Three
The wine was sour on his tongue, but Malik made himself finish what he had poured in his glass, mostly because by doing so he kept himself from running after Leila. Then, because he did not want it to go to waste — and because his kind had a far greater capacity for alcohol than their human counterparts — he poured himself more from the open bottle of chardonnay, although he did not touch Leila’s glass. The wine she had left behind would have to be thrown away.
He sat and watched the shifting colors of the waves. Far out from shore, he caught the glint of smooth, silvery-gray backs, leaping out of the water. Dolphins, joyful as ever. Perhaps more so now that their waters would no longer be polluted by the bilge of fishing vessels, or spills from the oil derricks off shore. He could
