Page 24 of She Who Was Once the Sea

So instead, I looked up, mirroring her gaze. There were no visible clouds. "Maybe," I answered quietly, turning my attention away from the sky and back to her face. "Anything is possible."

When she finally turned her eyes back towards the ground, she looked sheepish. "You don’t have to humor me," she said quietly. "I know it won’t."

"Then why ask?"

She sighed. "Because talking about rain is almost as good as feeling it. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt rain on my actual skin. We always have to hide from it when we’re awake."

This seemed like as good an opportunity as any to ask a question that had been bothering me since she began her story.

"How is it that you’re awake now?" I asked. "Not only is it daylight, but tonight isn’t the new moon."

Her eyes darted away from mine, focusing on some distant point further down the street. She opened her mouth once, twice, then again, as if wondering how to answer—or perhaps not knowing how to begin.

"I’ve… made a deal," she spoke as if testing each word one by one.

"A deal?" I prompted. Again, her mouth moved like she was fighting to force it open.

"Yes," she said stiffly. "A deal to—" she broke off, frowning. "To break the curse." She shook her head. "I have a week to—dammit!"

The expletive came so suddenly that I instinctively reached for the hilt of my knife. When I looked back at her, Marella was glaring at me with unmitigated frustration.

"I have a week to figure out a way to break the curse," she said quickly, nearly stumbling over the words. "If I fail… I’m not actually sure what will happen to me, but I assume it won’t be good. My mother made a deal with the Stone Witch, and we never saw her again."

For the second time that day, I found myself acting without thinking.

"How can I help?"

Chapter 12 - Marella

The apartment had south-facing windows and overlooked Piazza Centrale. It was filled with green plants and light from the late afternoon sun. It was sparsely furnished, but there was a soft couch and a separate room with a bed covered in white linen. As I stood on the balcony, arms crossed over my chest, I could watch as crowds of people surged around my family, taking photographs of the fountain and throwing coins into the water at their feet.

If I were to throw a coin, what would I wish for?

"You should be safe here," Garrett was saying as he puttered about in the kitchen, opening cabinets to check their contents, then closing them abruptly again. "This apartment is for visiting family members, but so few of the Fratelli have family that it’s hardly ever used. I’ll make sure no one bothers you."

I wondered if my sisters could see me up here. I’d never really tried to look into the buildings surrounding the square, but perhaps they did? While I was watching the people on the ground, maybe Ordina was watching the balconies.

Sunset wasn’t far away, and I felt myself growing anxious at the prospect, not only because nighttime was regularly difficult for me, but because it marked the end of my first day awake. One entire day had elapsed, and while I’d found my Fratello, I had no idea how to make him fall in love with me.

I searched my memories. Surely there must have been a time when I’d felt love for a man. Lust I could remember with ease—that feeling was as familiar as the thirst with which we suffered each time we awoke.

But love?

Had I ever known what that felt like, let alone how to inspire it in another?

Behind me, Garrett was still talking, narrating the purpose of every piece of the apartment as if I were a child who needed instruction.

And while I did certainly need to be shown the function and purpose of a refrigerator, I wasn’t stupid; a brief overview would have sufficed, as opposed to the fifteen-minute lecture he insisted on providing.

"The tap water should be safe to drink," he said as he lifted a handle on the sink and let the clear, cool liquid run for several seconds. I’d seen it in bars and clubs on nights when I’d woken to hunt, but the concept of running water still boggled my mind. After a few seconds, he shook his head and frowned, then looked at me apologetically. "I’m sorry," he said. "You can’t drink the water, can you?"

I raised my eyebrows. As if on cue, I felt a hot, familiar tickle at the back of my throat. I was thirsty, but not in the way I had grown accustomed to.

"I don’t actually know," I said slowly, staring at the water as it poured from the spout.

Garrett watched me for a moment, then opened a cupboard above the sink, pulling out a tall glass and filling it up to the top. He didn’t approach me, but held out the glass in my direction as an invitation, like he was trying to entice me to him.

A part of me didn’t think that it was worth the risk. If water were still harmful to me, I could end up writhing on the ground in pain as it burned its way down my throat. But as I looked from the glass in his outstretched hand to his face, his wide, optimistic eyes made me want to at least try.