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Our feet lead us to Mystique Beach. I sigh, feeling a smidgen at ease once my toes—exposed in flip flops—sink into the toasty white sand.
The fact that it’s Monday morning, a work day, isn’t gonna stop people from crowding the beach for more seaside bliss. Why can’t I be among the laughing bunch of carefree nymphs and mermaids in the water, playing Marco-Polo? I sigh, closing my eyes, absorbing the heat as I recline on one of the pair of beach chairs Lucas brought over. Luckily, his lifeguard position grants him easy access to resources.
On our walk from Lucky Cauldrons till now, he calmed—basking in the salty sea air, my aquatic friend is in his relaxed, natural element. We’re a few yards from the shoreline. A breeze carried hair across my shoulder blades and cheek, momentarily bringing salty ocean mist and sand grains to brush against my calves.
I and other people who don’t contain merfolk genes react pretty blasé, noting the air but nothing much more. And if you were preoccupied, playing volleyball, focused on pitching an umbrella, it virtually goes unnoticed.
But Lucas, his kind...
I let my eyes drift to him now. He sat, droopy attention ahead, head cocked. To a passer-by’s initial perspective: there sits a tan, spaced out beach bum. It’s in the second glance that you’d witness the change. Lucas’s very being emerging to the surface.
The body shudders. Tan, pigmented skin pales. A blue, iridescent silver tint spreads along the limbs. On top the shimmering colors are decorated thin lines in half circle patterns. Dark slits erupt on his neck, splitting and gaping open and closed like a mouth, secreting ooze–gills becoming acclimated. Whilst transparent film grows in between the fingers, to connect them to create webbed hands.
The feet did the same. If he were to submerge in water, even the shallows, letting the candy blue, frothy liquid rush into his pores, he’d no longer have two legs.
Beside me, was a merman.
The shift occurred in mere seconds and was caused by just a misty tendril of air: a light hello from the aquatic deep.
And once the invisible greeting dissipated, the plain ol’ beach bum returns.
I may not share the exact slimy experience, but I understand it and have my own furry reactions.
My wolf and her endless paths through the forest, was Lucas and his sea.
“I have to fart.”
And then of course he opens his mouth and ruins the moment.
“You said we're not telling Piper...” Lucas blew a ragged breath. Head against the chair, I roll it in his direction.
“Yeah. I think it’s pointless to do so when there’s no evidence.” Yet. If this situation slips, Piper’s reaction would be just like mine if the tables were turned—baffled and disappointed.
Jealousy not even in the orbit.
No, us three are a solid unit—falling into bed with the only guy within it (who we look at as a brother) will tremble the unit’s foundation. It’s just a no-no, plain and simple. Our threesome friendship does not, nor has it ever, involved doing the dance with no pants, despite calling it a... threesome.
A shudder throttles my spine.
“Agreed. We’ll deal with the truth.” He rakes fingers through his blonde hair. “When it’s revealed, whichever way it goes, I’ll leave it to you. I trust you.” He tries to smile.
“Okay.” I swallow a lump of groans and avoid the earnest gaze he burns my way.
The truth—I have no clue what to do after we regain our memory. The churning gut feeling wrecking madness throughout my system is the same that occurred when that rare occasion Mama only baked two pans of her delicious breaded mac and cheese instead of six for family dinner.
Fracking frustrating.
Madness.
Locked away is another face, besides Piper’s, I’d still like to avoid for the time being, until this situation is handled.
Belonging to a particular artsy vampire...
“Hey, you know that guy?” Lucas nods to a tall, lean young man—skin of sparkly grey scales, in a shirt and shorts, sporting an orange Mohawk. He bounds closer then skids to a halt in front of us.
Lucas and I look up at him, waiting. The man smiles, crinkling fish eyes and showing off rows of small razor teeth.
Piranha shifter.
“Yo!” He beams, so overjoyed. About what—I glance at Lucas who shrugs—is unknown.
“Yo,” I say back and that just makes him hop in place, bursting with energy.
“Like, y’all are the shit. Superman and Wonder Woman. Bonnie and Clyde, the kickass couple of the century. The epic duo of Gotham city—”
“Sorry, who are you?” I interrupt. Piranha Boy blanches before recovering quickly.
