Chapter 26

The first threeweeks of sailing after being stolen off the street had been the most harrowing of Alba's life. Not knowing where he was or for how long; not knowing when or if he'd be able to go back home; not knowing what his mother thought, or if the Warrens had done something to her while he was away. For the briefest moment, a part of him even wondered if she'd sold him to sail in order to pay their debts, and he hated himself every day after for ever allowing it to manifest at all. Edythe Marsh was all Albatross Marsh had in his entire life; she was his reason for living, and in many ways, he was hers. In many other ways, against both of their wills.

The thought of his mother no longer being there to give Alba reason to live was, perhaps, the only thing possibly more harrowing than those first few weeks had been.

Staring at the ceiling from his narrow bed, cramped alongside his siren companion, Alba thought of nothing except how all those times he ever felt lonely could not hold a candle to the grip true loneliness had on his heart. Lungs. Insides. Running his soul through its fingers like raking through hair, unraveling him piece by piece, again and again as he came back together every time a noise or a breath or a whispered word forced him back to the real world. Only to spiral and sink again the moment the silence returned.

"What did you do with the body?" he asked, referring to Eugene Michaels. Unable to take the quiet any longer, unsure if Eridanys was asleep or awake.

"I gave him to the sea," Eridanys answered, not an ounce of weariness in his voice. Alba wondered what he thought about in the silence for so long. "Figured she would know what to do with him."

"You didn't eat him?"

"Wasn't appetizing."

Alba meant to chuckle, or tease a little bit, but couldn't summon the strength. He stared up at the ceiling for a long time again.

"Before I killed him, he admitted to usin' merrow parts for their magic. I think he was one of the robed people we saw the other night."

Eridanys nodded.

Alba inhaled quietly through his nose, holding it. "Those marks on my mother's chest—they matched the ones on those salt piles."

"Yes."

"I think they killed her, too."

"… Yes. I do, too."

"But why?" Alba's voice cracked. He shifted uncomfortably on his back. "She was one of them. She grew up here. Why would they kill her?" He thought of how her name had been scribbled out of the town's register. Finally having an idea of why. Wishing he didn't.

"I don't think it was personal," Eridanys said. Thoughtfully, not like he was tired of Alba rambling. Alba waited to see if he'd say anything else, only letting out a held breath when he did. "She said they killed her on the full moon."

"Yes," Alba breathed. "But I don't think she knew it was gonna happen when she tried to get me to come. They must have killed all the previous wickies on the full moon, too. That was always when they disappeared."

"All of them except you."

Alba closed his eyes. "Probably just because they didn't know where to find me…" he trailed off, recalling that night. How a group of shadowed men huddled around the door as he was disposing of that fresh corpse. It made his heart sink, vomit burning in his throat as he swallowed it back. He crossed his arms over his face, forcing himself to keep it together. Realizing—perhaps they'd tried.

On the heels of that sickening understanding, something else emerged in the back of Alba's mind. A vague memory of something he'd seen carved into the wall of the merrow pools. He searched the mental image, eyes still trained at the ceiling as his heart thumped, then sank, then twisted.

That image of the funeral procession beneath a bright, round moon. Throwing the deceased into the sea, where they became a merrow. Where they became—exactly what Eugene Michaels had been trying to trap, so desperately, knowing Eridanys was the last one. Was it possible—those people were killing wickies every full moon, thinking they would create new merrow to turn around and sacrifice all over again on the new moon…?

Closing his eyes, he was going to be sick.

"Fuck," he croaked. "Fuck, fucking Christ… fuck this place. Fuck this place, god, why, why did she have to be from this place? I could've had a second chance…" Pressing his palms into his eyes, Alba held his breath, watching colors spot the darkness under the pressure. Unsure why he said it, not realizing it was even out loud until the end. "I was almost given a second chance… If I'd only left Belmar sooner… If I'd only run away sooner… I could've made it in time to save her. I could've made sure she was happy. Maybe had a normal life. I could've taken care of her until she grew old, like a son is supposed to. We could've… had a normal life."

