Ten years ago, the mantle of Sun Coral’s Innkeeper fell to me, and in the four centuries that it has stood in Coveter’s Cove, I became the youngest member of the Lirio family to ever manage it. My mom never failed to remind me and my brother Ethan of this. I probably accepted the job when I was just 20 years old as a way to calm the maelstrom of voices and expectations that I found myself treading through in the weeks following my dad’s passing.
“Your father would be very happy, Luke. So very glad,” mom would say almost every day after I started helming Sun Coral. Even when I did imagine myself doing something else, I found that hospitality maybe did flow in our blood, like my dad always said. As time passed, scarring over his death, I surprised myself at the ease of which I settled into the role he once donned, except without his bright smile.
I used to have aspirations to venture into unexplored waters; working somewhere other than the city of Coveter’s Cove. Ethan and I used to talk about doing something different from the rest of our family. At one point, when I wanted to become a marine biologist, Ethan did not share my excitement, as the idea was “still too close to the ocean.” After that, we shared less and less with each other: I grew more into the head of Sun Coral while Ethan withdrew into himself. I knew he was secretly still dreaming of another life, but I understood that the weight of being an Innkeeper kept me firmly anchored to family tradition.
Unlike me, though, my younger brother managed to cut himself free of it five years ago. Like the many guests Sun Coral hosts during siren season, Ethan went to seek a siren’s kiss to be imbued with unwavering desire and inspiration to achieve what he wanted most. I may never know what he desired for his life—by then we were barely speaking—but when he crawled from the sea, slick with siren slime, something changed—grew up—in his brown eyes. They sparked with a hunger that spurred him to board a charter bus heading to the city with visitors leaving Coveter’s Cove, much to our mom’s dismay. We haven’t heard from him since he left, leaving me with the reminder that nobody was to inherit Sun Coral after me: a reality that has unnervingly enveloped me more and more in recent years, like siren tentacles constricting around me.
Despite the paralyzing anxiety of what would become of me, our family’s legacy, I’ve mastered this practice of treading in my own discomfort. On days where I feel like nothing can be managed, I am grateful for at least the illusion of control that being Innkeeper offers. When I feel like I can’t leave my bed, knowing that I need to show up for work to ensure that Sun Coral’s guests have their expectations met gets me up promptly (eventually).
“Our ancestors forged a relationship with the sirens centuries ago and built Sun Coral as a beacon for others to come and receive the gift of their kisses,” mom hoarsely coughs as I visit her for dinner. “Ethan abandoned our family’s duty as Innkeeper. Please do not tell me you plan to do the same one day, Luke. Who will run Sun Coral?” Mom says with a quivering lip; a telltale sign of the resentment she still harbours against me, projecting blame onto me for Ethan’s leaving. As if we were close enough for him to disclose what he left for.
“I have to go now, Mom,” I say, standing from her rickety dinner table, tremoring empty plates with annoyance that yet another innocent visit turned against me. “I can’t stay too late. The Inn needs me tomorrow.”
“Exactly,” she breathes with closed-eye relief. “Siren season begins tomorrow,” she quips like I didn’t know as she walks back into her kitchenette. “I already saw a pair of them swimming close to shore earlier today.” I begin putting on my boots when she hands me a Tupperware container. “Take some zucchini loaf back. I put extra chocolate chips in it for you.” I will never understand my mother’s mercurial expression of care, but still take the loaf after thanking her for dinner.
◊ ◊ ◊
No one, from fields of science, folklore studies, or even philosophy can explain the existence of sirens ever since they showed up on the shores of Coveter’s Cove centuries ago. Whether the achievements of the siren-kissed are a result of the sirens or simply because the individuals firmly set their minds to their goals afterward is still a contentious topic. What history makes clear, though, is that the few who are siren-kissed, swiftly leave their mark on the world after leaving Sun Coral.
