Page 2 of Hot Summer's Prey

Another tide shifts towards us, this one pulling all of us deeper, towards the crumbling rocks, into the Abyss. Cirro grips tighter, fanning his tentacles out to provide a modicum of cover. As we billow there in the twisting stream, the emotion deepens. That awful, sickly feeling moves through me. Nothing will ever be worthwhile again.

We are trapped. Despondent.

A song breaks through the current, wraps around us like a comforting embrace. The nudibranch lessens its death grip, ceases to release its toxin. It worms up my arm, my neck, to the top of my skull in search of the song. We look to each other, Cirro and I. Filled with the stubborn pride of hope, we kick and propel ourselves up, up until we are finally clear of the Abyss, far enough away that all we encounter now are the frantic creatures of the upper seas. I kick harder and harder, fighting to get closer to the source of that song. Cirro lets go, whether to beat me there or to allow us to swim more efficiently, I cannot tell.

The song pulses through my veins, quickens my heart, and brings such joy and comfort to me it escapes on my lips. Gaining on Cirro, I look to the kraken and laugh to see his eternal frown upturned just slightly. Joy never looks quite right on his face, his mouth far too small.

“Excited to see your favorite little leviathan?” I tease.

A tentacle whips up and smacks me in the face. I should have known better than to think Kalixto’s song would calm Cirro’s natural grumpiness. He and I are both much more reserved than the siren, but at least I know how to smile. Even if it would scare off a human or two.

“That phytoplankton is no leviathan,” Cirro huffs. I cannot tell if it’s dismissive or in jest.

Soon, the siren’s silhouette takes shape in the ray of sunlight beaming down from the surface. As we get closer, I can almost make out his features, but the daylight makes it difficult to see clearly.

“Do you have word, Kalixto?” I ask.

The merman nods somberly, long flowing green hair billowing behind him. The scales scattered across his chest twinkle in the sun's light.

“The Lantern Witch longs for vengeance.”

The words trickle down my spine like a crab, uncomfortable and disconcerting. His words are vague, but I shudder to think of what one must have done to trigger her ire.

“Is she harmed?” I ask, worry seeping in as I think of my garden.

“Not… externally,” Kalixto responds.

I would ponder what familiarity he has with the Lantern Witch, but my mind races with the fate of my garden.

I lift the nudibranch to my face. “We will help your friends, little one, don’t worry.”

The sooner I can speak with her, the sooner I can tend to the surviving life. My friends nod at me, worry apparent within their expressions, as I swim away.

“Don’t forget your offering!” Cirro calls out.

I nod, realizing all the trinkets I once had are now buried within the cavern… which means I will go to the Lantern Witch with nothing. Our previous arrangement will not cover the garden’s rehabilitation alone. In her current state, I worry for the price she will ask.

2

EBB & FLOW

TERESA

Doing yoga on a sad patch of grass at a gas station just off the interstate isn’t ideal, but when you’ve been stuck in a car for four hours with two of your closest pals, what can you do? My body needs to move—it always has.

“Fuck off, dude,” Zephyr barks behind me.

I lower my head to look through my legs. Some guy with a leery tilt to his gaze stares at my ass.

I get it, dude, there’s a lot to stare at. It’s beautiful.

At the same time, I’m glad Zephyr’s watching my literal back. They may only be five-foot-four, but they’ve got wide shoulders and a mean stare ‘forged in the fires of livestream chats.’ I switch to upward dog to give the guy less incentive to ogle me, and also because I need the reverse stretch. Balance.

“We need, like, one of those changing tents they used to have on the beach in the old days, you know?” Zephyr jokes.

“Ugh, I know. It’s simply indecent how hot I am,” I answer, turning my head to send a smirk their way.

Their lips quirk back before their eyes drop to their hands, which quickly find something to do. They find a button on their sweater, twisting it idly.

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