Category: Issue #15

*Content warning: mentions of domestic violence, sexual abuse.

I sit on the window seat and peer through the glass, gazing out into the midnight velvet. The starry starry night is made a vibrant Van Gogh, with those distant lights scattering the tranquil sky. The brilliant stars are ablaze like radiant snowflakes, calling out to me as they each promise a new life in the gloom. I place a bruised hand flat against the cool glass. If only I could reach out to them somehow. They’re so minuscule even against my pinkie finger, yet so beyond my grasp. However, against the familiar white and black sky, I quickly notice the flash of metallic silver rushing towards me through the window’s blurred reflection, and I instinctively remove my hand from the window. My father’s crushed beer can had bounced off my foggy hand-print with a loud clunk and landed between my blackened legs.

‘Fetch me another one, why don’t you?’ my father grunts. I turn and scowl at him for having interrupted my solace, his plump figure slouched before the television. Despite my resentments, I oblige and walk briskly to the kitchen. I hear the anchor-woman’s soothing voice from the TV as I pass the mouldy sofa, her tone neutral despite having to relay an assortment of dreadful realities.

‘Now for today’s breaking news, another unidentified aircraft has just arrived on our soil, marking its fifth occurrence this week in the United States alone.’

Another visit? I wonder what it is they seek? As I reach through the refrigerator and retrieve the Miller Lite from its chilly interior, I look over at the back of my father’s seated figure and imagine their eventual disappointment at discovering nothing of significance here.

‘You take any longer back there and I’ll make them bruises bigger than they already are, you hear me?’ my father threatens from the living room. His booming voice reverberates throughout the house and the words fade into nothingness, perhaps uniting with his countless other threats. I shut the refrigerator door and walk back to him with quick steps, presenting the frosty can just beyond his shoulder. Snatching the drink out from my hand, he opens it with haste and drinks its contents fiercely, devoid of any gratitude. I make my way back to the window seat and continue listening to the anchor-woman’s disclosure of tonight’s hot topic, a safe distance from my father.

‘Multiple residents of suburban Drexel Hill, Pennsylvania witnessed the arrival of the aircraft but were also quick to dispatch of its mystery passengers.’

The screen transitions to grainy video footage of the triangular mass that remained between the rows of Tudor houses, perched like a bird about to take flight. Its metallic body, surrounded by onlookers, resembles that of the previous four aircrafts that had appeared in other parts of the country; its base decorated with those glaring white lights. The news then cuts to footage of two blanketed bodies being wheeled away on stretchers before returning to the anchor-woman’s calm figure.

‘And now, here we have fellow resident Martin Louis, one of the nation’s proclaimed heroes responsible for the purging of the strange visitors.’ I jolt back as my father had let out a sudden guffaw across from me.

‘Way to go buddy,’ he cheers, clapping. I scoff quietly so he doesn’t hear. He never took a liking to foreigners, let alone the extra-terrestrial. I glare at his bulbous figure, his clammy hands clutching onto his beer can as though it was his lifeline, before shifting my attention back to the television screen. Presented before me now was a close-up of a middle-aged man with dishevelled hair. He spoke in a southern drawl, with a toothy grin.

‘I took them sons-of-guns out with my G98, popped ‘em right between their two eyes. The first one came out of the thing slow and steady, its skin as pale as winter’s snow. People around me were panickin’, backing away into their mothers and husbands, but I stayed right where I stood. It was holdin’ this rectangular-shaped thingy and it was about to put it up to what I believe was its mouth before I took ‘em out, and it fell back like a ragdoll. Wasn’t about to take no chances. There was this red sploosh that had gone oozin’ out from where the bullet struck. The whole thing was nuttier than a squirrel’s turd I’m tellin’ you. And then the last one came out, but this one was little. Skin brown like caramel, it came runnin’ out and charged right at me, screamin’. But little did the little shit knew, I had put the bullet right through its head before—’

I jolt again as my father let out another of his hearty laughs, which were reserved only for such merciless happenings.

‘That’s how you deal with them fuckers. Hope they take the hint from here on out,’ he says, smirking. I shake my head only slightly, so he doesn’t see, as the impartial anchor-woman returns on-screen.

‘As mass hysteria continues to spread across our great nation, secretary of defence Marcus Esther has issued another public statement regarding the emergence of unidentified aircrafts, urging civilians to steer clear from any potential future visits. In addition, the United States Air Force has decided to incite “critical action,” taking full responsibility for protecting—’

The broadcast was suddenly intercepted by TV static, the ongoing black and white fuzz similar to that of an abstract moving picture accompanied by steady audible buzzing.

‘What the shit?’ my father bellows in frustration. With a flushed face and gritted teeth, he stands and trudges towards the television, through the sea of empty beer cans, and gives it a good beating. Expectedly, it was to no avail as the droning static remains. And yet, he continues to strike it with the flat of his palm repeatedly, as if it were my own body. I watch and listen to the incessant thumping, again, and again, until what had been the black and white distortion was finally replaced by silent blackness, against jagged cracks which now pervade the screen. I watch as his head slowly turns towards me, his chest heaving rapidly. Our glowing-red eyes meet momentarily as he stands enveloped in darkness, while I remain seated, bathed under the effervescent moonlight.

‘Why don’t you go to bed, Aeryn?’ he snarls, foamy saliva sprouting through his bared teeth. I comply and get up from the window seat immediately, allowing the surrounding darkness to swallow me as I pace towards the dilapidated staircase. ‘I’ll be with you shortly,’ he adds as I ascend the stairs.

I enter my room and slam its lockless door shut before lying on my bed, teeth rattling in the chilly atmosphere. I look through the half-open window, up at the dazzling sky once again. The stars are more luminous now than before, I realise, as I watch the blip of a shooting star soar through the night sky. They come and go unexpectedly, but I appreciate the warmth they generate as they pass by. But then, that familiar cold feeling creeps in as I hear his crescendoing footsteps, heavy against the peeling wood, and ceasing once he has reached my bedroom door. His menacing shadow is cast through the door’s bottom gap, and I grasp my blanket, pulling it up over my chin. I focus on the cragged ceiling as I listen to the hinges creak and watch his shadow gradually expand as he prowls towards me at a leisurely pace. Close by, I hear the familiar sound of his belt unbuckling, followed by the slow undoing of his zipper. I look back through the window, up at the shining stars, and as I sense his hot liquor-scented breath against my face, I watch them gradually extinguish, one by one, leaving the sky a total black void… a blanket of darkness.

