Sea Witch(79)

Like Anna, this girl believes she deserves something and she’s willing to risk her life and all she knows for it. But this girl doesn’t crave revenge.

She wants a happily ever after.

And for that, I cannot blame her. Even after all these years, I still wish for my own.

“It is very stupid of you,” I say finally, “but you shall have your way.”

And so, I recall my mother’s dying spell. The one she used to save me from myself.

“Gefa.”

The little mermaid’s eyes spring open. She shirks back—getting nowhere in my tentacle’s grasp, pale fingers flying to her throat. An invisible heaviness settles within my hands—her beautiful voice weighing on the lines webbing across my palms. Heart, life, fate.

I release her and turn to my cauldron, fashioned from sand and magic.

In goes the girl’s voice, a brilliant white light in the dark.

The cauldron glows. I retrieve a swordfish spear from my cave, and hold it over the spring, sterilizing it. I am lonely, but I am clean. Then, leaning over the bubbling cauldron, I prick the skin of my breast, just above my heart. A life is no longer needed, true, but this dark magic still feeds on sacrifice. Like anything of power.

Blood as black as midnight oozes into the murk. Molasses slow, it slinks into the pot, slithering through the white light of the girl’s voice. As they mix and mingle, they heat the pot together, pushing the temperature up until the cauldron itself is a fireball, a comet come to rest at the bottom of the cove.

Steam rises, curling above the brilliance. As it does, it swirls and dances, forming shadows like the worst of night. The polypi forest parts for the horrid shapes, wanting no measure of their magic.

I prepare the words I’ve learned, the ones Anna used to regain her legs and seek revenge. Ones that won’t work for me, strange magic that I am, tied to this cove.

“Líf. Dau?i. Minn líf. Minn bjo?. Sei?r. Sei?r. Sei?r.”

The cauldron begins to tremble, the contents swirling round and round under great pressure. Coming on like life itself.

An explosion like a dying star rockets forth, rippling through the cove with such heat the water evaporates in a plume of smoke and steam. White foam settles around us in a swath running the length of my home. It all smells of sulfur, the stench heavy enough that it burns my nose and the back of my throat. When the foam and light clear, I see the little mermaid has turned away, arms flung over her head in protection. I don’t blame her.

I dip a small bottle—another long-ago present from Tante Hansa—into the vat. The draught shimmers like moonglow and sunlight trapped under glass.

“There it is for you,” I say, holding it out to the girl. She drops her arms at the sound, whirling around, so afraid that she didn’t realize what was happening until I spoke. “Drink it down, and you will gain legs for four days. If your love is true, so much so that your prince loves you with his whole soul, you will stay in human form for the rest of your days. If you do not win his love, you will become but foam in the tide.”

The girl’s lips drop open to respond and her tongue begins to move. It takes a few moments before she remembers that no sound will ever come from her mouth again. Regret floods into my chest, but my tentacles float into view and the feeling immediately disperses.

Lies ruined my life as much as they ruined Anna’s. Nik’s.

With shaking fingers, the girl takes the bottle. Fear has returned to her eyes, but the deed is done. Only her determination and love will do.

“Take the draught in the shallows. It would be a waste if you drowned before you could get to land.” The girl nods. “Go now. Visit your family one last time. You won’t regret the good-bye.” Again, she nods, and I know she will do it. Losing them was more of a surprise than losing her voice. Maybe even her life.

She turns to go, but then I call out for her to stop.

No one knows me, it’s true, but I am still Evie. And for all my fearsome reputation, for all my years and loneliness, I’m not heartless.

I retrieve from my cave a gown from long ago—one from a trunk I found submerged in the cove after I arrived. Back then, the cool scent of Annemette’s magic still draped across the wood and latches, and maybe that was why the fabric remained undamaged. I quickly whisper a spell that will keep it dry until she surfaces.

“Take this with you. It will help if you look the part.”

It is all I can do.

Hopefully the magic is kind.

I know the magic well enough now not to expect a happy ending. The fairy tales of my childhood are the exception, not the rule. It’s a wonder there aren’t more creatures like me in this world.

And so, I return to my cave, the new silence ringing in my ears. Somehow, it’s more painful than before. As if hearing a new voice, regaining the shortest moment of humanity, has torn open the wound that is my loneliness. Leaving it gaping. Festering. Infected.

But in truth, I am not alone. No, the polypi are living and breathing in this murky place, fashioned from the spirits who tried to kill me. My dark life tied to their souls.

Lining the cauldron is a smear of shimmering light, what is left of my payment. The girl’s voice. Only a drop was needed for the draught, her body paying the price for the remainder of the magic.

I scour my hands across the cauldron’s belly, collecting the voice until its weight has returned to my palms. The white light dances, its glow reflecting across the cove, illuminating my forest, my cave, my own dark form.