the wall and his eyes on the door. “What have you told her?” he Page 19
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asked Conn.
Conn raised his eyebrows. “Very little. Though I am curious why you have not told her more.”
“She is human,” Dylan said.
“So is your brother,” Conn said.
On the sofa, Margred crossed her legs. “Caleb faced a demon for me. He deserved to know who I was.
And what their mother was.”
“Milk or sugar?” Lucy asked breathlessly from the hall.
Silence thickened the air.
They did not want her there. Conn felt their discomfort as a living, pulsing barrier, drawing them together, leaving Lucy alone on the outside.
She felt it, too. Conn saw the red tide sweep her face.
He had already learned what he could from her. He needed Dylan’s report.
Yet looking at her flushed cheeks, her soft, stricken eyes, he felt almost sorry for her.
“Sugar, please,” Margred said.
The other woman, the pregnant one, pulled herself to her feet. “I’ll help,” she said kindly.
But Lucy was already backing away, shaking her head. “I’ve got it.”
“Why don’t you set out everything in the kitchen,” Caleb suggested. “We’ll join you when we’re ready.”
Lucy flinched and then was still, like a wounded animal that will not call attention to itself. “Actually, I just
. . . I have lesson plans to do. Upstairs.”
They sat, listening to the sound of her retreating footsteps.
The pregnant woman crossed her arms over her stomach and shot Caleb an accusing look. “Smooth, Cal. Very smooth.”
Caleb rubbed the back of his neck.
“She couldn’t stay,” Margred said.
“Not after that,” the woman— Regina, that was her name —said.
“Not at all,” said Dylan. “She’s not involved. She doesn’t even know what’s going on.”
Conn was struck by a sudden vision of Lucy’s face burning in the water of the tide pool.
She was involved. Somehow.
He had to find the reason, a pattern, a clue.
He clasped his hands behind him and directed a look at Dylan. “Neither do I. Yet. No doubt you are about to enlighten me.”
3
CONN WAS NOT HIS FATHER. HE DID NOT EXPEND energy in needless emotion. But listening to Dylan’s report, Conn was aware of a hard, cold lump beneath his breastbone, a warning pulse in his blood, that felt disconcertingly like anger.
Buggering hell.
He tightened his hands behind his back. “They tried to kill your child,” he said. “A selkie child. A daughter of Atargatis.”
It was the threat he feared.
And the answer he had come looking for.
Regina spread her hands over her stomach. “We don’t know yet if the baby’s selkie. Or even if it’s a girl.
The ultrasound won’t be accurate for another couple of weeks. But that woman—the devil woman—was definitely trying to end the pregnancy. I was just . . . What do you call it?”
“Collateral damage,” Caleb said in a grim voice.
Conn ignored them both. “And you did nothing,” he said to Dylan.
Dylan flushed the way he used to when he first came to live at Sanctuary, a thin, sulky adolescent with more attitude than sense. “I warded the island.”
Page 20
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“You knew I was waiting to hear from you.”
“I sent the whaleyn .”
The humpbacks’ song was rich and nuanced. But it lacked the clarity of human communication.
“You should have come yourself,” Conn said.
He had wasted weeks in the expectation that Dylan would return to Sanctuary to make his report—a mere eyeblink in the centuries of a selkie’s existence. However, in the current contest with the children of fire, even time was Conn’s enemy.
Dylan gave him a level look, reminding Conn he was not a boy any longer. “I couldn’t leave them,” he said.
Them. His woman. His child. The daughter of the prophecy? Conn wondered. The targair inghean .
“You could have brought them with
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
asked Conn.
Conn raised his eyebrows. “Very little. Though I am curious why you have not told her more.”
“She is human,” Dylan said.
“So is your brother,” Conn said.
On the sofa, Margred crossed her legs. “Caleb faced a demon for me. He deserved to know who I was.
And what their mother was.”
“Milk or sugar?” Lucy asked breathlessly from the hall.
Silence thickened the air.
They did not want her there. Conn felt their discomfort as a living, pulsing barrier, drawing them together, leaving Lucy alone on the outside.
She felt it, too. Conn saw the red tide sweep her face.
He had already learned what he could from her. He needed Dylan’s report.
Yet looking at her flushed cheeks, her soft, stricken eyes, he felt almost sorry for her.
“Sugar, please,” Margred said.
The other woman, the pregnant one, pulled herself to her feet. “I’ll help,” she said kindly.
But Lucy was already backing away, shaking her head. “I’ve got it.”
“Why don’t you set out everything in the kitchen,” Caleb suggested. “We’ll join you when we’re ready.”
Lucy flinched and then was still, like a wounded animal that will not call attention to itself. “Actually, I just
. . . I have lesson plans to do. Upstairs.”
They sat, listening to the sound of her retreating footsteps.
The pregnant woman crossed her arms over her stomach and shot Caleb an accusing look. “Smooth, Cal. Very smooth.”
Caleb rubbed the back of his neck.
“She couldn’t stay,” Margred said.
“Not after that,” the woman— Regina, that was her name —said.
“Not at all,” said Dylan. “She’s not involved. She doesn’t even know what’s going on.”
Conn was struck by a sudden vision of Lucy’s face burning in the water of the tide pool.
She was involved. Somehow.
He had to find the reason, a pattern, a clue.
He clasped his hands behind him and directed a look at Dylan. “Neither do I. Yet. No doubt you are about to enlighten me.”
3
CONN WAS NOT HIS FATHER. HE DID NOT EXPEND energy in needless emotion. But listening to Dylan’s report, Conn was aware of a hard, cold lump beneath his breastbone, a warning pulse in his blood, that felt disconcertingly like anger.
Buggering hell.
He tightened his hands behind his back. “They tried to kill your child,” he said. “A selkie child. A daughter of Atargatis.”
It was the threat he feared.
And the answer he had come looking for.
Regina spread her hands over her stomach. “We don’t know yet if the baby’s selkie. Or even if it’s a girl.
The ultrasound won’t be accurate for another couple of weeks. But that woman—the devil woman—was definitely trying to end the pregnancy. I was just . . . What do you call it?”
“Collateral damage,” Caleb said in a grim voice.
Conn ignored them both. “And you did nothing,” he said to Dylan.
Dylan flushed the way he used to when he first came to live at Sanctuary, a thin, sulky adolescent with more attitude than sense. “I warded the island.”
Page 20
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
“You knew I was waiting to hear from you.”
“I sent the whaleyn .”
The humpbacks’ song was rich and nuanced. But it lacked the clarity of human communication.
“You should have come yourself,” Conn said.
He had wasted weeks in the expectation that Dylan would return to Sanctuary to make his report—a mere eyeblink in the centuries of a selkie’s existence. However, in the current contest with the children of fire, even time was Conn’s enemy.
Dylan gave him a level look, reminding Conn he was not a boy any longer. “I couldn’t leave them,” he said.
Them. His woman. His child. The daughter of the prophecy? Conn wondered. The targair inghean .
“You could have brought them with
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