*

With a closed eye and a conscious mind, I continue lying in the freezing darkness, tossing and turning endlessly over crumpled sheets. The obnoxious cacophony of chirping field crickets, alongside my father’s snoring from the adjacent room, only heightened my insomnia. The throbbing from the fresh bruises along my arms and legs didn’t help either. However, my frustrations eventually subside as I hear the sudden sounds of deep humming and whistling from outside, followed by the profound buzzing of a trumpet. Could it be?

I get up and approach my bedroom window. The breezy air had turned into gusts of warm wind. I look out at the open meadow, unable to locate the sound’s source as only the typical sights of the Missouri countryside appear before me; the ever-swaying greenery amongst vast marshlands and the occasional car headlights zooming by in the distance. That was until the triangular mass had materialised before me, hovering above the flat expanse of grass. I watch, perplexed, as three dazzling white lights slowly transpire, one by one, as did its burnished body. It looked just like the others that were broadcasted throughout this week’s news.

I immediately scamper out of my room and run down the staircase, skipping three steps at a time. I couldn’t believe it… they were actually here, of all places! I continue descending the stairs and, as I reach the first floor, I am suddenly stopped by his sweaty palm, placed against my bare chest. I was so engrossed by what I had seen that I had failed to acknowledge his stout silhouette before me. In his other hand, I could see the outline of his .308 Winchester rifle. He places an index finger against his lips and lets out a faint ‘Shhh.’

‘Stay put, girl,’ he commands with a raised hand and sets off towards the front door. Again, as to not challenge him, I abide by merely making my way to the window seat and gaze through the now steamy glass, at the landed aircraft.

‘Who’s there?! Show yourself!’ was the first thing I heard my father yell as he stood out on the porch, his legs quivering like jelly. While it was a shame I was to remain inside, it was satisfying to watch him in such a vulnerable state. His gun’s barrel was instantly facing the aircraft. It stood on three legs, so its bottom remained hovering over our grass a good 200 inches. It wasn’t too large, nor was it too big; about the average size of a tennis court. I knelt before the glass, transfixed, watching the vehicle’s lights go out as a set of stairs descended from its base. I looked intently up at the head of the staircase, where there was nothing for a while but steaming darkness.

But then I saw it… a moving outline of a figure within. I climbed subconsciously through the window and tippy-toed my way towards my father.

‘What the fuck are you doing here? I told you to stay inside,’ he says in a hushed tone as I arrive at his side. But I don’t listen this time and, instead, I edge closer to the aircraft as the shadow from within enlarges. I hear the sharp cocking of the rifle behind me, followed by my father’s set of muttered profanities.

And then, what appears to be a pale bare foot has emerged from the gloom, followed by another. What came next were a pair of naked legs.

‘Get back here, Aeryn,’ my father shouts this time. ‘Before I shoot the both of you.’ I remain where I stand, however, and continue to watch as it descends further down the aircraft’s staircase. What looks like its groin, followed by its exposed stomach, manifests from the darkness. As it makes its way a little further down, it places a hand on the staircase’s railing, while the other hand holds a rectangular object, seemingly the device that Martin Louis had described in the news from earlier. By then, my father’s third and fourth arm have grabbed the gun’s stock, for steadier aim.

And suddenly, with a tumultuous bang, the unknown figure tumbles down the set of stairs, like a ragdoll, landing with a great thump on the grass. Wafts of smoke escape from the rifle’s barrel beside me.

‘No!’ I yell and begin running towards the aircraft and fallen figure. I promptly hear my father’s own fleeting footsteps from behind as he quickly catches up to me. My dad grips my arm tight as we both tower over the body.

‘What the hell are you thinking? You’re gonna get us both kill—’ he began to say, gasping for air, before I escaped his grasp and knelt before the injured visitor. It was a brave course of action stimulated through seemingly unfounded courage. Perhaps it was due to the other-worldly being that lay before me, which made everything in this world seem inconsequential. By now, I had expected my father to have grabbed me by my neck, lifting me up from the ground, though that had yet to occur. Whatever facial expression he may have at this very moment, I do not know, for I have devoted full attention to the body, now lying in a pool of red liquid.

It has two short legs which sort of resembles ours, and I see the bullet from my father’s rifle lodged inside one of its kneecaps, from where the red liquid exudes. Its hanging genitals looks just like my father’s, albeit smaller. But it only has two arms, much shorter than ours. I inspect its small hands and notice that it has only five fingers on each one. I grasp its trembling left hand, which was caked in the red liquid, with my six fingers and it encloses mine with its own. It feels deathly cold to the touch and its skin is so unbelievably smooth and light, as opposed to our dark blue and purple complexions.

I continue to scan its body upwards. As I observe its head, I see these weird curly brown strands that protrude from the top of it, whereas ours are merely smooth and clear. And while its ears do look similar to ours, its face bears a pair of dull-brown eyes instead of a single glowing-red one. There is also this strange thing jutting out from underneath its eyes. Its tip consists of two holes which expand and contract repeatedly. Below this is its half-open mouth where, inside, contains many chattering teeth that are unusually flat at their bottoms.

I almost stagger, however, as it suddenly opens its mouth wide, and makes a high-pitched whistling sound. Its hand’s tightened grip had prevented me from falling back.

‘Please help me,’ it utters with a voice, while too light and feeble, was hoarse and wheezy like ours. And as it seems, it speaks our language too.

At once, I hear my father’s approaching footsteps as his shadow engulfs its body completely.

‘We must get rid of it,’ my father orders. ‘We don’t know what the thing is capable of. It could be dangerous.’

Wordlessly, I slowly stand and face him. It was obvious that the creature wasn’t from this world, but that doesn’t necessarily mean danger. The only danger present at this very moment is the thing that stands before me.

*

I sit on the window seat beside his bandaged body, with the rifle in all four of my steady hands, and peer through the glass, gazing out into the midnight velvet. It, who remains sprawled across the grassy field, illuminated by the aircraft’s gleaming lights, ceases to be a threat. The starry starry night is made a vibrant Van Gogh once again, with those distant lights scattering the tranquil sky, coming closer and closer to us. I look down at him as he lies next to me with closed eyes. I had heard him speak through the rectangular device, once I had brought him in to safety. ‘This one doesn’t appear to be hostile,’ and ‘Come to Missouri, it’s safe here,’ were some of the things I heard him say while he looked at me. So now, I gaze at the sky once more. The brilliant stars are ablaze like radiant snowflakes, calling out to me as they each promise a new life in the gloom. I place a bruised hand flat against the cool glass as they come even closer now. And, as the metallic bodies that surround them slowly emerge from the darkness, their triangular masses slowly transpiring, I find myself smiling for the very first time.

