Page 1 of Siren Problems

LUNA

I hit a pothole the size of my dignity on my way into Lowtide Bluffs.

My front passenger-side tire lets out a pathetic wheeze as I lurch to a stop in front of what the rental listing called a “coastal vintage cottage.” Which, as it turns out, means the paint is peeling off like a bad sunburn and the porch is held together with salt, sand, and probably curses.

“Well,” I mutter, popping open the driver’s side door, “at least it has... shingles.”

The air smells like brine and regret, and I’m already sweating through my tank top.

The ley lines here are humming, faint but steady.

I can feel them tingling in my molars, the way I always do when I’m near a major surge site.

Good. That’s why I’m here. Not for the view.

Definitely not for the “coastal charm.” And absolutely not for the squawking seagull that just took a crap on my windshield.

“Seriously?” I glare up at the bird. “I’ve been here for three minutes .”

It screeches like it’s laughing.

By the time I haul the last box out of my overstuffed car, my hair’s tied in a messy knot on top of my head, my boots are coated in beach dust, and I’m two pit stains away from total meltdown.

There’s a rusted key taped to the front door.

No note. No welcome basket. Just a whisper of “don’t touch anything you don’t understand” from the ether.

That’s fine. I like it better this way. Less awkward small talk.

Fewer questions about why a marine biology grad student is lugging around rune-etched scanners and a slightly possessed diving suit.

The inside of the house smells like cedar, ocean, and a little like someone once tried to cook fish and forgot halfway through. It creaks when I step inside, like it’s surprised to have company.

I’m halfway through setting up my aura resonance scanner in the front room when I hear the door above me slam. Loud. Like thunder kind of loud.

There’s a second floor?

I freeze, squint at the ceiling. Definitely footsteps. Slow, heavy ones. Someone’s up there.

I grab the nearest object that could serve as a weapon—a tripod leg—and march toward the stairs. They’re tucked behind a peeling door in the hallway, and they look like they haven’t been used in years.

I’m halfway up when a figure appears at the top, shadowed, broad-shouldered, and dripping with the kind of don’t-mess-with-me energy usually reserved for bouncers and exorcists.

He’s barefoot. Wearing worn jeans. Shirtless.

And he is not happy to see me.

“Can I help you?” he asks, voice gravel and foghorn.

My brain tries to reboot.

“I could ask you the same thing, Hagrid.”

His eyes narrow. Sea-glass gray. Stormy.

“I live here,” he growls.

I blink. “Cool. Didn’t mention that in the lease.”

His frown deepens. “Lease?”

“Yeah. I’m renting the downstairs for the summer. Doing research. Aura fluctuations, ley mapping, magical anomalies—you know, boring stuff.”

He steps forward into the light. Holy hell.

He’s gorgeous in that “I haunt coastal towns and emotionally unavailable women” kind of way.

Tan, scarred, jaw sharp enough to file a fishhook.

His dark hair’s wet like he just came out of the ocean, and there’s a faint shimmer to his skin that screams not-quite-human.

“You can’t be here.”

I drop the tripod leg and cross my arms. “Then maybe take that up with the rental site? Because I’ve got a receipt, a key, and a three-month research grant that says otherwise.”

He scowls. “This is private property.”

“It was private property. Now it’s a duplex. And I’m your new roommate. Try not to cry about it.”

He opens his mouth, probably to say something dramatic and grumpy, but then a second voice echoes down the stairs.

“Calder, who are you yelling at now? Did a gull steal your socks again?”

A woman appears behind him. Elven, maybe. Long platinum braid, floral romper, giant hoop earrings. She leans against the banister with a juice bottle that’s glowing slightly.

She sees me and grins. “Oh hey! You must be the witchy science girl.”

“Not a witch,” I mutter. “Just very curious and moderately underfunded.”

“I’m Kaiya—Kai. I run The Sip & Spell in town. This grumpy fishstick is Calder Thorne. Don’t let the face fool you—he’s just emotionally constipated.”

Calder’s jaw clenches. “Kai.”

She waves a hand. “Relax. She’s cute. Let her stay.”

“Already staying,” I say sweetly, patting the banister. “Feel free to keep your shirt off, though. Adds ambiance.”

Calder mutters something that sounds like I should’ve stayed in the ocean and disappears down the hall.

Kai descends the stairs with the grace of someone who’s tripped over them before. “Ignore him. He’s not used to people. Or smiling. Or women who talk back.”

“Lucky for me I’m great at being insufferable.”

She laughs. “You’re gonna fit in fine, Luna.”

She leaves with a wink and a promise to bring “welcome shots” from her potion bar. I don’t ask what’s in them.

The house settles into silence again, though I swear I can still feel Calder brooding from upstairs like a thundercloud with abs.

I plug in my scanner, and it hums to life, flickering in pulses that match the nearby ley waves.

Stronger than I expected. Something deep is moving here, beneath the tides and time.

I lean against the window frame, gaze out at the rocky shore.

This town is weird.

The ley lines are volatile.

My upstairs neighbor might be cursed, unhinged, or both.

And I’ve never felt more alive.

—

By dusk, the air thickens with humidity and something else—something electric. I finish calibrating the aura resonance scanner, its crystal tips flickering between blue and violet as it aligns with the local ley field.

Then the signal spikes .

Like, off-the-charts spikes. The scanner lights up like a Christmas tree having a panic attack and starts smoking around the edges.

“Shit, shit, no —” I yank the power core out, fingers singeing slightly. My palm is buzzing, like I stuck it in a ley socket.

I fumble for my backup handheld, a janky prototype I rigged from a salt crystal, a compass, and a stolen gnome amplifier. It’s chirping so loud I can hear it over the ocean breeze. Whatever’s happening out there is big. Bigger than my thesis ever predicted.

I grab a flashlight, curse the fact that my boots are still wet from earlier, and sprint out the front door. The cliffs behind the house are sharp, jagged, and singing —not literally, but close. The ley lines here aren’t humming anymore. They’re chanting .

“Okay, okay,” I pant, following the readings as the device vibrates harder with each step. “What are you, huh? Sea sprite with a caffeine addiction? Dormant fae hotspot? Surprise underwater portal?”

Then I see it.

Just offshore, past the tide pools, a faint greenish glow pulses beneath the water like a heartbeat. The rocks beneath my feet shiver. I kneel, holding my scanner toward the light.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I jump. And immediately regret it.

Because standing above me, drenched in moonlight and menace, is the storm-eyed lumberjack of a man I thought I left behind in the house. Shirtless again. Wet again. Scowling like I just insulted his mom and kicked his dog at the same time.

“I could ask you the same thing, Moby Dick,” I snap, breathless.

“This isn’t a game,” he growls, stepping closer. “You’re too close.”

“To what ? The glow stick party under the sea?”

“Back off, now.”

The scanner lets out a warning bweep .

“Too late,” I whisper.

There’s a surge , fast and hot. The ocean lurches like it’s exhaling magic straight from its lungs. Calder grabs my arm just before I stumble, pulling me hard against him as the scanner overloads and dies in a puff of sizzling ozone.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he hisses.

“I was researching ,” I retort, struggling out of his grip. “It’s called science. You should try it sometime.”

“This place is dangerous.”

“Then maybe put up a sign next time, Aquaman.”

He looks like he wants to throttle me. Or throw me over his shoulder. Possibly both. I stare back, chest heaving, my adrenaline buzzing in harmony with the damn ley waves.

Neither of us moves.

Without another word, he turns and walks away, disappearing into the shadows like some cursed sea phantom with boundary issues.

I mutter, “I knew he was going to be a problem.”

The tide pulses behind me, silent and strange.