Page 65 of The Rusalka and Mr. Right

THAT AFTERNOON, WHENthe shadows start to invade, I slip into the river, my long white dress fanning around me like a koi’s elegant fins. I swim to where it’s darker and murky.

Home—or at least, home base.

I pull myself aboard my decrepit houseboat with a frown.

How could this place have ever been my refuge?

Looking around it now, it looks so terribly barren and grim. Algae and brackish slime coat the prow. The interior smells damp and disused. There are no clean river smells below the surface, even though the water surrounds me.

But there’s one spot inside that’s quite bright...

With a soft grunt, I pry open the little door built into the interior. When I first found this houseboat, there was a rusted red lantern and a coil of rotted rope. Now, it holds a rusting steel box—which was once stuffed with moldering money—the kind of bills that are no longer in circulation now, some with Martha Washington on them, others what they call “funnybacks.” It helped me keep up a semblance of respectability when I found this place and had to venture on land.

“As if water won’t give you everything you need, rusalka,” I whisper to myself, prying open my “treasure chest.” It is full of treasures. Coins, rings, bracelets, gold and silver chains—scavenged from the bottom. People lose them swimming. Throw them in during a fight. Maybe they’re from wrecks of long ago—maybe from a few months ago.

Kevin bought me such a beautiful ring. I’ll take my little stock of treasures to Jan at Stilz Jewelers, or maybe to the sketchy little “consignment” shop a few miles north of Jax Alley. Consignment might be how it begins, but pawning is how it ends.

“Or maybe there’s something just right for him here...” My fingers sift through clinking metal in my dark corner. I can see in the dark after all. The abyssal zone of the ocean is no stranger to me, nor were dark black nights that lasted for months on the rooftop of the world.

Thick gold chains gone green. A circle of silver with its stones missing. A flat silver heart-shaped pendant with faded initials.

Nothing worthy of him. Nothing that shows how seriously I take my vows.

In a bold sweep, I shut the lid and rise, making sure it’s secure as I tuck it under my arm.

I will find him something. I have time—at least until the Hunter’s Moon. By then, I’ll have something for my lover.

My promised one. My king, my knight, my air, my shore...

I shiver.

Now I know what they mean when they say love is all-consuming. I understand the phrase “so in love,” and this love...

I hit the water at a run, diving in seamlessly, the clanking metal box not hindering me in the slightest. I swim with long, one-armed strokes and effortless kicks, my mind matching the pace of my limbs as they slice through the water.

This love was not borne of loneliness.

Images of Gregor and the way we found each other—two lonely souls, desperate for touch.

We grew, first in companionship, then into love.

In Pine Ridge, there are always friends. This love was not about being alone, nor was it about desperation. (well, the first time, yes, I was desperately hungry, but every time after...)

“I fell for him from the start, and nothing can change that.” I climb back out onto the bank near Onyx Farms, retrieving my clothes and phone from where I stashed them.

“But in case something does change—” I look at the sky, already a smooth, flat ceiling of darkness, “he’ll have something to remember me by.”

“I GOT TAKEOUT. I’Msorry, ‘cause that’s probably an unneeded expense, but you wore me out and I was thinking I might have worn you out, too.” Kev comes in smelling like a mix of antiseptic and tacos. Sure enough, he holds up a bag from Dolcita’s, the little Mexican place. “Mom would have told me to go to the grocery store. It’s close to work, anyway.”

“I like that you spoil me. I’m sorry I tired you out. Back rub?”

“Never gonna say no to that—but you get one, too. Wanna find a movie for us while I shower?”

It’s all so nice. So normal and loving and sweet that my chest is on fire. He makes me ache, just with a bag of takeout.

“Baby, you look frozen.” Kev pulls off his hoodie and hurries over to me, stuffing me into it before I can protest.

“I look like a throw rug,” I say, staring at the oversized maroon sweater with a huge white owl on the back. It hangs well over my thighs.

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