Magic by the Sea

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Chapter Fourteen

On a Stranger’s Tide

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Ryan groaned. He really wanted to go back to sleep. He felt almost drugged, his limbs incredibly heavy. They had searched the house for hours. It must have been about two in the morning when Ryan had finally collapsed onto the couch, too exhausted to keep going. He should be freezing. The fire had gone out and the house was sunk into pitch blackness.

He was almost sure it was morning and now that he was awake, he had no idea how he had managed to sleep through what sounded like a typhoon. The world outside thundered and shook. Rain was pouring down with vengeance and the wind howled over the rooftop and thudded against the windowpanes. He shifted gingerly.

There was warmth at his back and a pillow under his head. He blinked stiffly. He could feel the rise and fall of a large chest behind him. His brain seemed to be full of cotton. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he slowly became aware that he wasn’t the only one lying on the couch.

Firth had curled around him. Ryan sat up so sharply he nearly fell off the edge of the couch. He looked back nervously at the merking. Asleep, he looked more human and at the same time, ethereal. His skin was so pale it almost glowed in the low light. Scars stood out over large muscles and the long hair fell like a blanket down the man’s back and to his hip. Ryan was once again struck by the insane surrealism of the situation.

He flushed faintly and quickly scrambled up. He scurried over to the faintly smouldering fireplace to relight it. He tried the light switch and wasn’t remotely surprised to find that it didn’t work. With a sigh, he headed for the generator. It wasn’t until he was refilling the kettle that he heard movement. He came back around the corner. Firth was sitting up. He looked faintly worried until he caught sight of Ryan.

‘You’re still here,’ The king murmured, some of the tension easing from his frame. Ryan frowned.

‘Well yes. I do live here,’ Ryan said with a weak smile. Had the merman seriously expected him to run off in the middle of the night? A crash of thunder made him jump.

‘We are on generator power at the moment. This storm is pretty wild,’ he added. Firth stood; his height emphasised by the flames eerie light.

‘Did you find the book?’ Firth asked without much enthusiasm.

‘No but I haven’t been awake for very long,’ Ryan sighed. He went back into the kitchen.

‘Are you hungry? The bread is still good,’ Ryan called. He started back when he found Firth only a foot away from him. He hadn’t heard him move over the roar of the storm.

‘I don’t understand you,’ Firth said, his facial expression odd. Ryan put a few slices of bread into the toaster.

‘You don’t have to,’ Ryan said quietly. He watched the toast tensely as though it might become sentient and climb back out of the toaster.

‘Do you hate me?’ Firth murmured.

‘No. Not really. I get why you did what you did. That doesn’t mean I agree with what you did but I can’t hate you for it.’ He supposed he should be angry, be upset. Firth had been responsible for his father’s death but Ryan had never met the man. He had never even seen a photo of his real father and knew so little about him.

‘I misjudged you.’ Ryan froze as he felt cold fingertips brush the back of his neck where the collar sat.

‘I don’t suppose you can just take the thing off?’ The toast popped up and Ryan grab two plates and the butter out of the fridge.

‘No. It is magically bound. I cannot remove it.’ Ryan looked at the man then. Firth did look something akin to “sorry”. Ryan shrugged.

‘Just a thought. Honey or peanut butter?’ he asked, holding up two jars. Firth frowned, looking from one to the other.

‘What’s peanut butter?’

‘You’ve never heard of peanut butter? It’s been around since the early 1900s!’ Ryan spluttered, his face breaking into its first real smile of the night.

‘I live in the ocean,’ Firth responded flatly. A loud laugh broke the tension in the kitchen. Ryan dipped his knife into the jar and smothered a liberal helping of peanut butter onto each slice before handing Firth his plate. Firth’s nose wrinkled. He watched Ryan pick up his own slice and bite into it with relish.

The merking sniffed at his toast and took the most ridiculous delicate bite of one corner. He chewed, aware of the boy smirking at him.

