Welcome to Castle Cove

by Kory M. Shrum

  “Thanks for the ride,” I say, slipping out of his jacket.

  I wrap my hand around the door handle.

  “I owe you an explanation and an apology,” he says.

  I pause, fingers still on the handle.

  Choice 43

  Listen to his explanation

  Get out of the car

  Listen to his explanation.

  “I’m listening.”

  The heater continues to blow warm air across my arms and face. The car is cozy, and a shroud of sleepiness wraps itself around me. But it isn’t enough to fully suppress my curiosity.

  Spencer considers the dark street for a moment, looking out over the illuminated pavement, his hands on the steering wheel. I can tell he’s gathering himself or considering where to start his explanation.

  I know that face, unfortunately. The pursed lips, the cocked head. He’s trying to figure out how to tell me the truth. It’s the face Greg wore before he dumped me.

  Spencer taps the steering wheel nervously. “I misjudged you. I made some assumptions, when you got hired, that were, as I obviously see now, wrong.”

  The muscles in my back stiffen. I can only imagine what kind of assumptions. That I slept with Ethan for the job? Or hell, with Laura?

  I’m not sure I want to know what the assumptions are and yet I hear myself saying, “What do you mean?”

  “I thought you were one of them.” Spencer meets my gaze. “You showed up out of nowhere and were given one of Ethan’s very own accounts. In a place as clannish as Castle Cove, that doesn’t just happen.”

  A torrent of questions swarmed the forefront of my mind. I don’t even know where to start. One of them?

  The question that falls out of my mouth is. “I didn’t come out of nowhere. I’m from Baltimore.”

  He laughs. A sudden sharp sound. “I know. I checked you out. And I started to think that if you were one of them, you were very young. Hell, maybe you were an accident and they brought you here to protect you until you came into your own. They’re very protective of their own. They might speak of treating humans as equals, but when it comes down to it, they choose their own every time.”

  “Spencer—” I want to slow him down. Some much of what he is saying is nonsense. But Spencer is talking as much to himself as me now.

  “Then tonight, I saw you with those guys. And I realized that you have no fucking clue what’s going on.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He runs his hands through his hair. “I know. The only way I know how to make this perfectly clear is to show you.”

  I find my fingers closing on the handle again.

  “I can give you a tour, I guess you could call it and show you the real Castle Cove. Maybe then you’ll stop looking at me like I’m crazy.”

  Too late, man.

  “You deserve to know the truth about this town and what you’re up against. If you’re going to live here, be human here. You have to do it with eyes wide open.”

  Those brilliant blue eyes meet mine again. I realize he’s been careful to keep his hands on his side of the car, on the steering wheel even except for the occasional brush of his hair.

  “But I won’t force the truth on you. It’s up to you.”

  Choice 44

  I want to know the truth

  Get out of the car

  Get out of the car.

  “I’m really tired,” I say, forcing a smile. I hate myself a little for feeling like I have to have a reason to get away from this crazy person at all.

  “You’ll regret it,” he says.

  I search his face, looking for anger or fury. But it’s a mask of cold detachment.

  “Are you threatening me?” I ask, my own anger rising.

  “I’m not the one you have to worry about. I understand you have no reason to trust me, but you’ll wish you had.”

  Fuck you, I think. You self-important prick.

  I throw open the car door and march toward my apartment building. I slip inside, mount the stairs, and fish out my keys. Once inside, I turn on my apartment light and lock the door behind me. I creep from room to room, impulsively checking closets and under beds. I even pull back the shower curtain. The cat only pauses in washing his paws to regard his owner’s weird habits.

  There is no one hiding in my apartment. Unless they’re hiding in some hidden cubby, or behind a fake wall.

  God, why did I have to think of that? Why did I have to imagine a wall of my house pulling away from its frame and a dark shape emerging into my bedroom while I slept? I shudder.

  I curse under my breath and check the balcony one more time. Then the street below. It’s vacant—no sign of Spencer’s red sedan. I hope he took off as soon as he saw my light come on, and isn’t hanging around, ready to sneak in once I fall asleep.

  I dial the number of the bar and get another woman—not Kristine—who has apparently left early. I tell the other woman I’m home safe, as if she gives a damn, and to thank Kristine for me.

  Then I fall asleep on top of my sheets with all my clothes still on.

  I wake to a soft paw batting my nose.

  “Meow.”

  A tinge of claws.

  “Meow.”

  I pry my eyes open against the sunlight streaming in. This is all the encouragement that the cat needs. He climbs onto my chest and proceeds to rub his head and ears against my face until I’m gasping. I swat him away.

  I sit up and check the time. Almost 10:30. I’m surprised he let me sleep this long.

  “Okay, okay,” I say and throw back the covers. He’s already jumped off the bed and is galloping down the hall. He leaps up onto the island barstool and then the countertop before I can get the plastic container of his food down off the fridge.

  Only a small circle of the bowl is exposed—of course—but I give him his morning scoop anyway. I’ve learned that simply shaking the bowl to cover the thin patch sends him into hysterics.

  I check my phone to see the time and see that I have a voicemail.

