Sirens and Scales

by Kellie McAllen

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  About the Author

  Gaja J. Kos is a USA Today bestselling author with a mission to breathe fragments of Slavic lore onto many, many pages of fiction.

  Gaja resides in Celje, Slovenia, with her husband (as well as co-author) and two Chinese Crested dogs.

  Read More from Gaja J. Kos

  https://gajajkos.com

  Returning

  Episodes I & II

  A.L. Knorr

  Returning © copyright 2017 Intellectually Promiscuous Press

  * * *

  Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Returning

  Mira is a mermaid on a mission.

  It’s time to leave the ocean. Mira Belshaw has been at sea for… well, she doesn’t know how many years. It’s hard to keep track of time when you live in the ocean. But after enough time, the salt water triggers the desire to procreate, and her time is up.

  For weeks, she’s been swimming north. Finding a mate is the most important thing to her right now, and to do that, she has to return to the place where she was last human - the coastal city of Saltford.

  Equipped with everything she needs to lure her perfect mate and produce a strong siren child, all she needs is the opportunity to mingle with humans. But when she meets Nathan, the ONE, things start to go sideways…

  1

  It was time to leave the ocean. My mother had warned me the call would come. She’d said, Every mermaid thinks it will never happen to them. Life is too good in the salty water, who would ever want to go back to land? But the salt will eventually trigger a siren's desire to procreate, and my time was up. I was swimming through a kelp forest when the realization struck; weaving between the tall stems, the fronds tickling my tail like fingers. I didn’t know how many years I’d been at sea, I didn’t even know how old I was anymore. The salt had faded my human memories almost into oblivion; they seemed more like long ago dreams than actual events from my past.

  For weeks I’d been swimming north, instinct taking me back to the shores on which I stood when I had legs and feet instead of a powerful tail.

  As the temperature of the water dropped, the ocean life changed from bright and tropical to the simpler, less flashy hues of the North Atlantic. I remembered this kelp forest, I’d been here before. It's the last one before the long stretch to the shores of Atlantic Canada.

  The taste of diesel in the water told me I was approaching a shipping lane and I descended to cleaner, darker water. Here, the sharks were many, some of them triple my size. I swam without fear. Sharks had never given me a reason to fear them. We passed each other at a respectful distance.

  * * *

  As I descended to the sandy marine floor, a shape loomed; the tail end of a shipwreck. There were millions of shipwrecks in the world's oceans, and exploring them was one of my greatest pleasures. As I approached, my eyes widened. I'd seen many wrecks, but most were small and not much more than junk. This wreck was a leviathan. I tried to remember if I’d ever seen one so big. I drifted over the ocean liner, calculating its size against The Titanic. No, The Titanic was bigger. But still, this ship must have been palatial in its day.

  * * *

  As I swam the more than half-kilometer length, I took in the collapsed hull, the crushed ruin of her stern, the exposed ribs of iron beams and timbers, and the jutting bow... still proud. Curiosity tugged at me. It would be so easy to stay and explore. A gaping slash in the bow beckoned; an easy entry point. How I wanted to swim through the crew's quarters, examine the crushed hallways, shattered chandeliers, and elaborately decorated but rotted ballrooms. This kind of wreck was full of wonder.

  * * *

  Once I’d found a wreck, I never forgot where it was. The ocean was my playground. I pushed the curiosity aside and kept swimming. The hulking wreck disappeared into the deep behind me. I promised myself I’d visit her another day. Finding a mate was the most important thing right now and to do that, I had to return to the place I last lived as a human. The coastal city of Saltford.

  2

  A few days journey found me passing the coast of Saltford. I needed to go a few miles north before I could return and surface for good. I had to visit the place marked with a skull and crossbones on all the tourist maps––Devil's Eye Cove. The locals called it The Boneyard, and for good reason. The Boneyard had been eating ships alive for thousands of years. A place like The Boneyard meant death and destruction to humans, but to me, it was the perfect place to stash a valuable.

  As I approached Devil's Eye, the garbage from centuries of shipwrecks littered the ocean floor, some old, some new. The wreckage scattered for miles was evidence of extreme turbulence and violent weather. The result of the clashing of powerful currents, sudden changes in the depths of the seafloor, and a shoreline that forced the water into sudden swirling eddies.

  Not always was Devil's Eye a churning torrent of unhappy seas. On many days, it was a place of serene calm and privacy, which was why tourists sometimes still risked a visit. Choppy, messy seas didn't bother me, but I was happy to see that today, the Cove was shining like the pearl of the Atlantic. Shafts of sunlight pierced the crystal waters, illuminating jagged rocks and underwater caves. I surfaced momentarily to scan my surroundings. The evening sky was clear. Devil's Eye opened before me, its shape curving into the rocky cliff like the upper lid of an eye. Not a boat in sight. Cliffs plummeted to a perfect white sandy beach. Visible only to those looking straight down from the clifftops or from the deck of a nearby vessel, the tiny beach beckoned humans like the call of a siren.

