She of the Sea

38 of 53 - A Yacht Party

"Sirena."

Cassie came awake at the beckoning call. She and Rafe had fallen asleep on the blanket on the lighthouse observation deck, her head using his warm, broad chest as a pillow.

She tried to ignore the call, preferring instead the sound of Rafe's rhythmic breathing, his steady heartbeat, and the pleasant sensations resulting from their naked bodies entwined.

"Sirena."

"Go away," she mumbled.

"Sirena."

Cassie carefully lifted her head from Rafe's chest, not wanting to wake him, pulled free, and stood. It was so dark, a complete absence of light. She had no idea what time it was. She shuffled toward where she thought the deck railing would be and eventually bumped into it. Grasping the rail with both hands, she peered out into the Gulf.

The pupils of her eyes expanded to their extreme limit, pushing aside her golden-brown irises, completely blackening her orbs, soaking in the faintest possible ambient illumination.

Beneath the surface of the water, several species of bioluminescent flora cast enough of a green glow for her to discover what had happened. Lights from the moon, stars, and mainland all were obscured, shrouded by an all encompassing fog.

"Sirena."

She felt compelled to answer the urgent call.

Rafe would panic if he woke and couldn't find her. He might think she had fallen over the rail. She didn't want to cause him distress.

He was already asleep. Rationalizing that it wouldn't be the same as putting him to sleep, Cassie knelt at his side, She stroked his face and spent a few minutes singing him into a deeper sleep so he would not easily awaken until she returned.

Guilt and shame flooded her. She murmured, "Oh, Rafe, I asked you to bring me here under false pretenses. I frustrated your advances. I spoiled our romantic date. Now, I'm rationalizing the use of my gifts on you. How low can I go?" She wiped away tears. "I'm no good for you, but I don't want to lose you either."

"Sirena."

Cassie pulled herself together. Clothing would prove useless after she transformed, so she left them behind. Holding on to the handrail, she made her way down the spiral stairs to the bottom of the lighthouse and exited.

The sound of waves breaking against the sand guided her through the darkness to the water's edge. The sea washed over the top of her feet. She trundled into the waves and felt her spine crackle as it transformed, fins pushing through her back and crown, the tail growing from the far reaches of her backbone.

Her hands and feet became webbed and talons extended. Moments later, her sleek body darted beneath the surface into deep water, following the pressing call.

*    *    *

First Mate Eduardo Maldonado aboard the party boat, Wild Irish Rose, sympathized with his skipper, Teresa Watson. Tonight's voyage had proven to be the very definition of a charter from hell.

Chuck Farley, U.S. Senator from Florida, occasionally lavished his most generous campaign  donors with a sunset cruise complete with free open bar, snacks, and a roving Mariachi band. His parties had always been among the company's most lucrative bookings, and they went out of their way to keep the senator's business.

Maldonado suspected after tonight, Senator Farley would choose one of their competitors for his future outings. Despite assurances from the weather service promising a glorious sunset, the weather turned out to be a bust.