Frankie B: Part-Time Mermaid: Marina Witches Mysteries, #8

By Andie Low

Frankie has never been keen on the beach, and her idea of making a big splash involves a nice, deep soaking tub. And she's sure as heck never sprouted scales while sitting in one of those!

 

But here she is, on the wrong side of Nemo, hold the tuna-breath. While she likes the ability to breathe under-water, she isn't sure about that big old tail. She's never been this broad across the beam, ever.

 

Of course, she's just getting used to this when Zane drops a bombshell, or in this case, a silver shell. If Frankie knew picking the Vendimori up off the seafloor would activate the death curse it's been infused with, she'd have left it right where it was.

 

Shame she's a bit of a magpie with shiny things. No sooner has Zane seen her treasure than the first body floats by. Concerned Zane might be next; Frankie is itching to track down the culprit, even if this means a side trip to Zane's home island in the Mediterranean.

 

At risk of Zane's family finding out Frankie isn't the pure-bred witch needed to qualify as Zane's life partner, and the ever-present risk of dying, this is not your normal home-coming.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Squabbling Sparrows Press
• Release date: Apr 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215813300

Book preview

1

The first morning of her vacation at Garnet Cove , Frankie’s woken from a dreamless sleep by an annoying tapping.

Slitting open her eyes, she peers around her cabin on the Pearl, taking the time to orient herself. Next, she runs her hands over her body, flooded with relief to find skin rather than fur.

As much fun as it had been belting around the Realm of the Wereall as a big cat, she’s pleased to be back to normal. Hah, who’s she kidding? There’s nothing normal about her life.

Prior to her arrival in Seattle, life been as mundane as was possible for a jinxed witch. It’s not been so very long since she discovered it was this holding her powers in check. That the jinx has mostly been removed doesn’t matter either, her powers are sketchy at best.

Add to this her shifter and demon pedigree and things get very complicated indeed. If not for her aunt effectively merging her various powers when she was back at All Hallows Keep, who knew what a mess she’d be in.

The tapping at her door escalates to knocking. She knows who it is, but would rather be left to enjoy her lie-in. And what a lie-in it has been.

The light streaming in through the windows across the rear of her cabin puts it close to midday. Sleeping this late is down to Dex not being there to hassle her. No midnight bathroom break. No sunrise snack run. No nothing.

Frankie chortles as she wonders how her dad, who’s looking after her familiar, is enjoying the constant requests. Her pup likes to chat, resorting to barking when dealing with those unable to pick up on his telepathic ramblings.

Frankie, wake up! You’re sleeping the day away. We’ve got lots to do. Zane hammers on the door now, polite knocking not working for him.

Lots to do? What’s he talking about?

Get lost, we’re on vacation!

It takes a lot of needling on his part, but eventually Frankie is up, dressed and on deck. The merman is pacing, keen to start on whatever he’s planned.

Am I at least allowed breakfast?

Zane tilts his head to the side, leaving Frankie none the wiser. He pulls her in for a tight embrace, kissing her on the forehead. She’s still enjoying the sensation when she realizes they’re no longer on the Pearl.

They’re in the resort’s restaurant, the air-conditioning pumping hard. Goosebumps popping up all over her body confirm it’s been on for ages.

Why is it so cold in here?

Zane rubs her upper arms before he replies. I thought we could do a bit of training to keep on top of things. I know you like it cooler for that.

Frankie hugs herself, doing her best to stay warm. And what about my breakfast?

Zane looks at her stomach before responding. I didn’t think you’d want any after that huge meal last night.

Frankie drops her gaze from his mesmerizing blue eyes to her tummy. He has a point. If she were to eat breakfast before fight training, she’d be sick, for sure. A hard-out session might be what’s required to finish burning off all those calories.

As if seeing her acceptance, Zane’s arms drop to his sides in a defensive position. It’s all the invitation Frankie needs.

Forty-five minutes later, dripping with sweat and happy not to have stopped for breakfast, Frankie’s well pleased the air-conditioning is cranking. Although their strenuous workout has left her faint and in dire need of a coffee.

She holds her hands up, stopping Zane’s relentless attack on her. Hang on a second. Give me a minute.

Zane is having none of it. He slows his actions, although not as much as she’d like, leaving Frankie gasping for air. Stop, stop, stop! she pants out. Why are you doing this?

Zane halts his circling of her. Because I didn’t like knowing you were helpless when Oliver Wright had your wand. Even without your magic, you need to be able to protect yourself.

Mr. Wright, in name only, had been head of the Wreaks, the Wereall enforcers who took care of anyone stepping out of line. Or simply anyone who got in the way of the Wreaks.

The words Zane hasn’t said hang in the air between them. When dealing with the likes of Oliver Wright, there was always the chance you could have your powers snatched from you entirely. Then, a wand was pointless, except in the literal sense.

