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.
It is truly something special.
Maybe it’s the new silence or the memories that swirl in the front of my mind. Maybe it’s simply that enough time has passed.
But I know exactly what I will do with this gift.
And so, I turn to the largest polypi. The one planted next to my cave. The last body to drift below.
When I give the command, I know the magic will listen. That it will know what I want. I feel its power surging from the tips of my tentacles to the roots of my hair.
“Líf. Líf.”
The girl’s voice sweeps forth, floating up, up, up, until it settles into the top of the strange tree’s trunk where the branches shoot off into the flat black murk.
It settles and becomes one with the polypi. And, after a moment, there is a deep breath, all the heads in the branches inhaling seawater in time. And then the little mermaid’s voice speaks with the thoughts of another little mermaid from long ago. One tied to me here silently, fifty years since I sprouted tentacles from my waist.
When the voice comes, it’s direct and focused on what just occurred. She has centuries left to dredge up what happened when we were human.
“She will fail. He loves another. That mountain will not move in four days.”
“I know.” And I do. I hope she will not fail, but I also cannot forget what my mother did for me. What I did for Nik. What Anna’s family would’ve done for her had they been given the chance. “But her family will not let her go so easily.” They’ll come begging for a way to save her.
When I return from my lair with a deadly length of coral, Anna understands. “Make it sharp. The blood must fall on her feet—if she will use it at all.”
And so, I prepare the knife. Because though magic can shape life and death, love is the one thing it cannot control.
Acknowledgments
Ever since my parents introduced me to Cat’s Cradle, I’ve always been drawn to the idea of Kurt Vonnegut’s “karass”—a group of people cosmically, inextricably linked together. Yeah, I know it’s a term coined as part of a fake religion and sort of silly, but I do think the fates put people together for a reason. Call it a karass or something else entirely, but the following human beings are in my life for a reason, and I love them in their own ways. Without them my life would be considerably less full.
To my lovely editor, Maria Barbo, whose magical imagination made Evie’s world possible. I can’t thank you enough for your faith in me.
To Katherine Tegen, our fearless leader; Rebecca Aronson with her queries and smiley faces; copy editor Maya Myers for her sharp eye and grace in weathering my hatred of the Oxford comma (journalists unite!); production editor Emily Rader for her steady hand; Heather Daugherty and Amy Ryan for their beautiful book design; Anna Dittmann for her stunning/haunting/perfect rendering of Evie; and to the rest of the Katherine Tegen Books and HarperCollins team.
To Rachel Ekstrom, my agent/cheering section/grounding force, who always greets myself and my work with enthusiasm and guidance. And to the rest of the IGLA family, most especially Barbara Poelle, for their support, humor, and belief in me.
To Joy Callaway, my ray of forever sunshine—you’ve made a difference for me every single day. You know exactly when to text, call, make me laugh. Your grace and friendship are truly inspiring.
To Renée Ahdieh, leader of my pack—wisest, chicest, most altruistic rock star in the world. You’re part sister, part fairy godmother, and 100 percent diamond dust.
To Rebecca Coffindaffer, who has a habit of murdering off my characters before I even realize there should be blood on my hands. To Natalie Parker and Tessa Gratton—my coven elders, who vetted my magical system with wisdom, wit, and cold LaCroix. Additionally, to all the Kansas writers I’m lucky enough to know. Our time together is like the best of college—nights spent dissecting the art of writing in the most delicate and interesting ways. Plus, you all have amazing taste in snacks.