Nowhere else in the world have they been sighted, and as Coveter’s Cove grew, so did word of its “wish-granting sirens.” That was when my ancestor, Clea Lirio, spearheaded the construction of Sun Coral so people had a place to stay when seeking sirens. Some say Clea’s ingenuity in rallying people around her to build Sun Coral (and a large part of Coveter’s Cove) was a gift from her siren’s kiss. Others say she was never courted by a siren at all; just recognized an opportunity to cleverly begin a business of hospitality. Regardless, people still came from all over, and our family has maintained what Clea started. “And it has been our family’s joy to help those seeking sirens ever since,” I once heard my dad say to a guest, in his quietly gentle tone.
Some of the notable names to have passed through Sun Coral during my time have been Warren Tu, who made headlines after his siren kiss helped him find a “calling” (his word, not mine) in developing an annoyingly successful app called Reflectr to help people manage anxiety. And after years of being told her writing was “too grim for younger audiences,” Selene Allard kissed her siren and is now the bestselling author of the Near Nightfall series.
However, one guest in particular chose to stay in Coveter’s Cove after his siren kiss: James Endo, registered clinical counselor who opened his private practice here to help, well, anyone. For the most part, he’s a good counselor, despite his recent recommendations for me to download Reflectr. I keep telling him I will after I finish the seventh book of Near Nightfall (half-done for months now on my nightstand).
“Siren season seems to be well underway. Lots of buses coming into town. How are you feeling?” James asks in my morning session, before I have to descend the seven floors from my residence down to the rest of Sun Coral. James and I have been situating our sessions in the same room as consistently as possible until it is guest-occupied, but today he came up to see me in my own space: an entire floor of Sun Coral as my quaint living quarters.
“I mean, I couldn’t really sleep last night. Must’ve been something I ate at my mom’s.”
“Ah, well I understand the nerves you must have. How is everything else? Not Sun Coral-related.”
“The new pills I’m on aren’t really helping. I have an appointment with the doctor next week, though.”
James scribbles something. “That’s good,” he says after finishing whatever sentence he was on. “I hope you’re finding time for yourself while running Sun Coral at least.” Then, asking me softly, “Have you had anymore ideations of self-harm lately? I know last week was tough being your father’s death anniversary.”
“Erm…the sadness comes and goes. But at least I’ve been busy enough lately.”
James smiles, and I’m unsure how to interpret it; briefly feeling like I didn’t give a right answer, but I remind myself not to put that type of pressure on myself these sessions. My eyes drift to a rusted tentacle wrapping the pillar behind him. I should call for repairs today. “I do miss Ethan, though,” I find myself breaking the silence. James peers to me with eyes inviting me to continue even though we’ve spoken about Ethan’s leaving multiple times before. Maybe it’s just that time of year: Dad can’t return, so I hold on to what could—or what I imagine possible. “Do you really believe the sirens grant wishes?” I ask.
“You’re asking someone who has been kissed by one,” he grins.
“Would you rather I ask how wet it felt?”
James chuckles. “I don’t know, to be honest. Some say the sirens know what we want before we even do, sometimes years in advance, and they alter our brain chemistry with their kisses; make us more ambitious somehow.”
“Yeah, I read that article….” I trail off into wondering what must have gone through my brother’s head when he left.
“I’m wondering, though, what do you believe?” James brings me back.
I want to say that though I miss Ethan, I believe it to be annoyingly ironic he kissed a siren, despite years of dreaming aloud to me on his desire to leave our family’s tie to Sun Coral. The irritation is blossoms quicker than I can uproot it. “I think…people will do what they want, with or without magical intervention.”
James nods, and again, I am unsure how to receive his response. Next session may be more Ethan-focused than I’m comfortable with. “Did you always want to become a counselor?” I divert us, for the time remaining in our session.
“I knew I wanted to help people. Counseling helped me when I needed it most, so I wanted to do that for others. I think that you help people too,” James says, pulling me back from the past, away from a present that my brother is hopefully happy in. I look at him with furled brows that he greets with a slight smile. “Running Sun Coral. Without it still standing to this day, these people would have nowhere to go when they arrive.”
“There are other places to stay in Coveter’s Cove,” I say, deadpan, perhaps a bit too much.
“There are,” James counters, “but living in this city, I see some familiar faces each year. Siren-kissed or not, they come to stay here at your family’s inn.” His eyes flash a soft brightness as sunlight from the window streams in.
