Page 50 of Crashing Tides

It’s not exactly a definitive guide to being a shifter. It’s more like an encyclopedia of every shifter ever recorded, which I decide is sufficient. I open to the section about water shifters and begin reading. Sirens. Selkies. Krakens. Kelpies. Whale Shifters. Dolphin shifters. Shark shifters. And finally, Merfolk.

I spend a long time staring at the illustration. The Mer in question has lifeless, shaggy hair, a lanky body covered in spines, and a fish tail that looks more appropriate for a trout than a betta fish. The eyes are cold and dark, the ears strangely pointed, the claws even longer and sharper than my own.

Why not use a photo? Then I realize with a sinking feeling that that would probably be even worse—they’d probably use a photo of a dead mer who washed up on the beach or something. I check the publication date and flinch. 1971. OK. That explains some things. I don’t like it, but the knowledge quells the shiver running down my spine.

Jane looks over my shoulder, curious. I keep my voice low. “That’s not what I look like.”

She nods slowly, probably noting all the unflattering details. “I believe it.”

“I-Duncan said they were like betta fish fins.” For some reason, I really need her to know that I’m not some dead-eyed fish monster.

“This looks like an old illustration,” Jane agrees with a frown. “I bet it’s pretty out of date.”

“There aren’t very many books,” I huff. “This is the best one they have.”

She shakes her head. “Fucking Wyndham.”

I’m starting to get more than a little nervous about him. Banning shifters, ordering an entire section of the library cleared and probably destroyed… This is full-blown oppression.

As badly as I want to bury my head in the sand and pretend this isn’t happening, I can’t. I can't ignore things that can hurt me and the people I care about anymore.

Ignoring Jane’s expression, I read the description. Merfolk, famous for their beauty and seductive prowess, are social creatures. Typically seen in pods, they are known for their exceptional voices, which they use to seduce sailors, often dragging them to their deaths. Driven to extinction.

I stare at that last sentence.

What.

Suddenly unable to speak, I tap Jane’s shoulder and gesture before me. Without hesitation, she slides the book over to her. When she reaches the final sentence, her eyes widen. Then she looks at me. “OK,” she says. “Don’t panic. This book is out of date. Let’s use a search engine and find out, alright?”

I nod, because my voice isn’t working. Jane types something into a search bar, frowns, then turns the screen to me.

There are dozens of academic articles listed. Sacrilege and the Mer; Death in the Ocean; Mer: Extinct, or Well-Hidden?; Shifters and Halea University’s Drowned Levels. And then, Halea University: Haven for Merfolk?

I blink. “So… Am I extinct?”

Jane clicks on Mer: Extinct or Well-Hidden? and we read together.

Although considered extinct for the last fifty years, researchers are now beginning to find indicators that the Merfolk, though far from common, may be hidden rather than extinct. Hunted to dwindling numbers in the twentieth century, they’ve long been endangered, if not eradicated altogether. Infamously despised by sailors, they are revered for their scales, long considered the source of their power. For centuries, they suffered targeted attacks. Now, they exist only in museums. Or do they?

The article goes on to list a number of sightings and strange stories, most of which were allegedly recorded in bars along the coastline.

By 1997, it was established that small pockets of merfolk exist, hidden along the ocean floor. Because of the existing stigma, no official locations have been disclosed.

“OK,” says Jane slowly, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “So they aren’t extinct.”

“Just impossible to find,” I mumble. Numbness spreads from the center of my chest to my arms and legs, a cold current of dread. I’m alone.

Then I remember another article of interest and take control of Jane’s laptop.

For decades, rumors have swirled about Halea University’s Shifter population. While Wolves and Bears are as common as they’ve ever been, there’s a reported population hidden beneath the surface: merfolk. Though secretive, protected by privacy laws (at this, I scroll up to check the publication date: 2003), and reluctant to speak to reporters, I’ve done the impossible, and arranged an interview.

Corbin (name changed to protect his identity) is in his final semester at Halea. Tall, tan, blond, and athletic, he’s practically a living Ken doll. But he’s got a dark secret: most of his family was killed fifteen years ago in a massacre. He’s agreed to speak to me. His only condition? That I don’t ask any questions about it.

Naturally, I’ve agreed.

INTERVIEWER: What do you think about the shifter population at Halea?

CORBIN: I think it’s awesome. It’s a very diverse group of people from all walks of life.