The Selkie Spell (Seal Island Trilogy) (10 page)

“N-nothing,” she whispered.  “Please.  It was nothing.”

“Did you tell him you wanted to fuck him?”

Sydney shook her head, tears spilling from her eyes as she tried to back away from him.

“You wanted to, didn’t you, you slut.”

Something flashed in his hand and Sydney’s heart stopped when she saw the knife he’d pulled from the table.

“Did you fuck him, Sydney?  Did you fuck him, like you fuck me?”

“No!” she cried, clawing at his skin when he came toward her with the knife.

“Do you want to fuck me now, Sydney?”

“Tara!” Caitlin shook her arm.  “Tara!  Snap out of it!”

When Tara finally turned, lifting her blank eyes to Caitlin, all the color had drained from her face.  Her hands were like icicles.  Her fingers were turning blue and her breath came out in little foggy puffs.

“You need a doctor,” Caitlin said, reaching for the phone.  “I’ll call the captain.  Tell him to hold the ferry.”

Tara’s cold fingers grabbed Caitlin’s and she forced out a laugh.  “I don’t need a doctor.”

“But—” Caitlin protested.

Tara shook her head, pushing to her feet and crossing the room to the stove.

Caitlin watched her switch on the gas and slide the chopped potatoes into the pot of water.  But Glenna’s words pushed back into her mind. 
‘She brings trouble.’
  To whom, Caitlin wondered.  To herself?  To Dominic?  Or to all of them?

Philip Carter tapped the business card against his desk, letting it slide through his long fingers, tap, tap, tapping it over and over as the sound slowly drove him mad.  His blood boiled as he thought of the incompetent fools chasing after his wife.  They were starting to look at him like he was crazy.

Like
he
was crazy!

Philip’s fingers dug into the leather armrests.  They told him to give up, to move on, to accept the idea that she was never coming back.

He would never give up.

Not when his wife wasn’t dead.  Not when they’d never found her body.  He was a man of science.  Of medicine.  He refused to accept this as one of those sad, unexplainable tragedies.

His wife hadn’t died in that flood.

She had run from him.

The bitch had fooled him.  She was out there somewhere.  Hiding.  Laughing at him.  Probably fucking someone else right now.

The whore.

He’d given her everything.  A penthouse apartment, drawers full of jewels.  He’d connected her with all the right people, practically made her friends for her.

When she fumbled, when she made a mistake,
he
was the one who made sure she got back on track. 
He
was the one who made sure she recognized what she’d done wrong, and understood what would happen if she did it again.  He had helped her become the woman she
wanted
to become.

And then the little bitch had run from him.

She’d tried once before.  He thought he’d made it clear what would happen if she tried again.  He thought she’d learned her lesson.

He’d been wrong.

His fingers drummed against the leather.  A week after they released her from the hospital, she’d run from him again.

The bitch!

He seized the tumbler of brandy, the hot sticky liquor burning his throat as his fingers curled around the glass.  He’d find her.  And this time, he’d make her suffer for the pain, for the humiliation she put him through.  His gaze slid back to the business card.

Sam Holt, Private Investigator.

Sam Holt was the man you went to if you wanted someone found.  He never lost a case.  He never came back empty handed.  And he disappeared like smoke when he connected his client with their find.

He was exactly who Philip was looking for.

Picking up the phone, Philip started to dial.  He pictured his wife, imagined the expression on her face when he found her, and for the first time in weeks, he smiled.

***

Tara glanced up from a bowl of lumpy cake batter when the back door opened and Kelsey walked into the kitchen.

“Have you seen my dad?”

Tara shook her head.  “I haven’t seen him since this morning.”

“He was supposed to meet me after school.  I guess he forgot.”  She wandered into the kitchen, glancing up at the pint glasses full of the same red roses that were all over the pub now.  “Where’s Caitlin?”

“I think she’s at Glenna’s, but should be back soon.  Do you want me to call her for you?”

Kelsey shook her head.  “That’s okay.”  She pulled a rose out of one of the pint glasses, let it roll around in her fingers.  “I’ve never seen roses this big before.”

“Neither have I,” Tara admitted.

“Where did they come from?”

“My garden.”

“Did you plant them?”

Tara shook her head.

“Then how did they get there?”

“I’m not sure,” Tara admitted.

“Maybe my dad planted them.”

“Maybe.” 

Kelsey held the flower up to her face, wrinkled her nose.  “They smell funny.”

“Funny how?”

“Strange.  Not like normal roses.  They smell… bad.”

Tara set down her spoon.  “You think they smell bad?”

Kelsey nodded, putting the rose back in the water.

“Do other people think they smell bad?”

Kelsey nodded.

Tara stared at the roses as Kelsey wandered over to the stove, peering into the bowl.

“What are you making?”

“Gingerbread cake,” Tara answered absently, wondering why the roses smelled perfectly fine to her when others were having such a strong reaction them.

Kelsey picked up the spoon, poked at the mixture.  “It looks like you forgot something.”

“I probably did,” Tara admitted, finally turning away from the flowers.

“Did you remember the sugar?”

“Yes.”

“The salt?”

“I think so.”

“The lemon juice?”

Tara walked over to the cookbook.  “I don’t think the recipe calls for lemon juice.”

“It’ll be better if you add it.”  Kelsey went to the mini-fridge under the counter and pulled out a lemon.  Walking back to the bowl, she handed the lemon to Tara.

