Night Tide

by Kory M. Shrum

  It’s our home, Aunt Constance often said. It’s where our souls live, Reese. If it’s lost, that will be the end of us.

  And though Reese didn’t have scientific inclinations of her own, she didn’t disagree. And Constance was a kind and loving aunt. She hadn’t pressured Reese into doing more with her gifts—or even use them in the name of the ocean they both worshipped—and Reese was very grateful for that.

  Reese went straight to the first floor bath, afraid to drip water on any of the house’s expensive surfaces.

  Fortunately, the first-floor bath was just past the living room on the right. All the towels, soap and necessities were present and accounted for. Reese had only to strip out of her sea-soaked clothes and into the hot water.

  She washed the salt from her hair. Her tired mind wandered. She replayed the evening in her mind, wondering if there was a connection between seemingly separate events.

  Clean, Reese stepped out of the shower and collected her clothes from the floor. She was tidy by nature, a habit instilled in her by her orderly aunt no doubt. The clothes went in the hamper. The water she’d tracked in was cleaned up with a mop.

  Once every trace of her entrance had been removed, Reese changed for bed.

  She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

  A phone was ringing somewhere in the house. Reese groped the sheets blindly trying to find her cell. She found the cord first, tracing it to the phone itself.

  “Hello?” she groaned. Her voice broke with the effort.

  “Reese?”

  It was Kristine. She didn’t sound so great either. Of course, running the woods all night would do that to a woman.

  “Yeah, it’s me. What’s up?”

  “I’m calling an emergency pack meeting. A kid died in the cove last night. He was torn apart by a siren.”

  “What?” Reese sat up, alarm rocketing her mind to full wakefulness. “When? I was just there.”

  “Were you?” Kristine said. Said, because the alpha rarely asked questions. Even her questions couldn’t be mistaken for questions.

  Reese recounted the night to her boss and friend. By the time she finished, she felt like she’d made a terrible mistake. She shouldn’t have swum toward the reef after all. She should’ve chanced going into deeper waters. Maybe she could’ve helped those kids if she had.

  “I saw the kids,” she finished lamely. “I should’ve checked on them.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up,” Kristine said. “How could you have known that would happen? The sirens aren’t even supposed to be in the cove.”

  Silence stretched on the line and Reese’s guilt only thickened inside her.

  “Well,” Kristine said finally. Her sigh made the woman sound much older. “We need to know what’s going on. I called to see if you could watch the bar until I get there. I realize it’s not your shift and I’ll pay you double for that. But now I wonder if you should be part of the discussion. I’ll leave it to you to decide.”

  Reese Choice 11

  Go to pack meeting

  Hold down the bar

  Grayson: Go to work

  “I’m going to work,” he said and checked the time on his phone. He had two hours before his shift started.

  “Come home if it’s too much,” his mother said.

  “Yes,” his father agreed, looking up from his phone again. “There’s no shame in needing personal time.”

  “I know,” Grayson said and he meant it. Grayson didn’t know another kid at his school who could call his mother and be removed, no questions asked, because he needed a mental health day.

  His mother squeezed his hand. It was warm from the coffee mug she’d been holding.

  “We want to give you space and we trust you to take care of yourself,” she said. “But we also worry. No one should have to go through what you went through last night. Loss is terrible, but last night...last night.”

  He squeezed her hand back and then let it go. “Don’t worry about me.”

  She clucked her tongue. “As if I can turn it off.”

  Abby came into the dining room and took the empty seat. She sipped the coffee, then added creamer from the carafe on the table. She also poured herself a juice.

  “Mom texted me and said she’s going to be a few minutes late. She got hung up on a 911 call or something.”

  “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to,” Grayson’s father said, looking up from his phone.

  “We love having you,” his mother added, tapping her rings against her coffee mug. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Awful,” Abigail said and his mother responded by rubbing Abby’s back.

  “Your bagel is cold. Want me to reheat it?”