The village was nearly deserted at this hour. He stopped and listened. The night was dark. The moon vacantly stared downward, the clouds like eyelids blocking out its glow. Those who were still outside immediately abandoned their nightly tasks for the security of their homes. They called him ‘the Beast’. They hated him. He was wild. He didn’t belong.

His gaze lay upon each of the inhabitants, for quiet as they were, the night was quieter, and his sensitive ears located every movement. He twitched at each closing door, his head snapping toward each sound. Suddenly he was still, focused on something different. A straggler, unaware of his presence. How foolish.

She stood at the foot of the town well and continued to scrub at a stubborn stain on an apron, water sloshing, fabric grating against washboard. A good distraction. He approached his prey. His eyes were wide, his movements slow and calculated. One foot ahead of the next. He was but twenty metres away when the splashing ceased, and the straggler turned to hang her washing. A scream escaped her lips as she caught sight of him.

She ran.

He chased.

Her apron lay crumpled and dirty on the ground.

The door shot out a gust of wind as it slammed in his face. He growled and trudged back to the centre of the village, moaning and whining. Pawing at the earth beneath him, he blew out puffs of air.

*

Sabre watched him from the safety of her armchair, rocking back and forth in time with the passing seconds. Like all others, the house was darkened as to not bring attention to its inhabitants. But he, of course, was a spectacle. Threatening at most but not deadly, she believed.

She watched as the Beast chased her neighbour. She heard the scream; a sound which seemed to send a collective shudder throughout the town. She saw him stomp away, moaning and whining, agitated by his failure. She turned to her pet and stroked its long hair. Its body curled contently in her lap. She had rocked it to sleep, its breathing steady. They were safe behind the locked door, no fear of it being opened.

The Beast had a mouth on him; a voice that could howl for hours on end and a jaw that chomped violently. But after many months of observation, Sabre had watched his wounds close and his need for attention open. A glance, a glare, a yell – anything. She had watched him play on it: lunging at those who shuddered at his presence, growling at others who yelled at him to stop. He would smile as they filled with rage.

The Beast howled, a jarring cry from his gut, that woke her pet with a start. The pet shrieked, and jumped out of her lap in shock, its lips pursed in discontent. 

Shaking her head, she smiled at her pet. What a silly little thing.

Sabre rose from the rocking chair and made her way toward the window. From the other side of the glass, she saw the Beast stamp a frustrated circle of dirt between the houses, whining every few steps.

She couldn’t just sit and watch any longer. She knew that there was once some good in him. She would find it. 

She reached for the door, quickly looking back toward her pet and motioning at it to stay. Before pushing the door open, she took a quick, short breath. This would change everything.

It was rare that anyone was exposed to the cool night air after dark. It was too dangerous they thought. But the only fear Sabre had that night was of catching a cold.

The village was shrouded in darkness, the inhabitants tucked away in their homes and the moon, still oblivious to the goings-on of the night. Her warm breath was the only thing that stood out in the darkness, as it formed pale grey clouds in front of her eyes.

Her breath being like a target meant it didn’t take long for the Beast to locate her. He charged at her, kicking up dirt as he slid to a stop in front of her face. His breathing heavy, eyes wide.

Sabre stood perfectly still for a moment. She watched his lips tremble, his eyes waver. These weren’t the reactions of a Beast. Then, she gently reached out and stroked the hairs on his chin, ignoring the gnashing teeth and the bushy furrowed brow that shaded his narrowed eyes. She made contact.

He quietened for a second, confused. Not for such a long time had the Beast been touched like this, being more used to the violence and cruelty inflicted upon him by the inhabitants. Ever since the incident with Niabi. He could still see her lifeless eyes. Ever since they destroyed his home, his family. This kindness coming from one of them felt strange and foreign, yet it quenched a thirst he wasn’t aware he had. The tension in his brow released, his lips quivering with the echo of a growl.

He stared into her eyes, his own bright blue reflecting in her brown gaze. There was something almost familiar about her – a defiant spark perhaps? Their breath coalesced into a larger cloud and the anger and fear drained from his body. Was this a change? Was there finally someone here to accept him? His mistrust began to dissipate.

But it was short lived. His body was torn away from hers with such force that, as he hit the adjacent house, he cracked a wooden panel in two. He staggered back to his feet, trying to shake away the pain.

‘Stay away from her, Beast.’

The Beast heard the noises uttered by the attacker, but his only understanding lay in the violence enacted toward him. He located the one who had thrown him, his instincts returning immediately. He bared his teeth and swayed his head from side to side, surveying his enemy. The attacker’s ears were large. They hung low. They would be the Beast’s target.

A loud crack disrupted his focus. It came again, sparking like lightning. The attacker waved a whip-like object attached to his person, the leathery grey appendage lashing around like a vine in a windstorm. The Beast tried to retreat but found himself pinned against the wooden wall of the house.

‘That’s enough!’ Sabre’s voice sliced through the tension. ‘Leave him alone’.

‘He’s a menace. Everyone is petrified of him. It’s time he’s culled. Beast no more.’ The attacker yelled louder. ‘Beast no more.’

The inhabitants heard the hollering of the attacker and were drawn out from the safety of their homes. They amassed into a flock of bellowing aggressors. ‘Beast no more.’

It had only taken one monster to turn these timid beings into creatures.

‘Beast no more!’

They collected around the Beast, a cage of bodies closing in and shutting the door.

His spine was on fire, his ears ringing, echoing their chants. He shrunk toward the ground. But just before he closed his eyes, he watched the one that was trying to help him shield her body across his. Her orange hair stood up on end.

*

In his own inflicted darkness, he remembered Niabi. That stare. Those dark doe eyes. They haunted him.

She had been unlike anything he had ever seen.

He had called her Niabi and, although he could not understand her, she seemed to refer to him as Beau. They had been friends. He used to come and visit her most afternoons in the field just out from the village. She liked the dandelions there, but just the fluffy white ones. She liked the way they smelt, the way they tasted. She could not pick them, so one day he collected a bunch of them for her. He searched the entire field for them. Only when he was satisfied that he had them all, he wove a basket out of the tough grass so that she could carry them home around her neck.

But then winter came, the worst they had ever experienced. His family – they had been hungry. No longer did they have enough vegetation to feed off. The last of it lay frozen under the ice.

The inhabitants were hungry too. Both took from either side. The only food they could source was each other. The inhabitants killed his mother. His heart had frozen over along with everything else.

He was angry. He waited in the field for Niabi, tears crystallised as they ran down his cheeks. Being young, he didn’t have much in the way of hair coverage and the snow cut right through to his skin. As much as he now detested the ones that lived with Niabi in her village, he could not bring himself to hate her.

