him. The connection I felt was real, and when the time was right, I’d break his heart so I wouldn’t have to cut it out of him.
He was back in his little kitchen, looking at something on his phone, while he buzzed back and forth. The cookies. He and I were going to make cookies, because he saw me smile this morning over coffee.
“Alright, let’s watch the video on how to do this. It’s been a while since I made any cookies, but it can’t be that hard, right?”
“I’ve never made cookies before, so you will have to teach me.”
“Today is full of firsts, huh? Alrighty, well, let’s start the video so we can make the dough. Then we can watch the one for the icing. That’s the best part.” Owen tapped a few buttons on his phone, but I didn’t pay attention to the video. I watched him instead. I sat at his table while he moved through a space that he created. This kitchen was full of his things–all in shades of blues and greens and whites. Was this why he was chosen? Because he was already half-water?
“Think you can roll them into little balls?” he asked, using a spoon to scoop some of the sticky dough out of the bowl. He rolled it between his hands, the heat from them enough to make the dough even more pliable. Owen placed each little ball on a piece of metal. There were so many things here that I just didn’t know the name or the use for. I didn’t want to touch anything and have him look at me with confusion, like he did with the fork earlier. Of course humans had tools for eating. They created all of these incredible machines and used something other than magic to light their homes–of course they used tools to eat.
How had my people thought them to be so primitive?
“Yep,” I said, pausing a second too long.
“Are you sure you’re okay? I feel bad that I’ve kept you here all day, we can go out instead–”
“I’m quite happy to be right here with you, Owen. And I want to try these cookies. They smell nice.”
He grinned, wide and happy, “Just wait until you taste them. I know that you’ll love them.”
I knew that I would too, because anything he crafted was made from all the love that overwhelmed his human heart. That’s what made the human hearts and souls so precious: the unending, unstoppable flow of love.
The dream–the nightmare–flashed back, and I saw his blood again. He offered me a piece of the dough on his finger for me to taste, I saw him do the same. No blood. He wasn’t bleeding. He was fine.
It was amazing. The lavender tasted just like my coffee this morning, soft and sweet. I loved it. He was right. “You were right, this is amazing.” Owen pumped an arm up in the air, some strange human victory chant.
I stuck my fingers back in the bowl and licked them clean. Owen’s eyes darkened to the color of a summer storm. Those green eyes felt piercing, like he could see all of the secrets I had hidden. Cookies be damned, this dough was enough to make me happy.
“Just wait. The icing will be even better. It’s zesty and lemony. So good.” Owen was the one bouncing now, shifting from foot to foot as he worked on the icing. I didn’t need to do anything; he was so happy to do it all himself. I think Owen needed a reason to make these cookies again, and I gave him the perfect reason. Leaning on my arm, I watched him closely. He skinned the little yellow fruits–he called them lemons–and mixed other things I didn’t know the name of until he was satisfied.
Owen dipped a spoon in the icing and handed it to me. The flavor of it was sweet and tangy with a tart finish that made me want to take another bite of just the icing. With the cookies in the oven now and the smell wafting from them, this day felt surreal. We didn’t have cookies or smells in the ocean. The only scent was whatever was carried on the tides, but that was more a feel than a smell; the change of seasons, the color of the waves, the light, subtle taste of salt.
Scent was my favorite human sense; the others were grand, but breathing in and having my lungs filled with lavender was a pleasure I’d never known in the water.
“Once the cookies cool, we can put the frosting on them. Otherwise it’ll melt.”
“How long will that take? They smell heavenly.”
“Not too much longer.”
Owen’s home was walkable in about half a minute. I strolled to his bedroom, and he followed me. His bed was large and inviting. He had a thick blue blanket on the bed, that surely was too heavy for this weather. Four pillows with coral on them. And a light that was filled with sand and shells.
“I like the light,” I said, walking over to tap the glass.
“Thanks, I made that one. I saw a video online and was bored one weekend.”
“You’re quite creative.” Owen’s cheeks flushed again and he had something white and dusty on his cheek too, making the color even more noticeable. I reached up and wiped the smudge away.
“I know you’re just being nice, but every little compliment you give means the world to me.”
“But you know it’s true, right?”
“Maybe, but just being seen is nice enough.”
Consequences be damned, I pulled Owen to me and kissed him. He was surprised at first as I ran my hands through his hair. I kissed him so his heart would feel it too, pouring as much love into him as he deserved.
I’d have to leave him soon, but soon wasn’t now. It wasn’t this moment, where there was no awful ritual hanging over my head, no relentless loneliness clinging to him like another skin. There was just us. The heat of our bodies, the rush of emotions. Owen’s eyes were damp, and I think he felt it then–the bond we were forming so quickly, too quickly, snapping into place.
