Page 5 of She Who Was Once the Sea

Just like my mother, we were frozen in space, aware of the passing time, but unable to move or interact with it.

When the humans did catch up to us, they first tried to break us down. They came at us with hammers and chisels, axes and swords. But whatever material the Stone Witch had crafted us from was sturdy, and we held firm.

After several days, they decided that we were no longer a threat to them.

After several years, they had all but forgotten how we’d come to be there in the first place.

And after several centuries, we were nothing more than decoration, a tourist destination, a place where parents took their children to look at our faces and shout in mock-horror.

We became part of the backbone of the city.

Never mind that we discovered the ability to move on the night of each new moon. Never mind that when we woke, we did so with a thirst that was more of a threat to humans than anything we’d been before. Human memories were short, and our hatred was fuel enough for stealth.

We became something more than humans, more than merfolk, forged from stone and thirsty for revenge.

And we remained such for so long that I can barely remember being anything other than this: a night-stalking creature made of hunger.

But thirst was never going to be enough to drive us forever. We needed something more.

And so, every month, when we woke in the dark to hunt humans for sustenance, I left my family behind and searched for the Stone Witch.

I never found her.

Chapter 1 - Garrett

Iknew from pictures that Rossaia would be a built-up maze of densely populated stone buildings and cobblestone streets. But nothing could have prepared me for how lifeless the city felt. When I stepped out of the train at the central station, I was immediately greeted by the mingling smells of piss and sweat and the swell of hundreds of bodies pressing together. There was no gate between the station and the city, and I couldn’t help but notice that it would be all too easy for passersby to simply veer to one side, step onto the train, and leave without so much as showing a ticket.

And I wouldn’t blame them.

The station was situated on a small hill overlooking the city—not high enough for a picturesque view, but enough to see the labyrinthine network of streets carved through yellow, pink, and orange stonework buildings. From here, it almost looked like those buildings were leaning towards one another, threatening to swallow the streets entirely.

Everything cast a shadow. Everything was stone and brick and concrete and glass. And everything stank.

Scanning the crowd for my escort, I pulled a small red handkerchief from my pocket and pressed it against my mouth and nose, breathing in the familiar smell of my own body.

"You’ll get used to it."

The voice came from somewhere behind my left elbow, causing me to gasp so sharply that I nearly inhaled the handkerchief.

When I turned, I was greeted by a wry smile and a raised eyebrow on a face lined with decades of crags and valleys. He wore a long, black robe with red trim and a red cap atop what was left of his thin, graying hair. Around him, the crowd parted, eyeing his clothes warily. The Fratelli were not exactly strangers to the city, but visitors unfamiliar with their work were bound to be surprised by their presence.

"Brother Lucas, I presume?" I finally asked when it became clear he wasn’t going to introduce himself.

He spread his arms slightly and took a mocking bow. "The one and only." He winked. "And you must be Garrett."

"The one and only," I answered, nodding my head.

"You’ll get used to it," he repeated, turning from me and nodding out towards the sprawling mess of a city before us.

"The smell?"

He smirked. "The crowds," he corrected. "I’m not sure what smell you’re talking about. Follow me."

His robes swirled around his ankles as he started forward, not once glancing behind him to ensure I was following.

For a moment, I debated not doing exactly that. The train behind me still hadn’t left the station. If I turned around and jumped back on, I could continue all the way to the Adriatic Sea, turning this early mid-life crisis into a simple vacation instead. After a week on the Italian coast, I could be back in Chicago before my old apartment was rented out.

Turn around. A small, loud part of me whispered. No one would know.