The Selkie Sorceress (Seal Island Trilogy, Book 3) Read online

  The woman shrieked when he turned and strode away from her. The knife, a flash of silver slicing through the red dawn, caught him in the back of his neck. The man crumpled and the woman’s eyes, dark brown only moments ago, glinted green-gold as she pulled the blade free. Her lover’s blood covered her hands as he fell, lifeless, to the ground.

  Glenna released Sam’s hand and stepped away from the stone. The vision that had haunted her since she was a teenager disappeared and the green grass turned black again under their feet. The wind died and the sky transformed back to a brilliant blue.

  Sam’s eyes lifted to hers. His chest rose and fell, his breathing labored as the last tremors of her power coursed through his veins. “Was that Moira?”

  Glenna nodded. “Her appearance changed as her magic grew.”

  “Who was the man that she killed?”

  Glenna looked back at the ground, where the image of the fallen man still burned in the backs of her eyes. “My father.”

  SMOKE FILLED THE room. The fire crackled and grew. Tara coughed, covering her mouth with her shirt. She staggered to the window, smashing Glenna’s lamp into the glass. It shattered, but the hole wasn’t big enough for her to climb through. She looked back at the door. It was covered in flames.

  The blaze streaked from the curtains to the bookshelves. Tara struggled to breathe as smoke clogged her lungs. Her vision blurred and wavered. The heat of the room became unbearable as she reached blindly over the rug for the spell book.

  Her fingers curled over the leather spine, but the ancient pages ignited in her hand. She cried out as the flames grazed her skin. She dropped the book, grabbing a potted plant with both hands and hurling it at the window. More glass broke off and the gap was just wide enough for her to fit through.

  Her eyes burned as she crawled through the smoke to the window. The jagged glass sliced into her palms as she fit her shoulders through the narrow opening and pushed her way out. Her jeans tore, ripping down her thighs where the shards bit into the seam. But she climbed out, wrenching away from the glass as her palms met the hot dry soil under Glenna’s window.

  She stumbled away from the house in a tumble of bloody gashes and burns. The heat of the flames chased her from the cottage until she fell, crawling on her hands and knees toward the open fields. She buried her face in the brown moss, covering her ears as the thatched roof caught fire. A thick stream of black smoke coiled high into the air.

  LIAM SAT BACK, rubbing his eyes. He’d been staring at the computer since dawn. But he still didn’t have a clue why his mother would re-shelve the white selkie legend with the mermaid books. It didn’t make any sense. He glanced up when the door swung open and Caitlin walked into the cottage, her troubled blue eyes locking on his.

  Owen trailed in after her and Liam pushed back from the cluttered table when he saw the wet clothes plastered to his son’s body. “What happened?”

  “I tripped,” Owen mumbled. “It was an accident.”

  Liam stood, worry creasing his brow. “I thought you were at the pub reading with Brennan?”

  “He was,” Caitlin said, watching their son carefully as he stalked toward his room. “But they went down to the harbor to see the high tide and Owen wandered away.”

  Liam exchanged a worried look with his fiancée. They’d told Owen not to go anywhere on his own today. It wasn’t like him to break the rules. Liam followed his son into the hallway, noting the dripping book in his hands. “Did you drop your book in the water?”

  Owen threw it on the ground. “Ronan was right. Fairy tales are for girls.”

  Liam bent down slowly, picking up the book. It was the one he’d given Owen for Christmas. “I thought this was your favorite book?”

  “Not anymore.” Owen slammed the door behind him.

  Caitlin walked up beside Liam. “He’s been like this since I found him wandering along the road leading to Brennan’s farm, but he won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

  Liam didn’t bother to knock. He opened the door and walked in. Owen was across the room, rummaging through his bookshelves, pulling out all his fairy tale books and tossing them on the floor. “What’s going on, Owen?”

  Owen shook his head, grabbing more books and pitching them over his shoulder. Liam caught one before it fell. It was an illustrated version of The Little Mermaid—the same book Owen had been obsessed with since he’d arrived on Seal Island.

