The Selkie Spell (Seal Island Trilogy) (23 page)

Kelsey glanced up.  “How do you know?  What if one night you go to sleep and they grow so thick we can’t get to you?  What if we can’t wake you up?”

Tara smiled.  “That’s not going to happen.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it’s just a story.  A fairy tale.  You’re not supposed to take it seriously.”

“But… if the selkie legend is true, why can’t Sleeping Beauty be true?”

Tara opened her mouth, closed it.

“What if the prince never found her?” Kelsey pressed.  “What if he never woke her up?”

“But he
did
find her.”

“What if he didn’t?”

“Then everyone in the kingdom would still be asleep.”

“I don’t want you to fall asleep forever,” Kelsey whispered.

“Kelsey,” Tara said, gently squeezing her shoulder.  “I’m not going to fall asleep forever.  No one’s going to prick their finger on a spindle.  We don’t live in a storybook kingdom.  There are no fairy godmothers.  And no prince is going to come and rescue any of us.”

“I think you’re wrong.”  Kelsey touched a finger to the rose charm on her bracelet, watching the way it sparkled and flashed in the lamplight.  “I think they’re trying to tell us something.”

“What?”  Tara tipped Kelsey’s chin up so their eyes met.  “What are they trying to tell us?”

“I don’t know,” Kelsey said, shaking her head.  “But I wish they would go away.”

***

Sam snagged the last empty barstool in the corner of Fitzgerald’s, watching the bartender shove a rowdy customer out into the crowded streets of the bustling coastal town.

“And don’t come back!” he shouted, slamming the door and weaving his way back through the crowded pub to the bar.

“Got your hands full tonight,” Sam called out when the bartender made his way down to his end of the bar.

“Aye, what can I get you?”

“Whiskey.”

He grabbed the bottle of Jameson’s, poured it into a glass and set it in front of Sam.

“Is it always this busy here in the summer?” Sam asked.

“Busy?  Yes.  But not like this.”  The bartender started clearing empties off the counter and dunking them into the sink of soapy water beneath the bar.  “This is our biggest weekend all year.  Spillover from the festival,” he explained.  “You won’t see the streets of Sheridan this crowded until this time next year.”

“I just drove up from Galway,” Sam explained.  “I haven’t had much of a chance to look into it, but is this festival just a big Irish party or is there more to it than that?”

The bartender walked over to the taps, starting the slow process of building a Guinness.  “Most people go for the selkies.”

“What’s a selkie?”

“It’s another name for a seal.”  He passed a plate of salty chips glistening in oil over the bar to a tourist’s outstretched hand.  When the raised voices in the middle of the crowd reached a fever pitch, he scanned the faces of the troublemakers, relaxing when he saw it was the drunken slurs of a group of college kids and not another fight brewing.

Sam waited for him to make his way back down to his end of the bar.  “Can’t you see seals anywhere in Ireland?”

“Not these kinds of seals.”  The bartender glanced up at the football game blasting from a TV in a raised corner of the pub, wincing when the other team scored.  “These are special seals.  Magic seals.”

Sam raised an eyebrow and the bartender grinned.  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said, moving to the other side of the bar to pour a shot of Baileys into a tumbler.  “But you have to remember where you are.  This is Ireland, and most of us are far more willing to trust in superstition than facts.”

“Alright,” Sam said, tipping the glass back and letting the warm liquor burn a path down his throat.  “What’s so magical about these seals?”

The bartender’s eyes twinkled as he reached into the kitchen for two steaming bowls of stew and set them in front of the middle-aged couple beside Sam.  “Legend has it that the selkies on this island are actually beautiful women disguised as seals.  And that on Midsummer’s Eve they come to shore and shed their seal-skin to dance under the moonlight.”

“Women?” Sam asked, amused.  “Disguised as seals?”

“Aye.”

“Have you seen one?  One of these… selkies?”

“No.  And I hope I never do.  You’ve got to be careful with selkies.  They can cast a spell on you.”