  I flipped my tail and dove, passing wreckage tangled like matted hair. I didn't need the sunlight to see my way into the underwater cave where I had hidden my key, but it was nice to have it all the same. I found the crevice and reached my arm inside for the first time in years. My questing fingers found the small metal box jammed tightly between the rocks, locked there by my own powerful limbs. I retrieved it, cracked it open, took the tiny key and popped it into my mouth. I tucked it between my teeth and my cheek, put back the box, and left the cave.

  I had to wait a few hours for darkness to fall before I could surface. I needed the cover of night to come up onto land. I amused myself by roving the mess of wrecks scattered on the rocky floor. The shifting water tugged at my hair, sending it this way then that. My fins worked harder than usual to stabilize me in the strong currents.

  I could identify most wrecks easily by now; schooners, ferry boats, fishing vessels, antique sailing barques, military ships, and yachts. The ocean was full of all kinds. Devil’s Eye did not discriminate.

  Something shiny caught my eye and I darted towards it, drawn by an irresistible curiosity. The tiny glimmer, no larger than a star in the sky, was more yellow than white. A good sign. I blew away the sand by pulling water in through my gills and blowing it out through my mouth. The silt drifted back to reveal a gold coin. I'd seen enough of the precious metal to know its color well. The coin was most certainly old, but it looked like it had fallen into the water yesterday, as it was untarnished and perfect. I picked it up and examined it. It had a flying eagle on one side, and a woman holdi
ng a torch and wearing a flowing dress on the other, both framed by the rays of the sun.

  The coin didn't mean much to me. The ocean was full of such treasure. I had found mountains of these types of valuables, but mermaids were not driven by greed. I only ever took something if I needed it. I could exchange this coin for money, and I would need resources to restart my human life.

  Tucking the coin into my palm, I combed the ocean for more of the same. Experience had taught me that where there was one coin, there would often be more. I lifted huge pieces of wrecks, shifted boulders, and blew sand away from the ocean floor with a powerful stream from my mouth. Visibility dimmed as my digging stirred up silt and sand. My siren-strength equipped me well for unearthing treasure, but still I found no more coins. Several hours went by and the ocean darkened. It was time to go.

  Grasping my treasure, I swam the handful of miles south, watching familiar terrain pass beneath me in the gloom. I surfaced and eyed the beach. The lights of Saltford glimmered in the distance, beckoning me home. It wasn't Saltford that was calling me though. It was the promise of thousands of human men. Equipped with everything I needed to lure my perfect mate and produce a strong siren child, all I wanted now was the opportunity to mingle with humans of the male variety.

  The mere thought of human legs was enough to morph my tail into limbs. The feeling was pleasant, but the impact of the soles of my sensitive feet on the rocks was jarring. I gasped at the sensation of cold water as my scales softened into skin. Cold is something I am immune to in my mermaid form.

  The water sluiced out of my hair and poured down my skin in rivulets as I picked my way onto the beach, wincing as pebbles poked into my skin. With the intake of oxygen into my human lungs, my thinking cleared, automatically shifting my siren-mind into the background and pulling my human-mind into the fore. As my lungs became reacquainted with processing air and my gills sealed up and covered over, my resolve hardened; it was time to fall in love and make a family of my own. It was time to find him.

  3

  Clothing was the first order of business. Not a difficult task since I'd come up in early autumn and clotheslines were still in use. I had no shame in my nakedness whatsoever, but humans were modest, so I had to be too. Unless things had changed since I was last part of human society, a naked woman with long wet hair roaming a neighborhood would trigger alarm. Gooseflesh prickled across my skin from the cool breeze. I would also appreciate the added layer of warmth. My hair began to dry for the first time in years, and it felt foreign across my shoulders and back. It was past my waist now; thick and heavy. It tugged at my scalp in an unfamiliar way. My skin itched with the sensation of salt drying, a feeling I had also forgotten. I needed fresh water, but I'd worry about that later.

  I didn't know what month or day it was, but the season was easy to detect. The smell of moldering leaves filled my siren nose with its pungent aroma. There had to be a bonfire further down the beach as I detected faint fingers of smoke in the air.

  I crossed scrubby hillocks and sandy bluffs full of weeds and driftwood before hitting the first suburb of Saltford. Jogging silently across pavement, I found what I was seeking. A clothesline built to look like a tree poked up proudly overtop a wooden fence.

  I vaulted the fence and landed in a crouch in the backyard. The high-pitched barking of a dog from my immediate right made me jump. The dog tore from its tiny house and barreled towards me. I leapt backwards and the clattering sound of a chain against metal violated my eardrums. I was accustomed to the squeaks and chirps of underwater creatures. The yapping dog reached the end of its chain and strained, its white teeth flashing and spittle flying. He'd startled me, but I wasn't afraid of the creature. As a siren, I was far more powerful than any human ever could be. I could easily tear him limb from limb if I wished, but I have always been fond of animals.

