Ocean's Surrender

Chapter One

Whatever pain Fen was sensing, it wasn’t coming from the young human in front of him.

“I can swim too, but not as well as I bet you can. I bet you can swim really good, huh? ’Cause I like swimming. I can swim forwards, and backwards, and I can swim on my back and I can swim like a frog…”

Jason kept talking, his tousled brown hair and innocent face reflecting the peace Fen could sense made up the young man’s core. He had the open, curious soul of a child even though he had to be in his early twenties.

But while Jason might have the soul of a child, he had the body of a Mafia heavy in a film. At least four inches taller than Fen’s six-feet, Jason would tower over most other mortals. He was also big. Not the chiseled musculature of a man who cared about his appearance, but a heavy, padded out kind of strength.

And yet, despite his size, Jason’s gentle nature shone through in everything he did: in his words, his expression, the soft cast of his gaze and his evident enthusiasm for the simple pleasures in life, like swimming.

“Most people don’t like when I swim alone, ’cause they know I’m slow, but River knows I swim real good so she doesn’t mind me going in the water, but only you can swim around here, ’cause it’s really cold. Around here the rest of us can only swim in pools, but I wish I could swim in the sea too…”

Fen listened with half an ear, enjoying Jason’s vibe. But Fen hadn’t come because he felt happiness, he’d been drawn to a pain so fierce and repressed it had nowhere to go but out, through the supernatural channels long since gone dormant in humans but still active in Fen’s people.

It was the kind of pain that Fen couldn’t ignore.

And so Fen tried to nail down Jason’s more complex emotions, to see if there was more going on than Jason let on, or if he was somehow attached to the source of the pain Fen had felt. It was difficult, however, as Jason’s feelings were as scattered and freewheeling as his thoughts.

Fen shifted his sealskin around him, enjoying its heavy weight and the supernatural tingle that reminded him of its power. As a selkie, Fen could shapeshift between his current man-form and that of a seal. He could also cloak himself in a magical glamour, or a very powerful illusion. For example, he could make it appear like he was wearing human clothes, instead of just his sealskin cloak. He could also make his features appear less selkie, and more human. Normally when he met a new human, he’d exchange his own pointed, fey features with their disturbing black eyes for an appearance emulating the golden-haired, blue-eyed surfers he’d often met in the waters off California. He didn’t bother with any of these tricks, however, with Jason.

And none of these tricks represented Fen’s real power.

For Fen was an empath, capable of sensing other people’s emotions and letting them feel his own. His power was exceptionally potent for his kind. With effort he could even see the memories of certain scenes played out before him, if they were carried on powerful emotions. Such memories had to be very traumatic or joyful to bind the actual memory to the emotion, and he had to stretch his abilities to the breaking point.

So Fen didn’t do it often, and he needn’t do it with Jason. Jason was an open book.

Fen smiled again as Jason started telling him about the different places he’d been that had not been near water, and therefore not conducive to swimming.

While Fen was ageless–an immortal being born of the ocean, his mother and mistress–Jason was probably somewhere between eighteen and twenty-five. It was hard to tell. For despite his huge size, he had the mind of a cheerful, if incorrigible, eight year old. The human had explained to Fen that he was born with no air, but it was stated factually. Jason seemed to accept his condition with grace, and had a life full of things he loved.

“So I can’t swim here like you as it’s too cold, but I have my animals to take care of, and they keep me busy. And I have my sister, River. You’d like my sister. She’s the best sister in the whole world.”

Fen’s attention refocused as Jason started talking about River. For while Jason’s thoughts were awash with love for his sister, they were also–for the first time since Fen had met Jason a few days ago–peppered with sadness and regret.

It wasn’t the right sadness and regret, as whatever emotion had first drawn Fen to this little strip of beach in Eastport, Maine, had been both more powerful and edged with genuine misery. But it was the first hint Fen had received that all wasn’t perfect in Jason’s world.

“What kind of animals do you have?” Fen asked, wanting Jason to keep talking so Fen could read closer into what he was sensing.

“I’ve got a nanny goat, Sheila, and I keep chickens and bees. The bees make wax and honey, and River sells that, or makes candles and stuff. She doesn’t keep animals, she keeps plants, and she can make the wax smell good. From the chickens we get eggs and sometimes meat, and it’s sad to kill them but sometimes you have to eat and that’s what the chickens are for, but I make it real quick, I just twist…” Jason made a wringing motion with his hands, “and then they’re dead and they didn’t feel nothin’.”

Again, Fen felt a wave of more complicated emotions spread out from Jason, but he wasn’t sure if the man was sad about his chickens or something else.

“River makes good chicken too. She fries it or cooks it in the oven, but I like fried best, but she says it’s not healthy so she doesn’t do that too much. Would you like to eat some of my chicken?”

Fen smiled. “I would, Jason. And I’d definitely like to meet your sister.”

Jason fell silent, assessing Fen with large brown eyes. Fen knew, at that moment, that while Jason might not see the world as other adults did, he saw it with his own unique clarity.

“She would like you,” Jason said, eventually. “And you could help her, couldn’t you?”

Fen nodded, choosing his words carefully. “I might be able to. It depends. Do you know what’s wrong with her?”

As Jason spoke his next words, Fen was nearly bowled over by the man’s overwhelming sense of concern, regret and guilt.