My magic begged for me to sing, to bring him under my spell, but I refused. There would be no magic, and when the time was right, I’d tell him the truth. Let him decide, and then turn away forever.
There had to be another way, because there was no force on this planet that would make me hurt this man.
Owen scooped me up, his hands running up my legs, just barely under my dress. An all consuming, warming heat pooled low in my belly, and I wanted Owen to be closer to me. On top of me, inside of me. I wanted the space between us to cease, like the merging of the tides on the shoreline. He sat on the bed with me in his lap, as his mouth explored more and more of my body.
“Merrow, is this okay?” he said, nipping along my collarbones, lower and lower until his head was in line with my heart. My chest was heaving, so I only nodded. My breasts felt heavy as I tried to angle them closer to his mouth, wanting him to taste them too.
Something itched near my hip, at the joint between my leg and hip. It practically burned, but I didn’t want to pull away from him. Owen’s kisses were soft, so very soft, and so close to where I needed his mouth to go–
And the itching was infuriating. I reached to scratch my leg, Owen not stopping his worshipful kisses, and that’s when I felt them.
Scales.
My scales were coming back. There weren’t many–perhaps just two or three, but they were there. I knew the feel of them, and I knew they’d be a shimmering blue if I lifted my dress up high enough to see them. If Owen lifted my dress high enough–
“Owen,” I said, my voice breathy.
“Hmm?”
“W-we should slow down,” I said, and even just suggesting it hurt. Slowing down was the opposite of what I wanted at that moment, but he couldn’t see the scales. Not yet.
“Oh, sorry, yeah–”
“It’s not you,” I rushed to say, pulling him back since he was already retreating. “It’s just fast, right? We’ve really only just met, and I don’t think we should–”
Owen kissed my forehead. “You don’t have to justify your comfort to me.” The breath that I’d been holding came out all at once, and he rolled us to lay on the bed. His scent was all around me then. The bed was more comfortable than I imagined, but perhaps that was because I was cradled in Owen’s arms.
His heart was racing, and I hoped it was from the kisses, not disappointment. What would he say if he tried to make love to me, knowing what I was? What would he feel as he touched me?
Another patch of skin itched on my back, and I tried desperately not to scratch again. More scales. I knew they were there.
“I think I’m going to get going, if that’s alright. Can I see you tomorrow?” I asked, sitting up on one arm, praying my shoulders would shift and scratch the newly formed scales.
“I have to work the afternoon, but we could get together in the morning, or tomorrow night–”
“Tomorrow night then. Come to the Saltwater Sisters Cafe? Will you meet me there?” Hope bubbled in my chest–both that he would say yes, and a prayer that he would say no.
“Sure, I’ll text you when I’m off. Let me show you how you voice-to-text, and how to listen to my messages,” he said. So easily. No fight, no shame in my inability to read his human language.
“Thank you,” I whispered .
“Feel free to keep sending me emojis though. Maybe I can guess what you’re asking?”
“Deal,” I said, kissing him again.
“Do you want me to walk you back to the cafe?”
“No, I’ll be fine.” Owen packaged up a few of the cookies for me and opened his front door to let me leave. It was harder than it should have been to step over that threshold. Everything in me wanted to stay.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said and closed the door behind me before I convinced myself to stay any longer. Every second made it harder and harder. But for now, I needed answers: what was happening with my body? And why were my scales coming back so soon? I wanted to shed these clothes and inspect every inch of my body. I wanted to see how human I still was. The walk through Owen’s building made the blue glint in the light pouring from the windows. I tried to cross my arms, anything to make myself smaller before a human noticed the scales.
It took me longer than it should have to get back to the cafe. I got lost–I think I turned the wrong way coming from Owen’s house and ended up in front of the gallery where Owen had his show. There were still a few of his paintings on the walls, little red tickets on them that I was sure meant that someone had purchased them.
Every little thing in this world seemed to have a price, and that was something hard for me to comprehend. Food not freely given, but exchanged for coins and paper and shiny little cards to be taken even the most basic of things. Owen paid for water. It seemed so utterly ridiculous that humans had to pay for water, the source of life.
After another hour or more of wandering around, the sun started its descent for the evening. I loved the color of this time of the day. The sky seemed to be burning with pinks and reds, and I wanted to touch it. The world on the land was so lovely, so full of color. I saw huesI didn’t have names for, shades I knew that were totally foreign to water below. I wanted to drink them all in, hold them tight to my heart before they were lost to my memories when I returned to the ocean.
