The Selkie Spell (Seal Island Trilogy) (11 page)

Tara’s knees wanted to fold, to sink into the sand, but she stood her ground.  “When?”

The woman turned, starting back across the sand toward the cliffs.

“Wait!”  Tara scrambled for the beach.  “When?”

A strong wind knocked Tara back.  Sand blew into her eyes.  But when she opened them again, the woman was gone.  She sank to the beach, her heart beating like a battle drum in her chest.  And all she could see was the image of her husband’s face as cold fingers clamped like icicles around her throat.

Tara bided her time, preparing the dishes Caitlin taught her the next morning.  She managed to go through the motions, pretending nothing was wrong, but as soon as the first lull hit, she slipped away from the pub and followed the cliff path back down to the beach.

He was coming.
 
Her husband was coming to this island.  She had to know when.

Stones kicked out from under her sneakers, spilling over the edge as her fingers brushed the gritty walls beside her.  What if the woman refused to appear to her again?  Would she come if Tara waited here long enough?  Or did it not work that way?

Panic settled like a rock in her chest.  She was almost to the sand when she spotted the child hiding in one of the small caves the tide had cut into the wall of limestone, her blond hair falling over her tear-stained face.

“Kelsey?”  Tara scanned the beach quickly, but there was nothing but a stretch of silver sand and gently rolling sea.  Shifting direction, she picked her way over the rocks.  “What’s wrong?”

Kelsey looked up and rubbed her eyes.  “Go away.”

Tara knelt down so they were eye to eye.  “What’s the matter?”

She sniffled, wiping her nose.

“Does your dad know where you are?”

She shook her head.

“Do you want me to find him?”

“No.”

“Then will you at least tell me what’s wrong?”

Kelsey turned her face away.

“Kelsey,” Tara said gently.  “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

Kelsey scooped up a handful of sand, letting it run through her fingers.  “I’m too small.”

“What do you mean?”

She picked up another handful of sand, squeezing it in her palm.  “Every year they promise I can go, but then they tell me I’m too small.”

“Go where?”

“The Skelligs.”

“What are they?”

Kelsey pointed jerkily out to the horizon, at the scattering of islands a few miles away.

“The islands?”

Kelsey nodded.

“Why are they going there?”

“To check out the tides for the festival.”

“What festival?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Tara reached for her.  “Come on.”

When Kelsey let Tara help her up, she sniffled again.  “They let Ronan go.”

“Then we’ll just have to find something better for you to do.”

Kelsey pouted.  “Like what.”

“Actually, I could use your help with something.”

“What?” Kelsey asked, still pouting.

Tara slid the bandana off her head and scrubbed her fingers through her hair.  “I need a haircut.”

“You want
me
to cut your hair?”

“Sure.”

“But what if I mess it up?”

“You won’t.”

“But what if I
do
?”

“Then I’ll wear a hat.”

Kelsey stared at her.  “You
really
want me to cut your hair?”

Tara nodded.  “Yes.”

Kelsey’s face broke into a grin.  “This is going to be so much fun!”

Tara laughed as Kelsey took her hand and led her back up the hill to the cottage.  They pulled a chair into the back yard and draped a towel over Tara’s shoulders.

“I’ve never cut anybody’s hair before.”

“Never?”

Kelsey shook her head.

“Not even one of your dolls?”

Kelsey made a face.  “I don’t play with dolls.  Dolls are for babies.”

“I used to love playing with dolls,” Tara remembered, wistfully.  “When I was a little girl, my dad would take me down to the river near our house and I’d make my dolls swim and pretend they were mermaids.”

“But mermaids live in the ocean.”

“What do you mean?”

“They don’t live in rivers.  They live in the ocean.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know.”

Tara smiled when Kelsey started to snip.  Her hair really couldn’t look any worse than it already did.  And if it did turn out to be a disaster, well, then she’d shave her head and buy a wig.  It might even make things easier the next time she had to change her appearance.  “Kelsey, you said something earlier about a festival.  When is it?”

“In June.  On the solstice.”

“What kinds of things happen during the festival?”

“On Midsummer’s Eve there’s a big treasure hunt and people come from all over Ireland to try and find the selkie’s pelt.”

“The selkie’s pelt?”

Kelsey nodded.  “No one ever finds the
real
pelt.  We hide a fake one for the tourists and only one person on the island ever knows where it’s hidden so the rest of us can look, too.”

“Who hides it?”

“My dad.  He has the fake one.  I try to get him to tell me where he hides it every year but he never tells me.  He’s so annoying.”  She scrutinized Tara’s layers, snipping at another lock near her face.  “But I’m going to find it this year.  You can be on my team.”

Tara’s hand came around to Kelsey’s, pulling the child around to the front of the chair.  “What did you mean when you said the
real
one?”

 “The real pelt that belongs to the selkie,” Kelsey explained.  “No one ever finds that one, because not just anyone
can
find it.  It’s got to be the selkie’s descendent.”

Tara searched the child’s face.  “You believe that story?”

“Of course.”

Tara thought of the woman on the beach last night, her stomach twisting in knots.  “But… it’s just a story.  It’s not real.”

“Yes, it is,” Kelsey insisted.  “And one day she’ll come to the island, find the real pelt, and set her free.”

