A Supernatural Sisters story. Words by Maria Lewis. Art by Pamela Smith. |
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Sorcha Burke was on a cruise ship full of monsters. Sure, she was one of them. But on the scale of fucked up things that went bump in the night, she was barely a dull thump. They didn’t know that, though. She suspected that’s largely why she had made it this far alive. Well, that and her abilities. A hot wind blew across the deck of the ship, sending the synthetic hair of her wig whipping across her face like a possessed tail. She whacked it back, annoyed as the fibres stuck to her sweaty skin but also careful not to dislodge part of her disguise. Sorcha naturally had long, red hair, and a delicate smattering of freckles in the same shade across her nose and cheeks. It wasn’t necessarily a physical trait that would have made her stand out - especially when the skipper of the ship was a fella with horned eyebrows - but she needed to sand away anything that identified her as her. The cigarettes were a rare exception. As she took a final drag before stamping one out in an ash tray, Sorcha told herself she needed this indulgence. She needed something to relieve the tension that came from constantly trying to pretend she was something she wasn’t. If they were looking for a twenty three-year old woman with long, red hair, then she would have a jet black, shoulder-length do. She had even donned a fake baby bump at one point, a prop that was loaned to her by a friend who had a pregnant Jessica Simpson drag act at the club she worked. Sorcha had been planning her escape from Australia for months, studying every little and big thing she could do to stay under the radar of the supernatural government that would be hunting for her. So far, it had worked. She’d managed to get out of Sydney onboard a cruise ship full of paranormal beings just like her: some that were on the run, some that were supposed to be in hiding, some that needed to leave the country. All of them – whether they were a goblin or an alchemist – wanted the same thing: not to be found. Sorcha was leaning over the railing on one of the ship’s main decks, smoking, as she stared contemplatively at the calm ocean stretching out in front of her. It was nearly sunset, which was occurring quite late in the evening given that it was the Australian summer. They were in Queensland somewhere, she knew, and far enough from the shore so that ocean was the only thing you could see in every direction. Yet not far enough away from the mainland and the territory of paranormal bureaucrats the Treize for anyone to relax. It was too hot, the climate too humid, her skin too sticky, and danger still too close for Sorcha to breathe a sigh of relief. Instead, she began walking the hard, wooden floors of the ship, essentially pacing the perimetre and chain smoking for something to do. She knew staying locked inside her cabin was probably the smarter choice, but it was incredibly warm in there and the ceiling fan did shit all. Besides, she was restless. And more than anything, Sorcha was safest when she was moving. Especially when other people could see her moving. There weren’t many beings enjoying the last few hours of daylight. Most of them were living up to the paranormal cliché and staying indoors until the sun set. The eyes of the ones there were, however, skimmed over her like she was nothing and no one. That’s what she projected at them as her legs stretched out and she set her pace: I’m nothing, I’m no one, go back to whatever you’re doing. Her abilities always worked better if she could combine speech with movement, but Sorcha didn’t feel much like talking to anyone. She was deeply sad and deeply lonely, knowing she had left behind everything she loved in Sydney: her sisters. “Stay out of the bloody shipping channels, that’s what I said!” A door burst open in front of her and she came to a sudden stop, two men striding out on to the deck with purpose. She recognised one of them as the person she had bought her ticket from: a gruff guy in his forties with chops that started above his ears and spread out on his face like hairy fungi. The other man was clearly the main captain, although neither of them were dressed the part. There were several rules one had to follow if they wanted to board this ship: you had to have a definitive port of arrival and departure, you had to pay cash, you were not allowed electronic devices of any kind, and you could not wear green during the journey. Oh, and no werewolves. Nobody wanted to be stuck out at sea with lycanthropes during the full moon. The colour rule, however, was so passengers could never be mistaken for staff. If you were working on board you were dressed in any one of the never-ending shades of green. “We are, Captain,” the man beside him replied, a sweat patch visible through the material of his khaki green t-shirt. “But we had to temporarily cross through to avoid a Praetorian Guard patrol.” She froze at the very mention of that name: Praetorian Guard. They were the supernatural soldiers of her world, enforcers and hunters who did the bidding of the Trieze. They were also immortal and skilled in about six hundred and eighty-two different forms of killing. She had broken the biggest rule of her people by fleeing Australia and there was only one penalty for that: death. She needed to avoid the Praetorian Guard at all costs. “A what? When?! Why wasn’t I informed of this?” “I was just coming to tell y – “ “There were no scheduled patrols for this sector. We triple-checked the timetable.” “I know, sir.” “This is far out of their usual route.” His companion looked grim as he nodded. “I know.” There was a beat before the two men continued to walk, Sorcha trailing behind them just within earshot. “I don’t like it.” “Neither do I, sir.” “How long until we’re out of Australian waters?” “Another two hours.” “Is there anyone suspicious on board?” “Uh, yes … our entire clientele.” “Don’t give me that snark, you know what I mean. Is there anyone they could be hunting? Any ‘precious’ cargo that would direct their gaze our way?” “The usual, Captain: rogues, runaways, those desperate not to be found. Except … " They came to a sudden stop, Sorcha so caught up in her eavesdropping that she stumbled closer to them than she would have liked. She had to duck behind a life raft to avoid being seen. They must have sensed her movement regardless, as she felt the heat of their combined perception targeted at the spot she had been standing just seconds earlier. She held her