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  Lyle was through, keen to get back into the open and catch up with his sister. He and Ben changed back into their usual jeans and jumpers, and Ben appeased the salesman by reserving the grey suit for his wedding outfit in a comfortable thirty-four-inch waist. No point having the buttons pinging off over the wedding breakfast.

  They headed out into the November afternoon, which was overcast but warm enough to eschew hats and scarfs. Cully didn't require any other layers over her black t-shirt and leggings, and both Lyle and Ben ended up carrying their thick jackets. She explained how she'd found them as they wandered down the streets toward the sea, where the shop windows were already cluttered with inflatable Santas and glittery reindeer.

  "The Wild Mas told me you'd come to live here," she said. "I wasn't sure how I'd find you once I rocked into town, but then I stumbled across that little gallery with Lyle's art in the window. You know—those shells you transformed into songbirds?"

  "How did you know they were mine?" asked Lyle.

  "I'd recognize my brother's handiwork anywhere," said Cully, "and it was easy after that. Your mate Daphne in the gallery told me you'd usually be in the ice-cream parlour opposite, but you'd taken the week off to prepare for your wedding. She suggested some shops you'd be mooching in, and I found you in the second one I tried. Daphne's a good-looking girl, by the way. Is she single?"

  "No," said Lyle. "And she's dating a man, Cully."

  Cully shrugged, nonchalant, as they turned onto the seafront. "Hey, I'm dying to take in the view from that cliff at the end of town. You want to race me there, Lyle? You know, like we used to?"

  Ben wanted to remind Lyle this was a bad idea. Lyle hadn't bathed in the ocean since early that morning, and it was now nearly four o'clock. Though Lyle's powers of endurance had improved lately, his magic would still be wearing thin, and he'd need to swim soon to replenish his powers and remain in his human guise. Running up Beachy Head was the last thing Lyle ought to do…

  Cully and Lyle shared a mischievous giggle, endearingly childish for two beings with a collective age of nearly four centuries. Ben didn't have the heart to intervene.

  "You won't beat me," said Lyle. "I'm taller than you now."

  "Nup, I'll still win," said Cully. "Come on!"

  She dashed across the road, weaving between the traffic and onto the seafront promenade. Lyle paused to take up Ben's offer to hold his jacket and their rucksack with his bathing gear. He then careered off after Cully before Ben could even remind him to be careful.

  "We'll wait for you there!" yelled Lyle as he powered toward the old lifeboat station. Then he weaved behind some bulbous topiary and disappeared out of sight.

  Ben jogged along the pavement as far as he could and strode at top speed up the cliff path, which was gloomy and deserted now the evening closed in. All the while, he strained to think positive.

  Cully's reappearance in Lyle's life could be good. After all, it would look weird if Lyle had no family at the wedding, while Ben had plenty, and she was bags of fun. A little too much fun for Ben's tastes, perhaps, but she seemed to be making Lyle happy. Besides, it would be helpful for Lyle to have somebody to share notes with on shapeshifting, dragons, and all that magical whatnot.

  When Ben, puffing and out of breath, spotted Cully and Lyle again, he dropped every good feeling toward her as if they were hot stones.

  They stood on the cliff edge—far beyond the warning sign with the picture of a stickman tumbling to his doom—silhouetted against the glowering sky. Cully hadn't changed from human shape and stood firm, but Lyle's long tentacle-like fins had ripped through his clothes yet again, at his shoulders and thighs. The wind whisked up much stronger than down in town, and it set him swaying precariously.

  Ben dropped the jackets and bag by some gorse then hurried toward them. "What the hell are you doing? This cliff could crumble any minute!"

  Cully took Lyle's hand. "It's not dangerous for us," she said, not deigning to glance back at Ben. "It's magnificent, but I want to swim. Lyle—let's dive from here."

  "No!" Only a yard behind them now, Ben could scarce squeeze the plea from his tight chest. The fall from that cliff was notoriously fatal, a five-hundred-and-thirty-one foot drop onto rocks far below. Lyle stared intently at his sister, and then peeped at Ben. A fire burned in his eyes, as wild as the breeze that whipped his hair, and lanced Ben with terror.

  "Come on," urged Cully, tugging Lyle in entreaty. "Our magic will catch us. It'll be fun."

  "Lyle, you can't do that," said Ben, his voice raw and broken.

