“Don’t be scared, Bry.” Grayse sounded like Fynn at the market earlier. “The Bully’s only paint.”
“Go lay down with Mam, little fish,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. Grayse hesitated, then nodded.
I walked back to the main room, legs shaking like they might collapse at any moment. Between the giant crabs, Fynn’s injuries, and the recent disappearances, no one could deny that something strange was happening in the waters off Port Coire.
Perhaps the thing that lured Grandad into the sea—if, indeed, something had—was near the Isle once again. Yet the mysterious black fin I’d seen in the harbor, if that was the guilty creature, looked nothing like the filmy white figure that flickered in the waves as Grandad went under. Mostly, I was grateful I’d never seen anything so terrible as the creature on Mam’s canvas.
I needed to run. To clear my head and put the town, the sea, and the serpent behind me.
Fynn’s shouts trailed behind me. “Bridey, wait! Where are you going?”
I slipped outside and ran toward the distant green hills, desperate for escape.
The day kept getting worse. I wanted to cry or scream. I wanted to hurl Mam’s new painting into the sea. I’d seen my fill of monsters, both real and imaginary.
What would Grandad have said about the horrible painting? He wouldn’t have wished to hurt Mam’s feelings, but I could picture him mouthing the word rubbish as soon as Mam left the room. Then he’d launch into the story of the time he went to Ireland and saw the mysterious art at Newgrange, an ancient tomb rumored to belong to old Irish kings. He said the beauty of the tomb’s carvings was eclipsed only by the figures of the Irish women. This was before he met Gran, he always assured us, but she’d still cuff him on the arm with her shoe.
The memory almost made me smile. Almost.
I rounded the base of Morag’s hill, breathing hard, and pushed myself onward. The rise behind hers was higher, more imposing. Dense woods lined the path to its treeless top, where I could pretend I was miles from the water.
The cool shade of the trees enveloped me. In the woods, the sigh of the wind was louder than the breath of the sea. A stoat hissed, half-hidden by the base of a large tree. Then, a twig snapped behind me, making me flinch, but I couldn’t spot whatever had made the noise. Probably a nervous rabbit.
My anxiety faded as I climbed, replaced by numbness. By the time I walked out of the trees to the crest of the hilltop, the sun was sinking on the horizon. My throat was parched and my legs ached, yet I was grateful to be back in my favorite place.
A year after Grandad died, Da had taken me to Snaefell, the only real mountain on the Isle. Ever since, this hill had become my private mountain—Snaefell in miniature. Looking in one direction, all of Port Coire spread out below me, capped by a thick blue line where the sky met the sea. The other way offered a view of a different ocean, the endless green of hills and fields.
I flopped down in the scratchy grass, choking off a sigh of relief as the unmistakable sound of footsteps rushed toward me. Had Grayse followed me all the way here? I pushed myself to sitting.
“Little fish?”
I was answered by the ragged breathing of an injured boy.
For a moment, Fynn loomed over me, pale, sweating, and glassy-eyed. Then his knees buckled, and he collapsed beside me. He rolled onto his back and stared at the sky, chest heaving.
“Are you—?” I asked, but he held up a hand. The rapid rise and fall of his chest assured me he was alive, just as it had on the beach.
After what seemed like an hour, he turned to me. His eyes were clearer now. “I don’t like hills. Or trees. If I hadn’t been trying to catch you, I would’ve gotten lost in there.”
“That’s nothing to how I feel about the sea.” I leveled my gaze at him. “What possessed you to follow me all this way? You could’ve reopened your wounds.”
“You were upset.” He slicked back his dark hair. “What happened back there? And at the market?”
“I …” My breath hitched as Fynn laid a hand over mine. Somehow, this lad I’d only known for a few weeks made me feel more alive than Lugh ever had. Thoughtful, caring Lugh, who I’d known my entire life. If I could trust Fynn with my fear after such a short time, I could trust him with anything. “I hate the ocean. And seeing those huge crabs just … overwhelmed me.”
