“I know none of this is your choice, my sweet sea fairy. But I am here for you. To teach you the ropes. Or to lend a listening ear. I’m just trying to make the best of things, since, right now, there is no changing them.”
He was right.
It was useless to keep bemoaning her fate.
She had to get through this part.
Then she could slowly and methodically dismantle her engagement.
“You’re right,” she said, exhaling hard.
“When am I not?” Monty asked.
“We should get going.”
They’d already wasted too much time. Her mother would not be happy if she was late for the meeting.
“Why is everyone looking at me?” Iris asked, brushing her sun-dried hair off of her neck.
They’d made their way off the beach and were headingtoward the parking lot where their transportation was supposed to be waiting.
“Because you’re a mermaid, darling. Practically the stuff of legend.”
“What are you talking about? There are tons of us.”
“But never on land. And on land, you, my dear, are a ten out of ten.”
Iris had no idea what to say to that, so she turned her attention to the little glass box painted a vivid cerulean blue. “What is a ‘Modesty Box’?” she asked, reading the sign.
“That, my sweet sea fairy, is for the land shifters. They are full of cheap articles of clothing saved from landfills, washed, and stored inside for anyone who accidentally shifted and found themselves suddenly in desperate need of covering. Several shifter nonprofits set them up all around the city.”
There was so much Iris had to learn about the land, so many customs she was in the dark about. There was only so much she could learn from her textbooks, and she had almost no contact with any supernaturals outside of those who lived in the ocean.
“Princess?” a woman called, making Iris’s head whip over. She was tall and lithe, with a cat-like face and long golden-brown hair. Iris wasn’t entirely sure if she was human or another paranormal.
“Yes?” Iris called. A wave of uncertainty washed over her. She’d never really conversed with anyone except for fellow mermaids—and Monty, of course—before. She wasn’t sure how to interact with this stranger.
“My name is Maria. Your mother sent me to escort you. Who is this?” she asked, looking down at Monty.
“Montague Featherington,” Monty answered. “Head of Surface Affairs. It’s a very niche field. Highly specialized.”
If Maria thought a talking pelican was odd, she made no comment on it. Iris couldn’t help but wonder if talking animals were more common on the surface than she’d realized, if this woman seemed so unperturbed about Monty.
“Of course,” Maria said, opening the back door for the two of them to slide inside her car.
“Roomy,” Monty said, wiggling around on the seat.
Iris thought it was quite cramped, when she was used to the vastness of the ocean, but kept her opinions to herself. Once the car started moving, she was too busy trying not to get sick to make any sort of conversation. Not that Monty noticed. He kept a one-sided conversation going the whole drive. Iris stopped trying to listen when he kept throwing out words she didn’t understand.
She watched out the window as more and more cars started to flood the streets. They crossed over a giant bridge, and she watched the water slipping away behind them, replaced by hard, cold, solid concrete.
Her heart sank as her very blood screamed for her to turn back, to go home.
But she couldn’t do that.
They drove over the bridge, and Monty declared—with his usual enthusiasm—that they’d entered The Big Apple!
Though, from what Iris could see, there weren’t any apples anywhere.
