Chapter 87: So, What Comes Next?

Tall, muscular figures surrounded me. Each pressed in, adjusting their position to try to get closer. Their skin felt almost clammy against mine. In a matter of seconds, the merfolk had turned the spacious main room of the inn into something almost claustrophobic.

Their shadows blocked the light from both windows and candle lanterns. Darkness engulfed the small two-top table on which I’d placed the deep metal amulet.

“I wish I could tell you more,” I repeated. “It was all kind of a blur.”

“Because it was nighttime, raining, and smoky? With a lot going on?” one of the mermen asked.

“Yes. And because I was incredibly drunk.” Despite the foggy haze of lingering inebriation still fuzzing up my memory, one thing stood out. “He was all, uh, watery.”

“It was raining, yes?”

That was Freya. She’d taken a keen interest when I told her about the merman I’d accidentally mistaken for her crew. Sure, it was dark, rainy, and I was hella lit, but I still felt bad about that. Not that I’d tell them I misidentified the villain.

“Yeah, but he, like, became water. And when we defeated him, he just…” I made what I hoped was a silent popping motion with my hands.

“Disappeared?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s an ancient power. One that runs through bloodlines. It can be cultivated, but most of our kind never master it.” The merfolk captain spoke gravely, his brow furrowed with concern. “It would take great dedication from a noble heir to accomplish that.”

Well, that certainly didn’t make me feel any better. As if we needed more powerful enemies.

Suddenly, the herd of bodies pressed up next to me felt particularly uncomfortable. I couldn’t help but imagine any one of them suddenly swirling into a liquid, moving with dangerous speed. How many merfolk had the capacity to turn into a 90s Capri Sun commercial?

“But you’re sure the warrior said Tidebringer?” The merman hadn’t stopped making sure, and he wasn’t about to stop now. “One of the forgotten houses?”

“Positive. Something about a comeback.” I scratched the back of my neck, wishing I could remember more. “The part that struck me was that he was giving orders to pirates.”

“He had command,” Freya noted.

“Sort of. The Dreaded Pirate Robertson did, too.”

The group of merfolk muttered amongst themselves. A flurry of foreign tongue dominated, interspersed with words I could recognize. The hurried discussion lasted only a few seconds.

Then, all eyes turned to me. Or at least, most of them did. A few glances at Freya told me that she’d been a topic of conversation, too.

“This is probably an issue larger than what your town can handle,” the lead merman said. “Perhaps you’d tell your leaders?”

“Tell them what?”

It was true that I didn’t remember much, but I didn’t have the whole picture, anyway. However, the Dreaded Pirate Robertson was recovering in the White Tent—Seaport’s tiny infirmary. When he’d been delivered, he was unconscious.

Given his condition, I wouldn’t be surprised if he stayed that way for a while.

“Anything you can,” Freya said, piping up. “And if you learn anything else, see if you can get word to us, too.”

Another rush of intense, inscrutable dialogue. Freya hushed them, then frowned.

“They make a good point. Unfortunately, your Silver Coast vessels may not be able to trust many merfolk on the seas. By the sound of it, the tension between our peoples may be caused in part by whatever’s going on.” She fixed me with a sorrowful look. “My companions want me to rise to the occasion and take back the House of Wavesingers.”

“That’s your house? The one you’re a princess of?”

“One of a few.” She let out a heavy sigh. “Honestly, it’s not the worst idea to see if a rival house can rally other merfolk against those who would side with pirates. I just hope someone else steps up to do it first.”

“Too dangerous?”

She shrugged. “I never thought much of politics. Give me close quarters with people I care about and a good home-cooked meal, and that’s when I’m at my happiest. Preferably with abundant access to the sea, too.”

“Well, you’re always welcome here at the Breakwater Inn.”

The rueful edges of a smile creased her lips, and she shook her head solemnly. “Only weather drove us to port. It’s unlikely that we’ll be back.”

“Think we’ll meet again?”

“Probably not.” She sounded more than wistful. “Probably not. Though I wish it weren’t so. I would have liked one more chance to steal your heart. Or your lips.”

“Um.” I wasn’t sure what to say to that.

Nor were her compatriots. A couple of them looked away. The merman who’d been speaking earlier cleared his throat awkwardly. It was obvious he didn’t need to.

“Nice try, Frey,” one brave soul murmured.

“What? You boys are always laying it on thick with girls in port. I wanted to try.”

“Yeah, well, girls like exotic lovers. The more unusual, the better.” One merman summed up succinctly what every romance writer already knew, chuckling. “You should know most men aren’t so brave.”

“The one time I try! Ugh!” She turned to me, chagrined. “Shit. Ugh.” She laughed quietly to herself while hiding her face in her hands. At least she was being a good sport about it. “If we ever run into each other on the high seas, can you give me one more shot?”

I couldn’t let her sink now. Not right before she hit the open waters again. And besides, she was growing on me.

“Sure. If we ever see each other out in the ocean, I’ll do a better job of flirting back,” I promised.

She pumped her fist as I looked over my shoulder. Wynnie was speaking with a smaller circle of employees from The Good Inn. It looked like she was wrapping things up out there, just like I was in here.

Soon, things would be back to normal. Or, not quite normal. A new normal. 

***

“So, what’s the rundown?” I asked Wynnie.

After the merfolk made their exit, she’d returned looking borderline overwhelmed. Two short lists filled in with a hasty scrawl rested nestled between her fingers.

“It’s all here.”

She set them both down on the clean bar surface where we could check them.

