by C. S. Wilde
Mera stopped to glance back at queen Ariella’s body. “Who knew you’d be right?”
Her mother didn’t reply.
Tears went down Mera’s cheeks as she kept digging. Her movements might be quick, but her body felt heavier with each passing second.
A little longer.
She was nearly done.
Once she was satisfied with the depth of the grave, she took the body by its ankle and dragged it into the hole. It made a hollow, wet sound. Then nothing.
She watched the lifeless queen below, her limbs twisted like broken twigs, her milky eyes glaring at Mera. Odd that the protective magic around Tagrad hadn’t burnt the corpse into ashes. The spell probably didn’t consider a dead waterbreaker a threat.
Wondering why the magic hadn’t started eating her alive, Mera patted her own body.
Soon it would, though. It had to.
She should probably hurry.
“I reject you and what you stand for,” she proclaimed as she dug from the mound on her left back into the hole. Each word Professor Currenter had recited that day jumped to mind, as clear as the waters near the Islands of Fog. “May you stay here until Poseidon returns from the depths of the sea to bring reckoning upon every living creature. May you remain on land, hidden from his sight so he does not find you, so he does not call you to the fight. May you spend eternity in this grave, forever forgotten and in shame.”
She spat into the hole, filling it with dirt while grieving tears strolled down her cheeks.
A smile cut through her lips, though.
Mera was free.
She would die, but she was free.
When she finished, she slammed the back of the shovel on the grave, once, twice. As if making sure her mother could never escape. Sealing the queen in her own disgrace.
She walked back to the beach and stopped at the edge of the water. Throwing the shovel into the waves, she screamed.
Her desperate cry of sorrow carried in the wind, for the friends and family she’d lost. For the home that was forever gone.
She was tired, so very tired, and still she screamed for all the things she’d done; horrid things the grownups from Atlantea had refused to do. Unspeakable things; unforgivable things.
Yes, Mera was just a merling, but her childhood had ended today because of them. Because of her mother, too.
She had saved her people from the mad queen. That had to count for something, and yet, right here, alone and exiled, forgotten underneath the stars, it didn’t.
At all.
Mera fell with her knees on the sand as her legs caved.
Her broken song of sorrow kept bursting from her lips, rippling along the water’s surface, until Mera’s throat felt like raw flesh, and even then, she kept screaming, aching for the ocean to which she could never return, mourning for her own life; the life she’d lost.
The life she never had.
She released one final howl of defeat, so frail it came out as a whimper.
Her end could come now. She was ready.
Where was the magic that would consume her in scorching agony? The pain in her bones and flesh had waned. They said the lack of feeling always preceded the end, that it meant death had taken your hand.
Mera welcomed death’s touch. She couldn’t keep breathing after everything she’d gone through. Her short, miserable existence had to end, please, Gods above and below, she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Poseidon in the trenches,” she begged as she stared into the waves, her voice merely a whisper, “take my soul into its never-ending sleep.”
But he never did.
Chapter 5
Mera dropped her duffel bag on the floor and leaned on the ticket counter. “I’m here to pick up my tickets for the Tir Na Nog Express at three o’clock.” She pushed her ID forward.
The faerie behind the glass, a banshee with oily hair, pale skin, and dark circles around her eyes, took the ID and typed something on the computer. She handed the document back to Mera, watching her with cold indifference. “Ae hak’le finuest. Wu kar mit fae wahnala, pesut.”
Pesut. Human. One of two words she knew in Faeish.
As long as the banshee didn’t call her akritana—literal translation: waterbreaker—Mera was damn fine with being a pesut.
“Lady, my Faeish sucks.”
The banshee rolled her milky irises and pointed to a sign on the wall behind her that read, “Humans must present a written certificate from the Tir Na Nog border agency, or have a fae citizen vouch for them.”
“That’s stupid. Tir Na Nog is a borough of Hollowcliff! There shouldn’t be a border agency in the first place.”
“I do not make rules,” the banshee argued with a heavy accent.
“And I don’t give a rat’s—”
“She’s just doing her job, kitten.” Bast appeared beside Mera.
He flashed the banshee a charming grin that could turn any female’s knees into jelly. “Felenue, ae kachst mat, kuata.”
The banshee smiled rows of razor-sharp teeth that reminded Mera of a shark. She printed two tickets, stamped them, and handed them to Bast.
“Kitas,” he offered, before walking away.
Grabbing her bag, Mera followed him. “Hey, are you giving me my ticket?”
He stopped and turned so abruptly, that she nearly slammed nose-first against his chest. He held the tickets a little too high. “Here you go.”
Ha, tough luck for him. Mera could stand on the tips of her toes like any human—a skill that had taken her a while to master. She snatched her ticket and searched for the big screen that showed the departures and their platforms.
A metallic scent suddenly invaded her nostrils. It was that same magic she’d sensed back at UCH. Again, it flickered in and out of range, as if it was trying to hide but failing miserably.
Mera glanced around, scanning for any supernaturals she could find, but the scent hadn’t come from the group of soccer-mom witches on the left—their magic smelled like strawberries—or the two beefy bloodsucking “bros” who caught her eye, and thought she was flirting with them—theirs was weak and smelled like rotting blood.