  "I've never tried," said Lyle, edging forward so the toes of his worn trainers poked beyond the edge. He leaned out even farther, no doubt getting as good a view as the fading light afforded of the sea, the lighthouse… and the jagged stones that'd break his body if he ventured another inch.

  "The ocean is singing," he said dreamily, "as if she's calling to us."

  "She is," said Cully.

  "Lyle, please!" Ben wondered if dropping to his knees and begging might help, but opted to be bolder. He shuffled across the uneven turf, praying he wouldn't trip, and seized Lyle's wrist on the opposite side to Cully. "I love you, Lyle," he shouted into the wind. "Don't do this. And you mustn't jump either, Cully. It will go extremely badly for you."

  "He's probably right," said Lyle, although he sounded unconvinced. To Ben's immeasurable relief, Cully released Lyle. Ben clung to him so harshly his bones crunched beneath Ben's grip.

  "See you later, boys," said Cully. Then, as Ben's heart pitched with renewed horror, she threw her arms up like a gymnast and hurled herself over the precipice.

  Part Two

  Chapter Three

  Lyle watched, enthralled, as Cully leaped. Her body arced so it resembled the figurehead of an antiquated ship. He couldn't see her face, but he sensed her revel in the moment and in a perfect rapture.

  She somersaulted forward, flying rather than falling. As she completed the first loop, her long fins burst from her shoulders and thighs and she loosed a wordless cry of pleasure. She rolled through the air three times more, and on the final pass, her leggings shredded and her shimmering fishtail appeared in place of her legs, flexing gracefully. Having now cleared the rocks below, she nosedived toward the open waves and into the thickening gloom, which swallowed her.

  A few thundering heartbeats later, her shout rose from the depths, carried upward on the wind and preternaturally clear. "I'll meet you near the lighthouse, Lyle. Take your time."

  "Bloody hell," said Ben, snapping Lyle from his reverie. "Thank heavens she's okay. Don't ever scare me like that again."

  "Er, yes. I'm very sorry." As Ben bundled him away, clearly stressed out, Lyle cringed. Still, as he'd stood on that precipice, Cully at his side, he'd been sorely tempted to trust her, to jump, which would've been madness. He'd no idea any mer could do what they'd just witnessed. However, Cully made him feel… if not invincible, certainly empowered and ready for adventure.

  Once a safe distance from the ledge, Ben transferred his bruising grip to Lyle's forearm and spun Lyle about to face him. It might've been the effect of the increasing wind-chill rather than just fright, but tears streamed down Ben's pink cheeks.

  "Please tell me she had you under some spell or something," said Ben, his voice shaking. "That, if you were in your right mind, you wouldn't seriously have—"

  "I beat her," said Lyle, because despite Ben's obvious distress, it seemed suddenly important. "I won the sprint up the cliff. Nearly finished me off, and I had to drop the shapeshifting spell because of it, but I won by a narrow margin without any other magic cheating. I guess she had to jump then, because… well, you know, it was like two centuries just crumbled away. It's a sibling rivalry thing."

  "In the name of all that's holy—sibling rivalry? Alison and I have had our moments, but hurling ourselves off Beachy Head just to get one up on each other?" Ben raked his hair, despairing. "Look, it's over and done with. Clearly she knows what's she's doing. But please never eve
n consider something like that again, or… or…"

  He puffed out his cheeks, and then staggered back to a clump of gorse and slumped onto the damp turf beside their baggage and coats. Lyle followed Ben then stood over him, hovering uncertainly. As the true import of recent events began to sink in, his guilt kicked in tenfold and he felt terrible.

  Cully's reappearance in his life had upset his delicate equilibrium. He was pleased to see her, and her joy at seeing him flattered and thrilled. But nobody was more important to him than Ben, and after just a few short hours with her, he'd… well, there was no other explanation. Whether through the allure of Cully's excitement and magic, or simply his own weakness to his sibling's provocations, he'd all but lost control.

  "Or…" muttered Ben, still unable to spit the words out. With a groan, he buried his face in his hands, and Lyle's knees began to tremble. Lyle knew all too well that when he'd lost control of his emotions and magic in the past, folk had got hurt—hell, he'd accidentally killed his brother, Welwyn. The recent discovery of a rogue dragon inside his mind, which had tried to imprison Ben there, had only exacerbated Lyle's fears that he'd an evil streak within him that he couldn't understand, let alone hope to govern.

