Page 58 of Bewitched By the Sea Monster
“None.”
“D-doubtful.”
I choked on the next chortle. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve heard a sound like that before,” he said. “When a w-w-whalewas dying.”
And, well, since he liked my braying guffaw so much, I decided to give him an encore.
And he answered with another of his sonic booms.
“I’m sorry,” he added as I leaned against his horn, clutching at my aching stomach. “That was r-rude of me to speak of your laugh that way.”
“Are you kidding?” I wheezed. “That was…I haven’t laughed like that in”—I exhaled and gave my screaming stomach muscles a rub—“years. Probably. So thank you for that.”
“I wasn’t the reason you started laughing.”
“You sort ofwere. Because I was thinking about how ridiculousI’d look right now if someone managed to peep me through their window. If they could see me through the fog, that is.”
Alistair paused. Then laughed again, softly this time. “It would be a s-sight, wouldn’t it?”
“Oh, yes. I’d probably be the talk of everyone’s vacation. But then you’d be in trouble because you’d have the whole isle lining up for a ride.”
Alistair made a gushing sound, as though he’d chuckled around a mouthful of water. “So I should make sure to r-return you before daylight?”
“Yes. I guess so. When the clock runs out, the magic runs out, just like a proper fairy tale. Well, I mean…the magic isn’t going to run out. And this isn’t a fairy tale. But you get what I mean. I hope? Or…I’m probably talking gibberish.”
“Fairrrrryyyy tale. Fairy tale.” He harrumphed, then asked, “Like Cinderella?”
And I dang near slipped off his head when the shock shook me. “Yes! Like Cinderella. Exactly. Which…Goodness. I’m a little bamboozled that you know what Cinderella is.”
“I know most of it,” Alistair said. “It’s a l-l-love story. She has to return by…it wasn’t daylight…midnight.She has to return by midnight. And she loses a shhh-suh-shoe.”
“Yup, that covers all the bases. But…Oh!” I squealed when Alistair’s head lifted out of the water. It was a gentle movement, done in a way that wouldn’t jostle me, but the surprise of suddenly being several feet above the sea twisted my insides. “I guess we’ve arrived?”
He made an affirmative chuff and lowered his head, touching the edge of his snoot against a big flat ledge that wrapped around the grey-stoned cliffs like a balcony.
“Thank you. For the ride,” I said as I gingerly strolled down the length of his nose—trying to be mindful of where I placed my feet. Both so I didn’t impale my soles on the spikes framing his face, and so I didn’t accidentally smoosh a sensitive part of his nasal bone that would set him sneezing.
After hearing his laugh, I didn’t think the sea or the residents on the isle would survive an Alistair sneezing fit.
“It was my pleasure,” Alistair said. He drew away once I was securely on the ledge. And turning around to face him—seeing the way hetowered,with his neck scaling halfway up the cliff walls, even when a big chunk of his body remained submerged beneath the water…
My heart faltered. He was certainly a formidable sight. And I saw more of him now, from this angle, than I had last night.
A thick blanket of dark green scales swaddled the top portions of his body, while lighter ones peppered the underside of his neck. The translucent webbed dorsal curving along his back likely acted as a sail, lending him speed. And his head, despite being twice the size of my entire body, was delicate looking, with its long, narrow-snooted shape. Snakelike. A head capable of whipping quickly through the water to snatch its prey.
My mouth went bone dry. “I somehow forgot how bigyou are.”
He blinked.
“Don’t get me wrong, though”—I waved my arm, hoping I hadn’t just stuck a barb in his feelings—“you’re gorgeous. Really. It’s just…” I clutched a hand to my chest when my heart gave a nervous flutter. “I think it’s that survival instinct humans have, you know? Our senses know we can’t fight a monster, so our brain starts pushing us to run. Not that you’re a monster, though. Well, youare,but not a bad monster. And Iknowthat. But my nerves are taking a while to get the memo.”
Alistair blew out a chuckling breath that fluttered his nostrils and sent a warm waft of air over my wet, and very cold, feet. There were gills, on either side of his neck, just underneath his cheeks. I hadn’t noticed them before—and likely wouldn’t have noticed them now, if his breathy laugh hadn’t set them fluttering like streamers tied to a fan.
“I’m sorry”—I threw him a wry grin—“I’m still a little frazzled. And very tired. And I sometimes lose my filter.”
“You always say sorry for talking.” Alistair tucked his head slightly to the side—almost like a dog, tilting and craning and trying to figure out when it would get that tantalizing piece of cheese. “Why?”
