Bound by the Depths

by Stacey Trombley

  “What’s your end game, Rose?” I ask for the first time, looking her in the eye. “Are you—do you want to marry him?”

  She sucks in a breath. “Sometimes it’s like a fantasy. As if I’ve always wanted to live like a princess in a pretty dress and a prince to dance with. But no, that’s not what I want.”

  “Then what is?”

  “The chance to get to know him. For both of us to figure out how much we’re willing to sacrifice for the other. Or if were just better off... letting the fantasy die.”

  I nod. “Isn’t falling in love the bigger risk, though? You may risk your heart and still find no way to be together.”

  She smiles and looks down at her hands. “Yes. But no risk no reward, right?”

  I look back into the mirror.

  No risk no reward. I’m not sure if I’d go back and undo my time with Whitley, just to be blissfully ignorant of what it’s like... just to touch her. I press my eyes closed.

  “You can do this, Bluff. If anyone can, it’s you.”

  I swallow, not nearly so confident.

  “Fate pulled you two together, remember? You didn’t have a choice. Now use that to your advantage. Don’t let it go.”

  “Take and give nothing back.”

  Rosemera smiles into the mirror at me, eye shining. She winks, then turns and walks out the door without another word.

  Whitley

  I lean against the wall around the corner of Mr. Robinson’s estate as carriages arrive, dropping off beautifully clad couples, fathers and mothers with daughters and sons. Ready to sell them off like cattle to the highest bidder.

  There’s an ache deep in my stomach, as I look at this massive estate, knowing the fate my father tried to force me into. This would have been my prison. My torture chamber.

  Mr. Robinson is not a kind man. And he wouldn’t have been kind to me as his bride.

  I shiver at the thought, even knowing I wouldn’t have let it happen. If my father thinks I would have been the doting daughter after his betrayal, that I’d fall in line and walk down that aisle—he’s a moron.

  They would have had to chain me up in a basement to keep me in this city after that. Perhaps that was the plan. Perhaps the plan was always to move to Carolina, where I had no allies. Nowhere to run. No one to turn to.

  I clench my jaw. I’m not that girl now, I remind myself. Magic throbs through my veins like a reminder. I’m powerful now.

  This time I’m going to make him pay.

  This life, of riches and class, with Jeb or anyone else, is long gone. I don’t want it anymore. But if this life has gone, and I’m terrified of joining the creatures whose world I now belong to— what’s left? What has filled the gap?

  If my own kind are against me—who can I trust?

  I shake the thought from my head. That’s a problem for tomorrow. Tonight I will take the revenge I’ve been thirsting for. I will quench my demon. I will save countless men and women from the cruelty of an evil man with too much power.

  This is justice.

  This is mine.

  Bluff

  I stand at the top of massive marble stairway so grand it would make the king and queen of England proud. My palms are sweating and I’m already scanning the crowds, searching for several different things at once.

  Whitley, of course.

  Mr. Robinson, second. Wherever he is, she’ll be.

  And any sign of a pirate, or mobster, or siren song. I don’t know of any sirens able to walk on land as Whitley can, but I can’t be too careful. This manor is only a block from the water, leaving us close enough to be vulnerable.

  I walk down the steps, seeing a crowd of lifeless people, so pathetically proud of themselves for having pretty clothing and standing inside the largest home in the city, but none of the things I’m seeking.

  I just want to lay eyes on Whitley so I’ll know I’m in the right place. If she doesn’t show, I can’t even kill Mr. Robinson, which is unfortunate. He’s my bait, I need him to find her.

  The dancing begins, and I take a moment to relax. To remember my conversation with Rosemera. I watch her as she smiles like a schoolgirl, a blush resting on her cheeks as Robert runs his finger over the back of her hand as he small chats with some old man with spectacles.

  I smile and turn away. I hope she finds her happiness.

