Sea Witch(20)



But I don’t understand. Why is Annemette so upset? Why must she suddenly leave?

“You can stay,” I insist. “You’re safe here from your father, and we have more than enough room. And you’ll be with us. With a family that cares for you and understands you. You don’t have to run away to find that. To be yourself.”

Annemette meets my eyes with a look I know, and with every force of a Viking spell, she says it again.

“I can’t.”

She bends down and runs her hands through the sand, letting it fall between her fingers. “I can’t stay here.”

It’s her. I can’t deny it now. She’s not trying to deny it either. The look she gave me is the one I saw on the beach. The one that I saw on the girl’s face as she loomed over Nik. Before diving into the water and disappearing, only a tail fin popping up from the waves.

“You can’t stay,” I say.

She nods, her eyes nervous.

“You’re not a witch, are you?”

She shakes her head no.

“You’re a mermaid.”





10


“HOW IS HE—THE BOY?” ANNEMETTE SWALLOWS HARD and takes a step toward me.

I instinctively take a step back, bumping into the table behind me and knocking a corked vial of octopus ink on its side. I’m not sure if it’s Tante Hansa’s old wives’ tales telling me to run or the fact that Annemette is clearly more powerful than any folktale could have ever described. My hand reaches out and grasps the vial before it rolls and smashes to the floor. The pearl at my neck throbs. I want to leave, but her face looks pained, and I can see now that she’s been holding this question in since she arrived.

I realize she’s not here for me or my magic. She’s here for Nik.

In my stunned silence, Annemette goes on. “Is he all right? He was breathing when I brought him ashore, but I didn’t have time to—you came and then that man, and I had to go. I need him to be alive, Evie. Please, say something!”

I nod. “He’s fine. You saved him.” My throat tightens and tears sting my cheeks. If it wasn’t for Annemette, I’d be dressed in mourning clothes. “He’s totally healthy. Strapping. Probably milking a goat at this very moment!”

Annemette practically collapses in my arms. “Oh, thank goodness! When he fell into the sea, I caught him, but the tide and the storm was so strong, I—”

“Stop. I shouldn’t know,” I say. “You shouldn’t say any more. It’s too dangerous for me to—”

“But you aren’t any more welcome here than I am,” she says, pulling herself upright. “Your magic is just as forbidden as mine.” And when my eyes meet hers and they’re clear and hard, I realize we’ve made an exchange. A dangerous one.

I know her secret and she knows mine. Breaking this trust would ensure our mutual demise. I slip the vial of ink I’d been clutching into my dress pocket.

We will only survive our secrets together.

“I promise I won’t say a thing,” I assure her, a hint of regret in my voice.

“Thank you,” she says. “My lips are sealed too.” She weaves a slim finger through her blond hair, twisting a long wave into a curl. “What’s his name—the boy?”

“Nik. His name is Nik. And he’s my best friend. I’m so glad that you were there. I saw the wave too late, and he was gone.” I realize for the first time that after saving Nik over and over again, even if it was only on the dance floor, there was nothing I could have done that night. That he’d have saved me from the sea, but I would have failed him. My smile falters and I look down to the gray oysters at our feet. “I wish I could repay you with more than a few scraps of food and a pearl necklace.”

Annemette loops a finger in mine. It feels strange, too close, but I don’t want to push her away. “I didn’t do anything special,” she says. “Mermaids are not the monsters you humans think we are. I could not just let him drown.”

Drown. Like Anna did. Like I thought Anna did.

At this moment, Annemette looks so pretty. So innocent. She raises her eyes to meet mine.

“Would you like to meet him?” I ask.

“Please,” she says.

We leave my “lair” and make our way back through the rocks, Annemette still nervous as she heads out first. So strange and sad to see a mermaid afraid of the sea. As I go, I pause in the water for a moment—I want to take a last look at the cave to make sure all is hidden—and that’s when I feel them. At my feet, three dead minnows bounce between my ankle and the boulder—surely knocked out of the sea by a wild wave and smacked into the rocks. I shake my head, remembering the last time such fish floated at my feet, but I can’t think of that day. Not now.

On the shore, Annemette and I dry off and put on our shoes. Then we head back up the trail through the forest. Once the trees spread out enough and we have room to walk side by side, I feel as if I can finally ask her more. “So, have you always been a mermaid?”

Annemette gives me a look. “Have you always been a girl?”

“Yes,” I reply. “But you’re no longer a mermaid. At least, I don’t see a tail. Perhaps you weren’t one from the start.”

She laughs, and I almost draw back because she sounds just like Anna again. Our elbows bump as I check myself, wishing I’d just asked her directly what I wanted to know.

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