When Tara saw Kelsey watching her expectantly, a strange shiver raced down her spine.  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because,” Kelsey said, smiling, “I think
you’re
the descendent.”

“Kelsey.”

“I think
you’re
the one she’s been waiting for.”

Tara shook her head.  “I’m not—”

“But there’s a Lammas Tide coming this summer,” Kelsey said, cutting her off.  “That’s the only time the selkie can go back to the water.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“That’s why everybody went out on the boat today.  To track it.  They think it’s going to come during the festival.”

Tara gazed into Kelsey’s excited blue eyes.  “How many people did you say come to this festival?”

“Hundreds.”

Tara’s hand slid away from Kelsey’s arm.  “Hundreds?”

Kelsey nodded.  “Hey, Tara?”

Hundreds was too many.  Hundreds meant faces that could be lost in a crowd.
  “Yes?”

“After this, will you teach me how to tie a bandana around my hair like you do?”

“Sure.”  Tara nodded. 
As soon as she packed her bag.  And found out how soon the next ferry left for the mainland.

***

Tara was stuffing clothes into her pack when she heard the knock on the door.  She opened it and found Dominic on the other side of the canopy of roses.

“Kelsey said I might find you here.”

Stepping back to let him into the house, she threw a glance at the bedroom, where her pack was lying open on the bed.  “Where is she?”

“She’s up at Glenna’s.  Doing a painting.”

Tara watched him walk into the room, taking in the bunches of roses clustered on every table, counter and windowsill.  “Is she feeling better?”

“Yes.”

“Did you come here to tell me to stay away from her again?”

“No.”  He turned to face her.  “She told me what you did.”

Tara gazed up into eyes the color of November skies.  “You’re not mad?”

“Only that she didn’t think she could come to me.”  He picked a rose out of one of the vases, twisted the thorny stem around in his fingers, trying to fight the intoxicating scent weaving its way around him.  “I need an explanation, Tara.  About the roses.”

“I don’t have one,” she admitted.

“I didn’t plant them.”

“I know.”

“And neither did Caitlin.”

“I know.  She told me.”

“Then where did they come from?”

“I don’t know,” Tara answered helplessly.

“But you’re not afraid of using them.  On putting them in the dishes at the pub.  Before you know their effect on people.”

“I tested them first.  I made sure they were safe.  You heard Brennan say they made him feel better.”

“They’re giving him nightmares now.”

“Nightmares?”  Tara’s brows snapped together in concern.  “What kind of nightmares?”

“I can’t remember the details, but he’s blaming the roses.”

Tara walked over to the window, where the coiled vines scraped against the glass.  She thought of Glenna’s reaction.  Of Kelsey’s.  And now Brennan’s.  “I don’t understand.”

“People are starting to ask questions.  About you.  About these roses.  About what kind of spell you’re weaving up here in this cottage.”

Tara turned, lifting an eyebrow.  “I’m not a witch, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I’m not implying anything.  I’m just asking you to answer the question.  Where did these roses come from?”

Tara looked down at his hand, where he was still twirling the rose around by its stem.  “They don’t seem to bother you.”

“They have a… different effect on me.”

“What do you mean?  What do they do to you?”

When he continued to twist the flower around in his hand, his gaze never straying from her face, Tara took a step back.  “I’m not sure I want to know the answer to that question.”

“I’m not sure I want you to, either.  Unless you want to talk about what happened in my kitchen the other night.”

No, Tara thought, turning back to the stove.  She did not want to talk about that.  “Why wouldn’t you have let Kelsey go to the Skelligs?”

Dominic stopped twirling the rose, set it down on the table.  Fair enough, he thought, noting the change of subject.  It was best if whatever it was that had left his fingers still hot to the touch was forgotten.  “The O’Kelly’s let their kids go swimming in a place where the current is fast and erratic.  Kelsey’s not a strong enough swimmer.”

“But she grew up on an island?”  Tara glanced over her shoulder.  “How can she not be a strong enough swimmer?”

“She’s been hesitant to learn.”

“Why?”

“She thinks there are… things in the water.  Things she should be afraid of.”

“What kind of things?”

“Scary things.”  His voice went flat.  “Things her mother talked of before putting her to bed at night.”

Tara turned, watching him cross the room to the window, taking in the view.  “What kind of mother would tell their children scary stories before bed at night?”

Dominic shoved his hands in his pockets.  “Kelsey’s mother.”

Tara thought of the child who’d cut her hair this afternoon.  Of that sweet innocent face she’d found crying alone on the beach.  “Did you know she was doing that?”

“No.”  Dominic shook his head.   “Not until after she left and Kelsey refused to go in the ocean.”

“When did she leave?”

“Over a year ago.”

“Then it’s still fresh,” Tara murmured.  “No wonder you’re so protective of her.”

He lifted his eyes, met hers across the room.

“Does she… talk about her?”

“Almost never.”

“Not with anyone?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Maybe she should.”

“Why?”

“Wouldn’t it be healthier for her to—”

“Talk about her past?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting suggestion, coming from you.”

Tara closed her eyes.  She’d walked right into that.  “It’s not the same.”

“Why not?”

“I’m an adult and Kelsey’s a child.  Besides, my situation is nothing like Kelsey’s.”

“How do you know?  You don’t even know Kelsey’s situation.”

“I think I’m starting to get a grasp on it.”