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“We have salt in our blood, our sweat, our tears. We are tied to the ocean.” — John F. Kennedy
“The sea does not like to be restrained.” — Rick Riordan, The Lightning Thief
Zhenya’s mother was displeased when he and Denis left the motherland, but she hated that they settled near the ocean even more.
Natalia had tried to raise her boys with a healthy fear of the sea — or, more specifically, everything that dwelt within it, from sharks to jellyfish to things much more fantastic. She told them stories of merpeople with rows of sharp teeth, monstrous sea serpents large enough to swallow a man whole, sirens who would delight in dashing them against rocks when they were grown.
The lesson didn’t stick. While Zhenya didn’t relish the thought of coming face-to-face with a great white shark or a man o’war, he thought either scenario was unlikely, and that everything else was just a bunch of old wives’ tales. Perhaps some of the seals that popped their doglike faces out of the North Atlantic waters around Mariner’s Cove were actually selkies, but how was Zhenya to know? It didn’t change the fact that he had to get up and go to work.
So he didn’t give it much thought, and when the stranger moved into Old Lew’s cabin, the only thing that Zhenya found odd about it was that anyone would choose to live in that ramshackle building at all.
Old Lew’s cabin wasn’t visible from Zhenya’s house, which was perched halfway up the hill that overlooked the Little Cove. Well, technically, the house didn’t overlook anything, and that was the only reason that he and Denis had been able to afford it in the first place. The view of the water was obscured by the forest that spilled down the hill to the coastline, only to be stopped short by the road that followed the water, then branched off to wind its way into town.
Before he’d gotten married and moved away, Denis had worn a rough path from their porch to a place where the trees gave way to a few craggy rocks high above the Little Cove and it’s brief, curving, seaweed-strewn beach. Zhenya still walked it sometimes. He liked looking out at the water, though he always thought he’d be doing it in a much warmer part of the world.
That in and of itself made it unusual that Zhenya had decided to take his morning tea out to the overlook the first morning he saw the stranger. He usually saved that for the summer, when the sun rose too early to let him sleep in and the air held the promise of warmth. There wasn’t even a hint of it that day; autumn had arrived the week before like turning a corner, bringing mist and fog and cold air that had yet to break. The weather wasn’t unusual for October, but in Zhenya’s opinion, it was ideal for staying under the covers as long as possible before flinging himself out of bed just in time to arrive ten minutes late to the job site.
Instead, that morning, Zhenya found himself restless and stubbornly awake, so he bundled up and carried a thermos out to the overlook to sip his tea while he stared out at the choppy, gray waves. The wind was rushing in over the water, lining up the few boats moored in the Little Cove to point them straight out to sea. Zhenya grimaced, wondering if he should just turn around and go back inside. But no, he’d come this far. He’d sit for a few minutes.
It was after he’d perched on his usual rock that he caught sight of the stranger, drawing close to shore in a rowboat that certainly didn’t look fit for any kind of ocean travel, especially in the wind that was cutting through Zhenya’s outerwear and making him shiver. He watched curiously as the stranger climbed out near Old Lew’s cabin, then dragged the boat far enough up the beach that it wouldn’t get lost to high tide. Zhenya couldn’t see the man well from such a distance, got only a vague impression of dark hair and baggy fisherman’s gear before he disappeared inside the sagging shack.
Huh, Zhenya thought to himself.
He wouldn’t have thought the cabin was still habitable. Maybe it wasn’t. Either way, this had to be Old Lew’s grandson. After Old Lew’s death — years ago now — the Mariner’s Cove rumor mill had churned up the fact that his cabin had been bequeathed to an estranged grandson who had never even seen the town. And in the intervening years, the town hadn’t seen him either. Zhenya had thought it was for the best; the cabin was in such a poor state of repair that it was probably easiest to let it crumble into the sea.
He let the wind chap his face while he finished his tea, then walked back to his house and left for work. By the time his day was done, he’d all but forgotten about the strange man and his boat.
*
Zhenya had all but forgotten about the whole thing by the end of the week. It rained for the next few days, which meant that he didn’t even consider taking his morning tea out to the point. The stranger might have slipped his mind completely, except that he drove past Old Lew’s on the way to the job site where the crew from Dubas Construction was currently working, building a garage onto a house for someone who’d moved in from out of town.
He peeked at the cabin every time he skidded along the narrow road that twisted past the Little Cove, but he didn’t see any further signs of life. The boat was still resting alongside one weatherworn wall, and Zhenya didn’t think it had moved. Its presence was the only reason he was pretty sure he hadn’t imagined the whole thing.
And then, he had something else to distract him.
That weekend, Zhenya’s barren shelves and empty refrigerator finally drove him to the town’s tiny grocery store. He was weaving through the aisles when he rounded a corner and almost pushed his rattling cart directly into —
“Sid!” Zhenya exclaimed.
It made Sid jump, but as soon as he registered who had nearly bowled him over, his face split into a grin that was big enough to be lopsided. “Oh, G, hey! Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Me?” Zhenya scoffed. “I’m not expect to see you. Didn’t know you’re back so soon.” Sid spent every spring, summer, and early fall working for a commercial fishing operation that launched from one of the bigger cities farther down the coast. He didn’t usually turn up until sometime in November.
“Just got in yesterday,” Sid said.
“It’s early, yeah?”
Sid shrugged. “I guess they didn’t need me anymore.”
He looked good. It was no surprise — he always looked especially good when he first got back to town. Zhenya wasn’t sure if it was just because he tended to forget the exact details of Sid’s appearance in the long months of his absence, or if it was something more nebulous. It always seemed like there was something clinging to Sid when he returned, a magnetic energy around him that called to mind the way spray from the ocean hung glittering in the air when the waves crashed against the rocks.
Or maybe Zhenya just needed to get laid. Many lonely months had passed since Lena left town.
Zhenya refocused. “And you don’t call? Stop by?” he said, but it was a joke. He and Sid had known each other for years, of course — everyone in Mariner’s Cove knew each other — but they weren’t close friends. Certainly not close enough to warrant a first-night-home visit.
“Sorry, bud, family comes first,” Sid fired back cheerfully, before peering down into Zhenya’s cart, his eyes trailing over the cans of soup, the freezer meals, the macaroni and cheese. “So, uh — getting ready to do some gourmet cooking?”
Zhenya refused to be embarrassed about any of it. “Like you do better.”
“I’m getting better,” Sid protested. “You should come by sometime. My dad is showing me the way around a grill. You could learn too.”
“Maybe,” Zhenya replied, noncommittal. Troy Crosby owned the hardware store and seemed to work in it all the hours it was open and half of the ones left over. He was always kind when Zhenya stopped in, but the idea of trying to make small talk with him for hours on end sounded like more work than fun.
Sid looked at Zhenya shrewdly, but he didn’t seem upset. “Okay. Well, do you at least get out to The Dock for a good meal every now and then?”
Zhenya wasn’t sure that any of the food on offer at the Dockside Bar would qualify as a good meal, or at least one that would boast more nutritional value than anything in his cart, but he didn’t argue the point. “Sometimes,” he replied instead, twitching one shoulder upward.
“Maybe I’ll catch you there sometime,” Sid offered.
“Sure,” Zhenya said, because that was how they hung out: bumping into each other at the bar, at town events and community softball games and clambakes and church picnics. They’d laugh and have a good time — trampling all over the line between joking and flirtatious — and that would be it. Zhenya had long since stopped wishing or hoping that it might progress to anything more. “We catch up.”
“For sure. See you, G.” Sid flashed him one last smile, grabbed a jar of mustard off the shelf, and turned to leave.
Zhenya forced his eyes to the condiments, determined not to stare after him, which felt especially important because one of the gossipy group of middle-aged women that seemed to haunt every corner of Mariner’s Cove was standing at the opposite end of the aisle, comparing salad dressing labels.
He was so intently focused on looking focused that it startled him when Sid suddenly reappeared at his side. “What about Thursday?” Sid asked.
Zhenya jumped, reflexively dropping the mayonnaise he’d picked up into his cart. “What?”
