Page 14 of Captured by the Cthulhu (Monster Mates #3)

Chapter 14

Fading Magic

Ashe

I wake from a dream with the phantom sensation of water pressure against my skin. It’s been three days since Roark and I shared his essence—since I experienced the ocean through his eyes—and my body still remembers.

The lighthouse feels emptier than it ever did before I met him. Funny how quickly loneliness can become solitude, then back to loneliness again.

Outside my window, the morning fog hangs thick over Cape Tempest, obscuring the water where I know he’s swimming. No tours today, thank God.

I press my palm against the cold glass, watching fog collect around the heat of my hand. How many lighthouse keepers before me stood at this same window, waiting for someone to return from the sea?

“Get a grip,” I mutter, letting my forehead rest against the glass. “He’s not your sailor husband lost at sea. He’s a cthulhu you’ve known barely two weeks.”

Two weeks that have somehow rewired everything I thought I knew about myself.

I pull on a thick fisherman’s sweater that nearly reaches my knees and shuffle to the kitchen. My coffee maker—the one Roark deemed “barely functional”—protests with a series of alarming clicks before reluctantly dripping something that vaguely resembles coffee into my mug.

As I wait, I flip through my notebook where I’ve been jotting down ideas. Roark needs a way to move through town without causing mass panic, but the magical disguise he once relied on is gone.

If only there were someone who knew about that kind of magic…

I nearly drop my mug as realization hits me. Iris. The fairy who had given Roark his original human glamour.

He’d mentioned losing touch with her after the Great Unveiling—hard to maintain friendships when you can’t exactly stroll down Main Street with tentacles trailing behind you.

“She could still be here,” I say to my coffee. The coffee, mercifully, doesn’t respond.

An hour later, I’m combing through old Cape Tempest business directories and tourism guides. If a fairy runs a business in town, there should be some record. Pre-Unveiling, she would have appeared as a human shopkeeper, but post-Unveiling?

I find nothing in the official town business registry, but a colorful flyer tucked into last summer’s tourist brochure catches my eye: “Fae & Folly — Curiosities & Trinkets from Beyond the Veil.” The shop address places it on a narrow alley off Harbor Street that I almost never visit.

“How have I missed this?” I mutter, reaching for my keys. For someone who prides herself on knowing every inch of Cape Tempest, this feels like an embarrassing oversight.

The morning fog has lifted by the time I’ve walked to the edge of town. Cape Tempest is quiet on weekdays in the shoulder season—just a few tourists huddled against the wind, peering hopefully at menus outside seafood restaurants that won’t open for hours.

Harbor Street curves along the waterfront, lined with the usual suspects: the nautical gift shop, the overpriced restaurant with “authentic” fishing nets on the ceiling, and Marina’s bait shop. But between a closed ice cream parlor and a dusty antique store, there’s a narrow passage I’ve somehow overlooked my entire life.

The alley isn’t dark or intimidating—just easily missed. Halfway down, a shop window glows with a warm, amber light that seems too rich for the gray day outside. The sign above reads “Fae & Folly” in a flowing script that shimmers slightly as I approach, like sunlight on water.

My stomach tightens with nerves. I’ve never met a fairy before, at least not that I know of.

A small bell announces my entrance, its chime lingering oddly in the air. The shop is larger inside than it appeared from the street—a physical impossibility I decide not to question.

Every surface holds collections of curious objects: bottles of liquid that move against gravity, jewelry that seems to whisper, plants that definitely just turned to watch me.

“Hello?” I call out, trying to sound more confident than I feel. “Is anyone here?”

“Just a moment!” a melodic voice calls from somewhere beyond a beaded curtain. “Feel free to look around, but maybe don’t touch the singing shells. They’re in a mood today.”

I eye a collection of pearlescent shells that are vibrating slightly on a velvet cushion and decide to keep my hands firmly in my pockets.

The beaded curtain parts with a musical sound, and a woman—no, definitely a fairy, made the size of a woman through magic—emerges from the back room.

She’s petite with delicate features that somehow suggest both youth and ancient wisdom. Her skin has a subtle luminescence, and her hair shifts colors like oil on water, moving from deep purple to teal to silver as she approaches. Most striking are her eyes—large, almond-shaped, and a startling amber color that reminds me of honey held to sunlight.