"Hardly normal," Eridanys mumbled. Alba's tired, swollen eyes cracked open to scowl at him, unsure if the siren's uncertain smirk was charming or annoying. "I would have still put my eyes on you and failed to ever look away again. I would have still made you mine any time I spotted you. From any shore."

Alba wanted to smile. Even a tiny bit. Something about that made his heart beat once, twice, at a higher note than all the others.

"I don't think she would've let it be that easy."

"I would have charmed her into letting me have you."

There it was—Alba managed the weakest little laugh. "I don't know. She was always keen on tricks of the sea."

Eridanys surprised him when his hand slid under the blankets, taking Alba's and holding it.

"She sensed it on me," he said. "That I would take care of you when she was gone."

Alba pressed his lips together. He let those words hover, to envelop him, closing his eyes and blinking back another rush of tears as if he hadn't already cried enough. "You don't mean that."

"I mean it."

"Only out of guilt."

"No." Eridanys squeezed Alba's hand. "Since I made you my caller of the shore, I was determined to keep an eye on you."

"But not because you wanted to."

"You never listen." Eridanys sat up, perching on a bent elbow and frowning down at Alba stubbornly. "I'm trying to tell you that I've come to care for you more than I anticipated. Perhaps I didn't intend on staying with you long at first?—"

"You also thought about killin' me."

"I did. But not anymore."

"You care for me enough to not want to kill me?"

"Yes. So I suggest you stop arguing before I change my mind."

Alba managed another weak laugh. "I'm not very easy to love. You may still wish to kill me anyway, one day."

"Only time will tell," Eridanys answered, sarcastic smile remaining. "Until then—let me stay with you."

"I don't want to stay here."

"Neither do I. We'll go somewhere else. Anywhere you want." He laid back down, crossing his arms behind his head. It took up most of the pillow, forcing Alba to shimmy down slightly, sighing and resting his head on Eridanys' chest as there was nowhere else to go.

"I don't know anythin' about goin' places by land."

"Neither do I. We'll figure it out together."

Alba drew a line up and down the center of Eridanys' stomach, watching the muscles flex as they were teased. He wanted to ask if Eridanys meant that; if he knew exactly what he was saying. Alba then wanted to argue that he was not usually someone who needed constant comforting, or coddling; he did not usually speak openly about his fears or his feelings, let alone show them for anyone to see. Alba was as reclusive as any siren out in the vast sea, unsociable, unapproachable, preferring simplicity and silence over excitement. But—all at the same time—the thought of parting ways with his own siren made his heart race nervously. Whether he feared being alone, or he feared the thought of leaving Eridanys all alone, he didn't know, but?—

His finger drew a circle around the base of Eridanys' chest. He couldn't help but be reminded of the merrow in the woods, under the dark sky. Its chest cut open, its still-beating heart pulled out. That rush of fear and anger at the thought of the same thing, one day, happening to Eridanys while Alba wasn't there to protect him. The same flood of emotions grasped at him, silent and intense. But before he could answer, there was something else he wanted to know, first.

"Your last human partner—his name was Dawson, wasn't it? Dawson Michaels."

Eridanys' breath caught. He sat up slightly again, then slightly more, propping himself back on his elbows as Alba turned his head to look at him. Finally, the man nodded.

"Yes," he breathed. "My last shore caller was Dawson Michaels. Eugene Michaels' son."

"That's why you acted strange when we slept in their house."

A muscle twitched in Eridanys jaw, but he nodded.

"Mr. Michaels said you… killed him. His son. Is that true?"

Eridanys reached out to run fingers through Alba's hair, as if to comfort him before answering. Like he thought the truth would make Alba push him away and race out the door. But Alba just watched him, unmoving.

"Yes," he finally answered. "Yes. I killed him."

"But he deserved it."

The words made Eridanys pause—perhaps by the way Alba said them. A statement, not a question. A reminder.

"Yes," Eridanys repeated. "I had to kill him in order to survive."

"Was he going to hurt you?" Alba asked, placing his hand in the center of Eridanys' chest. "You once said you were banished because you refused to do somethin' he asked."

Eridanys pressed his hand against Alba's, until every inch of Alba's palm and fingers were flush against him. Enough to feel his heartbeat, strong but anxious.

