That’s what I saw the last day I piloted
Seawitch
: a dobhar-chú. It came out of the water and right up the boarding ladder. Then it just stood on the foredeck and stared at me like it was memorizing my face, planning some kind of mischief. I went straight to the bar with the old hands and their gals once I got ashore and had a few drinks—maybe more. And I told myself it wasn’t anything but an otter, but you know what happened later, and I say it was the fault of the dobhar-chú.”
“This . . . water hound is some kind of sailor’s omen, then?” I asked.
Reeve shook his head. “Not an omen; the real thing.”
“A mythical beast . . .” Solis muttered.
Reeve’s aura flashed red again, but this time he didn’t hold his temper back. “You think I’m crazy? You think I’m lying?” he shouted, leaning farther forward with each angry sentence. His half-slack face twisted into something from a nightmare and his words came out in a wet slur. “You think because sailors are superstitious it must
all
be hokum and smoke rings? You’ll take it more seriously when
you’re
the one looking a devil dog in the face and you see those teeth shining, hear its voice. . . . You won’t think it’s a myth: You’ll think it’s going to rip your throat out and dance in your entrails. You will
believe
you are staring Death in the face!”
“Captain Reeve,” I started, leaning and reaching toward him, hoping I could touch that angry energy around him and maybe—if I still had the ability—calm him down. But he wrenched sideways in his chair as if my impending touch were poisonous, and he fixed me with a glare of utter malevolence.
“Don’t you try to gentle me, missy!” Reeve snapped. “I’ll put you over the side with the rest of those fish-tailed bitches.” And he made a jabbing gesture at my face with three arthritic fingers from his left hand. He seemed to look right through me or even past me as he continued. “You—you—you—” He started choking, the word catching in his throat like a bone and his face going crimson.
Still glaring through me and gagging on whatever curse he was trying to pronounce, Reeve began to topple from his seat. Solis swore and jumped up to help as I dove to catch the old man. But even falling and now turning blue in the face, Reeve jerked himself away from me, landing hard on the little cement patch of his patio. I could hear his head knock on the paving and he started convulsing and twitching, keeping his eyes pinned over my shoulder as Solis pushed me aside and tried to help him. I backed away from Reeve’s accusing stare and grabbed my cell phone to call 911, looking around to see what it was that was upsetting him so much—if it wasn’t actually me—but all I saw was the shuddering of leaves in the shrubs and a glitter of Grey sparks.
I turned my attention back to the men. The energy around Reeve’s head and body was blackening, as if ink were flooding into the psychic space around him, and I could feel a twisting, breathless pain in my own chest as I watched him in horror. He was dying right in front of me and there was nothing I could do for him and no way for me to avoid the wrenching shock of death that would strike me when he stopped fighting.
I started to kneel down and help even as I tried to tell the emergency operator what was happening, but Solis, cursing quietly in Spanish, pushed me away. “You frighten him,” Solis whispered. “Back away.”
I moved back a little, out of Reeve’s sight and where I could no longer see his accusing eyes. In a few minutes the EMTs arrived and hustled past me to the still-thrashing man. I could see Reeve arch and writhe, his eyes rolling up in his head, and I expected to feel the ripping pain of death slam through me. . . .
But it didn’t come.
I backed up against the plant-draped wall of the building and slid down into the Grey. I wanted to see what was happening to Reeve in the magical realm, since I
Seawitch
: a dobhar-chú. It came out of the water and right up the boarding ladder. Then it just stood on the foredeck and stared at me like it was memorizing my face, planning some kind of mischief. I went straight to the bar with the old hands and their gals once I got ashore and had a few drinks—maybe more. And I told myself it wasn’t anything but an otter, but you know what happened later, and I say it was the fault of the dobhar-chú.”
“This . . . water hound is some kind of sailor’s omen, then?” I asked.
Reeve shook his head. “Not an omen; the real thing.”
“A mythical beast . . .” Solis muttered.
Reeve’s aura flashed red again, but this time he didn’t hold his temper back. “You think I’m crazy? You think I’m lying?” he shouted, leaning farther forward with each angry sentence. His half-slack face twisted into something from a nightmare and his words came out in a wet slur. “You think because sailors are superstitious it must
all
be hokum and smoke rings? You’ll take it more seriously when
you’re
the one looking a devil dog in the face and you see those teeth shining, hear its voice. . . . You won’t think it’s a myth: You’ll think it’s going to rip your throat out and dance in your entrails. You will
believe
you are staring Death in the face!”
“Captain Reeve,” I started, leaning and reaching toward him, hoping I could touch that angry energy around him and maybe—if I still had the ability—calm him down. But he wrenched sideways in his chair as if my impending touch were poisonous, and he fixed me with a glare of utter malevolence.
“Don’t you try to gentle me, missy!” Reeve snapped. “I’ll put you over the side with the rest of those fish-tailed bitches.” And he made a jabbing gesture at my face with three arthritic fingers from his left hand. He seemed to look right through me or even past me as he continued. “You—you—you—” He started choking, the word catching in his throat like a bone and his face going crimson.
Still glaring through me and gagging on whatever curse he was trying to pronounce, Reeve began to topple from his seat. Solis swore and jumped up to help as I dove to catch the old man. But even falling and now turning blue in the face, Reeve jerked himself away from me, landing hard on the little cement patch of his patio. I could hear his head knock on the paving and he started convulsing and twitching, keeping his eyes pinned over my shoulder as Solis pushed me aside and tried to help him. I backed away from Reeve’s accusing stare and grabbed my cell phone to call 911, looking around to see what it was that was upsetting him so much—if it wasn’t actually me—but all I saw was the shuddering of leaves in the shrubs and a glitter of Grey sparks.
I turned my attention back to the men. The energy around Reeve’s head and body was blackening, as if ink were flooding into the psychic space around him, and I could feel a twisting, breathless pain in my own chest as I watched him in horror. He was dying right in front of me and there was nothing I could do for him and no way for me to avoid the wrenching shock of death that would strike me when he stopped fighting.
I started to kneel down and help even as I tried to tell the emergency operator what was happening, but Solis, cursing quietly in Spanish, pushed me away. “You frighten him,” Solis whispered. “Back away.”
I moved back a little, out of Reeve’s sight and where I could no longer see his accusing eyes. In a few minutes the EMTs arrived and hustled past me to the still-thrashing man. I could see Reeve arch and writhe, his eyes rolling up in his head, and I expected to feel the ripping pain of death slam through me. . . .
But it didn’t come.
I backed up against the plant-draped wall of the building and slid down into the Grey. I wanted to see what was happening to Reeve in the magical realm, since I
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