Within the mounds of snow, he found a dandelion crystallised by the cold weather. He lifted the icy object from its glacial bed and tossed it from palm to palm. Quickly, he placed the flower behind his ear and brushed the snow beneath him aside, before replanting the dandelion back into the earth.

A light scattering of snow sprinkled onto his face. He looked up to see Niabi, who tilted her head, grunting softly. Despite the cold, he managed a chuckle and brushed the snow from his eyes. She made him feel more like himself again. He smiled, his cheeks twitching as they struggled to hold his lips up.

His stomach growled in pain. It had been some time since he’d eaten anything. He bit his lip, his teeth easily piercing through the hardened skin. He tasted blood. It was salty, warm, and his body began shaking in response. He looked up at her. Niabi blinked slowly and brushed her head into his shoulder.

If she was there, he knew that he would be alright.

Suddenly she fell away from him. Her eyes glassed over, two perfect, icy balls. On the ground, her legs were splayed out like a deformed compass. She was still. An arrow gored through her chest. She was a beautiful, bloody angel against a cloud of white. Her tawny coat now one of red and white.

Shrieks and yells echoed around him. Relief. Satisfaction. He felt none of it.

His family gathered around the corpse. It had been an easy kill for them. They reached for their meal. But he couldn’t defend Niabi for long and his malnourished body eventually gave up. They were starving. They carried her above their heads, out of the field and beyond the trees.

He trudged behind them. His toes were numb, his fingers shaking, his mind blank. Numb. All he felt, was numbness.

As he reached his home, he saw that his family had laid her out on the ground as they assembled a fire. He knelt beside her and pressed his palm to the fur on her cheek. He wanted her to come back. He wanted his mother to come back. He was alone.

The dandelion back in the field had been broken in two.

He went hungry that night. He no longer belonged with these wild ones and, surely, he had no place in the village. He felt stationary in a spinning world, like the sun could awake but he still would be trapped in the night. The moon was nowhere in sight as he sat watching everyone else sleeping comfortably under the black sky.

It was then, in a moment of complete silence that the inhabitants attacked the family.

He ran.

They chased.

The screams of his family were frozen in the night air. The smell of blood and fear saturated his senses. Beau was the only one who escaped their wrath, or so he’d thought. An elder of the village hunted him down, pinning him against a tree.

‘This is the last time your kind hurts ours. You Beast.’

He recognised the face. The stripes of orange and white, the eyes edged in black tear trails.

The elder grappled his paw to the Beast’s naked hand. The other paw ran a claw down the Beast’s cheek, slicing the skin.

‘Dad! Stop!’ a small voice growled.

The elder released the Beast and turned.

The Beast briefly took in the image of the similar orange creature from which the growl came. There was an innocence in her eyes, a pleading, much unlike what appeared in those of the elder. Now was his chance.

He used her distraction to escape, sliding down the icy trunk of the tree and running. His getaway echoed with the dominant cries of the inhabitants. No longer was he Beau, but a Beast.

*

‘BEAST NO MORE!’

The scar across the Beast’s cheek glinted in the candlelight. The splintered wood jutted into his back. He gritted his teeth and opened his eyes again. This was it. After too many years to count, they would finally do to him what they did to his family. They would take him, like they took his mother, like his family had taken Niabi. He had nothing left. Really, he wasn’t even sure why he was still alive.

The only thing standing in their way was an orange body spread out in front of the Beast. Her striped orange tail looped aggressively, and her ears, pinned to the back of her head, were threatening.

The inhabitants charged toward him.

She stood firm.

He felt helpless. He had no claws to scratch, no sharp canines to bite, no wings to fly away. He wasn’t really a beast; not like they were. He curled into a ball and sobbed.

Sabre launched herself at the crowd but was quickly thrown aside. The strength of the pack defeating the lone assailant.

The Beast could feel hot breath on his face, drool dribbling onto his head, and whiskers brushing his cheeks. He dared not look his fate in the eyes. He took in what he believed to be his last breath.

A loud bang disrupted the tension. A door thumped against its house and a body ran through the crowd. A collective breath of shock blew into the Beast’s face and yelling from the body sent the inhabitants running. One by one the inhabitants flew back into their homes until only the original attacker remained.

From between the fleeing bodies, the Beast saw her. Two legs, two arms, long blonde hair and pale skin. She was like him. A child, she was a child.

The attacker stamped his foot into the dirt, ready to charge. They ran toward each other, the child grabbing onto his long ears and swinging herself up to his face. From one side to next the attacker swayed as the child clambered from eye-to-eye, pulling lashes as she went. She slid down his long, whip-like nose, tugging and pushing him in every which way until, disoriented, the attacker retreated, dragging his battered body to his home.

As he watched the grey giant lumber away, Beau let his head rest against the wooden panel behind him, his taut muscles loosened. He sighed and the shaking of his hands slowed. He glanced up as he heard a purr from the other side of the street.

‘My Pet, you saved the day.’

The moon awoke, its light finally shining down on the village. He saw her. Her orange body radiant in the moon’s glow.

The child ran up to Beau’s saviour and gently reached for her orange tail.

She looked from the child to Beau, and softly chuckled.

*

Beast, no more.

Liam had gotten pretty good at using his telescope with one hand. Unimpressive, sure, unless you consider that it was this piece of rickety plastic crap that’d been part of a junior astronomer’s kit he’d received for his sixth or seventh birthday or something. Before the growth spurts and the angry red acne, anyhow. If you didn’t hold it right, the stupid tubes and lenses would slip out of alignment and all you’d see was the distorted, blurry shape of Justine Fowler, instead of just seeing Justine Fowler, which was the whole point of the exercise. Well, not the whole point. That had more to do with what his other hand was holding: a contraption assembled from one sock, one optimistically purchased condom, and one good glob of spit.

He could have saved himself the trouble of holding the telescope – not to mention the familiar wave of post-climax self-loathing – if he’d only exercised a bit of patience. ‘JustFitJustine’ would be uploading all the footage to Instagram, Twitter and YouTube soon anyhow, all with a much better view than he could hope to get from his bedroom window. But this would be it. He meant it this time. The videos would be enough from then on; even if the final edits never kept those precious moments between the deep stretches, sit ups and the yoga poses, where she’d stop to adjust her sports bra or check how her butt looked. Even if they didn’t show her like this, sitting with her feet in the pool, throwing a ball for Lucky the Labrador, who had no goddamned idea just how lucky he was to be that close to Justine freakin’ Fowler. God, to be that close. To be with her, to be touched by her, to be so close…

 ‘Damn, bro’, a voice said from beside him.