  I play the message while dragging myself from the sofa so that the damn cat will leave me be.

  It’s Katie. Her voice is hushed and frightened and I have to restart the message to make sure I understand what she is saying.

  “Baltimore. Oh Christ, Baltimore. Help me. I shouldn’t have left Alpha’s with them, but how the hell was I supposed to know they were vampires?! Honest-to-god freaking monsters. I don’t know where they’re taking me. They’ve got me in a trunk and—”

  “What the fuck,” a man cuts in. “I thought you took her phone.”

  A scream cuts off the message. Katie’s scream.

  The hair on the back of my neck is standing straight up. I listen to it two more times, feeling sick over my pounding heart.

  Then I hang up and call Katie. Fingers crossed she was drunk, in a bad situation but is home safe now with a hellacious hangover.

  But the call goes straight to her voicemail. Damn. I leave a voicemail anyway, sounding like a hand-wringing mother no doubt. I could drive to Alpha’s and see if she came back for her car. Or I can go by her place.

  Choice 45

  Go by Katie’s apartment

  Go by Alpha’s

  I want to know the truth.

  If I’m going to spend the night driving around Castle Cove on this tour, I’m going to need a pick me up.

  “Can we get coffee first?” I ask, reaching behind me to refasten my seatbelt.

  A lopsided smile seizes his face. “Yes. You’ll probably want it by the water anyway. I’m sure it’ll be colder down there.”

  “As long as you aren’t taking me to the cove, so you can drown me and leave my body to be dashed against the rocks,” I say.

  His face lights up with excitement. Hopefully at the thought of me coming along, not of murdering me…

  He throws open his door and walks around to the back of the red sedan. He opens the trunk, the door lifting overhead. The car dings incessantl
y alerting us that the driver’s door has been left open and the door itself with its illuminated entry lights highlight the cobblestone sidewalk.

  Spencer is oblivious to all of this as he rustles through a cardboard box, that scratchy sound of compressed fibers unmistakable. “Perfect.”

  He slams the trunk and climbs back into the driver’s seat.

  He’s holding a pair of earmuffs. Giant earmuffs.

  “It won’t be that cold,” I say. “Will it?”

  “You’ll understand when we get there.” He tosses the jacket into the backseat with the earmuffs. The heater is still on full blast and the car is downright cozy as I settle into the seat.

  We lapse into silence on the way to the coffee shop. When we pull up at The Magic Bean just after midnight, I order a large caramel macchiato and Spencer gets a large black coffee, no sugar, two creams.

  “I’ve been thinking about the best way to break this to you,” he says.

  And again I find myself tensing, expecting the worst.

  “Whatever I show you first will make the rest easier. It just makes sense that you’ll have an easier time accepting the rest if the first piece of evidence is so undeniable.”

  I’m not sure how I feel about this plan. “Nothing too shocking,” I suggest.

  I don’t think he hears me.

  My coffee is warm between my palms and the soft lights of Castle Cove make the city seem unusually alive. It’s so sleepy during the day. But it feels as busy as Baltimore once the sun dips behind the horizon, even though it can’t be more than a third its size.

  “So we’ll start at the cove,” he says. He actually sounds excited. “Midnight during the waxing moon is a great time to see the sirens.”

  I imagine a lighthouse-type structure on the edge of the rocky cliffs which plays loud, annoying siren sounds meant to guide boats. I haven’t seen many boats on the water since I moved here, but it’s pretty early in the year. Boating is a summer thing, or so I remember from the marina back home.

  Spencer takes side streets out of town to Canyon Road. Once on Canyon Road, it’s only beautiful ocean views as far as the eye can see. The waves shimmer in the moonlight. The moon herself is half full and swelling in the dark blue sky. Absolutely gorgeous.

  Once the road curves about a mile outside of town, about a half mile from the Heights, Spencer pulls over. He puts his coffee in the holder between the radio dials and gear shift and reaches into the back for the jacket and earmuffs. He offers me the jacket. I take it, setting my coffee down long enough to slip my arms through.

  He leans across my lap with polite apologies and opens the glovebox. He pulls out a flashlight, black metal, from a pile of documents, presumably the owner’s manual and registration.

  “There’s a path here that leads down to the beach. It’s a little steep but we can do it. I’m not sure you’ll want to bring the coffee. You’ll want both hands to make sure you don’t fall. But it should still be warm when we get back. We won’t linger.”

  “We won’t linger,” I repeat, slipping my paper cup into the remaining empty holder.

  With the earmuffs and flashlight in hand, he gets out. I exit, following him across the dark road without a single car in sight. It looks like the action remains in town.

  There’s a soft patch of grass that leans toward a large boulder. Spencer shines the light on the ground beside it. The ground slopes, a mixture of jutting gray rock, brush, and sand offers traction.

  He keeps his light trained on the path, puts the earmuffs around his neck and waves me forward.

  We slowly descend the path to the looming beach below until our feet find pure sand.

  At the base, I turn back, looking up to find the cliff above is much higher than I thought. And I start to worry that maybe I will, in fact, die here tonight. What is stopping this guy from bashing my head against the rock and letting the night tide carry me out to sea? We’re so far from the designated beach areas near the castle ruins.