"Yes," he said again. "I… I once told you how our presence here brought more fish than the people could eat."

"I remember."

"Well—because we were partnered to one another, Dawson thought he could do whatever he wished with me. Had all these ideas about merrow magic. One day, he told me I would be leaving on the next boat out to sea. To work as a ship hand in order to see if my presence would draw more fish into the nets even outside of the harbor. But I'd seen drawings in his study, things he'd sketched—drawings of merrow tied off to the bows of ships. Hardly sailing on them like he described to me. Bait dangled over the water. When I refused to go…" he hesitated, blinking up at the ceiling, then closing his eyes with a frown. "… he tried to force me. Tied me up, threatened to kill me. Tried to throw me onto a ship in the middle of the night when everyone was asleep. But I escaped—and I killed him." His fingers in Alba's hair paused, eyes going dull as he recalled the memory. "Tore out his throat with my teeth. We both fell over the side, and I drowned whatever life was left in him. It sounds cruel, but—I felt like I had no other choice. But killing one's own shore-caller is a terrible sin—so I was swiftly banished."

Alba's hand flexed against Eridanys' chest. Wishing he could reach inside to caress the racing heart in his ribs and comfort it.

"Didn't you try and explain that to your kin? Why did they still…?"

"They didn't believe me," Eridanys said, like it was the first time he'd ever said it out loud. He took Alba's hand on his chest, squeezing it, then kissing it, then placing it back. "They knew how strained my relationship with Dawson was from the start, since… since I never wanted to be mated to any shore-caller. From the beginning, I never wanted any of it. It was forced on me; expected of me. I tried more than once to get out of it over all the time we were mated. So when I killed him, especially so violently, they wouldn't listen to anything I had to say. They didn't care what my reasons were."

Alba stared at him. Feeling how his siren's heart pounded harder. Seeing how Eridanys wouldn't meet his eyes, as if confessing such a thing still filled him with shame. It only filled Alba with anger.

"He deserved it," he said. Forcefully. Insistently. Eridanys offered a self-conscious smile in return, fingers returning to push hair from Alba's eyes. Alba's gaze remained on where his hand pressed to Eridanys' chest. His fingers twitched. He forced himself to take a long breath, to ease the fury back. Not wanting to raise his voice, to speak too intensely, in any way that might imply he thought Eridanys was wrong for the shame he felt when recalling the memory. Only when Alba's own pounding pulse slowed did he speak again.

"Mr. Michaels said Dawson is still alive. Recoverin', even, with the use of merrow parts. The heart, specifically, I think, which we saw them takin' from that merrow last night. He tried to convince me to tell him where you were, said it was ‘better odds to save him by feedin' him the heart of the one who killed him'…"

"Dawson Michaels is dead," Eridanys said with certainty. "I don't know what that old man thought he was doing—but it wasn't resurrecting his son."

Silence hovered once more, and Eridanys shifted where he sat. He didn't meet Alba's eyes for a long moment, before starting again:

"Does that bother?—"

"Let's leave," Alba interrupted. He sat up, touching Eridanys' face—then kissing him. Kissing him long and hard and breathlessly, pressing their foreheads together when he finally pulled away again. "As soon as the sun comes up, let's leave. We'll take that old man's boat to shore and we'll walk until we can't anymore."

Eridanys stared at him, breathless, before pulling Alba in and kissing him again. Again and again and again, until Alba didn't know where he ended and the siren began. Taking note of each and every part of him—vowing to protect him from harm, just like he once did on the rocks.

He dreamed of the moon.High and bright overhead, swollen and drenching the trees encircling him in blue light. Draped over the body of Edythe Marsh on her back beneath a pile of salt, eyes glazed over and reflecting the celestial body in the sky. Her throat gaped open, staining the salt covering her with crimson, soaking into the grains, melting into water that lapped over her until fully submerged. Laughter, music trilled from the trees around him, deafened by the roaring of ocean waves growing from the blood-red water swirling at his feet.

Come see why they did what they did to the blood you seek.

