The Selkie Spell (Seal Island Trilogy) (26 page)

“Can’t say that I have, no.”

“But you know someone who has?”

The captain nodded.  “I might know of someone.”

“And this person…?” Sam asked slowly.  “Is he or she living on the island?”

The captain’s blue eyes slid over to Sam’s face.  “She.  And yes.”

“And where would I find her.  Say, if I wanted to ask her about it?”

The captain lifted his arm, pointing to a building in the village.  “You see that pub there?”

Sam nodded.

“That’s where she works.”

***

“Kelsey, can I talk to you for a second?” Dominic asked, sticking his head into the kitchen.

“Sure,” Kelsey said, leaving Caitlin and Tara alone in the kitchen and following her dad into the barroom.

When they got to a table, Dominic pulled out a chair for her, and sat in the one beside it.  “I need to ask you to do something for me today.  Something you’re not going to like.”

“What?” Kelsey asked, cautiously.

“I need you to stay in the pub instead of running around the island with Ashling and Ronan.”

“But the treasure hunt’s today,” Kelsey protested.

“I know.  But I need you to stay in the pub.”

“Why?” she demanded.

“Because I want to keep an eye on you.”

“But that’s not fair!”

“I know.  And I’ll find a way to make it up to you.  But you have to promise me you’ll do as I say.”

“No!”

“I’ve already spoken to Ronan’s mother.  She knows you won’t be joining them.”

“But it’s my team!  Not Ronan’s!”

“You’re going to have to let him play without you this year.”

“Why?” Kelsey demanded.  “Why can’t I play?”

“Because I need you here.”

“Nobody else’s parents are making them work today!”

“I’m not making you work.  If you don’t want to help Tara in the kitchen, you can go upstairs and hang out in your room or sit at the bar here with me.  You can do anything you want as long as you stay inside where I can see you.”

“Why?  Why is everybody so worried about me running off today?”

“Who else is worried?”

“Tara,” Kelsey said, pulling out the whistle and showing it to her dad.  “She made me put this on last night and said I couldn’t take it off until the weekend was over.”

Dominic lifted the shiny whistle into his palm.  “I didn’t know she gave you this.”

“Well she did, and I’m starting to think everybody thinks I’m some idiot who doesn’t know her way around the island.”

“Nobody thinks you’re an idiot, Kelsey.  We’re just being careful.  There will be a lot of people on the island this weekend.  People we don’t know.”

“There were a lot of people we didn’t know on the island last year!”

“Last year was different.”

“Because Tara wasn’t here?”  Kelsey grabbed her whistle back.  “If she’s so worried about me getting lost, then why doesn’t she just come and help me look for the pelt?”

“I don’t want Tara leaving the pub either, Kelsey.”

Confused, Kelsey searched her father’s face.  “Why not?”

“Because I want to keep an eye on both of you.”

Kelsey’s eyes narrowed.  “What’s going on, dad?”

“Nothing, Kelsey.  I just need you to promise me you’ll stay inside today.”

“This is so not fair.”

“I know.  I’m sorry.”

Kelsey shook her head and pushed to her feet.  “If Ronan finds the pelt without me I will
never
forgive you for this.”

***

Sam stepped off the ferry and glanced up at the row of Irish police officers stationed along the pier, scrutinizing the passengers. 
Since when does a summer festival warrant a checkpoint?
 Tipping the brim of his hat down, Sam followed the other passengers up the bumpy unmarked road leading up to the village and slipped the ferry schedule out of his pocket.  The boat left in an hour.  As soon as he confirmed that Sydney Carter was the American woman working at O’Sullivan’s, he’d be on his way.

He dodged a family pausing outside a shop to admire a table of hand-knit wool sweaters, and crossed the street to the pub, shaking his head at the sudden intense spell of lightheadedness.  Must be the boat ride catching up with him, he thought, pulling open the door and ducking into the dark, wooded barroom.

“Can I help you?” Glenna asked, walking out of the kitchen.

Sam took in the rich dark hair falling in ringlets over the woman’s slender shoulders, the cautious amber eyes and wide sensual mouth that didn’t even bother to offer a smile.

“Are you Mrs. O’Sullivan?”

“No, I’m just filling in for a friend at the moment.”

Raised voices drifted out of the kitchen and Sam caught the tail end of the argument punctuated by a child’s indignant protests and a woman’s—an
American
woman’s—gentle coaxing voice.  Glancing up as the flash of a green bandana passed by the open window connecting the kitchen to the bar, Sam strained to make out the woman’s face.

Glenna’s heel clicked against the wood floor as she stepped in front of the window, blocking his view.  “We open for lunch in an hour but I can fix you a drink in the meantime, if you’d like.”

“Just a bottle of water, thanks.”

Glenna pulled out a bottle and handed it to him, taking in the faded cap shading the newcomer’s angular face, the unkempt sandy blond hair and tall, lanky frame tucked into jeans and a gray T-shirt.  “Do you make it a practice of wearing sunglasses indoors, Mr…?”

Sam smiled, taking off his glasses and hooking them in the neck of his shirt.  “Jones.  Sam Jones.  And no, only when I’m distracted.”

Glenna took in the foreign accent and the straight, white teeth.  American, she thought, her radar going up.  “And what do you find
distracting
at the moment, Mr. Jones?”

Sam twisted the cap off, took a long cooling sip of the water.  “I was just thinking about something I heard last night.”  He lowered the bottle back to the bar.  “About the women on this island being descended from seals.  Are you one of those women, Ms…?”

“McClure,” Glenna answered, leveling her gaze on his.  “And no.  I’m originally from Dublin, not Seal Island.”

