The boat surged forward, cutting across the lake with a spray of white wake trailing behind. The shoreline began to recede, docks shrinking, workers on land becoming colored dots.
Adam swallowed.
The motion was smooth but fast. The water blurred beneath them. His stomach, already unsettled, rolled unpleasantly.
He inhaled slowly through his nose.
Bad idea.
Fuel.
Fish.
Wet wood.
Sun warmed rope.
He shut his eyes briefly.
Up front, the old guide had decided he was not done talking.
"You kids ever heard of the singers?" he called out over the hum of engines.
A few curious heads turned.
"Sirens," he clarified. "Real ones."
That earned more attention.
"People argue about them," he continued, gripping the railing. "Funny thing, that. Vampires walk among you. Werewolves and fairies too. But sirens? Folks still say they're fairy tales. Pun intended."
He spat overboard.
"They ain't."
The ferry sliced through open water, deeper now, darker in color.
"They hunt at night mostly," he said. "Fishermen who don't know better. Or who think they're braver than they are. My crew used to be twelve."
A pause.
"It's six now."
The students quieted.
"They sing," he went on. "Not loud. Not obvious, but beautiful... So so beautiful." He paused a bit. "It creeps up on you. Slips into your head like a thought you think you came up with yourself. And when you hear it, you see something."
"What?" someone asked.
"Whatever you want most."
He smiled without humor.
"Could be a person. Could be gold. Could be peace. Could be forgiveness. They don't care what it is. They just shape it into melody."
He described their bodies then.
How they shimmered beneath moonlight, skin reflecting silver like scales kissed by starlight. Long hair floating weightless in water. Jade eyes luminous and knowing. He spoke of them as pride based societies, like lions. Two or three males in a community at most. The rest female, hunters and gatherers of flesh.
"That's why people only ever claim to see women," he added. "The males don't waste their time on the surface."
A girl near the front laughed nervously.
"They prefer deeper water," the guide assured. "Island's got protection systems in place. Barriers along the coast. They won't come near the shallows."
He leaned forward slightly.
"But if you wander too far from the shore at night," he added, voice dropping, "and you hear singing?"
He tapped his temple.
"It's already too late."
Laughter rippled again, less certain this time.
Adam's head turned slowly toward the window, as though something unseen had called him.
There, carried on the restless breath of the wind, came a murmur. Faint, spectral, almost too fragile to exist. A thread of sound drifted through the afternoon air, delicate as spider-silk, weaving itself into the silence.
It was a melody, soft and beautiful, shimmering with the weight of a nostalgic memory. Not loud enough to demand attention, not strong enough to command, yet it lingered.
Present, undeniable, like a half-forgotten song that stirs the heart without revealing its name.
His ears twitched subtly.
He leaned closer to the glass, eyes scanning the water. All he saw was sunlight scattering across gentle swells.
He nudged the student on his other side. "You hear that?"
The boy blinked at him. "Hear what?"
"The singing."
The boy snorted. "You're paranoid."
The old guide's eyes flicked toward them. "Hear something, son?"
Adam hesitated.
A dozen faces turned his way.
"If you did," the guide said, amusement curling at the edges of his voice, "you wouldn't be asking. You'd be clawing at that door trying to jump."
Laughter erupted.
Adam forced a smile. "Yeah. Guess I'm just tired."
He leaned back, but his ears strained.
The melody lingered faintly in the distance.
Real.
When the ferry docked, students surged toward the exit. Adam grabbed his duffel and stepped onto the wooden platform, grateful for solid ground.
The island air felt cleaner, cooler.
As he adjusted his bag on his shoulder, Luna brushed past him.
Her voice came low, barely above breath.
"That's why I had one pod in."
He turned slightly.
"What?"
"I heard them too," she continued without looking at him. "Werewolf frequency threshold is higher than normal humans'. It doesn't hit us the same. We're not the target."
He processed that quickly.
"So we just hear it?"
"We hear it," she confirmed. "We don't obey it."
She finally glanced at him, grey eyes sharp.
"Don't make a scene if you're going to sit near me next time."
Then she walked away.
Adam watched her go for half a second longer than he meant to.
"Adam."
He stiffened.
The principal.
Madam Bellhart stood a few steps away, tall enough that she met him nearly eye level. Her posture was straight, shoulders squared, expression thoughtful rather than angry.
He approached, sheepish.
"Did you rest well?" she asked quietly.
He nodded. "I just slept late."
Her gaze lingered on him longer than comfortable.
She seemed about to say more—
"Madam Bellhart!" Bryce called from across the courtyard. "We need you for tent placement and to authorize the generator hookups. Also the catering delivery needs your sign off."
She inhaled lightly.
"Of course." she said to Bryce
She turned back to Adam briefly.
"Make sure you are getting your proteins," she said in a measured tone. "Especially before Halloween's full moon."
He blinked.
Before he could respond, she pivoted, then paused as though remembering something trivial.
"Oh. And the shed at the north point of the island?" she added lightly. "Excellent view for full moon gazing."
She winked.
Then walked away.
Adam stood there, duffel in hand.
Proteins.
Full moon gazing.
North point shed.
He narrowed his eyes slightly.
Suspicious.
Very suspicious.
But did he even have time to dwell on that? He wondered.