‘It is… palatable,’ Firth admitted.

Ryan laughed, the sound light and oddly wonderful to hear in the close dark kitchen. ‘I’ll make us some tea as well. The bathroom is down the hall if you want to… umm use it,’ Ryan said rather dumbly. He tried not to think about the merking bathing naked under the spray.

‘Not sure the hot water is going to work though.’

‘I do not require washing,’ Firth muttered. He looked mildly offended. They stood in each other’s company, eating the last of their toast and sipping at fresh cups of tea. Ryan jumped again at another boom of thunder.

‘The ocean will be rough today. The ferry probably won’t be able to leave the mainland,’ Ryan murmured, staring out the dark window into the pouring rain.

‘It is highly unlikely,’ Firth agreed.

Ryan shot him a shrewd look. ‘You didn’t have anything to do with this, did you?’ Ryan asked, nodding his head towards the windowpane.

‘My kind do not control the weather,’ Firth said tartly.

‘Even you have to admit this is… convenient though,’ Ryan said pointedly. Firth raised an eyebrow.

‘A storm is ideal for our search?’ Ryan rolled his eyes.

‘No, of course not but it will prevent anyone from interfering,’ he said. Firth looked into the driving rain for a long moment.

‘Perhaps it is the island’s way of assisting us,’ the king reflected.

‘Fat lot of good that will do us if we can’t find that damn book. There must be somewhere we are missing!’ Ryan said, rinsing his plate and mug in the sink.

‘There must be a location outside of this dwelling that the book would be considered safe,’ Firth suggested. Ryan shook his head.

‘That’s just it though. We left in a hurry. The only other place that mum could go to is her work and that is the other end of the island. She had to have placed it somewhere either in the house or nearby...’ Ryan paused, his hand lingering on the tap as a nasty thought crossed his mind.

‘What is it?’ Firth said, striding forward to better see his face. Ryan bit his lip.

‘There is somewhere she could have gone,’ he said slowly but then he stopped.

‘Where?’ Ryan glanced at the king’s face. He very much doubted the merman knew his birth mother lived.

‘My mother’s house,’ he said flatly.

Firth scowled. ‘Are we not in your mother’s house?’ the king growled.

Ryan shook his head. ‘No, my birthmother’s house. She’s just down the road from here,’ Ryan sighed, preparing for the wave of rage he expected to wash over him from the other man. It never came though.

‘Your mother lives?’ Firth said, his voice quiet and breathy.

‘If you can call it that,’ Ryan responded bitterly. The merking studied him.

‘You undoubtedly resent that you were not able to stay with her without us finding you?’ he asked. A loud bark of harsh laughter left Ryan’s throat before he could clamp it down.

‘Yeah, no. I only found out recently that she is my birth mother, and she certainly has never wanted anything to do with me. She’s completely crazy and hates my guts. She threw a brick at me once when I was about eight,’ Ryan growled as he pulled on his thickest coat. Firth stared.

‘But you are her blood. Why does she think ill of you?’ Ryan raised a brow.

‘My grandfather’s theory was that giving me away unhinged her. Apparently, she was never... that stable to begin with but when I was taken and my father left, she went off the deep end so to speak,’ Ryan explained uncomfortably. An expression crossed the king’s face that could have been pity.

‘It doesn’t matter. Alice is my mother, even if she didn’t give birth to me. I had a great childhood and I love my home on this island. Nothing that has happened has changed that. I grew up here and I have no intention of leaving once this is all over.’ Ryan put his hand on the door handle. Long fingers coiled around his bicep and turned him around. He looked up at the stoic features and milky grey eyes of the merking.

‘You intend to continue living here?’ Firth murmured, unable to hide his own disbelief.

‘Yes,’ Ryan said firmly. Firth shook his head, stunned.

‘You don’t want me to I suppose,’ Ryan murmured, realising that the merking could very well want to demand that he leave. Where would he go if he couldn’t live here by the roaring sea and black seagrass? Nowhere else would ever feel like home.

