The home of the Waters family was vast, intricately decorated, and carried a closer resemblance to the werewolf packhouse than any other building on the island. Just inside the door was a vast library and crackling fireplace, though the grate over the fireplace was thick enough to prevent much warmth from entering the room. Storie considered this strange.

"Right this way," Carlos said. Beulah drifted alongside Sam and the werewolves as Carlos led them down a hallway. But he did not show them into the dining room or one of the offices, the open doors of which they passed along the way. Instead, he led them around a corner and through a doorway that seemed to contain the heart of the home.

The room was bright white and gray, with a vaulted ceiling climbing up all three stories of the home. The ceiling over this room was glass, letting in the gray sunlight overhead. In the center of the room was a large swimming pool that was currently unoccupied.

Two people stood near the edge of the pool, and turned to look at the group as it entered. The first was an adult Black man with deep brown skin, observant eyes, and his hair arranged in hundreds of thin braids that hung neatly to his shoulders. He was dressed as finely as Carlos, with a trim black vest, white undershirt and clean black pants. Paloma and Storie took this to be Mr. Waters.

The second person was a little Black girl, maybe seven or eight, with her hair done in the same style as Beulah's; her thick, natural curls seeming to float about her face. The girl grinned as she held the hand of Mr. Waters. She wore a thin black dress and no shoes.

The girl looked to Beulah. "Hi, mama!" she said happily, waving. Then she looked up at Paloma and Storie. "Are you the wolves?"

Beulah and Mr. Waters chuckled. Paloma nodded to the child. "Yes, we are. My name is Paloma, and these are my friends Storie and Sam. What is your name?"

"Margaret," the girl replied. "But you can call me Margie."

The man held out a hand to Paloma. "Martin Waters. Pleased to make your acquaintance. I'm sure you have many questions, and my daughter Margie is about to create many more."

Margie beamed. "Can I do it now, daddy?" The child was bouncing in excitement. "Please?"

"Yes, my love," Martin responded with a smile.

Paloma, Storie and Sam watched, confused, as Margie leapt into the pool. Paloma and Storie both stepped forward, fearing that the child's skinny arms and legs couldn't keep her afloat, but Martin held up a hand.

"She is fine," he said. "Watch."

Margie swam quickly along the bottom of the pool before resurfacing on her back. She smiled up at the newcomers, her long hair flowing in the water, as they realized everything.

Where Margie's thin little legs had been just moments before, there was now the dark purple, scaled tail of a fish. The fins were a light blue, flickering serenely in minute movements to keep the girl afloat.

Storie gasped, clutching her hand to her mouth. Paloma herself couldn't stop her eyes from widening. Margie giggled and dove backward under the water again, showing off by zipping from one side of the pool in a blur of brown, black and purple. She moved far more quickly than any child should have been able to. Than any person, regardless of their age, should have been able to.

But Margie was no ordinary person.

"This is us," Martin explained, watching his daughter with barely concealed pride. "All of us on the island. Mermaids. Some of the men prefer the term "mermen", but I personally don't care if I am referred to as a mermaid."

"This is why Carlos was told not to tell you anything, Paloma. We feared you wouldn't believe us until you saw it with your own eyes," Beulah explained.

Storie blinked, uncomprehending. Paloma watched the child in shock. Sam, on the other hand, looked gleeful. "What a sweetie!" he exclaimed, almost to himself. "What a sweet little tail!"

Storie looked over at him, surprised by his calmness, and he mistook her overwhelmed expression for a reprimanding one. "Sorry," he said quietly, attempting to flatten the smile on his face. He was unsuccessful.

"No, she's quite..." Storie trailed off. "Quite something."

"The marks on our necks are gills. They open when we transform," Beulah explained, kneeling beside the pool. "Margie, come here, love."

Margie swam up to her mother and looked up at her with big, loving brown eyes. Beulah reached to pull Margie's damp hair off of her shoulder. Margie tilted her neck so Paloma, Storie, and Sam could see the fluctuating slits on her neck. They moved in time with the shrugging of the girl's shoulders as she breathed, opening just a tiny bit to display pinkish flesh beneath before lying flat again.