  Caitlin skirted the growing pile on the floor, lowering herself to the edge of her son’s mattress. “Did Ronan say something that upset you today?”

  “No,” Owen snapped. “I just don’t want to read these stupid books anymore.”

  “Owen,” Liam said quietly as his gaze dropped to his son’s bare feet. “What happened to your shoes?”

  Owen froze, his toes curling under his feet. “I must have…left them at the harbor.”

  Liam glanced up, his gaze shifting to the window when the scent of something burning drifted over the fields. “Do you smell that?”

  “What?” Caitlin asked.

  He strode to the window, scanning the sunlit pastures leading to Glenna’s cottage. “Smoke.”

  TARA HEARD VOICES, shouting over the fields. Footsteps pounded toward the flames. She coughed smoke from her lungs, trying to call out to Dominic when the cottage splintered, the thatched roof caving in and the flames swallowing what was left of Glenna’s home.

  “Tara!” Dominic shouted, his voice echoing over the fields. She heard men cursing, struggling to hold him back from running into the burning cottage. She pulled herself over the grass until she could see him through the wavering flames. He spotted her and broke free, sprinting to her.

  “Dominic,” she rasped as he scooped her up, pulling her into his arms. She breathed in his warm, salty scent, burying her face in his neck as he carried her safely away from the blazing fire.

  She heard more voices, more people shouting over the pastures. He laid her down gently, leaning her back against a stone wall and she blinked when she saw the villagers racing up the path. Fiona covered her mouth at the sight of the fire, then grabbed Kelsey and Owen to keep them safe.

  “The house,” Tara breathed as orange flames streaked into the air. “It caught fire.”

  “What happened?” Caitlin sank to the ground beside her.

  Tara shook her head, dazed. “I don’t know.” She coughed, hacking more smoke from her lungs. There was a faint ringing in her ears. “I was looking through Glenna’s books.” Her fingers scraped over the moss, dry as sandpaper on the ground. The flowers, a cluster of crocuses that had sprouted last night, were wilting in the heat. “It was a book of spells…I think.” She looked up at Dominic, into his concerned gray eyes. “It changed shape in my hands.”

  Dominic smoothed a comforting hand over Tara’s hair, clutching her tighter against him.

  “There was a word…in the book,” Tara whispered. “When I touched the page where it was written, the fire started.”

  Caitlin balled up Liam’s shirt when he handed it to her, pressing it against the deep gash above Tara’s knee. “What word?”

  “I think”—Tara flinched when Caitlin applied more pressure—“it was written in Gaelic. I’m not sure how to pronounce it.”

  “Give it a shot,” Liam urged.

  Tara nodded, squeezing her eyes shut when the skin on her arms started to burn. “Draighean.”

  Liam looked up at Dominic as the frame of Glenna’s house splintered, crashing to the ground. “That’s Gaelic for blackthorn.”

  That man,” Sam began as they hiked back to the car. “Your father…was he a selkie, too?”

  “No.” Glenna shook her head. “But Moira was in love with him, and she risked everything to be with him.” A fox streaked through a meadow far below, a blur of red through the green and tan grasses. “Moira wasn’t always evil,” Glenna explained, picking her way down the rocky hillside. “But she, like every sea witch before her, wanted something badly enough to barter her soul.”
/>   Sam shook out his arms. He still felt a faint tingling and he wanted it gone. He had had only a taste of what Glenna lived with every day. And he couldn’t imagine how she bore the weight of it. He glanced at her profile. Her skin was still flushed from the rush of power. But she kept her pace brisk and steady, as if she felt nothing.

  “There is only ever one sea witch,” Glenna continued. “And she must pass on her powers before she dies. If she doesn’t, her soul will forever haunt the sea and she will never be at peace.”

  A flock of starlings alighted from the branches of a yew tree, their black wings beating in a frantic, pulsing rhythm. “The last sea witch,” Glenna went on, “the one who came before Moira—she was already dying when she met my mother. She knew Moira was in love with the man you saw in the vision, and she offered to help her run away with him. But she told Moira that if she couldn’t convince the man to fall for her, she would have to come and live with her and learn her dark arts.”