It was only all the practice from having his mum knock on his door that prevented Liam from shrieking. Instead, he pulled his shirt down over his crotch as best he could and spun around, managing to knock over a small tower of plates and bowls that had accumulated on his bedside table.

‘I didn’t! I mean, I wasn’t…’

On the foot of his bed stood a pigeon, flicking its head from side to side to look at him with one eye, then the other. If pigeons could grin, then this one was grinning.

‘Looked like you were gonna start a fire, there,’ it said.

‘Wha… What?’

‘Hah! Only joking, bud. Didn’t mean to ruin your finishing touches. Think you’ll be alright? Need me to turn around for a bit?’

‘I—no, but—’

‘Fair enough. Sometimes helps me clear my head, but if you wanna save it up for later, I can respect that.’

Liam only stared, barely registering the wet plop of his masturbatory aid falling to the carpet. After a long pause, the pigeon sighed.

‘I swear, mortals these days. No sense of humour at all. Gods appear to you and it’s all “Oh no, I’m hallucinating, get the lithium”.’

‘Gods?’

The pigeon grinned again, and was replaced in a blink’s instant by a man wearing a flowing white robe. Grey-haired but powerfully built, with olive skin and eyes like thunderclouds, complete with the occasional subdued pulse of lightning. Liam was startled all over again, but soon managed to put down his telescope and accept the man’s proffered handshake.

‘Zeus. At your service bro,’ he said, giving Liam an enthusiastic slap on the shoulder.

‘Zeus?’

‘That’s the one, man. Lord of the Sky and King of Olympus. Jupiter, if you’re feeling a bit Roman,’ he said with a wink. ‘You know you’re allowed to pull your pants up, right? Feels like I’ll keep getting one-word questions until that happens.’

Liam did so, struggling to tug his pants and underwear up while still trying to hold his shirt down. Zeus looked on, waiting until Liam was all tucked and settled.

‘There, that a bit better?’

Liam nodded.‘Um, listen, I’m… I’m really sorry for not, like… praying to you or anything. I think my mum has some candles. I can go make a shrine or—’

The god held up a hand.

‘That won’t be necessary. Actually, I’m here to help.’

‘Help… me?’

‘That’s right, my dude. With the object of your affection. ‘Cos you, my young friend, have got yourself a problem.’ The god nodded his head to the side, gesturing out the window.

Liam peered out to where Justine Fowler had begun her routine again, shifting herself from a push-up to a squat position, jumping in the air, then lowering herself back down to her yoga mat. She was speaking, no doubt giving instructions that her viewers could follow along at home. Liam had tried to do the exercises plenty of times, imagining building the bulging muscles that a girl like her might actually go for, but she was just so… distracting. Even without his telescope, he could have sworn he could see the beads of sweat rolling down her skin, glinting in the sunlight, dampening her clothes and—

‘Yep, that’s the look you get, right there. All that desire, all that passion. And the furthest it goes is into a tissue, a shower drain, or a banana peel that one time. Do you realise how frustrating it is?’

‘Uhhhh—’

‘What you need,’ he said, spreading his arms wide, ‘is a wingman.’

When Liam next blinked, he found himself looking at an immense eagle, no smaller than the man that came before it. Its white-brown mottled feathers flashed gold with every minute movement, creating a dazzling display that did nothing to distract from its viciously pointed beak and a set of shining black talons. Zeus allowed Liam a moment to gawk.

‘Cool, right? Anyhow, what form were you thinking? I recommend bull. Big, powerful, definitely a classic. You think she’d dig it?

‘Wait, I’d be a bull?’

‘Yeah dude, keep up. Ooh, does she have a husband? We could give you his form and then be all like “Honey, I’m home.” Trust me, works every time.’

‘Uh… I don’t think she does, but I wouldn’t wanna—’

‘You’re right, let’s stick with animal. Snake?’

‘But I—’

‘Nah, too Christian. Ant?’

‘How would that even—’

‘Mm, yeah. Too freaky for a first timer. Let me think.’

Zeus stared out the window, furrowing his feathered brow and tapping one wing to his beak.

‘Zeus, I… you know, absolutely no offence, but I thought you meant we would, like… go talk to her.’

The eagle paused, pivoted to look at Liam, then threw back its head and let out a booming laugh.

‘I mean,’ Liam murmured, hardly able to hear himself. ‘Maybe she would like me.’ He sat down on his bed, staring at the skirting board while he waited for an oversized god-bird to stop laughing at him. It took some time.

‘Oh, Liam. Liam, Liam, Liam. You? Talk to that? “Hi, I’m Liam. Wanna hold my telescope? It’s a bit sticky.” Oh, you’re adorable. I take back what I said about your sense of humour.’

Liam frowned, clutching at the mattress.

‘Oh, hey now, don’t get upset. It’s not your fault. You can’t help being so modern about it. See, I’ve been around for eons, man. Long ones. And let me tell you, the rule of nature still applies. Might makes right. Did you know dolphins will gang up to separate a female from the pod until she lets them have a poke at her?’

‘Ew, what?’

‘Not so cute anymore, are they? There are these hermaphroditic flatworms, too, that like to swordfight with their dicks to see who has to be the pregnant one. And man, don’t get me started on ducks. Their junk’s all spiral-shaped so that—’

‘Alright, but I wouldn’t… I’m not a duck. Or a flatworm, or a… weird, rapey dolphin. I wouldn’t do that.’

‘Oh, because you’d need permission? Is that what you tell yourself during your little perv sessions? You’re a beast, Liam.’

‘No… no, I’m a human.’

‘Exactly. You are. You’ve just forgotten what that means. The whole damned lot of you have. Well, I’d say it’s time for a reminder.’

It took Liam a moment to realise that he was no longer gripping the mattress. He turned his gaze downward and saw only feathers. White, gleaming, pearlescent feathers. He craned his neck further, eyes wide, to discover two stubby legs ending in a pair of orange webbed feet. Then, realising that no neck should bend that far, he half fell, half flapped his way to the closet mirror. It confirmed what he already knew – that his gangly, misproportioned self was gone.

‘Oh my god oh my god oh my god.’

‘Yes, yes, and yes?’

‘I’m… you’ve made me—’

‘Striking. Majestic. Enrapturing. Everything we need to execute our plan.’

‘Our plan?’

‘’Esh, ouw ‘an,’ Zeus said, tugging the window open with his beak. ‘Just follow my lead, I’ve done this plenty of times. Now, get ready to evade.’

‘Evade what?’

And the eagle rushed at him, talons extended.

