“I’m a changeling.” She bobbed in the water. “The human half of the equation, obviously.”

So much for that theory.

“That explains the texture of the magic in your aura.” The sensation was so slight even charismatic humans registered in her range. “At first I thought it meant you were a witch, but the signature was too faint.”

“No hocus-pocus here. Well, none generated by me.” She returned to the dock, dragged her bag closer and removed two small discs I recognized as rudimentary healing spells. She jiggled the pouches to settle their contents then tucked them into her top before snapping and knotting the various closures. She spoke to the fabric as if telling it her story was easier than facing me. “My parents made the arrangements for me.”

“Your parents.” Human or mermaid or both, I wondered.

“Both merfolk,” she answered my unspoken question. “I’m the only human in the pod.”

“How did you manage that?” I asked, half joking. Changelings were usually compatible on a base level with their adoptive parents. Dropping a human infant into the sea and expecting it to survive among merfolk stretched that definition.

“My mother is cursed. All of her children die the hour they turn six weeks old. Sixteen years ago my father was so distraught at her pain, he made a bargain with a brownie who cleaned and mended for a human family with thirteen children. They couldn’t afford another mouth to feed, and the brownie made sure they didn’t have one for long. The humans had been praying for a miracle, and the brownie overheard them and granted one.”

“The brownie swapped you for the merchild,” I supplied.

“Yes.” She secured the backpack to one of the pilings, and when the fabric got damp, a cluster of chalky-white bay barnacles burst over the surface, the kind you’d expect to see on the belly of a freighter. Glamour perhaps? “When the infant died, my father left my birth parents my weight in gold and precious gems. They were compensated for their loss, as much as any mortal is among the fae, and Mom got what she had always wanted.” She pointed both of her thumbs at her chest.

If she expected condemnation from me, she would be waiting a long time. Fae traditions were older than the ground under my feet. The rights and wrongs of fae and men were not mine to judge.

“The Rumspringa thing I told you about…” She blushed. “It’s pretty much a total lie. Sorry. Telling the story was habit by the time I met you.”