“For dinner,” Sid said. He looked hopeful. “At The Dock. Thursday?”
“Okay?” Zhenya replied, tentative and confused. Then, when he caught up to what might be happening, he answered more decisively: “Yes. I come after work. So like, maybe six?”
Sid’s face went even brighter. “Good. I’ll see you then.”
That time, Zhenya watched him go.
*
When Zhenya took his thermos of tea to the point on Monday morning, two things caught his eye.
The first was the fog hanging like a curtain over the ocean and cutting off Zhenya’s view of it just as effectively. It was already curling around the spits of land that defined the Little Cove, making the trees that stood there gauzy and insubstantial. Zhenya groaned; he hated being socked in, and his house almost certainly would be unless the fog stayed completely out at sea. It was a depressing turn of events after last week’s rain had given way to sharp, aggressive sunshine over the weekend.
But the other thing was far more interesting: the mystery oarsman was back and once again pulling for shore. He rowed with swift efficiency, each stroke carrying him farther than seemed possible.
It was a good choice for him to come in, Zhenya thought as he watched. The fog was creeping ever closer, chasing the rowboat back to land. In fact…
Zhenya squinted. The air around the rowboat was clear. It looked like it was gliding toward the beach in its own bubble of protection, shielding the stranger from the elements.
Maybe it was just an optical illusion. Surely the boater would follow the clearest route back to shore, wouldn’t he? It was just a lucky coincidence that the clearest route led directly to the beach beside the cabin.
But he was in a rowboat. Which meant, naturally, that he was facing backwards.
Zhenya’s scalp prickled.
As though he was reading Zhenya’s thoughts, the stranger twisted to peer over his shoulder at the shore. It turned his face in Zhenya’s direction, and although Zhenya couldn’t be sure whether the stranger’s eyes were turned up to the rocky outcropping where he sat, a surge of adrenaline propelled him to his feet.
He turned quickly to go, stumbling back down the path to his house, barely managing to swat away the branches before they raked across his face in his distraction. It was for the best, he decided. The fog meant that it would take longer to get out to the worksite, so he’d have to leave soon anyway.
He wasn’t running away. The fog was playing tricks on his eyes, and his mother had told him too many stories when he was a boy. There was nothing strange in the water. Or on it.
*
When Zhenya arrived at The Dock on Thursday evening, Sid was already there.
As it turned out, Zhenya’s heated internal debate about whether this dinner was intended to be friendly or something more had served as a more-than-adequate distraction from whatever he’d seen on that foggy morning. The fact that Sid had chosen The Dock was a mark firmly in the friendly column. Zhenya could count the number of restaurants in Mariner’s Cove on one hand, and he didn’t include The Dock among them since it was more focused on being a bar. It wasn’t a place that Zhenya would have chosen for something more, but on the other hand, they weren’t exactly spoiled for choice.
The interior of The Dock was dark-paneled and covered in old nautical gear. Mismatched seat-yourself tables were scattered across the floor, and the doors at the back opened to a wooden deck overlooking the tiny Mariner’s Cove Marina, which was little more than a long dock. Sid was leaning on the behemoth of a bar, a beer in one hand as he chatted with a handful of other guys: townies, people Sid would have known for his entire life. Sid’s face brightened when he caught sight of Zhenya, and he waved Zhenya over enthusiastically.
Zhenya’s stomach dropped. Of all the possible outcomes he’d considered, a group outing hadn’t even appeared on his radar. He was glad he hadn’t dressed up beyond swapping out his usual sweatshirt for a thick cable-knit sweater. If he hadn’t already been spotted, he might have made a break for it.
Everyone greeted him cheerfully enough. Zhenya recognized most of them, knew the names of a few: Jake and Ricky and Bryan. None were more friendly than Sid, who grinned up at him with a warm, direct, “Hey G.”
One of the other guys coughed. Zhenya forced a tight smile onto his face. “Hi, Sid. Hi, hi,” he continued, nodding at the others. “It’s group dinner?”
It was Rusty who answered, not Sid. “Nah,” he said. “Sid’s just killing time until you got here. We know where we rank.”
Sid looked a little pink in the dim bar lights. “That’s because you’re shitty company,” he fired back before turning to face Zhenya again. “What do you want to eat? You want a beer? I’ll put in an order.”
“Lobster roll,” Zhenya replied. “Beer, yes.”
Meanwhile, the other guys didn’t seem very bothered by Sid’s dismissal. “I’ve gotta get going anyway,” Jake said. “I’m sure Nat has got some wedding decisions she wants to talk about. Good to see you, Geno.”
Zhenya nodded and stood awkwardly by while the group broke up around him and Sid flagged down the bartender to place their order. “You want to eat outside?” he asked when he was done, handing Zhenya a bottle.
“It’s cold.” Zhenya frowned. “It’s dark.”
“It’s not dark yet,” Sid protested, “and they have lights out there.”
He looked so hopeful that Zhenya gave up arguing with a sigh. There was no way that he was going to win anyway. He’d learned long ago that when Sid decided to dig in his heels about something, he had a will of iron. “Yes, fine, but it’s your fault when I get frostbite.”
Sid met this with an impressive eyeroll, already heading for the door to the outside seating. “It’s not that cold.”
“Tell me again when I lose all toes,” Zhenya retorted. “Then I can’t work, just sit in my house. Kids in town are afraid. Don’t go into woods,” he said, adopting theatrical tones. “Zhenya No-Toes is there.”
Sid was gracious enough to laugh as they settled into a table near the railing. There was a light breeze coming in off the water, and it was cold. Zhenya glared at Sid as he tucked his hands into his sleeves. Sid didn’t miss it.
“Oh, come on. It’s, like, fourteen or fifteen degrees, at worst. It was warm today.”
He wasn’t wrong, but Zhenya wasn’t about to admit it. “Brrrr,” he said with a mock shiver.
Sid just smirked and looked out toward the ocean, flat and dark, a mirror of the encroaching dusk. He pointed into the middle distance after a few seconds. “Check it out, a seal.”
Zhenya couldn’t see much of anything. He thought he could pick out the dark shape that had caught Sid’s attention, or maybe it was a rock, or maybe it was just a shadow among a multitude of other shadows. “Sure,” he replied.
“Don’t you see it?” Sid asked, swiveling his gaze back to Zhenya.
“I see,” Zhenya grumbled, and Sid laughed again. Zhenya didn’t see why it mattered anyway. It was nothing unusual to see seals’ heads pop out of the water in the channel that ran along one side of the marina. They were cute.
Sid leaned forward onto his elbows, still watching Zhenya’s face. “So, what’s new with you?”
Zhenya couldn’t help but snort. “It’s same as always. Work, sleep, eat. Work more. Fish sometimes.”
There was a slight tightening around Sid’s eyes when he said it, there and gone before Zhenya really registered that it had happened. But Sid’s expression was clear and his voice was light when he asked, “You launch into the Little Cove?”
“Marina usually,” Zhenya replied. His boat was nothing much, but he was almost always operating solo, so it was easier to use the launch at the marina than the rutted-out spit of land that passed for one at the edge of the cove.
“Good,” Sid said, a firm sort of declaration. He picked at the label on his beer bottle. “You still seeing Lena?”
Zhenya’s eyebrows quirked. He was surprised that Sid even remembered. “No. She’s gone for months now. Move away.”
“Oh.” Sid’s eyes flickered back up. “I’m sorry, man. That sucks.”
Zhenya shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s long time ago.”
They lapsed into silence, and it went on for long enough that Zhenya started to wonder whether this had been a terrible idea after all. It was one thing to run into a person in town and bullshit for a while, but something else entirely to shoehorn themselves in to a situation where they were forced to make conversation with no plausible means of escape.
Just as Zhenya was considering throwing himself over the railing, Sid smiled across the table and asked, “How’s Denis doing?”
It was just the right topic. Denis and his wife were expecting their first child, and Zhenya was happy to recount the drama surrounding potential names for the baby. Their mother was lobbying hard for a traditional Russian name, and Denis’s wife — a sweet American girl — was fully on board. Unexpectedly, Denis preferred something that would help his child fit in better in the United States.
