Page 19 of Stolen Magic of the Deep

The shore stretches in shades of gray and golden-brown, coarse grains catching the wind, so unlike the glimmering silt beds of home, where sea glass and pearl dust shimmer beneath the currents like stars.

The distant ocean waves churn wildly under the approaching storm. Above the water, everything feels harsher. The air scratches at my lungs in ways the ocean never does. Even the surface colors of this world feel wrong. Waves surge and retreat with a choppy rhythm, but I can feel the pull beneath them—ancient and steady—calling me back.

I scan the area. No oncoming silhouettes. No movement. Just the groan of the old wooden structure that reaches out into the waters and the hush of the sea. I step into the waters, beneath the structure where shadows dance through the boards.

My eyes reach the ocean, and the sea calls louder the closer we get. Each wave hums like a heartbeat I forgot I had. I wasn’t supposed to be gone this long. Not from the water. Not from who I am. The longer I stay on land, the more I feel my own skin betray me.

The last time I stood on this stretch of earth, I was alone. Younger. I naively believed I could outrun the title that followed me out of the sea. I was not supposed to be on land, my father had made that clear. The surface world was forbidden and dangerous, a place where magic thinned and loyalties twisted like broken coral. But I came anyway.

I shake the thought loose.

As my feet deepen in the tide, the pull of the water welcomes me home. My body relaxes instinctively, magic humming beneath my skin. This is where I belong.

Behind me, Sarah remains on the shore. Her arms are folded tightly, jaw locked, feet just inches from the tide. She does not speak. But something in her posture has changed. Maybe it is not just hesitation. Maybe it is curiosity about what is to come.

“We start here,” I say, looking right at her.

“Great. I’ve always dreamed about drowning first thing in the morning,” she quips, but her voice does not sound enthusiastic.

I exit the water, walking up to her, letting the shoreline swirl around my ankles. “Look, Snapdragon, I do not have the patience to deal with your arguing, judgment, and snarky remarks. We are running out of time. And before you launch into another tirade, consider this—” I take a deep breath, my gaze still locked on hers. “I am only here because of one thing. Magic. Magic that you stole. You think I want to be here? That I enjoy dragging a human, who clearly does not want to cooperate, into my world? I do not. But unfortunately, your world is not meant to know about magic. And mine? Mine is where you must return it.”

She opens her mouth, probably to fire off another quip.

I deliver more words before she can. “So shut up. And brace yourself.” I clutch her arm, firmly, and lead her into the waves.

As the water wraps around us, the surface noise fades. My senses sharpen. I feel everything again. Her heartbeat, the current shifting between us, her hesitation clinging to her like fog.

She does not know it yet, but this prophecy is about to change her life. And maybe mine, too.

nine

Sarah

Two days ago, I was an average marine biologist, doing what I do best. Now, I’m a marine biologist who came across a magical phenomenon that gave me magical powers. I still can’t comprehend what is going on. Even in this moment while being yanked further into the ocean.

Only after reaching a point where my feet can’t reach the floor, and the city disappears slowly beneath the now heavy rainfall, does he let go of my arm. Somewhere along the way, my flip-flops slip from my feet and vanish into the dark water. I jerk away and kick backwards, putting distance between us.

“Now what, your majesty?” I hiss, my voice holding a hint of resentment. My mind tells me to turn and swim fast and far away from him, but my gut—or the humming right under my skin—screams he would be able to catch up . . . quickly.

When I was sixteen and at school, I was doing everything I could to become valedictorian for my class. Unfortunately, I missed a few too many questions on my final exam, dropping my grade just below an A. So the title “Valedictorian” was given to Courtney Prescott, Miss Popularity. I’d say the anger lasted well beyond high school, but after graduation, Courtney fell in with the wrong crowd, dropped out of college, and now spends her days in an orange jumpsuit at the county jail. The anger I previously felt for her is now being directed toward this asshole who just thinks he can force me to do whatever he wants me to.

I blink several times, noting that he hasn’t responded. Just hovering at the surface, legs moving steadily beneath, and staring at me, as if he is waiting for something to happen. “So what now? Are you planning to hold my head underwater until I magically learn to breathe?”

He swims toward me, just an arm’s length away, and hovers there with a sly grin as he replies, “What a great idea.”

With movement that is not of human origin, his reflexes are so agile that I barely notice what is happening until it is too late. The firmness of his palm presses against the top of my head, pushing me down. I don’t have time to think, only act.

I start struggling underwater, unsure what to do. Then, the same voice that has come to me in my dreams, whispers in my mind. Steady your breathing, it says, caressing my inner thoughts, trying to ease them into silence. It doesn’t work. My survival instincts take over.

I hold my breath for as long as I can manage, keeping my eyes closed, not being used to swimming underwater without my scuba gear to protect my eyes from any sea debris floating around.

I raise my arms to where his hand lies, his fingers tangled in my hair, gripping tightly. I try to wiggle free from his grasp, noting his smooth skin, but there’s no mistaking the strength beneath it. Realization hits, and I can feel the burn in my lungs from holding my breath too long. I’m gonna die right here. Under the hands of a very handsome, yet extremely demanding, lunatic.

My body betrays me with a desperate gasp, dragging in not air, but a surge of cold, burning water. I thrash wildly as saltwater rushes into my lungs. I’m drowning from the inside out, each breath is another betrayal, each second heavier than the last. Water fills the hollows of my lungs, thick and invasive, pressing against every instinct to survive.

But then . . . something shifts. A slow warmth stirs beneath the panic, pulsing from somewhere deep inside me. The burn fades. The pressure lifts. The water doesn’t choke. It . . . changes. I don’t know how, but I can breathe. Something ignites within me like a second heartbeat, reshaping my thoughts.

Maybe it’s gills. Maybe it’s something else entirely. All I know is, I’m not dying. I’m becoming. I manage to calm down and relax my body. He releases my hair from his fingers. Being able to breathe underwater seems like it should be impossible. Magic should be impossible. Yet here I am.