breath, waiting for them to resume their conversation unbothered. “Except what?” the Captain asked, caution in his tone as he lowered his voice significantly. “The exotic seafood, sir. In the cargo hold.” Sorcha peered out from her hiding spot, watching as understanding crossed the man’s features. “We’re not dumping the cargo,” he replied. “If we don’t have it, there’s nothing to buy us safe passage through Indonesian waters.” “Agreed.” The Captain looked around again, eyes sweeping the surroundings as Sorcha darted back down. “Let’s continue this conversation in my quarters.” She listened to their footsteps fading away and only when she was sure they were gone did she emerge back out on to the deck. This was not good. A Praetorian Guard patrol was searching for something and she had a sneaking suspicion it was her. The ship and the entire illegal operation was run by Tasmanian devil shifters, who were known to be as ruthless and snarly as the animals they shared so many identifying traits with. If they even suspected for a second that she was the source of this squadron on their tail, they wouldn’t hesitate to throw her overboard. It had taken her weeks to make a connection with the shady characters who supplied her ticket, months to meet all the requirements to qualify for one, and just over a year to squirrel away enough cash. All of that hard work and planning could be gone in a second if they learned what she was. Her fingers brushed the fabric of the bum bag strapped around her waist for reassurance, Sorcha feeling a morsel of relief just knowing it was there. She hadn’t been able to take much of her stuff, as clearing out her room would have been a clear sign to anyone watching that she was about to leg it. So in her cabin she had just a single backpack with a few changes of clothing, but around her waist was everything valuable. Three thousand in cash, a fake passport and ID she’d managed to acquire from a sprite at the Sydney Fish Markets, and a small multi-purpose tool that had a lighter, knife, flashlight, and bottle opener all in one. She wasn’t sure how useful the last item would be, but she felt better just knowing she had it. Sorcha gripped it in her hand now as she headed for a nearby stairwell, calmly descending towards her room like absolutely nothing was wrong. She nodded and smiled politely at the faces she passed, including that of a statuesque woman in the hallway so tall her hair brushed the ceiling as she walked. If she wasn’t seven foot, she was close to it, and Sorcha immediately understood why the lady had to travel like this. Between the slightly glowy skin and unusual sway of her limbs, there’s no way she could pass for human in the real world. She was an arachnia, part of a supernatural species that were so magnificent and spiderlike in their natural form they somehow always looked uncomfortable crammed into their human bodies. Sorcha shook her head slightly to dislodge the vision of the woman and slipped into the tiny shoebox that had been advertised as her ‘room’. The good thing was that she didn’t have to share it with anyone. The bad thing was there was nothing to share, with Sorcha turning sideways in the bathroom cubicle to make it out the door. Her bag – still packed and untouched – was sitting on the bed and she pulled a change of clothes from it. She slid the chain lock of the door into place, ripped off her wig, and took a quick shower. The hot water didn’t function at all, but that was fine as the stream of cold was heavenly as she used it to bring her overall body temperature down a few degrees. Drying and switching outfits, she repositioned her wig as best she could and examined her reflection in the smeared mirror set against the wall. With the straps of her backpack resting against her shoulders, she sat on the bed with a sigh. She was tired, so tired, both from a lack of sleep and the sheer amount of adrenaline that had been coursing through her veins for the past twenty-four hours as Operation Get The Fuck Out Of Dodge came fully into effect. She closed her eyes, rubbing at one of them absentmindedly like a fatigued toddler. Her last coherent thought was that the gesture had smeared her mascara, but the concern drifted off quickly as the fog of sleep took over. |
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On the scale of fucked up things that went bump in the night, she was barely a dull thump. |
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She woke with a start, leaping forward from the position she had been slumped in and sitting alert at the end of the bed. Sorcha hadn’t meant to doze, even though she clearly needed it, and she was momentarily annoyed with herself. Letting her guard down even for a minute was a risk she couldn’t afford. Glancing at her wristwatch, she noted she had been unconscious for nearly four hours. Cursing herself, she got to her feet – backpack still on her shoulders – and stretched her body. Knock knock knock. She froze, thinking for a panicked moment someone was at her door. They weren’t. It must have been a few cabins away and she strained to hear the muffled conversation that was happening. Chain still on the door, she slowly, carefully, opened it just a crack so she could hear better. “I understand you don’t wish to attend the dinner service and I’m sorry to interrupt your evening,” a man in a lime green jumper was saying. “But we’re currently conducting a routine search of all rooms and just need to look inside yours for one moment. It’s for your own safety, I’m sure you understand.” The occupant of the room, it seemed, did not understand and was strongly opposed to the idea of having his room searched. “For my own safety? Wee man, I’m a one hundred and eighty two-year old goblin who has lived through more wars than your lil’ shifter brain can conceive. What could possibly be a threat to me?” A grin that was less of a smile and more of a threat cracked across the door knocker’s face and Sorcha knew she didn’t imagine the exaggerated point of his teeth. After all, Tasmanian devils had biters so sharp they could cut through the bone of a human finger with just one flex of their powerful jaws. She could only imagine what their shifter counterparts could do. “You mistake me, I’m not asking to inspect your room,” he replied. “I’m tellin’ ya.” His muscled forearm shot up, grabbing the goblin by the throat and pushing him backwards into the room while the two other staff members at his rear moved inside. Sorcha could hear them tearing the place apart, searching for Lord knows what. This is exactly what she had been worried about. Shutting the door to her cabin as quietly as she could, she let out a shuddered breath as she leaned against the wall. The goblin’s room was only two doors down from hers. That meant once they were done with him, it would be the following cabin and then Sorcha. They weren’t looking for contraband or trying to keep the passengers safe, they were looking for whatever would spark a Praetorian Guard patrol to come dangerously close to their chosen route and potentially threaten their whole operation. In other words: her. