by Sonya Blake
He smiled and kissed her cheek as he sank into the pillows, arms coiling around her. She turned to her side and he burrowed his nose into the curve of her neck, and though she was bone-tired, she lay awake listening to the sound of his breathing deepening until she knew he was asleep. It took her what felt like hours to fall to sleep herself, her mind keeping her awake with thoughts of Sam as a seal, herself as a siren, and the whole ocean wanting to claim them both.
Part Two
Chapter Twenty-Six
Violet lay on the floor of the cupola room, wrapped in the sealskin as the sky lightened with the first hint of dawn. There had been hundreds of thousands of dawns between this and her first, and she was cursed to remember each one. Well, most of them, anyway.
She sat up, stretching sore muscles and a stiff neck. This body was one of the better ones she’d walked in—especially since she had been able to split her consciousness into the dual form of twin sisters—but it was already growing flawed, even at the young age of twenty-seven. She could feel it in the mornings when the feet and ankles were tight for the first few steps she took out of bed, or when she woke with a headache after drinking too much wine. She had seen a silver hair in the lush black mane a week ago, and plucked the bastard out.
The one thing that had been making her feel content within this particular body was the lover she’d found to please it with. Sam Lowell, with his strong shoulders, his burning eyes—his big cock—was a lover for the ages, but he wasn’t only that. Violet could have had any number of handsome, skillful partners. And she had, over the centuries. But Sam was different than all the others.
He was a selkie, an enchanted being. Her first. Finding him, stealing his sealskin, hunting him, toying with him—it made her feel alive again. Well, not alive. Because she’d been that for over a thousand years. He made her feel real again, that was what it was. He made her feel like she had something to fight for, like she wasn’t just waiting out her days in yet another dull lifetime.
She’d found him when she’d been in this particular body—or set of bodies, if you wanted to include her twin, Emory—for about sixteen years, when she had been occupied with feasting herself on the latest in literature, music, fashion, and technology most of all. She hadn’t needed the selkie boy then. She’d kept his sealskin, knowing what it was and how she might use it, knowing that someday, once she could feel the darkness of decline begin to steal over her borrowed form, she’d need an outlet. A reason to live. A way to stay occupied until it was time to find the next vessel and transition again.
The human life was tragically short. Certainly, bodies could live well past seven, eight, or even nine decades, but how much of that time was actually pleasurable? In her experience, after three decades the body was wasted. Finished. At first, she had lived out the days and let those bodies reach their natural end, but in recent lifetimes she rarely wanted to stay past the prime, much less the decline.
Sam had been making her feel otherwise, though. All those years ago, she couldn’t have known what a man the selkie boy would grow into, or that he’d make her feel that she might just be willing to stay for a while longer, to possibly experience a real lifetime—with him. It had been hundreds upon hundreds of lifetimes since she’d wanted that. She hadn’t truly felt this much for a man since her very first, the one who had destroyed her heart and cursed her to remain in the cycle of consciousness for eternity without real love. Sam Lowell, she thought, just might be the one to break the spell that had long ago been cast upon her wounded soul. And perhaps, if he truly was the one, this life might be her blessed last.
She could only hope so.
Violet pressed her nose to the soft, thick fur of the sealskin and inhaled. Was it love she felt for Sam? It was desire, she could say that for sure. He had awakened a need in her she hadn’t felt in so long—a need that made her feel twisted and weak inside, but still she loved it. Though she saw now that she had been foolish to believe she could have kept him for herself without using the sealskin.
She ought to have known better. Men were wont to wander. And she, in her complacency, her ambivalence, hadn’t thought to take precautions with Sam to make him hers and hers alone. Was it too late?
“Ahh.” Violet let out a sigh as she stood and stretched again.
It wasn’t too late. She had a tool to help her keep Sam as long as she wanted him. She had proven that to herself last night when she had commanded Sam to return home and moments later the Angeline had left Foley’s Point and crossed the harbor, bound for Thursday Island. Yes, he had brought that stupid little whore with him and fucked her brains out in his bed, the bed Violet had yet never seen. But still—he had obeyed her command.