Tara took the lemon, staring at the fridge in the corner where Kelsey had just been.

“You didn’t know that was there, did you?”

Tara shook her head.

“I think you could use an assistant.”

Tara blew out a breath.  “I think I could use ten.”

Kelsey went to the sink and rolled up her sleeves.  “I’m going to be your assistant.”

***

Pushing open the door to the pub, Dominic headed for the stairs.  He’d gone down to the docks to help Donal pull in his catch from the day, but after an hour of hard labor he still couldn’t shake the terrible image of Tara washed up on the beach.  He was halfway up the stairs when he heard the laughter—his daughter’s laughter—drifting out of the kitchen.

Wasn’t Kelsey supposed to be at Ashling’s this afternoon?
  Changing direction, he crossed the empty barroom and pushed open the door to the kitchen.

“See,” Kelsey said to Tara, their backs to the door.  “This is what it’s supposed to look like.”

Tara poked at the gingerbread cake with a fork.  “How do you know?”

Kelsey took the fork from her hand, slid it into the center of the fluffy cake and pulled it back out.  “See how nothing comes out on the fork?  That’s how you know it’s done.”

“How come it doesn’t look like that when I make it?”

“Because you’re hopeless,” Kelsey said, poking Tara in the arm with the fork and giggling.

Dominic stepped into the room, clearing his throat.  “What’s going on in here?”

“Dad!”  Kelsey turned, skipping across the kitchen to her father.  “I taught Tara how to make grandma’s gingerbread cake!”

“I see that,” Dominic said, his expression tight.  “I thought Caitlin was supposed to be teaching Tara how to cook.”

“She ran over to Glenna’s for a while,” Tara explained, watching Dominic’s strong arm hook around his daughter’s shoulders protectively.

“How long has she been gone?”

“Not that long,” Tara said, losing patience.  “We were only baking a cake.”

“And we haven’t finished the icing yet,” Kelsey cut in.

“Caitlin can help Tara finish the icing,” Dominic said.

“But, Dad!”

“But, nothing.  What are you doing here, anyway?  I thought you were going to Ashling’s after school?”

“That was
yesterday
.”  Kelsey crossed her arms over her chest.  “Today you were supposed to meet me and Mrs. Gallagher to talk about my math test.”

“That was today?”

Kelsey nodded.

Dominic dragged a hand through his hair. 
He’d forgotten to meet with his daughter’s teacher?  What was the matter with him?
  “Why don’t you run back to the school and see if she’s still there.  I can meet you over there in ten minutes.”

“Why don’t you just walk over with me now?”

“I want to talk to Tara first.”

“Why?”

“Just do what I say, Kelsey.”

When Kelsey put her hands on her hips, Dominic sighed.  “If you leave us alone, I’ll buy you the bracelet you keep looking at in Sarah Dooley’s window.”

Kelsey’s eyes lit up.  “You will?”

“Yes.”

“Okay!”  She reached up and hugged her dad then scampered out the door.  “Bye, Tara!”

As soon as the door closed behind her, Tara turned to Dominic.  “Bribery?”

“I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“She was just helping me bake a cake.”

“I don’t want her helping you in the kitchen.” 
And he didn’t want her anywhere near Tara after what he saw outside her cottage this afternoon.

“Why not?”  Tara faced him, frustrated.  “She knows her way around the kitchen.  She must help your grandmother back here all the time.”

“She does.”

“Then what’s the big deal?”

“I told you.  I don’t want her around you.”

“You don’t mind when she spends time with Caitlin or Glenna.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I trust Caitlin.  I trust Glenna.”

“This is a small pub, Dominic.  She’s bound to run into me from time to time.”

Dominic shook his head.  “Not if I can help it.”

***

Long after the pub closed for the night, Tara made her way down the moonlit path to the beach.  She kicked off her sneakers, letting her toes curl into the sand and wading into the cold April waters.  She listened to the ocean surge, crashing against the rocks.  And in the inky blackness, she felt the pull like a finger crooking around her waist, drawing her deeper into the dark waters.

She walked into the ocean, the water lapping at her waist, her palms skimming over the surface.  In the hollow pulse of the surf she heard the intoxicating chant of the sea, the same music she’d heard in her dream. 
What would it be like to feel that power again?  To have that freedom of breathing underwater?

A wave crested into her, pushing her back, and she remembered the hands that dragged her to the surface, the terrible laughter, and what it felt like to choke and drown.

Drenched to her waist, she began backing out of the water, when a voice behind her had her turning, had her breath catching in her throat.  It was the same woman she’d seen on the cliff her first night on the island.

“Do you feel it?” the woman whispered, her voice as hollow and foreign as the waves.

“Feel what?” Tara asked, the waves beating at her legs.

“The sea,” the selkie answered, her dress shimmering like moonlight.  “Do you feel it calling to you?”

Tara’s heart skipped a beat and she took another step back.  “Who—who are you?”

The selkie’s eyes turned a deep forest green, and she turned them on Tara.  Wet and dark and full of secrets from another world she turned them on the woman who would be her only link back to the home that was stolen from her.

“He is coming.”

“Who—who is coming?”

The selkie’s eyes changed to a color so dark, so menacing and angry, the storm of a thousand seas swirled in them.  And in their shipwrecked blackness Tara saw the image of her husband.

Tara stumbled backwards, tripping over the waves.

“You must not let him win.”