The Selkie Sorceress (Seal Island Trilogy, Book 3) (6 page)

A BLACK ROOT
pushed through the dusty soil. The earth cracked, crumbling as it grew. Tight orange buds stretched toward the moon, and sharp thorns latched onto the white walls of the cottage. They climbed up to the windowsill, scratching at the glass, ravenous.

Glenna heard the scraping, the thorns cutting grooves into the glass. She stirred as the pane shattered under the pressure, pieces of glass falling into the bedroom. The vines snaked into the dark room, coiling around her wrists.

She inhaled smoke, choking, struggling against the binds. But the vines trapped her, holding her down. The curtains burst into flames. Smoke poured in from under her closet door. Every candle in the room sparked aflame, melting to bubbling pools of hot wax.

She cried out as the heat from the flames scorched her bare skin. The thorns bit into her wrists and the smoke burned her eyes, blurring her vision. A hot wind blew in from the ocean, teasing the flames higher and slowly, one by one, the petals unfurled.

Brilliant coral roses blazed like beacons through the smoke. She kicked at her knotted sheets as the vines fell away from her wrists. The roses shrank back, retreating through the crack in the glass. She grabbed for the vine, clinging to it with both hands.

But when her fingers met the velvety petals, they turned black under her touch. They crinkled, fading to ash. She sank to the floor as the flames died and the smoke evaporated—her pounding heart the only sound over the whisper of black petals falling around her.

GLENNA WOKE, GASPING
for air. She fumbled for her bedside lamp, almost knocking it over as she switched it on. Light flooded her bedroom and she searched the room frantically for signs of a fire. But there were no burn marks on her furniture. Her candles held their original shape. And her curtains were still intact. Her gaze fell to the windowpane. The glass wasn’t broken.

Everything looked the same as when she’d turned out the light and gone to sleep.

But the roses. She threw off the covers and swung her feet to the floor. They were here.

She wrenched open the window and leaned out into the night, breathing in the familiar odor of salt and sea. She scanned the dark soil beneath her window. There were no black roots or curved thorns clinging to the whitewash.

She pushed back from the window, grabbing her robe. They had to be here somewhere. She stumbled through the darkness, feeling her way through the living room to the door and slipping out into the night.

Moss crackled under her bare feet as she circled the cottage. A hardy edging of rosemary skirted the foundation. Crocuses—confused by the unseasonably warm weather—were sprouting in a few of the beds. But there was no sign of the roses.

Which could only mean… Glenna’s blood went cold.
Sam.

That dream only ever meant one thing—her lover was in danger. But Sam wasn’t her lover. It was all a mistake!

She ran back into the cottage, grabbing her boline—a ritual knife used for harvesting herbs—from the drawer beneath her altar. Moonlight glinted off the curved blade and she stood, stuffing her feet into the first pair of shoes she could find.

She’d been so careful to keep Sam at arm’s length. Because every time a man fell for her, the same thing happened. She raced into the night, her heeled boots carrying her over the fields as the laces streamed out behind her.

The dream had found her here after all this time. She thought she had finally escaped it. She thought she was safe here.

She had been until Sam arrived.

She searched the village as she ran. Her gaze combed every cottage for a sign of them, for that tell-tale glow. But she knew deep down where they would be—growing outside the caretaker’s cottage on Brennan Lockley’s farm.

She crossed the island to the sloping hills of Brennan’s land, passing sheep fields and horse pastures. Jagged stone walls lined the footpaths and dark shadows streaked over the moss. She spotted Sam’s cottage and her hands gripped the white handle of her boline when she saw the coral flowers blooming against the whitewash.

SAM WOKE TO
the scent of roses. He heard a faint scraping and rustling outside his window, and he sat up, dragging a shirt over his head. Snagging a pair of jeans off the floor, he stepped into them and crept through the house, slipping silently into the night, ready to confront whoever—or
whatever
—was out there.

Barefoot, he rounded the front of the cottage and blinked. Glenna knelt in front of a knotted vine, hacking at the dark roots with a sharp, hook-shaped blade. A sheen of sweat clung to her forehead and her long brown hair curled riotously around her shoulders. Her thin satin robe had slipped off one shoulder, revealing only a sheer cream slip underneath. Her legs were bare save the ankle high russet boots and long laces she hadn’t bothered to tie.

“Glenna?”

She wouldn’t look at him. Her heavy hair fell into her eyes and she kept stabbing at the base of the roots. Sam felt a cold knot form in his stomach when he noticed the magnificent blooms unfurling along the thorny vine—roses the color of an autumn sky on fire.

“Glenna,” he said again, walking toward her. “Glenna, look at me.”