The cafe came into view after a few more minutes of walking. My body ached at my joints, like it knew that they shouldn’t be there. Like my legs shouldn’t exist, and should start fusing together only splitting off into my fins. I did miss my fins–they were so lovely, so bright, and I didn’t have to put all of my weight on them all day. I’d heard about the pull of the earth before, but I didn’t understand it until I walked on the land. It pulled me down, trying to force my body to be flat against the earth. Weight was different under the waves; the water pulsed around me, squeezing, crushing, but never just a constant pull.
Dragging myself up the stairs to my small room felt like a monumental task.
The sisters were there waiting for me. “Merrow! You’ve been gone all day! How is it going?” Tia asked. Adara didn’t pepper me with questions, but instead circled around me like a predator, looking for any weakened spots. Serita said nothing at all, and that was perhaps the worst.
“Fine.” I said tersely, until Adara pulled on the back of my dress, and I heard the gasp. They saw the scales too.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
“The tribe’s magic has been weakening for generations. I’m not surprised that you are already returning to the seas,” Serita said. There was no warmth in her voice.
“But–”
“It’s happening to us too,” Adara said.
“We thought it was just us,” Tia said. The three sisters huddled together, Serita’s face a hard mask.
“Until you came to land, the seas never called to us. We made our choices, and the seas accepted it, but now, it remembers. The brine calls us home, but this is our home now. We are happy , Merrow. So, you must get your man to the tides and go home ,” Serita said. Her voice was icy and charged. The bite of each word felt like the throbbing sting from an urchin.
“I’m not going to,” I whispered through trembling lips.
“What?” Tia asked. She looked confused, like I’d been speaking in tongues.
“I can’t hurt him,” I confessed. It felt good to say the words out loud. “Owen… Owen is too kind, too sweet. He doesn’ deserve–”
“And what about your family, Merrow of the White Tides ? Do they deserve the fate you are sealing them to?” Serita spat. She stepped closer to me, grabbing my wrist so tightly it would surely leave a mark.
“There has to be another way–”
“There isn't! Don’t you think we’ve all thought of that by now?” Adara screeched, pulling Serita away from me. My wrist throbbed, and I rubbed at it. The weight of their words finally hit me. They’d walked this path. They’d damned themselves, and likely my tribe too.
“You tried to stop it too?”
“Only Tia. We followed her to the land when she couldn’t–” Adara clamped her mouth shut, shielding Tia from me.
“I damned the three of us, don’t make the same mistakes.”
“But my scales–”
“The seas will try to claim you. You will need to fight your way to stay on land. Is he worth that, Merrow? Are you willing to leave everything behind for this man?”
I didn’t know. How could I make that choice? How did they do it? Words fell flat in my throat, refusing to come up when I tried to say as much, but Serita held her hand up to silence me. It didn’t take much.
“Think about what you are doing, child. Think hard. And don’t fall in love with a damn human,” her words still like ice. Those last few were pointed at Tia, but she said nothing. Did nothing .
“What should I do about the scales?” I asked, feeling the spot on my back begin to itch again.
“Keep them covered. The man can’t see them, he won’t know what to do. And for chrissake don’t pull them out. They will only grow back faster. The ocean knows that you are missing from it, Merrow. Stay away from the water. Stay away from the beach, because you can’t be trusted once the ocean starts singing in your ears.”
With that, Serita ushered her sisters out and slammed my door shut. I stripped out of my clothes to look at the scales, and noticed that another small patch had formed on my belly.
Standing nude in front of the mirror, I inspected this human body. It was so similar to my true form. The lines and curves were familiar, save for the legs. And now more familiarity: the scales.
They looked so lackluster out of the water, like the air stripped away some of their color.
Tomorrow. I would tell Owen tomorrow. Who knew where more scales would come? What would he do if saw them covering my arms, or lower on my legs–any place I couldn’t easily cover with soft, human clothes?
I liked clothes; I liked the feel of the fabric against my skin, and how they gave my body the movement I missed in the water. Perhaps that’s why the sisters wore so many dresses; the full skirts danced with their movements, like fins in the waves. There were several more dresses in the closet that the sisters left for me to wear.
But for now, I slipped a soft shirt over my head to sleep in. My body was exhausted, but my mind was too alert, too awake. I wanted to wait by the window to see if Owen would come, but seeing him again tonight would make it harder for me not to invite him to my bed. Or pray that he invites me to his.
When I finally, finally fell asleep, I dreamt of the waves. I dreamt of Anahita, and her golden hair and skin. Wandering through that sunken ship, seeing her trapped against the cracked boards, struggling to get free. How she healed herself and me. The glow of her magic, so brilliant and strong, wrapped around me like a promise.
Bolting awake, I sat up and knew I needed to find her again.
Anahita.
She was the answer.