The jealousy she felt was cutting, enveloping, delicious. She reveled in the pain, eager for the reminder of life it gave her. Her heart was not dead.
Picking up the sealskin, she cradled its weight in her arms as she walked over to the chest where she kept it stowed. Pressing her lips to the sealskin’s ear, she whispered. “Come to me, Sam.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
White winter sunlight poured into the window behind the headboard and the skylight above, warming Sam’s bed, where Kaia lay. She turned over and found the mattress empty. She listened for the sound of the shower, the clinking of dishes, but heard nothing other than the endless crashing of the ocean.
“Sam?” She sat up and squinted in the shaft of light descending upon her. Her hair fell around her cheeks, loosened from the bun she’d put it in before sleeping. She noticed her hair tie on the nightstand and dimly recalled Sam gently tugging her curls free in the dark hours before dawn when they had wordlessly made love again.
She looked around the room. Now there was an easel at the bedside and brushes scattered on a chipped dinner plate on the floor. The old floorboards creaked underfoot as Kaia got up. Joni Mitchell greeted her with a long, strangled meow and rubbed a whiskery nose on her ankle.
Wrapping her arms tighter around herself to ward off the January chill, Kaia walked around the easel and looked at the painting. It was only in its beginning stages, but it clearly depicted her asleep in Sam’s bed, the dawn light just touching the edge of her hair and turning it to fiery gold. The suggestion of the cat curled at the end of the bed gave the painting a most intimate touch, as if to say this was not just a modeling session, but a comfortable morning-after between lovers. If only that were actually the case.
“Sam?” she called out again, looking over her shoulder and into the rest of the house.
There was no freshly brewed coffee. No pancake breakfast. No kisses in the kitchen. No fire in the woodstove.
No Sam.
She shivered as she walked into the living room with the cat following behind. Outside, in the cold gray water by the dock, the Angeline was gone. Perhaps he had taken a trip to shore to get something from Penfeld’s market. Or maybe he had to work, and was out fishing.
She spent the next few minutes searching for a note on the kitchen counter, the fridge, the bedside table in the bedroom, but found nothing. He didn’t have a landline for her to try calling his cellphone, and, anyway, she didn’t have his number memorized.
Kaia sighed and put on the kettle to make a fresh batch of coffee in the fancy pour-over contraption she found on the counter, then busied herself with building a fire in the woodstove, taking a shower, and making the bed. She toasted some bread and fried an egg. She fed Joni Mitchell and cleaned her water bowl. She swept the wood chippings from the hearth. Snooped around Sam’s bookshelf and examined his paintings. Bundled up and walked around the circumference of the island, stopping at a north-facing promontory that afforded a view of Wapomeq Bay.
Sam’s boat was nowhere to be seen.The January days were short, and the afternoon sun had already crested the frosty hill behind Quolobit Harbor as Kaia stood on the edge of the dock on Thursday Island. It was well below freezing outside, and the wind bit her cheeks and the tip of her nose and made tears blur her eyes as she squinted
landward.
It didn’t seem right that Sam had left her here without so much as a note. Then again, she didn’t really know the man at all. He’d acted strangely the night before, getting up and suddenly needing to leave Foley’s Point for no apparent reason. Still, it wasn’t as if she felt that he didn’t care about her. In fact, it was the opposite. She’d never been with someone more attentive. The painting of her and the lovingly wrought details of it were further proof of his feelings.
Kaia sighed and was about to turn for the cabin again when she got the idea that she could just swim back to Foley’s Point. She laughed aloud.
Of course, the thought hadn’t come to her immediately—because why would it? She’d been a siren for less than a week. She’d also only known Sam for less than a week. That thought, paired with his sudden and unexplained absence, was sobering.
She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest as she assessed the water beyond the dock. It was deep gray-green, so dark it was almost black, and despite the fact that it was cold enough to kill a regular person, it did look inviting to her.
