A SUDDEN FLASH of the sun reflected off the silver necklace sunken into the dead girl's chest. It was a dreary morning in the Harbor, though the funeral was hardly to blame. The usual gray sky was shot through with seagulls launched into the air by the violent sounds of sailors' curses and, in the far distance, the wicked laughter of children. If it hadn't been for that single slip of sunlight, Juvia supposed that the jewelry on the corpse would have been a bit ugly. Too simple for a last farewell, she'd decided. Juvia would never have been caught dead wearing that. And if the girl's rich family had any respect for their precious conch shell child, they wouldn't have let her rest easy without at least a string of pearls at her throat.
She should've known. Juvia leaned forward, interested despite herself. The allure of shiny things was hard to shake.
"Sirens," began the salt priest, his voice too loud in the damp silence. Juvia flinched back, nearly colliding with another onlooker. "Hear our prayers! Guide this body to the depths."
"Miss Lockser," said the dead girl's father, singling her out in the crowd of mourners. "Please. Will you make it rain?"
There was no need to ask. Juvia allowed herself a thin smile to meet the sad little man's imploring stare, feeling no sympathy. She was far from a god who could raise the dearly departed. And he was just a client. Granted, a client with a considerably fat pocket— maybe even fat enough a pocket to raise the dead for the night in any other world. Her smile almost widened into something real at the thought, but she restrained herself for the sake of professionalism.
Some of the mourners glanced at her, shifting to give her space she didn't need. With a flex of her fingers, a part of the sky loosened to reveal light rain. Effortless as breathing. To her left, a guest had the decency to choke down their surprise. Magic-users were not rare, strictly speaking, but most conmen often masqueraded as elementals for a quick buck, and they seemed to think the more dramatic, the better. Juvia felt the wind pick up and sent a silent prayer to Amirai Sinaya for quicker waves to push the coffin farther into the sea.
The man let out a deep breath, shaking. His eyes, dark and wide, turned glossy with tears. A fat drop gathered around the edge of his lashes as if taunting her. Why did she even notice such useless things? Maybe it was his eyes. They were an uninteresting dark gray native to all families of the Harbor… but his looked almost deep blue in the right light.
"Thank you," he said before looking away. She watched him stare straight out into the sea, sobbing. Juvia swallowed. The first pitter-patter of the rain on her skin felt soft but insistent. His sentimentality was misdirected. The rain was his money's worth.
She watched the pallbearers push the coffin into the water, almost unceremoniously. The lichen growing from the underside of the dark wood scraped against the rocks as the box fell and skidded into the open arms of the ocean. The men must've come with the funeral arrangements, Juvia decided. The dead girl's body rocked against the current as it began floating away, ready to be swallowed by the dark waves and seafoam. Juvia almost pitied her. When she died, she would ask to be buried in dry soil.
"For salt you are," the salt priest said, reaching into his pouch and throwing a handful of salt into the retreating coffin. A blessing. A waste, Juvia corrected herself. What would the sea need of salt? "And to salt, you shall return."
Not if Juvia can help it, she thought.
The mother's cries grew hysterical as she dropped to her knees on the dock. A young man next to her gathered her up into his arms, choking on his own frantic, consoling murmurs, as she called out, "Not my sweet girl! Not my darling!"
Juvia looked away. Murdered. That was the talk of the crowd. She had been surprised by the whispers when she'd arrived earlier. Killings were common in the Harbor, but it was unusual to see such a well-to-do group of people involved with the grisly dealings of the City by the Sea, even if there was no proof that the gangs were the criminals behind the girl's untimely death. Well, no proof yet.
Juvia almost didn't take the job, certain that her weak heart would burst from the guilt. But of course, the Master wouldn't have it. Not when there was money to be made, and rich fools to swindle into bankruptcy. She watched the coffin slide deeper into the hold of the sea. How far would it be in an hour? Her prayers had worked. The wind was too good too soon. It wouldn't be worth it to swim in this sort of tides for a lousy chance at fortune.
By the crying father, a chorus of girls began singing to mark the start of the procession. It was a bastardization of a siren-song that fell flat even with the strain of their mortal throats. Juvia tried not to listen in fear of familiarity. Still, her traitorous throat worked, following the melody.
