I probe my thoughts for Love, but they are silent. Doesn’t matter, I suppose. If she does wake up in a few hours, it would do no good for anyone if it is on a metal table in the morgue. When I am not searching the dark horizon for potential problems, my gaze drifts back to the woman.
There is no indication of what she is. No fins or scales that say she is of the water. She could be a Selkie whose coat has been stolen. She has the curves of one, but my gut says she is of the land. I have rescued the occasional nymph from a greedy pirate; she is beautiful enough to be one. The dress she wore didn’t give me anything besides the fact it looked fancy. Not like one of Lloyd’s girls though. She was dumped too close to Harbour Crest to work in one of his clubs, and the snake knows not to throw his accidents in my territory any more.
As we approach the ship, I cut the motor and glide the last few yards into the mooring point. A few crew members are waiting with a blanket, ready to help warm up the new arrival.
“Captain,” Aiofe greets me solemnly. The Selkie I made my quartermaster over twenty-five years ago has never been one for smiles. Her demeanour has been curt since the day she cut off the hands of the man who stole her magic coat.
Two girls, Neela and Hamako, tie the boat down while Aiofe helps me bring up the unconscious woman. A chill grips my chest at her touch, but I don’t react. Another, Lakelynn, quickly wraps the extra blanket around her and we lift the woman onto the ship. It’s late, but the night crew stands watch as we carry the woman down the steps, past the old captain’s quarters, and through the door clearly marked “employees only.”
The room before us opens into a cavernous, humid space that is neither of this world nor of Love’s. It is held in a pocket dimension between worlds, safe for all who are allowed entrance. It was a fucking pain in my ass stealing this magic door from the Fae realm, but what they don’t know can’t hurt them. The shoddy thing isn’t perfect, which is even better for Love. They can partially exist in this dimension without having to work through me. It means they can be freer here.
We take the woman to my quarters and lay her down by the fireplace. I set about lighting it while Aiofe looks at her.
“Do you think she’ll join us?” she asks.
“I think so.” I strike a match and toss it onto the kindling. The room warms quickly; the soft glow of the lanterns only assists in lighting the space so much.
“She isn’t like the usual catch,” Aiofe states matter of factly, as if we are so regularly diving for dead bodies in the harbour, rather than once or twice a decade.
I don’t answer her; she doesn’t need my agreement or disagreement on the matter when it is so plain to see that the being neither dead nor alive in front of my fireplace is different from the rest of the crew. Aiofe touches the heavy coat she has wrapped around her waist. She’s nervous.
As she should be. All new recruits are different; some adjust well to our way of life, others fight tooth and nail to return to their old life so they can pretend nothing happened and that bad people, bad men, don’t exist. There is something about this woman that tells me she will be trouble.
“Go,” I say. “Join the others in the bath. Tomorrow will be a busy day, the start of a busy season, I’m feeling.”
“Busy is good.” My quartermaster shrugs before looking me over subtly. “You alright? I know you were interrupted this evening.”
“You have known me long enough to know nothing truly interrupts my hunt.”
Aiofe nods. She doesn’t broach the topic of why I have been skipping the Tuesday meetings. It has been a few weeks since I last attended and all the crew have seen my war path since. Night after night, getting further and further from the water in search of those who are guilty of being a vile man. Love is sated, and we are safe. That is all that should matter to her and the rest of the crew.
“Call for me if you need me, captain.”
“Aye,” I wave her off, going behind the screen in my room to change into a dry pair of trousers and a fresh shirt.
The door closes, and I wait. My heart’s steady beat counting the seconds until there is no risk of someone bothering me this evening. I pull the damp cotton scarf from around my neck and rub the soreness from my nape before dragging my hand up through the soft fuzz of my hair. I dig through a drawer at the top of my dresser for a fresh handkerchief and tie it around myself.
The soft fabric on my skin is a coat of armour. Like the rest of my clothes, it is chosen to assert myself in a way that makes others feel fear. Intimidation upon sight is a skill I have honed for centuries. Stained with the blood, the sweat, and the tears of the men I have ruined, the old clothes on my back may be designed for a man larger than me, but they do the job. I dress to strike fear into the hearts of all creatures who wish to harm women. Any soft edge I once had died a long time ago. All that is hidden under these oversized clothes now is a body marked with centuries of wear and anger.
It is nearly dawn when the woman finally stirs. I have sat beside her for hours, staring, waiting. Her wrist clicked back into place an hour ago and her bruises are nearly gone. This is nothing like that first time in the northern sea, and yet I feel as though it is with how my knee bounces and I fidget with my knife. The sheen on the blade in the firelight is a small comfort.
There is no flash of pink light this time, her mark hidden beneath her coverings. I tuck the blade away so as to not frighten her.
“Shit,” she groans and rolls onto her side. A shiver, violent and visible, wracks through her before she settles with a defeated sigh. “Where’s my phone?”
Her reaction to being alive again isn’t what I expected. But she is finally fucking awake. The creature that I’ve spent hours memorising takes her sweet time to realise she isn’t alone. Bad instincts. That doesn’t mean I am not lost in the power of her gaze once she finally draws her eyes from my bare feet to my face. The deep brown shade is striking, consuming. Even as this creature stares up at me with unguarded wonder and curiosity, I can tell a single look from her could bring weaker beings to their knees.
Something tickles in my chest and I could swear it was hope.
She swallows audibly and averts her gaze. I watch how her fingers curl tighter around the covers, keeping them close to her chest.Is she the one?
“She is home,”Love’s pleased voice echoes in my head and I sigh with a small touch of relief. They are back to me, the silence no longer so heavy.
“What are you called?” I ask, trying to be gentle in a way that isn’t in my nature.
“Delphini.”
Her voice is soft, with an accent that tells me she isn’t from Gwenmore.