Fynn struggled to sit up. “What happened to make you hate—?”
I shook my head. “Rest. I can’t talk about that just now.”
He slumped on the grass. “All right. But back at the house—”
I thought, again, of Mam’s new painting. The scales of her serpent had looked too much like the dark creature I’d glimpsed on the night Lugh and I heard the crash over the water. “No. I won’t talk about that, either.”
“You’re impossible.” A smile lit Fynn’s face.
“Not impossible,” I insisted. “I simply don’t want to discuss the matter right now.” I hurriedly cast about for a different topic. “Apparently Liss was out with some lad this morning. I never would have believed it.”
“Oh, you mean Martyn Watterson?”
I blinked. Martyn was a husky boy, hopeless at catching fish, and even worse when it came to learning his da’s business. “What do you know of it?”
“Liss’s sweetheart. He seems like an idiot to me, but I’m sure she has her reasons.” Fynn took one look at my wide eyes and grinned. “She’s been helping him with his reading when she knows none of you will be home. He came to the door one morning, and I answered it. She begged me not to tell anyone, and in exchange …” Fynn’s amused expression vanished. “I asked her to tell me more about you.”
My throat went dry. “You should’ve asked me.” I paused. “But you just told Liss’s secret.”
“Well, you don’t seem like someone who would betray her sister’s secrets. So my mistake ends here.” Fynn smiled, not a trace of remorse in his gaze. “I hope you can persuade Liss to forgive me. As your friend Catreena wisely pointed out”—he paused to grin, inviting me to share in his joke—“they don’t teach manners in London anymore.”
“I’ll try.” I bowed my head to hide a smile. “But I won’t promise.”
An hour ago, I would have believed nothing good could come of this horrific day. Now, my perfect sister was flawed after all, and I was on my hill with Fynn, high above the dark worries intent on plaguing me.
As I watched the sun set, gilding the edges of Fynn’s damp curls, I noticed him staring hard at a spot above my left ear. I raised a hand to my hair. “What is it? Is there a bee?” My carelessness had gotten me stung once too often.
“There’s no bee.”
I waited for him to say more, but he continued to stare. “What is it, then?”
“The sun in your hair,” he murmured, frowning slightly, “turns it pink, like a seashell. I’ve never seen anything so perfect.”
My cheeks flamed red. “Your wounds must be making you delusional.” With a glance at the fiery sky, I added, “We should be going. Mam doesn’t like any of us staying out past dark anymore.”
Fynn laced his fingers through mine and I followed him toward the darkening forest. Despite the nearness of the ocean, the wind suddenly smelled clean and sweet, without a hint of brine.
The trees welcomed us into their shadows, reminding me of the things I needed to collect for Morag. “Let me know if you see any agrimony, would you? Tiny yellow flowers. But only if they’re close to the path. We really should be home.”
Fynn grimaced. “Is that for supper?”
“No! I need to find it for Morag.” I smiled. “You must have heard me mention my work before. You likely had a job yourself. Or maybe where you’re from, sleeping on other people’s sofas is a respectable profession?”
Fynn’s laughter sent warmth up my spine. “I’m not familiar with work that involves gathering flowers.”
“I’m apprenticed to a witch. At least that’s what most folk around here would say. Really, I’
m helping a cranky old woman with her errands. She’s been a recluse since before I was born, and with good reason. You saw the way some people were behaving at the market.” I scanned the sides of the path for yellow petals as we hurried along. “They fear her without knowing her. And now me too, apparently.”
“She’d better treat you well for all the trouble she’s causing you.”
“She’s not as terrifying as she first seemed.” I pushed aside an overgrown thorn bush to peer beneath it. “I’ve only been helping her a few weeks, though, and it’s quite a job keeping her cottage clean. I’m starting to suspect her only magic is making huge messes just to give me something to do.”
The woods grew darker. A prickling between my shoulders urged me to quicken my steps, dragging Fynn along.
“Why so rushed?” He tugged on my hand, trying to slow my pace.
