Once Rhea was finished excusing their behavior to her parents, she and Tristan got off easy- “easy” meaning they relinquished their phones to be hidden for a week, the wifi passwords in their houses would be changed, and any alcohol or secret mer devices Carol might yet discover in Tristan’s room would be disappearing. It could have been worse.
Rhea’s mother, a mermaid with a phobia of fish, knew very little of the deep and her own culture. Her own lack of interest carried over into how she understood her daughter- unable to fathom why anyone would want to know more about the ocean, mer culture, or even their biology, she would never have sympathy for Rhea’s curiosity. Paired with a desire to stay out of trouble, her attitude could make her harsh and unforgiving at times. Her ability to be the soft one when doling out punishments was motivated by the knowledge that her husband would always be stricter. Her father was a mostly human member of a part-mer family. His siblings had tails, but he only inherited a few minor abilities from his merman father. Rhea had never met his parents but compared to her two uncles who occasionally called around the holidays, it was obvious he was the family control freak.
Tristan’s family was larger, but still took his safety quite seriously. His parents were a mermaid and a merman who divorced and both remarried. Carol had custody of him more often than her ex-husband, which suited him well; Tristan preferred his mother’s household. His stepfather was a merman from a Rapa Nui family that somehow moved to southern California before his birth. More recently, they lived in Maine. Agustin would gladly participate in any type of physical activity he was challenged to, but diving was one of his favorites. He did not allow Tristan to disobey his mother though. According to Agustin, no one knew better than their parents until they moved out.
He wasn’t in any less trouble with his father simply because he spent less time at his house. His father was married to a cranky librarian with four children, all in their twenties. She was not a mer, or even aware of their existence, and insisted that Tristan call her ‘Ma’ instead of ‘Darleen.’ Because his father knew he had a lesser role in his life, he was especially concerned about almost anything that could put Tristan in harm’s way- this including sports, parties, driving and occasional afterschool detention. The risk of upsetting the deep mer was sure to cause a massive stir.
Carol, by the time she gave up on her excavation, was able to add very little to the original pile of contraband splayed across the kitchen counter. All of the broken scanners, three of the mystery devices, both wine bottles and the bags they were collected in completed the parental inventory. A few pairs of crusty underwear and a glass of moldy orange juice were also presented with a brief rant about hygiene, but that was hardly new.
When it was finally over and Rhea went home, Tristan gathered what remained from their dive. Frost stones were difficult to come by and easy to lose. They were cold to touch and existed to help young mer control their transformations. Especially near water, they were important to have on hand. The bottled message had been left because Carol would know as well as her son- they could say almost anything, but most were meaningless and silly. The overlooked mystery devices still had potential, but heaven knew what they were created to do. He hid them under the bed in case of further inspections; no self-respecting person would look down there twice.
Upon her return home, Rhea place “Yorick” on a shelf with shells, crystals and a few other bones. She was frustrated with her punishment, but even more irritated by the thought that she might never understand how siren songs worked, who to trust or anything else about being a mermaid. Even when she came of age, would she really learn anything? The more she thought about it, the more she worried that human technology and that of the deep cities had never been integrated. If there was truly no exchange of ideas, how much could anyone with the ability to walk on land know?
All that was left with her social life and quest for answers on hold, respectively due to the loss of her contact list and internet access, was a long list of spells she’d been meaning to try. There were many odds and ends packed into her grimoire that would never see the light of day, but those she wanted to use were generally starred or bookmarked. Flipping through the pages, she couldn’t help but become sorely aware of the overabundance of love spells.
“To make Love Spell perfume into a love spell…” “Sexy lover attraction…” “To make hot women notice you…” Reviewing her options, the stench of desperation made her cringe. It was time to get a girlfriend already. She needed to pick the right spell though- the wrong one could make an even sadder mess of her love life.
She thought it over. The best spell was one she could cast underwater- perfect for a night swim. It was too late to catch a bus, but there was one beach within walking distance. The area beyond the sand was mostly uncharted territory- she’d only been there a few times as a child and remembered very little about it. It was a short enough dive from the deep ones’ abyss and close enough to a nicer beach if she swam instead of walking.
