The Scent of Salt & Sand: An Escaped Novella

by Kristin Cast

  • • •

  “Is everyone ready?” Harmony threw up her arms and cheered.

  Melody bounced between the girls sandwiched next to her as they gaily whooped and hopped up and down. She forced aside the dread swelling within her and clapped softly.

  “Okay, okay.” Harmony held a finger in front of her lips. “Just a bit more housekeeping, and then we’ll get in the water.” She stepped back, clearing room on the invisible stage for the woman who’d been lurking in the background.

  Rhapsody stepped forward. Her predatory gaze swept over the row of young Sirens. “I have chosen well.” Her smile was stiff, forced. “It seems all my girls are excited to seize their birthright. Well, most of you.” Her eyes flicked to Melody. “To any who might be afraid”—Rhapsody snarled at the word—“I assure you that will slip away the moment a human is under your control. You fear the unknown, not the acts you are to perform. Those are innate, instinct.”

  Melody stepped further back in line, trying to escape Rhapsody’s fiery glances.

  “Find a suitable genetic specimen, obtain his seed, exterminate him, and repeat until it’s time for you to return to Tartarus. Listen to your Caretaker”—she motioned to Harmony, who stepped up to join her—“and make us proud.”

  Harmony led a short applause. “Now it’s time to make the journey. I’ll channel the power of the Omphalos, which will allow us passage to the seas of the human world.”

  Linked to the sacred city of Delphi and the all-consuming power of the Titans, the Omphalos’s magic remained unmatched even after the Titans were jailed and the new god, Apollo, smote the great stone. This god of the oracles scattered the stone’s remnants around the Mortal Realm in an attempt to hide them from the primeval deities who could use those pieces to gain power if they were ever to escape the great prison within Tartarus.

  Each of Melody’s tutors had a different story of how Rhapsody found the sacred stone, but the truth was a secret only Rhapsody knew.

  “You all know the potential danger, so keep your eyes open and stay together.” Harmony bounced as she spoke. “What are you waiting for? Get in the water, and dive to the deepest section of the pool. As soon as you’re all in, I’ll join you and we’ll be on our way.”

  Everyone leaped into the water. Everyone except Melody. She stood frozen on the shore.

  “Your mom talked about this day from the moment you were born.” Harmony took her hand, guiding her slowly into the waves. “She would be so happy to see you here, about to make your first journey.”

  Together they slipped under the surface and cut through the water to meet the others. The school of Sirens continued to swim deeper and deeper until Tartarus’s light no longer pierced the vast blue. Bright white sliced through the bleak depths, and Harmony ushered them into the warm rays. Melody slowed and let her sisters swim through the tear between realms, terrified she wouldn’t make it through to the other side. When she could no longer see the kicking legs of the final Siren, she set her jaw and charged through the break. The waves were more forceful on the other side. They pulled and pushed her body as she struggled to fit with the new, wilder rhythm. She relaxed a bit, seeing her sisters struggle to merge with the ocean’s tireless ebb and flow. Fighting against it wouldn’t work. Instead, she melted into the waves, and stretched out her fingers and toes, pulling the thin webbing taut. At ease in the savage flow, she closed her hands and took in the foreign ocean.

  A ghostly figure bounced off a couple of the girls, unnoticed by them. Melody watched the strange specter navigate the waters with precision.

  “Har—” Melody started to call out, to warn Harmony and the others, but the shadow bolted toward her. She tried to swim away, but hadn’t found her stride in the choppy waters.

  Fear clawed at Melody’s chest as she bucked and kicked against the dense, dark mass. She opened her mouth to scream, but warm water filled the void and surged down her throat.

  Please! A woman’s voice, small and frightened, echoed through the water around her. I need your help.

  Warmth continued down her throat, seeping into her core, electrifying her limbs until they shot out from her trunk, strong and solid like the points of a star.

  This was it. The end. Her mom must have also heard that same small voice right before she met her death.

  Please. You have to help me.

  The words echoed between her ears. Inside her.

