A small crowd is waiting for me when I emerge from the sea. Not expecting anyone on our portion of the beach, I stop in my tracks, rivulets of water streaming off my body and disappearing into the wet sand.

There's a shout from Papa's shop and he rushes out the door, a blanket clutched in his hands. Running up to me, he throws it over my shoulders as the crowd surges towards us, all talking at once.

"I saw you drown!" Mrs Mullenbach, the milliner, gasps. She makes a sign against the evil with one hand, the other clutching her ruffled collar.

"I thought you were swallowed by a shark," Fabien Boeres announces, looking around and nodding. No one agrees with him and he deflates.

Marc Lentz, one of the premier fishing captains in the village, comes up and grips me by the shoulders. "Why did your father tell me not to go in after you?" he demands, staring daggers at Papa. "What happened, Sina?"

It's then that I realize that both men's clothes are bloodied and torn. Marc has a split lip that has crusted over and a black eye; there are scratches on Papa's throat and his knuckles are bloodied. "What happened to me?" I retort, tugging the blanket more staunchly around my shoulders. Away from the mermaid's powers, the chill from the ocean starts to settle in and I'm beginning to shiver. Not to mention I'm quite unpresentable. "What happened to you?"

Both men turn to look at each other—Marc confrontational, Papa resigned.

Mrs Mullenbach hustles forward and drags me away a few feet. "When I saw you walk into the sea, I screamed for help. Marc came running to your aid, but when he tried to get your father to do something, he refused." She glances over at Papa, who merely folds his arms. "He actually kept Marc from going in after you."

"All he kept saying was that you were fine," Marc added, voice rising as he relives those memories. "I always thought that living down here, away from everyone, wasn't a good idea, but I never realized how detrimental it was to you both until today."

"So, you attacked him?" I snap, temper rising. "Because you thought we'd gone crazy?" While it is true that I don't socialize as much since I began my training, we aren't complete hermits. "Or you thought my own father killed me?"

Marc remains silent, a flush creeping up his neck, a lack of words proof enough.

"Some friend you are," I spit, tugging the blanket firmly across my chest.

Someone speaks up from the crowd: "Then why did you go into the sea?"

There's a tug at the back of my head and I glance over my shoulder to see Mrs Mullenbach squeezing sea water out of my hair. No ... just ... no.

"Because ..." I hesitate, gently pulling my hair out of the matron's grip. For eight years, I've not told a soul what I was doing with my time. To suddenly speak the truth feels strange. "Because," I begin again, taking a deep breath, "I am a sea witch."

Silence descends on the crowd. Mrs Mullenbach's hand returns to my hair. Wincing, I take several steps away from the matron. The milliner blushes and apologizes.

"Oh, dear, a sea witch? We haven't seen the likes of that around here in ... forever." She glances back at the crowd who nod in agreement. "Truthfully, Melusine, most of us thought they died out."

I saw the evidence for myself in the Grey God's cave. Mine is the only candle that burns there now.

"If you're really a witch, show us!" a male voice calls out from the back.

Although I can't quite see the speaker, it sounds suspiciously like Mikal Feins. Still an asshole, I think wryly. At least Fabien and Hans grew up—sort of.

"Yes, show us!" the crowd demands, moving forward.

The sudden press causes my heart to thump and I take a big step backward. Papa is there, partially blocking me from view.

Show them? I think, looking around. My eyes rest on Marc Lentz and the answer comes easily enough. "I've already shown you what I can do," I tell them, wanting nothing more than to go inside the house and curl up with a hot cup of tea. It's getting ridiculous and frankly, uncomfortable, being made to stand here.

The crowd stops and looks at each other. "You have?" Marc asks cautiously.

"I haven't seen anything," Fabien puts in.

"Where do you think your lobsters came from?" I ask Marc, ignoring Fabien.

Marc opens his mouth and then shuts it with a click of his teeth. His eyes widen slightly and he manages to get out, "You? How?"

"I called them." It was a little more complicated than that and involved spells designed to accelerate the reproductive and growth rates of the crustaceans—not to mention the effort it took to call the lobsters in. But I'm too tired and cold to explain—and no one would understand, either.

"Show us, then!" a female voice calls out, demanding in tone.

"No!" Papa shouts, putting an arm around me. He begins to lead me back to the house as the villagers gradually drift in our wake. "And get the hell off my property!" he barks, face scratched and blotchy.

I stumble and right myself. I've never heard my father speak to anyone like that before, not even when I misbehaved as a child. It must have startled the villagers, too, for they stop in their tracks.