After a brief moment of consideration she stuffed a towel and some pink shells into a shoulder bag. She changed into a clean bikini and sheer coverup. One waterproof flashlight went into the bag; another stayed in her hand as she slipped quietly out the door.
The walk to the beach was more daunting than sneaking out. Every animal, shadow and headlight made faint goosebumps rise on her bare arms. The decision not to bring a jacket was one she regretted. Her bikini and translucent coverup felt increasingly compromising as the ocean breeze grew stronger. She felt naked. It wasn’t until she felt sand beneath her feet that she stopped panicking. “Witches aren’t scared of the dark,” she whispered to herself.
Although she felt a bit more at home in her own element, swimming at night was like walking in woods after dark. It would be dark. The influence of humans would be less. The wildlife that normally ran from her might be bolder than in daylight. However, also like walking in the woods, the danger was greatly over-hyped. Deep mer swam near the surface at night. The fish knew them and feared them, the same way most land animals feared humans. Especially if she was close to the deep city, it was unlikely she’d see any predators.
After fishing a shell out of her shoulder bag and trading the flashlight she’d used to navigate for one with fresh batteries, she took off the bottom piece of her swimsuit and wrapped it in her towel. It would get in the way when she transformed. The coverup went to the bottom of the bag. Running over wet kelp and what may have been some gull droppings, she happily reached the water and submerged herself beneath it. Although she could transform whenever she wanted, it was most convenient to wait until she was well underwater.
First gills emerged, allowing her to hide beneath the surface for as long as she’d like. Next, her ears began to stretch and reshape to better handle the pressure. It was possible her eye pigments might shift as well, but most mer didn’t notice. It was inconsequential. The last part was always the hardest- the tail. Her legs came together, scales grew, several organs moved around to accommodate the changes and all hope of camouflage was lost. Mer tails came in many colors and patterns. Some were blue, green, bright orange, yellow, striped, even transparent. They might come with gradients, stripes, spots… And most had a cellophane sheen to them that brought out different colors whenever the angle from which the light hit them changed. Most were blue though, or green. Maybe gray. Most blended with the water from a distance and were difficult to spot. Rhea’s tail was bright, tropical pink that stood out like a beacon in the cold blue around her. In day or at night, she was easy to spot.
As a fully transformed mermaid, she followed the beam of her flashlight towards where she assumed the nicer beach would be. The landscapes of the ocean were similar to those on land in many ways. She saw and passed cliffs, hills and valleys where plants* grew and animals lived. Though she couldn’t see much in the watery void, which seemed to swallow her light like a fairy tale monster, she kept reasonable track of where she was and what sea life was nearby. For that reason, she was surprised when she reached a dark expanse near the edge of the continental shelf instead of shallower waters and a familiar beach.
In front of her, the slim form of a shark around nine feet in length passed through her all too dim ray of light. A toothy, open mouth came too close for comfort before disappearing behind something extremely out of place- the hull of a sunken ship. Only a piece, but a large piece. No doubt, the rest of it was somewhere nearby. There were no sunken ships on the route she’d tried to take. Even in the dark, the pieces she saw were completely unfamiliar. Triton’s Pride was too big and too intact. Random Trading Vessel II (a name invented in the absence of a true identity) was in smaller pieces. The Cod Chaser was just the wrong shape for it. But more importantly, there was one thing all the other wrecks near and far had taught her- the last place a mer wants to be at night is close to a lively ship. Sharks were more numerous and more aggressive around them, especially after the sun set.
The shape of a hammerhead in the distance seemed to turn towards her light. Rhea dropped her shell and checked for a clear route out. There was no question- it was time to leave. Channeling adrenaline and everything she knew about speed swimming, she turned in the direction she wanted to go and shot like a bullet as far from the ship as possible. Where she was and where she might be going, she didn’t know. All she could do was hope she was going somewhere safer.
When she reached shallow waters, she finally stopped. It felt cold. She assumed the fright took enough out of her, it was just hormones settling out. Surfacing to take a peek at the shore, she saw dunes covered with wild roses. A forgotten towel caught on one blew gently in the wind, but stayed anchored to the shrub. It was not her destination. It wasn’t Red Marina. She was beyond lost.
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