“They come back because we are the nicest to them,” I can feel the sternness carry through even stronger in my words now. “The Melody is a decent hotel, but management changes every few years. And nobody wants to ever book at that other motel too far from the water. And those familiar faces you see come back to Sun Coral are because they hope that this is the year the sirens give them what they want. Coveter’s Cove doesn’t have much to offer during the rest of the year, so they really only come for one thing.”
“Maybe, maybe not. It can be difficult to know what others want,” James says, “but you understand what your guests need when they come. You just said it, I think.”
I raise an eyebrow at him, sarcastically. “What is that?”
“I think it’s hope.”
I hope the discomfort that’s been percolating beneath my skin ever since thinking about Ethan will dissipate as the day progresses.
◊ ◊ ◊
The illusion of control as Innkeeper also comes in handy when I want to duck out early of a session with James since siren season is upon us. I take the elevator down to the main floor after concluding my session. The doors open to a little boy no older than ten, whose eyes are brimming with tears. I step out of the elevator to kneel down and ask what is wrong and where his family is.
“My aunty says the sirens can’t bring my mom back,” he sniffles. I will never understand, but will always admire, how some children can be so forthcoming sometimes. At what point do we learn to keep things to ourselves? How do I stop doing it when my mind and body feel exhausted from keeping the secret that I just don’t feel well most days?
“Colin, there you are!” A brunette woman in a maroon power suit with bright red heels comes and takes Colin’s hand.
“You know, Colin,” I begin, stopping his aunt from pulling him away. “The sirens are really pretty if you go down with someone in the evening. They glow. Kind of like some sea creatures. They can even change their shapes like an octopus. It’s very cool.” When the smile creeps itself onto Colin’s face, I briefly wonder if it’s from the faint smile that I feel myself making, a mere echo of the cheerfulness that my dad would exude for guests. “Maybe we can go down later together if you’re allowed,” I suggest.
His aunt smiles, if not a bit forced. “We’ll see, darling,” she offers her nephew, then continues to briskly walk with Colin out the front doors as I watch them.
It isn’t unheard of for people to come to Coveter’s Cove hoping that a siren may grant them the wish of seeing a past love one again, but after speaking with Colin I linger on the impossibility of it even more until it manifests as a tingling in my hands.
Seeing the guests go about their day, I take a deep breath for further stability, but falter on the exhale, swallowing an inexplicable urge to cry. One step at a time, I begin walking, feigning a smile that perhaps can hopefully pull me through the rest of the day unscathed. As I catch sight of Chloe, one of our friendliest receptionists, I make my way over to help with what looks like a stressful interaction with a guest, hoping the interaction will distract me from myself. I briefly wonder if my dad had to smile hard through even harder days. Did he also walk these halls with a hollowness he did not know how to fill? Did Ethan fill his by walking into the ocean in order to leave?
◊ ◊ ◊
Dusk beams through Sun Coral’s windows, casting its vaulted ceiling with the warm glimmer of late summer. It’s the one time of day when I find it easier to take a breath of relief, though today it seemed harder to do so. I’ve been in the halls of Sun Coral all day, didn’t even make it out for the evening to watch more sirens come to shore, greeting swaths of people waiting to enter the water, and leave with a dream firmly in hand.
The halls are filled with conversations from sun-kissed guests, gushing in hushed tones about the sirens being amazing, life-changing, and eye-opening. I catch the glazed-over eyes of listeners who did not receive kisses, desperately clinging to their friends’ words, hiding their envy with sighs and nods. I wonder if I’m doing just as a terrible job concealing my feelings of discomfort as they slowly break the surface of my psyche again.
“I’m going to take a walk, Chloe,” I turn to her from behind the reception. “Do you mind watching the front desk for a while?”
“Of course, Luke.”
Chloe’s too nice. I make a mental note to tell her what a great job she’s been doing lately. Especially during times like today when I don’t feel like existing anywhere at all.
