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I pulled on my swim leggings, merino sweater and a beanie. On the way out the door, I snagged an extra hoodie just in case the January winds were especially ruthless on the water today. The air was cool and damp. The periwinkle twilight of morning was just beginning to peek through the canvas of clouds stretching across the flat Florida landscape. An ominous morning fog already blanketed the ground, sending a shiver through me despite my snug spot in the driver’s seat.
The lone motorcycle parked at the harbor reassured me Milo was already here. I climbed out, double-checking my bag with water bottles, keys, flashlight and air tank. I’d bought it for novelty from the antique store where Noah worked, but I really hadn’t expected to actually put it to use. At least not yet.
I crossed the dock where Milo was already waiting, his back to me and the shore as he watched the sunrise, wearing a dark brown windbreaker. I stepped beside him. He didn’t turn to look at me, but he reached for my hand.
“I don’t even know where to start.” I breathed, fog forming in front of my mouth with each word.
“Neither do I,” he said. “But the important thing is we’re starting somewhere. It’ll be alright.” He gave my hand a subtle squeeze.
“If you did know where to find it, would you tell me?” I knew I shouldn’t have asked, but I couldn’t hold it back.
The look on his face twisted into one of confusion and hurt, but I could tell he was trying to keep it from showing by the way he swallowed and bit his cheek. “I promise I’m not keeping anything from you.”
“I like to think that. But I’m just making sure.” I forced a weak smile. I’d never anticipated how difficult it would be to move past the letter incident. But for some reason, I couldn’t manage to get it out of my head. And I knew it was hurting us both.
He walked away toward La Esperanza bobbing on the water and stepped over, hoisting his own bag of supplies over the hull. I followed and made my way to the helm where I turned my key and started the engine. After allowing it a minute to run, we both untied the mooring lines securing the boat to the dock, and then I returned to the wheel to ease us out into deeper waters.
Though we hardly spoke, it seemed clear that we both knew our destination—the island—or at least the waters surrounding it where I had thrown in the scale. My fingers began to numb as the cold moist air mixed with the sea spray and chilled them. But I held tightly to the wheel, burying my nose into my pullover. By the time the last bit of sun had finally climbed over the horizon, the island was dead ahead in front of us.
Milo tossed out the anchor once I hovered the boat over my best guess as to where the Siren’s Scorn had last sailed. With nausea rising in my throat, I leaned over the edge and gazed down into the lapping water below. The morning tide had brought with it some harsh waves, that lifted my old boat up and down as it charged through the swells.
“Now the question is,” Milo said, turning to look at me, “how do we plan to get down there?”
I reached into my backpack and pulled out the vintage air tank and regulator. Milo’s eyes widened.
“Katrina, that thing looks older than me.”
“Noah said it’s from the seventies or early eighties,” I uttered, fully aware of how sketchy it was to be using, “but it should still work...I think.”
“The air is probably stale. When was it last filled?”
“I—I don’t know,” I grumbled. “But what else can we do? Do you have a better idea?”
“Not necessarily.” Milo crossed his arms and held his gaze on mine. “But if the legend about a siren’s heart was true then that should also mean…”
With a grimace, I quickly blinked, looking away. “Okay, don’t be ridiculous.”
“What? Katrina, how else did you survive going down into the water after you jumped into the maelstrom? Don’t think I didn't figure it out. If you're truly descended from Cordelia, at some point you’ll have to accept what that means.”
“It doesn’t mean I’m a mermaid!” I shouted. The absurdity of the statement flooded over me like the waves cresting below. And I had to switch my thoughts before I gave into them.
Milo’s eyes softened and his shoulders dropped. Without another word, he watched as I took off my shirt, revealing my swim top. I strapped the air tank onto my back and checked the PSI, which still looked good from what I could tell. But it didn’t matter. I knew this was a horrible idea, about as irresponsible and reckless as it could get. I didn’t know what awaited me down there, but I knew I was the only one of us who stood a chance with this rickety old gear. I walked to the boat’s ladder, but a firm hand caught me by my arm just as I began to step over.
“Katrina, I can’t let you do this. Do you know how deep it could be down there? You could die from the pressure if you don’t drown first.”
I knew he was right. I was terrified. But I was more afraid of Cordelia. “I have to try, Milo. I know this is dangerous. But we have to find that necklace before she does.” I looked up at him, and a warmth came over me as I concentrated on his hazel irises that were reflecting bits of honey and teal from the seawater and sunrise.
“Then let me do it. I’ll go under.”
“No. No, it has to be me.”
“Why?” He spoke with a grit of desperation I recognized. It reminded me of when he told me he loved me on the ship when I came to tell him goodbye.
“Because…” I took a deep breath and pinched my forehead. “Because I know this ancient air tank isn’t enough to make it. So, if something goes wrong down there…it has to be me.”
There. I said it.
Milo released his hold on my arm. “So, you do admit it.”
