With that cryptic statement, she glides out of the diner, leaving me with more questions than answers. What a strange woman. I stare after her for a long moment, then gather my things to go.
As I step out into the afternoon sun, I spot Conall – the big man who’d manned the grill at the clam bake – in what appears to be a heated discussion with a woman across the street. She looks to be in her forties, her light brown hair flowing loose around her shoulders, dressed in a flowing skirt and jangling bangles that suit the town’s bohemian vibe. Conall emphaticallyslashes his hand through the air and turns away from her, stomping in my direction. There’s a snarl on his face, and for a moment, something about his features looks strange – maybe it’s the way the shadows fall – but his face seems sharper, more angular, and almost predatory. I blink in surprise, and when I look again, his face is normal, though still twisted with irritation.
I rub my eyes, wondering if the morning spent hunched over my sketchbook is making me see things. Heather’s voice echoes in my head, nagging me about eye strain, proper lighting, and the importance of taking breaks. Maybe she has a point – I’m starting to doubt my eyes.
Children’s laughter draws my attention to the park across the street. A massive white dog bounds through the grass, wings attached to its harness fluttering with each leap. At first glance, it looks like an all-white husky, but it’s nearly the size of an Irish Wolfhound – I’ve never seen a husky even close to that big. The huge creature is playing a game of tag with the kids; it dances and weaves through the children’s grasping hands as they shriek with delight and give chase. Each time they think they’ve caught it, it spins away with an agility that seems unbelievable for its size, earning delighted shrieks from its pursuers.
I shake my head at my fanciful imagination as I walk to my car. Lublin Harbor is a very strange town, but I suppose most small towns are, each with their own peculiar charm.
Glancing at my phone, I see it’s already mid-afternoon. Levi will be done with the fishing boats soon.
My heart lifts at the thought of seeing him, but Koko’s parting words echo in my mind. Impossible things. It makes me think of the kraken. As I walk back to my car, I wonder if I have time to take the kayak out and look for my kraken before Levi returns.
The answer to that question comes up as I’m unlocking my car door. My phone buzzes with a text from him: “Dinner later?”
I smile at my phone, typing back a quick “Yes!”
His response comes quickly: “Can’t wait. Pick you up at 7?”
I give a thumbs up, then toss my phone onto the passenger seat. The rest of the afternoon stretches before me, empty hours until I see him again. Maybe I’ll work on that kraken drawing some more.
Looking out at the harbor, at this place that increasingly feels less like a vacation spot and more like something out of a fairy tale, I wonder what other impossible things might be waiting for me to be ready to accept them.
The thought should frighten me. Instead, I feel a thrill of anticipation. After all, I’ve already been saved by a kraken and fallen for a man who seems to belong to the sea itself. How much more impossible could things get?
As if in answer, a flash of movement in the water catches my eye, gone too quickly to identify. I don’t get that familiar electric feeling, but it makes me think of my kraken all the same. I smile, deciding to skip working on my drawing.
CHAPTER 22
Levi
Captain Mike leans over the starboard rail, waving down at the water. “That’s enough for today! The hold is full,” he calls out. “Thanks for the help!”
I rise out of the water, scaling the boat’s side, my form shifting as I climb. Even after years of practice, the transformation to my human form still occasionally feels foreign – tentacles condensing into limbs, my sets of gills sealing shut as lungs expand in my chest, my massive body contracting into human proportions. When I lived in the kraken domain, no one used their human form if they could help it. It was considered lesser – primitive. Why constrain yourself to two arms and legs when you could exist in your kraken form, powerful and free in the endless deep? Having spent most of my life before arriving in Lublin Harbor in my kraken form, exploring the bottom of countless oceans, this human shape occasionally feels like an ill-fitting suit. I was taught from childhood to be ashamed of my human heritage, to view it as a weakness that tainted the kraken bloodline. Since accepting sanctuary with Koko, I’mlearning to appreciate both halves of myself. There’s a certain freedom in walking among humans, in experiencing life through different eyes. It’s been a slow process, unlearning generations of prejudice, but I’m beginning to understand that my dual nature isn’t a flaw – it’s a gift.
By the time I clear the rail, I’m fully human again, water streaming off skin that sometimes still expects to feel the pressure of the deep rather than the kiss of air.
Mike tosses me a towel and my shorts with practiced ease. We’ve got our routine down after years of working together. “Good haul today,” he says as I slip my shorts over my hips.
I grin, heading to the cockpit to grab my phone as Mike steers us back toward the marina while his crew works to secure the gear. The screen lights up with several notifications, but I only care about sending one message. “Dinner later?” I text Rose.
Her response comes quickly: “Yes!”
“Can’t wait. Pick you up at 7?”
A thumbs-up emoji appears, making me smile. After helping Mike dock the boat, I return to my houseboat to clean up. Rose’s deck is empty when I glance over, which is unusual for this time of day. I pull out my phone, thumb hovering over her name. With hours to go until our date, I’m tempted to text and see what she’s up to, but I force myself to put the phone away. The last thing I want is to come across as desperate, even if I am counting the minutes until I see her again. I’m about to step into the shower when my phone rings – Koko’s name flashing on the screen.
“Hey,” I answer, already knowing this isn’t a social call.
“Sorry to bother you,” she says, getting straight to the point. “Could you check on the nereid pod? Haven’t seen them since that storm Perun stirred up. They’re just outside my territory so I can’t feel them and I’m a bit worried.”
“Of course,” I agree. The pod of sea nymphs arrived in the town a few years before I did, driven away from their home by human encroachment. Nereids are the daughters of ancient Mediterranean ocean gods who were known to protect sailors and fishermen. Now that I think about it, a few are usually around when I’m helping the fishing boats, but I didn’t see them earlier.
Most humans mistake nereids for seals when they spot them playing in the waves, but there’s no mistaking their true nature up close – the otherworldly grace, the ancient intelligence in their eyes, their ability to calm or stir the waters with a thought. It’s a reasonable concern that the storm’s unnatural magic might have upset these sensitive creatures.
I’m back in the water minutes later, my kraken form cutting effortlessly through the deeper channels. The nereids aren’t hard to find – I locate the entire pod congregated near the continental shelf, pursuing a school of fish they’d been hunting, appearing unaffected by the recent magical turbulence.
As I swim back into the marina, I spot a familiar figure on her deck – Rose, sitting in her usual spot with her feet dangling in the water, sketchpad balanced on her lap. I can’t resist swimming closer, and just like every other time, she seems to sense my presence.