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. Sorcha jumped, the noise of the shifters banging on the door of the cabin next door doing enough to send her pulse racing. Their muffled voices were so close and she knew physically she couldn’t take on three Tasmanian devil shifters. She didn’t have to, though: all she had to do was a get a few words out, a full sentence at the very least. If she could find a way to add movement to her speech, she could compel them to listen to her. She could compel them to believe that she wasn’t who or what they were looking for. When she’d acquired her ticket, she’d been purposefully vague about what kind of supernatural being she was. She’d let them think she was a witch, because that was more mysterious. That was something more fearful. If they learned the truth, the whole gig would be up in a matter of seconds. Yet her powers weren’t something easily definable: they worked better on those who were ‘unattached’ and her hold varied from being-to-being. If just one of these shifters was deeply, truly in love with someone, she wasn’t going to be able to manipulate them. Sliding the chain off the door gradually so it wouldn’t rattle, Sorcha opened it up just a crack. She listened as they questioned her neighbour – a witch, three of them in fact - and she could already tell from the shifters posture they were being more careful than they had been with the goblin. The latter were generally smart creatures, gifted when it came to any task that required immense technical detail. They were supernaturally agile and lived long lives of around three hundred years or so, but they were not physically powerful in the same way shifters and werewolves were. Witches, on the other hand, were a dark horse. They were intentionally secretive after being persecuted alongside werewolves in the Middle Ages and since then, not a whole lot was known about exactly what they could and couldn’t do. They needed to be handled with extreme caution and Sorcha was thankful for it as it meant the trio of shifters were concentrating on the beings in front of them and not the woman to their left as she prepared to slip out of the cabin. She had determined she couldn’t risk it, she couldn’t be trapped in that tiny space with no escape route if her powers didn’t do everything she needed them to. Hiding somewhere on the ship until she could escape at the next port was the best and safest option. To give the shifters credit, they had managed to peacefully negotiate with the witches and were stepping into their cabin just as Sorcha prepared to step out. Two of them were already inside as she snuck into the hall, with the third halfway over the threshold when he paused. He hesitated, sniffing the air as Sorcha took slow, deliberate steps backwards and kept her eyes on him. He sniffed again, inhaling deeper. “What is it?” one of his colleagues asked, when he noticed the hesitation. “Fear,” they replied. “I can smell it on the air.” She quickened her steps, sparing a glance over her shoulder just to make sure she wasn’t about to collide with anything. “It is not us,” came the deep voice of a woman inside the cabin, one of the witches. “We are not afraid of you.” More sniffing, followed by another long pause as the shifters attempted to find the same scent as their comrade. Sorcha was nearly at the bend in the hallway when the man in the doorway leaned back out, one blistered hand holding on to the doorframe. He spun his head to look directly at her, their eyes making contact as time hovered between them for a moment. “OY!” he yelled, taking a step towards her. Sorcha didn’t even attempt to use her powers, adrenaline taking over as she pivoted on the spot and sprinted away from him as fast as she could. Her feet slapped against the hard floors as she ran, the sound incredibly loud to her as she raced down endless corridors dotted with the doors to passenger cabins. Some of them opened as she streaked by, curious faces blinking out at her. The shouts of the shifters let Sorcha know they were in pursuit: not that there was ever any doubt. She cursed herself internally, knowing that in her panic she had just acted incredibly guilty and confirmed to them she was the being they were hunting for. The corridor widened, with Sorcha diving down the right fork and pouncing up a series of stairs. There was a snarling sound from behind her and she risked a glance, immediately wishing she hadn’t as she stared at the face of the man with the mutton chops. They were seemingly sprouting before her eyes, the hair creeping further along his face as it thickened and spread in black tufts. It was like the thrill of the chase had excited him, his eyes illuminated as features began to transition from man to animal. She turned her attention back to what was in front of her – a family of smoke elementals – and she held her breath as she dashed through the group of two mothers, three sons, and one daughter. Her figure must have blocked the view for the shifters, as they didn’t hold their breath and Sorcha heard them coughing and spluttering as tendrils of smoke from the foggy beings entered their lungs. It gave her the slightest advantage and she took it, gulping air as she made a dangerous choice and followed a throng of people into the massive dining hall. Hundreds of passengers were there for the dinner service, many sitting at tables already and others lining up for the buffet. The light was dimmer in there, with a blue spotlight moving through the room as a stand-up comedian attempted some crowd work. Sorcha ripped the wig from her head, ducking low as she tossed it under a table she passed and snatched a woman’s blazer off the back of her chair. She shrugged out of the blue flannel shirt she had been wearing and into the new garment, hoping the change in appearance and sheer numbers in the crowd might hide her from those in pursuit. An older man hunched over his walking stick was wearing a newsboy cap and she casually