Chapter 7

Alba didn't seeevery moment as it happened, unfolding too fast. The lantern snuffed with the sound of breaking glass as it was knocked off the table; one of the chair legs snapped as Alba was thrown into it before being pinned to the floor. Hands found his throat, but didn't last as he shoved his good leg into the man's stomach and pushed him off.

He moved on instinct just like every other time he'd been cornered in port alleyways, behind bars, on the ships where he sailed. He knew how to fight, he knew how to break noses and defend against a person twice his size if he needed to.

At least, back when he had the muscle strength and stamina, he could—and while it was a little sloppier that time, Alba still managed to get that man on his knees. Grabbing his head and slamming it against the edge of the countertop. Again and again with fingers knotted in his greasy hair, until no more sound came from his mouth except guttering life on weak breaths. Alba slammed it once more, even then, before releasing the heavy heap and letting it slump to the floor.

Hearing every sound in the house with ears sharpened by hot blood, he was inundated with the creaking floorboards beneath all the movement, the wind outside, the waves, the whistling pipes, the trapdoor that slammed and rattled like a growling creature in the store room. But Alba just stared down at the fresh body at his feet, unblinking until his eyes burned, empty of anything until he was flooded with everything.

Realizing what he'd done wasn't what made the heart-wrenching sob bubble up the back of his throat—it wasn't even the first time he'd killed a man. No—it was the embarrassment. The pure, venomous mortification of allowing himself to get his hopes up so easily despite how silly it was to think what he had. To hope what he had, without question, letting his emotions get ahead of him. What was he, a child? Disappointment was bitter, syrupy-thick in the back of his throat as he beat back the emotions that wanted to invade him like a hand into a glove. He forced his mind to remain clear. There wasn't time for embarrassment.

He couldn't keep a body in the house. He couldn't just toss it over the edge, either, unless he wanted it to linger on the surface and haunt him.

He didn't even have the strength to drag the man all the way across the kitchen and out the door, across the grass, the rocks. He couldn't lift and carry him?—

"Enough!" he shouted, whirling around and throwing the storage room door open as the trapdoor slammed and slammed. "I said enough!"

The hinge halted halfway. Hovering as if held up from below, but there was nothing. He glared at it, chest heaving with breath, sweat making him shiver against how tightly he clenched his muscles. He watched as the hatch door shuddered, then slowly opened the rest of the way, bumping against the hinges with maw gaping open into the dark, sloshing water below. Inviting him in. Inviting him through.

No—not him. Alba looked back over his shoulder to the body piled motionless on the floor. Sweat dripped into his eyes. His breath shook in his throat, finally closing his mouth and holding it in. Moving without deciding. Knowing if he let himself think too much about it, nothing would get done.

Picking his cane up, Alba left it on the table. He went to the door, searching the edges of the dark rocks outside and locating the man's rowboat where it bumped and scraped against the stone. No thinking, only doing.

He crossed the wet grass, at the whims of the storm as much as a bird in the sky, but managed to keep his footing. Never feeling the throb of his hip, the limp he dragged himself along with, before jumping into the thrashing dingy. No thinking.

Kicking off, Alba used the oars piled at the bottom to navigate around the treacherous edge of the rocks. He followed the direction of the rotating lantern light, the ribbon of white foam where water crashed against land, around to where the inlet beneath the house would open up to him.

He expected to see all sorts of shadowy creatures clambering in and out of the open hatch, though wasn't particularly relieved when nothing of the sort was visible upon rounding toward it, either. No thinking.

Positioning the boat beneath the hatch door, Alba searched for somewhere to loop the anchor rope off, settling on a mostly-rotten beam stretching across the floor overhead. The space was just high enough for him to stand, though with a sharp hunch in his back, and he ignored the new pain throbbing in his hip as he worked at the awkward angle. Even punching his leg a few times and cursing at it to quit.

Stepping from the unsteady boat to the sheer muddy edge, Alba bit back more discomfort while clutching at the long beach grass to crawl his way to flatter rocks by the water, praying he wouldn't be swept away before finishing. Barely managing to scramble to safety before exactly that happened, a few more noisy waves chased after him as if laughing. Promising to get him next time.

He hurried back to the house, cursing the new rain that speckled the back of his neck. Cursing his leg. Cursing the wind, the water. And then—cursing the sight of two more rowboats heading toward him. Making him duck down and cling to the side of the house as nervous sweat dripped down his spine.