Frankie’s dwelling on that sobering thought when Zane says something that throws her, although not physically this time around.

Right, let’s try it again with you in your totem form. And no holding your wand when you transform.

Frankie opens her mouth to respond, but nothing is forthcoming. Can she change into a big cat with the blue moon over?

Guess it’s time to find out, she mutters to herself.

It’s another hour before Zane is happy with Frankie’s performance. Her limbs are as substantive as bits of chewed string, her fur drenched with sweat. She smells like Dex after he’s been caught in the rain.

After getting the nod from Zane, Frankie pads over to the wall where she’d left her wand on the floor. She puts her large paw atop it and visualizes herself as she was before her transformation, minus the sweat.

Her restoration complete, Zane joins her, slinging his still sweaty arm around her shoulders. I don’t know about you, but I need a swim.

They’re at the end of the dock next to the Pearl, and Zane is already mid-air before she has time to react. He’s still clothed and about to disappear beneath the crystal turquoise waters of the bay. It’s all right for him to dive in like that. With Frankie’s dodgy powers if were to try that, she’d end up swimming in her clothes.

Much as the heat is getting to her, she’s not keen on joining him. The last time they’d been ‘swimming’ together, he’d sent her off the top of his houseboat courtesy of an unexpected hex.

It was an accident, and he had saved her from drowning with what he called a siren spell. Even so, it’d done nothing to change her mind that the best way to enjoy water was hot and in a soaking tub.

She’s still hedging when he surfaces, and not just his head either. Nope, he’s going all SeaWorld on her, lifting himself above the waves courtesy of that gorgeous tail of his. Talk about grandstanding or whatever the waterborne equivalent is.

He travels back and forth and even executes a series of rapid twirls. He sinks until only his head and shoulders are above the water. A hand up to shade her eyes, Frankie catches a tantalizing glimpse of the rest of him beneath the glistening surface.

Come on in, Frankie. You know I’ll take care of you.

And she knows he will. Why is she stalling? Much as she’d like to use the ‘I don’t have a bathing suit’ excuse, she can’t. He knows as well as she does, all she needs to do is wave her wand. Okay, I’ll … I’ll need to change.

She could change in seconds, but then she’d have to leave the thin silver baton sitting on the dock. And that is so not happening.

Back in the master cabin, her wand set to ‘bathing suit,’ she dithers. What style of swimwear should she manifest? Nothing as revealing as the sort her grandmamma favors. Close to naked is how that woman likes parading around. Frankie prefers to keep herself covered.

Even she laughs when she looks in the mirror after the first tentative wave of her wand. Perhaps something a little less Victorian, and that actually shows her knees? More swishes follow before she’s happy.

The bikini is a dark teal that flatters her coloring and is anything but skimpy. The bottom has a boyleg and flouncing that hides more than it reveals. Not since she was at high school has Frankie been in a swimsuit, and despite its modest cut, she feels exposed.

She dallies, putting her wand carefully in the top drawer of the sideboard. Her journey out of her cabin and up the spiral staircase to the deck is measured and slow.

She’s about as enthusiastic as someone on their way to the gallows. Could it be her feline totem that has her preferring to stay on dry land? Or failing that, dry deck?

She breathes a sigh of relief when Zane doesn’t over-react to her swimwear. His eyes widen. But this is all. Any more and her witchy subconscious would have her in the Victorian number.

"In you come, Shortcake. The water’s amazing."

After this encouragement, he bends at the waist, flips his tail up in the air, and disappears beneath the surface, leaving her on her own.

Despite Frankie’s propensity to dive headfirst into anything, no matter the danger, she’s not taking that approach this time. Rather, she sits on the deck and shimmies under the guard rail as elegantly as she can. She wants to enter the water slowly, acclimating herself inch by inch.

She fails miserably.

An image of Ariel in her mind’s eye, her entry into the crystal clear waters should be graceful, whereas it’s similar to a breaching whale. Frankie face-plants the surface, and water shoots up her nose, the salt stinging her sinuses.

Firmly gripped by panic, everything changes.

Calm washes over her. Her vision clears, and the need for air is gone. Something else that’s vanished is her legs, replaced by a tail that flashes pink and blue when she experiments, swishing it back and forth.

It takes her a moment to get over the surprise. Zane said he’d look after her, and it looks like he’s delivered, and then some. This is freaking awesome! Frankie spins on the spot, finding him immediately. I didn’t realize the siren spell could give me a tail!

Unlike her, he doesn’t appear happy about her new appendage.

Shortcake, I didn’t do anything.

Even though a couple of yards of seawater separate them, it’s easy to read his expression. She’d have to describe his mien as horrified, with an overlay of sadness.