Sid laughed appreciatively at all the right parts of the story. “And what do you think?”
“Evgeni for boy,” Zhenya said, decisive. “Or Evgeniya for girl.”
“Oh, I’m sure Denis will go along with that,” Sid chuckled.
“Maybe not,” Zhenya allowed. He shrugged. “But sometimes Denis isn’t so smart.”
Sid snorted, but his expression softened as he tilted his head to one side. “It sounds like you’re excited to be an uncle.”
Zhenya twirled his beer bottle slowly against the tabletop, unable to help smiling at the thought. A tiny baby to hold. A little boy or girl to take fishing. Not his own, but almost. The very next best thing. “Yeah, very excited.”
“Good,” Sid said. When he locked eyes with Zhenya, his face was practically glowing under the string of bare bulbs swaying overhead. It was almost unfair; he didn’t need the extra help to look handsome.
The moment snapped when Sid pushed his chair back, the legs scraping over the wood planks. “I’m going to go check on our food,” he announced, and when he passed by Zhenya on his way back to the door, he dropped one hand onto Zhenya’s shoulder and squeezed.
Zhenya stared unseeingly out at the ocean while he was gone, heart tapping out strange, insistent patterns against his ribcage. Whatever seed or spark existed between the two of them had never really had opportunity to bloom. Zhenya had been dating someone, or Sid had, or there was the winter when Sid’s dad went through cancer or last year, when Sid barely came home at all due to some mysterious family obligations involving his mother and his sister.
But maybe none of that was standing between them now. There was certainly nothing to hold Zhenya back, and flower or fire, romance or sex, he was willing to find out where the path led.
Sid returned with their food, sliding a paper tray with a lobster roll and French fries under Zhenya’s nose before sitting down and tucking into his own — “Burger?” Zhenya asked, unimpressed. “It’s seafood place, Sid.”
“Technically, it’s a bar,” Sid said, swallowing his first bite before sucking a smear of ketchup off his thumb. Zhenya looked away. “Plus, I just ate fish, like, all summer. I need a break.”
“How’s work?” Zhenya asked. He stuffed a few fries into his mouth.
Across the table, Sid groaned. “You don’t want to hear about that. It’s the same old, same old.”
“Nothing exciting all summer?” Zhenya pressed him. “No big storm? No whales?”
Sid shrugged those questions away. “Sure, both. Same as every summer. It’s getting old. Maybe it’s time to do something different. I’ve been thinking I might stick around here for a while.”
Zhenya’s eyebrows ticked up. “Yeah?”
Sid shot him a grin. “Yeah.”
That was promising. Zhenya popped a French fry into his mouth before he could look too pleased. “Someone else is new here, at Old Lew’s. You hear about it?”
“I think I heard something about that, yeah,” Sid replied. He busied himself with shoving the toppings that were spilling out of his burger back into place and didn’t offer any more information.
“You know who it is?” Zhenya continued, because somehow, Sid always knew everything about everyone. “It’s maybe Old Lew’s grandkid?”
“Could be,” Sid said, noncommittal.
Zhenya allowed the topic to drop with a dissatisfied hmmph, but he didn’t want to spoil the tone of the entire evening, so he asked, “How’s your mom and Taylor?”
“Oh, good.” Sid brightened as he said it, but then his enthusiasm dimmed. “Taylor thinks she’s in love,” he added with a rueful chuckle.
“No,” Zhenya gasped in scandalized fashion. “She’s too young!”
Taylor lived with her mother to attend school, and although Zhenya had seen a few pictures, he’d never met her. He knew that she was almost a decade younger than Sid, and while Zhenya had considered himself to be in love more than once at a far earlier age, Sid was so protective of her that it was hard not to adopt a similar attitude.
“Tell me about it,” Sid muttered, before stuffing another bite of hamburger in his mouth.
“Is he good enough for her?” Zhenya demanded. He paused. “Or she?”
Sid swallowed. “He. And never. I don’t think it’s gonna last though.”
“You hope,” Zhenya said with a laugh.
“Oh, I hope,” Sid echoed darkly.
Zhenya just laughed harder. “We don’t choose who we like, Sid.”
Sid let out a long-suffering sigh, but then his mood seemed to shift and he caught Zhenya’s gaze, his eyes intense and speckled with reflections from the strings of lights. “No, you know what? You’re right. We like who we like, eh?”
“Right,” Zhenya repeated, his heart picking up pace again.
*
The next morning, Rusty’s boat sank in the marina.
Zhenya heard about it as soon as he showed up at the job site. The rest of the crew was abuzz with the incident, which was the most exciting thing that had happened in Mariner’s Cove for years. Speculation ran rampant: it was rare for lobster boats to sink, so the prevailing theory was foul play.
“I bet it’s like that dude from a few years ago,” one of the guys said. He was young — fresh-faced and barely out of school — and newer to the team, and Zhenya had no idea what his name was. “You know, the one where someone sank his boat three times in two months?”
“Bullshit,” Chad answered. “That was because he was setting his traps in someone else’s territory. Rusty would never do that shit. That’s been his family’s territory forever.”
The new guy wasn’t deterred. “Maybe his traps were drying up, who knows.”
“Rusty wouldn’t do that shit,” Chad repeated firmly.
“Well, he must have done something.”
Tristan, who’d been unloading something from the back of his truck, ambled over. “You guys talking about Rusty? I was down at the docks this morning and saw it.” He brandished his phone, showing off a picture of a lobster boat mostly submerged, just its nose poking out above the water. “They’re gonna try and raise it tomorrow.”
Zhenya frowned at the image, feeling his stomach twist. Rusty had a wife and a baby, and now two-thirds of a boat underwater. The expenses to make it seaworthy again would be enormous, or at least Zhenya could only imagine they would be.
“You hear what happened?” the new guy asked, peering at the screen.
“Someone said something about hoses being cut but —” Tristan shrugged “— I don’t know.”
Chad gave the picture a brief, unimpressed glance. “Let’s get to work, yeah? We’re behind schedule as it is.”
*
Zhenya happened to have a scheduled day off on Saturday, and he let his curiosity carry him to the marina. Although the effort to raise Rusty’s boat was well underway by the time he arrived, the sight that greeted him was the same as in Tristan’s picture, with the addition of half the town gathered around to either watch or help.
It wasn’t surprising to see Sid there, but picking his sturdy form out of the crowd still gave Zhenya a jolt. Their dinner had ended without any overt acknowledgment that it had been a date and without specific plans to meet up again, but Zhenya didn’t think that he was misreading the situation.
In fact, there had been a moment outside The Dock as they were parting ways — Zhenya to return to his car and Sid to walk back to the apartment above the hardware store — when Zhenya was sure that Sid was going to lean up and kiss him, right there under the sputtering light mounted above the street. This was fun, he’d said, staring straight at Zhenya’s mouth. We should do it again sometime.
Then the door to The Dock had opened, and two tipsy middle-aged couples had spilled out onto the sidewalk, and Sid had taken a quick half-step backwards. And no matter how many times Zhenya glared at them silently willing them to move on for the sake of his own privacy, they’d just continued loudly and cheerfully arguing about whether to stop in at the rival bar across the street or just go home. Zhenya would have been happy with either, because it meant they would leave, but after a few moments, Sid shuffled farther away and gave him an awkward wave and an I’ll call you.
Upon reflection, Zhenya should have offered to walk him home, dragged him around a corner, done anything other than turn to walk away. He hoped he’d have another opportunity.
In the meantime, he picked his way along the outskirts of the assembled crowd until he was standing directly behind Sid, then leaned forward and spoke into his ear. “You not help?”
Sid startled and glanced over his shoulder. His face went bright when his eyes landed on Zhenya, and he smiled. “Oh, hey G. The divers are getting everything set up now, so there’s not much for me to do.”
“Then nothing for me either, I guess.”
Sid snorted. He turned to face Zhenya more fully, all but ignoring the activity at the dock. “What do you know about raising a boat?”