“But I thought it didn’t matter where you were from?”  Sam edged almost imperceptibly to the left, trying to catch a glimpse of the woman through the window.  “I thought the descendents were scattered?”

Glenna shifted her stance, blocking his view again.  “Trust me, if I were descended from a selkie, I’d know.”

“How?”

“For one thing, I’d be a stronger swimmer.”

“Maybe you’re just out of practice.”

Glenna angled her head when he lifted a brow.  “Let me guess,” she ventured, holding up her hand and ticking off her long slender fingers one by one.  “You’ve seen the Cliffs of Moher, bought a wool sweater, drank a pint of Guinness, toured a seaside castle, and now all you need to do is talk to a woman who’s half seal to complete your trip.  Tell me, Mr. Jones, do you plan to ask every woman on this island this question until you find one who says yes?”

“Actually, no,” Sam answered, taking another sip of water.  “Only ones who look like you.”

“And what exactly do I look like?”

Sam’s lips curved.  “Like if I caught you alone on a beach in the middle of the night, I might lose my mind and try to follow you into the sea.”

Glenna opened her mouth as the door to the kitchen swung open and a child ran out.

“Kelsey!” Dominic called, running out after her.  “Come back here!”

“Leave me alone!” Kelsey cried, running up the stairs.

“Just give her a minute,” Tara said, stepping into the doorway and laying a hand on his arm.  “She’ll come around.”

Sam’s hand went still on the bottle.  The woman’s choppy black hair was tucked into a faded bandana and dusted with cake flour.  Her fingers were caked in gooey dough and grease stains spackled the apron tied across her slender hips.  But those eyes, that face.  He’d know it anywhere.

Sam recoiled as the sickening scent of the roses slammed into him.

Tara looked up at the sudden movement, locked eyes with the man across the bar.  “What’s the matter?”

Sam shook his head, but his hand came up to cover his mouth.

“Are you ill?”

“No.  I just…  Christ, what is that smell?”

Tara grabbed a trash bin, started to walk out from behind the bar.

Dominic caught her arm, stopping her and taking the bin from her hand.  “Here,” he said, passing it over the bar.  “It’s probably just the crossing.  It can take a few minute for the ground to stop rocking.”

“No,” Sam said, pushing it away and fighting back the wave of nausea.  “I don’t get seasick.”

“You need to sit down,” Tara said, gently.  “Dominic, get him a soda water.  The bubbles will help calm his stomach.”

“I’m fine,” Sam said, shaking his head and pushing away from the bar.  “I think I just need some air.”

When Tara started after him, Glenna put a hand on her arm.  “I’ll go.”

Sam stumbled out the door and doubled over when the stench followed him into the street.  Glenna took his arm and led him over to one of the picnic tables.

“Do you need a doctor?”  Glenna asked.  “There’s a first aid station just up the road.”

Sam shook his head, staring at the woman’s hand on his arm, the strange tingling that raced up his skin as she kept it there.  “What is that?”

“What is
what
?” Glenna asked.

“You don’t smell it?”

Glenna shook her head.  “What does it smell like?”

Voices drifted down from the hillside, bouncing off the walls lining the road.  Sam glanced up, his gaze following the group of tourists climbing the hill to the cottage on the edge of the cliff.  “Is that…?”  Slowly, Sam pushed to his feet.  “Are those…roses?”

The uniformed customs guard glanced up through the glass at the tall well-dressed man tapping his fingers impatiently on the counter.  “Business or pleasure?”

“Pleasure,” Philip answered, his cold, unsmiling eyes taking in the pimple-faced guard.

Shifting in his chair, the guard looked back down at the passport, double-checking the picture.  “How long are you staying?”

“Three days,” Philip answered, cringing when an infant somewhere in the long line stretching out behind him started to cry.

“Doesn’t give you much time to unwind,” the guard commented, glancing up from Philip’s passport.  “Where did you say you were going?”

“Galway,” Philip lied, inhaling the sharp stench of patchouli drifting off the couple at the next counter.  “And I’m meeting up with a friend.  She’ll do her best to help me unwind.”

The guard took one last glance down at the picture and then flipped to a blank page and stamped it.  Sliding the passport back through the window, he motioned for the next person in line to step up to the counter.  “Enjoy your stay in Ireland.”

***

 “Mr. Jones?” Glenna said, trotting after Sam as he strode up the hill to the cottage on the cliff.

“Sam,” he said, absently, his eyes never leaving the house.  “Call me Sam.”

“Okay, Sam,” Glenna said, falling into step beside him.  “Where are you going?”

“To see those roses.”

“Wouldn’t you rather go see the ruins?  Or the beach where the fireworks will go off tonight?  Most of the other tourists spend their time on the beach.”

“Why?  The water’s freezing.”

“I don’t know,” Glenna said, lengthening her stride to keep up with him.  “Maybe they find it relaxing.”

“I didn’t come here to relax.”

“What did you come here for?”

Sam threaded his way through the crowd surrounding the cottage, ignoring her question.  He paused in front of the wall of flowers, brushing a finger over a scarlet petal.  “Who lives here?”

“A friend.”

Sam turned, taking a step toward Glenna.  “Does the woman working in the pub live in this house?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because I smelled them—these roses,” he said, gesturing to the flowers.  “The moment I laid eyes on her.”

“Maybe it was her perfume.”

“It was stronger than that.”

“Then maybe it was something she was cooking with.”

“No.”  Sam shook his head.

Glenna crossed her arms over her chest.  “Are you suggesting that the smell of these roses could travel all the way down to the pub?  That she could carry it with her?”

Sam looked back at the vines, snaking up into the thatch of the roof.  He rubbed his eyes when his vision blurred and his feet grew heavy, like his shoes were filled with stones.  “I don’t know.”