“E-Eric. Eric Nadando.” He pauses for a reply but doesn’t get one from either of us. “I set up the game, remember?”
“Okay.” Lucas takes pity, feigning recognition. “Sure.” Apparently, that was enough to lift Eric’s spirits.
“Yeah! Like, I’m so stoked to see you guys again.”
Game? See us again?
“It’s good to see you too,” I say, earning a puzzled frown from Lucas. Hey, I’m stuck on the confused boat too, bud.
“I was rooting for you the whole time. And man, you had that perfect hand—the royal against his punkass pairs—knocked him off his little green boots.” Eric leans in, suddenly in hushed tones. “But don’t tell... you know who, I said that. Shit, I don’t want that little bastard on my ass, pointing those stubby three fingers at me.” Eric shudders then becomes worried. “Honestly, he’ll be on yours soon. You guys played killer and he’s definitely a sore loser.”
This.
Is.
Not.
Good.
“I guess that’s a risk we took,” I say, shrugging, and still playing along although I was losing my damn mind at a very fast pace.
“And you’re badass for it.” Eric nods, looking impressed. “Sammy is no joke. Well, I guess I’ll leave you two. You’ve got some spending to do of his nice pot of gold y’all won. See ya!” Eric jogged off.
I bolt out of my chair and round on Lucas.
“What the fuck?!”
“Did he just Sammy?” He turns pale. “As in Sammy Three Fingers? We played a game with Sammy Three Fingers the mobster last night?”
“Calm down! He only said Sammy. He didn’t specifically say three fingers the mobster.” I begin to pace, kicking up sand.
You’re more naive than before if you’d assume this was a different Sammy.
Lucas voiced my growing, grim thoughts.
“What other Sammy likes to play games involving royals and pairs and wears little green boots and has three stubby fingers?!”
“Well, you know it’s just three on one hand.” I laugh like a lunatic, mind finally going to mush, till Lucas stands and shakes me hard.
“Kokoa! Get your shit together! Sammy is coming for us! We left the cabin after downing that Viper mess and played poker with... with—”
“A leprechaun.” I rub my face hard.
“What’s even crazier—I don’t even know how to play poker!” Lucas exclaims, throwing his hands up.
“All right, ALL RIGHT! Chill! Let’s figure out what to do next.” Useless words. Unless I actually call on that goblin everyone knows about, who smuggles in Big Macs on the island to get us discreetly transported to Thailand. Actually, that doesn’t sound too bad—no, no, we can’t. Then I perk. Eric could be lying. Yeah, we don't know who the hell he is. He could be pranking people all up and down the beach, saying ridiculous things just to scare them. And maybe we’re the smart ones to not fall for it by pretending to go along with his lies.
Yeah!
Yeah...
But then again that theory would only work if we actually knew it was false. That we actually knew what happened last night.
Sighing, I drop on the chair, and think all that I’ve heard about the infamous leprechaun. Gods, did we really come face to face—er, rather—his face to our calves with him? Wow, the first time I actually do, I don’t even remember. Anyone who’s walked away from Sammy without a scratch is granted signing rights to the heavens. You’d think.
Notorious for being petty and having sticky fingers that aren’t missing, Sammy is known on the island to have created a murky reputation by playing dirty, smoothly cheating, avoiding the cops like a true cunning criminal, and swindling countless sums from naive people who thought they had the balls to defeat him. Why should anyone even try? He’s bad news. Period. Yet, somehow, we found Eric who took us directly to the little man.
We played poker with him.
Out of sheer dumb luck, we won—oh, the irony, a leprechaun in this case wasn’t so lucky. As well as the time, I’d heard, he had a horrible accident with a meat grinder, resulting to a missing ring finger and middle finger on his right hand. He’s forever to look like he’s holding up a rocker gesture.
In the end, Lucas and I had walked out with, if Eric is correct, a winning in the form of a pot of gold.
Sammy’s gold.
It dawns on Lucas too as his face turns a sickly green.
“Kokoa? I don’t remember seeing a ton of gold coins this morning.”
“Me neither.” I gulp which is hard to do since my mouth had gone completely dry and I had no spit left to swallow.
Thailand isn’t looking so bad after all.