Slowly, I wiggled my toes, waking up the tendons from their magic-induced slumber. While I didn’t understand the exact process of the shift, I’d learned the hard way that taking my time to flex these human legs was crucial, even if the tail had only replaced them for a few bitterly short minutes. And given that I had no desire to plunge headfirst onto the dirty tiles lining the bathroom floor, I really had no choice but to take my time.
Seconds ticked by, but eventually I felt secure enough to stand on my own. With bare feet, I padded across the cool floor, wondering if I would ever get used to the oddness of the touch I once knew, then believed to be lost for good. If I would ever grow accustomed to feeling anything aside from raw elements of nature brushing against my skin.
A century had passed since I last walked on dry land before my sisters decided to run me out of the morass that had become my home. The few weeks of adjusting to this new environment simply weren’t enough to ease the sense of strangeness I felt, living once more as a human.
Or, at least, a rough approximation of one.
Then again, given that when I’d crawled up on shore, exhausted and terrified, I found myself not only devoid of the water’s embrace, but stranded in a world that had very much changed since the early 1900s. I should probably be grateful I’d come as far along as I had.
With a soft sigh, I pulled on a simple pastel blue sundress that reached just above my knees and shoved my feet in a pair of black flip-flops. The gummy material all but molded to my soles, and while the sensation was odd, it wasn’t unpleasant. I smiled.
Not all was bad in this world.
Somewhat more satisfied, I finger-combed my long lilac hair, then picked up the ghastly, dull towel and marched outside. It was still early in the day, so the hallway with its chipped plaster and foul-smelling rug seemed even grimmer without the lively mass of people rushing about. I quickly made my way to the far end of the corridor, not wanting to linger in this place even a moment longer than necessary.
The curtain was drawn since my roommate was still asleep on the top bunk, but in a room as small as ours, light wasn’t really a prerequisite to find what I wanted. Careful not to bump into anything and wake Liza up, I tossed the damp towel on the foot of the bed, then swiped my purse from beneath the pillow. It was light, nothing more than a pouch that carried my room keys and what little money I’d managed to earn so far, but it helped with keeping up a human appearance. I swung its long chain across my shoulder, eased back out of the door, and all but ran downstairs to the promising scent of untainted, early morning air.
The languid slosh-slosh-slosh of the sea that stretched just beyond the road greeted me the instant my feet hit the pavement.
For a moment, I closed my eyes, battling the impulse to dive into its enchanting satin and enter the world I belonged to. With each breath I took, the craving subsided, but didn’t disappear entirely. It never did. My affinity for water was a fundamental part of me, a need that only became more pronounced once I had been gifted the tail.
Or, perhaps, I’d merely failed to notice how much I craved the embrace of the currents until I’d lost them.
I opened my eyes and forced them away from the sea, taking in the architecture instead. Piran hadn’t changed all that much since the previous turn of the century, its narrow, colorful houses and red rooftops making me feel as if I hadn’t lost all that time in the morass. But the people were different now, and the shops and cafes dominating the ground floors of the buildings were decidedly modern, if carrying a hint of the old seaside charm.
And I loved every part of it.
Often, I wondered if it was the town’s link with history that had driven me to come here. I certainly had no real destination in mind after I fled from my sister’s deathly talons, only a desire to get as far away as I could. Somewhere comforting.
Piran certainly was that.
I followed the embankment from the boarding house towards Tartini Square, saying a few quick hellos to the vendors opening up their shops. Since my arrival here, they started to treat me as one of their own—just another local girl, working her way through the summer. As they all did. It was a beautiful sentiment, but somehow, their kind, sun-loved faces made me feel even more out of place than I already did. Despite the hollowness burrowing in my chest, I returned each and every greeting, even accompanying them with a smile, adamant to not let the shadows of my past win.
Not this silent battle.
A few minutes later and feeling steadier than before, I crossed Tartini Square, then ventured into one of the adorable, narrow streets Piran was so well known for. Laundry hung from strings beneath the windows that boasted white wooden blinds, and the stucco of the buildings—pressed intimately to one another, forming a single, uninterrupted line—was more often than not chipped. Yet the lack of flamboyance didn’t diminish the charm at all. In a way, the contrast between the colorful tourist-ridden areas and the somewhat grimmer, residential section of town reminded me of my own life.
Two sides of the same coin. Staggeringly different. Irrefutably connected.
I breathed out a sigh and pushed on, the quiet slowly giving way to voices once more. The street spewed me out on the edge of a square, small, but just large enough to harbor a single cafe with its tables stretched out across the widespread patio. While the location wasn’t prime, I noticed over the course of these weeks that more than a few tourists, eager to escape the blazing sun down by the seaside, tended to wander through and enjoy their refreshments in the moderate shade. Between them and the locals who preferred the quiet life, business was thriving.
A tall, tanned brunette greeted me as she carried out another chair and placed it next to a blue-topped table. She picked up her empty tray and sauntered over, a smile blooming on her face.
“Morning, Liana.”
