you cannot drown my salt-choked soul
i'll float amid this blackened sea
the deepest dark against my back
above me: fire endlessly
The sound is familiar to me. The reverse of slipping, of falling. The sound of a body emerging from water, slick and supple, nearly inaudible, unless one has a practiced ear. It is the exact sound my body makes, now, when I leave the waves. I turn to look and am surprised when I recognize her; but once the surprise is there, it flits away.No. As it turns out, I am not surprised at all. The irony of her appearance seems fated. Is this not the exact setting of our first encounter, so many months ago? I had been a different man, then. I”m offended you didn’t ask me to turn you she says, somewhat coldly. She does not miss a beat.
I say nothing at first. I regard her. One predator, to another.
“I didn’t want to be changed,” I say. The difference is that my voice is clipped and bitterly cold. I find, in that moment, that her smile is detestable. That she finds humor in this situation. I regard her silently when she asks who is responsible. I do not know why it is of any concern; but perhaps this is my first lesson, in this world of water horses. I remember Sereia when she returned to me and laid teeth against my throat a second time. You are mine, she had said.
“Sereia,” I answer, at last. “In a starved frenzy.”
I turn my head then to expose the necklace of scars I wear at my throat. There is no finesse, no artistry, to them. The mark is not intentional. It is the mark of a lion at the throat of a bull; killing.
My eyes are gem-bright, sea-bright, when they lock on hers again. “Are you jealous, Lucinda?” For a moment, brief and flitting, there is an edge of humor to my voice. There is no telling how long it will last.
