Dr. Brie receives a strange patient, and incurs a strange favor.

---

Rain pounded against the windows of the small stone house, playing a rhythm that amplified the throbbing beneath Brie’s skull. Minutes ago he’d dismissed his last patient; minutes ago it’d been bright and sunny. He was looking forward to some peace and quiet before the sun set, but evidently, he wouldn’t get it.

He closed his eyes and let the colors of the room dance behind his eyelids; the blue and red rush of his blood under his skin, the mottled earthy colors of the grains of stone, dully going out of focus and then further out of focus as he relaxed. His eyes were a constantly strained muscle, overworked from sunrise to sunset, and even in sleep it was difficult to fully let them go. Now he had to be conscious not to let them completely relax, lest the lamp light that reached through his glasses overwhelm him and turn his headache into a migraine.

Sitting by himself in the dark house as the rain poured, it once again occurred to him how little he had truly been alone in his life. His mentor and surrogate father Dr. Hamury had died over a month ago. And while he did not miss the man, he did not know how to act without his constant surveillance. Dr. Hamury had been a cold, stern man who treated Brie like a prized tool that could easily fall out of tune, and so Brie had been monitored and criticized in every action that he had ever taken, forcing him to the brink of perfection if everything he did. With the man gone, a constant and daunting stress had evaporated from his life. He thought he’d relish the alone time, but that wasn’t exactly the case. Someone had always been around to tell him what to do. And now, without guidance, he was faced with the damning reality that he didn’t know how to manage his own time.

Forcing his pupils to constrict, he let his mind wander. Remembering was an intrepid act for Brie, but it was an exercise he forced himself to do every now and then; it would be worse to forget. He thought about the faces of his brothers and sisters– not the last time he’d seen them, anything but that –and he settled on the handsome face of his eldest brother.

Lee’s broad, confident smile. His thick, strong hands, always a little too tight when they grabbed his. His arched back and the cheerful racing of his heart as he led Brie through the catacombs. Him straightening and pushing the door closed behind him as he pulled Brie into a room labeled Library. His thoughtful blue eyes scanning the shelves until he pulled out a tome as thick as Brie’s arm.

“Give this a read, Brie,” he said. “You’ll really like this anthology. We can talk about it when you’re done, okay?”

Brie was only nine when he’d fixed his eyes on the tome; at the time, they were still difficult to control, still jumping in and out of focus no matter how hard he stared. “Okay,” he whispered, holding his hands out.

Lee set the book in his hands, and Brie buckled under its weight, nearly tumbling to the ground before his brother caught him by the shoulder. Lee pulled him upright, laughing, and took the book by the binding. He pressed it to Brie’s chest and wrapped his little arms around it. “Hold it securely. You don’t want to drop it.”

“It’s heavy!” Brie squeaked, hiking the book up in his arms.

“No, you’re just little,” he teased. “Keep your back straight and your arms around it and you’ll be fine. Take that to your room and keep it secret, okay? Don’t let Gill or Methodios find it.”

Brie’s eyes dilated, pulling in light from every inch of the room to set Lee’s face alight in his sight. He nodded, giving himself a bout of vertigo that nearly tipped him off his feet. “I will! I’ll read it all and we’ll talk about it!”

A clap of thunder dragged him back to the present, and made him acutely aware of the aching feeling of his chest. He remembered that book like he’d read it yesterday. He had a copy of it around here somewhere; not the exact same print, but a similar anthology with most of the same stories. It’d been a long time since he’d picked it up. How long now? Three years? Four years? Only half as long ago as he’d seen Lee. As he’d seen Gill. As he’d seen Methodios.

The next clap of thunder, he realized, wasn’t a clap of thunder at all. Someone was pounding on his door. He opened his eyes, and as they adjusted to the light, he pushed himself out of his chair. The obnoxious hammering didn’t stop until he pulled it open, eyes narrowed against the refracting light of the falling raindrops.

A young couple stood at his door, soaked. From their swimming attire, they had been caught in the rain while enjoying the nearby beach. But the urgency in their faces was not due to that alone, he inferred. Because the woman was clutching a child in her arms. “Are you the doctor?” she breathed.

“I am.” Not a question he liked to receive from non-patients, but one he generally answered truthfully nonetheless. “Can I help you?”

“We found this child on the beach. He’s alive, but I think he’s hurt. Can you help him?”

Brie turned his eyes to the child and tilted his glasses up. His eyes vivisected the little figure layer by layer, swiftly gaining an important and increasingly interesting cache of information. He let his glasses fall over his eyes and stared at the tiny face of the unconscious being.

This was not a child.

“I will take care of him.” He took the creature out of the woman’s arms. “I believe I know who he belongs to. Thank you for bringing him to me.”

