Proper protocol has been followed and a wellness check on Ms. Ortega was performed immediately after receiving her report. It is the opinion of the BIAR’s resident psychologist and myself that she and her mate, a merman known as Emory, are of sound mind. Their mating appears to be as genuine as any elvish pairing. I believe, based on the evidence provided, as well as our agency’s last census of the merfolk population, that her suggestion holds great merit.
I would be greatly honored to receive your input on the agency’s next steps, which Ms. Ortega has helpfully already labeled as the Mating Initiative. I would also humbly request two things on behalf of Ms. Ortega: a “birthing pool” to be installed in her home at the earliest opportunity and a raise.
Sincerely,
Franklin Hauf
Supervisor of the Bureau of Interbeing Affairs and Regulation
Ext. 617
821 Sutter St.
San Francisco, EVP
Epilogue II
September 2050 - Demon’s Tooth, Farallon Islands, The Elvish Protectorate
The trip toDemon’s Tooth was a rough one. They’d been warned, of course, and it wasn’t like Clark was new to afternoons on a boat, but the water around the Farallones was a churning mass of potential sea sickness.
Nelly seemed to handle it a bit better than he did, but she always seemed to have a stronger constitution than him. He credited it to all the years of growing up in the woods. She said it was because she wasn’t a big orcish baby.
Whatever the reason, by the time their chartered boat extended a narrow steel walkway onto a barely-there jut of rock extending from the pebbled shore, he’d long since said goodbye to the delicious breakfast they’d shared at their hotel that morning.
“C’mon, cowboy,” his mate gently cajoled as she guided him onto the rocks.
“Did the captain really say this was a calm day?” He swallowed the acidic tang of bile that clung to the back of his throat. The skin of his face and neck was clammy. He felt rubber-legged and weak as the baby they’d come all this way to see.
Nelly dexterously guided them around pockmarks in the stone, full of saltwater, sand, and sealife, while he clutched the handle of the only piece of hot pink luggage they hadn’t shipped ahead of time. The rock gradually widened as it neared what passed for a beach, but it was barely a foot above the frothing churn of the waves. Water splashed over his boots more than once as they picked their way toward shore, where a slim, familiar figure stood waiting.
“Em says that it’s not so bad if you’re below the waves.” His mate gave his lower back a soothing stroke. “But yeah, the sea is really rough around the islands. That’s why no one else lives here. Hopefully it won’t be so bad on our return trip.”
The thought of having to get back on a boat for the return journey in a week’s time made his stomach shrivel up on itself. “Can we just take one of those fancy m-gates next time?”
Nelly offered him a sympathetic look. “Sorry, cowboy. Em says those are for government or emergency use only.”
Clark could only sigh. Of course they were. Elves were stingy with that sort of thing, and he couldn’t forget he was in elvish territory. Not that he was liable to, really. In the twenty-four hours he’d spent in San Francisco, Clark had seen more jewel-toned elves strolling down the oddly bouncy sidewalks than he had in his entire life.
Just before they prepared to hop off the rock and onto the shore, he leaned down to ask, “Sugar, let’s not tell the merman I puked on the way in, okay? I want him to think I’m tough.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“Me too!”
“Damn,” he muttered, finally looking up from his boots to see his sister-in-law standing a few feet away, her arms crossed and her expression a purely Ortega look of amusement.
His mate broke away from him to throw her arms around Clementine’s shoulders with a guttural cry of delight. Clark stood there, watching with bemusement, as they did a funny little spin on the gritty shore, making noises that weren’t really words but contained a wealth of meaning regardless.
Clementine clung to her sister, her arms slung tight around her waist, and pressed her forehead into the slope of Nelly’s shoulder. No pleasantries were exchanged. Not aloud, anyway.
He could feel the prickle of magic, though. Nelly’s energy coursed through him. He always felt a little twinge, like the memory of a tickle, when she spoke with her sister telepathically. Standing so close to them, he felt it more acutely than ever before. They were speaking through the singular bond they shared, sharing things only sisters could, and his chest ached watching them bask in one another.
Giving them a bit of space, he cautiously stepped off the rock and a little ways away. Dropping their small overnight suitcase on the ground where it wouldn’t be swept away by a rogue wave, he peeled his cowboy hat off his head, hoping the breeze would help dry his clammy skin.
Damn pretty island,he thought, a little begrudgingly, as he peered up at the grassy slope and the ruins of the old lighthouse. Seabirds circled overhead and somewhere in the distance, seals barked over the sounds of crashing waves. The scent of brine hung heavy in the air. Every breath took a little more effort than he was used to, but each one felt a little morealive,too.
It was awe-inspiring. Stark but beautiful. He couldn’t say he preferred it over lush greenery, horses grazing happily in a pasture, or the pastel shapes of mountains in the distance, but it was sure nice in its own way.