She jammed the knife into the roots and Sam leaned down, putting his hand on her elbow. She jerked back and he cursed, side-stepping and narrowly missing the swing of the blade. He saw that her hands were bleeding and grabbed her by the shoulders, hauling her to her feet.

“Let go of me!” Glenna shouted, lurching out of his grip and reaching for her knife.

But his arms came around her and he held her tightly against him until she stopped struggling. “I need,” she said, breathless, still staring at the flowers, “those roses.”

He twisted her around to face him, keeping his grip firm on her upper arms. “What are you going to do with them?”

“Destroy them.”

A chill crept down Sam’s spine. He knew how dangerous it was when roses grew out of season on this island. “Why?”

She lifted her haunted eyes to his. “You need to leave the island, Sam. You’re not safe here.”

Sam shook his head. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. Come on.” He steered her toward the front of the house. She tried to twist out of his grasp, but he guided her through the door and into the small kitchen.

She flinched when he turned on the faucet and directed her hands under the spray. He washed her wounds with soap and she bit her lip to keep from whimpering. He knew it stung. He saw the scrapes as the blood washed down the sink, the long abrasions where the thorns had cut her.

He gave Glenna a clean towel to dry her hands and reached under the sink for a First Aid kit, unwinding a wad of gauze. “Are you going to tell me what this is about?”

“We were fine before you came here, Sam. You brought trouble to this island.”

Sam shook his head. “That’s not good enough.” He took her hand and wrapped the gauze gently around it. “Besides, Liam
asked
to find his mother. Brennan
asked
me to help out on the farm.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and cut the strip of gauze with his teeth. “You need me, even though you won’t admit it yet.”

Glenna stepped back, out of his reach. “No one needs you, Sam.”

Sam set the gauze down. She might as well have jabbed the blade into his gut. Because the truth was, no one had
ever
needed Sam. He had only ever succeeded in bringing pain and heartache to everyone he loved by digging up awful truths and finding things that were better left buried.

But where he might have accepted that as truth before, he didn’t anymore. Not after the friendships he’d made on this island. Not after everything that had happened since he’d arrived. He was finally starting to have faith again, to believe he could have a different life.

Part of the reason he’d agreed to take on this last case was to prove to everyone, especially Glenna, that he’d changed. “I’m not leaving, Glenna. I’m going to find Dominic and Liam’s mother. And then I’m going to come back and help Brennan with the farm. Whether you like it or not, as long as we’re both living on this island, I’m a part of your life.”

Glenna looked down at her wrapped hand. “You need to stop this investigation. You need to stop it now.”

“I can’t.” Sam said. “I won’t. Not unless you tell me that this case is somehow putting
you
in danger.”

Glenna’s gaze shifted back to the window, where a ghostly glow illuminated those midnight-blooming roses. “I’m not the one you should be worried about.”

T
he bell on the door of the market jingled as Caitlin stepped into the street. The morning sun hung like a tarnished bronze ball in the hazy sky, and the warm winds blowing through the village smelled of sea salt and roasting ham. She headed for the pub, pausing when she spotted Glenna round the corner.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” Caitlin asked.

Glenna glanced up, hesitating for only a second. “The ferry.” She dug in her purse, her silver bracelets jangling as she pulled out her watch. “I’m headed to Galway to do some shopping.”

“The ferry’s gone,” Caitlin said. “Finn and Sam left about a half hour ago.”

Glenna stopped short. “What?”

Caitlin shifted the paper bag she was carrying to her other arm. “Sam finally got through to a librarian he’s been trying to reach—the one who knew Brigid. She arrived home late last night from holiday and called him to set up a time to talk. He wanted to leave early so he could make it to Dublin on time.”

Glenna looked out at the water, fear swimming into her eyes as she spotted the ferry, barely a dot in the distance.

Caitlin frowned. “I’m sure Finn would have waited if he’d known you wanted a ride.”

Glenna pushed at her heavy hair. “Since when does Finn leave early for anyone? He always leaves at ten.
Exactly
at ten.”

You might still be able to catch a ride with Donal.” Caitlin glanced over her shoulder at the harbor to see if the fisherman’s boat was still there. “I’m not sure if he’s left yet.”

“He’s gone,” Glenna murmured, her gaze already locked on the empty boat slip.

A gull cawed, circling the harbor. Caitlin watched it land on a piling, noticing how low the water mark was on the wood. A wave of uneasiness washed through her when she looked back at Glenna, noting the dark circles under her friend’s eyes. Her thick brown waves were knotted around her silver necklace and a single garnet teardrop dangled from her left ear. She’d forgotten to put in her other earring.