  “No, this is fine.”

  The front door slammed open. “I’m home! Grayson! How was your birthday?”

  Tanner, his ten-year-old brother, burst into the dining room. His hair was blown back from his face and he had his backpack slung over his shoulder. He dropped it with a clunk onto the floor.

  He took one look at his family and his eyes widened. “Whoa. Who died?”

  Grayson snorted. His brother had an uncanny ability to hit the truth spot on. His father often said he was fairly certain Tanner—because he’d been born in this creepy town—was some kind of psychic. Grayson had been born in LA, and while he might have a knack for surviving, he didn’t seem to know things out of the blue like Tanner did.

  Grayson’s mother was standing at the dining room window, waving to Will’s mother in the driveway.

  “Landon died,” Abby said. She took a bite of her bagel as if to stop herself from saying more.

  “Shit.”

  “Tanner!” his father cried.

  “Language,” his mother said, releasing the curtain.

  “You’re one to talk,” Tanner shot back and he had a point. Everyone at that table knew his mother said words that would make a sailor blush.

  “Please put your shoes and bag where they go,” his father said pointing at the pile Tanner made upon his arrival.

  Tanner didn’t seem to hear him. “Did he really die?” He was looking to Grayson for confirmation.

  Grayson found his voice. “There was an accident when we were swimming.”

  Both his parents shot him warning looks. Grayson understood that he was supposed to omit the details of Landon’s death. Tanner knew Castle Cove was different. He knew about the vampires, werewolves, and witches—even the sirens in the cove. As with Grayson, his parents took great care to raise a curious but cautious boy.

  But just because Tanner knew there were monsters in Castle Cove didn’t mean that Tanner fully understood what those monsters could do to a person.

  Grayson thought that Tanner comprehended more than he let on. Perhaps it was his gift for knowing that kept him safe. This gift worked as well as, if not better than, their parents’ diligent training.

  “He drowned?” Tanner asked. His eyes were wide. Too wide.

  “Yeah,” Abby said, lifting her coffee from the table. Grayson saw the tremble in her hand.

  “Your best friend drowned on your freaking birthday?” Tanner asked. Now he was hanging off Grayson’s chair, looking him in the eye. “I’m sorry, dude.”

  Dude was his favorite word the last few weeks and to hear it uttered with such sincerity undid Grayson inside. Tears formed and spilled over onto his cheeks. He pulled his little brother into a tight hug. “Thanks, man.”

  His parents let the moment unravel between them. No one spoke. Breakfast continued as if nothing was happening. Tanner pulled back first.

  “Shoes, bag,” his mother said.

  Tanner dutifully obeyed, putting his backpack on the hook and slipping his shoes into their cubby.

  The doorbell rang.

  Because he hadn’t closed the door behind him, it stood open with a clear view of Officer O’Reilly on the porch. She didn’t have the officer uniform on. She wore pressed black dress pants and a deep burgundy dress shir
t tucked into the waistband. Her badge was clipped to one hip and her gun was visible in its holster.

  “Abby, it’s your mom,” Tanner said, and opened the screen door. “Hi, Miss Una.”

  “Hey, buddy.” She sounded as exhausted as she looked. Deep pillows of purple had formed under each of her eyes.

  Abby started to clear up her plate, but Grayson’s mother gently tugged her hands away. “Leave it. I’ll take care of it.”

  Officer O’Reilly stepped into the hallway, ushered in by Tanner.

  “Are you ready?” she asked, when she saw Abigail.

  Abigail patted her pockets as if she’d forgotten something. “I guess so. I didn’t really have anything on the beach, did I?”

  “We might’ve left things in Landon’s car,” Grayson said. It had been Landon who’d driven them to the beach.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Una said with another tight smile. To his parents she said, “Thanks for letting Abby stay.”

  “Of course,” his parents said in unison.

  “Abby is welcome here anytime,” his mother added, lifting her coffee mug to her lips again.