  Blurry hands reached out to her, and her arms listlessly floated to meet them. They wrapped around her wrists and yanked her forward. She breached the surface. Cool air caressed her skin. And then she saw the sun. She squinted. Arietta was right. The light in Tartarus in no way compared to the glorious yellow orb floating in its own sea of cloudless blue.

  “You nearly scared the pee out of me!” Dot said, her wide eyes searching Melody’s. “Sorry I yanked you out of the water like that. I thought you were dead.”

  Melody’s arms and legs ceased trembling, and she let go of Dot’s forearms to tread next to her. “I thought I was too.”

  Dot nodded. “That was a rough swim, but at least we’re here now.” She sniffed the air. “You smell that?”

  Melody inhaled and was instantly revitalized. The tangy scent of salt and sand swirled around her, bringing her closer to the memory of her mother. “It’s amazing.”

  “Right?!”

  Melody’s grin faded. “Dot, were you just asking me for my help underwater?”

  Dot shook her head. “You were struggling. You probably called out and were so scared you thought the voice was someone else’s.” She motioned toward shore, where the others swam a few hundred yards away. “We better catch up. Don’t want to miss anything.”

  Melody looked around, her eyes wider and more frightened than Dot’s had been. Buildings shot up from the ground, piercing the sky and reflecting stars of light like shimmering metal crystals. Cars and humans crept along congested cement trails while barnacle-bottomed boats bobbed by the docks. The city was congested and busier than any of her teachers could’ve prepared her for. “I need a minute.”

  “Okay.” Dot started to swim away, but turned back. A mixture of pity and concern creased her brow. “Melisma would be proud of you.” She disappeared under the water.

  Melody stuck her face in the cool blue and swam toward the pier. Annoyed, she kicked forcefully and sent a cloud of agitated white water billowing around her. Next time she had to make the journey, she wouldn’t let the fear of what had happened to her mom get to her.

  Chapter Three

  “What’s wrong with him?” The old bartender peered from under bushy white brows at Dean.

  “Officer Kent here thinks he saw some kind of alien booger monster.” Kait jabbed at his ribs with her elbow.

  “I know it wasn’t an alien. Or a damn booger monster.” He rubbed at his side. “It was probably some woman in a costume on her way to Mystique,” he said, ignoring the pinching in his gut that told him what he had seen was real.

  “Well, whoever it was, it’s Homicide’s problem and not ours. Good thing, too, because it’s definitely off the crazy scale.” Kait sipped her drink. “This is the best coffee in the entire fucking world. Seriously. The. Best.” Kait wrapped her hands around the tall-stemmed glass etched with Buena Vista Café San Francisco and sipped slowly, savoring the last steaming, sticky drop.

  “Best coffee or Irish whiskey?” Dean’s eyes smiled at his partner over the rim of his own glass while he downed the strong, hot concoction, glad to change the subject away from the nightmare murder he’d witnessed—also glad his hands had stopped shaking.

  “Does it really matter as long as my boyfriend C over there behind the bar keeps them coming?” Kait raised her voice so that the old barkeep shot her a practiced look, the perfect mixture of sarcasm and fond familiarity.

  “You coppers can debate all you want, but you won’t get it right until you conclude that I make the best Irish coffee in the world—maybe even the known and unknown universe
. And let me tell ya again, sweet lips, old Charlie knows how to do it just right for ya.” He waggled his bushy brows at Kait.

  “I’m totally on Team C!” Kait raised her hands in surrender. “I concede that your Irish coffee skills are so vast that you make my very queer heart go pitter-patter like no man ever will.”

  “That makes my day, sweet lips,” Charlie said with a wink.

  Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “I still don’t know why she’s let you live this long calling her that.”

  “She lets me live because our relationship is bound by Irish whiskey.”

  “That’s right, C, baby. And Irish whiskey is stronger than mother’s milk—or so my Irish granddaddy tells me. And sometimes looking forward to your Irish coffee is all that gets me through our night shifts in this magnificent, batshit-crazy city.” Kait laughed.

  Charlie leaned over the bar to scoop up the cash Dean plunked down between them. “You know you coppers don’t have to pay.” He winked at Kait again. “Especially you, sweet lips.”

  “But you know we always do,” Dean said. “You ready to go?” he asked his partner.

