The Selkie Sorceress (Seal Island Trilogy, Book 3) (25 page)

TARA TOSSED AND
turned, drifting in and out of restless sleep. Dreams haunted her. Dreams of her past. Dreams of her future. Dreams of fires chasing her to the highest cliff of the island. She reached for Dominic, burying her face in his warm chest as another dream—a memory this time—pulled her under.

“I wonder why they sell the crosses so far from the church,” Kelsey
asked, peering over Tara’s shoulder to look at the map.

“They sell them at the church, too,” Tara explained “But there’s a community of nuns who live in the hills. They weave the crosses out of river rushes. I’m curious to see how they do it.”

Dominic steered the car onto a long dirt drive, bordered with ewes and knotty pines. Tara rolled down the window, letting in the peaceful sound of birds chirping over the fields.

“What’s that?” Kelsey pointed past a modest stone house bordered with cheerful autumn gardens to a small structure with lots of windows and a roof made of glass.

“It’s a greenhouse,” Tara said. “A place where you can keep plants growing all through the winter.”

Dominic parked behind a small gathering of cars. A white chapel sat at the edge of the property, nestled into the hawthorns. Nuns wandered the paths between the unassuming buildings.

“Why are these crosses so special?” Kelsey asked as they climbed out of the car.

Dominic took her hand. “Brigid’s crosses are supposed to offer protection to people who hang them above their front door.” He ruffled Kelsey’s blond hair. “Who knows if it’s true, but we can never have too much protection.”

Tara trailed behind them as Kelsey and Dominic wandered over to a small outdoor stand where two nuns were weaving crosses and offering them for sale. The scent of basil and lemon verbena pulled to her and she looked over at the greenhouse. “I’ll catch up with you in a minute,” she called.

She hadn’t known what to expect when they’d decided to stop at a nunnery on their way out of Kildare. But there was something mysterious, almost magical, about this place. The ground hummed beneath her feet, like a force was at work in the soil.

She found a nun alone in the greenhouse, and stepped inside.

“I’m sorry,” Tara said quickly when the woman shied away from her. “I don’t mean to disturb you.”

A curtain of dried lavender and thyme rustled as the woman ducked behind it.

“I like to work with herbs,” Tara said, keeping her voice light and friendly. “My mother—she used to take herbs into the farmer’s market on the weekend.” She touched a colorful spray of foxgloves and marveled at the size of the basil growing beside them. “We had a greenhouse like this when I was growing up. It smells like her.”

The woman said nothing, but she watched Tara closely, with eyes as gray as the stones of the cathedral they’d visited earlier that day.

Tara picked up a bouquet of rosemary and sage, tied with a pink ribbon. “Do you sell these?”

“We do,” a different voice answered, one that came from behind her.

Tara turned and found herself looking into the brown eyes of another nun—one whose smile was warm and friendly.

“I’m Sister Evelyn,” she said. “Would you like me to give you a tour?”

“Sure,” Tara said slowly, stealing a glance back at the other nun. The hem of her habit peeked out from beneath the curtain and Tara stared at the intricate pattern of seashells sewn into the seam.

Sister Evelyn stepped into the small greenhouse and started explaining all the herbs and their uses. But as they made their way toward the back of the greenhouse, the first nun slipped out from behind the curtain. Her hair was tucked into her habit so Tara couldn’t tell what color it was, but her skin was pale and the shape of her nose and mouth were oddly familiar. The nun cast her eyes down as she slipped by them.

Tara frowned, but Sister Evelyn held up a small jar of crushed mint leaves cheerfully. “Have you ever tried adding a pinch of these to a cup of hot chocolate in the winter?”

“I have,” Tara said distractedly as the first nun ducked out of the greenhouse. “My mother used to make me that same drink when I couldn’t sleep at night.”

“Here,” Sister Evelyn said when Tara’s gaze lingered on the woman walking down the hill. “Have a sniff of this tarragon. It smells a bit like licorice, but better.”

Tara took the jar from Sister Evelyn, watching the nun break into a run as she made for the river winding through the pines.

TARA WOKE WITH
a start, the image of the woman imprinted in her mind. “Dominic.” She sat up, switching on the light. It was still dark and her bedside clock read 5AM. “Dominic, wake up.” She shook him, and those gray eyes—the same ones she’d seen in her dream—blinked open. “I think I know where your mother is.”

“What?” He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “How?”

“Remember the community of nuns who lived in the hills—the ones who wove the river rush crosses?”

He nodded slowly.

