The Selkie Sorceress (Seal Island Trilogy, Book 3)

by Sophie Moss

  She hadn’t known what to expect when they’d decided to stop at a nunnery on their way out of Kildare. But there was something mysterious, almost magical, about this place. The ground hummed beneath her feet, like a force was at work in the soil.

  She found a nun alone in the greenhouse, and stepped inside.

  “I’m sorry,” Tara said quickly when the woman shied away from her. “I don’t mean to disturb you.”

  A curtain of dried lavender and thyme rustled as the woman ducked behind it.

  “I like to work with herbs,” Tara said, keeping her voice light and friendly. “My mother—she used to take herbs into the farmer’s market on the weekend.” She touched a colorful spray of foxgloves and marveled at the size of the basil growing beside them. “We had a greenhouse like this when I was growing up. It smells like her.”

  The woman said nothing, but she watched Tara closely, with eyes as gray as the stones of the cathedral they’d visited earlier that day.

  Tara picked up a bouquet of rosemary and sage, tied with a pink ribbon. “Do you sell these?”

  “We do,” a different voice answered, one that came from behind her.

  Tara turned and found herself looking into the brown eyes of another nun—one whose smile was warm and friendly.

  “I’m Sister Evelyn,” she said. “Would you like me to give you a tour?”

  “Sure,” Tara said slowly, stealing a glance back at the other nun. The hem of her habit peeked out from beneath the curtain and Tara stared at the intricate pattern of seashells sewn into the seam.

  Sister Evelyn stepped into the small greenhouse and started explaining all the herbs and their uses. But as they made their way toward the back of the greenhouse, the first nun slipped out from behind the curtain. Her hair was tucked into her habit so Tara couldn’t tell what color it was, but her skin was pale and the shape of her nose and mouth were oddly familiar. The nun cast her eyes down as she slipped by them.

  Tara frowned, but Sister Evelyn held up a small jar of crushed mint leaves cheerfully. “Have you ever tried adding a pinch of these to a cup of hot chocolate in the winter?”

  “I have,” Tara said distractedly as the first nun ducked out of the greenhouse. “My mother used to make me that same drink when I couldn’t sleep at night.”

  “Here,” Sister Evelyn said when Tara’s gaze lingered on the woman walking down the hill. “Have a sniff of this tarragon. It smells a bit like licorice, but better.”

  Tara took the jar from Sister Evelyn, watching the nun break into a run as she made for the river winding through the pines.

  TARA WOKE WITH a start, the image of the woman imprinted in her mind. “Dominic.” She sat up, switching on the light. It was still dark and her bedside clock read 5AM. “Dominic, wake up.” She shook him, and those gray eyes—the same ones she’d seen in her dream—blinked open. “I think I know where your mother is.”

  “What?” He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “How?”

  “Remember the community of nuns who lived in the hills—the ones who wove the river rush crosses?”

  He nodded slowly.

  Tara swung her legs over the bed. “I think your mother lives there.”

  Dominic stared at her. “As a nun?”

  “I think so.” Tara ran to get her computer from the living room. She looked up at the straw-colored cross hanging over their door and clutched her laptop to her chest, rushing back to the bedroom. She crawled back into bed, booting up the computer and waiting for the screen to load. “Remember when I told you about the woman in the greenhouse, how she would hardly look at me?”

  Dominic nodded slowly.

  “I think that might have been her.” She typed in the name of the nunnery and searched for a phone number.

  Dominic laid a hand over hers when she reached for the phone. “You can’t call there now, Tara. It’s the middle of the night.”

  Tara’s fingers stilled on the numbers. “But what if it’s her?”

  “Call Sam, or Glenna,” Dominic said gently. “They’re in Dublin already and Kildare’s only a half hour’s drive from the city. They can go there first thing and take a look around.”

  “But—”

  “Mum?” Kelsey’s small voice cut through their conversation.

  Tara glanced up at her daughter hovering in the doorway. Her face was pale and her blue eyes were wide and worried. “What’s wrong, Kelsey?”