I step outside and the air is humid tonight and already see some faint glows in the water where five or seven guests stand chest-high in it. I round a bend and find a secluded, large tidepool; the water high enough to bridge it with the ocean. It’s darker by the time I remove my shoes and shirt and wade into the refreshing, salty water of the tidepool. I wait. By the time the tide gently crashes in three times, the pressure in me builds to tears that obscure my vision. I’m trembling, holding onto a rough boulder to steady myself. My quiet cry quickly becomes one of those snot-dripping moans and I can’t seem to find an escape from it. The crashing water hides my sobbing good enough, but I wish it were louder.
When I am eventually able to open my eyes again, a siren’s white eyes that lack any pupils meet mine. Its tentacles swirl beneath the water, emanating a soft silver light. I can feel my heart beat in my throat and the tears slow as I eventually catch my breath. I take a step towards the siren. It skittishly backs away, narrowing its brow. The pale blue skin along its shoulders and face ripples and morphs between textures: smooth as a river rock, then rough like barnacles clinging to the side of the tidepool we are in.
“I just…want a way out,” I choke through the remaining tears. “Can you help?” The siren approaches and I close my eyes. I feel its tentacles move along my hips until two of them embrace me. I keep my eyes loosely shut, smelling the siren’s briny breath as it nears its mouth to mine. “Now,” I hiccough through tears. The siren suddenly slips its tentacles off from me and pulls away as I sense it readying to leave. “No…no. Please,” I beg, to which the siren seemingly responds by moving its head from side to side, slowly. We maintain eye contact for a few minutes. The skin along its shoulders begins to writhe. Maybe it’s just as agitated as me. I step towards it, and it flinches before diving backwards, flicking water into my eyes. I’m alone in still water when I can see again.
◊ ◊ ◊
On the slow stroll back to Sun Coral I feel just as weighed with the hollowness I walked into the water with. The siren could not, maybe did not want to, give me an escape. As I near home, I recall James’ words from our session just earlier today about how some say the sirens know what we want before we even do, and take a quivering breath, wondering what it is that I truly want.
Excited voices of guests greet me when I open the doors to Sun Coral.
“What happens if you don’t get one?” The woman laughs.
“I gotta! That’s what I’m here for!” The man says, throwing his arm around her before turning the corner together, both laughing. “And if not, I got this siren to kiss!” He lands a kiss on her cheek. I linger and hold the door open for them, and they glide right by me without acknowledgement in giggly sway.
Before I begin making my way to the elevator, I see Colin seated in the lounge without his aunt. He looks not as distressed from when I first met him earlier today, but his face is still cast with a gloom.
“How’s it going, Colin?” I ask, taking a seat beside him. He shrugs as if in defeat. “Did you see any sirens today?”
“Not really…,” he shrugs, picking at the fraying end of a cushion. I look around, but his aunt is still nowhere to be seen. I look down to this little boy whose whole world most likely feels so unfamiliar and empty without his mom. Only a third of my age, and he is already carrying around such a heaviness.
“I want to be with mom,” Colin says, to which I purse my lips.
“That must be…a complicated thing to feel,” I say, not completely sure if it makes sense to me, let alone in the mind of a 10-year-old boy.
Colin shrugs.
What I imagine saying next to him is that even if his desires feel dark, they may not always be bad. But I’m apprehensive on the “kid-friendly” wording to express this to him. Even though the sirens can’t give Colin and I the thing we want most, I look to Colin and feel like he will be alright as he grows, though. I stand, offering my hand down to him.
“Let’s go down and watch the sirens together,” I suggest. “If your aunt comes around, I’ll make sure Chloe at reception will let her know you’re with me.” After a moment of hesitation, Colin puts his small hand into mine and together we make our way out of the hotel and back down to the water.
If the sirens are unable to give us both what we want once they come swimming up from the ocean’s dark depths, maybe just being in their presence can help us find the strength to navigate our own darknesses. And if not, Colin and I can find a moment of solace in watching the sirens, swirling in their myriad of colours just below the water’s surface.
David Ly is the author of Mythical Man (2020) and Dream of Me as Water (2022), both published under the Anstruther Books imprint of Palimpsest Press, and short-listed for the 2021 and 2023 ReLit Poetry Awards, respectively. He is also co-editor (with Daniel Zomparelli) of Queer Little Nightmares: An Anthology of Monstrous Fiction and Poetry (Arsenal Pulp Press, 2022).
