consciousness.
It did not belong here, cut down, cut off from the earth.
Not anymore.
Sighing, the claidheag rose on one elbow and then to its knees. To its feet. It should go . . . The word
was buried deep, a fat, round word, moldy with disappointment. Home. It should go home.
Following the tug of blood, the stir of memory, it shambled toward the road.
4
CALEB WATCHED MAGGIE STIR ANOTHER SPOON ful of sugar into her mug. Less than
twenty-four hours after their meeting with the selkie prince, they sat at their own kitchen table. The night
breeze flowed over the sill, carrying with it the scent of the salt wood.
This was what he’d dreamed of, Maggie in his house and in his life, sharing their thoughts at the end of
the day. After two months of marriage, he knew her tastes and her habits, knew she liked her coffee
sweet and the windows open and sex first thing in the morning.
But he didn’t know how to give her what she wanted. Not this time.
“Maybe in a couple of years,” Caleb said. “When things settle down . . .”
She shot him a wry look. “When I am seven hundred and five?”
He reached to cover her hand on the table. “You don’t look a day over three hundred.”
“There’s a comfort.” But she smiled and turned her palm over, linking her fingers with his. “It’s all right,
Caleb. I am happy here. With you.”
Some of the tension leached from his shoulders. “I’ll give Conn our answer in the morning, then.”
Margred curled her free hand around her mug. “What about Lucy?”
Caleb felt the stiffness creep back into his neck. “What about her?”
“When I first met her, I thought . . . I felt . . .” Margred shook her head. “She is your mother’s daughter,
too.”
Page 27
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Everything within him rejected the idea. From the time Lucy was a toddler with fat baby legs and a “love
me” smile, she had been his. He’d been the one to take care of her. To protect her. To fix her lunch and
her scrapes, to read her stories and tuck her into bed.
“Lucy is human,” he said shortly. “She never Changed.”
Selkies retained the shape they had at birth until they reached sexual maturity. Seals lived as seals for
three to six years; humans remained in human form until puberty. When Caleb’s brother, Dylan, turned
thirteen, he Changed for the first time. His transformation had torn their family apart. Atargatis—Alice,
their father had called her—returned with her older son to the sea, leaving her husband, ten-year-old
Caleb, and baby Lucy behind.
“How do you know?” Margred asked. “You were not here.”
Caleb ran his hand over his short hair. “She called me at school to tell me she got her period, for God’s
sake. You think she would have mentioned a little something like sprouting flippers and fur.”
“Would she?”
Caleb’s jaw set. “Lucy’s as human as I am,” he insisted. “If she wasn’t, you would know it. You would
have sensed it. Or Dylan would.”
“Yes. But she is still of your mother’s bloodline. If she were to have a child—”
He didn’t want to think about it. His sister was fresh out of college. Barely out of diapers.
“Let’s not borrow trouble,” Caleb said. “Christ, she doesn’t even have a steady boyfriend.”
“Neither did Regina before she met your brother,” Margred pointed out.
“What are the odds my sister’s going to get knocked up by a selkie? As long as Lucy sticks to her own
kind, she’ll be fine.”
Maggie arched her eyebrows. “Really.”
Fuck.
He hadn’t stuck to his kind. And neither, thank God, had she.
“I only meant . . . You told me yourself most humanmer offspring are human. Lucy’s only half-selkie. If
she marries a mortal, a human, their kids will probably be human, too. They’ll be safe.”
“ Lucy’s human children would be safe,” Margred repeated.
Caleb frowned. “Probably. The demons have
It did not belong here, cut down, cut off from the earth.
Not anymore.
Sighing, the claidheag rose on one elbow and then to its knees. To its feet. It should go . . . The word
was buried deep, a fat, round word, moldy with disappointment. Home. It should go home.
Following the tug of blood, the stir of memory, it shambled toward the road.
4
CALEB WATCHED MAGGIE STIR ANOTHER SPOON ful of sugar into her mug. Less than
twenty-four hours after their meeting with the selkie prince, they sat at their own kitchen table. The night
breeze flowed over the sill, carrying with it the scent of the salt wood.
This was what he’d dreamed of, Maggie in his house and in his life, sharing their thoughts at the end of
the day. After two months of marriage, he knew her tastes and her habits, knew she liked her coffee
sweet and the windows open and sex first thing in the morning.
But he didn’t know how to give her what she wanted. Not this time.
“Maybe in a couple of years,” Caleb said. “When things settle down . . .”
She shot him a wry look. “When I am seven hundred and five?”
He reached to cover her hand on the table. “You don’t look a day over three hundred.”
“There’s a comfort.” But she smiled and turned her palm over, linking her fingers with his. “It’s all right,
Caleb. I am happy here. With you.”
Some of the tension leached from his shoulders. “I’ll give Conn our answer in the morning, then.”
Margred curled her free hand around her mug. “What about Lucy?”
Caleb felt the stiffness creep back into his neck. “What about her?”
“When I first met her, I thought . . . I felt . . .” Margred shook her head. “She is your mother’s daughter,
too.”
Page 27
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Everything within him rejected the idea. From the time Lucy was a toddler with fat baby legs and a “love
me” smile, she had been his. He’d been the one to take care of her. To protect her. To fix her lunch and
her scrapes, to read her stories and tuck her into bed.
“Lucy is human,” he said shortly. “She never Changed.”
Selkies retained the shape they had at birth until they reached sexual maturity. Seals lived as seals for
three to six years; humans remained in human form until puberty. When Caleb’s brother, Dylan, turned
thirteen, he Changed for the first time. His transformation had torn their family apart. Atargatis—Alice,
their father had called her—returned with her older son to the sea, leaving her husband, ten-year-old
Caleb, and baby Lucy behind.
“How do you know?” Margred asked. “You were not here.”
Caleb ran his hand over his short hair. “She called me at school to tell me she got her period, for God’s
sake. You think she would have mentioned a little something like sprouting flippers and fur.”
“Would she?”
Caleb’s jaw set. “Lucy’s as human as I am,” he insisted. “If she wasn’t, you would know it. You would
have sensed it. Or Dylan would.”
“Yes. But she is still of your mother’s bloodline. If she were to have a child—”
He didn’t want to think about it. His sister was fresh out of college. Barely out of diapers.
“Let’s not borrow trouble,” Caleb said. “Christ, she doesn’t even have a steady boyfriend.”
“Neither did Regina before she met your brother,” Margred pointed out.
“What are the odds my sister’s going to get knocked up by a selkie? As long as Lucy sticks to her own
kind, she’ll be fine.”
Maggie arched her eyebrows. “Really.”
Fuck.
He hadn’t stuck to his kind. And neither, thank God, had she.
“I only meant . . . You told me yourself most humanmer offspring are human. Lucy’s only half-selkie. If
she marries a mortal, a human, their kids will probably be human, too. They’ll be safe.”
“ Lucy’s human children would be safe,” Margred repeated.
Caleb frowned. “Probably. The demons have
Similar Books
