But as I lay there, my mind churning over my brush with the fossegrim and Thomase Boyd’s insane accusations, the gray light of predawn slowly filled the room. Sleep wouldn’t be coming any time soon, and I had much more important things to do than rest.
I had to stop the fossegrim before it claimed another soul.
Hopping out of the bed it seemed I’d only just crawled into, I pulled on yesterday’s rumpled clothes and snuck into the main room. Mam and Mally had finally gone to bed, and not even Fynn stirred as I stuck my feet in my boots. He was surely in a deep sleep from one of Mally’s tonics.
But when I crossed to the door, a familiar voice whispered, “And where are you headed at this unseemly hour, Ms. Corkill?”
I turned to the sofa in time to see Fynn crack an eyelid and grin. I smiled back. It was a good sign that he felt well enough to make jokes.
“Morag’s. Tell Mam where I went, would you?”
“What’s the rush? Morag probably isn’t awake yet.” Fynn’s voice was gravelly with sleep. “Come. Rest with me a while. It’ll help me heal faster.”
My feet itched to close the distance between us, especially as the memory of our time at sea drifted back. But Lugh’s face flashed to mind, so gaunt in the torchlight, and I shook my head. “If there’s any hope of finding Lugh’s mam alive, I need to see Morag now. She gave me that book of sea monsters and claimed it would help me, but it didn’t say how to kill the fossegrim.”
As I had lain in bed, I’d thought of how Morag spilled boiling water when I mentioned the disappearances. “She definitely knows something she isn’t telling, and I intend to get the truth from her today.”
Fynn arched a brow, looking curious as a housecat. “And how do you plan to do that?”
I dashed to the serpent canvas, which no one had moved since Fynn turned it against the wall, and lifted it into my arms. “With a bribe, of course. She’ll love this awful old thing.” It was still wrapped in a sheet, thick enough to hide the Bully’s face, and I liked it that way. I hurried to the door.
“Bridey,” Fynn choked out. It sounded like he was struggling to sit up. “Wait.”
Once again, I paused and turned back to him. “I want you to stay a while because …” His face was pale and pinched, though somehow, I sensed, not with pain. “Because I wanted to say good-bye. In case I’m not here when you get back.”
I nearly dropped the painting as my arms went limp. “What? Why wouldn’t you be here? You’re hurt.” I swallowed hard. “And I thought you had good reasons to stay in Port Coire. At least for a while yet.”
“I heard everything those men said last night. I don’t belong here …” Fynn’s words were difficult to make out over the rush of blood in my ears. “I’m putting your family at odds with the town by staying. That seems a poor way to repay your kindness. And as for you …” His eyes glistened as he swallowed and said in a low voice, “After yesterday, I realized just how much I care about you, and—”
“And showing how much you care means taking off just because a stupid lad like Thomase Boyd told a petty lie?” I wanted to cry and shout. My voice shook with the effort of not waking Mam. “You and I know what’s really luring people away!”
Fynn winced, but his mouth was set in a firm line. “This isn’t just because of what anyone said. Caring about you means I want what’s best for you. And while you can’t see it now, and there’s no way you could understand, being around me isn’t—”
“No? I’m not capable of understanding whatever foolishness is running through your head?” I clutched the painting with white knuckles. “Well, hopefully you understand this: You don’t get to decide what’s best for me, no matter how much you claim to care. I do. And what’s best for me is you staying here. If you really feel anything for me at all, you’ll do just that. If not, then perhaps it is best you leave. See how far you get with your wounds half-mended, and good luck.”
I spun on my heel, hoping I’d been quick enough to hide how my heart was breaking. I needed fresh air. I needed Fynn to be here when I got back. I needed to get rid of this blasted sea monster.
“Bridey, I’m doing this for your—”
“I’m going now.” I nudged the door open but called back over my shoulder, “I’ll see you when I return.”
I hope.
I didn’t let a single tear fall until home was far behind me. Lugging the painting to Morag’s was, at least, a distraction from the awful turn the morning had taken.
