“Cheese! Bad puffin!” Lesya waved at the bird, shooing him back towards the cabin. “You know better.”
Cheese huffed, feathers ruffling. His orange, webbed feet stomped on the dead grass, purposely coming towards her despite her glare.
“Oh no you don’t!” Lesya snapped her fingers, expecting an influencing spell, but instead, sparks flew from her fingers and sputtered out before reaching the ground.
The puffin made a chortle that sounded suspiciously like laughter.
“Back to the cabin!” Lesya ordered. “The villagers would rip your feathers out and eat you for dinner. And I’d let them because you’re so damn insubordinate.”
If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought Cheese narrowed his eyes at her. But the bird turned around and waddled his way back into the forest.
Lesya let out an irritated huff and shoved her messy brown hair back under her hood. Then she rearranged her satchel and headed north.
The nice part of living so far away from civilization, other than the privacy, was the peace. Despite the misty rain and cool wind, birds danced in the trees and sang their songs on a background sonata of the ocean’s waves. Lesya raised her face to the breeze, closing her eyes to the rain. She loved rain, the way the icy drops seemed to wash her clean, smelling of salt and sand and a time before hardship. Like her puffins, rain was one of the things that convinced her she could survive one day at a time.
“Hey. Witch.”
Lesya stopped in her tracks, her knees weak. The familiar voice was out of place in her solitude. Her walks were never interrupted. Nobody else lived far enough out to come across her. The villagers avoided her land, while their children sang taunting rhymes about the witch of the woods who stole naughty kids to eat in her stew.
An untapped, paranoid side to her knew he’d planned this meeting. He had been waiting for her, as if he were playing some sick game. How many days had he patrolled this road, waiting to “happen” upon her?
Lesya turned to face him, her hands curled into fists. She couldn't let him see her fear.
Yuri Popov strolled onto the asphalt behind her, the barrel of his shotgun resting casually on his shoulder. His clothes were dirty and full of holes, just like the rest of the Popov family—a bunch of vagrants and criminals, the lot of them. She'd heard the second oldest boy had been imprisoned for rape only two months back.
“What do you want?” Lesya asked, keeping her voice even and uninterested. He got off on scaring her, so she wouldn't give him the pleasure. She tucked a hand into her open jacket and palmed the dagger at her hip. Its presence calmed her, let her know she wasn’t alone.
Though her knife against his bullets wasn’t exactly a fair fight.
The human laughed, but the sound was less about hilarity and more about venom. He tapped the grip of his gun with his thumb, his hard gaze zeroing on her pack. “Headed to town, are you? Carrying anything I might want?”
Lesya lifted her chin and balanced her weight on the balls of her feet. “I dare you to try.”
“Stupid witch. If I wanted whatever garbage you have in that bag, I would have taken it when your back was turned.” He dropped his gun from his shoulder and laughed as Lesya jumped. He pointedly dropped the barrel tip to the ground and leaned on the weapon. “Got any money?”
“You know I don’t.”
“Ha. Yeah. Weird-ass witch, bartering her shitty wares to survive. Tell me, do those poultices keep food in your belly?”
“My garden keeps food in my belly. My poultices help people. Which is more than I can say for you.”
Yuri spat at her feet. A glob of saliva slid down the soft leather of her boots. “Fuck you, witch. I raised eight brothers and sisters after my parents abandoned us for the water. What have you done with your life?”
“I don’t harass perfectly nice people who just want to be left alone,” she retorted. Her heart hammered as she turned her back on him and continued up the road. The thought that he could turn his gun on her and fire at any minute stayed with her as she walked, but she knew he wouldn’t.
Or she hoped she knew him enough to know he wouldn't.
Despite his younger brother's penchant for molesting girls, Yuri was all talk. Just another example of the ones left behind to fend for themselves, harboring bitterness and blaming everyone they could for the state of the world. Lesya felt bad for him, truly. Her parents had died, which sucked, but all children grow knowing their parents will die one day.
