The Ocean's Daughter {ON HOLD}

Eleanor crossed the tavern floor under the watchful eyes of those nearby and slipped around Ari and into the night. Her stomach fell when she noticed that the boy with the grey eyes had disappeared. Cold nipped her bare skin, sending goosebumps rippling across her arms. It was clear and crisp, much like a winter’s evening should be. But it was summer, she thought, it should be warm.

Beside her, Ari shrugged out of his over coat and slung it across her shoulders. Eleanor flinched in surprise.

“You were shaking.” He said, as he thrust his hands into his trouser pockets.

She nodded in thanks and continued to walk slowly down the street. Ari followed, twisting his feet every so often against the shining cobbles. From the corner of her eye, she could see his guarded expression and the way he held himself. It’s the way Reverend Moorley acted when he had told her the passing of her father. It meant bad news.

“Is there something the matter?” Eleanor stopped and turned.

Her friend came to a standstill and overlooked the harbour. All there was to see was the lighthouse and then the horizon. The moon glistened overhead and cast an ivory reflection across the water’s surface, giving everything a diluted glow.

He swallowed nervously and faced her. “You look pretty.”

“And you are drunk,” she whispered while she cast her eyes to the floor, trying to hide herself away from his lingering gaze. Eleanor’s cheeks grew hot, as if she had standing too close to a burning fire.

He smirked. “I am just happy, is all.”

“Ari," She warned.

Ari leaned his arms against the brick wall and swept his curious eyes out to sea. “Nothing is wrong, Eleanor. The birds sing and the flowers grow, what more is there?”

“You hauled me away from Albert while I was playing detective.”

“Yes, but that was for a good reason, I found this,” Ari pulled a small, leather-bound book from his pocket. The edges were frayed and dog-eared and string wrapped itself around the covers, Eleanor wondered if that was the only thing holding the book together.

She drew her eyebrows together. “That is not…it can't be.”

“It is, trust me,” he held the journal out for her. Eleanor took it in silence, eyeing it suspiciously. “I did my own investigating while you were in the town meeting. Did you know the Reverend has a hidden room in his study? Smelled like someone had keeled over and died…though, it might have just been him –”

“You broke into his study?”

He shook his head, a laugh on his lips. “Contrary to popular belief, I am not an idiot, Eleanor. The door was open.”

She felt as if she were a child doing something naughty behind her parent’s backs. “What were you doing sneaking around in the first place?”

“I kept thinking of Mrs. Brown and how you said she was not like the rest. The dead do not feed on the living. What if someone wanted us to find her like that.”

Understanding shone in her eyes. “You think the Reverend is up to something?” She paused, thinking. “I went to see Astrid and Imogene today, they said their mother made a deal with the Mermaids - their tears in return for human blood.”

Ari frowned. “They could be working together.”

“But why?” The Reverend is a man of God, she reminded herself. Although she wasn't sure how much of that was still true.

“It might say in your father’s journal.” He said, “Why else would the Reverend keep it hidden away?”

Eleanor turned the leather bound book about in her hands, deliberating. Since her father’s death, she truly believed she had found every one of his journals. How had the Reverend got his hands on it? Why was he hiding it? Did her father know something important? Eleanor felt a great pressure against her ribcage that caused her to cry out. She realised, for the first time, that it was sorrow. She was sad, sad that her father couldn’t rest in peace, sad that the Reverend seemed to be up to something that she, nor Ari, could comprehend. She felt lost and alone and scared. The only way to cure her sadness, she felt, was to leave. Leave Polperro and its hidden horrors behind. Her demons couldn’t follow her forever.

“I guess there’s only one way to find out.” 

Together, sitting on a vacant doorstep, they read Jonathan Gray’s journal. Inside, she also found a large, brass key, but what the key unlocked still remained a mystery. Several pages, she found, had been written on, the ink vivid against the yellowing page. Ari noticed the Reverend’s writing. Notes, she thought, he was making notes. Yet the words were still foreign to her.