‘No. No, I don’t want to force you to go,’ Firth said quietly. The two men stood looking at each other for a long silent moment, feeling in that moment a surreal sort of connection. The collar around Ryan’s neck felt oddly warm and heavy and he saw Firth’s eyes flick down to it briefly. He was still holding onto Ryan’s arm.

‘We should go,’ Ryan announced, breaking the silence. Firth nodded, releasing him with reluctance. Skin prickling, Ryan turned back to the door and opened it.

The noise of the storm crashed down on them. He was glad he didn’t worry about an umbrella. It would have been laughably inadequate. The rain was coming down so hard and thick Ryan could barely see four feet in front of him. He squinted into the downpour.

‘This way,’ he shouted though his voice was almost immediately muted and torn away by the storm. He turned left but really; he wasn’t given much choice as that was the way the wind was shunting him. Twice he nearly went down as the mud slicked road threatened to steal his footing out from under him. Only Firth’s strong grip on the back of his now sopping jacket preventing him falling. Every now and again he saw slivers of light coming from occupied houses with only partly covered windows. Everything else was shifting blankets of water and darkness.

The walk was both rapid and disorientating. As they trudged on, Ryan’s head spun. How much did Debra know about everything that had happened? Was she heavily involved, or could she know next to nothing? He was sure they had reached the right house though. As they went up the flooded garden path, Ryan called back over his shoulder, ‘Let me do the talking!’

For whatever good it was about to do but at least Ryan’s face would be familiar. Ryan raised his fist and pounded on the door. For several seconds he dreaded that they may not have heard him. Surely, they were home? Where else could the sisters be? He knocked again, louder, his knuckles hurting from the icy water and solid timber. Finally, he saw a hallway light come on and the door swung open.

‘Ryan?’ Debra stood in her doorway, her face white as chalk and her fingers gripping the door frame for support.

‘We need to come in,’ Ryan said in a hard voice. He took a step forward and the woman took a stumbling step backwards as they invaded her doorstep.

‘Ryan, what is going on?! Why are you here!?’ Her voice was high with fright and shock.

‘My mother gave you a book. I’m here to pick it up,’ Ryan said flatly.

‘A book? What book! Ryan, your mother said you had gone to the mainland. Why are you back here?’ Her mouth went slack as she caught sight of Firth.

‘Who-’

‘Can we come in?’ Ryan asked whilst still pressing forward.

‘Well yes, of course but-’

‘Thanks.’ Firth followed him inside and Ryan made a point of closing the front door.

‘What on earth could force you to be out in this weather? And who’s your friend?’ Debra was wearing a rather frilly red and white apron decorated with strawberries. The house smelt of dry timber and baking.

’A couple of days ago, mum came here in a hurry and gave you a book. Maybe she wrapped it or something but it is a book.’ She was twisting the apron in her hands and not meeting his gaze.

‘Ryan, I’m very sorry but now is not a very good time. Dania hasn’t been feeling to well lately and I’ve got my hands full here,’ she said, her eyes darting off over her shoulder.

‘What needs doing? Perhaps I can help whilst you get the book.’ His offer might have been friendly if it wasn’t for the hard tone he was using. He had never used it on his childhood teacher before, but Ryan was thoroughly done with being mucked about. He took another step forward and she took another back.

‘I, well... Let me get you both some towels,’ she said, her shoulders slumping in open resignation. She bustled down the hallway.

Firth sniffed audibly. ‘I don’t like this place. It smells of death,’ the king murmured. Ryan looked at him.

‘What do you mean?’ He whispered in case Debra had lingered at the end of the hall.

‘It smells of old magic and blood.’ An icy shiver slithered down Ryan’s spine but before he could ask the merman to elaborate, Debra was back. She thrust a towel into his arms. All the towels in the world probably wouldn’t help him now but he quickly dried his hair and dabbed down his clothes to stop them from heavily dripping all over the carpet.