“Not much,” Zhenya admitted. “But I’m big strong guy.”
He grinned and puffed out his chest, and gratifyingly, Sid’s eyes flickered down to track the movement. “Yeah well, if you really wanted to help, you could have gotten your big strong ass down here hours ago,” Sid said.
Zhenya was so distracted enough that he didn’t even enter into any witty repartee about his ass. “Hours?” he asked. “Hours and it’s still —” he gestured to the boat “— like that?”
“Yeah, the first try failed,” Sid explained. He scowled briefly, a shadow sweeping over his face. “There was something wrong with the balloons. They had to get new ones and start over.”
Balloons, Zhenya thought. He pictured a child’s birthday party, but he was sure whatever they were using for the boat would be much bigger. He really didn’t know jack shit about how any of this was done, but there was no reason to let Sid know that. “Sucks,” he finally said. “Rusty doing okay?”
Sid’s expression darkened further. “He’s — stressed out. None of this is going to be cheap.”
Zhenya frowned sympathetically. “Really sucks.”
“Yeah. Maybe the town can do some kind of fundraiser or something. I’m sure people would kick in. It’s too bad Fall Fest is only a few days away,” he said, referring to the festival the town held each fall to try and catch the last of the leaf-peepers. “Someone could have set up a booth to sell stuff and raise money.”
“It’s still good idea,” Zhenya said, because it was. “Maybe something at The Dock? Like… cookoff or raffle or something. Everyone likes Rusty. They all come.”
Sid beamed at him, the strength of it intensifying through Zhenya’s little speech. “I think you just signed up to help organize it.”
Zhenya rolled his eyes. “Maybe,” he groused, but it was for show. Of course he would help, and especially if Sid asked.
Apparently, Sid was going to do that and then some. “Yeah?” he said. “I’m sure I can think of some way to make it worth your while.”
Zhenya’s eyebrows made a break for his hairline. There couldn’t be any possible way he was misreading things.
He was robbed of his opportunity to come up with something equally devastating — or, more accurately, spared from having to try to drag words out of the surprised blank space between his ears — by increased commotion levels on the dock behind Sid. They both turned to watch as the second effort to raise the boat started, and after a moment, Sid glanced down at his watch. “Oh, shit, I didn’t realize it was getting so late. My dad’s gonna need me at the store,” he said regretfully. “There’s a bunch of stock to unload.”
“Okay,” Zhenya replied, wishing he had some elegant way to steer the conversation back to where they’d been before. There was no good way of saying, ask me again about planning a fundraiser. We can fuck about it as much as you want. We can do it right here on the dock, splinters be damned. Everyone is looking at the boat anyway. “Um, about —” he started, but Sid cut him off.
“Hey, speaking of the Fall Fest, are you going?”
Zhenya blinked, thrown off. “Sure, I guess. Nothing else to do.”
Sid rolled his eyes, but he was well used to Zhenya slandering the town. “You want to head down together?” he asked, already backing away toward the parking lot. “Maybe in the afternoon, so there’s time to look around and get something to eat before the band starts?”
“I — sure,” Zhenya said dumbly. Whatever was going on, Sid was apparently in the driver’s seat and Zhenya was just fumbling along behind. “Yeah, good.”
“Great!” Sid called, grinning like he was just that genuinely pleased. “Meet you by the entrance to the park? At three?”
“Okay,” Zhenya called back, and Sid waved before turning and setting off toward his truck.
Zhenya pirouetted slowly back toward the docks, barely winning the fight to keep a shit-eating grin off his face. It was really happening this time, wasn’t it? It was really going to happen. Maybe he could write off the dinner invite or planning to go to the festival together or some pretty blatant innuendo, but not all three in rapid succession.
The mental fist he’d pumped into the air was yanked unceremoniously back down when his gaze skipped past, then back to the tall figure standing near the top of the boat launch. It was someone that Zhenya didn’t know, which was odd enough in a town as small as Mariner’s Cove, but even stranger was the way the young man was glaring at Sid’s back as he walked away.
But even if Zhenya didn’t know the man’s name, he did recognize him: the dark hair and drab fisherman’s garb were both familiar. It was the same person that Zhenya had seen around Old Lew’s, only now he was close enough for Zhenya to get a better look. He was younger than Zhenya would have expected, and much taller, maybe even taller than Zhenya himself. And Zhenya would have never expected the vitriol in the man’s eyes.
While Zhenya continued to watch, the man shifted his focus back to the dock, where the second effort to raise Rusty’s boat was proving more successful. Much of the anger bled out of his face, but there was still something about his expression that made Zhenya uneasy. There was a kind of cool satisfaction to it that Zhenya didn’t like.
Then, without warning, the young man turned to meet Zhenya’s gaze.
Zhenya flinched, gave a half wave, and turned back to the dock. He imagined that he could feel the weight of the man’s stare prickling its way up his spine, but when he turned back around, his new neighbor was nowhere to be found.
*
A few days later, the new guy on the crew had fresh mischief to report: Jake’s fiancée had received an antique silver tea set from her grandmother as an early wedding present. It was very valuable and now — apparently — very stolen.
“Right from her kitchen,” he reported with off-putting glee. “They didn’t even take anything else. And so soon after the thing with the boat? I wonder if it’s the same person.”
Chad shook his head. “Nah. Those are totally different things.”
Zhenya continued prepping his tools for the day and said nothing.
*
Too many strange things had happened, and Zhenya could no longer write it all off as coincidence. He also couldn’t stand idly by if there was any danger to himself — or worse, to Sid.
There were a million other more important questions that he’d rather consider: When would he see Sid next? How would they have sex? What was the most creative scenario he could imagine in which they would have sex?
He would have loved nothing more than to lose himself to such pondering, but instead, his head was clogged with worry. Still, he didn’t know what he was dealing with. There was one surefire way to find out, and Zhenya really, really didn’t want to go down that path.
But he would. For Sid.
“Mama,” Zhenya said, trying to keep his tone breezy. “I have a question. It’s about something that lives in the ocean.”
He could practically feel her anxiety skyrocket, even from another continent. “What is it, Zhenya?” she asked, worry giving a hard edge to her voice. “Did you see something? Are you in danger?”
“No,” Zhenya replied, quick and firm, even though he wasn’t sure himself. “There’s no danger. Some of the guys were telling stories, you know, stuff they heard from their grandparents. Bullshit mostly —”
“Language,” his mother interjected mildly, but it was a half-joke more than it was anything else.
“— but one of them was about something none of us had ever heard of. I told them that I knew exactly who could figure it out. The story goes that a man moved to the town, but he was very mysterious and kept to himself. He caused a lot of trouble, like sinking the fishermen’s boats and stealing things. There were rumors that he could control the weather. Do you have any ideas what he could be?”
Zhenya’s mother gave a thoughtful hum. “Let me get my books.”
There was a clatter on the other end of the line, and then distant shuffling sounds. “Mama?” Zhenya tried, and it was met with silence. He sighed.
It took longer than Zhenya would have preferred, long enough that he considered hanging up and letting her figure out that she would need to call him back. He was just about to give up when she returned. “I found it,” she announced. “I think the creature is one of the finfolk.”
“Fin… folk?” Zhenya asked haltingly. She had spoken the word in English.
“They’re originally from Scotland,” she continued. “So they would be very comfortable in the waters around Mariner’s Cove.”
Her voice was pointed, and Zhenya allowed only a noncommittal grunt in response.
When he said nothing more, his mama kept going. “They are amphibious shapeshifters and sorcerers, renowned for their boating skills. It is said that the finfolk can cross the sea without sails.”
Zhenya felt an icy thumb drag itself down his spine. He remembered all too well the way the stranger’s boat had glided through the water, farther and faster and smoother than his rowing would suggest was possible.
His mother was still speaking, and he forced himself to concentrate on her words again. “The finfolk are known to hoard silver, because they prize it above all other treasures,” she read, and Zhenya heard her turn a page. “They are able to disguise themselves as animals, plants, or even floating clothes. Often malevolent and vengeful, they are known to defend their territory by sinking trespassers’ boats. This is done cunningly, by boring small holes in places unlikely to be seen.”
