Slow day. It’s noon, and I’ve only swallowed one yacht.

“Ugh, knew Poseidon shouldn’t have moved us to the Outer Banks.”

Ever since the Greek empire collapsed, he’s had me and my coworker shift around the seven seas to nab and send sailors young and old to a watery death. My dad has a thing against heroes, particularly those who travel by sea.

His latest obsession: the Carolinas. Something about me swallowing midwestern tourists with bad sunburns gives him a giddy sense of pride. Personally, I hate the aftertaste of sunscreen.

“It’s all the stupid tech these people have.” My coworker’s gruff voice sounds from underneath her rock where she hides. She slithered under there after I gobbled up the unsuspecting yacht earlier, in hopes of more catches. No luck. “Once one person sees a giant whirlpool, everyone knows. They have a hashtag for you now, Cary.”

Life isn’t easy being a seventy-five-foot sea monster who swallows ships for her nine to five.

Charybdis. The infamous whirlpool creature, hybridized specially by Zeus after I committed a no-no with his demigod son Heracles. Live and learn, don’t steal a half-god’s cattle.

After Greece collapsed, Zeus un-cursed me and let me take human form whenever I wanted. But old habits die hard.

Once you start swallowing ships sometime in the 1000 BC range, you have a hard time not filling an always-empty stomach. Human form or not.

So Poseidon pays me drachma to take down a few people for him. Makes his job easier.

“I thought we’d find more people searching for treasure around these parts.” Sloshing of water indicates my coworker has hoisted herself onto her rock. Sunbeams glisten off her gray, leathery skin.

She goes by many names. “Sea monster” “Augh, it’s her!” “That weird creature with the tentacles and the dog heads on her mid-section.”

I know her by Scylla. And far as work buddies go, she ain’t bad. Takes too many breaks, but when I need her to nab someone off a boat and toss him into my pie hole, she delivers.

“What we need—” She strokes the head of a confused-looking pug nestled in her navel area. “—is a break. That or another Odysseus.”

A chuckle bobbles off the thousands of teeth I have, and a little more saltwater drains down my throat. “Good luck with that.”

She sighs. “Take human form. You know it’s hard to hear you when your mouth’s full of water.”

“Fine.” I wince as the sensation takes over me. Like someone has grabbed my head and toes—well, I suppose tail in my monster form—and pulled me like taffy. Moments later, I perch on my rock and stare at my olive-toned arms that glisten from leftover seawater. “Happy?”

A squelching sound echoes from her rock. She’s taken on her mortal form as well. A young woman with black curly hair and a bikini featuring cartoon dog heads. “Not really. I’m getting bored with this.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Not this again.”

“Come on, Cary, we’ve been doing this for a millennia too long. Sure, eating some of the Viking ships was fun for you, and I did love strangling and drowning some pirates. But face it. After Odysseus, things went downhill. Maybe we should do something else for the next thousand years or so.”

My knees cinch to my chest, and I breathe in the salty air. “Maybe it’s too late to start over.” Burning swells in my abdomen. When will this hunger ever go away? Zeus un-cursed me, right? So why do I always feel the need to continue to fill myself?

“Girl, we’re immortal.”

“But we’ve got solid branding. Reputations.”

“That are sinking because it’s hard to hide and be a seventy-some-foot sea monster.”

“Can we pick up this conversation again in another hundred years?” Hair lashes my face. Wind has picked up and churned the waves. White sea foam crests the top of them.

“No. I allowed you to do that back in the 1600s, and look where we are now. Probably trending on social somewhere. And,” she wags a finger at me, “an inconspicuous sea monster who eats ships for a living does not want to be on a video that got 5.6 million views.”

Happened two weeks back.

When we both transformed into our human forms and scrolled through social media on the shores of the beach—at two in the morning when everyone had returned to their beach houses—we found a video someone had taken of me earlier in the day when they drifted close enough in a canoe. Because I was snacking on some dolphins, I hadn’t noticed.