A few houses up the lane, a blonde woman in a long gray skirt kneeled in her garden, though it was barely sunup. She hummed as she trimmed clusters of flowering yarrow, a gentle melody, yet the sight of her twisted my stomach in knots.
“Morning, Mrs. Kissack.” I hesitantly waved to the baker, wondering if she’d told anyone about the things I’d babbled to her and her friend the day before. I was afraid to ask.
She stopped humming and glanced up. For a woman who made cakes and sweets, she looked rather fierce. “Bridey.” With a stiff jerk of her head, she returned to her plants.
I crossed into the market square, where a few of the usual merchants were setting up shop for the day. Most of the fishermen’s baskets, which usually displayed their catches, were woefully empty despite Mr. Boyd and Mr. Nelson’s giant crab discovery. I tasted the bitterness of the town’s worry on my tongue each time I gulped a mouthful of briny air. I couldn’t wait to reach the shelter of Morag’s hill.
As I rushed past the pottery stall, Thomase Boyd fell into step beside me.
“Hello, Bridey. Seen any krakens lately?” Thomase drawled, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I was in a hurry.
My stomach dropped. Mrs. Kissack and her friend had already been busy telling people how daft I was, then. I’d never buy another scone from her after this.
“See any monsters on your way here?”
I tried to act like I hadn’t heard Thomase, though my burning face gave me away.
“My da and Mr. Nelson’s empty boat turned up in the harbor at first light,” he murmured, soft enough for only me to hear. “And here I thought your friend was only after our women. Tell him from me, if he so much as glances at my mam and sister, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing he ever does.”
I paused, tempted to smack Thomase in the face with the covered painting. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” I gritted out. Of course, that wasn’t true, not unless I found a way to fight the fossegrim.
“What does that mean?” When I didn’t answer, he added, “You’d best stop watching the sea and watch your back instead, Bridey Corkill, or you’ll be his next victim. And what a painful loss that would be.”
Thinking of Fynn and his sudden urge to leave after kissing me just yesterday, my blood ran hot. “Listen here, Thomase. Why don’t you go bother someone else? I’m in the mood to hit something this morning, and your face is awfully close. And a wide target.”
“I know what I saw yesterday,” he growled. “Mr. Gill believes me, and so should you. It was the comeover. Lie to yourself if you must, but Gill won’t be the last person I convince. You can’t hide the truth.”
I quickened my step. “You’re mad.”
Thomase laughed. “I’m the mad one? I’ve heard you like working for the old witch. Think you’re special, don’t you? Well, you and that hag are the daft ones, and your friend is no better.” He jabbed the air with his index finger, calling out as I dashed away, “Trust me, folk would be glad to see the back of you disappearing over a cliff!”
“This town is lucky to have me,” I said, my words carrying on the wind. They might not have realized it, too busy giving me sideways glances and sniggering behind my back, but I was trying to save them all.
“The search party found her footprints!” Thomase’s voice was so faint, I could just make out the words. “Leading right to the water …”
Out of sight of the market at last, I paused in the shade of a tree at the base of the hill. My heart ached for Lugh, yet my m
ind kept circling back to Fynn. Back to the kiss that almost made me love the taste of saltwater. Back to the boy who thought me brave. Had he ever felt anything for me, or had he only meant to use me to pass the time until his memories returned? Surely he’d recalled something if he was suddenly so keen to leave me and this town behind. My hands curled tighter around the edges of the painting as I realized what hurt the most: he hadn’t even asked me to go with him. I might’ve said yes, once I knew my family was safe.
But they weren’t yet. That was up to me and, perhaps, Morag.
Fixing the faces of my missing friends and neighbors in my mind, I knocked on the warped cottage door.
Seconds stretched into minutes as I waited for Morag to answer. I pressed my ear to the wood, hoping to catch the sound of a foot dragging across the floor or the hiss of a kettle. But there was only the sigh of the wind through the trees.
“Morag?” I called. “You can’t keep avoiding me like this!” I knocked again.
And again.
I called and knocked until my knuckles were red, and my voice hoarse. “I’ll just leave your gift out here, then, where it might be ruined!” I trusted that my voice would carry through the rotting wood.