The couple’s shocked faces stared back at him through the rain. “You do?” said the man.

“That’s wonderful!” the woman said. “Thank you!”

With a nod, he closed the door. There was no need for more pleasantries with these strangers, who could tell him nothing more. He carried the creature to his examination room and laid it on the table, stretching it out to its full height. It certainly was child-shaped; with soft, young features from the waist up, pale, shiny skin, and short shaggy hair with an oily sheen. A large gash on its head was bleeding badly, the blood not quite the right viscosity and color to be human. From the waist down its body was tangled in netting, obscuring from the young couple that its legs were covered in scales and fins.

Its injuries were easy to treat: cut away the net, disentangle it from its legs, remove the hooks dug deep into its flesh. Then clean and dress the wounds. A look at its head showed that it did not have a concussion, despite its unconsciousness. He doubted that the creature would benefit from its more minor wounds being bandaged, so he left its leg wounds open and damp. It had been like this for a while; the netting had grown around its legs, and pulling away every fiber proved time-consuming. It took an educated guess to administer proper pain management; a careful look at brain chemistry as he administered small doses until he was satisfied with the result.

It was late into the night when Brie finished his work; his head spun from eye fatigue. He was satisfied with his work but not with the trustworthiness of his patient, so before he went to bed, he locked it into the examination room.

The following morning greeted him with blinding sunlight that pierced his eyelids like they weren’t there. He cringed and groped at the night stand for his glasses, eyes squeezed tightly shut in a feeble attempt to keep the sunlight out. It wasn’t until he found them and slipped them on that he noticed the weight on his chest. Blinking until the sun spots faded from his vision, he stared into a pale-skinned, black-eyed face.

Brie was not an easily startled person. Startling easily was a terrible trait in a doctor, and his guardians had done everything they could to make him bulletproof. But when this slimy, ghostly face pulled back its lips to reveal a mouth full of sharp teeth, his wits abandoned him. He leapt out of bed with a frightened squawk, pressing himself to his bedroom wall.

The creature’s smile widened as it turned to face him, curling its scaled legs under itself. Brie’s bed was soaked; there was a steady trail of water from the bathroom to the bed, and the creature dripped, its skin freshly hydrated. It raised a hand to its mouth and snickered, a soft, earthly sound that disarmed Brie against his will.

“How did you get out of the examination room?” he gasped, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Through the thick lenses he scanned the beast, examining its injuries; somehow it had not managed to split its stitches, but its open wounds oozed where they were agitated by whatever maneuvers this thing had done while he slept. The blood would most likely stain his sheets.

“Don’t patronize me,” the creature intoned, its accent thick and tinged with something Brie only vaguely knew. “My kind takes great joy in sinking your ships and playing with whatever is inside. Of course I know how to pick a lock.”

The moment the sound of its voice hit his ears, every tension and pain in his body ebbed away. It was unlike anything Brie had ever experienced before: his mild headache, dragged along by constant eye strain, gone. The aches of a body not fully stretched after waking, gone. The pain of the bright room on his retinas, gone. Brie found himself drawn toward the voice like a moth to flame. Before he knew it, he was leaning on his bed, his hands planted on its edge as he stared down at the creature. His mind, blissfully clear for an instant, drew the pieces of this puzzle together. “Siren.”

“Yes. Very good,” it crooned, reaching a pale hand out to cup his chin. “Aren’t you observant. Do you like the sound of my voice?”

He closed his eyes and leaned into the sound. The effect was even better up close; like taking a painkiller and muscle relaxant that worked instantly; something stronger and swifter than he would ever put in his own body. He had never felt so comfortable. But he wouldn’t let this thing rob him of his wits in his own home. “Why,” he murmured, leaning away, “did you come into my bedroom?”

“I was considering eating you,” it said frankly, tucking a lock of his silver hair behind his ear. “But you treated me so nicely, I decided to reconsider it.”

“I would appreciate you leaving me intact,” he drawled. “If you are hungry, I can get you something to eat.”

“Yes, you can.” It patted him on the head and drew back, pushing itself upright on its hands. “I want fresh meat. Quickly, before I change my mind and eat you anyway.”

Brie couldn’t feel a sense of urgency with the constant pain behind his eyes finally gone. Nonetheless, he changed and stepped out of the room, leaving the creature on his bed while he sought out its breakfast. It wasn’t until he reached his tiny kitchen, and the siren’s voice released him, that he realized that he had no fresh meat. He would have to go out. And that meant that he should not let that creature soak his bed while he did.

This time, he braced himself for the enchantment. He stepped back into the room and cleared his throat. “I will fetch you some fresh meat, but I have to ask that you move yourself somewhere more appropriate than my bed.”

