I raked a hand through my wet hair, keeping the other on the leather-clad steering wheel of my Range Rover. I exhaled as the lights of Ruadán’s Port faded, the truck rumbling past the old graveyard and onto the rugged deserted road that clung to the cliff’s edge.
Fresh blood was seeping from the gash Skye had left on my right arm. I’d lost the bandage during my dive and would need to patch it up again.
My headlights danced across the worn road, illuminating the crumbling brick fence on either side as they passed. The beams wavered like a drunk staggering home, still trying to dance to the tunes from the bar.
After fifteen minutes of driving along the clifftop, the headlightstrembled across my stone cottage as I pulled into the yard. I got out and slammed the front door of my wee house shut behind me, blowing out a breath as I took in the space. My space.
I’d refurbished the one-bedroom cottage by hand. Its packed stone walls met a stone floor, and there was a modest kitchen, a hearth set into the wall, and a wooden table with chairs I’d carved by hand.
My breath misted in the cold air as I lit a fire, poured myself a whisky, and sank onto the couch, muscles tense as I rebandaged my arm.
I liked the solace of this place. I spent most days helping my uncle fish or my mom in the bookstore. Not that I didn’t love my family; we were close, the Lugh Sirens.
We knew the blue-blooded oceanic families—like the Neptunus Mer—looked down on us for being half-breeds, for choosing the land over the deep. But that only drew us closer. Family was everything to us, but having this place to call my own was nice—an escape.
I pulled a peeling novel from the small pile on the dusty floor beside the hearth and sipped my whisky. I didn’t have a TV, just a collection of my favorite clothbound classic novels I’d taken from the bookstore:Wuthering Heights,Anna Karenina,The Count of Monte Cristo,Far from the Madding Crowd...
I exhaled, taking another sip of scotch before flicking to my marked page inThe Great Gatsby.
17
Morgana
Asense of pride swept through me as we swam over the plumes from the Therme Skótos heat vents, SSJones’s Ladylooming out of the gloom ahead. I’d controlled my transformation and no longer needed to wake up in my grimy Drowned cabin. Still, a part of me ached because I knew I’d been granted that special room on SSJones’s Ladybecause of my father.
Skye and I alighted on the sand before the doorway of the corroded ship, and her nose scrunched up as she took it in. “Thisis where you’ve been living down here?”
Light from the coral pillars and glowing portholes shone across the scales now covering her body. They glimmered pink when she moved through the water. She didn’t have a tail, she had legs like me, and scales curved over her breasts in the shape of a corset. It seemed her wings only protracted when commanded, and I hadn’t seen them since she’d first revealed herself to us in the lighthouse.
She should have been screaming and crying in her new body, in thisstrange new world, but it was as if she’d bitten back her tears and shut down, letting something inside her harden as we swam. By the time we reached SSJones’s Lady,she was smiling again, her trauma buried somewhere. Yet beneath that smile, I could sense a sadness so deep it was almost a darkness.
I stepped toward the swinging doors of the tavern, light spilling through them and pooling around me on the sand. My hand hesitated at the entrance. “The Drowned are... well, you’ll see.” I sighed and pushed the doors open.
The bar fell silent as we strode inside. I was used to it, but their eyes weren’t on me this time. Every gaze was fixed on Skye. Some of the men’s mouths hung open.
I cast a sideways glance at her full breasts and shapely figure. Instinctively, I stepped closer, eyes darting across the room for any sign of Teachie or Rackham, but neither was in the bar.
Skye emitted a sharp noise of shock as she took in the rest of the unruly Drowned and the anglerfish lights shoved into glass jars on the tables.
“Morgana, welcome back.” The Captain stepped out from behind the bar, his wooden leg thudding through the room as he hobbled over to hand us a bottle of rum.
I sipped the spicy liquid but remained in the doorway, scanning the space for Rory Balfour, my father, as I did every time. As usual, no one had the kind face I had seen in the paper or my grandmother’s photo album.
I spotted Edward playing chess with his friend Daniel at our usual table in the far corner. His eyes lit up when he saw us, and he waved us over. Gripping Skye’s hand, I led her through the eclectic mix of tables toward them.
“Good game, Ed.” Danielgrinned, snatching his military cap from the table and allowing Skye to take his vacated seat. I slipped into the chair on Edward’s other side.
“I say, I’ve never seen a Siren in such close quarters before.” Edward leaned forward, eyes wide with wonder as he took in Skye’s gleaming scales.
“This is my friend Skye,” I said gently. “She’s recentlytransitioned.”
“Is she...? Surely not.” Edward’s brows drew apart, and his eyes widened.
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, she is descended from Agápe.”
“Smashing,” Edward breathed.
“I can’t believe all this.” Skye’s throat bobbed as she scanned the bar.