Sam smiled, setting his glass down on the bar.  “What kind of spell?”

The bartender topped off his glass and leaned an elbow on the bar, lowering his voice.  “It’s said that one look from a selkie can drive a man mad.  That he’ll do anything to be with her, even follow her into the sea.”

Sam swirled the amber liquor around in his glass.  “So the men who’ve supposedly seen these selkies?  They’ve what… disappeared afterwards?”

“Some.”

“And the others?”

“Don’t know.”  The bartender shrugged as he pushed back from the bar.  “Probably locked up somewhere by now.  Beating against a padded cell and screaming for their seal-woman.”

Sam laughed as the bartender cleared another round of empties.

“You laugh,” the bartender said, wandering back over.  “But there are plenty who believe the stories are true.”

“If that’s the case, then why does anyone go?  Just to test the limits of their willpower?  To see if they can hold onto their sanity if a selkie tries to cast a spell on them?”

“Ah,” the bartender held up his hand.  “Every fairy tale creature has a weakness.”  He smiled.  “There’s always a way around the curse.”

“Humor me.”

“If a human man finds her seal-skin and captures it, he claims her for his own.  She loses all her powers and she has no choice but to follow
him
.”

“But she’s half seal.”

“See, that’s the problem with selkie-wives.  They may look human enough, but the sea’s in their blood and they long to get back to it.”

“Why don’t they just take their seal-skin back and swim away?”

“They can’t.  No man who captures the pelt of a selkie will ever return it.  He’ll hide it from her so she’s forced to live out the rest of her days on land with him.”

“She’s trapped there, against her will?”

“Aye.”

“So…”  Sam downed the rest of his glass.  “Where’s the happy ending?”

“There isn’t one.”

Sam glanced up.  “That’s a pretty messed up fairy tale.”

The bartender lifted a shoulder.  “The Irish don’t sugarcoat their fairy tales like the Americans.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have a little girl.  We own a stack of Disney movies.  My daughter watches them over and over and over again.  You know how it is.”  He rolled his eyes.  “But the original fairy tales—before Disney got a hold of them—didn’t always end in happily ever after.  Sometimes the bad guys won.  And that was the point.  They taught us a lesson.  Like the parables in the bible.  A way to learn from others’ mistakes.”

“But wouldn’t you rather your daughter believe in happily ever after than power struggles with seal-women?”

“Maybe.  But I’d also rather she learn what to watch out for. 
Who
to watch out for.”

“Okay,” Sam said, slowly.  “But unless your daughter’s a selkie, how does that fairy tale teach her who to watch out for?”

“It teaches her to watch out for men who would try to control her.”

Sam glanced up at the bartender’s unsmiling face.  “How old is your daughter?”

“She’s six.”

“Isn’t she a little young to be worried about falling for a man who would try to control her?”

“I don’t think a woman is ever too young to learn to watch out for something like that.”

Tara gazed into the faces gathered around the table in the pub.  They sat in a circle, Dominic’s hand resting on hers, Glenna’s fingers worrying over the thin onyx pendant around her neck, Caitlin and Liam’s eyes locked on Tara in disbelief.

“Have you gone to the police?” Liam demanded as Tara finished telling them everything she’d told Dominic earlier that day.

“No.”  Tara shook her head.  The night air drifted in through the windows, filling the room with the scent of roses and saltwater.  A single candle burned in the center of the table, flickering in the dim light.  “I can’t go to the police.  I’m living here,
working
here, illegally.  I came here with a fake passport.  Under a name that is not my own.”

“You were protecting yourself,” Caitlin argued.  “It was self-defense.”

“Was it?” Tara asked.  “Was it self-defense to travel to Ireland?  To move into a cliff cottage on this picture-perfect island?  To fall in love with the man paying my salary?”