Fortunately, at least one person in the crowd has some sense. "Let's leave the poor girl alone," Mrs Mullenbach says. The milliner turns and starts to shoo everyone back up the slope to the cobblestone street.

I give a sigh of relief and sag in Papa's arms as everyone reluctantly drifts away. By the Grey God, I'm tired.

------------

A nice, long, hot bath later, I sit at our small kitchen table in a dry dress and warm slippers,  hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. "I can't believe you and Marc got into a fistfight," I tell Papa, taking a sip.

My father sits in his favorite chair by the pot-belly stove in the living room, which is only a few paces from the kitchen. Sweat dots his brow from heating the water for my bath. Normally during the summer, we leave casks outside to warm in the sun, but the temperature was too tepid for my comfort. A breeze from the open window stirs his short hair as Papa leans back and closes his eyes. While I took my bath, my father tended to his wounds. He's spread a healing salve across a cut above his left eye, and his right hand's knuckles have been bandaged. A dark bruise has already begun to form on his cheek and around his eye.

"I can't either," he mutters, disappointed, passing a hand over his face.

I wait for him to elaborate, but when he doesn't, I concentrate on my tea.

"I think we should move," Papa says, breaking the silence.

"What?" I exclaim, dropping the mug on the table. It lands with a heavy thunk, nearly spilling its contents over the sides. "Why?"

Papa lifts his head and looks at me from across the room. "Do you remember what I told you about your mother?"

Mutely, I nod. I had promised Papa to be careful and not overexert myself.

"Now that they know what you are, they won't leave you alone, sweetheart." Papa gestures tiredly out the window. "Your mother rarely had a moment's peace in Stohlmacher. Everyone needed her at all hours of the day. And your mother ..." Papa pauses and glances at the ceiling, voice trembling slightly. "Your mother—she had such a big heart. The villagers would drag her out of bed in the middle of the night for something as stupid as a stubbed toe.

"They took advantage of her, Sina," Papa growled, fist tightening. "If they didn't need her so much, maybe she wouldn't have died ..."

Tears prick the corners of my eyes. "Papa—"

"I saw the same greed in their eyes today," he continues, trampling over my words in a way he'd never done before. "The second you mentioned the lobsters. You're no longer a person, but a commodity. You're no better to them than the fish they haul in every day. That's why we need to leave."

"And go where Papa?" I whisper, growing cold again.

Papa sighs and gestures randomly with one hand. "Somewhere inland where your powers aren't needed."

My eyes widen. "I can't do that Papa."

Papa is silent.

I blink and force myself to look into his eyes, sensing his anger and disapproval. "I made a pact with the Grey God. I can't take it back."

"I'm not asking you to break your contract, just don't use your powers."

I look down at the table and carefully wipe up the spilled tea with a cloth. I can no more stop doing magic than breathe. "It's not something I can not do, Papa," I stress, balling up the cloth and setting it to the side. "Bippi told me that the sea calls to me and I call to it."

There's a loud bang as my father slams his fist on the arm of his chair. "I don't care what that blasted octopus says! It's all his fault that you're in this position, anyway."

I jump in my seat and more tea slops over the side of my mug. "That's not true," I argue softly, watching as Papa's brows knit together. "I was born this way. One way or another, it would have manifested." That's what Bippi said, but I don't say anything to Papa. That would probably set him off.

My father's face might as well have been made of stone. I sink back, watching him.

At last, Papa says, "You don't owe them a gods-damned thing, Sina. Remember that." He jabs a trembling finger at me.

"I know," I whisper in reply.

Papa lets loose a long sigh and leans back in his chair, closing his eyes. "Is the house warded?" he asks after a moment.

"Yes." I started warding the property after perfecting the technique a few years ago. It was supposed to protect us against harsh storms and hurricanes, but would also work against intruders.

Or entitled neighbors.

"Good."

I look down at my lukewarm tea and twist the mug between my hands. "I'll be careful, Papa."

Slowly, my father opens his eyes. All the anger and betrayal drain from his face, leaving a sad man who has seen far too much hardship in his life. "I know you will. I just don't trust them."

After what I've witnessed today I'm inclined to agree. It doesn't leave a good feeling in my stomach.

Why did I have to mention the lobsters, anyway? I should have kept my mouth shut and let the villagers wonder where their sudden good luck heralded from.

No sooner does the thought enter my head, I know the answer. I don't like it when people spout misinformation—a sad side-effect from the two years I suffered under Miss Templeton.

I'll be careful, I think, swirling the remnants of my tea around. I have to be.