Zhenya found that he had stopped breathing and forced himself to take a lungful of air.
“Does this match the story you heard, Zhenya?” his mother interrupted, sweet and suspicious all at once.
Too well, Zhenya thought, but he just cleared his throat and said, “Yes, it all fits.”
She turned another page, the sound rustling down the line. “Finfolk prefer human mates. Marriage to a human is desired even over other finfolk. Instead of courting a human, finfolk will simply abduct them. Fin wives and fin husbands are then forced into a life of servitude. Sexual relations with a human are said to provide energy and vitality for the finfolk, while they take it from their human mate. Sexual congress with a fin man or fin woman is said to have a hypnotic effect. Fin men have brooding faces and sad, dark eyes, while fin maidens are born with fishtails like mermaids, which split into legs when they reach maturity. If a fin maiden does not take a human husband, she will become a hideous fin hag.”
Zhenya waited, but she said nothing more.
“Is that — is that it?” he finally asked.
“That’s all there is,” his mother replied. “Does it answer your questions, Zhenya?”
“Yes,” Zhenya said darkly. “Yes, it does.”
*
The day of Fall Fest started inauspiciously, with sheets of rain sluicing from a steel-gray sky. Zhenya scowled at the thick clouds, furious that they would even consider ruining his plans for the evening.
However, as the morning slipped into the afternoon, the weather turned mercurial, almost as if it were at war with itself. One minute the winds chopped into the clouds to reveal narrow strips of blue, and the next, the gaps were closed and the sky threatened to open again.
By the time Zhenya left for the festival, he was fairly sure that at the very least it wouldn’t be cancelled. The afternoon was gloomy, but it wasn’t raining anymore. Zhenya couldn’t say the same for his mood, which was buoyant and crackling with nerves. Was it actually happening? He thought it to himself, again, over and over: this might actually happen. He didn’t dare try to define what this was. He knew himself well enough to know that he’d be enthusiastically on board with whatever Sid had in mind.
It had been difficult to pick clothes for a casual might-or-might-not-be-a-date on a chilly day when it might-or-might-not rain again. Ultimately, Zhenya opted for another sweater, since he didn’t have a huge wardrobe to choose from. He left his car in the marina parking lot, and he felt self-conscious as he made his way toward the park, surrounded by people in sweatshirts and slickers and plastic parkas. He almost doubled back to cover the sweater with the jacket he kept stashed in the backseat, but then he spotted Sid, and Sid wasn’t wearing his usual ballcap, so he knew he’d made the right choice.
“Hey!” Sid hailed him with a broad smile. The ends of his hair were curling around his ears. “You gonna be warm enough?”
Zhenya’s greeting died on his tongue as he looked down at himself. “I’m fine,” he said defensively. “It’s, like, layers.” He suddenly felt like a child, explaining himself to his mother.
Sid laughed. “Relax, I just want to make sure you’re comfortable. It looks good.”
“Thanks,” Zhenya replied, even more off-kilter. He was already losing track of the number of times Sid had spun him around since he’d gotten back into town. He glanced down: Sid was wearing a dark water-resistant jacket, but his jeans looked like they were for special occasions. “You too.”
Sid’s grin widened. “Yeah? Let’s go. Are you hungry?”
“Not yet,” Zhenya said as they joined the stream of people heading for the park, walking close enough that the backs of their hands brushed. The contact sparked all the way to Zhenya’s spine.
Zhenya had been to Fall Fest many times before, but it was different with Sid at his side.
In years past, he would have walked right past the kiddie games without giving them much thought. This time, he and Sid watched the games of tug-of-war and the relay races, laughing and cheering — Zhenya, naturally, made sure to choose a different team than Sid every time just to be annoying.
Zhenya attempted to goad Sid into joining the blueberry pie eating contest, and Sid resisted every effort even though he insisted that he would “make a pretty good showing, I think.” They cheered for that event too, and afterward, bought their own slice of pie that they split sitting side-by-side at one of the picnic tables scattered around the park.
“Dessert before dinner, Sid. What mama say?” Zhenya teased.
Sid’s eyes sparkled at close range. “She’d say sometimes you’ve just gotta do what you feel like doing,” he said, before showily dragging his fork out from between his lips with a satisfied hum. “It’s good, yeah?”
Zhenya nearly choked on his mouthful of pie. “Yeah, Sid, it’s good,” he managed to get out after he recovered.
Sid just laughed.
Once their plate had been scraped clean, they started wandering through the rows of vendor booths, looking at candles and pottery and local maple syrup and knitwear.
And jewelry.
The jewelry booth was the first place Zhenya noticed the stranger. He was lurking nearby, impossible to miss, standing almost a head taller than anyone else, even taller than he appeared from the boat launch. The booth he was haunting sold pieces of sea glass mounted into sterling silver rings and dangling from sterling silver chains.
Silver. Of course it was silver.
What the stranger was doing couldn’t be considered shopping, not really. He was standing unmoving at the edge of the vendor’s table, staring down at the trinkets on offer. While Zhenya watched, the jeweler approached him and asked a question. The stranger just shook his head, still scowling down at the merchandise. The jeweler stammered something and retreated, looking equal parts annoyed and unnerved. She kept a wary eye on him from the other side of the table.
Sid was pricing a selection of beef jerky from a local farmer. Zhenya nudged his shoulder. “Look,” he muttered.
“Hmmm?” Sid asked, distracted. He glanced in the direction that Zhenya indicated. “Oh yeah, nice jewelry. You want to look there next?”
“No,” Zhenya hissed. “That’s weird guy who lives at Old Lew’s.”
Sid passed his jerky selections over to the farmer and fished his wallet out of his pocket. “The tall guy? That’s Graves.”
Zhenya snapped his head back in Sid’s direction. “You know him?”
“Not well,” Sid said. He accepted his purchases and thanked the vendor. “He’s going to work in my dad’s store.”
“In his store?” Zhenya squawked.
Sid frowned at him. “Yeah?”
A line was starting to amass behind them, so Zhenya huffed and took Sid’s arm to move him away from the front of the jerky stand, purposefully steering him away from the jewelry booth. Sid shook him off as soon as they were free of the crowd. “Geno, what the fuck?” he asked. He looked equal parts amused and exasperated.
“Sid, he’s —” Zhenya started, but he couldn’t just say what he was thinking. He grimaced. “He’s weird.”
Sid stared at him. “Yeah, you said that. So what? Have you ever noticed how many weird people live here?”
He wasn’t wrong. Zhenya flapped a hand in annoyance. “I know, but he’s, like… like… really weird,” he finished, the words sounding flimsy and inadequate, even to his own ears.
“I’m still not sure what the problem is,” Sid said slowly.
Zhenya took a deep breath and looked up to the darkening sky for support. “I’m see him do things,” he finally said.
When he found Sid’s eyes again, Sid was watching him with heavy suspicion. “What kind of things?”
“Like… like his boat. When he rows, it goes, like… too fast. And I think he can move fog away.”
Sid didn’t respond to that, but his expression — confused, concerned, vaguely spooked — told Zhenya that he would have to offer a better explanation unless he wanted Sid to think he was straight-up losing his grip on reality.
Well, maybe he was.
Zhenya sighed. “My mama thinks he’s finfolk.”
There was a beat of silence, during which Sid’s face went even more horrified — and then he burst into laughter. “Geno, finfolk aren’t real. There’s no such thing.”
Zhenya’s mouth dropped open. “You know about them?”
Sid shrugged. “I know the stories. I’ve lived here my whole life, after all.”
“But Sid, I’m see things. It’s not just… make up!”
Some of the mirth left Sid’s expression, but it faded into something kind. “Sounds like it was foggy, right? You know how much that can fuck with what you’re actually seeing. Your imagination was probably just playing tricks on you.”
Zhenya knew he had a choice: he could continue to press the issue, which would likely ruin the date and make Sid think he was actually insane, or he could let it drop. His shoulders slumped. “Probably.”