I turned, shivering slightly. “This isn’t a good spot to linger. There are … things … out here after dark I’d rather not meet.”
Fynn gazed off into the trees, then back to me, and looked puzzled. “What things?” He stood a little taller. “Whatever they are, I’m not afraid.” He nudged my shoulder. “I have the Isle’s best witch by my side, after all.”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. When he said witch, it wasn’t the same way the woman in the market square did. From his lips, it sounded like a badge of honor. How could he have such confidence in a girl he hardly knew? I didn’t understand it. But I was certain of this much: I more than liked it.
“Mooinjer veggey—the Little Fellas—roam these parts at night on the way to their revels,” I whispered at last. “Or so Mam says. I’ve never seen them, though, and I’ve been out here past dark a time or two.”
“What are Little Fellas?”
“You’ve never heard of them? They’re like ghosts, but they come from a place all their own. That’s why some call them the ‘Middle World Men.’ Our mams leave cakes out for them each night.”
A hint of a smile shadowed the corners of Fynn’s mouth. “Even yours?”
“Of course. Haven’t you noticed the bowl of milk and slice of bonnag near the front door?”
“No.” Fynn’s smile grew, stretching from ear to ear. “Little Fellas. What an odd notion. Do they actually eat the cakes?”
“I don’t know. There’s always a new one in the bowl by the time I wake. My grandad used to tell me how he met one of the Little Fellas when he was a lad. A wisp of a man who only stood as high as Grandad’s knee.”
Fynn grinned, peering between the trees curiously. “Whether it’s true or not, it’s an interesting story.”
“He’d gladly tell you a thousand of them. My favorite is the one about the Golden Pig. Grandad always said that if you ate a whole barley cake and a slice of bacon, and washed it down with well water, you’d see the Pig. It’s supposed to bring good fortune.”
Fynn shook his head, but a smile stretched across his face. “Where’s your grandad now? I’d like to meet him. And his lucky pig.”
“He passed away when I was nine.”
Fynn squeezed my hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago. In any case, it’s not wise to speak of Them.” I shivered.
Still, the threat of encountering the Little Fellas was a more appealing one than meeting whatever scaly thing lurked in the water. To me, fairies were spooky pieces of Mam’s stories, while Fynn’s hand in mine was warm, solid, real. But if the giant crabs and the mysterious pearl I’d found were proof of impossible things, then perhaps the Little Fellas were hiding in the trees at that very moment, laughing as we hurried through the dark.
CHAPTER NINE
I usually lingered in my weekly bath, but tonight I had to hurry. At any moment Liss and Fynn, who everyone in town now knew as “the injured tourist staying with us for a spell,” would be back from the market with ingredients for supper. Mam had promised us something special, since her headache was mostly gone and Da was returning home from an especially long stretch at sea.
A worn silk screen afforded me privacy as I pulled off the blue dress I’d worn yesterday. Seeing the grass stains on the front made me smile, calling to mind the way Fynn had watched the last of the daylight warming my hair. We were so close, he could have kissed me then. Something must have held him back. And while part of me wanted him to, a little voice in the back of my mind whispered that he might suddenly remember where he belonged and leave in the night without a word of farewell.
Somewhere in the wide world, he had another life better suited for him than what we could offer here. Surely he had adoring parents and siblings. And perhaps there was a lass, clever and beautiful, who was even now tearfully praying to every god she could name, begging for his safe return.
I shook my head to banish the thought. The coals hissed in an almost hypnotic way, and the sweet fragrance emanating from the hearth made my eyelids heavy.
I was about to climb in the washtub when the sight of the bathwater made me pause. My skin prickled with a reminder of the Bully lurking in the main room.
Peering around the edge of the screen, I searched for Mam’s latest painting: the giant mouth with teeth like a straight razor. All I saw was Grayse on the sofa with her dolls.
“Where’s the Bully, Grayse?”
“I wish you girls would stop calling it that!” Mam’s voice rang out from the kitchen, accompanied by the thunk of her rolling pin hitting the counter.
