Free Submerging (Swans Landing) by Shana Norris

roof.
    “Most finfolk I know aren’t so keen on chocolate,” Callum commented as he rang up my purchases.
    I raised my eyebrows. “And how many finfolk do you know?”
    “Many,” he said. “But not as many as there should be.”
    He was quiet as he punched in some keys on the old register. He looked so serious about everything he did, his brow furrowed as he focused on ringing me up. A wave of irritation flooded through me.
    “You know, if you’d tell us where to find these finfolk, Josh and I will go on our own,” I said. “We don’t need you, you don’t have to go with us or anything.”
    Callum snorted. “Your naivety is exactly what would get you killed if you attempted to find them.”
    I leaned on the counter, my fists clenched. “We need to get to Hether Blether. We’ve been looking for clues, trying to ask people without bringing up suspicion—”
    Callum looked up sharply, anger in his eyes. “You shouldn’t be asking anyone about that. You don’t know who you can trust.”
    I laughed. “Like I should trust you? You are the only hope we have and you’ve done nothing to help. You walk around pretending to be human, selling their groceries. You turned your back on who you really are. That’s why you were banished, isn’t it?”
    Callum’s eyes narrowed, the color turning a dark green. “Go back to the States, for your own sake and for everyone else’s.”
    “If it’ll get me far away from you, gladly.” I spun on my heel and stomped across the store. The door flew open as I pushed at it, swinging back to smack the wall of the shop before shutting again.
    The heavy, pouring rain that had begun while I was in the store soaked me within seconds. My hair stuck to my face and I paused to push it out of my eyes.
    The door opened behind me and uneven footsteps crunched across the gravel parking lot. I turned to find Callum walking toward me, his head ducked slightly. The rain soaked him as quickly as it had me, and his red hair became plastered to his head. The white T-shirt under his apron was thin and I could see the outline of muscled arms and shoulders through the wet cloth.
    Water trickled down his face, dripping from his nose and chin as he drew closer to me. I could imagine him emerging from the ocean, halfway between his finfolk and human forms. I wondered what color his scales were, and what he looked like swimming through the water.
    My breath caught in my throat as he gazed down at me through the sheets of rain.
    He thrust a paper bag at me and I took it, my hands clasping around the soggy paper.
    “You forgot your chocolate,” he said. He studied me for a long moment, almost seeming to look through me. Then he turned and walked back into the shop.
     
    * * *
     
    Josh bent over the strings of his borrowed guitar, smiling as he played a few notes. One of the older men with him said something and everyone laughed, the fading sunset illuminating Josh’s smile.
    I sat on a stone in front of a shop, closed up even though the sun set so late this far north that “night” was still an hour away. Back home, Josh played his guitar in front of Moody’s Variety Store, gathered around a roaring fire in an old burn barrel on cold nights. I could tell he missed it from the way his smile stretched across his face while he learned the folk songs the others played.
    Anyone who glanced at them would think Josh had played with them all his life. He was so comfortable pretending to be human. He could easily find a place where he fit in among them.
    Grandma had taught me to play the fiddle as soon as I was big enough to hold the instrument under my chin. Josh didn’t know this. I didn’t reveal it to many people.
    “Your mama could play beautifully,” Grandma once told me. “The fiddle sang in her hands, like it was a part of her.”
    My fingers twitched, itching to dance over the strings. It had been so long since I’d played that the calluses had worn off my fingers. I clenched my hands into