  “I…” She looked down. “I need to tell you something.”

  “What is it?” Tara held out her hand. “What happened?”

  Kelsey walked to the bed and Tara helped her crawl up between them. She clutched shreds of paper in her hands and she let them fall.

  “What is this?” Dominic said, lifting one of the strips.

  “The Little Mermaid,” Kelsey answered, piecing them together slowly on the comforter

  “What happened to it?”

  “Owen ripped it up.”

  Tara set the phone down slowly. “Why?”

  “Because Moira told him to.”

  “When?” Dominic demanded. “When did she tell him this?”

  “Yesterday,” Kelsey whispered. “He went to see Nuala, but Moira was there instead. Moira told him that if he said anything about it, she’d hurt Caitlin like she hurt Nuala.”

  Tara looked up at Dominic and saw her own fear mirrored in his eyes.

  “I heard what you said,” Kelsey admitted softly, “about my grandmother living in Kildare.” She fit the final pieces of paper together. “You’re right,” she said, pointing to the words. “It’s just like in the story. The princess lived in a convent.”

  Cait!” Liam shook his fiancée. “Caitlin! Wake up!”

  “What?” Her eyes flew open, struggling to see in the darkness. “What’s wrong?”

  Liam switched on the light. He was already out of bed, grabbing his clothes off the floor. “There’s a fire in the harbor.”

  Caitlin kicked at the sheets, scrambling after him. Through the window, flames streaked into the night sky. Their neighbors were waking up, their panicked shouts echoing through the street. “Owen,” she breathed.

  “I know.” Liam tugged a pair of sweatpants over his hips, rushing out into the hallway. He pushed open his son’s door, breathing out a sigh of relief when he saw the lump under the covers. “Owen,” he said quietly. “You need to wake up. Something’s happened.”

  He walked to the bed, putting his hand on his son’s back. But his finger met something soft and squishy—not Owen. He threw back the covers and every muscle in his body clenched in dread. “Owen!”

  “He’s not in there?” Caitlin breathed, gripping the doorway.

  “Come on.” Liam grabbed her hand, racing out into the street.

  Fiona stumbled out of the cottage on the other side of the pub, tying a robe around her waist. Her gray hair was out of its usual bun and her slippers caught on the pavement as she ran toward them.

  “Have you seen Owen?” Caitlin cried.

  “No,” Fiona said. “He’s not in his bed?”

  Liam’s gaze combed the street. Smoke billowed up from the harbor. Headlights bounced down from the road leading to the cliff cottage. He spotted his brother behind the wheel and ran toward the truck. Dominic slowed and Liam leaned down to peer through the open window. But it was only Dom, Tara and Kelsey in the truck. “Owen’s missing.”

  “What?” Tara helped Kelsey scramble over her lap and climb out the passenger door into the arms of her grandmother. “When?”

  “Just now,” Liam answered. “We woke up and he was gone.”

  “Get in,” Dom barked at Liam, then looked at Fiona. “Keep Kelsey away from the fire.”

  Liam ran to the back of the truck, releasing the hatch. He looked at Caitlin. “Stay in the village and search for him here.”

  Caitlin nodded and Fiona wrapped her arms around Kelsey. But as the trio faded behind them, he could see the fear in his fiancée’s eyes. What if Owen had gone down to the harbor to
see Nuala? What if he’d gotten on the ferry?

  Neighbors ran alongside them, in various states of undress. The wheel caught a pothole and Liam gripped the side of the truck. At the edge of the harbor, Donal was holding onto Finn, struggling to keep the captain back from the pier.

  Liam’s feet met the pavement before Dominic rolled to a stop. He raced through the gathering of villagers, scanning the harbor. “Owen!” he screamed his name, but his voice was lost in the inferno raging at the end of the pier.

  Jack Dooley turned on the harbor hose, spraying it at the ferry, but the fire was already spreading to the other boats. Tara and Dom ran from the truck, yelling at the villagers to get back. The blaze grew, swallowing the pier.

  “Liam!” Dominic shouted, wrestling the hose from Jack’s hands and throwing it down. “Get away from the pier!”