Once more, I pressed my ear to the wall and listened for a familiar scraping sound, but none came. Still, I stood and waited.
The thought of staying here all day was tempting, when I didn’t know what I’d find at home—Fynn, or no Fynn. I shivered, struck by an echo of the pain I’d feel in the absence of the boy who might be stealing my heart.
But judging by the stretching shadows, I’d been here long enough to make Mam nervous, even if Fynn had remembered to tell her where I’d gone.
“Fine.” I raised my hands in surrender. “I’m leaving now. But I won’t stop coming here until you’ve told me what you know about sea monsters, Morag!” I kicked a small stone, sending it hurtling into the trees. “I know you don’t care about the folk I’ve lost, but the disappearances won’t stop until we kill the monster that’s stealing our friends! Maybe you’ll care when it’s someone you love, like—” I broke off, drawing a breath.
Who did Morag love? Surely she cared about someone besides her miserable old self. No one wanted to be alone all the time, no matter how much they argued to the contrary. My gaze fell on Mam’s painting, and the answer came to me.
“Like my mam!” I shouted. “You could lose my mam if this monster isn’t stopped. I’m going to try to fight it on my own, but if my mam gets taken in the meantime, you’ll know who’s to blame.”
I ran until I was clear of the trees. Towering thunderheads obscured the sun, threatening a late afternoon storm. Of course, it was possible that Morag might not know how to hunt a fossegrim. That I might have to figure it out myself, with or without Fynn. But the more she avoided me, the more I was sure she had something to hide. Otherwise, as usual, she’d be ignoring me while I swept her hearth and made tea.
Anger bubbled inside me as I followed a different path home, careful to avoid the market and the stares I was sure to receive there. I had been starting to like Morag, and now I had to wonder whether she knew something that could’ve saved Grandad all those years ago.
“You win for today,” I muttered, though I knew she couldn’t hear me. “But I won’t be giving up easily.”
Not when my sisters, and my town, depended on me.
As I came within sight of home, I hesitated. If Fynn was truly gone, I didn’t think I could stand the sight of the empty sofa. And if he wasn’t, if he’d made me worry all morning for nothing, I might not be able to keep myself from hitting a wounded lad.
I opened the door, bracing for the silence and the sting of Fynn’s absence. But I was greeted by a burst of noise—Da’s deep laughter and Mam’s off-key singing filled the house. I hadn’t heard the like of it for weeks, maybe months, and the sound made my pulse quicken.
An unplanned celebration was unusual, even by our family’s standards. Even when fish and tourists were plentiful.
“There you are, Bridey!” Mally stood in the center of the room, beaming at everyone gathered: Mam and Da, Liss, Grayse, and a reedy lad with red hair—Artur. And tucked into one corner of the sofa, beside Grayse—Fynn.
My heart leapt. I barely had a moment to look a question at him, and for him to carefully avoid my gaze, looking miserable, before Mally turned her radiant smile on me.
“Come, dear sister!” She drew me into a floral-scented hug and squeezed my sides so hard I coughed. “Artur and I are going to be married! He proposed last night, after—well, I’ll tell you that part when we’re alone.”
The crushing losses of my friends and neighbors had pushed the possibility of Mally’s engagement to the back of my mind. I hugged her around the middle, trying to feel a shiver of happiness, but images of Nessa Daley gathering flowers and Alis’s jack-o’-lantern smile prevented me from offering more than a weak grin. “That’s wonderful, Mal. When’s the wedding?”
An excited squeal followed my words. “We’re going to have a feast!” Grayse cheered from the sofa, nearly walloping Fynn in the stomach in her excitement. “Capons and geese and hogs and breads and puddings …”
“The wedding’s on Thursday. Can you believe it?” Mally’s voice was as bright as Grayse’s, but something in her eyes told me she would be missing Nessa and Lugh’s mam helping her with the wedding preparations.