  Ben had forgiven him before, but had he finally pushed Ben too far? Had he broken everything?

  "Or I'd have to have hurled myself down after you, I suppose," said Ben at last. "Because, if something bad had happened to you, Lyle, I'd have had no choice. I can't bloody well live without you."

  Ben's anguish cut Lyle to the quick. He sat down and threw his arms around Ben, burying his face in Ben's hair and inhaling the rich musk of the man he adored. "I'm so, so sorry," he whispered. "I've been an idiot. How can I make it up to you? I'll do anything. Anything."

  "Just promise you won't torture me like that again." Ben followed his sombre words with a wry chuckle. "Though if you're offering to do anything to make it up to me, I can think of a few things you can try, although we should probably wait until… oh God, Lyle. That tickles, but it feels… nnng, too good."

  Lyle licked and caressed the shell-like curve of Ben's ear, stupidly grateful to have been pardoned. He hugged Ben and wrapped Ben so tight in his fins it verged on bondage. When Ben turned to raise his soulful gaze, pronouncing he'd forgiven Lyle as articulately as any words, Lyle pounced ravenously. Energy and magic fizzed from Lyle's epicentre as he dragged his tongue along Ben's lips then pressed into Ben's mouth, kissing him thirstily.

  Far below, the ocean heaved and roared, heightening the onslaught of Lyle's passion, as did Ben's needy groans. Ben slid his hands to fondle Lyle's thighs, tracing flesh, running his thumbs around the sensitive roots of Lyle's fins through the tears in his jeans. Urged on, Lyle couldn't hold back. He fumbled Ben's buttons and zippers apart, and pushed him flat on the coats, straddling him.

  Lyle paused a moment, expecting to be told to stop, yet Ben's eyes glimmered with desire. The clifftop was quiet, the last light fading fast; nobody else seemed to be around, and the gorse shaded them from the chalky track. Ben's lips, parted and panting, formulated no risk assessment, let alone refusal.

  It was enough to dissolve Lyle's wits into a yearning pile of mush. He slithered out of his jeans, ripped down his pants, and enveloped Ben in his many limbs and the writhing mass of his desire.

  Lyle took Ben's shaft inside him and rode him to a rough, steady rhythm. His fins plunged deep, filling and satisfying Ben in synch with Ben's needy thrusts. The thrill of being inside each other, pushing as one toward ecstasy, eclipsed the rush Lyle had experienced when standing on the cliff's edge. Despite the chill of the winter's evening, every slide of skin against skin smouldered; then they exploded together, peaking as one.

  In the afterglow, they tangled together in a heap, pulling the coats around themselves to keep warm. Lyle drank in sweet breaths of crisp air, relishing the weight of Ben's quivering form, which had ended up on top of him.

  "Uh, am I in trouble?" he asked, prying Ben up a little so he could see Ben's face. "You did ask me to wait till we got home. But you didn't say no either."

  Ben grinned sloppily. "Believe me, we're both in trouble. No way am I going to suggest we do that regularly but… I'll let you in on a secret. There's a part of me that, just occasionally, misses the naughtiness of making out back in Shanty Wood, when I worried we could be stumbled upon any second."

  "Really?" Lyle lapped a drop of cool perspiration that'd landed on his lips, relishing Ben's salty taste.

  Ben sniggered. "Maybe I'm romanticising in retrospect. It was fun, though."

  "It was, but making love with you is more amazing every time. I adore our life now far more than back then." Lyle grinned, venturing the feathered tip of a fin into Ben's belly button, exposed by Ben's unbuttoned shirt. "Ready for another round?"

  "You're pushing your luck now, mate." Chuckling, Ben swatted Lyle away and started making himself respectable again. "It's too bloody cold! Truth is, though, as much as I adore your wilder side, you really did push your luck earlier. I couldn't bear to lose you." His gaze wandered toward the cliff edge, and Lyle experienced a fresh stab of remorse. Ben dragged on his now damp and muddy coat, shielding himself against a renewed assault by the wind. "We'd better go locate this sister of yours."

  They made their way back down toward the beach, and the nerves mounting in Lyle's stomach performed a decent task of dampening his lust. Ben fired him with questions about Cully, none of which he could answer. After they'd left Ben on the seafront, he and Cully had merely mucked about. Not a serious word had exchanged between them before they'd reached the clifftop.

