Children of the Sea 01 - Sea Witch

took Caleb several long moments to realize his father was weeping. He supported his father’s tall, wasted body, rage and pity churning in his stomach.
     
    “I am sorry.” Maggie’s beautiful face was grave, her tone gentle.
    “She is not coming back.”
     
    Caleb frowned. “Do you know each other?”
     
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    “Her eyes . . .” Beads of perspiration dotted Bart’s pale face. His breath was rank.
     
    “What about them?”
     
    “She has your mother’s eyes.”
     
    Baffled, Caleb met his sister’s gaze, gray green as his own. “Lucy?”
     
    “The other one,” Bart mumbled. “Staring at me. Your mother’s eyes.”
     
    “He’s sick,” Lucy said. “Let me take him upstairs.”
     
    “I’ve got him,” Caleb said grimly.
     
    Whether he wanted him or not.
     

     
    Margred watched Caleb help his father up the stairs. Despite the impatience in his voice, the frustration in his eyes, there was such strength inside him.
     
    Such tenderness.
     
    “He should have a care for his leg,” she murmured.
     
    “Caleb’s better at taking care of other people than himself, ” Lucy said. “He raised me, you know.”
     
    Margred tilted her head. “Until he left to fight.”
     
    “Actually, he went away to school when I was nine. It was that, or haul lobsters with Dad, and by then they could barely stand to eat dinner at the same table, let alone be cooped up on the same boat twelve hours a day. Caleb put up with it as long as he could. He’s a good brother.” Her gaze, earnest and unguarded, met Margred’s, and for a moment Margred felt a buzz, a click, a— The girl looked away. “He’s a good man.”
     
    Selkies did not think in terms of good or bad. They simply were, and their existence was enough. But for humans, whose lives were short and
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    messy, whose choices determined the eternal fate of their souls, good and evil had meaning.
     
    Caleb was a good man, Margred realized, feeling an ache like a bruise at her heart. Whether he believed her or not, he was trying to protect her. To care for her.
     
    And one day he would die.
     
    How could he stand it?
     
    How would she?
     
    Her mate had died, and she had mourned him. But her life with him had not been very different from the centuries that had gone before or the decades since: sunlight, sea, and storm, the cycle of the seasons, the richness of the ocean, the freedom of the waves. Fifty years later, she could not recall his touch or the timbre of his voice.
     
    Caleb limped down the stairs, his wonderful green eyes sober, his mouth tight with pain, and she felt a pang in her belly.
     
    He had moved her. Changed her.
     
    Even if she could go back to the sea, would she ever be the same?
     
    “How’s Dad?” Lucy asked.
     
    Caleb’s expression softened when he looked at his sister. “Asleep.”
     
    “Oh. Oh, well, that’s good.” Lucy shifted her weight from foot to foot. Shifted her gaze from Caleb to Maggie. “I think I’ll watch the rest of my show up in my room. Good night.”
     
    “ ’Night, Lu.”
     
    “Good night,” Margred echoed.
     
    Lucy’s footfalls sounded going up the stairs.
     
    “You want to tell me what’s going on?” Caleb asked quietly.
     
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    She arched her eyebrows. “I have been watching television with your sister. It is very . . . educational.”
     
    Caleb’s mouth quirked. “Honey, it’s American Idol , not the History Channel.” He pressed a button, and the set went dark. “What was that business with my father? He acted like he recognized you.”
     
    “He did. Or rather,” she corrected herself, “he recognizes what I am.”
     
    “What the hell is that?”
     
    The question buried itself like a knife in her chest. She had told him, and he had not believed her. “Did you ask him?”
     
    “I can’t get a straight answer out of the old man when he’s sober. He makes even less sense when he’s drunk.”
     
    She lifted her chin. “And as long as you can tell yourself he is drunk and I am crazy, you don’t have to believe either of us.”
     
    He shook his head. “I didn’t come here to fight with you. I’ve missed you, Maggie.”
     
    Her heart shook. She crossed her arms to hold it in her breast. “After one day.”
     
    He smiled wryly. “After five minutes. That’s how long it took me to realize I could have handled things better yesterday. I was angry. Jealous, I guess. And I took it out on you.” His gaze met hers, all nerves and need, and she