“Even after I could no longer walk among humans in their form, yes.” I move closer to her, tentacles flowing across the floor. “It became a repository for my human possessions, my books and charts. A connection to that life.”
She studies me with new curiosity. “You’ve never mentioned it before.”
“It remained irrelevant to our immediate situation.” I gesture toward the kitchen table. “May I?”
At her nod, I retrieve paper and pencil, beginning to sketch a rough map. My captain’s training makes the work precise—coordinates, landmarks, depth measurements near the hidden dock.
“Here,” I indicate a small cove nestled between rocky outcroppings. “Approximately four miles north. The cabin sits back from the water, sheltered by a stand of pine trees. Difficult to spot unless one knows precisely where to look.”
She leans over the map, her hair falling forward to brush the paper. “I know this area. It’s completely undeveloped—most boats avoid it because of the submerged rocks.”
“Precisely why I selected it,” I confirm. “Privacy was essential during my captain days, when I needed sanctuary to shed my magical disguise temporarily.”
My hand moves across the paper, adding details. “The approach by water is treacherous without proper knowledge. These markers here—” I indicate several points, “—will guide a careful navigator safely to the dock. Although I recommend the hiking path instead, long as it may be.”
She takes the map, her fingers brushing against my hand in a touch that seems deliberate. “When would you want me to come?”
The question holds more weight than its simple words suggest. I consider carefully before answering.
“Perhaps… a week from now? Time enough for my complete recovery, and for you to consider whether you truly wish to continue our… acquaintance.”
“Acquaintance,” she repeats, a touch of wryness in her tone. “Is that all this is?”
Heat ripples beneath my skin, no doubt causing visible patterns across my surface. “I lack the appropriate human terminology for whatever this is between us.”
“That makes two of us.” Her smile is small but genuine. “A week, then.”
Outside, the first raindrops begin to patter against the windows as the storm front arrives.
The decision is made. Tonight, I return to the sea. But perhaps not to solitude—not entirely. The possibility of her visit glimmers like a distant lighthouse beam, unexpected and hopeful.
I only wonder if she will truly come, or if she’ll realize how foolish the both of us have been.
Asnightfalls,thestorm strikes with the ferocity I predicted, rain lashing against the windows and wind howling around the lighthouse like a living creature. Conditions that would keep sensible humans indoors—and provide perfect cover for a cthulhu’s departure.
I’ve spent the evening hours gathering my strength, consuming the last of the fish Ashe brought, and carefully removing the stitches from my nearly healed wound. The angry red line has faded to a duller purple—a mark I’ll carry perhaps for months, but no longer a hindrance to movement.
Ashe moves around the small quarters with restless energy, checking the weather readings, adjusting the lamp in the tower via the control panel, occasionally glancing my way when shethinks I’m not looking. There’s a tension between us, heavy with words neither of us quite knows how to voice.
“The tide turns in thirty minutes,” I finally say, breaking the strained silence. “The outgoing current will assist my passage through the harbor channel.”
She nods, her back to me as she stares out the rain-streaked window. “Smart. Conserve your strength.”
“Ashe.” I move closer, the sound of my tentacles on the wooden floor causing her to turn. “I am grateful. For everything.”
She forces a smile. “Just doing what anyone would do.”
“We both know that’s not true.” I extend a tentacle, brushing it lightly against her hand. “Most humans would have left me to die in that boathouse. Or called the authorities. Or worse.”
She sighs, her shoulders dropping slightly as a particularly violent gust shakes the windows. The perfect moment to depart draws closer.
“I should get my rain gear,” she says, moving toward the closet.
“You plan to accompany me?”
She pulls out a heavy yellow slicker and matching hat. “Did you think I was going to let you slink off just like that? I need to make sure you make it to the water safely.” She pauses. “Unless you’d rather go alone?”
“No,” I say, perhaps too quickly. “I’d appreciate your company very much.”