The siren pursed its lips, eyes half-lidded in a look of bored disappointment. “You don’t have a tub. Where an I supposed to sit?”

“You can sit in the shower. Or the kitchen sink. You should be small enough to fit in there.”

“The sink? Where your kind keeps its trash?”

“We do not keep our trash in the sink.” He closed his eyes, relishing the numbing in his head. “My sink is clean, and it can be filled with water. Those are your choices. I cannot have you soaking my bed. Mattresses are very expensive.”

“And what if I say no?”

Brie paused, pushing aside the disarming sense of comfort to think logically. From the shape and size of the water trail through his house, this creature had dragged itself to his room; it couldn’t walk. It also had no source of food except him, and the walk to the sea was a long one, especially in the sun for an aquatic creature. And it certainly did not want to be spotted. Despite its bravado, it was at his mercy.

“Then I will leave you here without food.”

The siren’s ankle fins flicked, and it narrowed its eyes at him. “Don’t you people remember your history? You should know what a siren can do to you.”

“I do not believe that you could drown me on my bed.”

The scowl it returned told him that his calculated guess had paid off; he’d called its bluff.

“I would be happy to accommodate your needs if you are willing to meet me halfway.” He motioned to the kitchen. “And halfway will be the kitchen sink. Please get off of my bed.”

“If the food you bring me is not to my satisfaction, I will rip open your neck,” it snarled, slipping off the bed and scuttling to the kitchen.

Brie followed at a respectful distance, watching it try to climb the cabinets to reach the sink. When the task proved difficult for its slippery hands, he spoke up. “Would you like some help?”

“Just put me in the sink.”

“Of course. As long as you don’t bite me.” He stepped forward, plugged the sink, and turned on the water, getting it to the approximate temperature of the surrounding sea. It was a guess; he assumed that his patient would inform him of his error if he made one. He lifted the creature into the sink and placed it down gingerly. To his satisfaction, it fit with ease, reclining against the wall of the basin and letting the water run over its hips. “Will this do until I return?” he asked.

Fins still flicking, it looked around and shrugged. Then, it waved him away. He was glad for its lack of voice; it made it far easier to walk out the door.

Despite having a taste for it, Brie hated buying fresh meat. His eyes made him acutely aware of all the pathogens on it, and knowing that most of them cooked off didn’t make it easier to stomach after seeing the raw product. In this case, it was a burden he could make use out of, because many of the market butchers claimed to have fresh meat while their product writhed with bacteria. He picked the middle ground between the cheapest and cleanest product, and he returned to his home with a lamb shank for the siren. In patient silence he let it clean the bone while he made himself a simple breakfast of bread, butter, and milk. He could see the siren watching him as he went about his morning routine, but pretended to ignore it; now that he knew he had the high ground, he saw no point in lauding it over the thing. When it dropped the cleaned bone on his floor, he grabbed a towel, picked it up, and threw it into an outside garbage can. “Are you satisfied?”

It crossed its arms and sank deeper into the very full sink. “For now.”

“Good. How are you feeling?”

“I just answered: satisfied.”

He took that to apply to its wounds as well. Leaning back in his kitchen chair, he closed his eyes and sipped his milk. “May I have your name?”

“No, you may not. But you may call me Molpe.”

“Molpe, does your species like to be gendered?”

“We are all female,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“Noted. You may call me Brie. When you are able to return to the sea, I will take you there. Until then, you are welcome to make yourself comfortable in my home, as long as you do not interfere with me and my work.”

“Make myself comfortable? How can I do that when you’ve put me in the sink?”

He adjusted his glasses, brow furrowing. “Where would you like to be? Surely my bed does not meet your moisture needs.”

“I want a blanket. This sink is hard and stiff.”

He finished off his milk, set down the cup, and left the room. Soon he returned with blankets and a pillow. “Will these rectify that situation?”

Molpe eyed the offerings, dubious, before taking them one at a time and situating them in the sink. Brie watched with a frown as water sloshed to the floor and counter, soaking the kitchen. In the end Molpe had lined the sink with the blanket, and the pillow was placed behind her head. She reclined, letting her finned feet slide onto the counter. “Yes, this will do.”

“I am glad,” he said dryly. “Now, I have patients to see today. Should you like to stay comfortable, you will need to not interfere with my work.”

She nodded, and again, waved her off.

Brie had his doubts about her fidelity to their deal, but Molpe did not make a peep all day. He was able to guide his patients to his examination room without her being seen, and the occasional sound of sloshing water was easy enough to explain away as loud pipes. Brie was impressed; he didn’t expect a mythical creature of the sea to be so easy to work with, and so at the end of the day, he bought her a chicken; both as a thank you and as an assurance that the cooperation would continue.

