Page 10 of She Who Was Once the Sea

Slowly, the crowd began to dissipate, and Lucas made his way back to me.

"‘Our city?’" He repeated back to me with a laugh once we were once again side-by-side. "Are we the mafia now?"

I shrugged. "It just sort of came out. Honestly, I was inspired by your deep, dangerous voice. Where did that come from?"

"Practice," he answered. "We have to deal with a surprising amount of assholes in this job. All we can do is look intimidating and project authority."

"Does this happen more or less often than doing our actual jobs?" I asked, lowering my voice so as not to draw even more attention our way.

"Unfortunately, situations like this are significantly more common," Lucas sighed. "You’ll fight rowdy tourists far more often than you’ll encounter any ancient monsters." He must have seen me deflate because he nudged me with an elbow and grinned. "Don’t worry," he said. "Once you meet one, you’ll be grateful that the majority of your time is occupied by obnoxious Americans. The alternative, while more satisfying, is far less fun. Trust me."

"How many have you… encountered?" I asked, lowering my voice even more.

Lucas’s lips curled up. "Americans? Are we including you?"

I shoved him. "No. Not Americans."

His playful smile fell quickly, as if pulled down by fishhooks. "Once," he answered solemnly. "And it wasn’t pretty. I mean, they’re all pretty. Like I said, they’re basically all beautiful women. But it wasn’t… a pleasant experience. Not everyone who faces them walks away. And I got very lucky."

He trailed off and stared ahead as we walked, and I took that as a sign that he was done speaking on the subject. It wasn’t long before we stepped out of the piazza into another narrow street, and I sighed as the shadows from the surrounding buildings pulled us into their cool embrace.

I never expected to feel so happy to escape the light.

Chapter 4 - Marella

Once upon a time, the moon called us in like the tide. It pulled us to the surface and danced across our skin. The moon was second only to water in its ability to sustain us.

It made sense that the witch cursed us to live only when its face was completely hidden. Every month, without fail, we felt it slip away into the blackness of space. Only when it was completely erased could we move again.

I usually woke up first, and this month was no exception. It always began with a prickling sensation in my toes, thousands of needles plunging into my skin. I slowly began squeezing them against the pads of my feet, then rotating my ankles, slowly moving and stretching as the concrete fell from my skin before I was finally free, standing with my sisters, clothed in fabric that shifted month-to-month, staring at the still-present stone sarcophagi to which we’d soon return. Across the city, I knew that more of us, representatives from other families who had chosen to stay and fight, were also waking up.

I was never sure how the witch had glamoured the fountain to hide our monthly resurrection from the humans milling about the square, but none of them ever seemed to pay attention to our sudden appearance. On occasion, a small child, or sometimes a dog, would look my way, and their eyes would widen in fear and confusion for half a moment.

But it was always fleeting, a glimpse of recognition that disappeared before they once again forgot us.

I didn’t wait for my whole family to wake up this time. As soon as the stiffness left my bones, I started striding away from the square, following the same path I’d seen the men take as they stumbled away the day before.

It had been more than satisfying to see them leave with their tails tucked between their legs. So satisfying that, for a brief moment, I let myself forget that the human who came to my rescue was one of the Fratelli. Instead of the robes, I saw a nervous but brave man, voice strained from the effort of staying steady, blue eyes blazing with a need to prove himself to his older companion.

The brief swell of affection made my stomach churn.

"Marella!" a voice behind me called. I contemplated ignoring her—I was faster and nimbler than my older sister, and she wouldn’t be able to catch me if I were to slip into the shadows and run away.

But she was drawing attention to herself as she ran across the square, so I stopped and turned to face her, crossing my arms over my chest.

"What, Ordina?" I snapped when she was close enough to whisper. Her white-blonde hair shimmered in the low lights of the square, and I rolled my eyes as men and women alike tried—and failed—not to stare at her. She was the inverse of me in almost every way, bright where I was dark, wiry where I was full. My black hair had appeared cropped to my chin one night around thirty years ago, and it had never grown long again.

Ordina reached out to grab my hand with both of hers. "You’re not going to go looking for them, are you?"

I stared at her flatly.

"Marella, don’t be stupid," she hissed. "You won’t find them. And if you do, there are five of them, and one of you."

"They don’t always move in packs, Ordina." I pulled my hand from her grasp.

"On vacation, they tend to."

"I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it."