“We wouldn’t call it names if it wasn’t so horrible,” I muttered, soft enough for only Grayse to hear. “When will you let Mally take it to market, Mam?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. I can’t imagine who would buy such a thing.”
Was Mam afraid of the image, too? And if she didn’t think anyone would pay for it, there was little hope of us being rid of it. Who enjoyed the things others deemed grotesque or unworthy?
The answer came to me in the form of sea-foam eyes and strong tea.
“May I give the painting to Morag? She might enjoy it.” Having the horrible picture watching over me as I worked seemed a better fate than attempting to sleep with it skulking in the next room.
After a lengthy pause, Mam said, “I’ll consider it.”
It wasn’t as good as a promise, but for now, it would have to do.
Da stumbled in later than expected, reeking of brine and sea foam, and Mam ushered me off to slip on my nicest dress. Standing before my cloudy mirror, I was attempting to pin my hair at the nape of my neck when a rush of cool air slithered over my arms. No doubt Grayse had left the window open again. I hurried to close it, and was adjusting my grip on the sticky wooden frame when a sweet melody reached my ears. I leaned closer to the window, peering out into the syrupy blackness where clouds scudded over the moon.
There was no one in sight. The hulking outlines of the cliffs were barely discernible, and the sea beyond them crouched under the cloak of evening, invisible to human eyes. But the soft song continued, and with it, my desire to find the musician swelled. I pushed the window open farther and sat on the narrow ledge.
“Bridey, what are you doing?” A tall shadow darkened the floor, startling me from my makeshift seat.
“Does Mam need help with supper?” Shaking my foggy head to clear it, I closed the window with a firm shove and latched it for good measure.
“I just thought you might like to know what we’ll be having tonight.” Fynn leaned against the doorframe, a wicker basket dangling from his right hand.
“Probably a heap of fresh Queenies, still in their shells. As you know, I don’t eat anything from the sea.” I’d drifted toward the doorway without realizing it, the bewildering music still echoing through my thoughts.
“Actually, we bought lamb and potatoes.” Fynn angled his head down, bringing his mouth much closer to mine. His breath warmed my cheek each time he exhaled, drawing me firmly into the present moment.
“That sounds marvelous,” I managed, trying to control my racing heart. “Thank you—for
accompanying Liss.”
If I tilted my chin up, our lips would meet. I reached for his arm, and heat rose from his skin through the thin fabric of Da’s shirt. I tightened my grip, my fingers pressing against hard muscle.
He made a slight motion toward me, dropping the basket, but hesitated. I nodded, and his arms wrapped around my waist, drawing me into his warmth. I raised my face to his, ready for the crush of his lips against mine, wanting to share more than these nervous breaths.
“Who wants to play Happy Families?” Grayse asked brightly.
For a moment, Fynn’s lower lip grazed mine, sending a jolt from my head to my toes. Then Grayse’s presence shocked us both, and our chins banged together.
I resisted the urge to peek at Fynn, or to rub the stinging spot on my chin where his stubbly skin had scratched mine.
“Now’s not a good time, Grayse.” My face and neck were on fire. But as I looked at my littlest sister smiling and clutching an orange box to her chest, my anger faded.
“Look, Grayse,” Fynn began. “We were just—”
“Having a secret. I know.” Grayse put a finger to her lips.
Relief washed over me. “Thanks, little fish.” I kissed the top of her head before finally glancing at Fynn and was pleased to note that the back of his neck was flushed.
“What’s that?” Fynn pointed to Grayse’s box.
“Happy Families,” Grayse said, with the air of a parent explaining something to a small child. “It’s a game. Every card in the box has a funny person on it, and you have to ask the other players if they have the cards you need.” Grayse gave Fynn a sympathetic look. “There must not be anything fun where you’re from.”
“Maybe not.” Fynn smiled. “But I’ll still play with you.”
Grayse squealed with delight, then focused her pleading gaze on me. “Will you play too, Bry?”
I pressed my lips together. What I really wanted was a few minutes alone to collect myself and finish putting up my hair.
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