  “A trade for love,” Sam murmured. “That sounds familiar.”

  Glenna nodded. “That’s how Moira tricked Nuala the first time. Sea witches find great pleasure in toying with people’s love lives. Love makes people desperate and vulnerable.”

  And that, Sam thought, was why Glenna was so afraid of it. Glenna didn’t let people see her vulnerabilities. She didn’t show her weaknesses. The best defense she had was closing herself off from love.

  “No woman wants to be a sea witch,” Glenna explained. “But once the black magic feeds into her soul, she is bound to the dark arts, and there is only one way to break the chain that traps her there.” Glenna’s eyes looked out at the sea, shining like sapphires in the sunlight. “A sea witch is an outcast, a pariah. The only way Moira can break free of the darkness is if her people welcome her back and choose her as their ruler.”

  The tingling in Sam’s arms gave way to a prickling, like needles over his skin. “That’s why Moira wants to rule the selkie kingdom, to be free of the darkness.”

  Glenna nodded.

  “But couldn’t Moira take the throne by force if she wanted to? Isn’t she powerful enough?”

  Glenna shook her head. “A sea witch cannot steal the throne. She has to be chosen. Moira cannot escape the curse unless her people ask her to come back.”

  “What if they did ask her back?” Sam held out his hand when they came to a stream. “Would she turn good again?”

  “Possibly.” Glenna let him help her over the rocks, drawing her hand free as soon as the rocks gave way to grass again. “But the selkies would never choose her as their queen. Not after what she did to Nuala and Owen. They know the truth, and they could never forgive her for that.”

  “But she’s still going to try,” Sam murmured.

  Glenna nodded. “She’s still going to try.”

  “The man,” Sam said, trying to wrap his head around all of it. “Your father… If she loved him, why did she kill him?”

  “Because he rejected her,” Glenna said simply.

  “He didn’t seem to be rejecting her when they were rolling around naked on the ground.”

  “That’s because she tricked him into thinking she was someone else. He didn’t know who he was sleeping with.”

  A flash of sunlight reflected off the hood of Glenna’s car and Sam realized they were almost back to the road. “How could he not have known who he was sleeping with?”

  “My father was in love with someone else.” Rocks skittered out from under Glenna’s boots as she picked her way down the final hill to the car. “Someone who looked exactly like Moira.”

  When Glenna got to the bottom of the hill, she glanced back up at Sam. “My father was expecting to run away with a selkie that night. But he was expecting someone else.”

  Sam reached the flat stretch of grass. “Who?”

  Glenna shrugged out of the backpack. “Moira’s twin sister.” She pulled out her keys and unlocked the doors with the remote. The lights flashed and the alarm system beeped through the silence. “My aunt Brigid.”

  THE SUNSET PAINTED the sky a gleaming gold. From her spot on the sofa, curled up in a pair of sweatpants and one of Dom’s oversized button-down shirts, Tara watched the sun dip into the sea. Her throat still ached from inhaling so much smoke earlier, and the gashes in her legs stung from where she’d stitched them up. But she’d slathered her arms with a homemade milk and honey salve and the burns were already starting to heal.

  She glanced up as Dominic walked out of Kelsey’s bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him. “How is she?”

  “She’s shaken up,” Dominic admitted, settling onto the sofa beside her, careful not to shift the cushion and irritate her wounds. “She wants to get rid of all the candles in the house. And no more fires in the fireplace. Ever.”

  Tara looked down at the bandage on her hand and the red mark snaking up her forearm. “I wish that fire had started from something as simple as a candle or a fire in the hearth.”

  Dominic cupped her arm in his hand, rubbing a thumb gently over the clear layer of cooling salve. “Caitlin called Glenna and Sam. She told them what happened. Glenna’s sure it was Moira.”