“But that’s not what—”

“That’s only
one
way a lawyer could spin it,” Tara interrupted.  “If I go to the police, and I tell them everything,
they
choose whether or not to protect me.  They choose whether or not to involve my husband.  If I’m taken into custody and tried in the states as a fugitive, I don’t stand a chance.  My husband is wealthy, powerful and connected.  He’ll hire a lawyer who will find a way to make
him
come out the hero.  And
me
the abuser.”

“But this is crazy.  He beat you!  He put you in the hospital!”

“Prove it.”

Caitlin opened her mouth, closed it.

“That’s the thing about abuse,” Tara said, quietly.  “It’s almost impossible to prove unless the neighbors heard a fight or witnessed a scene.  Which mine didn’t.  I lived on the top floor—the entire top floor—of a high rise condo building in Houston.  The walls were soundproofed.  We never had a complaint.”

“It’s her word against his,” Glenna finished for Tara.  “Unless,” she angled her head.  “You can prove that he killed that nurse.  Then you might have a solid case.”

“Exactly,” Tara agreed, nodding.  “Which is why I called a lawyer this afternoon and explained the situation.  He’s coming down from Dublin on Monday to talk and we’re going to start building a case against Philip.  But it’s not going to be easy.  And I can’t guarantee that we’ll be able to prove anything.  Or gather a strong enough case.”

“Alright,” Caitlin let out a breath.  “At least you called a lawyer.  If he’s coming on Monday, that’s only four days from now.  And then you’ll have a better handle on the situation and what rights you might have that you don’t even know you have.”

“Yes,” Tara said slowly.  “That’s true.”  She glanced up at Dominic.  “But if Philip has someone looking for me—and I’m certain he does—and that nurse was killed over two weeks ago, there’s a good chance he’s followed my trail to Ireland.  And if this person is good at what he does—which I’m sure he is if Philip hired him—then there’s a chance he’ll track me to this island.”

“What are you trying to say?”  Caitlin struggled to put all the pieces together.  “That if this person finds you and contacts your husband, he could…what?  Show up here?  Before Monday?”

Tara nodded.

“But the festival’s this weekend,” Liam argued.  “There’ll be hundreds of people on the island by tomorrow morning.”

“I know,” Tara said softly.  “And so much easier to get lost in the crowd.”

Caitlin’s jaw dropped as she stared at Tara.  “You think he’s going to come for you during the festival?”

Tara nodded.

“Then we have to get you off this island,” Caitlin said, pushing her chair back.  “Now!”  She glanced at the others, her voice edging toward frantic.  “Come on.  What are we waiting for?”

“If Tara leaves the island,” Dominic said, speaking for the first time, “she risks being followed.  If she stays, we can protect her.”

“But this guy is a psychopath!” Caitlin protested.

“And there will be half a dozen officers on the island this weekend to witness that.”

Caitlin’s eyes went wide.  “You mean… you
want
him to come to the island this weekend?  You
want
him to find you?”

“I don’t want him to find me,” Tara assured her.  “But if he finds me and there are enough people around, enough people to witness his reaction, we might be able to trap him.”

“But that’s using you as bait!”

“She won’t be alone,” Dominic cut in.  “At least one of us will be with her.  At all times.  We won’t leave her side until every tourist has left the island on Sunday.  Until everyone is accounted for.”

Caitlin put her head down, between her knees.  “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Liam glanced up at his brother.  “Who else do we tell?”

“I think at this point, the fewer people who know the truth the better,” Dominic answered.   “We don’t want to pull the whole island into this.”

“But wouldn’t it be better to pass around a sketch of his face?  Have everyone on the lookout?”  Liam looked over at Glenna.  “Could you do one from Tara’s memory?”

“I could,” Glenna answered slowly.  “But I think Tara and Dominic are right to want to keep this between us.  No one in this room is going to slip.  No one in this room is going to accidentally say anything to anyone else.  You know Donal and Finn spend a lot of time in the pubs over in Sheridan.  We can’t risk them spilling something one night when they’ve had too much to drink.”