I looked to Mam. A wedding so soon was absurd. But she nodded, seeming to be at peace with the idea. I shifted my gaze back to Mally. “How will you put a wedding together in three days? It takes months to write to relatives, and arrange the music, and—”
“There won’t be time to invite a whole scutch of people from out of town,” Mally interrupted. “Artur’s uncle offered him a job in London, and our boat leaves a week from today.” She kissed the top of my head, her haunted eyes at odds with her radiant smile. “I’m going to miss you, Bry.”
“No, you won’t.” Mally frowned, and I hurried to add, “You’ll be too busy seeing the sights in England with me when I visit every other month.”
“Oh, good!” Softer, she added, “And be safe in the meantime, all right?”
“I will.” I embraced her again, holding on longer this time. “Now, what can I do to help?”
“Let’s discuss the preparations over tea, shall we?” Mally’s smile finally reached her eyes. “Perhaps Fynn and Artur can talk in the meantime. I’m sure they can find something in common.”
For the first time in my life, I was jealous of Artur. I needed to talk to Fynn, to find out what had changed his mind about leaving, or if he was simply putting off breaking my heart for another day. I wouldn’t beg him to stay, but I at least needed to know what memory prompted him to abandon us. Me.
Still, it wasn’t every day my eldest sister got engaged. Faking a smile, I followed Mally to the kitchen, listening to her prattle on about seating arrangements and music while I worried about having a wedding with the fossegrim lying in wait for a girl to call his bride. I couldn’t think of a greater beauty than Mally. What if the fossegrim found her lovely face too much of a temptation, and rose out of the water to claim her?
Mally couldn’t have chosen a worse time for a wedding.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Gasping for breath, I threw back my blankets and sat up as a dawn glow seeped through the window. A quick glance at my younger sisters assured me they were still asleep. How had my thrashing not awakened them?
Several gulps of air helped me shrug off the haze of exhaustion, but when I tried to recall the dream that had made me panic, I remembered only stinging water filling my nose and lungs. It made my chest feel so heavy that, even now, a weight remained pressed against my heart.
Out in the hallway, a floorboard popped. Perhaps Fynn was awake. I hadn’t had a chance to talk with him alone last night on account of the celebration, and I was eager for a chance to ask what had changed his mind about leaving.
I hurriedly dressed, but by th
e time I emerged in a skirt and blouse, the house was silent. Da’s boots and fishing gear were gone, and Fynn was curled up on the sofa, completely covered by a spare wool blanket.
Deciding not to wake him just yet, I glanced at Mam’s easel. A canvas sat there, shimmering wetly, and a piece of paper rested on her chair: Going to pick up some Samson for my head, then over to M.M.’s for a visit. Will be back around noon. Love, Mam.
I scrunched my eyebrows, staring at the note. The only M.M. I knew was Morag Maddrell. Why would Mam pay her a visit when there was so much to do before the wedding? Did she think, for even a second, that Morag would want to help plan a celebratory feast, much less attend one?
I laid the note back on the chair. If she’d gone to purchase Samson at the tavern before visiting Morag, her latest dream must have given her another headache. Still, the dark brew of treacle and hops was bound to dull the pain, at least for a few hours.
Curious to see what vision had seized Mam this time, I glanced at her new canvas. But I regretted the decision as soon as I laid eyes on it. The scene was set close to shore—a blue-eyed, raven-haired girl besieged by a serpent. Under a sky the color of a cast-iron pan, a gale tossed the girl’s tiny boat and whipped her long braids out behind her. The serpent gnawed the girl’s leg while she jabbed its saucerlike eye with a harpoon tip.
Shivering, I turned away, but something about the girl’s raven braids and sea-foam eyes made me look again. They were Morag’s eyes. And though I’d only seen her in braids the color of dull silver, their clumsy styling was familiar.
I edged toward the sofa, gripping its sturdy back for support. The serpent in the painting was clamped down on the girl’s left foot, the same foot Morag claimed to have caught in a hunter’s trap.
I laughed, a mirthless sound. Staring at the serpent’s teeth, I remembered something.
The night Lugh and I heard the big crash, which seemed so long ago now, I’d seen a massive dark shape dip below the ocean’s surface. And the next day, while hunting for shipwreck debris, something long and sharp and white had pierced Lugh’s foot.
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