  Through the crowd of strangers, I twist my way across the room in case there are areas I haven’t been able to search yet. I hear a few whispers about the murder just days ago at an event much like this. They’re looking for the blonde beauty in a silk dress who ripped apart an upstanding gentleman with her teeth and the young man who helped her escape before disappearing into thin air.

  Most of the whispers are excited. Gossip and rumors are this culture’s favorite form of entertainment. They assume it’s either exaggerated or entirely untrue.

  In my first torturous hour in this ostentatious place, I only hear one mention that is whispered and fearful. Everyone else is joyful, and judging. Their usual selves.

  But then a hush falls over the room and eyes begin to drift to the stairs where a beautiful blonde, in a blood red dress that hugs her curves a bit too much for this part of town, descends.

  Both ice and fire fill my veins at once.

  Her eyes are darker than I remember. Her body perhaps more beautiful than I recall, if that’s possible. She won’t need her siren magic to allure men tonight. I may be forced to fight just for the chance to dance with her.

  Then again, perhaps there’s a way to get close to her without risking another fight. I shift into a new form than initially planned. A young woman with sparkling blue dress. At least now I won’t have boys threatening to fight over her attention.

  I press my way through the crowd, towards the front of the room. People make way for her as she passes through, the voices much more hushed than before. The tone of the room is different as well.

  No one approaches her.

  “I don’t know her,” someone whispers as I pass.

  “You don’t suppose she’s the demon girl?”

  “No, no. That’s Whitley. The one involved in the mob.”

  “Well, still dangerous then.”

  She’s not yet been identified as the murderer, but I’ll be sure to keep a sharp ear out. The crowd can feel her magic, I realize. The way the whole room shifts towards her, sucking in breaths of anticipation, is not natural.

  She’s a predator and she’s not hiding it.

  There’s no seduction in her movement, in her eyes. There’s only death.

  My stomach sinks at this realization. Has she fully succumbed? Can her soul still be retrieved? I don’t know. I suppose I can only try.

  One young man walks up to her just a second before I reach her. He’s tall with a sharp jawline and cheek bones, slicked hair and blue eyes. Perhaps the most confident man in the room, which he’s apparently intent on proving by being the only one brave enough to dance with the beautiful and dangerous creature.

  He holds out a hand, though I notice how his fingers tremble.

  She looks down at his outstretched hand, her red lips curling into a cruel smile. “Thank you for the offer. But not tonight.”

  Her eyes cast beyond him, searching. She has another target in mind tonight. I don’t intend to stop her from her goal, so long as it doesn’t derail mine.

  She presses past him, and now the whispers begin in earnest. She rejected him? I can’t help but smile, and I follow her into the crowd.

  There’s a buzzing in my chest, a reminder of Rosemera’s suggestion. Magic I’ve long ignored. Or actively fought, depending. The magic simmers, prepared for long-awaited use.

  My stomach aches. There’s a reason I’ve worked so hard to suppress this kind of power—the idea of seducing someone using magic always felt sleazy. I’d rather them want me for me. Only a rare few ever did. And then there’s the issue of what’s connected to that magic.

  A monster I couldn’t control. It wanted to
kill, it wanted to destroy.

  I wouldn’t let it control me.

  Down, boy, I tell it. If you’re good... perhaps I’ll let you out. I sigh at this thought, but I know Rosemera is right. Whitley is more siren tonight, more monster, than I’ve ever seen her. She won’t respond to emotion, not right now. Not as quickly as I need her to.

  Connect to her instincts by using yours.

  The simmer within my bones grows to a boil, filling me with fire. My heart pounds. I pray I can control it.

  Whitley is searching for Mr. Robinson, who I haven’t yet seen, and I’ve been here much longer. I’ll let her search for her target, missing—for now.

  I shift back into my own body, because if I’m going to do this, I want to feel as much like myself as possible. My clothes must remain fitting for the event, unfortunately, but at least I won’t have the weight of a corset pressing in on my lungs as I work to keep this magic in check.