“That’s your type?” Bast asked from behind, his breath tickling the curve of her neck. “I thought it was human, blonde, and dumb.”
Mera swiveled on her heels, ready to give him a serious lesson on personal boundaries, but Poseidon in the trenches! He was standing too close. She stared at him, her heart slamming against her ribcage nonstop until she had the courage to step back.
It was either that or having a heart attack.
“First, my type is none of your business,” she warned. “Second, I need coffee, and third, did you find our platform yet?”
“Forty-five A.” He nodded to a nearby coffee stall. “Come on, then. I enjoy coffee as much as any human. Genius concoction, really.”
Clutching the handle of her bag, she followed him, trying to ignore how swiftly he moved underneath that perfectly fitted shirt, and how broad and strong his shoulders were.
Poseidon help her, his butt… her siren urges wanted to bite it or squeeze it. Actually, both.
Mera forced herself to look away as Bast ordered their coffees, noticing how most people glared at him—with a mix of hate and disgust, some with annoyance. It was strange seeing those who had openly accepted her refuse him so heatedly.
Well, they’d only accepted Mera because they thought she was human. If they’d known she was a siren…
‘Waterbreaker,’ the ravenous force inside her whispered. ‘You’re not human, so stop thinking like one. Siren. Mermaid. You’re not these names they have for you.’
Shut up, she told herself.
‘Waterbreaker. Atlantean. Queen. That’s who you are.’
“You have to act and think like one of us,” the Cap’s voice burst in her mind. “Condition yourself to be human in order to become human.”
So, she did.
Nowadays, Mera felt more human than siren. Most of the t
ime, at least.
Bast soon returned with two beige plastic cups with white covers. Mera could smell his roast blend from a mile away. “You prefer your coffee bitter and dark.”
“Like my soul, kitten.” He winked at her as he handed over her cup. “You have a strong sense of smell for a human.”
“Genetics,” she muttered as she busied herself with drinking her mocha.
He took a sip of his own coffee, then observed the clock hanging from the station’s ceiling. “We should head to the platform.”
When they arrived, a black train shaped like a bullet waited for them. It didn’t follow the pattern from the regional trains to the other boroughs—those were white with a red line cutting through their length.
“The hull is made of carbon fiber. Everything has iron in the human world, including the paint you use on your trains.” Bast explained, seeing the question on her face.
Pure iron cancelled magic. It was why fae and witches hated technology, even though most things nowadays were made of steel alloys that had nearly no trace of the element. Iron didn’t affect shifters and vamps at all, though, so they loved technology as much as humans did. In fact, Lycannie was a major hub for hackers.
“Isn’t it just pure iron that hurts you?”
“Yes, but we don’t trust your devices anyway.” He nodded to the train. “Your paint might not steal our powers, but we’re a superstitious kind.”
“That’s silly. Tagrad does everything it can to include you. It’s why products made of pure iron are forbidden, including here in the human borough. Well, except for iron handcuffs, but those are kept for special cases.”
He shrugged, and that was his only argument.
Only then did she notice that Bast didn’t carry any guns.
She patted hers, which was attached to her belt, while a dagger hung from the opposite side in its sheath. Mera sighed in relief. A Clifftown detective needed a gun, or he’d be dead during his first month on duty. Mera’s own weapon had saved her life more times than she could count.
“Is your distaste for iron the reason why you don’t carry guns?” she asked.
“Not exactly. I’ve never been a fan of firearms,” he said simply. “Plus, they’re not a requirement in my precinct.”
“How about swords or daggers?” she pushed. “They’re made of bronze or carbon. Lots of faeries use them and so could you.”
“I could, yes.”
But he didn’t.
“Seriously, Bast,” she huffed in frustration. “How do you defend yourself?”
He wiggled his fingers. “Magic.” Yet, magic was so diverse, so mutable in its nature, that no answer might’ve been better.
As soon as they stepped inside the train, the carts began moving sluggishly across the tracks.
The inside was made of polished mahogany with swirly golden details attached to the surface. The scent of pine coursed through the corridor, and ornate wall lights hung in the space between the windows. This décor vastly differed from the train’s sleek and modern hull, but most Sidhe loved this type of decadent-royal vibe.
She and Bast walked past mostly empty cabins. Some were filled with merchants and their goods. Others, with men in expensive suits—she guessed politicians—while other cabins had groups of women, all of them young and pretty. Some handsome men, too.
‘They do what the fae won’t,’ her siren whispered.
The light courts forbade intercourse with humans, even if that went against the Agreement of Cordiality. Zev Ferris’ murder must’ve been a big middle finger to those racist jerks, especially considering Sara Hyland was carrying his child.
It was not like faeries didn’t break their own law, though. These men and women were in this train, probably because of a horny fae in a high-up place who enjoyed the thrill.
As they passed one of the cabins, a group of women wearing bright colors and short skirts called for Bast. He winked at them, then tilted his head as if tipping an invisible hat.
“Ladies,” he greeted, before continuing on his way.
A pang of annoyance prickled Mera’s chest, but she couldn’t imagine why she felt this way.
