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lewd dances long into the night. They will take down any willing female they find abroad, and few can resist their mesmerizing powers. Beware, niece. Keep off the strand after dark and never cry into the sea.”
    “Why not?” Meg asked, suppressing a smile.
    “Do not smirk at me, Megaleen,” Adelia snapped at her. “Seven tears cried into the sea will bring a selkie male. I need not tell you to do what.”
    Meg doubted that. She’d cried a river into the sea since it spat her out and she was still alone.
    “And if you ever see a sealskin lying about, let it stay where it lays,” Adelia went on.
    “Why, Aunt Adelia?”
    “She who possesses the selkie’s skin possesses him as long as she holds it. Many husbands are gained thus by wily chits who long for the passion only a selkie can give. But the minute the selkie has the skin back, he will return to the sea, for it is his life force. While he is with his human mate on land, he never ceases to long for the depths that have spawned him no matter how beguiled he is by her.”
    “Myth, surely.”
    Adelia snorted. “Tell that to Mirabella Tupp, whose selkie husband walked back into the sea three years ago, or Elvira Sneed, whose paramour did also disappear last Midsummer’s Eve. Aye, ask, niece. The selkie women do the same with mortal men and often slay the children they bear them. They can be treacherous, fiercely jealous, and vindictive; woe betide the gel who lays hands upon a mate of theirs. No, niece, and these are not the only dangers. Stay clear of the beach at night…especially when the moon is full.”
    Meg’s hands trembled as she loaded the eel pots into the skiff in a little cove not far from the cottage. She had more questions, so many more, but she dared not ask them then and risk casting suspicion upon herself. Her aunt was already wary. A sidelong glance testified to that. Adelia was studying her closely.
    “Why all the interest in selkies of a sudden?” Adelia said.
    “You brought the topic up, aunt,” Meg pointed out, climbing into the little boat.
    “Aye…so I did,” her aunt replied. “Well, take the lesson to heart. Go now, and hurry back while the tide is with you.”
    Meg didn’t want the fresh baked bread and goat cheese Adelia thrust at her, having stopped at the cottage to fetch them, along with a wineskin filled with the last of the May wine. Taking up the oars, she propelled the little skiff forward, riding the gentle waves past the breakwater into the open bay. She was a seasoned sailor since a child. It was second nature to her. She loved the salt spray on her face, glistening like spangles in her hair, and the gentle thud of the waves slapping the bottom of the skiff as it glided through the water. Now and then a low-flying seagull strafed her, grazing her with its wings. Drawn by the eel bait, many came, circling the boat in anticipation of a treat. Meg had none to spare. She had a chore to do that should take her mind off the events of the past few hours, but it did not. Everywhere she looked there were reminders. Off to the east, seals were sunning themselves on the rocks along the shoreline. Was Simeon among them? If he was, had he come to gloat? She couldn’t bear the thought that he might have.
    She was alone on the bay. No other boats broke the horizon. She might have excused the whole episode as the dream she’d first supposed if it wasn’t for the dull soreness in her nether parts, made worse by the hard wooden plank beneath her bottom that slapped her each time a gentle swell buffeted the little skiff’s hull. There was no one to see her now, except the gulls, and she reached to soothe her aching crotch through the thin lawn shift. She’d longed to do that since she staggered out of the sea. At least that was her intent until, despite the soreness, waves of liquid fire surged through her core. She could no longer touch herself without thinking of him, the Lord of the Deep, whose scent and strength and massive