Tara swung her legs over the bed. “I think your mother lives there.”

Dominic stared at her. “As a
nun
?”

“I think so.” Tara ran to get her computer from the living room. She looked up at the straw-colored cross hanging over their door and clutched her laptop to her chest, rushing back to the bedroom. She crawled back into bed, booting up the computer and waiting for the screen to load. “Remember when I told you about the woman in the greenhouse, how she would hardly look at me?”

Dominic nodded slowly.

“I think that might have been her.” She typed in the name of the nunnery and searched for a phone number.

Dominic laid a hand over hers when she reached for the phone. “You can’t call there now, Tara. It’s the middle of the night.”

Tara’s fingers stilled on the numbers. “But what if it’s her?”

“Call Sam, or Glenna,” Dominic said gently. “They’re in Dublin already and Kildare’s only a half hour’s drive from the city. They can go there first thing and take a look around.”

“But—”

“Mum?” Kelsey’s small voice cut through their conversation.

Tara glanced up at her daughter hovering in the doorway. Her face was pale and her blue eyes were wide and worried. “What’s wrong, Kelsey?”

“I…” She looked down. “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?” Tara held out her hand. “What happened?”

Kelsey walked to the bed and Tara helped her crawl up between them. She clutched shreds of paper in her hands and she let them fall.

“What is this?” Dominic said, lifting one of the strips.

“
The Little Mermaid
,” Kelsey answered, piecing them together slowly on the comforter

“What happened to it?”

“Owen ripped it up.”

Tara set the phone down slowly. “Why?”

“Because Moira told him to.”

“When?” Dominic demanded. “When did she tell him this?”

“Yesterday,” Kelsey whispered. “He went to see Nuala, but Moira was there instead. Moira told him that if he said anything about it, she’d hurt Caitlin like she hurt Nuala.”

Tara looked up at Dominic and saw her own fear mirrored in his eyes.

“I heard what you said,” Kelsey admitted softly, “about my grandmother living in Kildare.” She fit the final pieces of paper together. “You’re right,” she said, pointing to the words. “It’s just like in the story. The princess lived in a convent.”

C
ait!” Liam shook his fiancée. “Caitlin! Wake up!”

“What?” Her eyes flew open, struggling to see in the darkness. “What’s wrong?”

Liam switched on the light. He was already out of bed, grabbing his clothes off the floor. “There’s a fire in the harbor.”

Caitlin kicked at the sheets, scrambling after him. Through the window, flames streaked into the night sky. Their neighbors were waking up, their panicked shouts echoing through the street. “Owen,” she breathed.

“I know.” Liam tugged a pair of sweatpants over his hips, rushing out into the hallway. He pushed open his son’s door, breathing out a sigh of relief when he saw the lump under the covers. “Owen,” he said quietly. “You need to wake up. Something’s happened.”

He walked to the bed, putting his hand on his son’s back. But his finger met something soft and squishy—not Owen. He threw back the covers and every muscle in his body clenched in dread. “Owen!”

“He’s not in there?” Caitlin breathed, gripping the doorway.

“Come on.” Liam grabbed her hand, racing out into the street.

Fiona stumbled out of the cottage on the other side of the pub, tying a robe around her waist. Her gray hair was out of its usual bun and her slippers caught on the pavement as she ran toward them.

“Have you seen Owen?” Caitlin cried.

“No,” Fiona said. “He’s not in his bed?”

Liam’s gaze combed the street. Smoke billowed up from the harbor. Headlights bounced down from the road leading to the cliff cottage. He spotted his brother behind the wheel and ran toward the truck. Dominic slowed and Liam leaned down to peer through the open window. But it was only Dom, Tara and Kelsey in the truck. “Owen’s missing.”

“What?” Tara helped Kelsey scramble over her lap and climb out the passenger door into the arms of her grandmother. “When?”

“Just now,” Liam answered. “We woke up and he was gone.”

“Get in,” Dom barked at Liam, then looked at Fiona. “Keep Kelsey away from the fire.”

Liam ran to the back of the truck, releasing the hatch. He looked at Caitlin. “Stay in the village and search for him here.”

Caitlin nodded and Fiona wrapped her arms around Kelsey. But as the trio faded behind them, he could see the fear in his fiancée’s eyes. What if Owen had gone down to the harbor to see Nuala? What if he’d gotten on the ferry?

Neighbors ran alongside them, in various states of undress. The wheel caught a pothole and Liam gripped the side of the truck. At the edge of the harbor, Donal was holding onto Finn, struggling to keep the captain back from the pier.