"Paloma noticed the lack of fresh water on the island," Carlos informed Martin.

"Ah, yes," Martin said, turning to the werewolves and the Irishman. "Saltwater suits our needs fine. Beyond fine, in fact. Freshwater dehydrates us. We need the nutrients in the seawater to survive."

"The clothes," Paloma murmured. "All of you wear clothing that is easy to remove in the water."

Martin nodded, then gestured down at his own fine outfit. "Typically, yes. Carlos and I dressed up for our fine guests. Additionally, mermaids are happiest at about forty degrees Fahrenheit and can swim in subzero temperatures with only a bit of discomfort. We start to get hot right around seventy degrees. That is why we live here. It rarely rises above seventy on this island. Our bodies do well to maintain cooler temperatures than with humans, but extreme heat makes us ill more quickly than it does for humans."

"How did you know about us?" Paloma asked.

Martin thought for a moment. "That is a difficult thing to describe. Our eyesight is... different from a human's when our tails are out. Closer to that of an actual fish. It allows us to see more clearly underwater, but even above the water, we can notice certain things with more clarity. Some of us travel upriver in the mainland to shop, trade and socialize. Some of our younger ones just explore. A few months ago, one of our members observed a wolf pack behaving rather oddly. They followed the wolf pack upriver until they saw one of the wolves turn into a woman. The woman knelt to free a small fawn from a hunter's trap."

Storie jolted. She remembered the trap. She remembered the poor fawn, whose innocent eyes had been wide in pain and fear as she crouched before it.

Martin smiled. "The description of you, Lady Lovejoy, was that you were white, lavishly dressed, and exquisitely tall. There is only one woman in the area matching that description. We heard in town where you lived and who you lived with." He nodded to Paloma. "We assumed you were the alpha because of your size."

"Paloma's wolf form is larger than mine," Storie said. "My height has nothing to do with my species."

At the word "species", Martin's eyes widened as he remembered something. "Ah. Yes." He turned and walked to the corner of the room, where he retrieved a bundle of towels. For a moment, Paloma and Storie thought Martin was going to ask them to join Margie in the pool. Then he rotated the bundle so they could see the end of it. It was a small log, about the width of Storie's arm, wrapped in countless layers of thick cloth.

"I must make this plain," Martin said evenly. "This is not a threat. Rather... a demonstration of what we can bring to the table. A display of how you will benefit from this alliance as well."

Martin tossed the bundle into the pool. Margie grinned at it and swam down to the center of the pool. She looked up at her parents once, then narrowed her eyes in determination and dove under the water. Paloma, Storie, and Sam watched, confused, as the little girl darted through the water toward the bundle, then jerked her upper body back away from it at the last second. The bundle jolted as the light blue fin at the end of her tail slammed against it.

The point was plain. Even demonstrated by a child, the offensive maneuver packed a tremendous amount of force. Storie had no doubt that little Margie could fracture bone in this way.

But the demonstration was not finished. Margie resurfaced and grabbed the bundle before dragging it along the surface of the water to her father, who crouched to retrieve it.

"Well done, Margie," he praised, scrunching his fingers through her hair before she swam away again. He stood up from his crouch and held the bundle up for Sam and the werewolves to see.

All three of them gasped.

There was a long gash across the bundle, cut cleanly through each of the dozens of layers of fabric and leather. The chunk of wood in the center even had a thick scar carved into it.

Storie realized that the bundle was the same size and shape as a human torso. If the bundle were made of flesh and blood, it would have been disemboweled.

"When our kind are babies, the fins are soft and flexible. When they turn about seven, their fins gain the ability to turn sharp and rigid at will," Martin explained, setting the bundle down. None of the newcomers could tear their eyes away from it. "Using their fins as a weapon is instinctual for our children. I would imagine as much as biting or growling is for a werewolf pup." He paused, looking up at them. "My daughter is a skilled, athletic child, but she is still a child. I invite you to imagine what an adult mermaid could do."

Storie swallowed. Though Paloma showed no fear, Storie knew that her alpha was mentally reconsidering the entire situation in light of this brand-new aspect of the mermaids.