by Helen Harper
Feeling oddly embarrassed, I shifted under the weight of his gaze. ‘I might have delegated sorting out the water problems to someone else.’
Monroe snorted. ‘As if. Delegation isn’t your thing.’
‘Apparently it’s not yours either.’
He watched me for a moment. ‘Maybe we’re more alike than either of us realise.’
I doubted that very much. Bonds had been forged between us in the first days of the magical apocalypse that had struck Manchester back in September, but there were fundamental differences in how we saw our future in this brand-new world. I was focused on building a community where everyone was welcome; Monroe’s intention was to create a safe haven for those whom he deemed worthy – and who would toe his line and follow his rules. Not that the bruises on his face suggested anything remotely safe about his northern quarter.
In any case, our differences were the reason he had set up in the opposite end of the city to me. Most of the ‘normals’ clung to my side, while most of the magical beings stuck with Monroe. Birds of a feather flocked together, I suppose. There were a few outliers who’d elected to avoid both communities. And, of course, there was the Travotel run by Timmons, the sole faery left in this world. The hotel acted as a neutral ground between our two areas. It was the Switzerland of Manchester – but with fewer cuckoo clocks, less chocolate and more mini-soaps. Somehow Timmons had an endless supply of mini-soaps.
I wasn’t in the mood for a session of home truths with Monroe. That way just led to angst and, from his bruises and the heavy shadows under his eyes, Monroe needed more light-hearted fun than soul-searching commentary. To that end, I lifted my chin and offered him a small grin. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘my hair matches your eyes if nothing else.’ I fluffed up my blue locks and fluttered my eyelashes.
Monroe snorted but I was certain I detected a faint loosening around his shoulders. I’d take what I could get. ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘This isn’t my first bloodied-water experience. I’ll lead the way.’
He swept a bow, indicating his acquiescence as I turned and headed for the narrow metal staircase that led to the top of the small reservoir. I could feel Monroe’s eyes on my back as I climbed. I suspected he was looking at my arse rather than my spinal column but I could live with that. Part of me hoped that was the case.
Although I held a remarkable amount of information and number of facts in my head, all of which I’d garnered in my career as a semi-professional gambler, until recently water hadn’t been one of those things that I knew much about. I hadn’t needed to; I turned on the tap and water poured out. I’d taken it for granted completely. More fool me.
Neither did we have any plumbers in our community who understood anything about the pedestrian magic of running water. There were therapists and yoga teachers, electricians and professional dog walkers, but there wasn’t a single plumber. It had taken considerable research in the Manchester library, as well as considerable work, to even begin to understand the mysteries of large-scale plumbing and water mains. I was proud of myself for that.
When the city had run at capacity, water was pumped in via a massive reservoir more than a hundred miles away. It was quite a feat of engineering, which I’d have admired if it weren’t so damned out of reach. Thanks to the cordon the British army had set up around the city, technically we couldn’t get out of Manchester. There was one exit point that we still controlled from the inside but if you left that way you couldn’t get back in. You’d probably also be thrown into quarantine until the government decided you weren’t a magical risk to the rest of the country. No, a reservoir up in the hills wasn’t any good to us whatsoever.
Fortunately, before the population of Manchester boomed in pre-Victorian times, there was another far smaller reservoir here on the outskirts and it remained accessible to those of us within the city boundaries. Until very recently, this little reservoir had been almost unnecessary. It didn’t hold enough water for a normal city and it was more a point of historical curiosity than anything useful. Not so now. With considerable patience and a lot of work, we’d got it up and running again so that we could turn on a tap and at least get a trickle of something in return for our trouble. The water wasn’t very clean, as we didn’t have the expertise or the equipment to treat it, and it ran at temperatures between ‘fuck it’s freezing’ and ‘my lips are turning blue’ – but it was better than nothing. Apart from when it turned to blood, of course.
I clumped up the rickety stairs until I reached the walkway that led across the front of the reservoir. Even without the small sea of red rippling in the light winter breeze, the blood would have been unmistakable. The smell was certainly … tangy. From behind me, Monroe let out a small growl.