He should have known that she would pluck it before eating it, but seeing feathers fly around his kitchen still caught him off guard. He stood, baffled, as she plucked the bird clean, took a bite out of its chest, and then laughed at him. “Why are you making that face? Do you eat the feathers?”

He looked away, cheeks flushing, and sank into a chair. Only now did the fatigue of the day hit him as the siren’s voice evaporated it away. Her giggle was even more enchanting than her speaking voice; like a gentle massage on his ocular nerves. “No. Sorry.”

“You are a funny man,” Molpe hummed, tearing apart chicken skin as easily as paper. “Why do your eyes do that? How did you know what I was?”

“One question answers the other, I suppose,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “I can see many things that other humans can’t. I could tell that you were not human at once, but it wasn’t until I heard you that I knew what you were.”

“And it didn’t scare you!” She pouted. “How disappointing.”

“You scared me quite a bit when you climbed on top of me in my room.”

Her melodic giggle chased away the last of his headache. “I suppose that’s true…” Peering down at her legs, she continued, “How long do I have to be in your sink? This is so boring.”

“I could release you tonight if you’d like,” he said, “but I would like your wounds to heal before I let you go, if you can be patient. Perhaps I could bring you something to do.”

She leaned back in the sink, sucking the meat off a chicken wing. “Like what?”

“Can you read? I could lend you a book, if you can keep it mostly dry.”

Her lids fell heavy over her eyes as she considered it. “Alright. If I can read your human scratch, I will read. Bring me something interesting.”

He rose and went to his room. There, on a dusty shelf in the corner, was his collection of books. Medical texts on the bottom shelf; modern fiction on the middle shelf; and on the top two shelves, mythology. He scanned the titles for something that may appeal to the siren, and his gaze landed on the anthology that had appeared in his memory. His copy of it, that was. He picked it up and wiped the dust off the cover before flipping to its index. It was a very random selection, if he were to be honest with himself. Molpe should be able to find something in it to enjoy.

Memories crept up on him like a cat stalking a fish. He remembered being nine, distraught, staring up at his eldest brother and holding the book in his hands. “How couldn’t Ikaros feel the heat on his back? Why didn’t he realize he was losing lift? Why didn’t his father call for him? Why didn’t he listen?”

“Woah, Brie, take it easy.” Lee knelt, placing a hand on his shoulder and easing the book out of his hands. “If it’s going to upset you so badly, look at the bright side. He got to fly.”

“But it killed him!”

Lee sighed, ran his hand down his face, and wrapped an arm around Brie, hauling him off his feet like he was a baby. “Maybe I shouldn’t have let you read this…”

“No, I liked it!” he said desperately. “But I don’t understand why Ikaros did what he did! He should have known better.”

“Listen, Brie.” Lee’s voice lowered to a murmur as he carried him down the long, dark brick hall. “Haven’t you ever wanted to do something wrong? Just because you thought it’d be fun?”

His brow furrowed so low that it pushed down his ill-fitted glasses. The idea was ludicrous; why would he ever want to do anything wrong? Why would he want to get in trouble? “No.”

“Okay. Then how about Gill. He does things he shouldn’t all the time, right? You know why?”

“Because he’s a fool.”

Lee ran his hand down his face, trying to hide a smile, but Brie saw it. It sucked some power out of his next words. “No. Because he thinks the punishment will be worth it. And sometimes it is! Gill sees things the way Ikaros sees things: sometimes it’s worth it to take a risk. And sometimes you don’t get to experience great things unless you do.”

“But Ikaros died,” Brie strained.

“Yeah. Ikaros took it too far. But you’re not Ikaros. You’re kind of like, the opposite.” He flashed him a teasing smile. “You could take a risk or two now and then. You might get lucky like Ikaros and get to fly.”

“But I do not want to be unlucky like Ikaros.”

“Then you need to remember to feel for the heat on your back.”

That dull, steady ache twisted at Brie’s chest again as he stood in his bedroom, staring at the table of contents of his book. Before the feeling could swallow him up he snapped it shut and returned to Molpe. On his way, he grabbed a towel from the bathroom.

The little siren was waiting for him impatiently. Upon his return she grinned and held out her shiny hands for the tome. Instead, Brie handed her the towel. “I do not expect you to keep this book pristine. But should I find it completely waterlogged, I will take it back and you will have to entertain yourself. Can you manage what I’m asking?”

“Yes, of course,” she cooed. Lifting her chin, she made a show of drying off her hands and draping the towel over the faucet, where it would remain dry. Then, she held out her hands again. “The book will be returned to you only moderately wet.”

Brie grimaced, but he held it out to her. She snatched it up eagerly and perched it on her knees, which jutted safely out of the water. After flipping through pages in a seemingly random fashion, she settled into a story and began to read. “Thank you. You can go now.”

