Weston returned to the western beach before sunset.
He told himself it was because the path would be easier to follow before dark. He told himself he wanted to examine the rocks where he had seen the woman and prove there was some reasonable explanation for what happened the night before.
He did not admit that he hoped to see her again.
The weather had cleared during the afternoon, leaving the sky pale and open above the water. Waves moved gently across the shore, nothing like the restless tide beneath the storm. Sunlight warmed the upper rocks, though the air near the sea remained cool.
Weston carried a small canvas bag over one shoulder. Inside were a loaf of bread, two apples, and a strip of smoked fish he had taken from his kitchen without deciding why. If the woman appeared, she might be hungry. If she did not, he would have dinner on the beach.
Either way, the food gave him an excuse for coming.
He followed the shoreline toward the cove where they had spoken. The tide had pulled back, revealing stretches of dark sand and clusters of shells trapped between the rocks. He found the place where he had stood the night before and sat on the broad stone overlooking the water.
Nothing happened.
Weston waited.
A gull landed several feet away and watched the canvas bag with open interest.
“This isn’t for you,” he said.
The gull stepped closer.
Weston tore off a small piece of bread and tossed it onto the sand. The bird seized it, then remained where it was as though expecting more.
“You’re as bad as Mr. Talbot.”
The gull offered no defense.
Weston ate one of the apples and watched the horizon. Fishing boats moved far beyond the cove, their sails bright against the afternoon sky. None came close to the western shore.
He wondered whether that was because of the current or the stories.
By the time the sun lowered toward the water, he had nearly convinced himself to leave.
A small splash sounded near the outer rocks.
Weston remained still.
Another ripple crossed the surface, followed by a dark shape moving below it. He set the apple core beside him and waited.
She appeared without warning.
One moment there was only water. The next, the woman rested between two rocks with her arms folded across the lower one, watching him.
“You returned,” she said.
“So did you.”
“I live in the water.”
“That gives you an advantage.”
Her gaze moved to the bag beside him. “What is that?”
“Food.”
“I know what food is.”
“I wasn’t sure.”
She narrowed her eyes.
Weston smiled. “I brought bread. And fish.”
“You brought fish to the sea?”
“When you say it that way, it does sound foolish.”
“It is foolish.”
He opened the bag and held up the wrapped strip of smoked fish. “Have you ever tried it this way?”
She moved a little closer, though her body remained hidden below the surface.
“What did you do to it?”
“Salted it. Smoked it.”
“Why?”
“So it lasts longer.”
“Fresh fish lasts long enough.”
“Not on land.”
She considered this, then looked toward the bread. “What is that made from?”
“Grain.”
“Is grain an animal?”
“No.”
“A plant?”
“Yes.”
“And humans eat it?”
“Most of us.”
She seemed disturbed by the idea.
Weston tore off a piece and held it out. “Do mermaids eat plants?”
Her expression changed instantly.
“What did you call me?”
He lowered his hand. “A mermaid.”
She pushed away from the rock. “How do you know that word?”
“It’s a story.”
“A human story?”
“Yes.”
“What does it say?”
Weston heard the suspicion in her voice and chose his answer carefully. “Different things. Some stories say mermaids sing sailors toward rocks. Some say they rescue drowning men. Others say they lure people into the water and eat them.”
Her mouth fell open.
“I didn’t write the stories,” he added.
“You believe we eat humans?”
“I didn’t believe mermaids existed until yesterday.”
She folded her arms. “And now?”
“Now I believe at least one exists.”
“That is not an answer.”
“I don’t think you eat people.”
“You do not know me.”
“No, but you warned me not to enter the water.”
“Perhaps I wanted to eat you later.”
Weston studied her serious expression until the corner of her mouth moved.
“That was a joke,” he said.
“Humans make noise when they are afraid. Mer-people make jokes when humans deserve them.”
“Mer-people,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“So mermaid is wrong?”
“It is incomplete.”
“How?”
She hesitated. “There are males.”
“I assumed there were.”
“Your stories often forget them.”
“Human stories forget a great many things.”
The tension in her shoulders eased.