“Welcome to Fae & Folly!” she says, her smile revealing teeth just a touch too pearly and perfect to be human. “I’m Iris. Are you looking for anything in particular? Love charm? Weather protection? Invisibility dust?”

My carefully prepared explanation evaporates. “I, um—”

“You’re the lighthouse keeper,” she says, tilting her head curiously. “Ashe Morgan. I’ve seen you around town but never in my shop. Most locals avoid it—they prefer to pretend magic doesn’t exist unless it’s entertaining tourists.” Her eyes narrow slightly. “What brings you here today? Something’s troubling you… Something secret.”

I blink, startled by her perception. “How did you—”

“Fairy intuition,” she says, waving her hand dismissively. “It’s not mind reading, just… emotional weather forecasting. And you’re practically a thunderstorm of anxiety right now.”

I take a deep breath. “I know your friend, Roark.”

The effect is immediate. Iris freezes, her otherworldly composure cracking. The ambient light in the shop flickers, and several of the shells begin a low, mournful keen.

“Roark?” she whispers, her voice suddenly small. “He’s… He’s alive?”

“Yes,” I confirm, surprised by the intensity of her reaction. “He’s okay. Well, he was injured, but he’s healing.”

Tears well in her amber eyes, catching the light like liquid gold. “I thought—” Her voice breaks. “After the Unveiling, when all our magic went haywire, his glamour would have failed instantly. I tried to find him, to see if I could help, but…”

She shakes her head. “The waters were chaos. So many exposed monsters retreating from humans, so many humans panicking. I searched the docks for weeks, hoping to catch some sign of him.”

She dashes tears away with the back of her hand. “He was my first real friend here, you know.” A watery smile touches her lips. “He used to bring me treasures from the ocean floor. Things no human would ever see.”

Something twists in my chest—a flash of unwarranted jealousy, immediately followed by guilt. Of course Roark had connections before me.

“He spoke highly of you,” I say. “He said you taught him how to navigate the human world.”

Iris laughs softly. “Oh, that was a project. His legs were noodles at first, even in human form. And the way he talked! Like he’d swallowed a nautical dictionary from 1850.” Her expression softens. “But he learned quickly. Became quite the charismatic captain.” She then focuses on me with renewed intensity. “How did you find him? Where is he now?”

I give her a condensed version of our meeting—the storm, the boathouse, the injuries—carefully omitting the more intimate details. As I speak, Iris’s expression shifts between concern, relief, and something like dawning comprehension.

“I see,” she says when I finish, a knowing smile playing at her lips. “And now you’ve come to me because…?”

I swallow. “He mentioned you helped him with a glamour before. To appear human. I thought maybe—”

“You want me to do it again,” she finishes, her smile fading. She moves to a cluttered workbench against one wall and idly adjusts some bottles. “I wish I could. Before the Great Unveiling, when magic was still hidden, still concentrated, I could have done it easily. Now…”

She holds up her hand, and a small sphere of golden light appears above her palm—beautiful but flickering unsteadily. “This is what I can manage now. Pretty, but not powerful. The Great Unveiling didn’t just reveal monsters—it changed how magic works in this world. It’s more… diffuse now. Less reliable.”

My heart sinks. “So there’s nothing you can do?”

Iris taps her chin thoughtfully. “I didn’t say that.” She begins rummaging through drawers, muttering to herself. “Not permanent, but maybe… Yes, this could work.”

She emerges with a small object clutched triumphantly in her hand—a silver pin shaped like a nautical compass, with intricate engravings along its edge.

“This,” she announces, “I can enchant. It’s not a permanent solution, but with my current magic, I could imbue this with enough power for a day-long glamour.”

“A day?” I echo, trying to hide my disappointment.

“A day,” she confirms with a sympathetic smile. “From sunrise to sunset. Once activated, it can’t be paused or extended. When the sun sets or if he takes it off, the magic fades, and he returns to his true form.”

I pick up the pin, surprised by its weight. The silver feels oddly warm, almost alive under my fingertips. “How would it work?”

“He’d wear it close to his chest. The first ray of morning sun would activate it, transforming him to his human appearance until the last light fades.”

I turn the pin over in my hand, thinking.

One day as a human—what would Roark do with it? What would we do together? The possibilities make my chest tight.

“The Maritime Festival,” I say suddenly.

Iris raises an eyebrow. “What about it?”