He didn’t. Instead he sat and watched her, letting the silky sound of her humming draw the fatigue and ache out of his eyes. The sun set, and darkness eased its way into the house. Brie lit a candle and placed it within reach of the siren before sitting back down, cheek in his hand, eyes closed.

“Are you going to watch me all night?” she asked. “You look like you’re falling asleep.”

“No. I will go to bed shortly.”

“Oh? You will leave my humming?”

His eyes fluttered open. “Yes. Isn’t that what you’d like?”

Molpe pouted at him, and before he could figure out what he’d said wrong she flipped onto her belly, sending a spray of water around the kitchen that smacked Brie in the face. Somehow, the book was unharmed. “You are a very strange human. Are you sure that you are fully human at all?”

“I… guess I can’t be sure,” he muttered, pulling off his glasses. Navigating with his eyes closed, he pulled out a dish cloth and dried them off.

“What do you mean?” she asked, plopping the towel on the counter and propping the book on it. “Humans come from two people. Do you think you’re a child of a god?”

“No, of course not.” He backed into his chair with a huff. “But I don’t know my parents. And given the circumstances of my birth, who’s to say that they or their descendants were not children of gods?”

“Your bravado!” she gawked.

“No,” he argued, shaking his head. “I think that’s all highly unlikely. You are the one who asked if I was fully human. I was entertaining your question.”

She sniffed and turned her eyes back to the book. For several minutes she read in silence. Brie frowned as he felt his eye fatigue return; he was nearly ready to go to bed when Molpe spoke again. “Why did you rescue me?”

“A couple brought you to me for help. They thought you were a human child.”

Her fins quivered in disgust; it was almost humorous to watch her body recoil on a molecular level to the idea. “Your kind is so stupid. Had I not been struck by that boat, I would have feasted on their hearts and left the rest of them to rot.”

“That may be so,” he said slowly, “but then you would still be tangled in netting. I imagine it will be far easier to lure sailors to their deaths now.”

Molpe let out a giggle, her ankles swinging through the air like an overexcited teenager. “I managed before.”

Brie closed his eyes, relishing the way her voice chased away his headache.

She eyed him bemusedly. When he made no reply, she turned back to the book. “But it will be easier now.”

—–

Brie stared down at the tiny form laid out on the operating table. The dull rock underneath was sanitized, but the grooves guiding fluids to the floor were stained red with dried blood. His glasses did not shield him from the countless morphing memories of all the children he’d laid on this table, all the blood he’d spilled, all the injections he’d administered. Now, the childlike body on the table was Molpe.

A tall figure loomed over him, their head blocking out the harsh light from above. “Make the cut, Argos.”

There was a scalpel in his hand. His fingers tightened around it, and though his hand looked steady, he felt like it was shaking. He couldn’t make it move.

“Make the cut, Argos!”

His heart pounded in his chest. His eyes constricted, canceling out as much light as possible, throwing Molpe’s pale, tiny body into dim contrast against the dark table. He didn’t want to do it. A fear gripped him so tightly that he couldn’t breathe. His hand trembled– he knew it did, he felt it shaking –but when he looked at it, it was steady as stone.

The large, dark hand of the guardian behind him clutched his wrist in an iron grip. Brie bristled, trying to pull back, but the guardian was immovable, unstoppable, and none of his fighting slowed it from guiding his hand to Molpe’s body and pressing the scalpel into her stomach. It split like butter under a hot knife. The hand guided his all the way down to her groin. Blood, thick, a little too blue, spilled from the wound, dribbling into the grooves of the table and slowly making their way to the floor.

The guardian’s other hand rested on the top of his head; gentle, demanding. He knew if he turned away, if he tried to flee, if he closed his eyes, it would tighten and push him forward. So he stayed rigid and braced for the question he knew was coming next.

“What do you see?”

He wanted to close his eyes. But he knew if he did, he would be punished, and nothing would be worse than the punishment. Sucking in quick, shaky breaths, he pulled his glasses off and looked into the open body. Organs, each working in rhythm, pumping blood, digesting, making bile, breathing hair…

Something was wrong. Molpe should not have had such human-looking organs. Molpe’s skin should have been paler. Wasn’t the blood thicker a moment ago? Where were her gills? His eyes darted to the face of the creature, and the face staring back at him was not Molpe’s. Soft tan skin, brown curls, big brown eyes. It wasn’t Molpe. It wasn’t Molpe. It wasn’t Mople.

“Anthy!” he screamed, voice cracked and ragged against the stone walls. She stared back at him, eyes wide with horror, face turning ashen, lips parted in a silent wail. The life was draining from her face; he could see her blood pressure dropping, her brain firing panicked synapses, her eyes dilating in terror, the strength leaving her muscles, and he could do nothing…

He struggled against the hand on his head, but he couldn’t break away. It tightened, pushing him forward, forcing him to stare into the wound. “Tell me what you see.”