brushed against him, muttering her apology with intent as she swiped the hat from his head. “Oh, it’s all right dear,” he said, eyes glassy in a way that told Sorcha her speech had the intended effect. He didn’t notice his hat was missing as she slipped it on her on head, the room suddenly filled with a jazzy showtune as the comedian became a singer. She had stopped running, knowing the motion would draw eyes in the slow-moving space, and instead turned to keep her back to the wall as she inched towards the exit far across the other side of the room. The shifters had entered further behind her than she expected and they had spread out, their heads swiveling around the room as they searched for her. Even with their heightened abilities, there was too much noise, too many people. They couldn’t lock on to her and Sorcha was willing their eyes to gloss over the portion of the dining hall she was occupying. One of them was making his way towards the stage, while another was gesturing to other colleagues dressed in green. He was ordering them to shut the doors they had just run through and she knew the next thing that would happen: the lights would come up, the mic would be cut, and they would examine diners one-by-one. She needed to be out of this room before that. Her hand closed around the cold, steel bar of a side door and she pushed against it with her back, slipping it open just enough so she could get through. She took a step backwards, watching as the shifters disappeared from view and the exit clicked shut. She was in another corridor, this one with less options: two doors led to the bathrooms, with logos painted on the front. Another door clearly led to the kitchen from the sound of nearby clanging, while the fourth and final door was unmarked. It was her only promising possibility. At first it didn’t open, but she pushed all of her weight against it once, twice, and then on a third time it lurched wide. She stumbled into the darkness, plunging into open space before colliding with concrete stairs as she fell down them. There was no light source to speak of and by impulse, Sorcha had thrown her hand out and managed to grab hold of the railing. She had already fallen a fair way, but she gripped hard as she slowed her descent and pulled herself to her feet, breathing heavily from both the shock and the pain of the unexpected plummet. Fumbling around in her bum bag, her fingers closed around the multi-purpose tool. She made sure to find the right button so a tiny, white glow emitted in the dark rather than a useless-in-the-moment knife that wouldn’t have gotten her very far except shanked. The flashlight wasn’t strong and didn’t penetrate into the darkness far, but it was something. And something was better than nothing. Illumination in one hand, railing gripped in the other, Sorcha limped further down the steps. They seemed to go on forever, taking her deep into the bowels of the ship. She couldn’t worry about not being able to find her way out, she just had to put as much distance between herself and the Tasmanian devil shifters as possible. |
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She tried to ignore the flash of slightly serrated teeth she saw when the selkie threw her a smile. |
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Just the thought of them had her heart beating rapidly against her chest, but she willed herself to calm down. They hadn’t followed her in here yet, which meant they didn’t know where she was. So down was better than up, for now. Soon shapes started to appear out of the dimness; squares and rectangles and blocks of solid mass. She was in the cargo hold, she realised, finally hitting a flat surface and what she hoped was the bottom level. It was cool down there and eerily quiet, the only sound Sorcha’s footsteps as she weaved her way slowly through the pathways created by the placement of whatever it was the ship was transporting. Gradually, the small glow from her device wasn’t the only source of illumination. There was a bluish, green tinge emulating from the centre of the hold and she let herself get drawn towards it. A black canvas had been thrown over the top of whatever was creating the light source, with each corner locked down with elastic ties. Sorcha’s hands were shaking slightly as she undid the first one, then the second, and the third. With every tie she released, the darkness was chased away just a little. She was surprised to find glass underneath, her fingertips skimming along the surface of what she realised was a large tank. Originally she had begun uncovering it because she needed the light, but once she started, Sorcha needed to see what was underneath. And it was entirely not what she was expecting. “GAH!” she screamed, lurching backwards in horror. She hit a steel crate behind her, slamming into it and sliding down to the ground on her ass. Staring back at her, through the glass and through the bluish green water of the tank, was a face. It belonged to a woman … or so she thought. It was difficult to discern the features through a mass of swirling seaweed. No, not seaweed, she thought. Hair. It almost looked like a sentient being as it billowed around her, moving like black ink had been dropped into the surface of a pool. Sorcha inched forwards, hypnotised by what she was seeing. Before she knew it, the tip of her nose was pressed against the glass as she gawked at a massive, silver tail that was curled beneath the creature and the grey skin that extended upwards from it. The woman was topless, with a small set of gravity-defying breasts floating much like she was. “A … a selkie,” she murmured, knowing logically that’s what the woman was, but still hearing the surprise in her voice as she said the words out loud. She’d heard about them of course, knew they existed, yet seeing one up close and confined was … unbelievable. Suddenly the creature lurched forward, rushing the glass before being yanked back by layers of chains that Sorcha hadn’t seen at first. Now that she had, she realised they were everywhere: cuffed around the woman’s wrists, crisscrossed over her waist, and bolted into the floor of the tank. The selkie gnashed her teeth, but not at Sorcha. She was frustrated by her restricted movement, which the young woman could relate to immediately. “Are you … “ she didn’t finish her sentence, her mind tripping over a conversation she wasn’t meant to have heard earlier. “Exotic seafood. You’re what they’re smuggling illegally.” “Everyone on this cursed ship is being smuggled illegally,” the selkie replied, her voice low and dangerous. “The only difference is they have a choice.” “No, they don’t,” she answered, thinking about her own choice. “You just can’t see their chains.” Getting to her feet, she began searching the exterior of the tank, running her fingers along the rim as she searched. She felt the selkie’s eyes follow her, although the woman didn’t move again. