Page 84 of Zombies, Satyrs and Vampires, Oh My!

My pulse kicks up.

Before we reach the cottage, movement catches my eye. A woman steps out of the cabin, her skin glinting like wet glass, hair flowing as if she’s currently in water. She’s pretty—and not quite human. She looks right at me.

“Amelia?” I ask, recognizing my wife’s best friend. Joy really is here.

“I knew you’d come,” she says softly. “I’ve been telling her to contact you. She still loves you. She’s just afraid you’ll reject her.”

“I’m not going to reject her.”

“Don’t let her push you away. I’m going for my swim.” She’s already walking toward the lake, shimmering scales flashing under the light.

“I’m guessing some kind of mermaid?”

“Siren, technically,” Atticus says.

We reach the cottage door. My hands shake, but I shove them in my pockets. Atticus knocks once.

The door cracks open. “Yes?” The voice is familiar.

My heart pounds, and relief washes over me.

“Joy,” Atticus says gently. “Your husband is here.”

There’s a sharp inhale, then panic. “What? No. He can’t see me like this.”

“Babydoll?” My voice cracks, and I step closer. “I love you. No matter what. I don’t care if you have horns, fangs, or a tail. You’re my wife. And I’m tired of living without you.”

There’s silence. Then, soft footsteps retreat inside.

Finally, her voice, shaky but resolute: “You can come in. We can talk.”

Inside, the lights are off. It’s so dark I can barely see, but I hear her moving, the rustle of fabric, the flutter of something delicate.

“You’re not gonna like what you see,” she says quietly. “My changes aren’t pretty like Amelia’s… mine are just weird.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

A pause. Then, with a flick, the lights come on.

And I see her.

My breath catches. Her hair is still the same rich brown I used to twine my fingers through, but her eyes are wider now, luminous. From her back unfurl massive, soft wings—bronze and gold and cream, shimmering like they’re dusted with starlight. Antennae curve delicately from her hairline. She looks fragile and powerful all at once.

“Oh my God,” I whisper. “You have wings.”

Her shoulders hunch, shame flooding her expression. “I told you⁠—”

“They’re beautiful,” I interrupt. My throat tightens. “You’re beautiful.”

Joy blinks, stunned. “You really think so?”

I take a step closer. “I don’t just think so. I know so. You’re still you, Babydoll. Always you.”

Her wings tremble, like maybe they’re trembling for both of us. And when she finally lets me hold her, the world stops spinning.