One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel

Even that brief acknowledgment of the fact that I was surrounded by water was enough to make me start panicking again. I surged forward, nearly smacking my tail against the walls, and actually pulled even with Dianda for a brief second. She nodded approvingly, jerked me closer, and sped up.

Her momentum carried us out of the tunnel into a shallow blue-watered pool that spread out around us like a basin. I gasped as we broke the surface, as much from reflex as from the actual need to feel air, real air, filling my lungs. Something tickled the sides of my neck; my gills, closing themselves now that they weren’t needed. Because that wasn’t creepy or anything.

My hair fell into my eyes as soon as my head was out of the water. I shoved it aside and took a good look at the room around us. It was built much more along the lines I’ve come to expect from buildings: walls that went straight up, rather than curving and twisting in odd angles, and ended at a flat ceiling. Everything looked like it had been carved from a single massive piece of pink coral, but aside from that, it was all normal. If it weren’t for the pink walls and the lack of windows, I could easily have believed that we had somehow managed to swim into a land knowe.

There was even furniture, clearly designed for use by human-shaped people. It looked like it had been scavenged from old sailing ships, creating a sort of “Jules Verne meets Martha Stewart” design aesthetic. Even the chandeliers appeared to have been fashioned from old ship’s wheels, with glowing anemone-things in place of candles.

Dianda paddled to the edge of the pool and pulled herself out of the water, twisting into a sitting position. All she needed was a hairbrush and a ship to sink and she could have passed for a Waterhouse painting. “I’m betting you don’t know how to do this.”

“Since I don’t know what ‘this’ is, you’re probably right.” The water got shallower as I got closer to Dianda. I stopped trying to swim and put my hands on the bottom of the pool, “walking” myself along. “What are we doing?”

“We’re going to see my sons’ rooms. That means we need to get out of the water.” Dianda frowned thoughtfully. “Most of our children figure this out on their own. I’m going to try something that works with the ones who don’t. Close your eyes.”

“Okay.” I closed them.

Dianda’s hands closed on my shoulders. “Breathe in,” she said, the smell of water lilies and amber rising around us. “Think about walking. Think about the mechanics and the structure of walking. The feet, ankles, and calves. The knees, thighs, and hips. Think about how nice it would be to stand. How strange, to see the world from such a different angle . . .”

I furrowed my brow, trying to do as I was told. I remembered walking. I also remembered running for my life—something that seems to happen more frequently than is necessarily good for me. I remembered May tickling my feet to get me to move when she wanted the couch, and the feeling of getting dressed in the morning, jeans and socks and shoes. I remembered being the right shape, rather than the wrong one. My own magic rose, sharp, sweet, and familiar.

“You can open your eyes now.” Dianda pulled her hands away. “Also, you may want to get out of the water.”

“Huh?” The spell broke as I twisted to look at myself. It was easier than I expected; I’ve had years to practice rolling over in my natural form, and that’s what I was looking at. Complete with absolutely soaked jeans and running shoes. I blinked, once, and pulled myself out of the pool as fast as I could, just in case the Luidaeg’s charm decided to reassert itself in the presence of water.