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Looking for a key, a lock, whatever mechanism to get you out of there.” “Why would you do that? You don’t even know me.” “You’re in chains,” Sorcha said, simply. “And I can only guess why on a ship run by male shifters.” “It’s because I ate two of their colleagues.” She paused, hand reaching for a key that was dangling on a hook nearby. “You – “ “Ate. They caught me off the coast of Cairns. I was trying to protect a friend, someone who had just come back to us, and it was him or me.” “So you sacrificed yourself?” “No, not quite. I had a better chance of escaping than Amos. Got close too, but … “ “Here you are.” “Here I am.” The two women stared at each other, the pale white of Sorcha’s skin reflecting in the glass as the selkie’s grey features mirrored her own. “Who are you escaping, land walker?” Sorcha opened her mouth to deliver a lie or any variant on the dozens of stories she had ready and rehearsed at a moment’s notice. Yet something stopped her. “I – “ A metallic clang rung out somewhere far up above her, the noise seeming cacophonic after the pressing silence in the cargo hold. Sorcha jumped, immediately alert as she listened to several voices arguing back and forth with each other. They were distant, she guessed close to where she had first fallen down the stairs. “What is it?” the selkie asked, voice full of urgency. “Who is it?” “I don’t know,” Sorcha whispered back, worry thick in her tone. “It’s the devils. They’re the only ones who come down here.” “I came down here.” “That was not by design.” Sorcha caught the way the selkie was staring at her and realised for the first time she looked like a wreck. Her jeans were torn, with blood from various scrapes having seeped through the material. The skin around her knuckles was matted from where she had hit the ground. There was a rhythmic tapping as their visitors began to descend the metal stairs, with Sorcha estimating mere minutes before they were exactly where she was standing. “You need to hide,” the selkie said. “I know,” Sorcha snapped, annoyed at the obviousness of the statement. “Hide in here with me.” She tilted her head with amusement. “In there. With you. In a tank where the occupant just told me she ate the last two creatures who got too close?” “What other option do you have?” Sorcha’s skin was prickling, sensing how much she was bookended by two very different types of danger. All the while, footsteps were drawing closer … “I’ll make you a deal,” the creature purred, her fingers tracing a shape on the glass as she spoke. “I promise not to eat you when you hide in my tank if you promise to get me out of here when they’re gone.” Sorcha opened her mouth to say she was in the process of doing that anyway when she stopped herself. If she admitted that, she had nothing to bargain with. “I promise,” she replied, making the snap decision that would either save her life or end it. “I promise too.” She tried to ignore the flash of slightly serrated teeth she saw when the selkie threw her a smile. Unhooking her bum bag and backpack in a rush, she stashed them behind a nearby container that reeked of rotting meat. Darting back to the tank, she grabbed the dangling key and her hands flew over the latches as she released the dozen or so that lined the lid of the tank. “They were damn committed to keeping you in here,” she muttered, working as fast as she could to slide back the top. Lowering herself into the water, she couldn’t afford to waste any more time as she hung over the edge and yanked the canvas cover back over the exterior. Letting her body sink deeper into the tank, she gently inched the lid to an almost closed position. She could see that it wasn’t shut, but from the outside it would look perfectly secure. There was enough space for her to wiggle her fingers through and get both of them to freedom when the coast was clear and that’s all she needed. The water was cool and Sorcha felt goosebumps spring up on her skin as her body was submerged completely in it. Her feet couldn’t touch the bottom and the tank was so full, there were only two inches of air at the surface before the roof completely covered anything else. She awkwardly treaded water, resisting the urge to panic as she fully realised what a precarious situation she had immersed herself in – literally. The selkie’s face emerged just in front of her, piercing blue eyes contracting slightly as she watched Sorcha struggle. “Hold on to my shoulders,” she said, spinning around and presenting her back. Reluctantly, Sorcha did so. It was easier with something to hold on to and the selkie swam them backwards, pressing her into the corner of the tank so that her body was shielded by the aquatic creature in front of her. Then, they waited. And waited. Despite how close they had been, it felt like forever before the shifters ended up in front of the tank. Only the bottom of their feet could be seen at the hem of the canvas cover, with Sorcha’s heartbeat increasing dramatically as two pairs of sneakers walked by her hiding place. |
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“It’s the devils. They’re the only ones who come down here.” |
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“My name is Atlanta, by the way,” the selkie whispered. “Sorcha,” she replied, thinking that this was possibly the worst time for introductions. She had almost relaxed when the feet returned, followed by thick, hairy fingers that reached under the canvas and ripped it back. “There she is,” one of the devils purred. It took a second for Sorcha to understand the man was talking about Atlanta, not her. The selkie’s thick hair was endless and floating around her like a massive curtain that hid the woman on the other side. Her tail was half folded, adding another layer of protection, so the two shifters couldn’t see her hidden behind the selkie at all. It was kind of brilliant. “There I am,” Atlanta responded, her voice sounding the way a knife felt as she spoke to her captors. “You seen a little miss running around in here, mermaid?” “From this great vantage point of an aquatic cage, you mean?” The shifter chuckled, enjoying her teasing. “How