Caption: My girlfriend when she claims she isn’t hungry and then eats all my fries #slay #seamonsters #whirlpool #carysightings

Comments:

“Me.”

“Get you a girl who eats like this, unashamed.”

“Iconic. Cary is my role model.”

Most of the other videos on the hashtag were whirlpools in other parts of the world, nowhere near my girth and size. Some people saw sharp rocks and thought they resembled my monster-form teeth. But Poseidon made us move away from the Bahamas after that video incident, too much publicity.

“Anyway.” Scylla combs through her hair and plucks out a dead jellyfish carcass. She pitches it toward a nearby wave. “I think it’s worth trying something new.”

“Like what?” No use in arguing with her in this state.

She probes the rest of her locks with her fingertips. Finds chunks of shells and decides to leave them. “Like, visiting the island in human form.”

“We already do that.”

“When there are people there.”

Saliva sticks in my throat. Oh. That would be different. “I don’t know.”

“For one night, okay? If you have a good time, we’ll go on hiatus and spend more time in Corolla.”

I chew on my lip until I rip off dead skin, and swallow. Nope, does nothing to fill my stomach. Maybe they have good food on the island.

“Scylla, what if we hate it?”

“Then let’s hope we bump into some treasure hunters. Maybe we can talk them into passing by our place of work tomorrow.” She winks. “Send me another Odysseus, and I promise I’ll stick with the job for another millennia.”

****

An ice cream eating contest.

The first thing Scylla suggests when we dock onshore in mid-afternoon, early evening. Tangerine sunlight ignites the sky. On the beach, near the dunes, someone has set up a station of tables with bowls full of melting ice cream.

Once, back in 1984, Scylla pilfered some for me from inland. She ventured off into the mortal world far more than I did.

Reminisces of the sweet, cold dessert dance on my tongue. It almost made me forget about how good ships tasted on the way down my throat. Almost. Nothing beats the flavor of rusting metal and gas.

She jabs her finger at an empty spot at the station. A chair situated at the end of the table.

“They still have openings. It’s calling your name.”

My lips sag. She’s gonna try to win me over with food. But my abdomen burns again. I clutch my stomach and wince.

“Come on, Cary. I’ll convince some boys to sail by us tomorrow. Nothing perks you up quite like homicide to look forward to.”

Tingling does fill my ears.

I think I stayed at this job so long because it gave me a purpose. When Zeus cursed me and turned me into a monster, I decided to own everything about who I became. The scales, the teeth the size of surfboards.

So when Greece went caput and Zeus handed the keys off to some Roman dude who resembled his visage a frightening amount, he shrugged. Said, “Well, I guess it’s ocean water under the bridge now. Go do what you want.”

What do I want?

Gurgling sounds from my stomach. I want to eat.

Sand bites into my soles as I charge up the slope of the beach toward a woman in khaki shorts with a clipboard in her hand. “Room for one more?”

She eyes me up and down and lifts a blonde eyebrow. I glance down at my frame and remember that my human form comes in a size small, from height to waist to feet. Scylla, towering at a near six feet, has told me how much she envies me when she pops into the local clothing stores.

“Sure.” A foreign accent plays on her lips, reminding me of Greece. People from other countries often work summers here. “Name?”

“Cary.”

She scribbles the name with a red pen, places the cap in her mouth when she finishes, and gestures at the open seat with her chin. “All yours. Good luck eating sixteen scoops.”

Lightheadedness pounds my temples, and I collapse into the chair. A young man beside me, with a mop of hair with streaks of blond holds his spoon up to me like it’s a torch.

Something about his sun-kissed shoulders fills my stomach with warmth. Almost like, for a moment, I’m not hungry.

“Might as well quit now, Cary.” He winks. “Overheard your name. And let me tell you, this sport ain’t for the weak of stomach.” He scratches his neck. “Honestly, it ain’t for the strong of stomach either. Made my uncle puke last year for a day straight. Seriously. It’s too late for me, but not you.”

I can’t tell if he’s trying to joke or what. Some of my siren friends can read body language better from men.