“It’s in two weeks. We could use the pin then. He could attend without anyone knowing what he really is.” I don’t mention Sebastian’s proposed monster-hunting reenactment, or how much I want Roark by my side when I oppose it.

“That would work,” Iris agrees. “But enchanting this will take nearly all my remaining magic reserves for some time. It’s not something I can do regularly.”

I look up sharply. “I can pay you. Whatever you need.”

She waves this away. “I don’t want your money, Ashe. Roark protected me when I was vulnerable. I owe him this much, at least.” Her amber eyes study me with that unnerving perception. “Besides, I think he’s found someone else to protect him now.”

Heat creeps into my cheeks. “We’re not—I mean, it’s complicated.”

“Of course it is. He’s a cthulhu, you’re a human, and this town has a history of hanging his kind as trophies.” She says it lightly, but her eyes hold centuries of wariness. “Love across boundaries is never simple.”

“I didn’t say anything about love,” I protest, perhaps too quickly.

Iris smiles knowingly but mercifully changes the subject. “Give me three days to prepare the enchantment. The full moon is tomorrow night, which will help amplify what little magic I can gather.” She gestures to the pin still in my palm. “Keep that with you for now. It needs to attune to your aura before I begin.”

I slip the pin into my pocket, not entirely understanding but unwilling to question fairy magic logistics. “Thank you, Iris. Really.”

As I turn to leave, she calls after me: “Bring him to see me sometime, will you? When it’s safe. I’ve missed my friend.”

The vulnerability in her voice makes me pause. “I will. I promise.”

Outside Fae & Folly, the day has brightened, though the wind carries a bite that warns of coming storms. I stand for a moment on the narrow street, the compass pin a reassuring weight in my pocket.

One day of freedom for Roark. One day to walk beside me without hiding.

It isn’t enough—not nearly.

I make my way back to Harbor Street, lost in thought. What would one day of visible Roark even look like? I imagine walking with him through town, introducing him to my favorite spots, sitting across from him at a restaurant table like any normal couple.

Couple. The word catches me off guard. Is that what we are? What we could be?

I’m so distracted I nearly collide with a group of volunteers hanging festival banners across the street. Blue and white streamers flutter in the breeze, along with posters advertising the upcoming Maritime Festival.

One shows a stylized lighthouse with waves crashing around it—pretty enough. Another displays an old-fashioned sailing ship. But the third makes my stomach clench: a silhouette of men in a boat, harpoons raised triumphantly.

“Looking good, isn’t it?” A man I vaguely recognize from the committee beams at me. “Festival’s gonna be bigger than ever this year.”

“Great,” I manage, stepping around him.

I haven’t decided what to do about Sebastian’s hunting reenactment. Making a scene at the meeting probably didn’t help my case. If I push too hard against it, I’ll only draw attention to myself—attention I definitely don’t need with Roark in the picture.

But letting it happen feels like a betrayal.

The pin seems to grow heavier in my pocket. Maybe that’s the answer—bring Roark to the festival under the glamour. Show the town committee that sea monsters aren’t just creatures from their bloody history but beings with thoughts and feelings. Let them meet one, even unknowingly.

Or maybe that’s the stupidest plan I’ve ever conceived.

By the time I reach the outskirts of town, my head is spinning with possibilities, none of them simple. I need to talk to Roark. His cabin is at least a two-hour hike each way, and I’d need a full day for the trip.

I mentally review my tour schedule as I follow the coastal path back to the lighthouse. I have a school group tomorrow and regular tours the next day, but the day after is clear—a maintenance day I could postpone. I could make it to the cabin and back before sunset if I left at dawn.

Three days. Three days until I see him again. It feels simultaneously too long and not long enough to sort through my jumbled thoughts.

Back at the lighthouse, I climb to the lantern room and look out at the vast expanse of ocean. Somewhere beneath those waves, Roark is swimming—perhaps even patrolling these waters, as he promised. The thought both warms and unsettles me.

How long can we keep this up? Meeting in secret, hiding from a town that might never accept what he is?

I pull the compass pin from my pocket and hold it up to the light streaming through the glass walls. The silver gleams, catching sunbeams and throwing them back in fractured patterns. For a moment, I imagine I can feel a gentle pulse within it, like a heartbeat—though that’s probably just wishful thinking.

One day. One single day when Roark could walk in the sun.

It’s not enough. But I’ll take any time I can get with him.