“No!” he screamed. “You promised! You said she scored high enough!” Tears burst from his eyes, hot, stinging, suffocating. He squeezed them shut but it didn’t help; he could still see his little sister’s life draining away in her exposed organs. Her little hand lifted shakily from the table, reaching for his. It fell short, unable to close the distance. Her fingers curled into her palm, and went limp. He grabbed for it, but he was given a rough shake by the guardian.

“You must suppress these emotional reactions, Argos. Perform the job well and it will be over quickly.”

His knees buckled under him. He fell against the table, arms splashing into the blood. His head spun, his eyes took in more than they could process. He would not look again. He refused. The acrid smell of blood, old and new, burned his nostrils. The dampness on his sleeves made him sick. He felt like throwing up, but he was too weak to even wretch.

And then his sleeves dried. The smell of blood faded. The harsh light overhead dimmed, and the hand disappeared from his head. Brie fell to the floor and curled in on himself, his forehead pressed against cool dirt. The thrumming in his heart eased; the shaking of his hands stilled. Darkness washed over him like a cool bath.

“Brie.”

He lifted his head, adjusting his glasses with the motion. Anthy stood before him, fully clothed, well, smiling. She giggled and held out her hand. “Gotcha! Silly. Get off the floor. We’re waiting for you.”

“You are?” He took her hand and let her pull him to his feet. A little too rough, she sent him stumbling. She caught him, hands finding his sides and pushing him upright.

“Yeah,” she giggled. “Come on! Let’s go.” She turned and jogged off, her long brown curls bouncing along her shoulders behind her.

Brie hesitated only a moment before he hurried after her. The darkness was lifting into an easy, comfortable light. A room blossomed into view around him. They were in the common room; warm afternoon light bathed the stone walls in amber. His brothers and sisters sat together, playing a card game in a circle. They greeted him enthusiastically as he approached, and Anthy pulled him to a sit beside her. His presence closed the circle.

“It’s about time,” Methodias scoffed, dealing him in. “We thought you’d never show up.”

“I…” Brie looked around. In the warmth of the familiar room, the terror he’d once felt hadn’t followed him. “I didn’t mean to leave you waiting. The doctors needed me.”

“Well, they don’t need you any more,” said Cherry. “So let’s just forget about them and play, shall we?”

Brie drew in a breath; slow, unsteady. He released it with a sigh, and his expression softened. “Yeah. What are we playing again?”

Visions of card games and laughter fizzled away as Brie felt the sunlight reach his sensitive eyes. He awoke slowly, relishing the comfort of the dream until it had completely vanished. Then he grabbed his glasses and opened his eyes.

He’d felt Molple’s weight in the bed before he saw her; curled up beside him, leaning on his shoulder. She flashed him a smile and twirled a lock of his silver hair. “Good morning. Did you get some sleep after that nasty nightmare?”

His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“You were squirming and whimpering like a fish in a net. So I sang you a lullaby to help you sleep. It helped, didn’t it?”

Brie’s gaze trailed to the ceiling. Images of his siblings’ faces still played in his mind, crisper and softer than they’d ever been in dreams before. “Yes. It did.”

“Good. Then you’re plenty rested enough to go get me something to eat.” She patted his cheeks and rolled off the bed. “Hurry up! I’m starving!”

Brie’s bed was once again soaked. He pulled off the sheets, hung them on the line, and got dressed. By then, Molpe had returned to the kitchen. She’d pulled over a kitchen chair to the sink, and (through trial and error Brie guessed from the amount of water on the floor) figured out how to get in and out on her own. “Lamb or chicken?” he asked her, stooping to pull on his shoes.

“Chicken. I like ripping the feathers out.”

Another mess to clean up around her. He headed to the market.

Another day passed, and Brie found himself sitting in the kitchen, watching feathers drift through the air. Over the hum of the siren’s voice, flesh tore and bones crunched. She pulled the drain in the sink and turned on the water, washing the blood off her face. “Do you like what you do, Brie?”

“Hmm? Yes, for the most part,” he murmured.

“Seeing the sick humans doesn’t bother you?” she stuck her head under the faucet, peering at him through the water cascading down her temple. “Then what do you have nightmares about?”

He let out a humorless huff. “What does it matter to you?”

“We don’t dream.” she pulled her head out of the water, plugged the sink, and settled into the blanket. “My older sisters say it is part of our punishment. So if it was worth taking away from us, it must be important. What is it like?”

“Dreaming? It’s…” Brie trailed off. It did not seem fair to make him the mouthpiece for all of humanity when the only dreams he remembered were his nightmares. He hadn’t had a normal dream since he was a child. And how well could he trust his memory of them? “It’s like… living in a world that doesn’t exist, where you’re far dumber than you normally are.”