  Liam spotted a child’s shoe in the water and he scrambled over the rocks, fishing it out. He remembered Owen came home yesterday without shoes. He said he left them in the harbor. What if he came back for them tonight? What if he was afraid he and Caitlin were angry with him after what happened with Nuala?

  Tara grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the water as a blast tore through the night, knocking them both to the ground. Splinters of wood and shards of glass rained down around them.

  “Liam, look!” Tara shouted over the aftershocks of the explosion as a beat-up truck rumbled up the road from Brennan’s farm. The passenger door opened and Owen jumped from the cab.

  “Dad!” Owen cried, running toward Liam.

  Liam caught his son when he ran into his arms.

  “He’s okay,” Tara breathed.

  Finn staggered down the hill, staring at the destruction, at his livelihood scattered into a thousand flaming pieces in the water. “My boat.” He reached out, leaning on Jack Dooley for support. “It’s gone.”

  Dominic strode to Tara, helping her up. “And we’re trapped on the island.”

  CAITLIN’S RELIEF AT finding her son faded as she stood in the doorway of her home, staring at the overturned tables, the contents of her kitchen drawers emptied onto the floor. Books were piled on the floor, entire shelves cleared. The sofa was pushed away from the wall, the floorboards beneath it yanked up.

  She walked through her cottage, numb, taking in the damage. Both bedrooms were ransacked, the closets emptied and their clothes and shoes strewn all over the floor. Owen’s mattress was shredded and feathers spilled out of the gaps in the seams.

  “Moira did this,” Liam said grimly.

  “But why?” Dominic asked, walking into the cottage. “What was she looking for?”

  Caitlin picked her way over her littered bedroom floor to her vanity, checking her small collection of jewelry. She didn’t have much, but the gold wedding ring that belonged to her great-grandmother and the pair of sapphire earrings Liam gave her for Christmas were still there. “Whoever it was, she didn’t come for jewelry.”

  “It had to be Moira,” Tara said, walking into the kitchen and picking up the shattered glass. “Who else would set the ferry on fire?”

  Caitlin walked back out to the living room, taking in the chaos. They’d managed to contain the fire in the harbor after the explosion. The charred remnants of the ferry had sunk into the water and half of their pier was gone, but they’d saved three boats. Many of their neighbors had already made arrangements to leave at dawn.

  “Owen,” Caitlin said softly as she picked her way across the living room to her son. “You said you didn’t know where Nuala went earlier, when we were on the beach. Were you telling the truth?”

  Owen nodded, but he wouldn’t look at her. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  Caitlin looked up at Tara, her expression grim. “We need to talk to Glenna.”

  “I know,” Tara said, pulling out her cell phone and checking for missed calls. “I’ve been trying to call her and Sam for hours. Neither of them is answering.”

  Dominic lifted the kitchen table and slid the rug back underneath it. “Tara had a dream tonight. She thinks she knows where our mother is.”

  Liam paused in the act of rummaging around in the hall closet, searching for something. “Where?”

  “In a nunnery in Kildare,” Tara explained. “It’s a hunch, but I think I saw her there last fall when we took that side trip to pick up the crosses.”

  “Kildare,” Caitlin murmured, standing and snagging the cross down from where it hung above her door. “It makes sense,” she said softly. “It connects the blackthorn, Imbolc, and St. Brigid’s Day.”

  Tara nodded. “I’ve left messages on both Sam and Glenna’s phones, asking them to go to the nunnery as soon as they wake up.”

  Caitlin looked up. “Today is the first of February.”

  “Whatever Moira is planning, it’s going to happen today,” Dominic said as Liam dropped to his knees in the doorway of the closet, tossing clothes out of the way.

  “Liam,” Tara asked. “What are you looking for?”

  All the blood drained from Liam’s face as he pulled their metal safe into his arms—the one they kept hidden behind the closet wall. “It’s gone.”

  “What’s gone?” Dominic asked. “What’s wrong?”

  Caitlin gasped when she saw the broken hinges.