  I stand near the dancers on the front line, watching as they spin and step awkwardly to beautiful music. I hum along, lightly at first. Gently. But the song in my chest emerges, dancing through my limbs, magic flowing from the words.

  The world around me slows. Dancers still dance, music still plays, people still chat, but to me, they’re faded. Muted.

  There’s only my song and the target.

  Eyes closed, I listen to my own song. It’s desperate and hopeful. It’s a song for her. For us. I open my eyes, and they connect with hers immediately, across the dance floor.

  Whitley

  Everything stops when I hear his voice. His song.

  It pulls me. I want to be near him, I want to know him.

  When my gaze connect with his grey eyes, I recognize him as the young man I danced with at the last ball. The feeling of his hand on mine was so different from the last boy.

  His song stops, and it’s like being dropped into cold water. I was comfortable cocooned in his tune. My heart mourns the absence of it. I want more.

  When I danced with him last, I felt I should have known him. I may have even dreamed of him. I think through the few memories I do have: childhood, balls, Jeb, my father, Mr. Robinson, New York, fleeing New York... on a ship. The rest is just flashes— disjointed, confusing. Grey eyes, shimmering like the sea, like magic. Those same eyes behind the bars of a jail cell. Those eyes staring at me so intensely on a beach. Sand and sun and palm trees.

  Those eyes shutting forever.

  He saw me with blood on my hands and helped me anyway.

  Why?

  He didn’t fear me. Why?

  Come, his eyes seem to beg me. I look around for one moment, recalling that there was another reason I came to this event. Mr. Robinson will meet his end tonight. He’s the only one I want—

  But this one... my heart rate rises. I want him in a very different way. Perhaps that’s a dangerous thing.

  I begin a slow walk around the dance floor towards him. He does the same until we’re face to face, feet away from each other.

  Heat radiates off of him. Warmth, comfort. Devotion.

  It takes my breath away.

  “Who are you?” I ask him, head tilting slightly.

  “You don’t know?” he raises his eyebrows, a smirk playing at his lips.

  I narrow my eyes. “Should I?”

  “Yes.” His whisper causes my stomach to flip. He steps closer, his warmth seeping into my bones. I want more. I step closer without ever deciding to do it.

  He’s like me, somehow. A siren. Or something close to it.

  There’s hunger in his eyes that I find I like.

  More. I want more.

  I need it.

  “Do you want me?” I ask, only this time I find myself desperate for the answer to be yes.

  He smirks, but doesn’t respond. “Do you want me?” he asks instead, one eyebrow flicking up.

  I blink rapidly. A desperate groan goes unvoiced. Yes. But why? Who are you? Even another siren couldn’t pull me like this. Couldn’t make me want this way. This is something different. This is something more.

  A roar of clapping rips my attention from the silver-eyed boy. Hypnosis broken, I turn my attention to the top of the staircase where an old man with grey hair and cruel line to his eyes basks in the glory of his own perceived splendor.

  Anger replaces every emotion I was fighting just moments ago. This is a feeling I know, and I relish it.

  Mr. Robinson walks down the stairs with slow steps and already my magic is rumbling—ready to act. Ready to rip his head from his body in front of the same crowd currently showering him with adoration. Will they clap for him then? As I drain the life from his body?

  I suspect there are a few who will.

  I jump as something soft caresses my ear. A whisper. “I want to kill him too,” he says.

  Oh really?

  “I’ll help you.”

  His fingertips drift down my arm, and my anger is forgotten, my rage dissipates back into desire. Mr. Robinson begins a hearty speech, but I don’t listen to a word of his rambling.

  I lean back into the chest behind me, only this time it feels different. Lips kiss my neck. This time the desperate groan doesn’t stay within body.

  My God does this touch feel good. How could anything feel that good?

  “I do want you,” a feminine voice tells me. I blink, confused. It’s not the same boy? “I’ve always wanted you,” she tells me.

  I turn to face the woman. She’s beautiful, with dark flowing hair, silver eyes, and a blue dress that matches mine in everything but color.