Sid smiled and reached out to squeeze his bicep. “Hey, don’t worry about it. People see all kind of shit in the water. They used to think manatees were mermaids. Let’s finish up the vendors and then get something to eat, eh?”
Zhenya resolved to forget about it for the rest of the evening, and he did a respectable job. It wasn’t too hard when there were other things to focus on, like the way Sid lit up with a pleased flush when Zhenya teased him, or how close Sid was standing to him, or how Sid made him feel like the funniest person on earth by laughing at every single one of his jokes, no matter how terrible. Every nerve ending was alight under his skin. It was happening. It was going to happen.
All he had to do was ignore the glimpses of a too-tall figure that kept catching at the corners of his vision.
By the time the sky had gone fully dark, the band was warming up and Sid had dragged Zhenya to no fewer than three food booths, including one from the local bakery where he’d procured a gooey brownie with frosting in a to-go box. Then he led Zhenya back to the emptying vendor area, to the stand where one of his friends — Brian? Zhenya thought his name was Brian — had been selling bottles of his own wine.
“You save something for me?” Sid asked when they drew near.
“About time you showed up,” maybe-Brian called cheerfully, not pausing his efforts to pack up his booth. “I would have been out of here in five more minutes.”
“Guess I’ve got good timing,” Sid fired back. “Well?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Possibly-Brian rummaged around under the empty table and emerged with a bottle. He presented it to Sid with a flourish. “As promised.”
Sid took it from him and examined the label. “This is awesome, man, thanks. Glasses?”
Probably-Brian looked a bit sheepish at that. “Ah, I kind of forgot good ones. But I can offer you these,” he said, holding up a stack of tiny paper cups that he’d been using for samples.
“Seriously?” Sid asked, sounding both annoyed and amused.
“I know you’re trying to, like, set a mood here —”
“Oh my god,” Sid muttered.
“— but this is the best I can do.”
Sid sighed, almost a huff of a laugh, and shook his head. “It’s fine. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome,” almost-certainly-Brian said. He gathered the last of his belongings and scooted out of the booth. “It’s all yours.”
“Thanks again, Brian,” Sid replied. “Really, I mean it.”
“Anytime.” Brian hoisted the box he was carrying higher in his arms and grinned at Zhenya. “Hey, Geno. How are you doing, man?”
Zhenya nodded at him. “Good, hi.”
Brian turned and started walking away. “Have fun!” he called over his shoulder.
Sid heaved another long-suffering sigh and gestured to the empty booth. “I, uh — I got us seats for the concert. And drinks and dessert?”
It was dawning on Zhenya that Sid had gone out of his way to engineer a romantic end the evening. It was as private as they could get given the circumstances: Brian’s booth was facing the makeshift stage but it was out of the way behind the crowd, and the rest of the stands had long since emptied out. There were two chairs waiting behind the table, so they didn’t have to choose between standing in the muddy field or actually sitting in the mud. There was chocolate. There was wine.
And Sid sounded hesitant about it, like he wasn’t sure it was something that Zhenya would want, when in fact he could ravage Zhenya on the tabletop if he so chose. But far be it from Zhenya to waste a romantic gesture; the ravaging could wait until later. He smiled at Sid. “It’s good.”
“Yeah?”
“Very good.”
Sid somehow managed to perk up and slump with relief all at once. “Good, then let’s crush this brownie.”
Zhenya barked out a laugh, but he allowed Sid to hustle him into a chair, pour him a tiny cup of wine, and shove a plastic fork into his hand. The brownie was good, and the wine was some kind of rich red that tasted like fruit, and he sat close to Sid to enjoy them both while the music started.
Mariner’s Cove had exactly two bands: one played folk songs and sea shanties, the other played classic rock covers, and they shared at least half of the same members. Tonight, it was sea shanties, and the band started with several fun, up-tempo numbers that had the adults cheering and singing along and the up-past-their-bedtime-kids dancing in front of the stage. Zhenya watched fondly and reminded himself to sip his wine instead of downing it like a shot, even though he felt like he was holding a shot glass.
He and Sid didn’t talk much, other than to point out someone they knew in the audience or something funny that one of the children was doing. After a few songs, the band switched gears and started in on a haunting ballad. The kids seemed disappointed, but several couples draped their arms around each other and started to sway, even though as far as Zhenya could make out, the lyrics were quite sad. Something about lovers being separated by the ocean.
“This song is pretty,” Sid commented, voice quiet.
“Pretty,” Zhenya echoed.
“Geno…”
And when Zhenya turned to see what he wanted, Sid kissed him.
It wasn’t a peck, and when Zhenya didn’t pull away, Sid kept going — tilting them to better angles, touching Zhenya’s shoulder, his lips deliberate and firm and electrifying. Zhenya kissed back, felt the dampness inside of Sid’s mouth. He tasted like chocolate and full-bodied red.
The ballad ended, but the kissing went on, deep now, and they each had their hands on each other, faces and necks and shoulders and thighs. Zhenya realized a half second too late that he was seriously testing the integrity of his folding chair, and just before the whole thing tilted too far, he yanked himself back. He stared at Sid for a moment, bracing himself half against Sid and half against Sid’s chair, and Sid stared back. After a moment of stunned silence, they both started laughing.
“Come to my house,” Zhenya blurted, impulsive as always, beyond ready to jump in with both feet.
Sid looked flushed and pleased, but he averted his eyes for a moment. “I want to. I really want to. But I want to — to do this right,” he said earnestly. “Can we maybe just… stay here for a bit? Finish watching the band?”
“If you want,” Zhenya said. He couldn’t find it in himself to be too disappointed, not when Sid scooted their chairs together and tucked himself under Zhenya’s arm. He fit well there, and Zhenya settled in happily.
At least until he noticed the tall figure standing at the edge of the crowd — it was Graves, of course, paying no attention to the music and glaring daggers at them.
No, not at them. At Sid.
Before Zhenya could do or say anything, Graves turned on his heel and stalked away.
Zhenya tightened his arm on Sid’s shoulders and Sid leaned into him, sweet and oblivious. There was clearly no point in saying anything else about it to Sid, but maybe Zhenya could take matters into his own hands. In fact, he was eager to if it meant keeping Sid safe.
*
Perhaps unsurprisingly, it was foggy when Zhenya took the trail that descended to the beach at the Little Cove. He couldn’t see very far out over the water, and it felt a little like staring off the end of the world when he looked too hard at the place where the horizon line melted into nothing.
Zhenya didn’t like it: although he’d waited until Graves had rowed out to sea, it would be impossible to track his return until he was almost to shore. Despite that danger, Zhenya pressed forward. There was no time to waste.
He approached Old Lew’s cautiously, taking an indirect path and pretending that he was interested in picking up sea glass and pretty rocks along the way. He stopped and stood facing the ocean when he got close, even tried skipping a few stones, all while looking for signs of life around the building or glimpses of Graves’s boat. Finding neither, Zhenya finally approached the cabin, ducking around the back to =avoid being seen from the water.
There were rickety steps leading up to a door, but Zhenya bypassed them in favor of peering in a tall, narrow window. It was grimy, and Zhenya cupped his hands around his eyes and leaned in to see better. He found that he was looking into a kitchen, but there was an empty, disused look about it, like no one lived in the cabin after all. There was nothing useful on the counter: no toaster, no coffee maker, no microwave. No dishes in the sink. Just a wooden box and — Zhenya squinted — a big teapot. A silver one.
It didn’t surprise Zhenya to see it, but it made his heart race all the same, while dread coalesced like a rock in the pit of his stomach.
Mama, you were right all along, he thought with a humorless chuckle.
“What are you doing?” a voice demanded.
Zhenya gasped and stumbled back, adrenaline flooding his body so fast he felt dizzy. It was Graves — of course it was Graves, standing tall and furious and directly between Zhenya and his path back to the beach. Old Lew’s was tucked up against a bluff on one side, and there was no way for Zhenya to clamber up it. He could try to cut along the far side of the building, but Graves could just circle around to intercept him on the other side. The only way out was through.
“I’m just — go for walk,” Zhenya sputtered.
