Prologue
February 5, 1905, Montauk, NY
The twin sisters sat perched on the catwalk above the Montauk lighthouse, scanning the ocean for a sign. High above the water, cloaked in profound darkness, they were mere slips of shadow. They were as close to invisible as one could become without attempting any conjuring, which would surely wake their father.
Some thirty feet below, their father, who was also the lighthouse keeper, slumbered soundly in his bed, none the wiser for their midnight antics. In his valerian tea-infused dreams, the sea was calm, and the light shone bright–the same as any other night. On any other night, the lighthouse beacon was visible from a distance of nineteen nautical miles. The locals referred to the inside passage to Manhattan as “The Devil’s Belt.” Shipwrecks were frequent and fatal.
The sisters were not particularly concerned about shipwrecks on that night, however. Although the lighthouse lamps had not been lit, their family’s powerful wards also protected the coast. Tonight, magic enchanted the tides to push all ships away from the shore. There had been Merfolk sightings in recent nights. The precautions were necessary for the safety of the local captains, crew, and all aboard. Superstition surrounded the Merfolk’s shoreline songs, which were believed to wreck ships.
The sisters had never seen Merfolk up close, or even at a distance. They hadn’t even sighted a single one of the Merfolk’s cruder cousins, the sirens.
Mythical creatures used to be common in New York, but a long war between two species made them rare. It was more likely to see Merfolk in Europe, the Middle East, or even the West Coast of the United States. But the girls’ father would never have let them go to any of these places. He barely even allowed them to leave the fully warded lighthouse.
Father had warned them repeatedly to stay away from the dangerous creatures. Sirens could be feral and unpredictable. And Merfolk, though more refined, were notoriously private, which should be respected. The prudent thing, he told them, would be to stay indoors and wear wax earplugs, to avoid seeing or hearing them at all.
“It’s not forever,” Father had insisted. “In a few days’ time, the Merfolk will move along and we can all go about our normal business again.”
But the twin sisters were not about to miss their one, and possibly only, chance to gaze upon such rare and special creatures! They wore their earplugs out of respect to their father, and they planned to keep their distance, but they refused to stay indoors. Just to make sure he didn’t worry about them too much, they’d added a few drops of a sleeping draught to his evening tea.
Eyes keen and tuned to the horizon, they waited for a sign.
Had the moon been full, their symmetry would have been striking. Holding hands, broomsticks at the ready, they appeared to be crafted from a single cut, scissored carefully along a fold.
They weren’t even sure what they were looking for. A long-haired beauty, basking on a rock in the night air? Strange half-human fish frolicking and leaping amidst the waves? Both options seemed unlikely. Too cliched. So they waited.
Finally, they saw something unusual. It was little more than a distant glow in the water near the horizon. The glow grew brighter as it moved toward them, rising from the depths and speeding toward the shore. It spilled a bioluminescence that flared and spread sparks in its wake. At once the sea was full of stars. Tiny green lights in a moonless sky. They flickered and faded.
It has to be them,the sisters thought at the same time. Words were rarely necessary between them when they were holding hands. But now their fingers slid apart. They stepped onto the railing and mounted their brooms. And then in unison, they sped off past the rocky shore out to sea, to better observe the comet streaking through the water.
Just below the surface, something zoomed toward the beach, weaving this way and that, never surfacing.
Faster! The sisters’ eyes met as they turned back toward the shore to keep pace with the deep sea emissary swimming below them. As they flew close enough to skim the surface behind him, their legs became speckled with glowing foam.
They weren’t sure what they’d been expecting to see, but it certainly was not a larger-than-life Merman carrying a tightly woven seagrass basket with a tiny Merbaby bundled up inside. They could just barely make out her precious face, glowing beneath the waves.
Finally, the Merman came to a stop. He pushed his way to the surface and held the basket up into the air, as if he were making an offering to someone. Then he gently set the basket back down on the surface and swam away. There was no time to study him before he dove again, racing away from the child and back into the night twice as fast as he’d arrived.
For a moment, the basket bobbed on the waves. And then it began to sink.
The sisters gasped and reached for each other’s hands. Their eyes met again, as they questioned what they ought to do. But before they could even speak, a large, dark shadow passed overhead. The twins felt this more than saw it, because such was the darkness of this night.
Simultaneously, the sisters looked up and down and up again, worry creasing their brows.
Whatever is that?
The giant dirigible had seemed to appear from out of nowhere. It floated noiselessly, perfectly camouflaged against the night sky. Its cunning concealment masked its approach, leaving them to scatter only when it loomed.
They watched as it skimmed the surface between them, and then suddenly, before either of them could pull out a wand, the solitary figure of a young man appeared upon the scaffolding at the bow of the airship.
He stood there for a second or two, considering the night. He was close. Too close. They held their breath and recited a spell of protection, but it was too late.
When the man dove, his body came close to colliding with one twin. She pulled away, but lost her balance, plunging headfirst into the icy cold sea.
Her broom hovered, riderless. Then it plunged in after her.
“Minodaura!” the remaining sister shrieked.
* * *