Alba woke with a sweating gasp to the sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen below. Stirring, his body felt heavy as if pumped full of sea clay, cracking at the joints as he groaned and stretched his arms long, trying to nestle his soul back into the exhaustion of his muscles.

He assumed Eridanys was down getting into something he shouldn't be—but then the siren in question mumbled in annoyance at Alba's shifting body, putting out his arms and pulling him close. Pinning him, as Alba just stared at him with wide eyes. If Eridanys was there in bed, still, then—who was in the kitchen?

"E-Eri!" he hissed, shaking the man, then grabbing his face and squeezing. "Eri, wake up! I think there's someone downstairs."

"Just your imagination," Eridanys muttered, attempting to roll over, but Alba grabbed him by the ear and yanked him back.

"God!" Alba hissed, deciding against it and shoving Eridanys back into the pillows. Kicking off the blankets, he climbed over his companion, hurrying to pull on a pair of pants. Eridanys grappled for him instantly, intent on pulling him back into the bubble of warmth they'd created, but Alba bypassed his hands with ease, hissing at him to "stop, cut it out! Someone's downstairs!'"

His heart pounded, unable to imagine who it could possibly be, unsure whether he should be reaching for a weapon or not. But whoever it was hadn't come looking to bludgeon him in his sleep—and might not even know he was up there. Pausing at the top of the stairs, he listened for a moment longer to see if he could tell whether it was more than one intruder, before clearing his throat and politely calling down: "Hello?"

No answer came. The sound of rattling dishes continued. Alba's heart pounded, but he knew he couldn't allow anyone to roam around the house, the lighthouse, anywhere—especially with the bloodstain on the kitchen floor. Especially with the clear voice of another man falling out of bed with him. He gulped, straightening his back, and slowly descending the stairs into the kitchen.

"Oh," he choked at the bottom. In the briefest cast of sunlight through the constant cloud cover—the faint silhouette of someone familiar stood at the empty sink. An empty sink, yet clattering with the sound of dishes, though it grew slightly fainter to the ear as soon as Alba saw her. Her, her, he knew her—it was his mother.

At the very least, what remained of her. Her ghost. Her spirit. Slightly translucent with a faint glow, looking like herself again. Her healthy, human, living self, except for how Alba could see through her. Dressed in a plain work shirt and slacks, hair pinned back with the same clip she'd handed to him the night before in the lighthouse, before falling to pieces. He'd tucked it safely into the inner pocket of his jacket, alongside where he kept her original telegram. He knew that personage hadn't stolen it, but he couldn't help the sharp pinch of worry that it might be gone when he went looking for it again.

Perhaps it should have startled him more, but—in a way, he was relieved. To have one more image of her as she was to be his last, instead of what she'd become beneath the sea. But that relief didn't last long, as he took a few steps closer, fighting the misery that came with how she never turned to look at him. Never smiled at him, acknowledged him. He realized—she might not even know she was gone. A residual spirit, a piece of her that didn't know any better, imprinted on that house. Trapped there.

His relief at being able to see her one last time gave way to nausea, and then anger. Knowing she'd satisfied what kept her soul there already, the night before, even confirmed by Eridanys. Settled the moment she collapsed into nothing but water and seaweed and rotten clothes, she should have passed on. For her spirit to still linger, even as just an echo—it meant there was something else. Or, worse—that something was anchoring her soul in that terrible place.

Alba's eyes lingered on how full and long her hair was in that spirit form. How, as a drowned soul, one side had been roughly shorn away. At the time, he thought perhaps it had been cut when her throat was—but touching the tiny braid left in his own hair by her dying hands, he had another idea.

"Is that…?" Eridanys asked upon finally arriving downstairs, trailing off as Alba put his hand out toward his mother—and she vanished with the tiniest flicker of light in an instant. Gazing down at his fingers, Alba let the thought ruminate for a long time, before looking back at his companion.

"I don't think we can leave yet," he said. Still touching the braid left by his mother. Her protection spell; a promise that he would always find his way back home should he ever get lost at sea.

Despite it all—he couldn't move on until he knew for sure, there would be no part of Edythe Marsh left behind once he was gone.