Graves snorted. “That’s not what it looks like. It looks like you’re trespassing.”
His voice was so normal. Zhenya would have expected something otherwordly, deep and reverberating. It didn’t do much to ease Zhenya’s terror. Graves looked younger up close than Zhenya would have expected, but he was still tall — definitely taller than Zhenya now that they were close enough to compare — and he held every advantage of position. “You, uh — you live here?” Zhenya asked.
He couldn’t tell if Graves believed his ignorance or not. “This is my house,” Graves said.
“I’m not — I’m not know anyone lives here,” Zhenya rushed out, palms sweating. “I think it’s empty. I’m sorry. I go now.”
Graves definitely didn’t believe him. His expression was incredulous, unimpressed. He was moving, taking a step — to the side. “You’d better,” he said.
“What?”
“Go,” Graves hissed, and Zhenya did.
He skittered forward, walking directly toward and around Graves, since he had no other option. Graves may have moved aside, but not by much, and Zhenya was forced to brush right past him. He smelled almost fishy, like saltwater, and he glared at Zhenya the entire time.
Zhenya forced himself not to break into a run when his feet sank into the damp sand of the beach, but he didn’t slow down. He didn’t turn around either, and spent each step imagining an attack that never came. When he reached the dirt path that led up toward the road, he allowed himself a single glance back over his shoulder, and he found Graves standing exactly where Zhenya had left him, arms crossed over his chest, still watching Zhenya icily.
Fuck. Zhenya spun and hurried away.
*
Later, Zhenya came awake suddenly in the night, his eyes popping open against the darkness, adrenaline flooding his veins. He stayed still, breathing shallowly, and tried to determine what had woken him. Usually, he slept like the dead.
It was windy, and the dry fall leaves whispered and rattled in the onslaught. The trees would like be bare by morning. But those were familiar sounds. So were the gentle whoosh of the furnace, his own heart pumping in his ears.
Then, he heard it: an eerie scratching noise that was almost hidden under everything else. Zhenya might have discounted it as a branch scraping against the side of the house, but the sound was too separate, rhythmic and out of sync with the toss of the leaves and the rush of the wind.
It might have been a mouse in the wall — Zhenya was unfortunately familiar with that noise — but it was too distant. Which was a good thing, he told himself. Whatever it was, it wasn’t inside his home.
With that established, Zhenya finally rolled over onto his back, then sat up, moving slowly. Nothing attacked him or materialized in the dark corners of the room, so he slid out from under the covers and tiptoed to the window. Keeping carefully out of view, he twitched back one side of the curtains and peered out.
Trying to make out anything beyond the amorphous shapes of the trees and the garage was nearly impossible. The darkness was profound, with clouds concealing the moon and stars. Zhenya could have moved into the main part of the house and turned on the light over the porch, but he shied away from the idea. He told himself that he didn’t want to call the attention of whoever — or whatever — might be in his yard.
But deep down, he knew that it wasn’t just that. He was afraid of what he might see.
Eventually, Zhenya did pad out to the front door, but only to make sure the locks were securely fastened. Then he retreated to his room, crawled back into bed, and curled into a ball facing away from the window.
It took a long time to fall back to sleep.
*
He felt a little braver about investigating in the daylight. So, the next morning, after tea and breakfast and a little staring out the window with his eyes narrowed, Zhenya went outside. He descended the porch steps and stood at one corner of the house, pivoting slowly and doing a sweep of the area around the house. Then he walked to the opposite side of the building and did the same thing all over again.
There wasn’t much to see. Most importantly, there was no one to see, which was a relief. It was also impossible to determine whether there had been anyone on his property overnight — the ground was covered with leaves that crunched with each footstep, and there was no way to tell if they’d been disturbed. He didn’t see anything wrong with the walls or the windows or the roof.
Zhenya turned to the garage next. He examined the perimeter, but once again, found nothing amiss. It was carefully locked, of course, but that would be no great deterrent to a powerful supernatural being. He slipped the key from his pocket and let himself in.
The garage was detached, and it was too small for more than one large item, so Zhenya kept his boat inside and his truck outside. The boat was nothing to write home about: just a small skiff that he could only use inshore, which didn’t bother him much since both Mariner’s Cove and the Little Cove offered plenty of protection. Zhenya brushed his fingers over the hull thoughtfully, then crouched to do a closer inspection.
Even though he was expecting to find it, when he saw the small puncture, his blood ran cold. It was narrow and deep like a knife wound, tucked far underneath, nowhere he would easily notice it. Even more sinister was its size: small enough to admit water at a trickle. Zhenya might be far from shore before he realized he was in danger.
It was all going too far. He had to do something, and it was time he called in backup.
*
Sid wasn’t available until later in the afternoon, when he arrived at Zhenya’s house bundled up in a thick fleece jacket against the chill in the air, knit cap on his head, and a rectangular bundle in his hands. Zhenya peered at it curiously.
“Banana bread,” Sid said instead of hello. He stepped inside, pressed the bread pan into Zhenya’s hands, and gave Zhenya a firm, presumptuous, lingering kiss over the top of it. His cheek was cold.
Zhenya’s face, on the other hand, felt flushed when Sid stepped back, leaving him holding the bread. “Sounds good,” Zhenya replied, curiously peeling back one corner of the foil. It looked good too, with thick chocolate chunks.
“Well, I’ve, uh — I’ve never been here before,” Sid explained as he shrugged out of his coat and hung it on a hook near the door. “It’s rude to go to someone’s house for the first time without bringing them something.”
Zhenya hid a smile as he stepped away to put the loaf on the kitchen counter, but he quickly sobered. Sid was precious and weird and wonderful, and Zhenya wasn’t about to let him be abducted by some pissed-off sorcerer from the deep. He heard footsteps approaching, and turned to face Sid again. Sid’s smile was warm, but wary. “So, you — wanted to talk about something?”
“Yes,” Zhenya said, but then he didn’t know how to begin. He remembered just how he used to feel about his mother’s stories. He didn’t want Sid to think he was insane. “You want to sit?”
Sid’s smile flickered. “That sounds serious.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Okay,” Sid said uncertainly. He took a seat at Zhenya’s tiny dining table and looked up at him, waiting.
Zhenya took a deep breath. “Sid, I’m worry for you.”
“Worried?” Sid echoed. “Why?”
“Graves,” Zhenya blurted.
Sid sighed. “Geno, it’s not —”
Zhenya interrupted him. “I know what you say, Sid. I know you think it’s not real. But I’m learn about finfolk and everything fits! Boats, silver, weather. Every weird thing! And I’m learn more, that finfolk kidnap people they want for marry and then they’re slaves. And I think — I think Graves wants to kidnap you. He’s follow you around Sid, and he looks at you like — like — I don’t know, but it’s bad.”
His heart was pumping furiously when he finished, his lungs working fast, and Sid — Sid’s shoulders slumped.
“Graves doesn’t want to kidnap me,” Sid said quietly.
Zhenya stared at him.
“And he definitely doesn’t want to marry me.”
“What — what you mean?” Zhenya asked.
Sid cocked his head and looked at Zhenya for a long moment. “He wants Taylor. He wants to marry my sister.”
Zhenya’s blood ran cold and he started pacing the kitchen floor. “Shit,” he hissed. “So he’s here for — for — for hurt you? Because you try and keep her safe, right? So now he’s go after all your friends and then you. He shouldn’t work in your store. Fuck.”
“No.”
It brought Zhenya’s tirade up short. “What?”
“I mean, yes, I tried to keep Taylor safe,” Sid said. “I protected her. Of course I did. But it’s not — look, maybe you should sit.”
Zhenya blinked for a few seconds before he crossed to the chair across from Sid’s. He curled his fingers around the top of it until his knuckles turned white, but he didn’t sit. “What you mean?” he repeated, harsh now, and serious.
Sid’s lips pursed. “Taylor can’t marry him because — because if she does, she’ll become a hag.”
The words took a minute to land, but when they did, they felt like a blow to Zhenya’s chest. It was physical: he reeled back from the table. “You mean —”
His mother’s voice rang in his head: If a fin maiden does not take a human husband, she will become a hideous fin hag.
