The Selkie Sorceress (Seal Island Trilogy, Book 3) (26 page)

Liam’s feet met the pavement before Dominic rolled to a stop. He raced through the gathering of villagers, scanning the harbor. “Owen!” he screamed his name, but his voice was lost in the inferno raging at the end of the pier.

Jack Dooley turned on the harbor hose, spraying it at the ferry, but the fire was already spreading to the other boats. Tara and Dom ran from the truck, yelling at the villagers to get back. The blaze grew, swallowing the pier.

“Liam!” Dominic shouted, wrestling the hose from Jack’s hands and throwing it down. “Get away from the pier!”

Liam spotted a child’s shoe in the water and he scrambled over the rocks, fishing it out. He remembered Owen came home yesterday without shoes. He said he left them in the harbor. What if he came back for them tonight? What if he was afraid he and Caitlin were angry with him after what happened with Nuala?

Tara grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the water as a blast tore through the night, knocking them both to the ground. Splinters of wood and shards of glass rained down around them.

“Liam, look!” Tara shouted over the aftershocks of the explosion as a beat-up truck rumbled up the road from Brennan’s farm. The passenger door opened and Owen jumped from the cab.

“Dad!” Owen cried, running toward Liam.

Liam caught his son when he ran into his arms.

“He’s okay,” Tara breathed.

Finn staggered down the hill, staring at the destruction, at his livelihood scattered into a thousand flaming pieces in the water. “My boat.” He reached out, leaning on Jack Dooley for support. “It’s gone.”

Dominic strode to Tara, helping her up. “And we’re trapped on the island.”

CAITLIN’S RELIEF AT
finding her son faded as she stood in the doorway of her home, staring at the overturned tables, the contents of her kitchen drawers emptied onto the floor. Books were piled on the floor, entire shelves cleared. The sofa was pushed away from the wall, the floorboards beneath it yanked up.

She walked through her cottage, numb, taking in the damage. Both bedrooms were ransacked, the closets emptied and their clothes and shoes strewn all over the floor. Owen’s mattress was shredded and feathers spilled out of the gaps in the seams.

“Moira did this,” Liam said grimly.

“But why?” Dominic asked, walking into the cottage. “What was she looking for?”

Caitlin picked her way over her littered bedroom floor to her vanity, checking her small collection of jewelry. She didn’t have much, but the gold wedding ring that belonged to her great-grandmother and the pair of sapphire earrings Liam gave her for Christmas were still there. “Whoever it was, she didn’t come for jewelry.”

“It had to be Moira,” Tara said, walking into the kitchen and picking up the shattered glass. “Who else would set the ferry on fire?”

Caitlin walked back out to the living room, taking in the chaos. They’d managed to contain the fire in the harbor after the explosion. The charred remnants of the ferry had sunk into the water and half of their pier was gone, but they’d saved three boats. Many of their neighbors had already made arrangements to leave at dawn.

“Owen,” Caitlin said softly as she picked her way across the living room to her son. “You said you didn’t know where Nuala went earlier, when we were on the beach. Were you telling the truth?”

Owen nodded, but he wouldn’t look at her. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

Caitlin looked up at Tara, her expression grim. “We need to talk to Glenna.”

“I know,” Tara said, pulling out her cell phone and checking for missed calls. “I’ve been trying to call her and Sam for hours. Neither of them is answering.”

Dominic lifted the kitchen table and slid the rug back underneath it. “Tara had a dream tonight. She thinks she knows where our mother is.”

Liam paused in the act of rummaging around in the hall closet, searching for something. “Where?”

“In a nunnery in Kildare,” Tara explained. “It’s a hunch, but I think I saw her there last fall when we took that side trip to pick up the crosses.”

“Kildare,” Caitlin murmured, standing and snagging the cross down from where it hung above her door. “It makes sense,” she said softly. “It connects the blackthorn, Imbolc, and St. Brigid’s Day.”

Tara nodded. “I’ve left messages on both Sam and Glenna’s phones, asking them to go to the nunnery as soon as they wake up.”

Caitlin looked up. “Today is the first of February.”

“Whatever Moira is planning, it’s going to happen today,” Dominic said as Liam dropped to his knees in the doorway of the closet, tossing clothes out of the way.

“Liam,” Tara asked. “What are you looking for?”

All the blood drained from Liam’s face as he pulled their metal safe into his arms—the one they kept hidden behind the closet wall. “It’s gone.”

“What’s gone?” Dominic asked. “What’s wrong?”

Caitlin gasped when she saw the broken hinges.