Molpe laughed, her voice melodic and magnetic. “How strange! And what about nightmares?”

“Nightmares are… Well, you seem to have an idea of them,” he muttered, rubbing his temple. “They are terrifying. The same as dreams, but the events therein are horrifying.”

“And what horrifies humans in their nightmares?”

“It is different for everyone.” His eyes unfocused, constricting to let in very little light. “Though there are motifs… Falling, darkness…”

“Is that what your nightmares are like? Falling into the dark?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“I do not want to talk about my nightmares.” He pushed from his seat and dug through his pantry until he found some dried fruit; past its prime, but edible. He sat down with his back to Molpe and chewed on it, doing his best to ignore her.

That was impossible, of course. There was no way his mind would neglect the draw of her voice, even when she was only humming. “Why not?”

“Do you feel fear, Molpe?” he asked, teeth clamped on a dried fig.

“Occasionally.”

“Then imagine whatever caused that fear was relentless. That you could do nothing to escape it; the feeling, and the thing causing it. That is what a nightmare is like.”

For a minute, there was nothing but the sound of water sloshing. Then a quiet “Oh.”

“Yes. So I would prefer not to discuss my own nightmares.”

Molpe sank into the water, knees jutting upward and face sinking in to the bridge of her nose. The sun set outside, and Brie lit a candle as he dug up a proper dinner.

“Would you like me to sing again, if I find you having one?”

He paused, looking up from his bowl to meet her gaze. She was peeking out at him from the water, glassy black eyes innocently curious. Maybe even kind. “If you are so inclined…”

Her eyes crinkled with the hint of a smile. Her head disappeared under the water, and with a splash she pulled her legs in after her, making herself small enough to vanish into the sink. Brie’s brow furrowed, puzzled, but when she did not emerge, he decided that she was sleeping. It was about time; he hadn’t seen her so much as doze the whole time she’d been with him. He decided to leave her to it, and he headed to bed.

. . .

The afternoon sun pooled through the window above the sink, reflecting off of Brie’s glasses as a blue beam of light that spilled across the kitchen floor. Molpe rested her head against him, eyes closed as he carefully separated her hair and examined the stitches woven along her scalp. The skin had neatly healed, and the stitches were ready to come out. He picked up his pliers and began the careful process and cutting and pulling them.

Molpe remained perfectly still, the side of her head resting comfortably against his stomach as he worked. He’d towel dried her soaking head, but that of course wasn’t enough to keep the dampness of her hair from soaking his shirt; something that she neither cared about nor acknowledged. “Do you see what you wanted to see?”

“Yes. Your wound has closed up, and you’re healing nicely,” he replied. “If you’d like to return to the sea, I could take you tonight. You must be growing tired of my kitchen sink.”

She let out a soft hum that drew the tension out of his eyes, even as he strained them to work. “Yes, I am bored. It is time for me to go home.”

“You’ll recommend me to all your friends, I hope,” Brie said, only half serious. “The ones who would accept my care and leave me intact, anyway.”

Molpe giggled. “I may mention you to some of my sisters… The ones who would not laugh me out of their dens. There aren’t many.”

“Understandable.” He flicked the last of the stitches off of his pliers and used the edge to lightly scrape away some dead skin. “Then you need not tell them a thing. I am not seeking glory.”

“Whatever you say,” she lilted. In silence, she let him clean the scar for several minutes. Then she continued, “I will have to keep an eye on you. You interest me.”

“Is that so?” he asked. “You are all done. You can sit up now.”

Molpe didn’t lift her head. “I will tell you when you take me to the beach.”

“…I see. And what does keeping an eye on me entail?”

“You will be under the protection of me and my sisters. Other creatures of our sea will know not to harm you.”

“Oh.” There were some advantages to that. “I would appreciate that. Thank you. Now can you please lift your head?”

Under a new moon, Brie walked through the sleeping city. Molpe rode on his back, her shimmering skin wrapped around his shoulders. The street lights did not reach the beach, and anyone but the doctor would have needed a light to guide them. For Brie, it was as easy as partially dilating his pupils. He preferred the darkness of night to day.

The sea was quiet and waiting. He stopped at the water’s edge, and just before the sand grew wet he slipped off his sandals and stepped into the water. Molpe’s fins pulsed with excitement; he imagined that for her, the open sea was as alluring as her voice was to him. He also knew that should she decide that he was a better asset as a snack, he could do nothing to defend himself now. It was a conclusion he had come to days before, when he had offered her his sink. And it was not something that needed to be discussed.