  Pulling a dog-eared copy of We Were Feminists Once from her vegan leather satchel, Kait shook her head. “Nope, it’s my Friday. I’m staying. Going to get some reading done. In peace. You should, too, after what you saw. Well, you drink and I’ll read.” She caught Charlie’s eye. “Another for me, C, and I’m moving over there to my spot by the window. You joining me?”

  “Nah, I’m beat, and you know that German shedder of yours will still be waiting, leash in mouth, for her walk no matter when you get home,” Dean said.

  “I know that, which is why I’m going to have another drink here, in peace, before I go home to that shedding Nazi. And I know damn well you aren’t heading home yet either, no matter how beat you are.”

  “Gotta count ’em.” Dean grinned at his partner. He liked that they knew each other so well they could predict each other’s behavior. It felt good. Felt like family. Hell, better than family because they’d chosen each other.

  “Counting the crazy swimming people will not actually keep them safe,” Kait said, laughing, as she settled into her booth, book in hand.

  “Okay, I’ll concede that the counting of the lap swimmers may be a little obsessive, if you’ll concede that, with me watching, it’s less possible that accidents will happen to them.”

  “Dean, you’re a crappy swimmer,” Kait said.

  “No, I’m a strong swimmer. I just hate the water. There’s a difference.”

  “Fine, fine—I’ll concede as long as you don’t tell the German that I’m avoiding her walk. You know how she gets.”

  “Deal. See you in a couple days. Unless you want to jog with me tomorrow?”

  “Uh, hell no. Jogging sucks worse than hot yoga, which is why I choose hot yoga. Want to skip the destruction of your knees and join me instead?”

  “To quote a genius, uh, hell no. See, the thing about hot yoga is that it is too fucking hot. See you Wednesday night!” Dean’s wave took in Kait, Charlie, and the rest of the bar. The regulars waved back and called their goodbyes. Dean exited on a tide of warmth and familiarity, which only made the brisk bay breeze seem even colder than usual. “Summer in SF is TFF—too fucking frigid. But I’ll bet this month’s pay there are a bunch of crazy swimming people in the bay,” he muttered as he shivered and zipped up his leather jacket.

  Dean kicked into a quick jog to cross Beach Street, dodging an early morning trolley car, and then cut across quaint Aquatic Park, heading for the nearby Hyde Street Pier. It was only a little past 8:30 A.M., but already the walkway following the half-moon beach was busy with joggers and dog walkers. There was even an elderly T-shirt vendor beginning to set up his wares.

  “Ohayou gozaimasu, Officer Kent-san. Off to make your count?”

  Dean nodded and smiled at the old man. “Ohayou, Hikaru. Yep, just keeping it safe out there.”

  “You know, you may be more superstitious than my old Baba—and that takes some doing,” said Hikaru.

  “Baba—that’s ‘grandmother,’ right?”

  “Hai!” Hikaru smiled and nodded. “You’re doing well with your Japanese lessons.”

  “I’m too stubborn to let your language defeat me.” Dean smiled back at the old man.

  “Ah, yes, remember if you fall down seven times—”

  “Get up eight.” Dean completed the ancient saying.

  “Very good, very good.” The old man waved Dean away. “Now get on with your count.”

  Dean followed Hyde Street past the beginnings of San Francisco’s unique mixture of touristy shops, restaurants, and busy locals that made up the Fisherman’s Wharf area. It was still early enough for it to be fairly empty. He slowed to a stroll as he passed under the arch that proclaimed HYDE ST. PIER in big, block letters. Picking a spot just astern of the Balclutha, a meticulously restored old square-sailed ship that was now a floating museum, Dean leaned on the dock rail, focused on the section of the bay known as Aquatic Park Cove, and began his count.

  “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven,” he rattled off quickly under his breath. Dean’s eyes searched the morning water. “Twelve,” he began, and then frowned. “Cancel that—it’s a sea lion. So, eleven crazies. Big number, even for a Sunday morning. Maybe they didn’t get the memo that it’s fifty fucking degrees out.” He studied the swimmers, shaking his head with the mixture of curiosity and confusion they always evoked in him. “Huh, looks like several of them are women. Now that is crazy. As Kait would say, women usually have more sense than that.” A seagull landed near him and made a scolding sound. “What? They can’t hear me. Plus, they gotta know they’re crazy.” Or maybe I’m the crazy one. I’m out here in the cold counting swimmers when I could be inside with Kait counting Irish coffees. Why the hell do I think counting them will keep them safe?