come this isn’t tied down?” his colleague asked, clearly the smarter of the two. “The canvas should be tied down, you didn’t undo it?” “Nah.” “Who the fuck untied it then, Mick?” “Coulda been anyone, coulda been Kevin coming down here to jerk off while watching her.” Sorcha felt the muscles in Atlanta’s shoulders tighten, understanding the selkie’s anger. She gripped her a little harder, trying to remind her to be cool so these assholes would leave. “Is that what happened, my merhoe? Did Kevin pay you a visit from behind the glass?” “A girl never kisses and tells,” Atlanta murmured. “But if you come in for a swim, I might relay some details … “ “Oy,” the other one said, slapping down a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “We’re not here to fuck spiders. Tie this canvas back down and let’s keep looking.” “Yeah, alright. Little chance the runaway would be able to get around down here without us finding her.” “Depends on what she is,” came the huffed response as their visitors disappeared behind the material. “I think a witch is looking less and less likely. When was the last time the Treize gave enough of a crap to hunt one of those?” “You right, you right.” They kept talking, but their voices faded away as the two shifters moved deeper into the cargo hold. She stayed exactly where she was, Atlanta remaining in front of her too for some time as a precaution. She didn’t want to panic, but with the canvas now covering them and there so little air as she craned her neck upwards and gulped it, Sorcha was desperate to get out. She went to swim over to the opening in the cover, which had gone unnoticed by the shifters. Atlanta stopped her, pushing her back slightly. “We should wait longer,” she said, “It hasn’t been enough time.” “I can’t,” Sorcha panted. “I can’t stay in here one more second.” “Believe me, I know how you feel but – “ “We’re getting out of here. Now.” She dived under her, fully submerging herself and popping up directly under their exit. Using her fingers, she shimmied the latch back open and reached for the multi-purpose tool she had tucked into her bra strap. Flipping open the small knife, she cut through the canvas above them and made a hole large enough to fit. “Here, I’ll help you up,” Atlanta said, her hands gripping around Sorcha’s waist. “Concentrate on yourself,” she replied, passing her the key she had swiped before she dived in. The selkie could be unlocking all the chains wrapped around her and in the meantime, Sorcha could be getting out of there. She used her upper body strength to pull herself out of the water like she was doing a weighted chin up, feeling immediately better once she was sitting on top of the tank. Her clothes stuck to her like glue as she appreciated the increased amount of air around them, even if it too was stale. The sound of metallic rattling had been the backing track for the past few minutes and when Sorcha looked down into the water, she was surprised to see all of the selkie’s chains were now sitting at the bottom of the tank. “Impressive strength,” the selkie murmured, taking the words right out of Sorcha’s mouth as the creature looked her up and down. “What are you, exactly?” “A stripper,” she replied, enjoying the briefest moment of surprise that crossed the creature’s features. “Well, I was. I worked with my sisters during the day as a forensic cleaner, then at night I danced in a friend’s club.” “You had two jobs?” “Uh huh.” “Do your sisters dance too?” She laughed at that, enjoying the idea of any one of her six siblings attempting to do what she did. “No, they didn’t even know I had a second job. It was a secret.” “A secret?” “Yeah,” Sorcha said, reaching into the tank and pulling Atlanta out after her. “I wasn’t ashamed or anything, don’t get me wrong. But they couldn’t know about the stripping: I needed to keep that gig and the money I earned from it hush hush.” The selkie’s tail was the most difficult part of her to get out of the glass prison, with the scales making it slippery and the thick muscles barely small enough to get through the gap. They did it, somehow, after several attempts and a lot of swearing. “Why was it secret?” Atlanta asked, as they both sat on top of the tank for a moment, puffing with recovery. It took Sorcha a beat before she could answer the question truthfully. “They couldn’t know I was going to run away, none of them. Not my mother, not my auntie, not my cousins, not my sisters, and especially not the littlest, Sadie. It would put them in too much danger.” “You’re close with her, Sadie,” she stated. “How do you know that?” she questioned, examining the woman’s face in the little light there was. “The way you said her name, Sadie.” Sorcha sighed, contemplative. “She has already been hurt once, badly, by the Treize for something that wasn’t her fault. I know me leaving is gonna crush her, but I just couldn’t … stay.” She felt the selkie’s eyes bore into her, yet she ignored them. Sorcha worried she had already said too much, revealed too much, but she couldn’t help it. This creature was like truth serum. “Anyway,” she huffed, carefully climbing down to the ground, “The stripping gig has made me the fittest I’ve ever been. My core strength is incredible and my guns – “ She flexed for Atlanta, pulling the briefest of classic body building poses. “ – are loaded.” The selkie laughed, wiggling over to the edge and looking at the floor with skepticism. “I know,” Sorcha said, unprompted. “I don’t know how we’re gonna get you around either. Or where we’re gonna get you around to.” "If I was in better condition I could partially shift, but not like this." Sorcha desperately wanted to see that, knowing selkies could twist and distort their form into any number of sea creatures if they wanted. There had even been rumours of partial human transformation, yet she always thought it was just that: rumour. “There’s a maintenance elevator four hundred steps that way,” Atlanta pointed. “If we can get to the lower deck, any deck, then we can get to freedom.” “You can,” Sorcha corrected. “You can swim anywhere you God damn like. I’m not becoming chum.” “I won’t let you become ‘chum’. I’ll take you with me. You can’t stay here. Even hiding, they’ll find you eventually.” “Maybe. Maybe not. But I have a better chance on this ship than in the open ocean.” “Not if you’re with me.” “I still don’t entirely trust you. Once I’m out there with you, who’s to say you won’t eat me?” “Better options?” They were at an impasse. Sorcha folded her arms across her chest as a potentially deadly selkie