The Selkie Sorceress (Seal Island Trilogy, Book 3) (4 page)

“I have.”

Moira glanced up. “Sam is very good at what he does, isn’t he?”

“He is. But her pelt is the only clue he’s found so far.”

Glenna tensed when Moira picked up her athame—a ceremonial dagger used only for spells. Moira tested the sharpness of the blade against her crimson fingernail and set it back down. Glenna let out a breath when she walked away from it. “He still has no idea where she is?”

“None.”

“Good.” Moira’s lips curved as she walked to Glenna and brushed a long brown lock back over her daughter’s shoulder. To anyone else the gesture might have seemed mothering. But it made Glenna sick.

“Don’t worry, darling. He’ll tire after a while.” Moira took one last look around the cottage and nodded, satisfied. “I’m happy to see you’re holding up your end of the bargain. I was worried at first that your feelings for him would interfere with your ability to stop him.”

Glenna went very still. “I don’t have feelings for Sam.”

Moira smiled. “Don’t you?”

T
he flames died and Moira vanished in the black smoke. Glenna hurried into her bedroom, sliding a Moleskine sketchbook from the shelf behind her bed. It looked like the other sketchbooks beside it, but the blank pages fluttered when she opened it. A warm light spread from her fingertips and the book grew heavier, changing shape in her hands. The leather binding creaked, the pages crinkling and yellowing with age as she sank to the bed.

Ancient words, scrawled in Gaelic, leaked onto the parchment. She traced a black and white sketch of a leafy bush at the top of the page marked by a red ribbon. In three days the blackthorn would bloom—the first sign of spring in Ireland. Pagans called it Imbolc. Christians celebrated it as St. Brigid’s Day. Both would light fires all over the countryside and give thanks for renewed warmth and fertility.

But Moira was planning a different celebration—a celebration that would change the fate of all their lives forever.

Glenna slid the faded map of Connemara from the back of the book, unfolding it and spreading it out on the mattress. She’d been searching the mountains for years—quietly, carefully, so as not to draw any attention to herself. Large red circles marked the spots where blackthorn grew. She crossed out another one, scanning the few that were left. If she could find the spot—the one spot where everything had started—she might have a chance of saving them.

She set the map down when she heard the knock on her front door. She knew Sam would come. Once he’d found his first clue, more would follow. That was how it worked with Sam. She’d used all her powers the last two months to keep those clues out of his reach. But he was breaking through. Every step closer put him, and all of them, in more danger.

She rose, folding the map and sliding the book back onto the shelf. She stalked to the door and opened it, taking in the tall, broad-shouldered man on the other side. He’d changed into clean clothes—a faded blue T-shirt and jeans. His sun-streaked hair was still wet from the shower and he’d shaved, revealing the jagged scar that etched through his strong jaw.

His perceptive eyes swept past her, assessing the cottage. “Do I smell smoke?”

“It’s the candles.”

He took in the ashes scattered in front of the hearth, the fresh streaks of soot climbing up the paint. “It doesn’t smell like candle smoke.”

Glenna kept her hand lightly on the doorknob, standing between him and the cottage. “What are you doing here, Sam?”

Sam pulled his gaze from the charred underside of the mantle, fishing a small glass vial out of his pocket. “Tara thinks I need protection.”

Glenna recognized the vial—one of Tara’s tinctures. Good, she thought. She didn’t want to hurt Sam. She just wanted him off this case. She was glad Tara was protecting him.

He held it out to her. “I want you to keep it.”

Glenna’s gaze flickered up to his. “Tara already gave me one.”

“For protection?”

Glenna looked back down at the tincture. “Not exactly.”

“What is yours for?”

“I’d rather not say,” Glenna admitted. Hers had been to attract love into her life. She had hurled it over the edge of the cliff on her way home Christmas night.

Sam hooked a finger in her belt loop and tugged her toward him. He held her surprised gaze, slipping the tincture into her pocket. “Somehow I don’t think Tara’s magic measures up to yours.”

The air between them shimmered with heat. Glenna fought the urge to push up onto her toes and press her lips to that firm, perfectly-shaped mouth. “Tara’s a healer. Her magic is just as powerful as mine, but in a different way.”

He kept her close, inches away from him. It was hard to breathe, to think straight when he was this close, when she could see the little flecks of gold in his eyes. “Why do you think Tara thinks I need protection?”

“I imagine it’s a precaution.”

“Because of the fallout from the white selkie curse?”

Glenna stepped back, breaking the contact. As soon as he had her off-balance, he brushed past her, striding into her cottage.

Every candle was lit and the flames cast eerie shadows over the creamy yellow walls. The room was dark; the curtains drawn. The hiss of melted wax dripping to the plates had him pausing, gazing around at her things. “What’s going on, Glenna? I thought we beat this thing.”

She closed the door and turned to face him. After all the time he’d spent here last fall, he probably knew his way around her cottage as well as she did. And yet, he stood awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure if he was welcome.

“Does life ever go back to normal here?” Sam asked.

It wouldn’t, Glenna thought. Not if Moira won this battle. None of their lives would ever go back to normal. She crossed the room to the kitchen. She needed something to do with her hands. She pulled out two tumblers and a bottle of Jameson’s.

“How long has Nuala been hanging around the island?”