Not surprisingly, the folks who wanted to pick up shifts at the Breakwater Inn were few. Returning to work after a disaster was rarely anyone’s first choice. Only the dedicated and desperate dove in like that.

Fortunately, the list of volunteers to rebuild was longer. That’s what I was concerned about most, anyway.

I jabbed a finger at the first name on the cross-training list. “So, Sterling?”

“He’s a cherubic young satyr man with curly blonde hair and a shy smile,” Wynnie reported.

“What kind of shifts does he want?”

Wynnie giggled. “It was almost hard to understand him through his stutter. But he said he loves nothing more than cleaning and turning down beds. Keeping a place fresh warms his heart. His words. Really.”

“Weird guy?”

“Seems harmless,” she said. “Like, I don’t think he’ll murder guests or steal their knickers, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets off on the smell of a new feather pillow.”

I made a mental note to change my own pillow covers. And sheets, just in case.

My finger scrolled down the list further. “Frederick. Sure. Another bartender would be good.”

“You wouldn’t get jealous?”

“It’s always good to let someone else handle the slower shifts. What if I get sick? Or if I’m out of town? Better jealous than burnt out.”

Wynnie nodded in understanding. Yet I think both of us knew that a part of me would be jealous. That every time I saw Frederick behind the bar, I’d be thinking, That should probably be me.

Some people took to bartending like naturals. Most had a ceiling. They were okay, but never achieved that incredible blend of speed, charisma, and fundamental cocktail skills.

Frederick struck me as someone who’d be lucky to master one of those. More than one of the three was almost certainly off the table.

Speaking of the table, I turned my attention back to the short list.

“And… Mel?”

“She said she’d take whatever she could get.”

“I’m guessing you don’t want her in the kitchen with you?”

Wynnie offered a defeated shrug. “If we’re cross-training, can’t I have Shivai with me? She takes direction well.” She blushed. “Very well.”

“Sure. We can have Mel take on some serving. She knows what she’s doing there.”

We hashed out a few more details. The beginnings of an actual plan came to me—not just an idea, but real, honest-to-goodness steps. Seaport had builders. Carpenters had been in these walls, as had woodworkers, locksmiths, blacksmiths, and other tradesfolk. In many ways, they were the people who built the town and kept it standing.

Volunteers would be ideal, but we could pay wages if needed. Especially if wages came in the form of free drinks. If this town was going to defeat pirates for good, it needed to look out for itself. We were all in this together. We had an inn to rebuild and a barn to raise, and the sooner we did it, the better.

“I thought I might send Shivai out to get some volunteers,” I said. I had a list already forming in my head of who she could ask.

“Because you want her to charm them into working for free?”

“Because I thought you could use a rest.”

Wynnie shook her head, beat, but determined. “No. It should be me. One business owner to another. People need to see that I have a stake in this town.”

“Want me to join?”

“Yes, but no. We still have guests and service. Dinner starts soon, and we have nothing prepared.”

I glanced around, looking for Shivai. Probably, she was back in our room, or maybe handling a bit of upkeep. With all our growing popularity, we needed a bit of extra attention to, well, everything lately.

The floors looked almost sticky from heavy use, and our hurried mopping before closing wasn’t doing the trick. Dust collected on shelves. All the tables and chairs seemed to move around on their own, inch by inch, as guests inadvertently bumped and pushed against them.

Yet wherever she was—turning down the merfolk’s beds, most likely—I needed her to handle food. It was time to cross-train her. The board part of room and board didn’t need to be fancy fare. It didn’t even need to be a hefty stew with crusty bread. People could eat rolls from the baker, plus cheese, cured sausage, fruits, and nuts.

Wynnie paused at the door before going recruiting. “Make something special. I invited all The Good Inn folks here for free dinner and drinks.”

“More special than a good punch?”

“I told them you made a cocktail in their honor.” She winced, no doubt knowing the pressure that put on me as well as the curious timeline it suggested if anyone thought about it for more than a second. “You can do something, right?”

“Worst case scenario, we can wow everyone with our applejack distillation process and let them try it straight. They’ll be so drunk, they’ll forget about the cocktail in their honor.”

“Perfect!”

She blew me a kiss and headed out.

Seconds later, Shivai entered. Somewhere, somehow, she’d changed into a pair of loose coveralls. They were a light sky blue, textured like linen mixed with denim. A hold in the rear allowed her tail to swing freely behind her, and she wore no shirt underneath.

It took me a few seconds to pick my jaw up from the floor.

“You were outside?”

“Thought I’d weed the pesky crabgrass that eats the foundation.”

“Want to source a light dinner? Something like charcuterie?”

She screwed up her face and stopped a few inches from me. “Are you making up words for food again?”

“No. Somebody already made that word up. I’m just repeating it.”

“It sounds like nonsense.”

“It’s French.”

“Is French nonsense?”

I’d studied French. Got darn near conversational with it when drinking. Even dreamt in it.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” She shrugged, apparently accepting it. “Give me a list, and I’ll get what you need!”

I jotted down a list on one of the parchments Wynnie had left on the table. Like a romantic, I included a short, sweet note and a heart.

Shivai barely gave it a glance. She just kissed me on the cheek, then let her hips sway exaggeratedly as she left. One look back over her shoulder told me everything. That sway was for me.

“See you soon,” she said.

“Service starts in, uh, probably a little over an hour,” I warned her.

"I'll be back as soon as I can. I'm not going to run off on you."

"Thought never crossed my mind." It really hadn't.

As I watched her swishing backside leave, I wondered how long it would be until we could make ice cream again. How long did it take to raise a barn, anyway?