Weston held out the bread again. “Would you like to try it?”
She looked from his hand to his face. “You could have poisoned it.”
“I ate the same loaf.”
“You may be immune.”
“To bread?”
“To poison.”
“That would be useful.”
She ignored his answer but approached slowly. When she reached the shallows, Weston caught another glimpse of her body beneath the water. Greenish-blue scales covered the lower half of her torso and continued into a long tail. Violet shimmered along the edges of her fins when she moved.
He tried not to stare.
She noticed anyway.
“You are looking.”
“I’ve never seen anyone like you.”
“You have seen humans.”
“You aren’t human.”
Her eyes hardened.
Weston realized too late how the words sounded.
“I didn’t mean that as an insult.”
“What did you mean?”
“That you’re...” He searched for a word that would not make things worse. “Remarkable.”
Her expression remained guarded, but she came close enough to take the bread from his hand.
Her fingers brushed his.
Her skin was cool, though not as cold as the water.
Brianna pulled away quickly and examined the bread before placing a small piece in her mouth. She chewed once, stopped, and looked at him as though he had tricked her.
Weston tried not to laugh. “That bad?”
“It is dry.”
“It’s bread.”
“That does not explain why humans eat it.”
“It’s better with butter.”
“What is butter?”
“This may take a while.”
She took another bite despite her complaint.
Weston sat back on the rock. “You never told me your name.”
“You never told me yours.”
“Weston Donovan.”
She repeated it slowly. “Weston.”
He liked the way she said it, though he could not have explained why.
“And you are?”
She looked toward the open sea.
“Do names have power among your people?” he asked.
“Everything has power.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
She frowned at him, then looked down at the bread in her hand.
“Brianna.”
“Brianna,” he repeated.
A small smile appeared before she hid it by taking another bite.
Weston pointed toward the water. “Do you live nearby?”
“You ask too many questions.”
“I’ve also been told that.”
“By the woman with the bread?”
He stared at her.
Brianna looked pleased with herself. “I saw you in the village.”
“When?”
“Before you saw me.”
Weston glanced toward the ridge. From the sea, much of the town would have been visible beyond the harbor.
“You’ve been watching us?”
“Sometimes.”
“Why?”
“Humans are strange.”
“That is true.”
“You build homes beside the water and then spend your lives afraid of what is inside it.”
“Some people are afraid.”
“You are not?”
Weston thought of the dead fishermen, Owen Mercer’s story, and Silas warning him not to assume anything in the water needed saving.
“I respect it,” he said. “That isn’t the same as fear.”
“It should be.”
The answer came without humor.
Weston studied her. “What’s out there?”
Brianna’s gaze shifted beyond him, toward the deepening water.
“Many things.”
“Things like you?”
“No.”
The same answer she had given the night before. This time, it sounded less proud than lonely.
Weston did not press her.
Instead, he offered the smoked fish.
Brianna unwrapped it, smelled it, and made a face.
“You burned it.”
“I smoked it.”
“It is ruined.”
“You haven’t tasted it.”
“I can smell that it has suffered enough.”
Weston laughed, and after a moment, she did too.
The sound surprised both of them.
It was softer than he expected, almost lost beneath the waves.
They remained at the cove until the last edge of the sun disappeared. Weston told her about the harbor, the church bell, and the gulls that stole anything left unattended. Brianna told him almost nothing about where she lived, though she asked endless questions about fire, wagons, bread, and why humans covered their bodies even when the weather was warm.
When the sky began to darken, she moved away from the rocks.
“I must leave.”
“Will you come back?”
Brianna paused.
“Perhaps.”
“That sounds like no.”
“It means perhaps.”
“Tomorrow?”
“You ask too much.”
“And you avoid answering.”
She sank lower into the water, but he could still see the smile she was trying to hide.
“Goodbye, Weston Donovan.”
“Goodbye, Brianna.”
She disappeared beneath the surface, leaving only widening circles behind.
Weston remained on the rock long after she was gone.
He had learned her name. He had seen her smile. He had watched her eat bread as though it were one of humanity’s greatest failures.
It was not much.
It was enough to make him return the following evening.