  Dominic strode to his brother, taking the safe from his arms. “What was inside it?”

  Liam lifted his stricken eyes to his son’s face. “Owen’s pelt.”

  ALL THE CANDLES had burned down to pools of wax. Glenna watched the last flame flicker and fade as she lay in Sam’s arms. She could hear his heart beating, could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek. Every nerve in her body still tingled from the memory of his touch. But it was getting close to dawn.

  Her heart ached as she withdrew from his arms and studied his face for the last time. He looked so calm and peaceful. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. She touched the lines fanning out from his eyes tenderly, brushing a thumb over the rugged skin of his cheek where a rough layer of golden stubble was beginning to grow.

  “Rest,” she breathed. “Let your dreams carry you far away from here.” She drew two stones from beneath her pillow—amber and jet—and laid them gently in Sam’s palm. When he stirred, she swept a hand lightly over his eyes.

  Sleep, take thee away

  May darkness hold sway

  Past first morning light

  Shadowed from sight

  May no harm be done

  No harm come to none

  By the will of the sea

  So mote it be

  A profound sadness consumed her as she eased back, watching his breath deepen and slow. She’d put it off as long as she could. Brigid wasn’t safe in Ireland anymore. Two black carry-on suitcases were waiting in the trunk of her car. She’d bought the plane tickets the night before, when Sam was out walking around the city. She’d had a fake passport made for Brigid years ago, in case it ever came to this.

  She’d hoped Brigid would be ready by now. But how could Brigid lead the selkies? How could she fight for them, if she didn’t know what was at stake? She closed Sam’s fingers around the stones. She’d made arrangements with a church in the States. They’d agreed to house Brigid temporarily, until Glenna could find a permanent home for her.

  She’d put it off for years, afraid of taking Brigid out of the protected space, even for the short trip to the airport. Any travel outside Kildare would draw Moira’s eye to her sister. She’d been doing everything in her power to help Brigid remember who she was, but she had to face the truth now—Brigid might never remember.

  She looked back at Sam, tracing the curved outline of his mouth. “If things had been different,” she whispered. “I think I could have loved you.” She kissed him, letting the memory of him imprint on her lips. She eased back, laying a heavy hand on his chest. “I could have given you my heart.”

  Glenna’s headlights flashed over the small chapel. A single light burned in one of the windows of t
he communal home; at least one of the nuns was awake. She slowed to a stop at the end of the long driveway, cutting the engine and stepping out of the car. She felt the flow of energy as soon as her boots met the ground.

  There were few places in Ireland as protected as these hills on the outskirts of Kildare. They were sacred to both religions—those who honored the goddess Brigid and those who worshiped St. Brigid. It was this powerful convergence of light and love that blocked Moira from seeing her sister.

  The reflection of the moon danced over the surface of the river winding through the woods at the bottom of the hill. Snowdrops and crocuses were blooming and the irises were sending up shoots in the hearty garden beds bordering the stone house. She strode to the door and knocked lightly, relieved when Sister Evelyn walked out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel.

  “Glenna,” she exclaimed, her brown eyes widening as she opened the door. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

  “I came to see Brigid.”

  “I don’t think she’s awake yet,” Sister Evelyn said, ushering her inside. “Excuse the mess.” She waved at the stacks of chairs and folding tables, the plastic tablecloths and dishware the parishioners had dropped off for the celebration following the special St. Brigid’s Day mass. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “No.” Glenna shook her head as she stepped into the room. “I’m sorry. I can’t stay. I need to see her now.”

  “Oh.” A shadow of worry passed over Sister Evelyn’s eyes as she closed the door behind Glenna. “Let me get her up, then.”

  “Wait,” Glenna began when Sister Evelyn started to turn.

  “What is it, Glenna?” Sister Evelyn’s dark brows furrowed in concern. “Is everything alright?”

  Glenna swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. “I wanted to say thank you.” The silence of the dark house pressed down on her. “For everything you’ve done for her.”

  “Of course.” Sister Evelyn looked at her strangely. “Anyone in my position would have done the same thing.”