***

Justine frowned at the small screen attached to her video camera. She rewound the recording again, watching the miniature version of herself babble away.

‘So that’s it for today, everybody. Thanks for tuning in, and if you think this video helped you out, don’t forget to hit follow and leave a comment – it really means a lot to know that—’

Ugh. She shouldn’t beg. People hate begging. And look, she was hardly even smiling at the point she’d paused it. She needed to smile more.

Lucky came over and flopped next to her, letting her stroke his fur while she whipped out her phone to flick through her account details. Still only a trickle of ad revenue, nothing like the spike from when she’d posted the bikini bod video. A couple hundred bucks from that diet shake company, but she’d need to at least double her subscriber count before the big sponsors would start showing any interest. Everything would be fine then. She could pay down her study debts and relax a bit. God, she hadn’t even looked at her assignments yet.

She sighed, hitting the record button, pulling down her top a touch further and moving back into view of the camera. She put on her best smile, making sure to include her eyes. People always noticed if you didn’t smile with your eyes.

‘Thanks so much for tuning in, everyone. If you enjoyed today’s workout, don’t forget to—’

A noise interrupted her – something between a cry and a… honk? She looked toward the back fence in time to see a streak of golden-brown sweep down from above, dip out of sight behind the palings then shoot up into the sky again. Some sort of enormous bird? Lucky was barking, but a booming voice drowned him out.

‘I swear I’ll get you for real if you don’t stop farting around and get in there!’

The bird dived again, sending up a burst of the same cry-honking, but before it could swoop a third time, something blustered its way up over the fence and into her yard.

It… it was…

Striking. Majestic. Enrapturing. Utterly perfect, in a way she had never known could be possible. Its resplendent white plumage seemed to emit a light of its own, glowing in the afternoon sun as it spread its wings wide, glided down, and crashed into the pool in a somersaulting heap. It returned to the surface, hacking and spluttering.

‘Ju-Justine,’ it coughed. ‘You should—’

‘You’re supposed to be a mute swan, Liam! Mute!’

Something within her recoiled, twisting in her gut. She tore her gaze from the brilliant swan, looking up and down between it and what looked like a massive eagle circling overhead.

‘Come on, little man. Before she snaps out of it! Unleash the beast!’

A sense of wrongness welled up inside her. A sense of danger. She looked back down at the swan.

‘Uh, you should get inside, I think,’ it said.

She edged away from the pool at first, then bolted for the back door. Lucky darted through after her and sat whimpering at her side, as she slid the door closed and flicked the latch. The wide glass plane did little to muffle the sound of the booming voice outside.

‘Damn it!’

The eagle swooped down and landed at the pool’s edge, dwarfing the swan that was trying to clamber its way out of the water. It rounded on the smaller bird, hauling it out by its neck and leaving it in a dripping, panting heap on the ground.

‘You have one job, Liam. One! How hard is it to be an animal? Damnation, to be a man? Don’t you want to get the girl?’

‘Not like this. No. Just… no.’

‘Well that’s too bad, bud, ‘cos we’re doing things my way. The old way. So stop being such a pussy about it and stand back.’

The eagle took to the air again. Even from inside, Justine could see it gaining distance and height. Her head felt cloudy. Should she… call someone? The cops, at least? But her phone was out there. She was about to retreat to the bathroom, talking wildlife be damned, when she heard the swan mutter something that sounded like “oh no”.

She saw the eagle reach its zenith, then turn and dive down, gaining speed. As it neared the ground it levelled out its flight, rocketing straight towards them. Towards her.

The swan looked back at her, then out at the eagle. It scrambled in front of the door, planting itself between her and the monstrous bird, and spread its wings wide. As the eagle neared, it shouted out, its voice a piercing cry that shook the glass. That shook her very being.

‘MOVE, LIAM!’

The swan cringed, tucking its head against its body, but held its place, wings outstretched.

‘DAMN IT ALL.’

The eagle flared its own wings out to their full breadth, arresting its momentum mere millimetres from the quivering swan.

‘You think she’ll thank you? Take you in and make sweet love to her little white knight? Hm? What are you without me?’

Justine blinked, and a lanky teenage boy had appeared in the swan’s place. He stood, looking up at the eagle, his messy mop of hair and baggy, ill-fitting clothes trembling along with the rest of him.

‘Better,’ he said, in his small, wavering voice. ‘Better than this.’

The eagle pressed its face close to the boy, feathers bristling and eyes full of fury. Justine felt certain, in that instant, that the eagle would strike – would bury its talons in the boy’s flesh and leave him bleeding on the ground. Instead, it let out a quick, dry laugh and turned away.

‘Guess I overestimated you, Liam.’

It gazed out at the sunset, letting the warm light play over its form, and breathed a sigh.

‘Oh, but don’t you worry too much. I’ll get by. Never gone long without finding someone who wants a bit of help from old Zeus,’ it said and, with a wink and a smirk, vanished.

The teenager slumped to the ground. Justine looked past him to her camera, wondering if there was any academic policy that would help turn an animal attack into a deadline extension.

***

Liam’s telescope had proven harder to break than he’d thought, and in the end he’d had to bend it over his knee and twist it to get it to snap. It made him feel better, though – much better than he’d felt muttering half-apologies to Justine on the way out of her house.

The “Justine Fowler” folder on his computer went next, sent to the recycling bin without so much as a glance through for old times’ sake. That felt good too.

He got distracted while deleting bookmarks he’d saved for her social media pages, and some online galleries of her more risqué photo shoots. One of those included a link to a website where he found photos of girls with bodies like Justine’s, but who wore less clothing than her. There were videos, too, where the girls did things that he had only imagined Justine doing.

He clicked on a few of those and stared at the screen for a while. Before long, and without much thought, one hand had found its way into his pants.

The shop was small and quaint, maybe even cute – if you were into that sort of thing. It even had a thatched roof and soft cream walls and an inviting sign.

Demelza tugged at her woollen coat, squinting up through the rain. Mrs Upton’s Umbrellla Repair Shop greeted her in rose pink writing. It really was convincing. To all passers-by, it was completely, utterly human. Except umbrella was spelt with three L’s. And she’d been able to smell the mash of creatures from a mile away.

Demelza glanced behind her, glaring at the scruffy, muddy hill she’d just dragged herself up from. Fields of mottled green spanned out in every direction, whilst the sun, golden and wavering, rested just above the hill. She had always wanted to visit Wales – she’d wanted to go everywhere. But now, like every other place, she left feeling even more hopeless.