  “I thought nothing could get into the cove because of the rocks,” Tanner said. He was looking up at Officer O’Reilly with a strange expression on his face. “It’s got that rock barrier, right?”

  Una’s lips pinched.

  “Why do you think something was in the cove?” his mother asked. “We said he drowned.”

  Una frowned. “It was rough seas last night. A storm rolled in really quick.”

  Tanner’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, we saw it. Will and I were in the backyard catching fireflies and then all of a sudden it was lightning and thundering.”

  Officer O’Reilly lifted the pile of Abby’s clothes from the bench. “Where does Will live?”

  “Cliffside,” his father answered. “Near the east lot.”

  “That’s North Beach. Very close to the water.” Officer O’Reilly shrugged as if to say there you go.

  “Yeah, we walk down to the beach and catch crabs. Will’s dad cooks them. Alive.”

  “Are you going back to work?” Abby asked.

  “For a few hours,” Una said. Then she clamped a hand on Grayson’s shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “Happy belated birthday.”

  “Thanks.”

  Tanner pulled open the door, holding it open for them.

  “Such a gentleman,” Una said and stepped out onto the porch again. “Thank you again.”

  Abby hesitated in the doorway. Her gaze fixed on Grayson. “Call me later, okay?”

  “I will.” He’d already planned on checking on her at least a hundred times today.

  With a weak smile, she descended the porch steps to the waiting unmarked car.

  “Bye,” Tanner said and shut the door. He met Grayson’s eyes and frowned. “That was awkward.”

  Curiosity Books was on the corner of Apple Street and Magnolia Street. He parked at the curb outside the old Victorian building. The bookshop was purple with light brown windows and trim.

  The sign in the yard read Curiosity Books, Treasure For Those Who Seek It. And below that, Used Books and Oddities—just in case those treasure seekers should get the wrong idea.

  “Grayson!” Ms. Monroe exclaimed. She stood on the porch, her key in one hand, her mouth gaping. “What are you doing here?”

  “My shift is from two until eight,” he said. He hesitated on the step, wondering if he’d gotten it wrong. A lot had happened in the last 24 hours. It was very possible.

  “Yes, but I didn’t think you’d come in today. Not after what happened last night.”

  “You heard about that?” he asked, stuffing his hands down in his pocket.

  She pulled at her tangle of necklaces around her neck. “Yes, well. It might’ve come on over the scanner.”

  Grayson had never asked his boss why she had a police scanner in her upstairs apartment, or more specifically, why she thought she needed one. It was possible that she was only nosy. But sometimes he liked to imagine that she’d come to Castle Cove to escape a life of crime. The idea was so ridiculous that it amused him to no end.

  Ms. Monroe’s hair was crimped, and stood out from her head in all directions. She wore a scarf across her head and coke bottle glasses so large that her eyes gave the impression of really drinking someone in. Her clothes were bright, flowing fabrics of wild designs and her neck always had at least five or six necklaces hanging around it. Despite their tendency to tangle, she seemed committed to wearing them.

  She looked like the garden variety cat lady, though she had no cats. Well, if one didn’t count Pumpkin—an orange tabby who strolled Midtown at her leisure. But it was as much a patron of the other shops as she was of Curiosity Books.

  Since Grayson had received strict instruction to always let Pumpkin in, should she come calling, he often had the chore of vacuuming the cat hair that seemed to accumulate in her wake.

  “I thought work might take my mind off things,” he said. “But if you’re closing—”

  He looked at the key in the door and her hand still on the handle.

  “Oh, yes, well I’m meeting someone for tea and so I thought I’d just close early. But if you really want to be here...?”

  “I do,” he insisted, adjusting his messenger bag on his shoulder. “If it’s okay with you.”

  “Of course, of course.” She unlocked the door, pushing it open with her hand.

  “I just want to keep busy,” he said.