  A light illuminated a patio door.

  I dashed towards the clothesline, grabbing a pair of pants and two shirts. Balling the clothing, I sprinted for the fence. The patio door opened as I leaped over the top rail and landed in a pile of leaves. I froze. A loud angry voice shouted and the dog yapped a few more times, whined and then went quiet. The patio door closed and the dog sniffed at the cracks in the fence.

  Ignoring the canine, I stood up and walked into the moonlight, holding out the clothing for inspection. It was still a little damp. The pants were denim, and too large for me, but they would do. I pulled the jeans on, making a face at the feeling of encasing my skin with thick fabric. I dropped my key and the golden coin into a front pocket.

  One of the shirts was a long sleeveless undershirt. As I held it up, a memory flashed: a bearded man wearing just such a shirt––laughing and throwing a smaller version of me up into the air. Just as quickly as it had come, it was gone. I pulled the undershirt over my head. It fell halfway to my knees. Next, I donned the long sleeved button up flannel, rolling its too-long sleeves up to mid-forearm.

  It took me an hour to walk to the culvert where I had stashed my lockbox. Saltford looked the same, but different. The trees were bigger, the gardens more lush, there were houses where there had been vacant lots, and children's playground equipment where before there had only been lawn. Saltford was a city of prosperity––I was reminded of this by the expensive vehicles lining the streets, the large houses with multiple-doored garages.

  My lockbox was still jammed inside the crack in the metal culvert, rusted completely. I took the key from inside my cheek and unlocked the small padlock. I winced as the box protested being opened with an ear-piercing squeak. Inside, a clear plastic bag with a zip-closure contained a social insurance card, a health card, a bank card, a birth certificate stating that I'd been born in Thunder Bay, and a thick wad of paper money. I stuffed the goods into my pockets. I jammed the lock box back into the crack in the culvert and climbed out.

  I counted the money––$460––enough for a hotel room. I couldn't remember how much my mom and I had stashed in my bank account, but she'd been sure to set the account up with a bank that wouldn't close it after years of it lying dormant. You'll still have to visit the bank to reactivate the card, darling. Fine. Humans really liked to make you jump through hoops. I tried to remember the word my mother had used for these hoops and it came back to me––bureaucracy.

  I made my way to where I knew there had once been a cheap motel along the highway. I was beginning to limp as my feet were now sporting a few cuts and bruises. I crested a hill and looked down at the road. The hotel was still there, looking worse than ever.

  An electronic chime went off as I entered the door marked 'Office'.

  "One moment," called a rough voice from an open door behind a counter. A minute later a man with graying hair and wire-rimmed spectacles emerged. His gaze met mine and his expression went from sleepy to concerned. His brown eyes went from the crown of my head, down my form draped in its ill-fitting clothing, to my bare feet. My tangled hair hung around me like a curtain. I brushed it out of my way.

  "Are you in some kind of trouble, miss?" His gray brows furrowed.

  "No. I need a room." My human voice sounded strange to my ears. I hadn't spoken my language in a very long time. My siren voice was tucked away, its powers lying dormant.

  "What happened to your shoes, my dear?" He peered down at my feet over the tops of his glasses.

  "I don't have any. I need a room."

  He blinked at me, as though it was the strangest thing in the world for a person to ask the manager of a highway hotel for a room after dark.

  "Uh..." he droned. "All right." He pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. "It's sixty dollars a night for a single room. I will need some ID." He looked doubtful as to whether I could produce either money or identification.

  I dug the wad of cash and the cards from my pocket. It took me a moment to select my birth certificate and to count out the money. It had been a long time since I'd had to do such a thing. I slapped both on the counter.

  He stared at the mone
y and the certificate, then back at me. He picked up my birth certificate and peered at it owlishly.

  "Mira Belshaw," he read aloud. "Happy nineteenth birthday!"

  He'd just saved me the agony of trying to do the maths. I had been at sea for eight years. I realized he was looking at me expectantly, though I wasn't sure why. Then a recollection about human social graces kicked in. "Thank you," I said.

  He made a sound in the back of his throat. I wasn't sure what the sound meant, but he seemed satisfied with my response. "Tell you what, Mira.” He peered at me over the tops of his glasses. "You can have the room on the house tonight. Just 'cause it’s your birthday."

  On the house? My human brain was not fully functioning yet, and I struggled to derive meaning from these words. He pushed the money across the counter toward me and the gesture snapped the words into place. He was giving me the room for free.

  "Thank you," I repeated, tucking my ID into my pocket.

  He selected a key from a rack on the wall behind him and held it out. "Here you are. Room nineteen. Perfect for the girl turning nineteen today."

  I took the key. He smiled at me. Reflexively, I smiled back.

  "Are you sure you don't need help? When a young woman shows up in my motel office in bare feet and men's clothing, it sure don't look like fair play to me," he said as I tucked my money and ID away.

  "No thanks." I turned towards the door.

  "Suit yourself," he said under his breath.