When she’d arrived in Tenby this morning, she wasn’t surprised when the taxi driver seemed reluctant to take her up here. Still, he’d hurried her to his cab, only to shove her out halfway muttering “too steep, love” and left her stranded. Humans were always frightened of things they didn’t understand; they just didn’t know why.

The spring rain turned heavy, forcing Demelza to cower under her hood. Raindrops slipped down her cheeks and nestled in the knots of her dark hair. Of course, she loved the water. All Selkies did. But land rain was different, cold, bitter. Not home.

The last time she’d visited land she’d been with Eve. It’d been raining that day too and Eve had insisted they get chips as “all the Lanneys did.” Demelza watched as she giggled, drenching their chips in vinegar and then she’d run out into the rain, spinning and dancing. Her blonde ringlets swayed with her body and every human eye watched her. Demelza had stayed inside, until Eve dragged her outside too and they both splashed and danced in the puddles, chewing on hot chips and laughing. Eve had always been the more optimistic sister, carefree – beautiful. Even after mama died, Eve would still be the happy, smiling girl she’d always known and always looked after. Or so she had thought.

Demelza turned back towards the umbrella shop, the taste of vinegar turning sour on her tongue. Eve couldn’t be dead, she just couldn’t. She’d have felt it. Felt something, anything. Selkies have that sort of intuition.

Demelza held her breath and rapped on the shop door. Eve had been missing for six months, but she wouldn’t give up on her. She’d look for another six months, and another and another, until she found her. Demelza wiped her eyes, only causing them to sting further due to the mud on her fingers. She would find Eve. She had to.

The door swung open with a creak. Clearly Mrs Upton wasn’t home. A man, or what looked like a man, beamed up at her from under a mop of brown hair. His eyes were large and round like his belly and his clothes looked like they’d seen better days. Holes dotted the grey fabric, showing scuffed pink skin.

The man raised his eyebrows, looking expectantly at her. She hadn’t realised she’d been staring.

‘Can I help you with anything, Miss?’

Demelza cleared her throat, readjusting the tight strap of her bag. “Oh yes–sorry–yes I’d like to purchase…’ She looked up at the sign. ‘I have an umbrella…an umbrella that needs fixing.’

The man chuckled. ‘Right you are Miss, come on in. Come out of the glaw.’ He gestured to her, stepping aside so that she could squeeze through the doorway. ‘Mrs Upton’s just nipped out for a bit, so she’s left the store in my capable hands.’

Demelza didn’t know where you could ‘nip’ off to out here. Unless you were visiting a family of goats. She’d seen plenty in the taxi ride over.

Safely out of the rain, she pulled down her hood, raking a hand through her messy hair. Someone had sprayed perfume in an attempt to hide the smell; but it just smelt of fur laced with cheap lavender. The man winked at her.

‘Call me Mayhew, Miss, Mayhew.’ He waved a hand so she would follow him. ‘I’ll soon have your ambarél fixed.’

Demelza nodded and smiled, feeling blood rise to her cheeks. She decided to ignore the wink. A little flirting would be fine. Besides, if she were friendly, it would be better for her. It got them to trust you.

Mayhew lead her down a narrow hallway, passing a cluttered room and faded blue stairs. As she got closer, Demelza realised that the blue was a series of tulips edged in gold, weaving and looping around each other. The stairs would’ve once been quite lovely, grand even, but now they were worn and dull. It was a shame, really.

They’d arrived at the back of the house, in a small room lit by a flickering bulb. Rows and rows of pale umbrellas gawked at her. A peeling clock was perched on the wall. There were no windows.

‘So,’ said Mayhew, holding out a pudgy hand. ‘Where’s your ambarél then, Miss?’

Demelza hesitated, trying to keep her breathing steady. Now that she was further inside, the smell of creatures was unbearable: soggy fur mixed with burning scales, excrement smeared in vomit. Pain. Fear. All her instincts were screaming at her to run, to get out now. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t leave. Not without checking first.

“I-I’m here,’ she tried to control her voice, but it came out as more of a squeak. ‘H-here to trade.’

Mayhew narrowed his eyes.

Demelza’s cheeks burned and she pulled off her bag, ripping open the zip. Carefully, she reached inside and pulled out an orb. To a human, it would’ve looked like a normal object, an ornament you might add to your antique collection. But to a creature, magic radiated from it – Selkie magic.

Demelza rolled the orb in her hands slightly, letting the cool surface nibble her skin. Inside, she could see the miniature waves of her home, crashing against the pebbled shore. Their little white hut sat far out in the water. Mama had given it to her before she died. She said it would keep Eve and her safe. She’d made them promise that it would never leave the family – to keep it safe, always. They had nodded wildly, their wide, bright eyes taking in its beauty. Mama had smiled.

Demelza watched as the waves swelled and fell onto the shore again. And now, she was breaking that promise.

Mayhew’s eyes somehow stretched wider and he grinned. A few gold teeth winked at her.

Without taking his eyes off the orb, he clicked, moving his hands in a circle around him. The umbrellas surrounding them seemed to shimmer and melt, slipping away to reveal what hide beneath: boxes and cages, in every size, in every colour, with every breed of creature trapped inside. Demelza gulped.

‘Finally, a real customer,’ said Mayhew, sighing. He shook his head and flicked his nose until all the magic was gone. Now his nose was green and lumpy, and he had pointy ears. Demelza guessed he was some type of troll.

‘I’ve been serving them rats all week.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Pft, tourists. You know, I think I’d have keeled over if I heard one more ruddy thing about the weather.’ Mayhew leaned towards her with outstretched hands. ‘Now Miss, give us that here and I can see —’

Demelza flinched back, cradling the orb to her chest. The waves inside had turned dark and angry and lighting cracked across the water. She shoved it back in her bag quickly, ice scratching her fingers. Mayhew scowled.

‘A-Actually I’m after something else – a gift.’ Demelza scanned the room, pretending that she couldn’t see the gloomy eyes watching her. Dirty fur prickled her nose. ‘What have you got that’s rare?’

Without another thought, Mayhew bounded towards her, chattering furiously. He grabbed her by the arm and steered her to the back of the store. Demelza tried not to pull away.

‘And over here we have Knucker scales, all the way from Sussex.’ He pointed a green finger at a silver bowl. ‘These beauties are very rare and flamin’ hard to capture.’

Demelza peered forwards. The scales sat in a cluster, midnight blue glinting in the low light. But they weren’t all like that. Some were pale and brittle: lifeless.

Knucker dragons were Eve’s favourite. She’d begged and begged mama for one, but she always said no; that it was cruel to keep a creature, no matter how much you wanted one. Eventually, Eve had given up, but there had been a hint of sadness in her eyes.

