Page 14 of Bewitched By the Siren (The Bewitching Hour #1)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Hali

“Here you go, Mom,” I say as I roll her overbed table in front of her and set a plate of spaghetti on top.

“Thanks, sweetie,” she says with a smile as I place a glass of sweet tea next to the plate. “Are you heading out?”

I nod. It’s been dark for almost an hour and a half, so I’m fairly certain there’s no one left on the beach. I usually like to wait until the middle of the night, but the strain in my legs is so bad now after my walk to town with Brendan this morning, I can’t put it off any longer.

Kissing Mom’s forehead and promising to be careful, I head into my bedroom to change into a bikini. Once I’m done, I grab a towel from the bathroom and wrap it around my torso. Leaving my feet bare, I step out onto the back porch and close the door behind me.

My eyes move immediately to Brendan’s deck, and I release a pent up breath when I see it’s empty.

It seems like he spends most of his time there, and I’d be hard-pressed to explain why I’m going swimming after dark when I laughed off the mere idea and told him the water was too cold just this morning.

Hurrying down the steps on light feet, I run for the beach.

My thighs ache as I trudge through the soft sand, and I breathe a sigh of relief when the ground hardens as I pass the high-tide line.

Stopping, I take a moment to peer in every direction.

There’s no sign of movement on the beach or in the yards of nearby houses.

Turning my gaze to the sea, I’m relieved to see nothing but darkness.

There are no tell-tale lights announcing the presence of boats out for a nighttime cruise.

Spinning in a circle, I take one last look around before dropping the towel to my feet.

As quickly as I can, I shove my bikini bottoms down to my knees where gravity takes over and they drop to the sand.

Stepping out of them, I wrap them up in my towel and toss the bundle onto the softer sand just out of the water’s reach with practiced speed before dashing toward the water.

The cold, salty liquid splashes around me as I stomp through the waves, and as soon as I hit thigh-deep water, I dive under the surf and swim as fast as my appendages will take me.

Within seconds, my legs tense, and I stop swimming.

My body arches and bends as the change takes over, my legs fusing together as whatever magic I hold inside me does its thing, releasing my tail.

The skin and muscle beneath my ears stretches and stings as my gills form, a change that only takes place when I’m fully submerged. It’s uncomfortable, at best, and usually quite painful, but tonight, I welcome the pain.

I need to swim .

As soon as the ache dissipates, I flick my tail, propelling me faster than any human could dream of swimming. Adrenaline floods my body as I zip through the dark water, making my heart pound. This is the best feeling. Ever.

This is real freedom.

I slow as my instincts kick in, some internal radar that warns of nearby danger. My eyesight beneath the water is as clear as it is on land, but the water here is dark and deep, and anything lurking nearby could easily hide its presence until it’s ready to strike.

The tension drains out of me as a large shadow swims close enough for me to recognize it.

It’s just a great white. The large shark swims near to check me out, then turns and swims away at the same lazy pace.

I’ve encountered the beasts before, and while I used to be frightened of them, I’m not anymore.

They’ve never shown any real interest in me…

as a meal , that is. Like they have some instinctual repugnance of me.

Or like they know I’m their distant kin. Family, not food.

No, the only thing I truly fear out here is encountering one of my own kind.

If that were to happen, who knows what they’d do? They could drag me into the deep, back to whatever mermaid colony or kingdom they call home. I’d never see my mom again.

Or they could just kill me. I have no idea if every siren’s tail turns to legs when it dries off, or if I’m some sort of mermaid-human hybrid––if that’s even possible. But for all I know, I could be some kind of abomination in their eyes, one they’d seek to destroy.

Brushing off the dark thoughts, I start swimming again. Keeping the beach on my right, I swim toward the waters off the Florida coast as fast as I can, really stretching and working my tailfins. Then, I slow down before flipping around and heading back toward home.

Arching my back, I head for the surface, popping just my head above the water to gain my bearings.

I smile when I see nothing but the moon reflecting on the water and the lights of Circe Key in the distance.

Like I have some sort of internal homing beacon, I always know when I’m close to the island.

Dipping beneath the surface, I swim in a slow, leisurely pace as I head for the shallows.

When I get close enough to shore, I plant my palms in the sand and push my upper body up and out of the water.

I grit my teeth as my gills open and close, the lack of water making my chest grow tight as my body fights for oxygen.

Pain sears through my neck as the magic takes over, my flesh stitching back together.

Opening my mouth, I take a big gulp of air, filling my lungs as the stinging in my neck ebbs.

As uncomfortable as that was, the hard part really begins now. Flicking my tail in the shallow water to help propel me forward, I use my arms to drag myself toward shore. I have to get to the spot where I left my towel. I need it to dry my tail so my legs will reform.

When I was little, this was much easier. Mom would be here waiting, ready to scoop me up and dry me off. Even when I was a teenager and too big to pick up, she’d be here, ready to help as soon as I’d dragged myself out of the water.

But since she got sick and lost her mobility, I’ve been on my own.

My eyes dart left and right as I pull myself out of the surf.

Thankfully, the beach is still deserted.

I flap my tail to aide my movement, a literal fish on dry land, until my fingers connect with the edge of the towel.

Snatching it forward, I pull the bikini bottoms out as I unroll it, drop them to the side, and roll over onto my back before sitting up.

I hurriedly rub the thick cloth down my tail over and over to dry the top, then slip the towel beneath me to dry the bottom.

Curling my tail upward, I focus on the fins at the end, drying them carefully until the tingling starts.

Dropping the towel and falling back to the sand in relief, I prepare for the pain. The stinging intensifies, and I grunt as my back arches up off the sand. I flop a few times––again, like a fish––as my tail splits, and I pinch my lips as a scream threatens to rip up my throat.

Finally, my body settles, and I lay still for a few beats until the pain fully fades.

Looking to my right, I reach out to grab the bikini bottoms before lifting my legs and slipping my feet through the holes.

Once I have the garment up to my knees, I dig my heels into the sand and lift my hips to slide them the rest of the way up.

Dropping my hips, I lay there for a long while more, just staring up at the moon. Once the exhaustion of beaching myself wears off, I can focus on the good. My legs and back feel amazing. Refreshed. Revitalized.

I sit up and climb to my feet before stretching my arms over my head and spinning in a circle. Phasing into my mermaid form and back to human may be a real bitch, but not only is it necessary, it’s worth it .

I feel like a million bucks.

Picking up my towel, I wrap it around my torso and pick my way across the sand toward home.

I hum a little tune as I walk, unable to stop smiling.

I’m always like this after a swim. The mental health benefits are just as important as the physical ones.

Even in the dark, the world is a brighter place.

And I know how lucky I am to thrive both above and below the surface of the sea.