Children of the Sea 01 - Sea Witch

generally not a good idea.
     
    But if she could . . . Her heart beat faster.
     
    She had to try. Not simply because Caleb refused to take her to the beach, but because she needed to know her own limits.
     
    Downstairs, the house felt even darker and more cramped. Unlike the tourist boxes built along the beach with wide windows to admit the view, this cottage had been constructed and positioned to withstand the worst that winter and the sea could throw at it. The darkness did not bother Margred. Even in human form, her eyes adjusted easily to the gloom. But she could feel the upper floor pressing down on her, the surrounding pines closing in.
     
    Caleb’s mother had lived here ?
     
    For thirteen years.
     
    Margred shivered and walked to the front of the house.
     
    “Where are you going?” Lucy demanded.
     
    “I need air,” Margred said and swung the door wide.
     
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    The wind poured in, wet with rain and the smell of earth and pine and, faint and faraway, the scent of the sea. Margred breathed in.
     
    “You’re getting the floor wet,” Lucy said.
     
    Margred ignored her.
     
    Holding the sea air deep inside her lungs, she began to cast again, her seeking thought like a golden hook spiraling down and down. The rain misted her face and dampened her bare arms. She held them up to the clouds, reaching beyond the fat, wet drops and freshening breeze to where the rain swam on the currents of air like a shoal of bright fish. This was only a small, localized storm. Well within her power.
     
    If she had power.
     
    If she were still selkie.
     
    If her head didn’t hurt quite so much.
     
    Frowning in concentration, she tested the flow of the air, the gathering condensation. She felt power gather heavy in her loins until she was pregnant with it, until it rippled in her stomach and pushed at her lungs, until it surged and filled her. She opened her mouth, panting.
     
    Water was her element, she reminded herself. The rain streamed down her face and saturated her gown. All it would take was a push here, a breath there, a tiny adjustment in temperature . . .
     
    Ah .
     
    Something gave, in her chest and in her loins and high in the air overhead. The power rushed to fill the breach, spilled from her into the sky. There. Now .
     
    Ow, ow, ow .
     
    Pain—flashing, slashing—shattered her head and left her empty.
    Aching. Margred swayed, grabbing the door jamb for balance.
     
    Lucy rushed to her side. “Come on. Come inside. Sit down.”
     
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    Margred allowed herself to lean on Lucy’s shoulder; allowed Lucy to support her, hollowed, limp and dripping, to a chair. Had she . . . ?
     
    “You’re all wet,” Lucy scolded as if she were addressing a child.
    “What were you thinking? It’s raining.”
     
    Margred blinked. Her head pounded. But through the fog in her brain, she could feel the change in the skies overhead, the shift in pressure, the flow of water vapor.
     
    The alluvium of magic.
     
    Half blind with pain and triumph, she raised her face and smiled.
    “Not for long,” she said.
     
    109
     

Nine
     
    CALEB’S CELL PHONE VIBRATED ON HIS BELT. HE reached for it, one hand on the wheel and his attention on the wet road.
     
    Edith, calling to report some minor trespass that required the chief’s attention?
     
    Or Antonia, with another complaint?
     
    He glanced at the display and recognized the number on the tiny screen. His pulse quickened.
     
    Lucy , he thought.
     
    And then, with another surge of adrenaline, Maggie . Visions of brain bleeds and abusive ex-boyfriends flashed through his head.
     
    He thumbed the speaker button. “What’s wrong?” he barked.
     
    “Nothing’s wrong,” Lucy said hesitantly. “I just, um . . .”
     
    Nothing was wrong . He loosened his grip on the wheel.
     
    As a detective, he knew better than to jump to conclusions. Or to jump down his sister’s throat. His lack of sleep must be getting to him.
     
    No, Maggie was getting to him.
     
    “Sorry,” he said to his sister. “What’s up?”
     
    “I, um— It’s stopped raining.”
     
    He looked through the rain-spotted windshield to the east, where the clouds were beginning to break. “I can see that.”
     
    “Yes. Well. Maggie wants to know when you’re going to the beach.”
     
    110
    He couldn’t let his personal life interfere with his investigation.
    Although a little beach trip could serve both. Maybe a return to the crime scene would trigger memories of Maggie’s