Page 19 of The Rusalka and Mr. Right

I DON’T KNOW WHY Itold Kevin anything.Any. Thing.

I’ve never had such a verbal explosion with a lover.

I told him about Gregor.

My chest hurts, like it just happened. Like today is the day his boat didn’t come back to the tiny lodge we shared, where rows of dried, salted fish hung from the ceiling, and everything smelled of smoke and the homemade soap I made at the end of summer.

I dive into the river and don’t surface for a long time, taking solace in the places where the water is crisp and deep. I don’tblink, afraid that when I do, I’ll find Gregor’s body there, cold and lifeless beneath thick sheets of ice.

I’ve always wondered if my “sisters” had anything to do with it. Did they finally figure out that I was changing, that I was going “soft,” and that he was the reason why? Did they pull him overboard and tangle him in his own net to break me of my habit... Or just to break my heart?

Rusalkas can scream underwater. We can cry. Suddenly, for the first time in years, I’m doing both.

I rocket up with a gasp and flop on the bank, chest heaving like I need air, but I simply need to stop crying over things I can’t change.

My heart hardened long ago. Healed, I thought.

Letting someone else in... Hurts. And it’s too dangerous

So don’t let him in, fool. He’s a human, and humans will never be enough for you. Not one, anyway.

I ignore the fact that Gregor was enough for me, that regular coupling with him, every night or two, kept me fed. I tell myself that the fullness was an illusion, brought on by something else. Peace. Happiness.

Whatever it was, for two years, one human was all I needed.

Could it be that way again?

My phone pings beside me, and I retrieve it from my bag.

Kev: Sunday is technically next week. Dinner?

Yes!I want to say yes, with a giddy swoop in my stomach.

But I don’t.

Don’t get attached, Marina. Rusalkas don’t get to love, don’t get to be happy—and you’ve experienced both. Hoping for it again is only greed.

Marina: Labor Day weekend is busy in town. There’s a big picnic at the park off of Pine Crest, and I promised I would go.

It’s not exactly a lie. It’s not exactly true, either. I told Janet and Cindy I would be there, but they wouldn’t mind if I skipped. They wouldn’t mind if I brought Kev, either.

Kev: No worries. When’s a good night for you?

Never. Never is a good night for me. I shouldn’t see him again. I can’t believe I told him about Koshchei.

I can’t believe he offered to help me. Protect me. Of course, he’s a puny little human next to the demon overlord who spawned my race.

But I will need to eat again, and... I rub my hand ponderously over my middle. Normally, I remember the beginning of the academic year as being a long binge, a few weeks of gluttonous desperation as I tried to repair months of lean times.

There’s no burning, gnawing ache today.

My fingers type fast before my brain reasserts control.

Marina: How about Friday night? Friday nights are usually free for me.

They’re not. They’re party nights, nights where I can have a freaking buffet of men. The fact that I picked that night makes me cluck my tongue in annoyance as I blink into the mid-morning sun. It means I’m relying on him. Wanting him to be my main meal for the week.

Wanting him. Period.

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