Rushing inside, he closed the door behind him a little too loudly. His hands shook as he locked it, wasting no time getting back to the man's body and grabbing an arm to begin the work of dragging it to the open hatch. His foot slipped in a puddle of blood, crashing to the floor with a groan before crawling back to his feet and getting back to it again. No thinking. No thinking. Except?—

It had to be more of Josiah's men on their way. They must have been waiting for the first on the beach, to help subdue Alba once they made it back to land. When their friend never did, they decided to investigate. Alba couldn't take on any more than he already had. He was exhausted. God—he was so exhausted, only wearing down faster as the man's body weighed twice as much in death.

Sweat continued to sting his eyes, drenching the front and back of his shirt by the time he reached the open hatch. He barely had the man's thick legs scooted into the opening when a knock came at the door, making Alba's blood run cold. He risked the quickest glance, heart pounding in the back of his throat at the faint glow of lanterns through the window, how it was definitely a small huddle of men on the other side. He could hear their voices. He could sense them.

Kicking the storage room door shut behind him, Alba gave the corpse one last shove through the open hatch, grimacing when it landed in the rowboat below with a sickening thud and crack of bones. The front door opened right as he slid down after, pulling the hatch shut behind him.

He scrambled for the oars. Kicked the body's arms out of the way, finding the best way to sit, even if it was uncomfortable. He pushed off from the rocks, straining every muscle in his arms and shoulders to row in the opposite direction of where those men would have docked on the other side. Waiting for him. Looking for him. They wouldn't find a damn thing except a puddle of wet blood on the floor. They would have to leave again before morning, else risk someone from town spotting them. They might even go all the way back to Welkin and tell Josiah there was no sign of Alba there at all.

Silent tears of overwhelm, relief, fright, adrenaline spilled from him, and that time Alba let them. His hands were too busy rowing into the darkness to care to wipe them away, too busy not thinking, only doing to properly process any of it. To consider what he would do, next. How, with a boat of his own, there was nothing stopping him from rowing back to shore by himself. Disappearing just like all the previous lighthouse keepers who came before him. Just like he once teased to himself.

The thought made tears burn hotter, wetter in his eyes, though he didn't know why—except how bitter it was to know there was still work to be done. He couldn't rest, yet. No matter how tired he was.

Decidinghe'd rowed far enough when he could no longer hear the waves against the rocks, the rhythmic hum of the lighthouse's gears, the whistling pipes on the house, Alba drew the oars back into the boat.

Tensing the muscles of his legs to keep from capsizing, he carefully maneuvered the man into the center, grateful for all the experience he had dumping bodies over the side just like that. Knowing which parts to move first, where to lift them over the edge, when he should lock his knees and when to heave to keep the backlash from sending him over the opposite side. He'd never had to do it by himself before, but—his mother would have been proud. He couldn't wait to tell her. Maybe over drinks, in a warm bar somewhere, a plate of potatoes and corned beef and bread and gravy in front of him. Laughing about all the nightmares of the lighthouse, all the nightmares they'd suffered while Alba was sailing and she was trapped in Welkin.

Laughing about where they would go next, how they would avoid getting caught. Until they found a place to settle down, where Edythe could grow old without a worry and Alba could take care of her well into her age. Like a son was meant to do.

More useless tears flooded his eyes, dripping down his cheeks. He ignored them, letting them do what they wished. No thinking.

The man's legs wheeled over the edge and into the water with a final thrust, and Alba tumbled backward with a grunt. The need for urgency clawed at him right away, commanding him to get back to his feet, to keep moving—but the moment his hands found the oars again, he groaned, collapsing back into the belly of the boat for just a moment.

Not long enough to let the exhaustion sink all the way to his bones. Just enough to catch his breath. To live in the ease of such a warm, happy, colorful fantasy a moment longer. The draw of rowing himself to shore and leaving without a word grew more tempting, especially as the night wore on and there continued to be no sign of Edythe coming to find him. Why not?

He glared up at the sky through arms crossed over his face, not sure if he resented the clouds for only parting on his last day in Moon Harbor, or thanking them for the view before he had to go again. He'd never seen stars so bright, like pricks of diamond; he'd never seen a moon so full, so fat, so beautiful, like she really did favor that miserable little rot of a town like Edythe used to say.

Well—good for them. Alba wasn't impressed. The moon had her reasons, and he didn't care enough to question them.