  My mouth falls open. The feeling is still there, the want. But my mind works to figure this out.

  She leans in, pressing her nose to mine gently. “Do you want me?” she whispers.

  Yes, I do. My chest aches with it.

  I press my hand to her chest, damn everything else. I push her through the crowd, eyes pinned to her as she smirks.

  “Who are you?” I say as her back finds a wall. The only few people around us now are facing the front entrance, so mesmerized by Mr. Robinson they don’t seem bothered by two girls whispering in the corner.

  “Kiss me, and I’ll tell you.”

  A possessive growl rumbles in my belly. This is the same person the song came from, I know it. “Are you a girl or a boy?”

  “Does it matter?” the beautiful woman asks, laughter in her eyes. This is a game, I realize.

  “If I kiss you, you’ll tell me who you are?”

  “Yes,” she whispers, her mouth close to mine.

  In an instant, my mouth is on hers. She moans and I press harder.

  Mine. It’s all I can think—all I know. This need for a stranger whose intensity is burning from within. This mystery is more important than Mr. Robinson right now.

  Especially if this stranger was telling the truth—that they’d help me kill him.

  My eyes are closed as the stranger spins me so my back is against the wall.

  When I finally pull away, a laugh rumbles and I blink as I realize it’s him again. The boy with silver hair.

  “That was a fun game,” he tells me. “Perhaps a bit more attention grabbing than I’d intended, but worth it.” He winks.

  But my fire isn’t diminished yet. I still want more.

  “Who are you?” I demand, gripping his shirt with my fist.

  “Name’s Nalin,” he says. “I’m a pirate and the son of the Siren Queen, which gives me a few interesting powers.” His body shimmers like a mirage, and he shifts into a handsome man with dimples, then quickly back into himself. He looks around to see if anyone has noticed his shifting.

  My lips part slightly, but I’m not as surprised by this strange power as I suppose I should be. Something about it feels... familiar.

  “I know you, don’t I?”

  He nods. “I have all the answers you desire. And you have everything that I desire.”

  His eyes pin to my lips and I smile. “Sing to me,” I ask him.

  I close my eyes as hi
s smooth and calming tune begins. The song wraps around me, taking away everything else. This is what I’m searching for, I think. This is what fills the gap.

  Gentle lips touch mine, and I sink into his arms.

  Bluff

  I forget where I am. I forget who I am. Whitley kisses me, pulling at my shirt. A button pops, my tie is ripped off.

  An indignant gasp of horror makes me chuckle and reminds me that we are still in the ballroom with many prying eyes.

  Luckily, Mr. Robinson’s speech had been distraction enough for a time. Now that he has descended onto the main floor our distraction is gone. I suppose, at least I’m not in the female form now. Jealousy would be preferable to the kind of shock public intimacy between two women would bring in a society as snooty as this one.

  I force my mind back to logic—if we stay here, we’ll be found. I’ve already taken more risks than necessary. Move her somewhere safe.

  I swallow, taking every ounce of effort I own to pull back from her, gently settling over her hands gripping my shoulder. “Let’s go somewhere,” I tell her.

  “You don’t want people to see?” she asks, her eyes mischievous. I don’t mind shocking these prissy folk, but I do mind making a spectacle and gaining the attention of the wrong kinds of people. We have too many enemies not to be concerned.

  “It’s not safe here,” I tell her. “Do you remember the last time? They were about to execute you right there on the spot.”

  She tilts her head. “Because I killed someone, not because I kissed him. Unless you think I’m going to kill you too.” She raises an eyebrow.

  “If they figure out who you are...”

  She blinks and swallows, her face suddenly serious. “I’d like to figure out who I am,” she says under her breath.

  “I can help with that,” I whisper, then pull her gently, keeping eye contact. Her face remains calm, eyes locked with mine. She follows and so do the eyes around us. I make sure to pull us far enough through the crowd for the same people who witnessed our indecency to be out of view when we slip through a door, closing off the light and sounds of the grand hall.