‘This is exactly like the other two times,’ I told him. ‘I have no idea what’s causing it and I don’t really know how to stop it. I try lots of different things and sooner or later the blood just dissipates.’ I waved a hand. ‘It’s probably the magic in the air that’s affecting the water.’
‘No.’ There was a tautness across Monroe’s jawline. ‘If that were the case, it would happen more often. Or it wouldn’t be fixable. The fact that you’ve managed to clear it up twice before suggests that this isn’t an environmental problem.’ He grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. ‘If I’d realised that earlier, I’d have done something about it. I’ve been … distracted.’
Distracted by what exactly? I glanced at him. Certainly grief was the root cause. There was no question that Monroe was still suffering terribly as a result of the loss of his werewolf pack, who’d all been killed by some crazy faeries when Manchester was first plunged into magical hell. But Monroe blamed himself and deep-seated grief, especially when you felt responsible for the deaths in question, could cause a myriad of other problems. I bit my lip and wondered what in hell was really going on with him. Not to mention if there was anything I could do that could help.
‘Well,’ I said briskly, ‘you’re here now. If you have any ideas, other than me waving my arms around for a few hours, they’d be very welcome.’
Monroe frowned and cast his eyes across the surface of the water. His gaze eventually settled on a small patch towards the far left. ‘There,’ he said. ‘Something is there.’
I squinted. I couldn’t see a thing.
‘See?’ he said.
‘Uh…’
‘The ripples on the surface don’t match the direction of the wind.’ There was a note of self-satisfaction in his voice, enhanced no doubt by the fact that I still couldn’t see what he meant. Clearly his eyesight was far better than mine. I had no reason not to trust his judgment, however.
I nodded decisively and swivelled round to walk to the end of the gangway. Monroe grabbed my elbow to hold me back. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Investigating. Solving.’ I flicked him a look. ‘That is why we’re here, after all.’
‘It could be dangerous.’
I laughed briefly. Everything about this new Manchester was dangerous; that was what made it such dubious fun. ‘Then,’ I said, ‘you stay back here where it’s safe and I’ll check it out.’ I yanked back my arm.
‘That’s not what I meant, Charlotte, and you know it. Have you forgotten what happened with the Canal Monster?’
I could hardly forget. It had grabbed hold of me out by Old Trafford and I’d come close to drowning and being eaten at the same time. We all avoided that area now if we could help it, but there continued to be reports of its presence lurking up and down the old ship canal. Fortunately no one had died in its saliva-laden jaws. Alas, I suspected that was probably only a matter of time.
‘I remember,’ I told him. ‘But I escaped unscathed. I’m sure this will be exactly the same.’ I flashed him a brilliant smile and took off once more.
Monroe huffed under his breath. Then he followed.
It wasn’t easy getting close. Although the steel walkway allowed us access to the top of the reservoir, it didn’t stretch all the way round the sides s
o we were forced to slip, slide and squelch across a narrow section of mossy mud. Even Monroe wasn’t as sure-footed as normal. At one point his foot gave away and he crashed into me, his arms going round my waist as he tried to steady himself. I dug in my heels to avoid us both tipping into the reservoir of dark blood – but it was a close thing.
‘Thanks,’ he muttered.
‘Any time you need rescuing, I’m right here,’ I chirped.
I thought he was going to snipe something sarcastic at me but instead his head dipped down to my ear. ‘I appreciate that, sunshine,’ he murmured. His arms tightened fractionally around my waist before he let go.
I coughed and kept my face resolutely turned forward so he couldn’t see the sudden stain of embarrassment on my cheeks. Except I wasn’t sure it was embarrassment; it might have been pure lust. Either way, it certainly appeared that the masculine arrogance that Monroe had displayed the first time we met had vanished for good. That warmed me no end.
‘All the same,’ he continued, ‘you should let me take things from here. You’ve tried twice and failed. I’ll deal with this problem once and for all. Sometimes it takes an alpha werewolf to save the world.’