The sound of gurgling brought him out of his haze, closing his eyes and sighing. Was that the sound of the man's body sinking? He wanted away from it. He wanted to be back on shore. It was decided, he would leave that cursed rock for the next lighthouse keeper to come and clean up after him. They could have his clothes, his coat, his cane, the puddle of blood on the floor. God, Alba didn't give a shit any longer.

Sitting up, Alba rolled his shoulders, stretched out his legs, then his arms. He bent over to grab the oars off the bottom of the boat—only for the water to suddenly churn beneath him, something massive suddenly hurtling upward from the depths and flipping over the side.

Choking on a shout, he stumbled back at the sight of the man's waterlogged corpse draped over the front half of the boat. Around him, the water thrashed as hard as it did against the lighthouse rocks, nearly knocking him off his feet as he braced and fought for the edges to hold onto.

The sound filled his ears, mixing with the wind, with the heavy pound of his heart, but he didn't dare look away. There were bite marks on the dead man's face, trenches dug through his chest and bleeding dark, thick blood.

"I prefer pretty redheads like you."

Alba didn't move. He didn't blink, eyes petrified on the body. That voice, low and rumbling, hoarse with vocal chords saturated by salt, gurgling beneath the sound as if from a throat clearing water. A voice with the same warm, velvety tenor as the one that sang to him days prior.

The boat jostled again, and Alba lurched back into his body. Leaping to his feet, he nearly lost his footing a second time as it wobbled sideways.

He frantically searched the foaming water encircling the boat, careful not to shift his balance one way or the other, but there was nothing. There was no one, nothing, nowhere that voice could have come from. Like the musical pipes on the house, in the town, that mimicked the sound of singing with the blowing wind—Alba had to wonder if he'd only imagined it.

"Show yourself!" He commanded the darkness nonetheless, feeling foolish as he did.

There was no one. He'd only imagined it. It was only him and the dead body at his feet, proven by the resounding silence that echoed in reply. The water's thrashing even faded, until only bubbles kissed the sides of the boat.

Forcing himself to breathe, Alba moved again. He searched the man's corpse, finding a knife tucked into his belt. A hand pistol in a strap on his shoulder. He pocketed both, not sure why he didn't do it first back at the house. Hell, his hands quickly dug through his pockets in search of anything else he could pawn, too, because it suddenly felt like the right thing to do.

He couldn't stop shaking. He tucked away a handful of dollars and a silver pocket watch, deciding that was the reason the sea spat him back out. A gift after tricking him with who he thought was his mother. Wanting him to get everything he needed from the man before returning to shore and escaping that terrible place. That was definitely it. Definitely all.

Alba made sure to thank her before throwing the body back in, that time stretching his neck over the side to watch it sink. Waiting to see if it would rush back to the surface again. It didn't.

He reached for the oars again, plunging them into the water—only for both to suddenly jerk from his hands, vanishing into the darkness. He didn't make a sound—just stared. Forgetting how to breathe. Something, that time, waited for him to notice.

Only a few feet from the boat, strikingly pale against the dark water, the creature had the features of a man. Two eyes, a sharp nose, mouth mostly obscured beneath the surface. Sub-dermal lines accentuated the shape of its brow, high cheeks, strong jaw. It shined in the moonlight, minuscule scales over its cheeks shimmering slightly, hair a shade of silver as if woven from silkworms bred in the moon's beams, darker as it was soaked through. Pieces floated in an arch around where it tread the surface, glittering with strands of pearls and shells as large as Alba's fingernail, interspersed with slender braids to keep front pieces from spilling over its face. Its skin was as pale as its hair; its eyes were as silver and bright as the moon. Practically luminescent from where it gazed at him, like shining torchlight through a glass jar in the woods at night. Like a predator watching from dark bushes.

Immediately, Alba knew it was something to be afraid of. Every one of his most innate human instincts told him to get far away by whatever means necessary—but then something else draped like a warm balm over those warnings. Muffling them. Seducing them.

Until all Alba could think—was how beautiful it was. How his mother had told him stories of such things, how a part of him always knew exactly what he would find in the waters of Moon Harbor if he ever had the chance to look. Suddenly drunk with wanting nothing more than to know, to hear its voice again, that time promising he would appreciate it properly as the sweetest thing to ever grace his ears. He would give anything to be the creature's object of attention for just a moment, a moment longer, as every thought he had melted through his fingers and all he knew was the moon-kissed creature in front of him.