Dominic strode to his brother, taking the safe from his arms. “What was inside it?”

Liam lifted his stricken eyes to his son’s face. “Owen’s pelt.”

ALL THE CANDLES
had burned down to pools of wax. Glenna watched the last flame flicker and fade as she lay in Sam’s arms. She could hear his heart beating, could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek. Every nerve in her body still tingled from the memory of his touch. But it was getting close to dawn.

Her heart ached as she withdrew from his arms and studied his face for the last time. He looked so calm and peaceful. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. She touched the lines fanning out from his eyes tenderly, brushing a thumb over the rugged skin of his cheek where a rough layer of golden stubble was beginning to grow.

“Rest,” she breathed. “Let your dreams carry you far away from here.” She drew two stones from beneath her pillow—amber and jet—and laid them gently in Sam’s palm. When he stirred, she swept a hand lightly over his eyes.

Sleep, take thee away

May darkness hold sway

Past first morning light

Shadowed from sight

May no harm be done

No harm come to none

By the will of the sea

So mote it be

A profound sadness consumed her as she eased back, watching his breath deepen and slow. She’d put it off as long as she could. Brigid wasn’t safe in Ireland anymore. Two black carry-on suitcases were waiting in the trunk of her car. She’d bought the plane tickets the night before, when Sam was out walking around the city. She’d had a fake passport made for Brigid years ago, in case it ever came to this.

She’d hoped Brigid would be ready by now. But how could Brigid lead the selkies? How could she fight for them, if she didn’t know what was at stake? She closed Sam’s fingers around the stones. She’d made arrangements with a church in the States. They’d agreed to house Brigid temporarily, until Glenna could find a permanent home for her.

She’d put it off for years, afraid of taking Brigid out of the protected space, even for the short trip to the airport. Any travel outside Kildare would draw Moira’s eye to her sister. She’d been doing everything in her power to help Brigid remember who she was, but she had to face the truth now—Brigid might never remember.

She looked back at Sam, tracing the curved outline of his mouth. “If things had been different,” she whispered. “I think I could have loved you.” She kissed him, letting the memory of him imprint on her lips. She eased back, laying a heavy hand on his chest. “I could have given you my heart.”

G
lenna’s headlights flashed over the small chapel. A single light burned in one of the windows of the communal home; at least one of the nuns was awake. She slowed to a stop at the end of the long driveway, cutting the engine and stepping out of the car. She felt the flow of energy as soon as her boots met the ground.

There were few places in Ireland as protected as these hills on the outskirts of Kildare. They were sacred to both religions—those who honored the goddess Brigid and those who worshiped St. Brigid. It was this powerful convergence of light and love that blocked Moira from seeing her sister.

The reflection of the moon danced over the surface of the river winding through the woods at the bottom of the hill. Snowdrops and crocuses were blooming and the irises were sending up shoots in the hearty garden beds bordering the stone house. She strode to the door and knocked lightly, relieved when Sister Evelyn walked out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel.

“Glenna,” she exclaimed, her brown eyes widening as she opened the door. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

“I came to see Brigid.”

“I don’t think she’s awake yet,” Sister Evelyn said, ushering her inside. “Excuse the mess.” She waved at the stacks of chairs and folding tables, the plastic tablecloths and dishware the parishioners had dropped off for the celebration following the special St. Brigid’s Day mass. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No.” Glenna shook her head as she stepped into the room. “I’m sorry. I can’t stay. I need to see her now.”

“Oh.” A shadow of worry passed over Sister Evelyn’s eyes as she closed the door behind Glenna. “Let me get her up, then.”

“Wait,” Glenna began when Sister Evelyn started to turn.

“What is it, Glenna?” Sister Evelyn’s dark brows furrowed in concern. “Is everything alright?”

Glenna swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. “I wanted to say thank you.” The silence of the dark house pressed down on her. “For everything you’ve done for her.”

“Of course.” Sister Evelyn looked at her strangely. “Anyone in my position would have done the same thing.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

Sister Evelyn smiled and nudged her toward the kitchen. Cast iron pots and kettles hung from simple hooks in the walls. The counters, thick slabs of rough cut wood that doubled as chopping blocks, were covered with loaves of fresh-baked bread and desserts for the feast.

Sister Evelyn pulled out a stool from under the counter. “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll go wake her.” She laid a hand on Glenna’s arm. “She’ll be so glad to see you.”

Would she? Glenna wondered as Sister Evelyn’s footsteps faded into the back. When she told her she was taking her away from her home, from the only friends she’d known for the past fifteen years?