  He still didn't have a clue what she'd been doing in the many decades since she'd fled the family nest. Neither did he understand why her magic seemed so awesome and effortless. She'd certainly been less keen and experimental than him when they'd been kids, and he'd figured he'd the greater magical talent. Seemed he'd been wrong…

  "If she's so stellar at the nifty tricks," said Ben, as they crunched across the stones beneath the cliff. "Why didn't she come and rescue you from Shanty Wood?"

  "How am I supposed to know?" snapped Lyle, then instantly felt bad for it. He sighed heavily and turned to Ben, who appeared as unsettled as Lyle was. "You don't like her, do you?"

  "It's not that. I will do my best to get on with her, I promise. It's just… well, what do we know about her? Hardly anything, so it seems. I just want you to be careful, especially with my family due. Alison, her kids, and Mum and Dad are arriving the day after tomorrow, and then Grandma's joining us all for lunch at the hotel on Thursday. Then on Friday, we're driving down to check out the wedding venue, remember?"

  Lyle well knew Ben was both excited and stressed about the events, not least because Ben still dithered over how to reveal Lyle's true identity. This vexed Lyle slightly—why couldn't Ben just get it over with? While Lyle stripped his clothes again, he verged upon reminding Ben that Cully was family too, and at least they didn't have to hide anything from her.

  But the words died on his tongue. He could hardly compare his relationship with the sibling he'd not seen in nigh two centuries with Ben's family. Besides, Ben didn't come across as angry or forbidding, just concerned. Lyle felt horribly responsible for the fine lines of worry that'd creased far too regularly across Ben's brow of late.

  "I'll be careful, I promise," said Lyle, pulling on the long, loose t-shirt that Ben insisted he wore to cover his nudity for swims on chilly days. "I'll see what she's got to say for herself, and I suppose I'd better find out about this message from the Wise Mas." As Lyle finally broached the topic they'd avoided all the way from the cliff, they shared a grimace. "If it's anything too onerous, I'll happily ignore it."

  "Cool." Ben wrapped his arms around Lyle's waist, craning up to peck his cheek and sending a warm tremor through him. "Oh, and remember to invite Cully to the wedding, if you'd like. You know the date, and it's at Highsands Castle, Dorset. Ceremony at three pm, sharp. If you can get an address for her, we'll send a ca
rd."

  "You don't mind?" asked Lyle.

  "I'd be a bit of a mean git if I did." Ben, ever prepared, pulled the towel out of their rucksack and folded it neatly before placing it on a boulder with Lyle's jacket and discarded scarf. "Now go, love. I'll see you back at the flat later. Oh, and I'll make up a bed on the sofa, in case Cully needs somewhere to kip."

  "Thank you." Lyle rewarded Ben with a final, lingering kiss before tiptoeing over the stones and into the sea. As he waded deeper, he drew on the tidal power, which rippled through him, fusing his kicking legs into his fishtail. Borne on a rush of joy, he leaped like a dolphin, only to find himself momentarily blinded by a powerful flash from the lighthouse not fifty yards off.

  Swooping under the surface, he relished the tingling rush of pleasure the shift to full merman form always brought him. Yet as he burst back into the air and heard Cully's excited cry, disquiet held sway.

  "Lyle! Over here!"

  In the next pass of the lighthouse's beam, he spotted her, waving at him from the rocks at the tower's base. All of a sudden, he hankered to snub her, to slink back home to bed with Ben, but only because he was scared—scared of himself. Terrified of the part of himself that wanted to scale that cliff again, simply to fly over the precipice and experience the thrill she must've known.

  "Be careful," he warned himself as he carved through the waves toward her. "Henceforward, I will try to be more like Ben."

  He snorted at the very notion. He was going to be calm, cautious, and slow to anger?

  Like that was possible.

  Chapter Four

  Lyle approached the lighthouse and had lost sight of Cully when he saw the wall of white water rushing toward him.

  It had turned into a choppy evening, the sea roughening all the time. All the same, this wave looked out of place—mighty enough to dash even as strong a swimmer as him against any nearby rocks. Caution set him diving deep, swooping beneath the onslaught, only to be pressed back up by a hot jet of water, as if a mini volcano exploded from the ocean bed.