So much sadness.

Why would her ability to grow a tail upset him like this?

She thought he’d be pleased.

2

Frankie and Zane walk along the water’s edge out front of the deserted Garnet Cove resort, the white sand squeaking beneath their feet. Apart from this and the occasional cry of a bird, or the lapping of the waves, all is quiet.

The quietest thing on the island is Zane, his silence not as companionable as it would usually be. He’s stewing, and it’s getting on Frankie’s nerves.

Normally she could read his thoughts and know what’s bugging him, but he’s shut himself off to her. She doesn’t like it at all.

She knows what’s bothering him. All she needs is for him to ’fess up so they can discuss it properly. Patience is not her strong suit, and she’s had it with waiting for him to open up to her.

Zane, I thought you’d understand.

The ambiguity of her statement breaks through his reverie as intended. He twists and looks at her, even managing to trip over his own feet. It’s something that’s at odds with his usual fluidity of movement. She isn’t falling for the stumble or his puzzled expression. Both actions are too contrived, by far.

Not receiving a verbal or even telepathic response, she continues.

Don’t give me that ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ look. I thought you’d be pleased we could explore the bay together. And she’s not talking about their walk either, with Zane trudging along, dragging her in his wake.

Her sprouting a tail and gills was a surprise for both of them, but not a bad one. How often has Zane gone for a swim, leaving Frankie to wait on board the Pearl? Never having been keen on water, she always turned him down when he invited her to join him.

Until two hours ago, that is.

Now all Frankie wants to do is race down the beach and dive beneath the waves — even if she is fully clothed. It’s something Zane must pick up on because he steers them up the beach and away from the water’s edge.

It doesn’t sit well with Frankie; the sea is calling to her. Scratch that, it’s yelling and screaming for her to go for a dip.

Frankie stops in her tracks, yanking on Zane’s hand to get him to do likewise. Enough is enough.

Right, it’s okay for you to shut me out, but not vice versa. This isn’t a subject Frankie would usually go near, but she’s over getting the silent treatment. Great, so I sprouted a tail, why should that bother you?

Zane’s sigh is heartfelt, his expression one of sorrow, and if Frankie’s on the money, regret.

Come on, spill. She throws her arms wide before crossing them tightly across her chest.

Zane gives into another sigh, and Frankie thinks he’s avoiding her question again. His words when he speaks are quiet, forcing her to lean in to hear them properly. If he’s opening up, she doesn’t want to miss a syllable.

If any of my people find out about your new, ah, abilities, our relationship would be forbidden.

What? Are you kidding me? Why?

Rather than make eye contact, Zane looks out over the bay and beyond. Remember when we first met, I told you of the family tradition for our men only to marry witches?

Yeah, kinda. Frankie wracks her brain to think back on their exact conversation. It’s fuzzy at best, something about keeping the bloodlines strong. But what’s that got to do with this?

And why is he bringing up marriage? Isn’t it too soon to be discussing that?

Zane puts his hands gently on Frankie’s shoulders, signaling the news won’t be good. Your ability to transform says you’re no longer a witch, not one-hundred percent, anyway.

Whoa.

Frankie has been expecting a lot of things, but this isn’t one of them. If his people are as picky as it sounds, heaven help her if they ever get wind of her other unique abilities – both those she was born with and those she’s picked up along the way.

Frankie doesn’t bother replying. She drags her wand out of the back pocket of her shorts and waves it around them. Their transformation is immediate and extreme: the inflatable sumo suits make them look ridiculous, as she planned.

Ta-da, witchcraft. Ergo, I’m a witch. At most, this is because we merged energies when I saved you from Natalia’s poison. It’s a Wereall thing, not a Nautilus thing. I’m only a part-time mermaid.

I wish it were that simple. Zane waves his hand around to have them looking less ready to rumble, before dragging her further up the beach.

He keeps going until they’re in the shade of one of the palms that dot the front of the resort. He sits, indicating this will take a while.

And it does.

The Nautilus people have been around a verrrrry long time.

Frankie waits until Zane falls quiet before she speaks. There’s one teensy problem with your thinking on this.

Zane looks up, the handful of sand trickling through his fingers, forgotten.

How on earth is anyone supposed to know about this new ability of mine? You know I can mask myself and others thanks to my Wereall shifter genes.

Mask isn’t the right word, so perfect are Frankie’s disguises that she, or the person she’s cloaking, even change at a cellular level.

Zane knows this firsthand. It was her disguise that allowed him to visit Castle Rhaetian. Not even the evil vampire Natalia picked up he was a Nautilus disguised as a teeny tiny winged pig. If she had, he’d be dead or even undead by now, or failing those two, a spit roast.

"The merfolk can sense it through the water. Beneath the waves, we are as one. My people will have