  But Dean knew the answer, though he didn’t speak it or the question aloud. He could still hear the echo of his father’s voice in his memory—he could still see that dark blue uniform and the wide black braid that had stretched proudly down the length of his father’s SFPD uniform. Going to count it out, son. Going to count out all the stores and restaurants and blocks on my beat. Going to count them out to keep them safe.

  It hadn’t worked for his father, but somehow the counting had stuck with Dean, and morphed into the crazy swimmer count. So far, it’d worked for him. So far.

  Dean shook himself. No. Dark thoughts had no place in this bright, beautiful morning. Scanning from the cove to the dock, Dean walked slowly past the Balclutha, making his way to the end of the pier.

  Alcatraz was there, sitting in the middle of the bay like a roughly hewn ocean jewel. Though he’d been born and raised within a five-mile radius of Fisherman’s Wharf, Dean had never visited Alcatraz. He understood the public’s fascination with the island—it was a piece of living history. It was also a prison. Dean was thinking of the tide of tourists that flowed through The Rock every day when movement in the water just a few yards off the end of the pier caught his eye.

  Dean focused on the lapping cerulean waves, expecting to see the slick, brown head of another sea lion. Instead, a curtain of strawberry blonde hair fanned around a floating body. Dean blinked hard and squinted. The curtain of hair lifted, and for an instant he saw alabaster skin. The body seemed to spasm—he was sure he heard a gagging cough—just before it relaxed back down into the water.

  “SFPD! Call 911!” Dean shouted at a fisherman who was lazily casting a line not far up the pier. He ripped off his jacket, kicked off his boots, and, with zero hesitation, dove into the frigid water.

  The cold cut him like a blade. Dean expected it, though. Ignore the cold. Concentrate. Get to the vic. Ignore the cold…ignore the cold… played over and over in his mind as Dean stroked against the waves. He lifted his head, taking in air and blinking salt from his eyes. And he saw her! He battled the waves, stroking five, six, seven more times.r />
  “Got ya!” Dean snagged her outstretched hand, and then the water exploded in foam as the body came alive. In a tangle of hair and spray, she surged away from him, kicking out with such ferocity that the ball of one of her feet caught him in his stomach.

  “Stop! Let me go!”

  Too busy trying to gulp for air while he kept a grip on her wrist, Dean let the young woman pull him with her as she flailed hysterically and tried to get free.

  “Wait!” Dean gasped. “SFPD—I’m here to help.”

  “Let me go!” she repeated, though she’d stopped kicking out at him.

  “I’ll let go if you can show me you’re not drowning.” Dean spoke quickly between mouthfuls of seawater.

  She immediately stopped struggling. Then she tossed back her hair and looked Dean fully in the face.

  “Drowning? You thought I was drowning?” Her emerald eyes sparkled with humor.

  “Yes, ma’am. You were floating facedown, and then you were choking. I ascertained that you needed help.” Dean reverted to cop speak as he struggled to tread the freezing water and have a conversation with a decidedly not drowning woman who looked like a sea goddess.

  “Oh, no. I’m sorry for the confusion.” She paused and glanced down at his clothes. “I’m also sorry you got all wet. It’s sweet that you thought to save me, though. From drowning!” As she repeated the word, her voice broke into musical laughter lovelier than anything Dean had ever heard.

  He couldn’t speak. All he could do was stare at her and let her laughter play around and over him. The sound of it seemed to wrap him in warmth and light, making his blood pound hot through his body, chasing away the cold of the water—the scent of salt and sand—the sounds of seabirds and sea lions—everything, everything except her, the sea goddess. That smile! It blazed with happiness and life and sex—definitely sex.

  Dean still had hold of her wrist. Almost without willing it, he began to pull, guiding her toward him as her laughter shimmered around them.

  “MELODY, COME!”