“Are you a champion or something?” I watch droplets of ice cream drip down into his soupy bowl.

“Five years running.”

“I eat champions.” They always fell into the same category as heroes and treasure hunters: number one on Poseidon’s Hitlist.

He laughs. I don’t. He clears his throat.

“Name’s Jason.”

“Good to know. I know what name I shall mock when I win.” Taken down a few Jasons in my days. Heroes always seem to come with that name.

“You’re wild. I like it.” He flashes some bright teeth.

I show mine and regret this a moment later. How I’ve forgotten that my dagger-like chompers turn into sad human teeth when I take on this form.

“Contestants.” The lady with the clipboard raises her pen in the air. Kites in the distance dance above her head. “Grab your spoons.”

We do so. The cool surface soothes my warm palm.

“Set. Go.”

My wrist churns so fast into the bowl, away from the bowl, spoon into my mouth, repeat, that cramps form in my arms. But my stomach burns, and darkness has crept into the corners of my eyes. Gotta eat, and fast.

Moments later, I have the bowl to my lips, and I tip the rest of the soupy contents into my mouth. Gulp, done.

Whites form in Jason’s eyes beside me as the woman with the clipboard trills into a whistle. “We have a winner.”

“How did you—” Jason gestures to my bowl, and back at me, and back at the bowl. “I know I just met you, but dang, girl. I think I’m in love with you.”

“Not advisable.”

A headache still pounds in my temples. Great, that ice cream didn’t fill me up. Maybe I can convince Scylla to head back to the ocean early, and I’ll munch on a few sharks who like to circle the waters at night.

Other contestants evacuate the table and leave behind their dripping bowls. I reach for the one next to Jason’s. The girl who had it only got through two bites.

“If you must know, Jason, loser of contests, I don’t enjoy this. I eat because I must.”

He cocks his head when I say this.

Did I say it the wrong way? Scylla, and some fishermen I’ve eaten, have educated me on some of the most updated lingo of the times. But with living several millennia, I often get certain time frames mixed up.

And besides Scylla, I don’t get much practice speaking with anyone.

The lady with the clipboard hands me a wad of something pale green. I frown at the numbers on the sheets of paper and hand the gift to Jason. “Yours.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You don’t want the prize money?”

Poor boy clearly has never seen gold drachma before. “That’s not money.” I finish off the girl’s bowl and shift my seat to sit in front of the next one. Jason follows me and sidles one chair over.

“And what do you mean you have to eat, Cary? Got a high metabolism or something?”

My spoon stills on the bowl, and I swallow the chocolate cream. “Something like that.”

Sadness fills my gut. Will I ever have a different purpose?

“You’re gonna get sick if you keep going at it.”

“Well, what do you suggest?” I eye Scylla. She stands near the shoreline and talks animatedly to another guy with a similar haircut to Jason.

“Follow me.” Jason lifts himself from his seat and heads down the beach slope toward the ocean.

I pass one last glance at the bowl before me. Something tugs at my stomach and pulls me out of my chair. I meet him at the shoreline and let my feet sink into the wet sand by the ocean. We walk toward an array of shells.

“My family actually has a problem with eating contests.” He clasps his wrist that holds a watch. “They train like crazy. And trust me, you don’t want to know about the Chicago hotdog incident of ’97.”

Liar, now I do.

“Seeing you eat the second and third bowl made me think about that. They got so invested in that, that they lost themselves.”

“Their identities.” Not a question, a death sentence. A curse.

“Well, yes, but we literally lost Uncle Tim in the hotdog contest of ’97. Those things are choking hazards.” He lifts and drops his shoulders. “Anyway, who are you beyond those ice cream bowls? Who is Cary?”

I halt and dig my toes into the sand until my toenail hits a shell. “I’m—I’m not sure.”

He extends a hand and gestures down the beach with his chin. “Let’s find out, then.”

So I take his hand, and somewhere five lifeguard stations down in our conversation and walking I do—and by the time I return to Scylla, my hunger has disappeared.

****

“What do you mean you got me a treasure-hunting vessel three weeks early for my birthday, Scylla?”