Yuri's parents didn’t die. They used their life savings to buy the magic necessary to transform into sirens and seek sanctuary in the ocean. So he didn’t just hate his parents for leaving him and his siblings behind—he hated witches for their part in helping his parents escape.
His behavior reflected less on himself, so much as it reflected on the selfishness of his mother and father.
“You just gonna walk away from me?” Yuri barked. His heavy footsteps picked up behind her.
Lesya sighed. Dammit. He was following her. “Leave me alone, Yuri. Go back to the hole from whence you came.”
“Oh, that's rich. Like I'm the demon, here? Not you, with that abomination of magic flowing through your veins? Oh wait!” He laughed heartily. “You couldn't use that magic even if you wanted. Because you suck at it.”
Lesya whirled around and lifted her arms. Inside, she screamed, calling forth the spirits of the forest.
The day darkened, though the sky remained unchanged. The trees began to quake, branches clacking in an invisible wind. Lesya’s fingers crackled with power as the spirits slithered closer, just out of sight.
Yuri stumbled back a couple steps, his eyes growing wide. Lesya caught a flash of red fabric and smelled the sickly-sweet scent of tobacco. The leshiy, his attention on Yuri.
The leshiy didn't like interlopers who came too close to his woods.
Yuri whipped up his gun to point at the place where the leshiy watched him.
“You don’t like my friends?” Lesya asked, her own fear fading in the face of the human’s. If all it took was a trickster forest spirit to turn Yuri into a bumbling mess, she was going to be fine.
Until he turned his gun on her.
“Call off your demons, Lesya Markova, or I'll kill you where you stand.” He punctuated his statement by cocking his rifle, the sound a mini crack of thunder in the forest.
3
Rivka
Rivka emerged from the sea, one weighted step after another. She felt like heavy rocks were tied around every limb as she adjusted to the new gravity of being out of the water.
With arms out to either side for balance, she walked the rest of the way through the shallows, trying her best to keep her balance as the waves crashed against the back of her legs. The onslaught threatened to faceplant her into the sand and rock.
Though she considered the ocean water cold, it was nothing compared to the breeze that brushed across her skin. The sea was positively tropical against this cool atmosphere and the cold spray that fell from the sky. Her scales contracted, preparing to keep her warm.
Once on land, she scanned the coastline, taking in the devastation of her new surroundings. Trees rose to the sky like crooked fingers, their branches devoid of leaves. Unidentifiable skeletons of long-dead plant life poked out of the sandy beach, and Rikva had to be careful where she placed her feet. Even the scales that covered her body could be damaged by something sharp.
To her right, a human structure stood strong against the winds that whipped her hair into her eyes. She recognized it from her grade-school studies: a cottage. Stone walls, slate roof. Quaint. The building hugged the end of a peninsula, surrounded by cliffs peppered with strange black and white birds. Their bright, orange beaks stood out, little bursts of color against the gray landscape.
Rivka left the beach behind for a well-worn path up a small hill. The path ended at an old road, similar to the rock paths they created underwater but smoother. She looked both ways, hoping for some hint of her best c
ourse of action.
In one direction, the road would lead toward the peninsula to the cottage she wasn’t sure was safe. The other direction led into a forest with a murky cloud hanging over it like a pall. Neither looked particularly pleasing, but she had to start somewhere.
She veered left and took the road through the trees. The scent of mud and moss and decaying growth assaulted her senses, reminding her quite clearly she was no longer in the sea.
She prayed this road would lead her to a town of humans. Humans who wouldn't want to kill her the moment they saw the scales decorating her skin. Once there, she could ask around, figure out where the humans manufactured salt and how to get there. The problem was, she wasn’t sure how much salt she’d need. The mob boss wasn’t the only person suffering from its absence. The Aether had cut a swath through her clan, killing half a dozen in the past year alone. It was a vicious and one-hundred-percent fatal disease.
She’d need to steal as much salt as she could find.
A ray of sunshine spilled through a gap in the clouds, and Rivka closed her eyes with a gasp. She’d never needed to worry about the brightness of the day, not so far down below the ocean where the light only penetrated so far. She peeked out and then opened her eyes, squinting in the light. Slowly, she found her vision adjusting to the new demand.