Sid was still watching him, eyes keen. “It looks like you know what that means.”
“She’s — finfolk. Fin woman.”
Sid nodded.
“And you —” Zhenya croaked. He didn’t finish it.
But Sid did. “I am.”
Zhenya felt like all the blood was leaving his body at once, pooling at his feet, leaving his head fuzzy and stars dancing in front of his eyes. He backed up until he collided with the wall. “Fuck.”
Sid half-stood, one arm extended, but when Zhenya cringed, he sat again. “Geno, I — I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you. That’s the last thing I want.”
“No, of course not,” Zhenya said, voice thick with sarcasm. “Why should I believe? Maybe it’s you that put hole in my boat.”
Sid’s expression hardened. “There was a hole in your boat?”
Zhenya didn’t respond, just stared at him defiantly.
“That fucker,” Sid muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’ll deal with him. I promise it wasn’t me. Graves hates me, but he knows he can’t get to me, so he’s going after all my friends — Rusty, Jake, you. I — I really like you, G. Why would I want to hurt you?”
“I don’t know,” Zhenya spat. “I don’t know anything.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” Sid said. He was clearly trying to placate, making his tone soothing, like Zhenya was a wild animal on the verge of bolting or attacking. It wasn’t far from the truth. “I’ll explain everything, I promise. But please just —” thankfully, he didn’t say calm down “— just listen, okay? It’s okay. I promise I don’t want to hurt you.”
Zhenya managed to unclench his jaw enough to say, “So talk.”
“Okay.” Sid took a deep breath. “Okay. So — my sister is old enough now to start looking for a mate. She lost her tail last year. But instead of finding a human, she and Graves started a secret relationship,” he said with a grimace.
“So what?” Zhenya challenged him.
“So what?” Sid repeated incredulously. “If she takes a fin husband, she’ll become a hag. My family isn’t about to let that happen, so my mother — made sure they were separated. She sent Graves here so I can keep an eye on him.”
“Well, you’re not do very good job,” Zhenya snapped.
Sid’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t watch him twenty-four hours a day. Believe me, I’ve talked to him. And we put him to work in the store so my dad can keep tabs on him too.”
Zhenya’s mind whirled like a kaleidoscope. He wasn’t sure if he was scared anymore, but he couldn’t seem to latch onto any coherent thoughts when the very ground was shifting under his feet. It made him reckless, made him speak without considering what he was saying: “Who cares if she’s hag?”
“What?” Sid asked. He was clearly startled by the question, and his voice took on a thin edge.
Zhenya shivered. Maybe he was still a little scared. “I just mean… Taylor knows, right? She knows what happens, if she’s with him instead of human. If she loves him, and she’s okay with it, who cares?”
“Because — because —” Sid sputtered. “Why would she be okay with that? She’ll lose her youth, lose respect. Look, you don’t get it. You’re not one of us. Hags aren’t… they aren’t… it’s not what anyone would want.”
“You know any?” Zhenya argued.
Sid shifted in his seat. “I mean, you see them around. They keep to themselves. Well, and their husbands or wives, if they’re married.”
“So they’re with people they love,” Zhenya pointed out. “Maybe they’re happy. You ever ask?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Sid retorted, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.
“What about your mom?” Zhenya asked.
Sid narrowed his eyes. “What about her?”
“She’s not married. So doesn’t that mean…” Zhenya let his words peter out. Even without the way Sid was reacting, it felt rude to call his mother a hag.
“My mom is married to my dad,” Sid said slowly, “and he’s human.”
Zhenya furrowed his brow. “But they’re — separate? Divorce?”
“Not really. They don’t live together, but they never split up,” Sid explained. “It’s hard to hide the fact that your daughter has a fish tail, so my mom took Taylor away to raise her. She’ll move back once Taylor is settled. As far as everyone else is concerned, my parents will reunite.”
The image of Sid’s father flashed before Zhenya’s eyes: harried, overworked, pale with dark circles under his eyes. Fin wives and fin husbands are then forced into a life of servitude, his mama whispered in his ear.
“And you don’t go away to fish,” Zhenya surmised.
Sid shook his head. “No. I leave here to spend time with my family and to help protect our waters.”
“By sink boats.”
“No,” Sid insisted. “It’s more like — patrolling. Surveillance. Any violations get reported, and there’s a liaison and — look, things have changed a lot since whatever legends you heard.”
Zhenya scoffed. “What about Graves?”
Sid brushed off his concern. “Graves is just pissed at me. That’s totally different.”
“Well, I don’t want pissed off fin man here!” Zhenya burst out. “He’s fucking with people, fucking with me.”
Sid shifted forward again, his eyes suddenly burning and trained sharply on Zhenya, who shivered. “I’m not going to let him fuck with you ever again,” Sid said, low and fierce.
“Can take care of myself,” Zhenya protested, even though he was clearly failing in that regard.
“I don’t care,” Sid replied, tossing away Zhenya’s objection like it was nothing. “I want to take care of you. I want to take care of you always.”
“Sid —”
But Sid cut him off. “ Come on, G, what do you think I’ve been doing since I got back? I’m keeping an eye on Graves, sure, but my dad could have done that. I came back for you. I would have come back before, but no one told me that Lena left until a few weeks ago. I got here as soon as I could after I found out.”
He stood, and Zhenya found himself flattening against the wall.
“There’s always been something between us, hasn’t there?” Sid asked, his voice silky. “And now we’re finally… on the right track.”
“You lie to me,” Zhenya croaked. “You say finfolk aren’t real. You — you kiss me without even say what you are. It’s lies!”
Sid grimaced. “I know. And I’m sorry about that. But there are rules. I couldn’t tell you, not until I started courting you. I would have been punished. They would have taken me away. I had to wait, and now that you know, I have to give you a choice.”
He took a step closer.
“What choice?” Zhenya rasped out.
“The choice to stay with me,” Sid said, continuing forward, slow and relentless. “You always have a choice.”
Zhenya wasn’t stupid. He knew that sometimes, a choice wasn’t really a choice. “What happens if I say no?” he asked.
Sid stopped in front of him and smiled. He was close enough for Zhenya to smell the seawater on him. His face looked just the same as always, so handsome and so dear: his dark eyes, his big nose, his full lips. Zhenya knew what they felt like now. His heart rattled madly in its cage.
“Do you want to say no?” Sid asked.
*
The ringing of the phone dragged Zhenya from a deep sleep. He glanced blearily at his clock as he answered. It was a little after nine in the morning, not too early on a usual day, but this day was far from usual.
“Yeah?” he grunted. He felt groggy, like he’d barely slept at all.
“Are you still sleeping, Zhenya?” his mother’s voice came briskly down the line.
The sound of it was enough to make him sit up straighter, the bedding pooling at his waist as the cool air hit his bare torso. “No, mama, I’m up.”
“Yes, of course you are,” she said with a sigh. “Well, I’m glad to hear your voice. I’ve been worried about you since our last conversation. I wanted to make sure you’re all right, and that you haven’t seen anything — unusual.”
Zhenya scrubbed a hand over his face. “No, no. Nothing unusual here.”
“Are you sure?”
The mattress shifted as Sid rolled over beside him, but when Zhenya glanced over, Sid appeared to still be asleep. He had one hand curled beside his face, and the delicate, webbed skin of one fin draped between his underarm and his side.
“I’m sure, mama.”
Sid stirred, and after a moment his eyes cracked open. He peered up at Zhenya, his brow wrinkling.
“My mom,” Zhenya whispered, switching briefly to English.
“What was that?” she asked in his ear.
“Nothing,” Zhenya said quickly. “Just — yawning.”
His mother made a concerned noise. “So late and you’re yawning? Are you sure everything is okay?”
Zhenya continued to let his eyes trace over the lines of Sid’s back, his face, his fins. “Yes, mama, everything is fine. It’s good. It’s perfect.”
Sid wouldn’t have understood his words, but he smiled up at Zhenya all the same.
Zhenya smiled back.