‘Come into the kitchen where its warm,’ Debra said reluctantly. They followed her into an old kitchen complete with dull lacy curtains and several brown pot plants on the windowsill. The style hadn’t been updated in what looked like forty years. Ryan went to sit down on one the rickety stools.

‘Not there!’ Debra said loudly, her hands flying up in alarm. Ryan stopped short.

‘I’m sorry, my sister is very particular about the placement of things in the house. Come, you two can sit over here,’ she said, pulling over two different chairs.

‘Have you always cared for your sister Ma’am?’ Firth asked in a rather impressive attempt at gentlemanly manners. She looked at him in a mixture of puzzlement, fear and awe. Firth was still so unnatural with his pale grey eyes, long white hair and hard cut muscles that were disguised poorly under an old tunic that looked like it belonged in a naval museum.

‘Well yes. After pa passed, although probably even before that. My sister has always been of fragile health,’ Debra said. She went about making tea but nearly dropped the cups in her nervousness.

‘Is something wrong?’ Ryan asked, watching her spill milk all over the countertop. She had already forgotten to add teabags. She put the bottle down and looked at him with pleading eyes.

‘You mother warned me that you might come. I don’t think it’s a good idea that I give that book to you. She was very adamant.’

‘Have you read it?’ Ryan asked.

‘Well, no. Admittedly, I couldn’t see what the harm was in a children’s storybook but your mother must have had her reasons.’

‘It was written by my father.’

‘Your-’

‘Did you meet my father?’ Ryan cut in. Her eyes started to dart back and forth again, as though looking for a way out. He knew he was scaring her, but he was past caring.

‘Not particularly. I think I met him once when you were born but he left a long time ago-’

‘On a ship,’ Ryan said mercilessly.

‘After he and my mother made the decision to give me up,’ he added coldly.

‘I, I think you’re a little confused dear. Alice would never-’

‘Alright stop! I’m done with this! I really fucking am,’ Ryan shouted making her jump. She stared at him in horror, shrinking back against her kitchen cabinets.

‘Ryan!’

‘Go. Get. The. Book,’ he hissed. A large hand closed on the back of his neck. It squeezed slightly and some of the fury died away. Firth had stood up, drawing the terrified woman’s gaze.

‘Ma’am, we have no intention of staying past our welcome however that item does not belong to you. It did not belong to Alice either. It is the boy’s property and you will return it or we will search the house until we find it.’ The king said sternly. Debra tried to pull herself together.

‘You can’t make that sort of threat!’

‘Are you going to call the police?’ Ryan said with a cold smile. A loud boom of thunder shook the cups on the countertop. No one said anything for a long minute. Somewhere down the corridor came an odd scuttling sound, like dragging bare feet. Debra’s eyes went to the doorway, but no one appeared. She seemed to be thinking very fast.

‘Alright. Alright, I’ll go get it, just wait here,’ she rasped. She put her cup down and hurried away.

‘Do you think she’s actually going to get the book?’ Ryan growled. Firth seemed to be listening, his head turned.

‘I believe so. She doesn’t want us here. I think her fear of us is overriding whatever instructions your mother left.’ They waited, both listening hard. Then the sound of footsteps returned, and Debra reappeared, the dog-eared old book in her hands.

Ryan didn’t wait for her to hold it out, he just took it. She looked at him as though she had never met him before. Ryan was beyond caring. As he traced his fingers over the cover, he heard more noise from the corridor. Firth peered over his shoulder as Ryan opened the book.

‘This is it,’ Ryan said with relief. Before they could turn a single page, a noise ripped their attention away.

‘YOU!’ The screech was almost inhuman. They both turned to see a skeletal woman, her hair lank, her eyes popping. She was so thin her bones seemed to be sticking out of her waxy skin. She looked utterly mad. For someone who looked so brittle, her reflexes were catlike.

She grabbed the long bread knife from the kitchen countertop and before her sister could stop her, she lunged at Firth.

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END

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