The Selkie Bride by Melanie Jackson

it was a bit flattering that he thought I was capable of such ruthless action. Of late I had been something of a doormat upon which my husband wiped his feet.
    “I’m afraid I am indeed the last—at least of my immediate family. And my husband and I were certainly…adversarial. But I assure you that I killed neither my husband nor Fergus Culbin.” I took a small breath. “How did you discover that Fergus was dead? Did someone in the village tell you?”
    “Nay, I could smell it. He died violently, killed by the finman. Ye didn’t ken this?”
    “No, the solicitor somehow failed to mention that detail. In fact, I believe he said that Fergus died in a boating accident.” My voice was even, but I was beginning to be angry, and planned on asking Mr. Waverly a few pointed questions the next time I wrote to him. The former owner being murdered in my cottage seemed something that he should have mentioned.
    Lachlan snorted. “The sea is unforgiving of ineptitude and carelessness, and many drown, but Fergus Culbin wasnae careless. He was killed here and his body dragged down tae the water.” The stranger paused. “I believe the finman may have imprisoned his soul before killing him.”
    “Imprisoned his soul?” I tried out the phrase, not liking the way it sat on the tongue and immediately wishing that I could take it back. Not that silence would stay Lachlan’s answer. I sensed that I was fated to hear this dénouement and to test the extent of my new beliefs, whether ready to encompass the story or not.
    “That is what finmen dae to their victims. They need souls tae work their dark magic. I cannae tell fer certain since I didna see the corpse, but it seems likely. This finman is voracious.”
    “You can tell if a corpse has had its soul stolen? I mean, doesn’t the spirit leave on its own once the person is dead?”
    “Aye. But ritual theft leaves distinct marks on the nose where the teeth grip it.”
    The hair on my arms lifted and I shuddered. This was the pièce de rèsistance, and yet my mind was too resistant to this particular piece of information to allow itself to dwell on it for any length of time. I asked, “Would you mind stirring up the fire? I am suddenly chilled.”
    “Certainly. Would you like me tae make you some tea?” Lachlan replied.
    “No, but I will take a glass of whisky.” I gestured at a small sideboard where a decanter and two glasses sat. The second glass had been bought in an early misplaced optimism that I would have friendly neighbors with whom to share hearth and refreshment. “And then you can explain why this creature killed Fergus and why he would hate me when we have never met.”
    “Certainly.” Lachlan walked to the sideboard and picked up the decanter. “Have you ever heard of the Cailleach-a-Phluc ?”
    No, I hadn’t. And I didn’t want to, since even the words sounded evil. In the usual course of events, I am not an unregulated neurotic who is ruled solely by instinct and emotion, but these proceedings were hardlyusual and I thought a degree of trepidation and even fear was in order. And yet, I could not omit any knowledge that might improve my safety. Caution was required but I could not afford ignorance, however taxing the truth on my sanity.
    Putting a glass in my hand, Lachlan turned to the fire. I didn’t gulp the contents, but I wasn’t sipping daintily either. Lachlan continued speaking.
    “The Cailleach-a-Phluc was a black witch of unsurpassed evilness wha often visited this village. It was the finmen’s theft of her wicked magic that turned them tae creatures of ravenous hunger and depravity. Made strong and bold by this stolen magic, the chief wizard of the finmen worked an evil spell that he sent against my people who lived aen the caves that stretch beneath the village and up the coast a day’s journey.” Lachlan’s voice was cold. “Findloss had been warned about what would happen if they didnae expel the finman from among them, but they were