“Hi, Eva.” I returned the smile, then nudged my head towards the slightly overweight tabby cat resting in the shade by the bar’s entrance. “I see Giorgio is already in position.”
Eva snorted, brown eyes alight with mischief. “I don’t think that lazy ass even moved since last night.”
I chuckled and walked towards Giorgio. Eva was more than likely right. He was spoiled rotten and enjoyed it.
The cat’s striking green eyes followed my every move, tail swishing languidly across the white tiles. A smile teased my lips. While Giorgio was still very much attentive whenever I was nearby, at least the look he was giving me wasn’t predatory any longer.
It took a few days to convince him I wasn’t a meal. Luckily, with our shared love for seafood, the little critter realized getting on my good side would benefit him to a far greater extent than trying to take a bite out of my flesh as if I were some walking tuna.
I scratched Giorgio behind his ear then padded inside and deposited my purse in a drawer behind the counter before pulling out a pastel blue apron from another. Once I secured the straps, I tied my hair up in an improvised bun, and walked over to the ice cream cart to start with my usual morning routine.
While Eva worked the cafe, my station was here, filling up cones and cups with the delicious swirling colors and tastes we had to offer. A quick scan revealed that two of the metal tubs were almost two-thirds empty, so I made a mental note to keep an eye on them and snatch new ones out from the back as soon as the morning rush subsided.
Just as I was about to check on the napkins, movement from the patio caught my eye. I glanced up, my gaze immediately falling on the tall, slender man, with skin of a rich, suntanned gold, and wavy hair of the purest silver.
My boss.
Heat crept up my cheeks, the stirrings of desire coupled with a slightly nauseating sensation curling in my stomach. Aside from the unusual hair color—unusual since he couldn’t be more than in his late thirties—Santino was the kind of man one would envision a handsome Italian to be. Charming, too, with that easygoing nature and winsome smile that never seemed to falter.
Sadly, he was also the exact kind of man my sisters
would spell to his watery death without a moment of hesitation.
And, I thought bitterly, my gaze skimming Santino’s chiseled features, once upon a time, so would I.
2
The morning rush came and went, with only a few lone stragglers remaining out on the terrace. I brushed a lilac strand of hair from my face, drinking in the sudden lull. Aside from the soothing still of the dark, this was without a doubt my favorite time of the day.
During the long decades spent in the morass, I’d almost forgotten about the undulating waves of life—the way the towns seemed to have their own individual pulses, how each new day followed a steady pattern, yet never quite the exact same twice. The subtle differences breathed charm into the structure, a unique imprint that could never be replicated. It was what made going through the day so thrilling—knowing what to expect, but not being able to predict the path that would lead there.
This lull, give or take a few patrons, was one of those stationary points the world ebbed and flowed around.
The locals finished their morning coffees with a side of fresh air to sweeten the taste, then went off to their respective jobs—at least those who, unlike Eva and I, had the luxury of starting late. And the tourists were busy enjoying themselves down by the sea, the heat of the day still kind enough not to send them into the somewhat cooler interior. Somehow, the sudden ebb of people made it possible to hear the lively melody that was Piran’s own.
Beautiful was far too weak a word to adequately capture the sensation.
Breathing in the fresh, salt-tinted air, I did a quick sweep of the square. Eva was chatting up Marco, a balding man in his seventies who was by far our most loyal customer, while Santino hung around the till, going through the bar’s expenses with his fingers clicking rapidly against the keyboard set to the left.
I frowned at the device, feeling immensely lucky that my ice cream cart was just that. No cashier. No electronics.
While I might have adapted to the modern ways of the world with a fair amount of success, some things still remained well beyond my comprehension. Computers, unfortunately, ranked very high on that list.
How could something so small carry so much information? It was as if that mash-up of plastic and glass had a mind of its own, but no ears to listen to your requests.
Catching myself before the furrow on my brow deepened, I waded into the back room, feeling Santino’s gaze on my exposed back. Briefly, I contemplated turning around and flashing him a smile, but common sense swept in in time and hushed the notion.
Despite putting up a solid charade, I was still a murderess, a water spirit. I didn’t belong in his world, and the role Santino played in mine wasn’t one I even dared to think about.
My fingers curled into fists. Eternal damnation didn’t come merely in the form of hell my late Christian parents had believed in. I was living it every damned day, and would most likely continue even when Veles’s realm—the underworld I believed existed, thanks to the unconventional path my life had taken—finally caught up with me for good.
No, I was an intruder in human clothing. I couldn’t let myself forget that even for a second.
So I simply bit my lip, snuffing out the purring thought of Santino, and squared my shoulders as I pushed past the threshold. The overhead lights blinked a few times before they came on, bathing the rough space in their pale, white light. I strode past the tightly stacked crates of beverages all the way to the far wall where four massive freezers were lined up, and lifted the heavy lid off the one in the corner to my right.
Chills swept across my skin in a rolling wave as I leaned over, my breath coming out in condensed wisps. While my mermaid form had excellent thermo insolation, the same, sadly, couldn’t be said for my would-be human flesh.