"You're a mermaid of Moon Harbor, aren't you?" He asked, voice quiet, like he was embarrassed to be so grating in comparison. "My mother… used to tell me stories about you."

The creature didn't respond. It just watched him, silent, unblinking, for what felt like an eternity, until Alba thought he might unravel with need to hear its voice. When its mouth finally emerged from just below the surface, lips round and perfectly shaped, points of sharp teeth shining in the bright moonlight when it spoke, what remained of Alba melted with the rest.

"You shouldn't have run from me before."

Alba leaned toward the edge of the boat, putting his hands on the wood. His heart sank. Had he? He couldn't remember.

"Is it true you make wishes?" he asked, touching his braid, messy and nearly undone from all the excitement. Recalling his mother's stories. Thoughts hardly more than flashing colors and honey and innate desire. "In exchange for a piece of hair."

"Is there something you'd like?" The creature glided slightly closer.

Alba's heart pounded in the back of his throat. Choking him. It was so ethereal up close, like nothing he'd ever seen, nothing he could ever possibly imagine. It turned his thoughts to smoke, sweet perfume, incense that tickled his brain, his spine, trickling down into the rest of his body until he was paralyzed by the mere beauty of it. Until a swirling in his gut festered to life, making his thighs clench, tingling below his navel.

Alba nodded—though he suddenly couldn't think of anything but the desire curling like choking vines around his hips, his throat. Just staring at the creature's mouth.

Pressing his lips together, he exhaled a small breath. Fighting to gather his bearings. Something beneath the soft, cottony layer on his mind was thrashing, trying to get his attention.

"There's something I want as well," the mermaid said, voice pitching slightly deeper, so alluring, so honeyed that Alba physically shivered as his insides writhed in growing heat.

He leaned slightly farther over the edge. The boat wobbled beneath his weight. The mermaid smiled, and Alba nearly lost himself to it. He would give that creature anything so long as it kept speaking to him, seeing him.

"Promise me you won't leave this town until you give it to me," it said. Smiling gently, lovely and handsome and enchanting. Like Alba was a gift, a treasure.

Bubbles swirled beneath where the creature floated; something dark whirled around where a long white tail tread the water. Alba barely noticed, wholly captivated by the face in front of him. He nodded before thinking.

"I promise?—"

A black mass erupted from the abyss, hellish shrieks erupting from its lungs as claws thrashed out and attacked the mermaid. Alba gasped, nearly lunging over the side of the boat to reach for it, to help—but the moment the mermaid and undersea demon collapsed back into the water with nothing but thrashing bubbles and whitecaps in their wake, the spell sloughed off, releasing his mind.

Alba threw himself back, gasping another ragged lungful of air, barely biting back a scream of horror as every withheld instinct rushed him all at once. But there was hardly time to do anything else as the mermaid suddenly lunged from the water again, that time clawing at the edge of the boat and heaving itself inside.

It moved with surprising speed, a webbed hand slamming Alba back against the bow post by the throat. Alba choked, clawing at its scaly, slippery skin. He kicked his feet, attempting to knock the monster off balance—but it stood on a bend of its snakelike tail, out of reach, like a viper poised to strike.

No longer hidden beneath the water, no longer whipping his thoughts into a sweet, empty lather, Alba was forced to witness the creature's striking human features up close without any of the drunken, sweltering worship directing his thoughts. The shape of its jawline and neck decorated with slitted gills; broad shoulders and masculine chest rippling with strong muscle and draped in a collar of dangling pearls and shells. The tight muscles in its arms flexed as its hands tightened around Alba's neck, making it impossible to think clearly, seeing only that the creature opened its mouth to speak, perhaps to sing and cage his mind again.

Alba's hands frantically groped at his belt, pulling the dagger stolen from the man and slicing an arch across the creature's chest. Black blood spewed from the wound, splattering across Alba's shirt and forearms, the mer-creature hissing and snarling and crashing backward in shock. When it lifted animalistic eyes back to Alba, its nose wrinkled in a snarl, before throwing itself back over the side. The vessel rocked violently with the weight, and Alba barely managed to keep himself upright.

There was no chance to inhale a single breath of relief—as the boat suddenly lurched to the side, dumping him into the sea.