  “Yes, I like to rearrange my spice rack when my mind gives me trouble.” She checked her watch one more time and then stepped into the shop after him. “There’s a big pile here that needs to be reshelved. You could also vacuum. Pumpkin was here earlier.”

  “Okay,” he said, removing his jacket and throwing it over the wooden chair behind the register.

  “Oh, and you could call about these books.” She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. She smoothed it against the table top so he could better read it.

  He reviewed the list, seeing the description of each and the ISBN and telephone numbers beside it.

  “We had a lot of special orders this week,” she said, gesturing to the list. “Just find out if the stores I’ve listed are carrying any copies and at what price we can get it for. Then you can call the buyer and ask them to commit.”

  “All right.”

  Ms. Monroe seemed to hover for a moment. “Are you sure you’re going to be all right here alone?”

  He forced himself to smile. “I’ll have Gladys.”

  Ms. Monroe arched her eyebrows instead of laughing at his joke. “Dear, the dead aren’t good company.”

  “I’ll be fine.” If he didn’t say it, he was sure she wouldn’t leave.

  With an awkward pat on the counter, she turned to the door. “I’ll be back around seven or so, but if I’m not, just lock up when you leave.”

  When she pulled the door closed after her, the overhead bell rang. The air vibrated with the twang, then fell silent.

  For a long time, he only sat there, feeling the chair against his back, his fingers picking at a hole in his jeans.

  Then when the silence began to feel alive, almost as if it were breathing down the back of his neck, he got to work.

  He started with vacuuming, angling the ancient contraption through the narrow stacks. More than once he clipped a pile of books and sent it tumbling. He restacked them the best he could and kept on.

  After he reshelved the pile by the register, he dusted. There were limitations to what one could accomplish in this old shop in terms of dusting. Running a light feather duster over the exposed spines was about as much as one could do.

  Cleaning had only taken him about two hours, so he decided it was time to make the phone calls. He called the listed book sellers and dutifully recorded the prices. Then he called the customers who’d requested those items and confirmed that they would pay. When he was finished he sent an update text to Ms. Monroe. She
instructed him to buy them all.

  He did so using her business credit card, locked away in the register for exactly such purchases.

  He’d just written out the total and put it in the register when table legs scraped overhead. He smiled. There was something comforting about Gladys the ghost being her usual restless self. Then for the first time he wondered if he might see Landon again.

  How would it feel to see ghost-Landon?

  And what if something did develop between him and Abby? Would ghost Landon be okay with it? Or would he haunt them for the rest of their lives—breaking their dishes or windows and shaking their bed whenever they tried to have sex?

  Grayson listened to the legs catch on the wood floor above. Then nothing. When it seemed she’d completed her task, he called out to her.

  “Gladys? I could use a book recommendation.”

  For a moment, he sat perched on the chair, listening to the ringing silence in the shop.

  Then he heard the soft shuffle of a book sliding from the shelf, followed by the hollow thump of it hitting the floor.

  Grayson stood from the chair and followed the narrow aisle, searching the floors for the fallen book.

  He’d made it almost to the biographies section when he turned a corner and saw it.

  He bent and picked the book up, brushing a hand over its cover. Maybe the book had been red once, but now it had faded to a burnt orange. The binding was frayed and the exposed pages were stained yellow with age.

  “A Siren Song,” he read aloud. “The history of Atlantis’ survivors.”

  Grayson’s heart rocketed in his chest. His pulse built to the point of painfulness. It pounded like a war drum in his temples.

  He saw movement in the corner of his eye and turned. Farther up the row, another book was sliding out of its place on the shelf. It inched forward once, twice, and then tumbled onto the floor.

  Grayson crossed to the fallen book and picked it up off the floor.

  “The Dark Mother and Her Children,” he said. He opened the cover and was surprised to see it was published by the Castle Cove University Press over a hundred years ago. He flipped page after page until he found an old pencil etching of a young woman about to enter a dark wood. The woman had long black hair and wide dark eyes.