  No one would find my body for days…at least.

  “Why didn’t we just park in the South Lot?” I ask him. Where there are cameras and maybe even people.

  “I can’t be sure we’d find a siren that close to town. But this is good. Are you ready?”

  I look out over the beautiful black ocean and the moonlit waves crashing against the shore. “Ready for what?”

  “We have to lure one in.”

  “Lure what?” I ask, my pulse rising.

  “Take off your shoes and wade into the surf,” he says. His voice is high, a little excited. And it’s that more than anything that tells me whatever we are about to do is a little dangerous.

  “I promise this will make sense in a minute,” Spencer says. “Can you please just take off your shoes? You have to be barefoot in the water. That’s how they’ll know you’re here. But don’t go in too far. I’m not a great swimmer. If you get dragged in, I won’t be much help.”

  I hesitate. “If I do this, all will be revealed?” I ask skeptically.

  “I promise. Go on.”

  His face is so earnest. I came all this way for this so-called truth. I guess I can’t chicken out now. I bend down and slip off my shoes. Then I roll up my pants to mid-calf.

  I creep tentatively toward the crashing waves, frothy white in the spectral moonlight.

  “That’s far enough,” he says. His voice is higher now, fearful. “It’ll reach up and —”

  Whatever he says next is swallowed by the sound of a wave crashing into the shore and washing over my bare feet. Cold water splashes up onto my calves. I step back instinctively, but another wave is right there to replace the one retreating.

  The sand beneath me slides away and so the third wave hits high, against my upper thighs. I retreat, trying to haul myself out of the waves.

  “Look!” Spencer points. “There he is.”

  I turn and gaze out over the water. It takes a moment to spot the dark head poking out of the water. Just the crown and eyes are exposed, the nose still submerged.

  “Where the hell did he come from?” I ask. Because he has to be a hundred feet from shore and hovering. Not swimming. Just sitting there. Is there a rock underwater? Otherwise, I can’t believe anyone is just sitting out there in the dark in the ocean after midnight. The water is freezing.

  Isn’t this guy afraid of sharks? Hypothermia? Undertow or—

  We lock eyes and a strange sensation washes over me. My limbs become impossibly heavy.

  The head dips below the surface and disappears.

  “Is he drowning?” I ask.

  “Get out of the water!” Spencer cries. “Back up!”

  I turn back, wondering what has pushed Spencer into full-blown fear when I see something amazing.

  The water comes alive with shimmering luminescence. An oval-shaped pool of light, teal and golden, is moving under the ocean waves toward me.

  “So beautiful,” I whisper.

  Spencer grabs hold of my arm, and pulls me back. “Time to go. Come on!”

  But the man emerges, and he is a man. Beautiful, naked, standing in the surf. My eyes glide over his body in its perfect proportions and endowments. He must be twenty feet away now. That smile on his face makes my knees go weak. Water drips off his carved muscles.

  He extends his hand toward me, welcoming me into the water.

  Into his arms.

  I step forward. I feel the water around my legs deepen, the sand sliding away. The man smiles wider, moving toward me as I move toward him.

  And over it all a song hangs in the night. A sweet, heady music.

  Something soft snaps over my head, covering my ears, and squeezing my head. The ocean waves die to a distant hush.

  But it’s the transformation of the man that is most startling.

  He isn’t this beautiful statue, a David come to life from stone. Now he is more creature than man.

  Along his back are strange ridges. His hands are comically large, like paddles, with moonlight showing throu
gh the webbing. His skin is covered in large scales, almost like metallic plates of armor overlapping. The eyes are black and flat like a fish’s.

  In his open mouth isn’t the sweet, inviting smile I thought I saw, but a jutting jaw with angled teeth. A piranha’s mouth.

  I scream and stumble back into the surf.

  The sand betrays me, and I fall, cold water rushing up the back of my legs and clothes.

  Strong hands are under my arms, hauling me up out of the surf.

  “Come on!” Spencer screams. “We have to get onto the rocks!”

  I kick away the sand pulling me down, trying to use every muscle to propel me out of the ocean and away from the creature closing in on me.

  My heart pounds so hard between the squeezing earmuffs that I think my head will explode. My knee scrapes across the top of the rock and ocean water stings the cut.

  A hand taps my shoulder furiously. But I can’t hear what Spencer is saying through the earmuffs still snug over each ear.

  “Look!” he mouths, stopping me on the top of a boulder before I can scramble up onto the next one. “Look!”

  I turn, following his pointed finger toward the beach below. The man is standing there in the surf. His eyes are pitch black like the bottom of the ocean itself except for the gleam of ghostly moonlight held in each orb.

  But it’s his face. It’s his face.

  My mind can’t process what it’s seeing. It only repeats not human, not human, not human, not human on a loop in its panicky terror.

  “What the hell is that?” My voice is felt as a vibration in my throat and chest. No real sound.

  And so whatever Spencer says in reply is lost, too. A crashing wave sends fresh sea spray across my face. Spencer tugs me forward, encouraging me to climb again.

  He doesn’t have to tell me twice.