Page 8 of In Violent Waves

They had reached the front door when it flew open and music spilled out onto the street before them. A wiry man with a wide-brimmed hat and knee-high breeches leaned over in front of them and emptied the contents of his stomach.

Lyra didn’t bat an eye as his vomit splashed up on the skirts of her dress. “Lovely.”

Seraphina burst into fits of giggles, the sound as lovely as bells chiming. Marina hushed her, and she covered her mouth with her hands.

Laughter and singing would be the quickest way for someone to realize they weren’t human. No amount of magic could hide the otherworldliness of those voices.

Many a mortal had been dragged to their deaths because of their sound, and it’s how they would lure them now—among other creative ways, if they chose.

Lyra strutted through the door with all the confidence she could muster, with vomit still staining the navy fabric. With her head held high, the femininity of her long neck was highlighted by her elegant updo.

Marina followed behind her, the violet gown iridescent in the candlelight. The color was lovely against her dark skin.

Seraphina was the last to enter. The emerald green gown was dangerously close to the color of her eyes. But the slight frown on her face was severe enough to make several lesser men avert their eyes.

Plucking at the pleats of her dress, Marina murmured, “I wonder who or what picks the dresses?”

Lyra sighed. “Why? Are you wanting something more alluring next time?”

Marina slapped her shoulder. “No, you witch. I’m just curious.”

Lyra stared at where Marina’s skin had struck hers. Feeling warm blood rushing to the surface was most unusual. “Let’s get some wine. And then get on with it.”

They made their way to the long wooden counter constructed as the bar. A stone fireplace made up the opposite wall, and Lyra couldn’t help but marvel at the flames writhing and twisting as they consumed the wood. It was like a dance.

An unusual feeling washed over Lyra’s skin. Almost like being watched. She scanned the room, searching for the culprit, but came up empty.

There were many tables around the wood-paneled room, all surrounded by humans of a variety of shapes and sizes. But most were standing. They had to weave through a throng of bodies.The mortals all seemed different, but similar in the way a species shares traits.

However, she was most disappointed by the lack of variety in their choices. Most of the people in this tavern were men—and ugly ones. Boiled skin, missing teeth, gnarled fingers—an abysmal selection.

“Um, excuse me, sir,” she purred at the colossal man standing behind the bar.

His face was ruddy in the firelight, a stained linen button-down shirt pushed up over disgustingly hairy arms. Beady eyes roved over her face before dropping to her breasts and those of the two women beside her.

This was not the human she would pick. His blood was probably as fatty as his diet. He spat on the floor, and spittle clung to the long black beard that reached his chest.

“Can I help you, sweetheart?”

Even his voice grated on her nerves. She had to school her features not to react to the sound.

“I would like a glass of red, please, and two more for my companions.” She gestured to Marina and Seraphina.

Their eyes darted around the room, and if she was not mistaken by the twisting of their fingers, they, too, were nervous.

The barman looked her up and down again, a slight sneer marring his already grotesque features.

“That’ll be three silvers, sweetheart.”

Again with the sweetheart. This man was lucky she didn’t rip his heart from his barrel chest.

But his words gave her pause, and she patted her hands on her empty skirts.

Of course, the magic didn’t leave them anything useful. Not a pouch of coins or even a weapon.

They hadn’t carried any coins or gold in Atlantis. Mermaids couldn’t hold it there, so it did make sense they wouldn’t have it here.

They were utterly powerless here, with no claws or teeth to protect themselves.