had agreed to serve in exchange for being able to live. For the short season she was with us, she kept her distance, staying alone in her room, appearing to be in prayer most of the time. Later we wondered if her coldness was part of a plan to remain unattached to us. When she had to sing for the first time, she stood on the water, chin in the air, and refused. The Ocean pulled her under so fast, it was as if she’d never been there at all.
It was a warning to us all. We must sing, and we must keep the secret. It was a short list of commandments.
“And what about Catarina?” I continued. “Or Beth? Or Molly? What about the slew of girls in our position who failed?”
These girls’ stories were the cautionary tales that were passed down from one siren to the next. Beth had used her voice to make three girls who had teased her jump into a well. This was in the late 1600s when the idea of witches wasn’t that far-fetched. She’d put an entire town in an uproar, and the Ocean had silenced her to keep our secret. Catarina was another who had refused to sing and was taken. The strange thing about her was that she’d already been a siren for thirty years at that point. I nearly made myself crazy wondering about what could have made her give up on the promise of freedom that far in.
Molly’s story was different—and more disturbing. Her life as a siren had brought on some kind of mental breakdown. Four years in, she’d murdered a household of people in the night, including an infant, in an outburst she hadn’t realized she’d had until she was standing over an elderly woman who was facedown in a bathtub. From what I had heard, the Ocean tried to soothe her, but when she had a similar episode a few months later, the Ocean took her life. Molly was proof that there was grace when the Ocean knew your intentions, but she also showed that there was only so much room for that mercy.
These were the stories we carried, the guardrails that kept us in line. Forsaking the rules meant forsaking your life.
Exposing our secret would mean being taken away, maybe experimented on. When they couldn’t destroy us, and if we couldn’t escape, that could be a literal eternity of silent imprisonment. And if anyone guessed that the Ocean was purposefully consuming some of the people She also helped sustain, it wouldn’t take the humans very long to figure out how to get their water without ever touching Her. If no one went into the water … how would we all live?
Obedience was imperative.
“I worry about you two,” I confessed, crossing the room to hug them. “Honestly, I’m jealous sometimes of how well you’ve both … assimilated. But I wonder how much longer you can do that without making a mistake.”
“You don’t have to worry,” Miaka assured me. “This is what sirens have done throughout history, and we just happen to be the best at it so far. Even Aisling lives on the outskirts of a town. Human contact helps to keep us sane. You don’t have to seclude yourself to make it through this life.”
I nodded. “I know. But I don’t want to push my limits, or the Ocean’s.”
Elizabeth didn’t need to say anything. I could hear her judgment without words.
“Why don’t we go see Aisling?” Miaka suggested. “We’ve never really asked her about how she copes.”
“Because she’s never here,” Elizabeth replied, irritation in her voice.
We hadn’t seen our fourth sister since the last time we sang, and it had been well over two years since she’d lived with us.
“That might be a good idea. Just a short trip,” I added, mainly for Elizabeth, who had never really warmed to Aisling. She was too reclusive for Elizabeth’s taste.
Elizabeth nodded. “Sure. Nothing else going on anyway.”
We headed out the back door where a small wooden staircase led down to a floating dock. A handful of the other houses had Jet Skis or personal paddleboats secured to theirs, but ours was empty. The sun was low enough that no one would see as we slipped into the water.
Her currents stirred in greeting, and an almost tickling feeling wrapped around my body as we sank in. I relaxed in the warmth of Her embrace, already calmer.
Can you tell Aisling we’re coming? I asked.
Of course.
Wheee! Elizabeth sang as we dived deep into the water and set off. The speed stripped away her flimsy clothes, and she spread out her arms, hair dancing behind her, as she waited for her siren’s dress.
When we moved like this, every earthly thing we wore fell away. The Ocean opened Her veins, releasing thousands of particles of salt that affixed themselves to our bodies, creating long, delicate flowing gowns. They were gorgeous, coming out in every shade of Her—the purple of a patch of coral that human eyes had never passed, the green of kelp growing toward the light, the gold of burning sand at sunrise—and were never exactly the same thing twice. It was almost painful to watch them fall apart, one grain at a time, rarely lasting more than a few days after we left Her.
You seem sad. Her words came only to my ears.
I’ve been having more nightmares, I admitted.
You don’t have to sleep. You’ll be fine without it, you know that.
I smiled. I do. But I like sleep. It’s soothing. I’d just like to have it without the dreams is all.
She couldn’t take away my dreams, but She always comforted me as best She could. Sometimes She took me to islands or showed me the prettiest parts of Herself, so easily hidden from humans. Sometimes She knew that caring for me meant letting me be apart from Her. I never wanted to be away from Her for too long, though. She was the only mother I had, now.
Part mother, part warden, part employer … it was a hard relationship to explain.
Aisling swam out to greet us, her own dress partially formed and floating in strands around her.
What a surprise! she greeted, squeezing Miaka’s hand. Follow me.
We trailed behind her, skirting around the plates of land as they pushed themselves above the water into continents. Our sense of geography was a bit specialized, knowing that some places were surrounded by rocks, others by sand, others by sheer cliffs. There were other things we knew by heart as well, like the places we’d found each other or the locations of ships we’d taken down, a peculiar knowledge of unmapped ghost towns on the Ocean’s floor.
We tailed Aisling as she went to a slightly uneven coast, pulling herself upright as soon as the water was shallow enough.
“Don’t worry,” she said, taking in our nerves when she brazenly exited onto land. “We’re all alone out here.”
“I thought you lived near a town,” Elizabeth said, hopping across the rounded rocks as we crossed the shore.
Aisling shrugged. “Distance is relative.” She led us to an aging cottage just beyond the tree line. It was picturesque, settled underneath some heavy branches, and I imagined those limbs cooling the space in the summer and protecting her from snow in the winter. In front was a small garden bursting with flowers and berries, and the way everything flourished made me feel that, while the rest of us were connected solely to water, Aisling had drawn strength from all the elements.
“This place is so small!” Miaka commented on entering. It was one room,
