Sea Witch (33 page)

“Perhaps then I am no longer selkie,” she said softly.

Dylan scowled. “If so, my brother has succeeded where the demon

failed. He has destroyed you.”

Margred looked at him, surprised. She understood him. Once she

would even have agreed with him. Selkies were among God’s First

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Creation, superior in every way to the humans who strived and prayed

and died.

And yet . . .

And yet.

Her beliefs had changed. She had changed, in her sinews and tissues,

in the workings of her mind, in the depths of her heart. Caleb had

changed her through some strange alchemy of soul. He had inspired her

to courage and taught her to love.

For she did love him, with everything that was in her. But she had

not trusted him. She had not believed in him the way he believed in her,

the way he accepted her, the way he loved her. He had tried to tell her. “
If

you love me, you’ve got to trust me. Trust us. Don’t do this alone
.” But

she had not listened.

“Caleb did not destroy me,” she said. “He made me.”

“Made you human,” Dylan spat.

Margred smiled, her heart suddenly sure. "Yes. Turn the boat

around.”

The thing that wore Bruce Whittaker’s face smiled at Caleb, eyes

flickering over the boat, the dock, the beach. Searching, Caleb thought.

Looking for Maggie.

His hand went automatically to his gun.

“Chief,” said the thing with Whittaker’s mouth.

“Who are you?” Caleb asked.

The eyes widened. Whittaker’s pale gray eyes, dancing with dreadful

enjoyment. “Don’t you know?”

“I recognize the face,” Caleb said, angling his body, easing his

weapon from its holster. “I didn’t catch the name.”

“Oh, very good,” the thing approved. “You may call me Tan.”

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“Tan. Right,” Caleb said, and shot him.

Or tried to.

The slide clicked uselessly in his hand.

“It won’t work,” Tan informed him. He lifted a revolver—.357

Magnum, plenty of stopping power there, the homeowner’s defensive

weapon of choice—from the powerboat’s console and leveled it at

Caleb’s chest. “This, however, will. Throw your gun in the water.”

Caleb’s grip tightened.
Never surrender your weapon. Keep talking
.

“Nice trick.”

“Thank you. I suppressed the ignition of the primer in the cartridge. I

could as easily explode it in your hands. But I might have use of them

later.”

Them
. His hands? Caleb fought a chill at the thought of the demon

using him. Using his hands.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“You have something I want,” Tan said from the deck of the boat.

He couldn’t touch him. Reach him. Not yet. But like a criminal

impressed with his own cleverness, the thing enjoyed the sound of its

own voice. Caleb could use that. “Maybe we could bargain.”

Tan smiled, a twist of facial muscles that revealed all of Whittaker’s

teeth. “I’d rather hear you beg.”

Caleb’s palms were sweating on the butt of the gun. Blood crusted

his knuckles. “That didn’t work too well for you with your last victim. Or

you wouldn’t be coming after me.”

The demon hissed.

“Come on,” Caleb goaded. “Make me an offer.”

“Your life for the pelt.”

The pelt.
Gold coins shining through the rich, mottled strands of fur
.

Maggie’s hope for escape.

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Caleb gave a quick shake of his head.
No
. As if he held the power

here instead of a worthless gun. As if he wasn’t staring into the blind,

black eye of a .357 Magnum in the hands of a creature that couldn’t be

killed. “We both know you won’t let me live.”

Tan shrugged, not bothering to deny it. “Then . . . a quick death.”

Keep talking. Keep thinking
. There had to be a way out of this. The

fight never went the way you wanted it. You had to stay flexible.

“And in return, you want . . .”

“The selkie Gwyneth’s sealskin. Yes.”

“Why? She’s dead.”

“Let’s say I want it to . . . remember her by.”

Caleb fought another shudder of revulsion. Something didn’t add up.

The demon had burned Maggie’s sealskin. It didn’t make sense he would

preserve Gwyneth’s.

Like anything about this situation made sense.
Think. Talk
.

“You don’t strike me as the sentimental type.”

“My actions and my nature are none of your concern.”

“I think you fucked up,” Caleb said, deliberately provoking.
Keep

him talking. Distract him. Find an out, an opening
. “I think she died

before you got your hands on her pelt, and now you’re screwed.”

“She was weak.” Tan spat the words. The muzzle of his gun

wavered. “Her death was . . .”

“A mistake?” Caleb prodded.

The demon stiffened. “An inconvenience.”

“So you didn’t want her dead?”

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“I wanted her
ended
.” He waved the gun for emphasis. “The death of

her body is a bare ripple in her existence. Her people will not care as long

as the bitch can be sea born.”

Caleb eyed the waving muzzle. A gun was only as effective as the

person holding it. “You
want
her people pissed off at you?” he asked,

taking a half step forward.

“Not at me. At you. The children of the sea are too tolerant of

humankind. You overrun the earth, you pollute the water, you violate the

very air, and still the elements suffer your existence. ‘Because the Creator

wills it so.’ ” Tan’s mimicry was savage. “The sea king has wasted

centuries in dreams and denial. His heir is too cautious to act. But they

cannot ignore the deliberate destruction of their kind. Not when their

numbers are declining.”

The demon sounded like a fucking terrorist. As if wrapping an act of

violence in self-justification and a noble cause somehow vindicated the

death of the innocent.

Caleb controlled his anger. “So you disguise yourself as human, kill

a selkie, and hope the humans get blamed.”

“You will be blamed. Your own kind suspect you already. And when

more die, even that selkie fool King Llyr will be convinced of your guilt.”

Tension clamped on Caleb’s neck. Pounded in his temples.
When

more die . . .