Rivka turned her gaze back to the road. Her steps faltered as she realized even though the sun had appeared, the road ahead was covered in darkness.
Rivka wasn't a professor of human studies or anything, but she was pretty sure a strange dark patch under direct sunlight wasn't normal.
From within the dark patch, a gruff voice shouted something unintelligible. There were people ahead! But from the sound of it, they weren’t out for a friendly stroll. That voice sounded ready to fight.
On tiptoes, Rivka crept over dead leaves and branches scattered along the road. If these weren't friendly humans, it wouldn't do her any good to be seen or heard sneaking up on them.
She rounded a bend to find a woman and a man facing off in the middle of the road.
The man had his back to Rivka, but she could still make out the gleam of metal pointing in the direction of the woman. From the hunched stance and tilted head, Rivka guessed he held some type of gun. She’d heard of them in school.
Clearly, the woman in trouble had a few screws loose. She stood with her arms spread wide like she was asking to be attacked.
“Call off your demons, Lesya Markova, or I'll kill you where you stand,” his rough voice threatened.
“You started this,” the woman said. “You should have never been out here. You know this is my territory.”
“I don't give a shit about your territory, witch. You are nothing to me. If I killed you right now, nobody would mourn your dead body.”
Rivka gasped at the harsh words. She saw the pain flit across the woman's face and realized the man had hit upon a hard truth. She was alone.
Unfortunately, Rivka understood that kind of isolation. She had no living family. No friends. If she died on this mission for salt, her boss would eventually realize she was missing, but no one would mourn her.
So she damn sure wasn't going to let this guy kill the poor, crazy lady.
When the man readjusted his gun, Rivka realized she needed to do something before either one of them noticed her.
Rivka wrapped her fingers around the hilt of her government-issued bone knife and charged the man. Her body collided with the enemy, sending him sprawling face first onto the ground. In one quick motion, she stabbed him in the neck. Blood gushed out of the wound, coating the asphalt.
“What are you doing?” The woman — Lesya, he had said — lowered her arms. Her glare was hot enough to set Rivka on fire.
Rivka poked the man. She grunted her satisfaction when the man didn’t move. “What am I doing?” She used the man’s shirt to wipe her blade clean, then stood and sheathed her weapon. “It looks like I’m saving your life.”
Lesya’s hands curled into fists. “I had the situation under control.”
Rivka thought otherwise. What sane person holds their arms out while a man holds a weapon pointed at them? “I apologize. It totally looked like you did. Well done! I just thought you might like a hand.”
The wind picked up, and Rivka once again, moved hair out of her face. When she could see again, she found Lesya standing beside the dead man.
“Who was he?” Rivka asked.
“Nobody.” Lesya gave a swift kick to the man’s side. “That’s for the puffins!”
Eyes wide, Rivka realized her prior assessment of Lesya’s mental capacity appeared way off. “Um, are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay! You had no right to kill Yuri. This was my fight to finish, and I didn’t need you intervening on my behalf.” Lesya turned and stormed off. She threw her hand in the air, middle finger flying high. “Fuck off.”
The nerve!
Rivka didn’t do anything wrong. She certainly didn't understand why Lesya wasn't falling all over herself with gratitude. Instead, she was pissed off. Mob-level pissed off. “Wait! I need your help!”
Lesya could be her hope to finding the salt she needed and getting back in the water quickly. There was no need to drag this out into a long journey. In, out, fewer sirens dead, and Rivka back in the sea where she belonged.
But the woman didn’t slow or even acknowledge that Rivka had spoken. She ran to catch up with her.
“Did you hear me?” Rivka spoke between labored breaths. The air above the surface proved harder to breathe. What I wouldn’t give to be able to use my gills. “I need your help.”
Finally, Lesya whirled and crossed her arms, eyeing the siren suspiciously. “You? Need my help? Unreal.” She dropped her arms to her sides and continued down the path without waiting for Rivka.
