Sins Against the Sea by Nina Mason Page A

couch in her studio apartment to find that all of this, even the oil spill, had been no more than a bad dream.
    Hours passed as she washed and patted him dry, making anatomical observations as she worked. The spot on his belly that looked like a navel was actually his anal sphincter, and, where his genitals ought to have been, there was only an aperture. Clearly, he was built like a dolphin with a retractable penis and internal gonads, which made sense, hydro-dynamically speaking.
    Returning from the tide pools with yet another bucket of water, she asked, “Are you hungry?”
    He looked at her blankly, so she set down the pail and knelt beside him, mimicking the motion of eating with her hand.
    His eyes glistened with recognition just before he rubbed his belly. “ Ah, bē-uh . Hah. Ha sun āchkras awrm .”
    Remembering the salmon in the freezer, she chided herself for being too shortsighted to bring it along. At the same time, she couldn’t face another trek back up here tonight. Aching with fatigue, barely able to keep her eyes open, she felt on the verge of collapse.
    “I will bring you something to eat in the morning,” she told him, gathering her things.
    As she started to stand, he cried: “ Oot, oot! Fan! ”
    He clearly wanted something from her, but she had no idea what. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She offered him a tight smile, wishing he could understand. “I promise.”
    As she followed the flashlight beam out of the cave, she made a mental note to ask Mrs. MacLeod what language the Blue Men spoke. Perhaps she could pick up a few phrases to help them communicate.
    Upon returning to the cottage, Corey took the salmon out of the freezer and set it in the sink to defrost. Too exhausted to do anything else, even undress, she went upstairs and collapsed on one of the king-sized beds, rolling herself up in the heavy floral quilt like a cocoon.
    When she came back to herself, sunlight was streaming through the lace curtains on the bedroom windows. Though plagued by a gnawing dread, she could not immediately recall the reason. She was, in fact, so groggy, she could scarcely remember who or where she was, let alone anything else. She only knew that it was warm inside the quilt and freezing cold in the room beyond. As she tried to nestle back into her toasty shell, the sound of someone singing downstairs reached her ears. The voice was female. Mrs. MacLeod, probably.
    The reality of her situation snapped Corey back to her senses. So, there really had been an oil spill, she was on a remote island in the Hebrides, and she had met a merman the night before. No, not just met one—gave one a sponge bath.
    The memory filled her with guilt. She had promised to take him some food, but could not see how she was going to pull it off with the landlady here. The clock on the table beside the bed informed her it was just after seven.
    Corey groaned as she did the math. She didn’t get to bed until well after four, which meant she’d have to muddle through what promised to be another hellish day on a scant three hours of sleep. While jet lagged. Wrapping the quilt around her shoulders, she sat up and threw her legs over the side of the bed.
    The peppery-citrus smell of bergamot wafted on the air. Mrs. MacLeod must be brewing tea. Wanting some rather desperately, Corey dropped the quilt and made her way downstairs.
    Mrs. MacLeod, a plump woman with short curly gray hair, was at the sink when Corey entered the kitchen. She wore a cardigan over a purple floral housedress.
    “Good morning. Is that Earl Grey I smell?”
    Turning to face her, Mrs. MacLeod offered an apple-cheeked smile. “You have a good nose, lass. ’Tis indeed Earl Grey. Would you fancy a cup?”
    “I would. Very much. If it’s not too much trouble.”
    “It’s no trouble at all, lass.”
    She filled a mug from a teapot before handing it to Corey. The smell of the tea filled her senses as she wrapped her cold fingers around the hot cup. The