Children of the Sea 01 - Sea Witch

raised his eyebrows. “It didn’t matter to you before. ”
     
    He didn’t matter to her before.
     
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    But now it did. He did.
     
    And she was not backing down.
     
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Fifteen
     
    IT AMUSED TAN TO FEEL HIS HUMAN HOST WRITHING on
    the floor in ineffective protest, its thin, diluted spirit no match for his pure will.
     
    The very creation of man was demeaning to the sacred. Mankind’s continued existence was an affront. Yet the Creator doted on this short-lived, bastard hybrid, had given it dominion over the creatures of the sea and earth and air.
     
    Incomprehensible. Insulting, really.
     
    Of course, mankind had screwed up. Better that all creation were cleansed in fire than be polluted by the presence of this vermin.
     
    Tan forced the human to drag itself across the floor on hands and knees toward the glowing fish tank on the other side of the room.
     
    The balance of power between Heaven and Hell rested on a knife’s edge. Sea’s children had remained weakly neutral for too long. For centuries, Hell had watched humankind despoiling the oceans, taking selkie pelts, eroding the sea folk’s patience.
     
    And still the mer did not act. Llyr withdrew deeper and deeper into the sea and self-indulgence. Conn clung to the status quo.
     
    It was time to tip the scales in Hell’s favor.
     
    Manipulating nerve and sinew like puppet strings, Tan jerked the human upright beside the aquarium. Small fish glided in their bright, contained world, smug in their beauty, insensible to their danger. Smiling, he removed the lid of the tank. The human’s hands trembled.
     
    Tan was charged with the murder of the mer in ways and places that would put the blame squarely on humankind. If enough selkies died by human hands, if enough lost their immortality through human action, they would be forced to side with their fellow elementals in self-defense. And
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    if Tan could eliminate Atargatis’s line at the same time, he would ensure Hell’s new allies never became a threat.
     
    So complicated.
     
    So clever.
     
    Tan plunged a hand into the tank. Fish scattered. Not— quite—fast enough. Tan glanced at the small, striped creature shining between his fingers. An angel fish. How . . . appropriate.
     
    He savored the frantic flutter against his palm, its frenzied struggle to breathe, to survive. He licked the smooth, scaled skin, inhaling the fish’s delicate scent, its desperation a delicious seasoning to the human horror rising at the back of his throat, the denial beating at the back of his brain.
     
    He opened his mouth wide.
     
    Oh, the delight of it, the squirming, wriggling pleasure against his palate, over his tongue. A silent scream echoed in his head at the cool burst of living flesh, crunching, slurping. Tan forced his host to chew, to swallow, compelling his clenched throat muscles to relax, running his tongue along his teeth, savoring his shudder. The body he inhabited gagged. Retched. It was delicious, that taste of bile and self-loathing mingled with the juicy living sacrifice.
     
    Very tasty. Almost . . . satisfying.
     
    Tan deserved his bit of fun. Even though the necessity chafed him, he had been discreet, careful not to risk any action that would arouse the suspicion of the sea prince, Conn, or the attention of Heaven’s general, Michael.
     
    He had not murdered the selkie Margred in front of a witness—even a human witness.
     
    But now that Margred had recognized him, well . . .
     
    She must die.
     
    Iridescent scales spangled his hand like jewels. Like tears. Hot moisture streamed helplessly from his host’s eyes.
     
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    Smiling, Tan reached the human’s hand into the tank again.
     

     
    Caleb scowled through the windshield at the quiet streets of his town, his nerves twitching and his senses straining for . . . what? He wasn’t in Mosul anymore, where every turn in the road could hide roadside bombs or enemy fighters. Kids with rocks. Potholes.
     
    Okay, yeah, there were potholes in Maine. That didn’t explain the itch at the back of his neck, that uh-oh feeling in his gut.
     
    Maybe he was just stalling, delaying the moment he would return to his silent, empty house.
     
    He’d lived alone before. After his desert trailer “can” and his experience in the hospital ward, he’d looked forward to living alone again.
     
    He should go home. With Maggie gone, he could do whatever the hell he wanted. Strip to his underwear, ice his knee, channel surf the TV