Why should she stay and wait? Sam had left her literally on a deserted island for a whole day without giving her any way of contacting him, and with very little to eat. She was hungry for something other than eggs and bread, and she did not like the feeling of waiting around for a man.
The frigid wind lashed at her back and thighs as she undressed. She left her things heaped just inside the door of the cabin, and dove in. The transition was painful, but it was a little like waxing—the more you did it, the more you knew what to expect, the less it hurt. Sort of.
Kaia found her bearings and set off on a course toward Foley’s Point, knowing better than to make any noise. Wouldn’t want to call forth the Evil Ones from the Deep! She found herself flinching with fear as soon as she left the island’s sheltering presence and entered the open water.
But the water was clear, cold, and quiet as she pulsed her fanned fin through it, feeling the regular ripple of muscle along her scaly tail. She lifted her head regularly to make sure she stayed on course, heading toward the cove on the northern side of the Point. She was squinting against the wind and wiping frigid saltwater out of her eyes with her webbed fingers when she noticed something glinting in the water, moving towards her. She spun to the right and caught sight of a boat traveling at high speed, water purling from its prow.
Shit.
Kaia dove down, far into the dark, as the white hull passed over her. Heart pounding, she snuck back toward the surface and kept her head and tail safely out of sight until she could pause and look around, making certain there were no other boats nearby. All was quiet again, still and green. She sighed a flurry of bubbles in relief and continued toward the brown, belt-like fronds of kelp near the shore, where she remained in the water from the neck down as she transitioned, breathing the winter air in eager lungfuls, hoping not to be seen.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Using the sealskin, Violet had commanded Sam to park the Angeline in the boathouse, out of sight, then climb up to the cupola, where she waited for him. All the pain, all the jealousy—it ignited and burned up into pure triumph the moment she saw him duck through the door.
Eyes dark, lips slack, he appeared drunk. “Why… why am I here?” Sam asked as he stepped into the cupola, his gaze scanning the space, passing over her, not noticing the sleek pelt she held in her arms.
“Because I need you,” Violet answered, drawing him to a chair in the center of the room. “Stay,” she commanded under her breath to the sealskin as she laid it in the trunk on the floor and locked the lid. She gazed over her shoulder as she walked out the cupola door, locking it before descending the stairs to make her preparations.
*
After several hours, Sam was still waiting for her, just as she had commanded him. She was nearly ready. She would make him forget that redheaded tart. She would make him truly hers.
Outside the room, Violet now stood with her back to the cupola door, a teakwood box clutched in her hands. Emory, her twin, her other half, stood beside her as they conferred silently between their halved mind.
Do we have everything we need?
The moon was full and edging toward waning—perfect for their intentions of increasing Sam’s devotion to Violet and stripping away his attachment to anyone else. To invoke the elements, they had a small leather satchel of dirt for earth, incense for air, a candle for fire, a bottle of seawater for water, and salt for casting the circle. They had geranium and rue and ginseng for increasing Sam’s lust and their own control, as well as a spray bottle filled with birch infusion for asperging to banish Kaia’s influence over Sam. And, most importantly, they had wine to offer to the horned demon Baphomet, whom they would summon for aid.
Yes, we have everything.
Emory smiled and shrugged out of her satin robe as Violet did the same, letting the garments pool on the rough wood of the landing.
Violet paused for a moment, considering what they were about to do. It’s not twincest, she told herself. Not when we share a consciousness. Emory gave her a sly smile.
Violet turned the doorknob and entered the circular cupola with Emory behind her. Sam sat precisely where she had left him, on a wooden chair in the center of the sparse room.
“Hello, Sam,” they cooed in unison. Violet felt a rush at just how synchronized they could be.
She set the teakwood box and bottle of wine down on the trunk and dragged it closer to the center of the room as a makeshift altar. She hadn’t had need of magick yet in this lifetime, and had not created a proper space for it. That would have to change, apparently. For now, the trunk would do.