Maggie.

He had to stop this thing before it reached Maggie. Before she

realized Whittaker wasn’t on World’s End and came looking for him.

He slid another foot forward, gauging the distance (
too great
) and

his chances (
not good
).

Keep
talking
.

“Why would they care? I’ll be dead. You kill me, that evens the

score.”

Whittaker’s mouth flapped open. For a second, Caleb dared hope

he’d gotten through to him or to the demon possessing him.

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“Their deaths will not end with your death,” Tan said, rallying. “And

by taking your life, I will convince the selkie prince that our interests lie

together.”

One step closer. All he needed was a distraction. A bird, a boat,

another fucking flare . . .

“Caleb!” Maggie’s cry rang over the water.

Whittaker’s head jerked. Good enough.

Caleb dove low and hard for the lawyer’s stomach and crashed with

him onto the deck.

* * * *

The blast of the shot echoed over the water.

Margred sobbed. “Hurry!”

The boat sprang forward as Dylan summoned his power, calling the

wind to fill the sails. Margred clutched the side with both hands, fear

congealing in her stomach. Fear and guilt. She knew what Caleb faced.

She should never have left him.

Caleb and the thin man— Whittaker?—rolled around the cockpit,

thrashing and thumping into the seats and sides.

At least he was alive. Bleeding? Shot?

Her throat constricted. She could not
see
.

She lurched to her feet to get a better look, nearly pitching overboard

as the sailboat came about.

“Damn it, sit,” Dylan barked.

She dropped to a seat, her heart forcing its way to her throat.

“Hurry.”

Over the rush of wind and water, through the roar in her head, she

heard a scuffle. Fists. Grunts. Something thudded hard against the

powerboat’s console. She flinched.

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Dylan moved around her, working the lines with tight-lipped grace,

his lean body gleaming with sweat and sunlight. Margred barely noticed

him. All her attention was on the other boat. The other boat and Caleb.

She strained to see him, to touch his spirit, to reassure herself he was

alive.

And then she felt it, acrid as ashes blowing in the wind, ominous as a

stain in the water.
Demon
.

Her heart plummeted from her throat to her stomach. Her hands

twisted in her lap.

Dylan sensed it, too. He looked at her, his face white. “Swamp

them.”

Summon the seas and bury them?

Margred shook her head. “I cannot. Not without capsizing the boat

and drowning your brother.”

“Do it,” Dylan said. “Or I will.”

She snarled. She could hear the sounds of struggle, a gasp, a thump,

a grunt of pain.
Honey, I can handle one middle-aged lawyer
.

But Whittaker would fight with the strength of the possessed. And

Caleb could be hurt. Wounded. Bleeding.

Margred stretched shaking hands toward the dock. “I must bind him.

The demon.”

“How?” Dylan demanded.

She was not listening.

Desperation flooded her veins. Her mind swam with fear. She

pushed her worry aside, diving below the frantic surface of her thoughts,

reaching deep within for the clear wellspring of power that bubbled from

her soul. The magic responded, flowing over and in her like music, like

water, fluid, sparkling, irresistible. Her element. Hers. With a glad cry,

she opened her mouth to drink it in, flung wide her arms to embrace it.

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The boat bumped into the dock, jarring her concentration.

Dylan swore.

Margred opened her eyes.

Caleb was pinned against the side of the boat, one arm raised to

deflect the demon’s blows. Shot. He’d been shot. His shoulder bloomed

black with blood. His lip was split and bleeding. Whittaker loomed over

him with a fierce, fixed grin, his fists battering, bruising. Hard. Again.

Each dull impact struck her soul. The magic shattered and fled,

leaving her empty, human, helpless. She wanted to throw up.

The demon’s presence reached across the water like a furnace blast.

Her courage dried up. Her resolution evaporated. Caleb warded the

demon’s fists with his injured arm, his good hand wrapped around the

demon’s throat. But blood dripped from his shoulder into the sea, and his

arm trembled. He could not hold Hell at bay forever. He could die. He

was dying.

“Help him,” Margred screamed at Dylan.

Dylan vaulted from the boat.

She stared at Caleb’s fingers gripping, pressing on the cords and

vessels of the demon’s neck. Fighting—still—as the demon battered him

with its fists, as his life blood oozed away. She did not feel any braver.

But she could not let him fight alone. With a sob, she summoned her

pathetic store of human courage, gathered up the remnants of her selkie

magic.

The demon’s punches slowed. It scratched at Caleb’s hands, trying

to pry his fingers from around its throat. Whittaker’s eyes widened and

bulged. His body jerked. Shuddered.

Fire shot to the sky, rushing upward from the boat, a geyser of

orange and red, a gush of smoke. The reflection flickered in Whittaker’s

eyes, as if the fire were in his head, as if he burned from the inside out.

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Margred flung her arms wide, casting her spirit like a net toward the

flame. Power shimmered at her fingertips. For a moment, magic hung

suspended in the air, sparkling like water droplets.

Dylan raised the gun by its muzzle and wielded it like a club against

the back of Whittaker’s head.

As suddenly as that, it was over.

The blaze died. The demon’s presence snuffed out, extinguished. A

breeze wandered from the sea, sweet and salt, dispelling the mist of

magic. Margred drew her breath on a sob and scrambled over the side,

intent on one thing.

Caleb
.

He staggered upright. Groaned. Whittaker’s body slumped at his

feet.

Relief and pain and tenderness flooded Margred’s chest. Her eyes

swam with unfamiliar moisture. She blinked it away, stepping over the

body on the deck to reach Caleb’s side. She had to touch him, to reassure