Oblivious to her torment, everyone began walking away from the shore for the ceremony in the church a few miles inland. The rain had gotten stronger, but no one moved to look for shelter. To Salt People, rain was a blessing as well: a part of the ocean trapped in the sky, returning to the ground at last. More than that, rain during funerals was a symbol of good luck to the dead. The downpour lulled the newly deceased to peace faster than the other sorry souls stuck in the ocean.
The girl would decompose without any good silver, but at least her family had the money to buy her luck in death. It was a fairer bargain than what the common people had, especially most of the living. Juvia breathed out, strangely relieved to find something to be annoyed with. They had nothing in common, her and these rich mortal folk. Death was supposed to be the great equalizer, but they could still cheat and use her magic to rise above everyone else. She watched the retreating fancy, black-coated backs of the mourners disappear into the trees, and later, up the cliffs, before she went to squint back at the coffin, assessing its silhouette, which was so much like a dinghy that far from land.
She already got her pay. There was no reason to stick around, really. If anything, she'd made sure the rain would stay for the day.
And in a few minutes, Gajeel would come to swim the tides and pry open the murdered girl's final resting place for the few jewels and coins her grieving family had left behind. Before they'd settled into this con, the Master had planned the whole thing as a one-man operation. To save manpower, and because Juvia was already so brilliant by herself, he said. Juvia was the better swimmer against anyone. It made sense that she would have been the one to do it... she only needed to stay behind until the coast was clear and swim the seas she'd know blind to get to the body and, more importantly, the gold. It was simple. Easy. Beautiful, he'd insisted, trying to flatter her. The dead had no need for treasure.
It was the one thing she could never do for him. Juvia might have been a cold-hearted bitch, but she wasn't sacrilegious. The Master had laughed at such superstition from her, largely because she'd never expressed belief in the otherworld in the time that they'd known each other. But it was one of the lines she could not cross. She could murder, she could steal, and she could lie. She could rip a gold band from a dying man's wrist. Earthly sins were no matter to the altars she grew up with. But her magic came from Amirai Sinaya and Anitana Tabeya, goddesses of water and vengeance. They would drag her by her legs into the deep sea if she so much as scratched that girl's coffin looking for her corpse gold. Within her, a voice reminded: what belonged to the sea stayed with the sea.
Her lips curled. Suddenly, the sight of the ocean was too much to bear. The smell of brine in the air was suffocating. Maybe the family had almost emptied their coffers, or maybe they didn't care to waste so much money on a corpse. A good head on their noble shoulders, for once. Either way, the dead girl had nothing left to give. Juvia turned away, eager to leave, already thinking of a way to tell Gajeel that they would gain nothing from risking the seas this time, and her heart stopped—nearly. And then it beat faster than it should have.
"Juvia," he said, too softly for comfort. It was his voice, and yet it was not. Deeper, huskier. It flowed like freshwater against rock, eroding away the layers. It was him, and yet it was not him. The him she knew. Even with the space between them, he looked so much taller and bigger than she had imagined he could become. He had been skinny, she thought. From malnutrition, surviving on leftover scraps and raw fish shared with her. Now he was almost a man. His hair was longer, covering his forehead, strands brushing against his long neck. His cheekbones were sharper, his jaw stronger, lips fuller. His skin wasn't as pale as it had been, unlike hers, which remained the same stark, unhealthy white as it was the first time she met him. Now he had the fresh glow of sleeping on a warm bed every night.
Only his eyes were the same. Large and dark, with a stare that could cut your heart in half. The darkest blue in every light. It was what undid her. She drank in the sight of him all at once, thirstier than she'd ever felt in the last five years. Was he a dream? She'd dreamt of him every night, but nothing quite like this. His clothes were simple but too fine, stitched cleanly and practically with good fabric and thread. He had a sword hanging from his belt, gold-pommeled. Real gold? She stepped closer to him, involuntarily, thinking a mark. And then disbelieving. Had he come back for her at last?
He watched her watch him, wary. "Do you remember me?"
How could Juvia forget? "Yes," she said breathlessly. His suspicions never hurt her.
He put a foot forward with certainty, matching her. Never hesitant, never any room for doubt. He'd never been one to close the distance himself. "You swore to me," he said. And this time, for the first time, a flicker of misgiving. Gone faster than the wind. It was the only thing that convinced Juvia he was real.
"Juvia swore to you," she agreed. He had always been in awe of her magic, and his black heart was so full of vengeance. They were the same in that. The thought of who she was, now, without him for years, was far away. "You have her. You have me."
Gray nodded, holding her gaze. "Now I need you."