looked down at her, perched on top of a now empty tank like it was a rock and she was luring sailors to their deaths. “Let’s work on moving you first,” she said, carefully. “Then go from there.” Grabbing her hidden bags and re-strapping them to her body, Sorcha searched around for something – anything – that could be used to help move Atlanta. She was just about to give up when she tripped over the hem of the canvas, her clumsiness giving her an idea. Running around the tank, she untied every bit of it that she could and dragged it over to where the selkie was laying. Folding it several times like a massive, dirty handkerchief, she tied part of it around her shoulders and waist. “Lay in the middle of that,” she said, pointing. “I can use the canvas to drag you to the elevator.” “How long will that take?” Atlanta asked, as she hauled her incredible body in to the spot Sorcha had indicated. “If you can direct me through the dark to the elevator, then not long. Why?” “The sooner I can get back into sea water, the better." Sorcha noted that her voice sounded weaker as she began dragging the selkie behind her. It was hard work and she bent over completely as she made her way towards the service elevator with the woman’s navigation. Her chest was burning from the physical exertion and it felt as if the water covering her body quickly turned into sweat. When the small, blinking orange light of the elevator’s display screen came into view, Sorcha nearly dropped to her knees with relief. |
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“Wailing women, then. Sisters of the otherworld. Bean-nighe.” |
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“Nearly … ” she panted, a small ‘there there’ pat from Atlanta felt against her calf. It was testament to how tired they both were that neither woman noticed they had company until there was a snarl behind them. Sorcha dropped the canvas and spun around as they passed the last container. She stumbled until her back was against the wall, hand just inches from the elevator button. It may as well have been miles thanks to what was in front of them: the two shifters from earlier, plus a third - the one in khaki who Sorcha had initially bought her ticket from. The pursuit had brought out the beast in them, with animal claws extending from thick fingers that more closely resembled chorizos than human digits. Their eyes were glowing and she didn’t need to see the drool spilling out the side of their mouths to know this mission had evoked a hunger. “Searched high and low, did you Mick?” the leader growled, not taking his eyes off Sorcha. “I didn’t know she was hiding in the bloody tank! That sea bitch has eaten everyone else.” “Call it a feminist alliance,” Atlanta said, voice sounding softer then it had just moments ago. Yet she was stronger than she was letting on, Sorcha realised, watching as the selkie dragged herself free of the canvas until she was pressed against the side of a steel container. Her hands were out of view and bracing themselves against the ground. She was preparing to do something and as her eyes flashed to Sorcha’s, she realised she just needed to buy the selkie time. “Please, let us go,” she said, speaking up. Obviously they wouldn’t, but it drew the shifters attention back to her. “You,” the leader said, “I’m very curious about where you fit in all of this. What is it that makes you so valuable, huh? Why do the Treize want you so badly?” “Just let us go,” Sorcha repeated, saying the words more slowly. She shifted her weight from side-to-side, swaying ever-so-slightly and watching as three sets of shifter eyes tracked her hungrily. “Just … let us … go.” It looked like it might be working, with the head of one man rising up and down in a slow nod. “Okay,” he murmured, the words thick. “We can do that … can’t we boys?” “Yeah,” another answered, “We can … aye, Mike?” Atlanta’s head tilted with interest as she watched the scene unfold. The container she was resting against rocked slightly and there was a huffing sound from inside it. Sorcha’s eyes were drawn to the very top third of it, which was grated and allowed breathing holes for whatever was in there. “We ca-c … we can – “ The main guy was having the most trouble with her compulsion and shook his head with frustration. It looked like he was trying to dislodge molasses from his brain. It seemed to work and he glanced away from Sorcha just long enough to break her tug. “We… we can’t, what the fuck? What the fuck are you doing to us, witch?! Boys, grab them – both of them! Now!” The orders acted as a catalyst for Atlanta, who had positioned herself perfectly to throw open the container behind her by tossing her body weight against the main lever. She rolled out of the way of a swinging door, whipping her tail out at the same time and tripping the two shifters who had lunged towards Sorcha. They were both swiped to the ground with sickening impact and in a flash, the selkie had raised her tail high in the air and brought it down on a shifter’s head again, and again, and again. The other fella was watching in shock, crab walking away from the scene on his hands and feet, towards the opening of the container. An enormous mouth lunged out of the darkness, sinking down into the flesh between the man’s neck and shoulder. He screamed, trying to use his claws to slash at this attacker. It was futile as he was dragged backwards into the darkness and his cries filled the small space. The final shifter was stuck between his dying friend, his dead colleague, and the women, his limited mind struggling to pick an option to focus on. The contents of the crate decided for him, with a hooved monster stepping out of the metal prison and expelling a gust of air with a toss of its head. There was a spray of blood mixed in with the exhale, making the whole thing look like a gruesome sprinkler system as the shifter dropped to all fours in order to face off against the beastie. Despite how mortally wounded the devil named Mick must have been, his ragged claw emerged from the darkness and scratched the animal’s hide. It made a high-pitched whining sound that was so piercing and horrible, Sorcha could compare it to just one thing: her younger sister Sadie’s wail. She had only heard it once, and briefly, when they were children. But that was enough to sear its way into her mind and change her life forever. She flinched, dropping down to her knees as the noise echoed through the cargo hold and she slapped her hands over her ears to try and block it out. “HEY!” She looked up, finding