Page 112 of A Storm in Every Heart
I grip the cool metal of the gate, swinging it open with a creak, and step onto the path, feeling the salty breeze brush against my skin as I make my way toward the inviting sound of the sea.
I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve never even wanted to, but I could swear the idea has gripped me like a compulsion, and now I know I won’t be able to think of anything else until I’ve at least tried.
I pick my way over the rocks and dunes to the patch of sand below. When I reach the small beach and pull my slippers off and drop them on the ground along with my blanket, letting my feet dig into the sand and the ocean air nip at my skin.
Heart pounding with anticipation, I walk toward the shoreline.
The moonlight on the water combined with the rolling waves is hypnotic. Inviting.
Pausing for just a heartbeat, I watch the gentle waves roll in, their white frothy edges curling and retreating. Then, with a deep breath, I step forward, allowing the chilly tide to sweep over my toes.
The reaction is immediate.
The moment my feet break the surface, something electric jolts through me—an uncoiling, aremembering.
I don't feel pain, exactly, but there’s a sensation—a prickling that starts at my toes and races up my calves, as though a thousand invisible needles are stitching something new into my bones. For a breathless instant, the world blurs: stars above, black water below, and my body caught between.
I stare, transfixed, as my toes elongate and press together, the nails thinning and fusing into a single, glistening membrane. Tiny silver scales bloom up from my ankles, intricate as embroidery, catching the pale glow with each movement. It’s beautiful and horrifying all at once.
I flex my new webbed toes, and the sensation is so strange, so fundamentally not-me, that I’m seized with vertigo. I sway as the transformation crawls higher, up the line of my shin, scales rippling, as if they have a consciousness of their own and are eager to claim more territory.
“Enough,” I gasp, jerking backward.
Like a fog has lifted from my mind, reality slams into me. I wrench my foot from the water with a violence that’s almost comical, only I misjudge my balance and land hard on my ass in the sand, limbs tangled and heart hammering.
For several minutes, I sit and stare at my feet, watching the imprints of scales fade away. My heartbeat pounds against my ribs, beating an anxious chant.
Oh my gods.
There’s such a stark difference between knowing what I am and knowing with absolute certainty that there’s something intrinsically different about me than anyone I’ve ever known. The knowledge that I could walk into the water right now and never come back is too huge a concept to even consider.
I sit in silence for a long time watching the rolling waves. Minutes pass—hours maybe—until finally I hear a distant ghostly sound.
I’ve heard the sirens before, during long voyages onThe Adellawhen our ship had to pass through dangerous waters. I remember my father and his crew stuffing their ears with cotton or locking themselves below deck to resist the hypnotic cries.
Perhaps it’s simply because I’m one of them, but the song doesn’t sound compelling to me. Neither does it sound frightening. It’s a distant chorus of unearthly voices, rising and falling in complicated harmony, swelling with longing so sharp it makes my teeth ache.
I listen as the ethereal song grows steadily nearer until the air around me shudders, and I’m not surprised when the first dark shapes begin to appear in the water, illuminated by the shaft of moonlight.
One by one, a dozen ghostly heads rise out of the water, their faces turned toward the shore. The moon casts their silhouettes in shades of gunmetal and pearl, their eyes reflective as mirrors.
They’re watching me. All of them, like they’re one single mind spread across a dozen bodies. Their eyes are searching, but they hold no curiosity. There’s hunger there, and wariness, and something else: recognition.
I consider running. Turning and bolting up the dunes, maybe locking myself in my room and pretending this never happened. But the song holds me in place, the melody threading through my veins, pulsing alongside my heart. Fear and fascination wage war inside my ribcage.
I don’t move.
From the farthest cluster of silent, staring faces, a single figure breaks away from the others. She swims with impossible speed, her arms slicing the water in smooth, deliberate strokes, her body undulating almost like a squid.
The other sirens scatter, giving her a wide berth, as if she’s the only one with the right to break away from the herd.
The siren swims until she’s no more than twenty feet away, visible only by her moon-pale skin reflecting against the blackness of the water. As she nears the shore, her head breaks the surface and her features sharpen. I stare, open mouthed.
The siren’s hair is long and matted with seaweed and salt. Her black, glassy eyes are too large for her face and her lips are thin blue ribbons outlining viciously sharp teeth. Her skin looks thin and seems to be stretched over the bones of her face, making her look emaciated and deadly.
Fear grips me, and once again I feel the urge to flee. This time, I scramble backwards, nearly rising to my feet.
Without warning, the siren stands, water cascading off her naked skin in rivulets. Before my eyes, her pearlescent scaled skin recedes. The sharp bones of her face disappear beneath supple flesh, and her seaweed-like hair shifts into long, flowing blonde waves. On her head, she wears a crown of coral and pearls, like an oceanic queen.