He led her to a small cabin with two long padded seats that could pass for beds. Their red velvet surface seemed comfortable and luxurious. The seats faced each other, both with pillows resting near the windows.
Bast placed his duffel bag below the right seat, and Mera pushed hers underneath the left one. She took off her leather jacket and hung it on a small coat rack that was attached to a thin strip of wall next to the cabin’s door.
Sitting down, she put her coffee atop the small table between their seats, and fixed her hair up into a high ponytail. A few russet threads escaped the rubber band and curled over her collarbone.
Across from her, Bast sat, staring at the spot. His focus drifted up toward her chin, landing on her lips. He crossed his legs, as if putting a barrier between them—apparently the table wasn’t enough.
His burning gaze didn’t leave her, however, and Mera would have given anything to find out what he was thinking.
‘He likes what he sees,’ her siren whispered.
“So, do you have wings?” she asked in a pitiful attempt at making small talk.
He blinked out of his trance and set his coffee next to hers. “I might have.”
“Come on. You can’t give me one straight answer?” She shook her head. “Some partner you are.”
“Fine. Yes, I have wings.” He looked out the window. Buildings and streets passed by in a blur of concrete and sharp squares.
Mera narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you sure?”
“They’re hidden by magic.” He chuckled. “You amuse me, kitten.”
“Glad to be of service,” she grumbled as she observed the rushing landscape. “It’s weird that our capital is divided into five boroughs so far from one another, isn’t it?”
He took a sip of his coffee. “I think the distance is what keeps us united. Can you imagine shifters, vamps, witches, fae, and humans crammed into one place? We’d have a war within days.” He was undoubtedly, and absolutely, right. “Besides, fae enjoy keeping to themselves.”
“Yeah,” she snorted. “I heard about the inbreeding in royal houses.”
He raised one finger. “That only happens in the light fae courts. Winter and Night are much more diverse, I assure you,” he explained as if he was defending his honor. After taking a last gulp of his coffee, Bast slammed the empty cup on the table. “How about we get to know each other?”
She frowned. “Why?”
“If we solve this case, we might become long-term partners. And I don’t know much about you. So…”
“Julian is my official partner, and he’ll keep his position once we’re done, I assure you.” Crossing her arms, she leaned back on her padded seat. “Besides, who said I want to get to know you?”
“Everyone does.” He showed her his face and dashing smile as if that was enough, and damned the old gods, her siren agreed. “You do too, kitten. You just don’t say it.”
She snorted but was actually terrified. He’d read right through her, and if he could see that…
“Let’s play a game,” he added, leaning his elbow on the windowsill. “I’ll tell you something about you, and you’ll tell me something about me. Whoever is wrong will owe the other a favor.”
“That sounds awfully like a deal.”
Everyone knew the golden rule: never make deals with a fae.
“Come on. It will be fun.” He drew an X on his chest with his thumb. “I promise no mischief. What do you say?”
She already hated this pointless game, but they didn’t have anything better to do for the next day. Plus, getting a favor from a faerie could eventually come in handy.
“Okay,” she gave in. “You start.”
Bast hunched over his knees and stared at her. “You have a secret.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Everyone does.”
“Oh, it’s a big,
juicy one!” Delight invaded his face. “And it’s not the fact you’re desperately in love with that partner of yours. That’s too obvious.”
An infuriating warmth rose to her cheeks. “I’m not in love with Jules!”
‘Liar, liar, pants on fire,’ her siren crooned.
“Please, don’t embarrass yourself, kitten. No, it’s something else.” He tapped his knees and leaned back. “I’ll find out what it is, sooner or later.”
‘Be my fucking guest,’ her siren countered through gritted teeth, no longer flirtatious and swooning, but hungry for blood.
“Oh yeah, how about you?” Mera pushed. “You are from high birth.”
The more Mera interacted with him, the more she saw it. It was the way he talked, the way he moved, and how offended he’d gotten when she’d mentioned royal inbreeding.
Sure, Bast was night fae, but kind-of-banished royalty was still royalty. She knew that better than anyone.
His eyes widened and he smiled. “I might be.”
“Which begs the question, why are you a detective? Why not eat and fuck your wealth away?”
He watched her for a moment, his blue gaze piercing through her. It made Mera uncomfortable and her siren happy at the same time.
“I suppose I lacked purpose,” he finally admitted, his tone heavy and yet alluring. “So, I enlisted.”
Mera’s instincts told her this wasn’t the whole truth; that there was a mountain of things he kept from her.
“My turn,” he cooed. “You don’t let people in easily.”
“Neither do you.”
He clapped his hands with delight. “Touché!”
She studied him carefully, her fingers tapping on the table. “There’s darkness inside you.”
It was a stupid statement considering he was a nightling, and yet, it hit Bast with the strength of a punch to the gut. The amusement in his eyes vanished, quickly replaced by a deep sadness.
He cleared his throat as he watched his own hands. “Don’t we all have darkness inside us?”
Yes, but not like his. Not like hers, either.
Better not to push.
“Yeah,” she conceded. “You’re right.”
She watched the building blocks and chaos of the city wane into endless grass fields, revealing a peaceful and sunny countryside.