Gods, it was cold.
I shuddered and quickly pulled out a tub of stracciatella, then closed the lid and repeated the process on the adjacent cooler. Only this time the flavor I picked out was mint chocolate chip. The patrons’—and my—favorite.
I balanced both tubs on the palms of my hands, wincing as the cold bit viciously into my skin and sent goose bumps emerging down the length of my limbs.
Although I had a pair of pastel blue gloves stored next to the cart for this precise reason, most of the time I felt too lazy to pull them on for trips this short. It was self sabotage at its best, but it appeared there were things not even being ripped from your former life—twice—could change. My stubbornness for taking shortcuts at all times being the main, spotlit one. Giorgio and I were more alike than either of us wanted to admit.
Eager to rid myself of the tubs, I sighed and hurried across the floor, but my steps faltered the instant I reached the threshold separating the storage from the main part of the bar. Quickly, I slunk into what little shadows I could find by the beam and peered outside, fighting to keep my breaths silent.
“Are you sure you haven’t seen anyone fitting the description around here?” a gruff man with brown hair cropped close to his scalp asked Santino.
My boss shook his head. “Can’t say I have. Our clientele is mostly local, as I’m sure you can see for yourself…” He rubbed his lean, elegant fingers against the chiseled line of his jaw, and my heart skipped a beat—unsurprisingly, the treacherous glitch had nothing to do with the less than pleasant effect the newcomer was giving off. “I suggest you try the restaurants down by the seafront. They’re usually the ones that pick up the tourists.”
From the lines running across his forehead, the man looked far from pleased, but he didn’t press Santino further. Instead, he pulled a card from the breast pocket of his sweat-drenched purple shirt and held it out above the counter, the white rectangle pressed between his index and middle finger.
“Call me if you see anything, please.”
The “please” sounded forced, nothing more than a rough bark, actually. But if Santino sensed the hostility lining the word, he didn’t show it. He accepted the card with a nonverbal affirmation, only the stranger’s gaze wasn’t on my boss any longer.
No, it was scanning the bar, placing my meager hiding spot right on the collision course of his inquisitive, critical eyes.
I staggered back into the darkness, breathing heavily and clutching the two ice cream tubs as if they weren’t cold enough to make my teeth rattle. But I felt absolutely nothing save for the suffocating fear of discovery as I stood there amidst beer bottles and flasks of wine, hoping to the gods my reaction hadn’t been too slow.
For a moment, nothing happened. There was only the soft murmur of the square weaving through the door, coupled with the faint humming of the freezers coming from behind.
Still clutching the tubs, I barely allowed myself a weak exhale when the wind got knocked out of my lungs once more. I froze, every muscle in my body going numb.
It was footsteps I was hearing, thudding against the tiled floor. And their steady march was bringing them closer and closer to the faint shadows concealing my form.
I contemplated using the tubs as a weapon to try and bash the stranger over the head, but—despite being a weapon myself for so many decades—I didn’t really know how to fight. Didn’t even know how to swing hard enough to knock a person out, to be honest. I’d come to rely on my magic too much, placed my faith in my ability to spell even the worst of men into submission—and, ultimately, death. In light of the murderous power I wielded, nothing had ever sparked the thought to maybe cultivate other skills.
And why would it, when the magic never faltered, never failed… Even now, changed as I was, it would have been more than enough to rid myself of the stranger if it weren’t for a single, brutally damning fact. My magic was inadvertently tied to the presence of my tail.
Shit.
My heartbeat hammered in my ears, and briefly, I wondered if pouring beer all over my legs would prompt the shift—if it would even work fast enough to actually make a difference… As it was, I never got to test out my theory.
A shadow cut off the light streaming in
from the bar. I bit my lip, unable to do anything but watch as the man stepped inside.
A helpless cry wrung itself from my throat.
Santino.
It was only Santino.
My relief, however, was short-lived. Because my boss’s silver blue gaze was drilling into mine, and the expression touching his tanned skin was far from placid.
In fact, it was furious.
We stood there, utterly still as seconds ticked by, only the tension—and my fear—undulating between us. Santino’s piercing gaze never left mine, and all of a sudden, I had a suspicion he was seeing far more than just how damned terrified I was.
Not that it made a difference. Not that he showed any intention of backing down. Shit.
His chest rose as he sucked in a breath, nostrils flaring slightly. “Would you mind telling me why the fuck a PI is looking for you?”
I opened my mouth but no words came out. I’d never seen Santino this angry, this cold. As if he were a whole other person, not the man who’d taken in a girl with no papers and no education to show. Not to mention more quirkiness at being utterly lost in the world that had seemed to evolve overnight than one could ignore.
But he had never questioned my circumstances. Not even once.
Santino had simply accepted the weak explanation that they were unfortunate and gave me a job to help get me on my feet. It might have played in my favor that the supernatural community came out of the closet a couple of years ago and caused quite a stirring—something even I heard through the grapevine all the way in the morass—but what Santino did was still an act of unexpected kindness.
Sirens and Scales Page 75