Plunging into the deep darkness, king tides pushed and pulled by the moon tore him in every direction, and his instincts kicked in properly that time. Instincts from years at sea, from falling overboard in worse storms than that. Kicking his legs to right himself, following the trail of bubbles blown from his mouth to the surface, his only other thought was to keep his grip tight on the knife.

He barely crested through the surface again, tearing at the air with his lungs, before something grabbed and dragged him back down. He moved fast, swinging the knife to slice at whatever gripped him—but the creature didn't flinch, even when Alba was sure the blade made purchase.

Reeling back, he stabbed again, again and again and again at the fleshy, slimy shadow that clung to him, all the while thrashing and fighting for his freedom. The demon that attacked the mermaid was taking him somewhere. He couldn't tell the direction, it was too dark, the tide was too cold and too unpredictable, unable to discern if he was even right-side up or not.

The salt burned his eyes as he clawed at the thing, but only thick, gelatinous residue scraped off with his fingers, like plump seaweed. Something knotted under his nails like hair, but he was sure he felt bone where a face should have been. It was hands that dug into him, distinguishing enough in the blurry darkness to be sure it was a humanesque creature that dragged him off—even wrapped in fabric like clothing; gripping him with stiff, bony fingers.

He could only hold his breath, though the thing bobbed to the surface at random as they went, allowing him a gasp of air each time. He fought whenever the creature's grip faltered, continuing to sweep the knife out hoping to catch it off guard, but never resulting in release. He opened his eyes against the cold, salty water whenever they no longer burned, searching for any sign of where it took him, any sign of the moon-kissed mermaid that'd attacked him first, until the very last thing he expected to feel grazed the backs of his fingers, and his body jolted as if struck by lightning.

Sand—it was sand. The creature had dragged him back to the black shores of Moon Harbor. New, blinding hot adrenaline exploded in his veins, shoving against the thing that clutched him, managing to wrench himself away—only to be crushed back into the water, against the muddy bottom by a suffocating weight coiling around him with sudden ruthlessness.

The knife tumbled from his hand. He swore he heard the rotting demon-creature shriek, thought he felt it rush to claw at the mermaid that'd caught up to them, but the moonlit creature's tail lashed out, slamming the monster into the sand before hands grabbed Alba by the back of the shirt and wrenched him back to the surface.

Gasping, Alba clawed at the earth. He kicked his legs, digging the toes of his shoes into the land and fighting with everything he had to climb up the shore's incline, wanting to get as far from the water as he could, not wanting to drown when he was so close—but the weight of the mermaid was too much, flattening him until his breaths were hardly more than rasps.

"Not so fast, light-keeper," it hummed into his ear, voice laced with disdain, with reserved fury, though still threading Alba with magic woven from desire. "You already made your promise, don't forget. You won't be stepping foot outside of this town until you do as I say."

"Please—" Alba choked, cut off when a sharp hand scooped under his chin, arching his head back and forcing him to meet the creature's gaze. In the far distance, the moon kissed the horizon. Preparing room for an incoming sun. Giving the sky barely enough light for Alba to witness the seething hatred in the creature's silver eyes as it continued speaking. Ignoring him.

"You will go into Moon Harbor and ask what has come of the merrow who once filled these waters," it said, sharp nails pressing into the soft skin of Alba's throat. "Only when you have an answer that satisfies me, will I lift this curse. You shall not walk anywhere you cannot hear the sound of the waves, else you crumble into a pillar of salt to be tousled into dust by the wind."

"Please—" Alba begged again, voice hoarse—and the merrow answered by jerking Alba's head to the side, burying teeth into the crook of his neck.

Alba jolted, biting back a scream, clawing at the sand as his eyes bulged toward the sky, pain crashing through him from where the merrow's teeth dug deep enough that blood bubbled from the seal of its lips and dripped down Alba's back. Only once it was satisfied did its jaw unhinge and pull back, letting Alba fall to his stomach.

"Blood for blood," it spat, crimson residue from its mouth splattering the sand by Alba's head. "Now—do as I say. Should you step foot in these waters again without an answer, I won't resist feeding you to things worse than I."

The weight slid off him. Alba barely had the strength to turn his blurry eyes to look, to search for that piece of the moon, to see if it really left him with those final words—but it wasn't the mer-person that moved in his vision.

Down the beach, blending with the foam of the constant waves, barely visible from where they hid just beneath the water—Alba swore a dozen pale, bloated corpses gazed back at him in pity, just before the exhaustion made him slump back to the shore.