Page 110 of Bewitched By the Sea Monster
There’s an empty feeling in my stomach, because I hadn’t eaten my fish (breakfast of champions) and Icravefood. Real food. Or, well, realjunkfood—chocolate, gummy bears,pizza, with every single topping they can cram on it (even anchovies), popcorn (American style, drowning in butter), sweet coffee, chips…acartonof chips. Enough to make even the beastly belly I have now ache.
As I tease myself with thoughts of food, I’m staring at Onyx and noticing how thin she’s gotten, and how her eyes look hollow and sad.
But I’m thinking of Pippi too, and my heart is doing flips inside my chest. Because I’ll be able to talk to her. Fully. She won’t have to, in Onyx’s words, “speak stupid” for me to understand. And I’m running through the conversations we’ve already had, lavishing over the words I hadn’t known then, but do now.
What will she wear tonight, I’m wondering.
She has the most colorful clothes, and I’ve loved each outfit I’ve seen. The bright style gives this monotonous place some flavor, and each one highlights different parts of her hazel gaze. The red and gold blouse she wore when she met me at the inlet made her eyes dark—seductive, even if she wasn’t trying to seduce me. The dress she wore on the dock had enhanced the green in her stare—and I wish I’d been able to see her closer, to drink in the way the colors brightened her eyes.
Of course, the clothes shehadn’tworn on our first meeting had been equally entrancing—but thinking those thoughts will take away my right to call myself a gentleman.
A “lovesick puppy,” Onyx had called me.
She’s right.
“It’s good to know ye haven’t changed, Alistair.” Onyx pulls at my scattered mind until it focuses on her. “Thinking lots of thoughts?”
“Too many,” I say. “As usual.”
“Must have been nice for ye, eh? To be the sea beast and lose those human thoughts.”
“No. I’vehatedit.”
She laughs. Bitterly. “Mayhap if ye’d stop fightin’ the spell and let it work, ye wouldna hate it, eh?”
I scoff.
“Well, I wouldna get too used to havin’ yer thoughts again, Alistair. That was a potent potion. I mighta used all the isle’s sage, and it was a sodden nightmare gettin’ the mix together andfindin’ someone to cast over it. But I reckon it’ll only last ye an hour—two, if yer lucky. It’ll definitely wear itself off before yer new friend comes to meet ye.”
I try not to acknowledge the disappointment, thedespair, but the emotions dig at me before I can wrangle them, and I know Onyx has felt them.
Because Onyx and Pippi share something: that ability tofeel.
They’re Sensitives.
That’s the word I tried so hard to remember the other night.
ASensitive.
They’re rare creatures, Sorcerers born without the ability to wield magic, but capable of feeling it.
Once, when magic was new, and humanity used it to hurt each other, Sensitives were valuable. Armies sent them into the thick of danger, to have them sense what spells and enchantments hovered in the air. They were, in a sense, human bloodhounds.
Nowadays, it’s a curse to be born a Sensitive. Society has no use for them anymore, and their openness, their ability to feel so keenly, forces them to bear an insidious burden: the weight of human emotion.
Onyx, sensing where my thoughts have wandered, says, “Does she know what she is? Yer friend?”
“No,” I say. “She knows what she can do but doesn’t seem to understandwhy.”
Onyx drums her fingers against the stone. “Maybe that’s for the best, eh? I wondered how she got to be an adult while stayin’ so…nice.Ugh.I’ve been watchin’ her, Alistair. That woman yer lovesick for. She’s always smilin’, even when she’s miserable. Always tryin’ to make people happy.It makes me sick.”
Anger burbles inside of me. “Kindness is not a crime, Onyx.”
“No. But it’s feckin’ disgustin’.”
“She’s instinctively using her abilities, without understanding what they are, to help people. It’s…” One of the things I adore about her, even if it worries me. “Admirable.”
“Ye would say that,” Onyx scoffs. “Because ye were born with wieldin’ magic. It’s not ‘admirable’ what she’s doin’. Puttin’ herself through that for feckin’ arseholes who dunna deserve it. She’d be better findin’ just one or two to pour herself in and soddin’ the rest. Of course”—Onyx’s face twists into a feral scowl—“when someone destroysthe thing she’s poured herself into, it’ll destroy her. Better to turn bitter than to drain yerself dry, eh?”
