Chapter Twenty-Nine

The Song

Maggie wouldn’t let me go swimming for days after Harry came. I stayed close to the house, listening for motors and the heavy thud of boots. And thinking about the sprite. I pictured her on top of the bluff, firm footed and graceful. I saw the confident set of her shoulders, her chin lifting as she looked out to sea, her hand raising toward mine.

Harry had talked about the boat, and a gun, and people out searching. But he hadn’t said one word about a boy seen swimming away from the harbor. That meant I was right about the sprite. She wasn’t human. She hadn’t told.

Maggie took out the calendar. “Full moon,” she said, drawing a line through a box with a circle in it. She turned a page and pointed to another circle. “One month till your mom’s due back. And that”—another page, and her pen stabbed down—“is when Jack’s coming home.”

All those boxes! If I stayed in the house that long I’d lose my mind. I thought of the stone selkie in my shorts pocket. I’d vowed to be brave. Why was I cowering inside?

The next morning I woke with the first crack of daylight. I scanned the horizon. There wasn’t a boat in sight.

Halfway down the cliff, a fist-sized hole in the rock made a perfect cave for the stone selkie. I settled her there facing out to sea, as if she’d be watching for my return. Then I jumped down to the flat rocks and slipped into the water.

The coolness rushed across my skin. For the first time in days I felt alive. I somersaulted and dove to the seabed. A striped greenling stared at me, flicking its fins. I grinned and gave chase. All along the rock face, crabs skittered and anemones waved. A wolf eel pulled its head back into a crevice.

I rose, treading water. I’d come all the way to the rocky point. On the other side was the bluff where I’d seen the sprite.

I was about to turn back when a song came rippling across the waves.

The singer’s voice was clear and sweet. And the tune! In a few notes it curved from light to dark like the inside of a cresting wave. It called to me, to my blood, like I’d known it forever. It felt like home.

I swam around the point with my head above water so I wouldn’t lose a single note.

It was the sprite. Of course it was. She sat cross-legged at the top of the bluff, her eyes closed, as if she were drawing magic from deep in the earth. The sweet, sad tune drew me closer. The waves hushed and now I could hear the words:

        “Awake, awake, my bonnie maid,

        For oh, how soundly thou dost sleep.

        I’ll tell thee where thy babe’s father is,

        He’s . . . He’s . . .”

She paused, then started again. “I’ll tell thee where thy babe’s father is, he’s . . .”

The tune skittered to a stop, and in a cross voice she said, “Oh, rats!”

The song’s magic fled. That didn’t sound like what a forest sprite would say. And the way her mouth pulled tight in frustration was more like a . . . a human expression. And those shorts and T-shirt she had on—

She was human! I startled backward with a splash.

The girl’s eyes flew open and she leaped to her feet, staring right at me.

She was human and she’d seen me twice! She’d been lying in wait for me, luring me closer with her song. Now she’d tell everyone. They’d catch me and take me away, and I’d never see Mam or my clan again.

The current was carrying me toward the point. The girl started running along the bluff to keep up. I snapped to my senses and dove, kicking down to where the water turned dark. If she couldn’t see me, she couldn’t follow. I swam around the point and rose cautiously.

A gasp came from overhead. She was looking down from the top of the rocks.

“Don’t go!” she cried, raising her arms to dive. “Wait for me!”

I kicked down deep and sped off. A moment later the water shook as she pierced the surface. The force of it rushed over me, circle after circle spreading out with the girl at the center. I swam faster. The water carried the beat of her strokes coming straight at me, as if the song had bound us together with an invisible cord.

I couldn’t let her follow me to Maggie’s! I swerved and headed out toward open water, where the waves were too big, the current too strong, for that feeble stroke of hers.

Behind me, her course shifted, too.

I swam underwater until my lungs were about to explode. When I was so far from land she couldn’t possibly have followed, I rose in the trough of a wave and listened. The splashing had stopped.

I gulped in relief. She must have turned back.

But then why didn’t I hear her swimming back to shore?