Emory stroked Sam’s cheek as he stared vacantly at the floor, not noticing the two slender, naked women moving around him, one dark, one light. He had not removed his coat, nor moved an inch as far as Violet could tell. Her command over him was even stronger than she had hoped.
The sun had already fallen behind the hill above Quolobit Harbor, and the snow-dusted peaks of the roof took on a sugared aspect around them. Violet began casting the circle with a line of poured salt as Emory pulled Sam to his feet and undressed him. She set the chair and his clothing outside of the circle, leaving him to stand naked in its center, silent and obedient.
The twins shared a smile, one reflection to another. They worked in tandem, Violet lighting candles, Emory calling to the elements and making offerings. In a shallow silver bowl they burned the herbs, and soon the air was filled with fragrant smoke. The sharp scent of birch cut through it as Emory misted Sam’s body with the asperging spray.
Violet began the incantation to summon the sacred demon Baphomet.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Deciding she needed to talk to someone about all the weird shit that had been going on, Kaia took a hot shower, dressed as warmly as she could—sparing a regret for the boots and sweater she’d had to leave back on Thursday Island—and drove herself to the hardware store on Milk Street. Felicia Dunne was at the door in oversized pink glasses and furry boots, sprinkling salt on the granite step. She looked up at Kaia, her hot pink lips curving in a broad smile.
“I thought I’d see you again,” Felicia said, holding open the door. “Looks like we’re supposed to get hit with a blizzard. You’re going to need some snow boots.”
“I… had some,” Kaia said as she stepped into the warmth of the hardware store, her thin, pointless canvas sneakers slapping on the old floorboards. She turned to Felicia, hands shoved into her coat pockets, unsure how to begin. “I need to talk to you, Felicia.”
Felicia drew in a breath, then nodded and turned to lock the door, flipping the sign to closed.
“Come on upstairs,” she said.
Felicia’s second-floor apartment was airy and welcoming. From the small kitchen window a blue-black streak of ocean could be seen glimmering in the last light of day, past the peak of a fancy Victorian house on Main Street and the spires of hemlocks.
Fel
icia pushed aside a big stew pot and a stack of cast-iron pans to set a kettle on the stove. She pulled a can out of the cabinet and started scooping out something that looked more like roots dug out of the ground than like coffee, dumping the stuff into a grinder.
“Tell me the other bitch looks worse than you.” Felicia cast Kaia a shrewd eye.
Kaia laughed, then put a hand to her tender cheek, where the three-inch scratch was scabbing over. “A siren attacked me while I was in the water,” she said loudly over the grinding. “I fought her off. The other day I caught her spying on me from the woods, and the other night she broke into my house. I don’t know what she wants.”
Felicia stopped the grinder and spun around, putting her hands where her high-waisted jeans ended and her cropped sweater revealed a strong abdomen with skin rich as earth.
“I think I really hurt her,” Kaia added.
Felicia frowned. “Good.” She went back to grinding.
When Felicia was finished with the grinder she dumped the dark, crumbled contents into a French press.
“So, are you… ?” Kaia stammered. Like me? she wanted to ask.
Felicia lifted her graceful, arched brows. “Am I what, sweet pea? Makin’ you coffee? Why, yes, ma’am.” She spun around again and attended to the grinder. “Coffee with chicory roots, like we do in New Orleans, where I’m from. Doesn’t taste as weird as it sounds, I promise.”
Kaia wriggled her way into a chair at the round oak table. Maybe it was rude to ask someone point-blank if they weren’t human.
She thought she’d try another tack. “So, beside me, are there other… you know?”
Felicia snorted. “Fishies in the sea, and wolves, and foxes, and lions, tigers, and bears, oh my? Yes.”
Kaia gulped, looking down at a crayon drawing in front of her. It was of a wind turbine, with dead fish floating around it and a fisherman in his boat below, throwing up his hands in distress. She was about to ask if there’d been any progress on the town’s wind farm vote, but Felicia interrupted her thought.