“I mean that I talked a boy into sailing near our rocks.” She squeals and pats a Husky nestled in her ribs. “Told him we’re near the shipwreck he’s searching for.”

Ah, I’d almost forgotten about the boy she’d spoken to at the shore. Too many memories of Jason and my conversation flit across my memory to recall any other details.

“Him and his brother, I think.” She frowns at a crab stuck to one of her tentacles. “Not amazing, but they seem like an Odysseus type of family. And I wouldn’t mind drowning a hero or two today.”

Fire overtakes my stomach again.

Oh. Right. My job.

My identity.

“You didn’t like being on the island yesterday?” A headache beats into my forehead, and I assume my monster form. At least, at that large of a mass, I can last longer in between meals. Something about my frail human body makes me more liable to passing out if I go too long without something to eat.

“I mean I did. But mama also wants herself some drachma. And after talking to this dude—the arrogance of this guy—mama wouldn’t mind drowning a sailor or two. Besides, didn’t you say that you weren’t so sure about doing the island life thing until a hundred years from now?”

So I did.

Scylla and I didn’t talk much last night. Not after we returned to our rocks, and I fell straight asleep without a midnight stingray snack.

A scarlet sunrise bleeds into the morning skies.

Maybe I made a mistake, thinking I was ready to be anything else. Around him, I felt…filled. But who knows if I’d ever see him again?

Saltwater burns my throat and flosses its way down my many rows of teeth. We wait until I hear Scylla’s squeal. Showtime, let’s kill ourselves some sailors.

While I gargle some briny liquid, I overhear the screams of the male sailors and the sputtering of their engine. Classic. They always try to do this, force themselves out of the whirlpool.

So I suck harder and try to blink away the images of last night. When Jason managed to find half a sand dollar and handed it to me—since I wouldn’t keep the prize money. When he and I perched on a lifeguard station and watched the sun dip beneath the horizon…

“Jason, turn on the engine!”

“It won’t work.”

Hold up. I know that voice. Memories of it helped me to sleep last night.

I still and force myself to morph into my human form. During the stretching sensation, the hunger disappears from my abdomen. I float to the top and splutter the water out of my mouth.

“Cary?” Jason leans over the side of the boat. The boy who Scylla talked to at the shoreline yesterday still has his fingers weaved into his hair.

I salute Jason with two fingers and then tread to my rock. Hoist myself onto the warming surface.

“What happened to the whirlpool?” the other boy asks this and checks both sides of the vessel.

“That was me.” I flick a piece of hair stuck to my cheek away.

“Oh.” Jason frowns, then his eyes light up. “When you said that you were an ancient seventy-five-foot sea monster, I thought it was a metaphor. Guess not.”

Huh, in my bleariness last night, I’d forgotten I’d mentioned that detail about myself.

“I mean.” Jason shrugs. “That makes you more cool, so.”

“Cary, what the heck.” Scylla, still in gray monster form, emerges from underneath her rock. “This wasn’t the plan.”

A corgi on her right side barks. She leers at the other sailor, who has finally dropped his arms from his head. He squints at her before his eyebrows shoot up like a rocket. “You. You were the one who talked us into coming over here. There’s no treasure over here, is there?”

A squelching noise sounds as Scylla morphs into her human form. “Yeah. Serves you right for saying you’d beat me at a boogie boarding contest.” She dips her toes into the foamy water. “We eat champions, you know.”

“Literally.” Jason palms his neck. “Look, we appreciate y’all for not eating us and all—”

“Not out of the woods yet, pal.” Scylla unsuckers a starfish from her neck.

“—but if we were to take you out to a meal, would that help to call it even?” He smiles at me. “Besides, you ran off yesterday. I was hoping to ask anyway.”

Warmth fills my insides.

I am filled. Actually filled.

“Deal.” I grin. “But I’m not sure I’m all that hungry.”

He lifts a brow. “Oh yeah?’

I think about it for a moment. “Yeah…but I may steal a few of your fries.”