Mayhew nudged her, and Demelza turned, quickly shaking away her tears.

‘Plus, Knucker scales are a great aphrodisiac.’ He winked again. ‘Not that you need any help with that, Miss.’

He laughed and when she didn’t join in, he slapped a hand on her back, hard. She forced a smile, pulling her bag closer to her. She could feel his eyes lingering on it.

‘Now, let me show you this.’ He herded her to the left, where a rusty cage stood. ‘What you think is in there then? Hm?’

The small cage was empty, aside from a bowl of – what looked like flour – next to it. The white substance decorated the cage, coating the thick black bars.

 ‘Erm…’ She bit her lip. ‘Some sort of…shadow spirit?’

Mayhew chuckled but didn’t respond. Instead, he pinched the white powder and threw it over the cage.

Instantly there was movement and she jumped, instinctively reaching for her bag.

Whatever was in the cage was now screeching, its dark eyes blinking violently. It shook the cage, whilst Mayhew poked at its little clawed hands.

‘This here is a Leery. Now, don’t get too close. The bitch has a nasty bite.’

Demelza watched as he poked his finger in again, pulling back a second later as the Leery chomped down on the empty space. She couldn’t have been more than four inches tall, with tiny black ears. The Leery leapt around the cage, shaking the bars and snapping her teeth. Demelza wished she had bitten him.

‘Leeries are invisible to the eye till’ you have this stuff.’ He shook the bowl. ‘Crushed Leery bones. Perfect for the little buggers.’

She felt like she was going to faint.

 ‘So—’ he turned to her, searching her face. His eyes flickered to her bag. ‘Anything taking your fancy, Miss?’

Demelza hesitated. ‘I was wondering if y-you have—’ She swallowed. ‘If you had a…flibberty…jam…baroo.’

Mayhew looked like she’d slapped him. Red grazed his cheeks and beads of sweat rolled down his temple. She had no idea what she’d just said. The words just came from nowhere. But it had worked, she’d said something right.

Demelza winced as his sweat rolled from his temple to his chin and splashed onto the floor. Creatures had the strangest names and whatever she’d said must be dangerous. She hoped he would go look for it. She had to see if Eve was here.

‘I-I’— Now it was his turn to choke on his words. ‘I–well you see Miss–I don’t think…wouldn’t you prefer something else—’

BANG.

Mayhew stopped. His mouth hung open. What was that?

There it was again. A creature howled from a nearby box. The Leery screeched. Demelza slowly looked up, watching as plaster from the ceiling drifted onto them like snow.

‘Take no notice,’ said Mayhew, trying to shove her behind a cage so she couldn’t see. ‘I’ve got a goblin upstairs. You know how they are. The blighters are always making a racket.’

Another bang. And then a different sound. This time it sounded like wailing, or to the more inclined ear, muffled cries.

She turned to Mayhew, but he was already gone, running out of the store. ‘Apologies Miss!’ he yelled. ‘Be back in a tick.’

Demelza froze, listening as he thumped up the stairs. A door slammed.

Silence.

She breathed out.

Now was her chance.

Demelza ran, tripping over a pile of boxes as she reached the nearest cage. Wilted eyes stared back at her, its violet fur matted and dirty. The creature slouched forward, pushing its long snout through the bars. Demelza couldn’t help but reach out.

But she couldn’t help him – help any of them. She bit her tongue, forcing back the tears. She had to find Eve.

Demelza turned away, hurrying on to the next cage. The creature yelped at her. But when she reached it, it was empty. She slid the cloth back over it, noticing that a box lay open next to her. She pounced on it, but found it was filled with torn up papers and at least a dozen books on beard growth: troll edition.

Eve loved to read. She remembered the many hours they would sit huddled together, pouring over every Selkie story that she’d managed to find.

Demelza shoved the box away, reaching for another that was also bursting with books.

Eve always chose the ones involving humans – she preferred creatures. Mama always worked late, in fact, she was barely ever home. So every night, they would read and wait for her. Every night she would come home smiling, her long hair full of salt and moonlight. Until one night, she didn’t.

Demelza rubbed her eyes, hurrying past a crate labelled as Ignis Fatuus.

That had been when the arguments began. Which turned into fighting, which then became screaming matches. Eve would slip out at night and not return for days at a time. Demelza would yell at her. Eve would leave again. When Eve finally returned home after a week away, Demelza couldn’t take it. She shouted at her, pleaded with her, cried; but Eve only screamed back and slammed the door as she left, shattering the glass. She cried at her to come back, sobbed. But she didn’t come back. Eve never came home.   

Demelza stiffened. Something had moved upstairs. Was that…a footstep? She didn’t dare breathe. The eyes watching her also seemed to freeze. From where she was standing, she could just make out the hallway that lead to the front door. The last of the sun’s rays were seeping through the stained-glass window, creating splotches of blood on the carpet.

Demelza finally moved, shaking her head. She had to get out of here.

Clutching her bag, she stumbled to the desk at the front of the store. There had to be something here. Anything, anything, to show Eve had been here. Demelza frantically pulled open drawers, tearing open books and boxes.

It didn’t take her long to find his record book. It was leather bound, dating back to purchases from the last three years. She skimmed through the ‘S’ section.

Serpent

Siren

Sphinx

Spriggan…

But no Selkie.

Demelza slammed her hands against the book, slumping across its thick pages. She wasn’t here. She wasn’t…here. It was all her fault she’d run away. She shouldn’t have yelled so much, shouldn’t have tried to be like mama. She should’ve just… listened. But she was scared of losing her.

Demelza screwed up her fists, letting her nails dig into her skin. Nothing mattered anymore, not without Eve, not without mama. She was alone. And she deserved it. Demelza finally let all her tears spill out, the tears she’d been holding back for months. The words beneath her cheek turned blurry, the ink clutching at her skin. Some big sister she’d turned out to be.

But then, something furry touched her palm. And Demelza sprung back. Something was poking out of the back page. Something she’d felt a hundred times before…

Madly, she flipped to the back and there squashed in between the pages, was fur.

But it wasn’t just fur.

It was a cut out of someone’s skin.

Eve’s skin.

Demelza’s blood ran cold. She barely noticed the orb in her bag stabbing ice down her thigh.

And then she couldn’t breathe. A sweaty hand grabbed her from behind, pinning her mouth shut, stopping her from screaming.

She thrashed and kicked but she couldn’t move. The creatures in the room were screaming for her, banging and shaking in their prisons. And then, above the noise, a voice lapped against her ear.

‘I was wondering when you would show up, my love. You’re mine now, Miss Demelza.’