“She’s sad,” Jason said. “She’s just so sad it hurts. It hurts her, but it hurts me too. Will you help?”

The fact Fen was there already answered that question, as the selkie had been drawn to this beach from miles away at sea by a pain so fierce it had stolen the breath from his chest. Instead Fen let Jason feel that what Fen said next was true.

“I’ll do anything I can, Jason.”

Jason closed his eyes, knowing that Fen meant every word. Relief rose in the human’s chest, and Fen responded with a comforting wave of answering emotion that wrapped around Jason like a blanket.

Just then, Jason’s cell phone made a beeping sound. He looked down, then looked up at Fen expectantly.

“Wanna come over and meet my animals? And my sister?” Jason asked.

Fen smiled. “Yes, I do. But I’m going to make it so she can’t see me, all right?”

“Why? Wait, you can do that?”

“Yes,” Fen answered. “I can do that. And I don’t want your sister to see me yet, because I want to see what she’s like, when she doesn’t know there’s a stranger around.”

Jason’s answering smile was huge and bright. “But you’re not a stranger. I mean, I didn’t know you before today, but now I know you real well. I can feel you. Do you do that on purpose?”

“I did some of it, yes. But you see true as well, Jason.”

Brown eyes studied Fen’s black, until Jason nodded. The truth was that, while Fen had purposefully let Jason feel that his intentions were only to help, Jason had an empathy all his own. It wasn’t a form of magic, as was Fen’s. Rather, it was born from being watchful, from being ignored and from being underestimated. But it was powerful nonetheless, and Fen suspected he’d found a strong ally in the human.

Because Fen was convinced, from sensing the emotions swirling about Jason in regard to his sister, River, that she was the root of the pain Fen had felt.

A pain so deep he’d had to investigate. For no one deserved to live like that, especially as a mortal. Human life flared short, but not always bright, and Fen hated seeing another’s chance at happiness wasted.

Watching Jason’s long, ungainly strides always made River smile. She’d called him from the kitchen to bring him home, tucking the phone under her chin so she could finish chopping vegetables for the salad. When she put the phone down, she continued chopping, keeping one eye peering out of the window in front of her. As silly as it was, she couldn’t help but feel relieved when he appeared as he always did, as if by magic, melting out of the trees protecting their backyard from the ocean wind.

Now that she knew he was safe, she could concentrate on finishing dinner.

Honoring her Cajun roots–her father had given her the offbeat humor and fiery temper that came with a last name like Thibodaux–she’d made a pot of red beans and rice, but she’d exchanged Cajun sausage for chorizo, a delicious switch inspired by her Spanish mother.

If they were shitty parents, they were definitely amazing cooks, she thought wryly, as she added the chopped tomato to the salad and started in on the avocado.

Her parents had met when both were far from home in New York City. Her father–roguishly handsome and completely commitment phobic–had wanted to be an actor. Her mother had come to America wanting to be a model, despite being about a foot too short for the industry standard. He’d ended up a street performer, she a waitress, until the fateful day a hard rain had driven him from his position on the corner into the diner behind him. His waitress’s delicate, dark features and gorgeous accent had so captivated him that he parted with enough money for a coffee. He’d ended up leaving with her to begin the long drive to Los Angeles on his motorcycle, stopping in Vegas to get married.

As she usually did when thinking of her parents, River couldn’t help but shake her head. Their perfect love had quickly turned sour, although they could never quite abandon each other. Instead, every year or so, her father would move out for another woman. Either that, or her mother would take off with her and Jason, sometimes for another man. River and Jason would spend six months or a year in their new location before her mother would pack them up to head home after her father left whatever bimbo he’d shacked up with. Or, if her mother had been the one to leave that time, then her father would eventually reappear to claim them from her latest loser boyfriend. Together again, her parents would enact a parody of domestic bliss consisting of too much drinking and a little violence, until the whole cycle repeated itself.

That cycle had seemed endless, until River was eighteen. By then, she’d saved up enough money to get her and Jason on a bus. They’d spent a year in Lafayette, Louisiana, with her father’s extended family, until she’d inherited an eccentric uncle’s shale money and been able to make a real home for her and Jason, here in Eastport.

As she scooped the last of the avocado into the bowl, she looked through the window again to find Jason waving at her with the frenetic happiness of a puppy.

She grinned at him, waving back, watching with affection as he turned back to feeding his nanny goat, Sheila. He was chatting away to his animals, as he always did, although occasionally he would look over as if there were someone just a little bit shorter standing next to him, to whom he was actually talking.

He’s always got an imaginary friend running around with him
, she thought affectionately, although it had been less amusing when it became an issue with one of the jail social workers. She’d assumed Jason’s imaginary friends were a manifestation of his trauma, rather than his long-time buddies.

Wishing she hadn’t thought about the social worker, or that jail, she felt the perpetual heavy weight she carried with her settle on her heart. Winston Churchill had thought of his own depression as a black dog, and River thought that was an apt metaphor. Her sadness certainly felt as if it were living, and capable of tracking her down to force itself upon her at any moment.

River sighed, then shook her head as if she could force out the terrible memories wracking her brain. She breathed deeply once, then again, and a third time, imagining she was exhaling out all that negativity, before moving to collect the small bowl in which she always made their cane-vinegar and balsamic dressing.

She owed it to Jason to be happy. He deserved the life her parents had never been able to provide: a life of stability, order and routine.