  “Who else could it be?” Tara looked up when she saw Caitlin and Liam walking up the path to the door with Owen. She waved them in through the open window. “I’m worried about Glenna,” she said to Dom. “About what Moira wants with her.”

  Dominic set her arm back down gently. “Glenna can take care of herself.”

  “But her home,” Tara said softly. “It was destroyed.”

  “I know,” Dominic said, and a shadow passed over his eyes. “It almost went down with you in it.”

  The door opened and Caitlin and Liam walked in, their expressions tense. Dominic stood, ushering them in. He looked down at Owen, ruffling his nephew’s hair. “Kelsey’s in her room if you want to say hi.”

  Owen nodded, disappearing into the back.

  As soon as the door shut behind him, Tara turned to Caitlin. “What do you know about blackthorn?”

  “It’s a shrub,” Caitlin said, settling into the chair beside Liam. “I think it’s relatively common.”

  “It’s one of the first plants to bloom in Ireland—usually on Imbolc,” Liam added, already booting up the laptop he’d brought with him. “Which is tomorrow.”

  “Imbolc,” Tara said slowly. “That’s a pagan holiday, right?”

  Dominic nodded. “It’s the half-way point between winter and spring. Pagans celebrate it as Imbolc and Christians as St. Brigid’s Day.”

  “St. Brigid,” Tara murmured. “Why does that sound so familiar?”

  “There’s a church devoted to her in Kildare,” Dominic explained. “We stopped there once on a trip back from Dublin. I wanted to show you the spot where the sacred fires used to burn.”

  “Right,” Tara said softly. “The fires that used to burn continuously in her honor. I remember thinking that practice seemed more pagan than Christian.

  “It was,” Caitlin said. “But many early Christian rituals had roots in pagan traditions. Especially the ones connected to Brigid.” Caitlin peered over Liam’s shoulder at what he was pulling up on the screen. “There’s some debate about this, but many pagans believe Brigid was originally a Celtic goddess. Before the Christians came to Ireland, Kildare was already a holy site devoted to the goddess. When Christianity spread through Ireland, Brigid was ‘Christianized,’ and she founded a monastery—one that welcomed both men and women—on that same land.”

  “Isn’t it rare for the two religions to come together like that?” Tara asked.

  “It is,” Caitlin acknowledged. “But Brigid is our strongest link between the old and the new. She is the only Celtic goddess who was embraced by the church. The first of February is a Christian feast day to honor one of Ireland’s patron saints and a pagan festival to honor the goddess. Whether you’re a pagan, a Christian, or someone who practices a little of both, Brigid is a beloved religious figure.”

  “And the g
rounds of Kildare are a powerfully sacred place,” Tara finished.

  Caitlin nodded as Liam turned the computer around to show her an image of a shrub in full bloom. “This is what blackthorn looks like.”

  Tara leaned closer. “There was a sketch in the book,” she murmured. “It was rough, but it looked like that.” She looked up at Caitlin. “Do we have any on the island?”

  Caitlin shook her head. “Not that I know of. If we did, it would probably be gone by now. The tourists like to snap off the branches to make wands and walking sticks. They think it has magical powers.”

  “Does it?”

  Caitlin shrugged. “Carrying a blackthorn wand is said to protect you from evil. But who knows if that’s true or not.”

  “It didn’t do a very good job of protecting Tara,” Dominic said tightly.

  “If anything,” Tara said slowly, “it’s what started the fire.” Tara looked down at her burned hands. “I should never have gone there.”

  “This wasn’t your fault.” Dominic stood. “I think we should call off the search for Brigid.”

  “What?” Tara gaped at him. “No. We can’t do that now. We have to find her.”

  “Not if this search is going to put you”—Dom looked at Caitlin and Liam—“put any of you, in danger.”

  “This is our home,” Tara said quietly. “We cannot let Moira take it away from us.”

  “You said the book changed shape in your hands?” Liam asked. “Like it was under some kind of enchantment?”

  Tara nodded. “Glenna clearly didn’t want anybody to find it.”