“You don’t understand,” Rivka shouted, then jogged to catch up with Lesya again. Ugh, this woman needs to slow down before I choke on air. “My people are dying. We need salt.”
Lesya remained silent. The two fell in step together as they maneuvered down the road. The trees started to become sparse, and Rivka caught glimpses of the ocean to her left. Up ahead, more human buildings came into view. She shuddered at the thought of all those humans waiting in their crude little houses and what they might do to her if they saw her. Humans loathed sirens. Rivka knew coming onto land could be a death sentence, but she didn’t think she’d die quite so soon.
“Whoa, where are we going?” Rivka grabbed Lesya's arm and forced her to stop.
“We?” Lesya's glare could have frozen the sea. “I’m going into the village for supplies. You just happened to tag along. Unwanted, I might add.”
“Look, I know we didn’t get off on the right foot—”
Lesya abruptly turned, grabbing Rivka's neck with one hand and squeezing. “We got off on more than the wrong foot. If you’re going continue to tag along, don’t kill my enemies. Leave that honor to me.”
Rivka rubbed her neck as Lesya backed up. “Got it.”
Thousands of humans on land, and she just had to run into a psychopath with an attitude problem.
The further they walked into the village, the more humans appeared - walking on sidewalks, chatting in pairs, sitting on their front porches smoking. Their odd stares and horrified gasps made Rivka feel like a freak of nature.
“Heathen,” one man growled as he looked her up and down in passing.
Uneasiness settled in the pit of Rivka’s stomach. These people hated her for what she was and where she came from.
Lesya stopped in front of a quaint house hung with ivy. She scowled at Rivka. “Look, you’re going to need to put some fucking clothes on if you’re going to stick around.”
Rivka blanched at the idea. Lesya's blue jeans, sweater, and thick fur-lined coat looked so restrictive. “Sirens don't need clothes. We have scales.”
“You need clothes if you're going to flounce around among humans. Otherwise, go back to the ocean.”
&
nbsp; Dismayed, Rivka said, “Fine.”
Lesya opened the short white gate to the ivy-covered house and led Rivka to the front door. The hinges screeched in protest as Lesya pushed through, yanking Rivka inside with her.
“Good morning, Lesya,” a cheery voice called from a distance. “I didn’t expect you today.”
Lesya released Rivka’s arm and wandered toward the back of the house. “I didn’t expect to come today, but I’m out of charcoal. Plus, one of my puffins has a cough.”
Rivka followed her into a warm, well-lit kitchen. The air was redolent with the scent of cooking food, something heady that made her mouth water even though she'd never eaten human food.
A smiling woman greeted Lesya with a squeeze on the shoulder. “Ahh, so you need a spell to make the bird better. I’ve got just the thing in the shop. I think I even have some newly seasoned charcoal, too. Come with me.”
As they passed through an arched doorway, the woman said, “Who's your friend?”
“Not my friend,” Lesya answered quickly. “Just a stowaway who won't leave me alone. Do you have any clothes to spare for her? People keep staring at her.”
Rivka gritted her teeth. She wanted to lash out at the grouchy human, but the witch's house seemed pleasant and positive, so she let it slide.
“I'm sure I can rustle up something for her.”
The hallway ended in a little shop, complete with jars of herbs, homemade candles, and all manner of esoteric necessities. The woman slid behind a glass counter and reached for a lockbox.
“I assume you have a name, dear?” the woman asked Rivka as she slid a pair of bifocals onto her hooked nose.
“Rivka Petrovna.”
“Rivka. I'm Vera. It's been a long while since I've seen a siren in these parts.” She began rifling through index cards inside the lockbox, peering through her glasses at the small writing.
Rivka wasn't sure if she was meant to answer or not. Seeing as the woman had now thoroughly invested her attention in the cards, she stayed mute.
“Ah! Here it is.” Vera tugged a pristine notecard from the box and held it out to Lesya. “Two notes for the spell, and five for the charcoal.”
Sordid Depths (The Cursed Seas Collection) Page 2