Glenna fumbled the bottle, catching it before it fell. “What?”

Sam eyed her steadily from across the room. “Nuala,” he repeated. “I saw her today on the ferry ride in. Her pelt is black now instead of white, but her eyes are the same color. It was definitely Nuala.”

Glenna set the glasses down on the counter. “Where was she?”

“In the harbor.” He walked over to the fireplace, gazing down at the pile of pale ash. “I didn’t expect to see her so close to the island after everything that happened.” He knelt, touching the cement hearth. It was still hot to the touch. “Do you think Liam and Caitlin know she’s still hanging around?”

“No.” Glenna shook her head. “Caitlin would have said something to me.”

Sam drew his index finger through the soot mark on the wall. “Do you think Nuala still has contact with Owen?”

Owen.
Glenna felt a wave of panic. The last thing she wanted was for Owen to get caught in the middle of this. But Nuala couldn’t possibly want to rekindle a relationship with the child she stole from Caitlin and Liam so many years ago.

Nuala might have raised Owen for the first ten years of his life, but she hadn’t shown the slightest bit of warmth toward him when they were both on the island last fall. She could only want one thing—revenge on Moira.

“Speaking of mothers…” Sam held up his black fingertips. “When was the last time you saw yours?”

“It’s been a while,” Glenna lied, pouring them each a glass of whiskey and handing him one.

Sam rose, taking it. “I imagine she’s not very happy with how things turned out.”

“No.” Glenna gazed down at the warm brown liquid. “I imagine she’s not.”

“But she did get Nuala’s powers,” Sam said, watching her closely. “What is she planning to do with them?”

“My mother has only ever wanted one thing, Sam.” Glenna lifted her gaze to his. “To rule the seas.”

“The selkies don’t have a ruler,” Sam murmured.

“I know,” Glenna said quietly.

Sam set down the glass. “I don’t like that she’s still out there. I don’t like the thought of you living here alone when I know what she’s capable of.”

Glenna sipped the whiskey, the liquor warming her throat, soothing her nerves. “I can take care of myself, Sam.”

“Can you?” Sam lifted a brow. “I seem to remember a different story.”

“I’m fine now,” Glenna said, setting her glass down sharply. She wanted him gone. “You can see that.”

“Glenna,” Sam cut in, frustrated. “You almost
died
the last time you stood up to her. I don’t know what your mother wants with you. But I have a feeling she’s not done trying to manipulate you and ruin all of our lives.”

Glenna brushed past him, grinding her heel into the rug to scrub away any leftover remnants of ash. “How about you focus on finding Brigid, and I’ll focus on dealing with my mother?” When she turned and saw a shadow cross his face, she angled her head. “Oh, right. You’re not having much luck with that, are you?”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Why do I get the feeling that makes you happy?”

“I’m on Dominic’s side. I’m still not convinced Brigid should be found.” She went to the table and started tidying up her stack of magazines. “It’s been twenty years since she left them. She could have looked them up. It’s not like they’re hard to find. Liam is a well-known professor at the University of Ireland. Dominic hasn’t left this island since he and Liam escaped here when they were boys. He owns a pub called,
O’Sullivan’s—
the same last name as the man she ran from. It wouldn’t take a genius to track them down.”

“You don’t think it’s odd that Liam found her name connected to a legend he was researching?”

“I think Liam’s reading too much into it, and he should spend more time worrying about how his new son is adjusting to life on land than tracking down a mother who left him twenty years ago with a father who beat him.”

“What if it was you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Put yourself in Brigid’s shoes. What if you were the one who was trapped in an abusive marriage? What if you found a way out, to save yourself, but you couldn’t take the kids with you? Would you have the courage to reach out years later, to contact them after what you did? After the horrors you put them through?”

“I would never—”

“That’s not the point. The point is that you
wouldn’t
have the courage to reach out. You would think your children still blamed you for what you did. You would expect Dominic’s reaction, which is sensible. But Dominic is only
one
of Brigid’s sons. Liam
wants
to find her. Liam is ready to forgive her. To find out the truth.”

“Liam is still hung up on that damn legend.” Glenna threw the magazines back onto the table and turned to face him. “You told me the first day you came to this island, when you were looking for Tara, that you always find people who don’t want to be found. Why do you think this case is going to be different?”

“This
is
different,” Sam said tightly. “It’s personal.”

“Because you still feel guilty for tracking Tara here? For almost getting her killed?”

Sam picked up his drink, downing it in one sip. “Tara
asked
me to do this. This case isn’t about money. It’s about helping out a friend. I’m not going to screw it up.”

“In my experience, friendship isn’t usually based on one person’s guilt to make up for something one has done to the other.” Glenna saw the flash of anger that passed over Sam’s eyes. She’d hit a nerve. Because that was exactly what Sam was doing. For all the kindness Tara had shown him, Sam wanted more than anything to absolve the guilt he still felt about leading her deranged husband to this island. “Have you ever considered that it might be easier to start over in a different place, Sam? One where you didn’t have to prove yourself to everybody?”

“I never said I was starting over,” Sam snapped. “I don’t think in terms of putting down roots.”

Glenna arched a brow, surprised. “If you’re not planning to stay, then why are you still here? Is it really all because of Tara…?” She trailed off when she saw the shift in his eyes, when she saw the heat swim into them.