Oh for goodness’ sake. I rolled my eyes but, rather than argue, I gestured at the blood. ‘Go on then, maestro,’ I said. ‘Have at it.’
Monroe smiled, ignoring my sarcasm, and cast around the ground before reaching for a long branch that was snaking its way across the verge behind us. He gave it a tug but it resolutely refused to budge.
‘Want some help there, genius?’ I enquired.
He grunted and yanked harder on the branch but it stayed rooted to the ground. ‘Go ahead.’ He spoke as if he were merely giving me something to do so that I didn’t feel entirely useless. All the same, when he straightened up and glanced at me, there was a glint of self-mockery in his eyes.
I grinned at him. I didn’t understand much about my newly fledged magical capabilities but retrieving stubborn objects was something I’d become an expert at in recent weeks. It simply took the right amount of force – not too much so that the object in question went flying out of reach but enough to release it from whatever was holding it in place. ‘Watch and learn,’ I declared before flicking my wrist.
The branch snapped free and, with unerring speed and force, almost whacked into Monroe. He only just pulled back in time. A fraction of a second later there was a fat plop as it landed in the blood lake, splattering both of us with fine red droplets. Oops.
‘Nice going,’ Monroe murmured.
Hmm. Maybe both of us needed an exercise in humility. ‘Sorry.’ I grimaced. That was what I got for showing off.
I lifted my head. There was another branch a few metres away. Second time lucky, I decided. Not that I believed in luck. I raised my hands once more and prepared to concentrate harder this time around.
Just then, there was a ripple in the blood behind us and the original branch flew out again, landing with a wet thump between Monroe and me.
We exchanged looks and slowly turned to look at the reservoir. More undulations disrupted the surface of the blood. Keeping his eyes trained on the patch where the ripples were the strongest, Monroe crouched down, took hold of the branch and threw it back in.
This time the heavy, blood-soaked branch flew out of the water far faster – and with far more force. I squeaked and leapt to the side to avoid being smacked in the shin. Monroe didn’t move a muscle; he simply folded his arms and glared at the rippling lake of blood.
I followed his gaze and spotted a dark shadow moving underneath the surface. My stomach tightened but, before I could say anything, a strange humming sound reached my ears. It was an annoying, grating buzz and it set my teeth on edge. I grimaced and glanced at Monroe. He’d dropped his arms to his sides and was suddenly slack-jawed. I blinked. There was a dreamy expression on his face. Well, that was new.
‘Uh, Monroe?’
He ignored me and stepped towards the reservoir’s edge. With the sudden certainty that he was about to throw himself in, I lunged forward and yanked him back. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I hissed.
He shook me off as if I were nothing more than an irritating fly, and started forward once more. I cursed under my breath and reached for him again. This time I didn’t bother trying to grab him; I just elbowed him sharply in the ribs. Fury spasmed across his body and he snarled, fur sprouting out across his jawline.
The humming stopped abruptly and the surface of the reservoir broke to reveal the head of an extraordinarily beautiful woman. I was too shocked to do anything but stare.
‘He’s a werewolf?’ The bobbing blonde threw her hands up in disgust, ignoring the splatter of flying blood that the movement created. ‘Just my fucking luck.’
Monroe staggered backwards. I simply gaped. I had imagined many things that might be in the dark red pool but she wasn’t one of them.
The woman flicked her eyes to me with a disdainful toss of her head. ‘What are you looking at?’
My jaw worked uselessly. She sighed and spun, her head disappearing into the gruesome depths. A half-second later there was a flash of silver and a large fish tail appeared, flicking at us like a middle finger.
I pinched my skin. Nope. I wasn’t dreaming. I swivelled towards Monroe. ‘Was that…?’
‘A mermaid?’ he grunted. ‘I believe so. Yes.’
Chapter Two
We scrabbled up the muddy bank in a bid to regroup and steer clear of any further mermaid-style shenanigans.