Atlanta in her face. The selkie was desperate, having dragged herself across the space between them. “WE NEED TO MOVE!” she shouted, pointing frantically over her shoulder. “WHILE THEY’RE DISTRACTED!” She was right, of course, and Sorcha glanced over at the battle that was taking place between the one and a half shifters and whatever the hell had emerged from the container. She didn’t want to hang around and see who the victor would be. Whoever it was, it was going to be bad for them. She half-pulled, half-dragged the selkie behind her as they dashed towards the elevator. She slapped the big, industrial knob over and over again, the mechanical whirring of the cables pulling the shaft into gear. It sounded impossible for it to go any slower. “Come on, come on, commmmme on,” she begged, both of their backs to the doors so they could keep an eye on what was going on behind them. When the elevator did eventually arrive, they fell backwards into it, Sorcha scrambling from her position on the ground to whack the button that would close the doors and send them upwards. “Sorcha,” Atlanta said, voice urgent as the beastie shifted its attention towards them. “If you know a way to make these doors close faster, I’m all ears,” she answered, her fingers smacking the button repeatedly. The creature charged at them, roaring as it sprinted in their direction. Atlanta gripped Sorcha’s shoulder so tightly it caused her to wince, the selkie not liking the idea of being trapped in the elevator with that thing any more than she did. She closed her eyes, not being able to handle the tension just as the metal doors shut and the monster was blocked from view. There was an epic thud as it crashed against the now closed surface, the elevator jerking upwards as they began to move. Opening just one eye with a squint, Sorcha glanced at an open-mouthed Atlanta. There was a breath before both of them let out a huffed stream of laughter. “I thought – “ “I know!” Sorcha said, cutting her off. “Me too! I mean – “ “Totally!” “And they just – “ “They’re not making it out of that cargo hold alive, no way. Not against that!” “The ruckus is going to draw the others down there.” “And devils cannot resist the smell of so much blood. There will be none of them left on deck when we get there.” “Which is great!” “So great!” There was the briefest pause between them before Atlanta blurted out a question. “What are you?” “Excuse me?” “What are you? I saw what you did back there, that wasn’t witchcraft. There was no muttering of hexes or spells drawn.” Sorcha pressed her lips into a hard line. “You’re not an alchemist, there were no potions or symbols or markers on your body.” She willed the elevator to go faster, eyes fixed on the digital display as they moved past the first deck and on to the final one. “I’ve never seen anyone able to do what you can do, control others with their speech and their body. And that’s coming from someone who’s more comfortable in dugong form than the female shape most of the time.” “I can’t control them,” Sorcha snapped, relieved to step out of the enclosed space as the doors shuddered open. “I can compel them: like suggestion with reinforcement.” “What kind of supernatural can d … oh.” Atlanta was pulling herself across the wooden floorboards, her long tail just sliding out of the elevator before the doors closed shut. Sorcha had turned around to look at her, the expression that crossed her features of deep concern. “You’re not like anyone on this boat, are you?” Sorcha said nothing. Instead she looked pointedly at the woman’s hair, which trailed down her back like a wet, thick coat. It was stunning. She was stunning. “There are some who it is said can command men with their speech alone, who can predict and foretell their doom,” the selkie murmured, eyes illuminated with excitement. “Foretelling doom was never my specialty,” Sorcha answered, a smile twitching on to her lips. “That was more my sisters gifts.” “Sisters … all gifted?” “Yes.” “Wailing women, then. Sisters of the otherworld. Bean-nighe.” “Just say it.” “Banshee. You’re a banshee. That’s why they’re after you, the Trieze, and if the devils knew what they had – “ “They don’t. And they never will. If we leave now.” “So you’ll come with me? You trust me enough for that?” Sorcha sighed, shivering slightly as she turned and looked out over the water that glittered in the moonlight. “Per the Treize’s order of 1791, no banshee is to leave the penal colony of Terra Australis, upon penalty of death. No banshee is to change their surname, lest they forget the shame of what generations before them have done. No banshee can hide or carry more than one predicative ability, upon penalty of death. No banshee is to forewarn others about their impending doom, upon penalty of death. No banshee may intervene with fate’s plan, upon penalty of death.” If the words she spoke had an air of recital, it’s because all banshees were forced to memorise them from the moment their minds could retain such information. “The Covenant,” Sorcha said. “They’re the rules that bind my kind and if you dare break one of them – “ “Upon penalty of death,” the selkie finished. There was a sharp cry and both women jumped, jerking towards the source of the noise. The elevator had gone down and was coming back up again, with something horrific inside it. “Do you want to find out what’s coming to greet us?” Atlanta asked. “Not particularly.” “Then help me get to the railing.” The selkie was weak, having spent the last of her energy getting them out of the cargo hold. Her skin was dry, shifting from grey to white, and feeling like wilted paper as Sorcha helped pull her to an almost standing position. The long vertebrae that extended through her back and down into her tail like a dolphin kept Atlanta upright, as both paranormal ladies examined the fall. “Will we survive that?” Sorcha asked, skeptical. The cruise ship wasn’t moving anymore, which was helpful, but it was still a considerable drop into the dark waters. Atlanta gave her a look like ‘bitch, please’ before negotiating her way to the ledge on the other side by rolling on her stomach. Sorcha followed, conscious of shouts that were increasing in volume. There was a ping of the elevator doors and another louder roar as Atlanta took her hand. “Trust me.” In unison, they threw themselves off the deck of the ship. The rush of air whipped Sorcha’s hair back as she took a colossal leap of faith. With a deep breath, she let herself plunge into the unknown. |
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