The water cut through his clothes and chilled his skin, making him hesitate as is rose to his thighs. “Is this deep enough?” he asked, leaning back on his heels to brace against the waves.

“No,” Molpe lilted. “Keep going.”

Her voice eased the shock of chill as well as everything else. With a sigh he stepped in deeper. The sand sloped swiftly downward, and in three steps the water was up to his chest. A gentle current tugged at his feet, and he struggled to stay planted. “This is as deep as I can go.”

“This will do.” Molpe released him and slipped into the water.

For a moment, he thought that was it; that she was gone, swimming into the depths without a final word or wave. His disappointment surprised him. But he dared not linger; at this depth, Molpe was not the only thing that could pull him into the sea. He took a step back, fighting the pull of the waves, and turned to leave.

Tiny wet hands locked around his cheeks. He gasped, sea water misting into his mouth, as Molpe reappeared, her large black eyes fixing on his. She brandished a toothy grin. “You aren’t leaving already, are you?”

His heart did a pounding stutter before settling into a swifter, steadier rhythm. “I didn’t feel it prudent to linger…”

“But I have not placed you under my protection yet. Don’t you want to know how I will do that?”

Brie could not see anything but her teeth: Large, long, cone-shaped, hollow inside, and ever so slightly bioluminescent. Had he not felt that he was moments from having them buried in his throat, he would have been stricken by their dangerous beauty. “I suppose.”

“This is how.” Molpe leaned in, and Brie closed his eyes tight. It didn’t help shield him from her drawing closer; he only saw her movements at the molecular level: her skin cells shifting on her face, her massive pupils constricting as she closed her eyes, her teeth shifting inward with a subtle constriction of muscle. He stopped breathing as her skin met his, but where he expected the ripping of flesh with teeth, he felt her soft, wet lips on the tip of his nose.

He opened his eyes. They bounced in and out of focus as his panic searched for a source of danger, and only found Molpe smiling back at him. When he remained speechless, she laughed. “After how nicely I’ve treated you, you are still so scared of me?”

“I apologize,” he breathed. The weakness of his voice embarrassed him. “I’ve no script for this.”

“I do not know what that means, and I don’t want to. You have been marked for protection. Travel in our waters without fear.” She ran her damp hand across his cheek once more. “Now, close your eyes and listen.”

He did what he was told. Again, his vision scrambled to bring the finer details of her facial anatomy into focus as she pulled herself toward him again. Lips against his ear, she sang. The sound was transfixing in a way Brie had not experienced before; far from the lure of her usual tones, this one drew him inward instead of forward. He barely noticed himself falling into the song, and where it was taking him.

He was back in his room at the facility. No sunlight touched the room, and the only source was from a freshly lit candle on the night stand. Lee sat beside him. His thick arm laid around his shoulders, and Brie leaned against his chest. “I just feel bad about it sometimes,” he murmured. “They didn’t get a choice to be on the operating table.”

“I know, Brie.” Lee’s hand rubbed his upper arm; a soft, soothing motion. “They didn’t. But you have to remember that you don’t have a choice but to examine them. And since you don’t get a choice in the matter, the best way to honor them is to make the best use of their bodies as you can.”

Brie remembered being horrified in this moment. He remembered that he had woken from a nightmare, still screaming, and that Lee had come to check on him. He remembered, even now, shaking until it was hard to move. He remembered the pounding of his heart, and the terror that still gripped him. But when he experienced it now, there was a peace over the moment; as if that had all been washed out of him. So when he answered, it was analytically. “How do I do that?”

“You’re there to examine those bodies so you can be a doctor, right? Well, be the best doctor the world’s ever seen. Then, at least they didn’t die for nothing.”

And again, the horror was gone; the guilt, the pressure that came with that didn’t touch him. “That’s it? But, is that enough? Is it worth all those deaths?”

“The deaths aren’t your fault.” Lee squeezed his arm so hard that it hurt. But then he released him, and he returned to rubbing, smoothing the pain away. “You have nothing to do with the deaths. But you can make sure those deaths mean something. They mean that you can prevent more people from dying. That’s what you have to remember. You can make those deaths meaningful.”

“I get it.” The tears had stopped. Brie felt a fierce, clumsy hope filling his chest where a tightness had been before. “I’ll save everybody then. Because it’s the only thing I can do.”

Lee smiled at him. “That’s it, Brie. Save everyone you can.”

Brie woke up to the light piercing his eyelids, like he did every morning. As the softness of his dream left him, he sat up and grabbed his glasses. He was laying on his sheets. He was soaked from the chest down, and his hair was damp. Otherwise, his house was quiet and dry; no sirens to nurse, no chicken feathers to clean up. His first patient would arrive in an hour. He felt deeply, truly rested.

He returned to his bedroom and prepared for the day. There were more lives to save.