‘She’s not exactly what Disney envisaged, is she?’ I whispered half to myself. I turned to Monroe. ‘Why didn’t you tell me mermaids existed?’
He was looking as disturbed as I felt. ‘I didn’t know.’ He gazed out across the expanse of blood. ‘She must have been enticed here by the magic.’ He tapped his mouth thoughtfully. ‘And she obviously has powers.’
I snorted. ‘Seductive powers.’ At Monroe’s sidelong look, I jabbed him on the arm. ‘You were all but ready to climb into that reservoir along with her. What the hell happened?’
He seemed annoyed, although more with himself than with me. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking. I heard her song beckoning to me and…’ His voice drifted away and he frowned, unable to account for his own actions even to himself.
Personally, I wouldn’t have called that weird buzzing sound a song but each to their own. ‘I thought it was Sirens who were known for doing that. Singing, I mean.’
Monroe scratched his chin. ‘Legends often get mixed up in the re-telling. You’ve heard the human version, which has no doubt been warped over generations. From what we’ve just experienced, mermaids and Sirens are one and the same.’
‘She wasn’t wearing a shell bikini. And she didn’t have any singing crabs with her.’ I cast a quick look around the seemingly empty reservoir.
‘What?’ Monroe asked.
‘I’m checking to see whether Tom Hanks is about to show up.’
He tsked. ‘I think you can forget what Hollywood has told you.’ He frowned. ‘If you think about what the old stories say, though, mermaids are tough cookies. Very tough cookies.’
‘Walking on knives,’ I said, suddenly remembering. ‘When the Little Mermaid was transformed into a human to win the love of the prince, every step felt like she was walking on knives.’
Monroe nodded grimly. ‘Exactly. We can surmise that not only does her kind have a high pain threshold but also that they’ll go to any lengths to get what they want.’
I pointed at the reservoir. ‘What she apparently wants is you.’
‘No. She lost interest when she realised I was a werewolf. She wants a man.’
I shivered. ‘To mate with?’ I asked. ‘Or to eat?’
He folded his arms. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’ He raised his chin and called out across the lake of blood. ‘All we want is to talk!’
There was no response. Big surprise: Monroe’s shout was hardly the invitation of the year.
My brow furrowed and I tried to think. I didn’t know squat about mermaids but I possessed a whole wealth of information that I’d garnered throughout my gambling career. I had laid bets on all manner of things over the years and the most successful ones had been where I’d used my knowledge and hard facts to predict the outcomes.
One thing I knew for sure was that sound travelled faster in water than in air. The mermaid seemed to be on her own and there certainly wasn’t much in the way of action going on out here. Given the choice between swimming around a pool of blood and ignoring the only visitors who’d shown up for weeks or earwigging on their conversation, I knew which option I’d plump for.
I also doubted that even if mermaids did eat humans, our flesh was their sole source of food. Drowned bodies washed up on shore and they didn’t all disappear into the hungry mouths of mermaids. Our little tailed temptress probably ate fish most of the time. I doubted there were many of those in the reservoir, certainly not now it was tainted. She was probably bored and definitely hungry. Now that I could work with.
I touched Monroe’s arm and raised my eyebrows meaningfully. ‘Put yourself in her shoes. It can’t be easy for her being here. I don’t know why she’d choose this place to live when there are so many other good spots with the same, if not better, concentration of magic. Some of my lot were out fishing in the canal and caught some tasty carp. Surely there are other places where she could get a reliable food source and potential company.’
I glanced at the surface of the reservoir and spotted the faintest undulations that didn’t look entirely natural. Yeah. She was listening.
Monroe’s expression cleared as he caught on. ‘You know, I once heard Madrona chatting about just such a place. It doesn’t only have fish, it’s got ducks too.’
‘Aw,’ I said. ‘I like ducks. Where is this place?’
‘Boggart Hole. Traditionally it was a magical spot even before the apocalypse. I don’t know where it is because I don’t know Manchester all that well, but…’
