Chapter Thirty-Two

The Book

A gust of wind woke me from my sleep. Dawn was cracking the sky. I settled the stone selkie in her cave and swam near the base of the cliff, catching breakfast. The sun crept up as slow as a snail. Finally I couldn’t wait any longer. I took off swimming toward the bluff. A powerful current kept trying to push me back to shore.

I rose for air in the slap and splash of whitecaps. Maybe I should turn around and go back. After yesterday, the girl’s grandfather would probably keep her inside for days. For a half-moon. Longer, until Mam came back and I’d left Spindle Island.

Above me, an osprey rode a wild swoop of wind. I kept swimming.

I rose at the tip of the point. There she was, sitting cross-legged, staring down at something in her lap.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My voice was hiding somewhere down around my ankles. Finally I gulped and managed to call, “Hi!”

She leaped to her feet. “I knew you’d come!” She hoisted something flat and dark blue. “I brought it! The book with the song! I can sing you the whole thing now.”

I swam a little closer.

“Come on up,” she said, pointing to a split in the steep rock face.

It was a good place for climbing, with plenty of handholds and ledges. But I stayed where I was. The shoreline is the safest place to be: whichever direction danger comes, be it shark or human, you can slip out of reach in a flash.

“Sing it from there,” I said.

“You aren’t coming up?” She sounded disappointed.

I shook my head.

“Okay.” She sat, settling the book in her lap. White pages flapped in the wind. She held them down and started to sing.

I strained to hear her over the blustery wind. I caught a strand of tune, but her head was bent to the book, and it swallowed the words back up again like a secret it wanted to keep.

“Sing louder,” I called.

“It messes up the tune.” She stood and studied the split in the rocks. “I guess I can sit on that ledge.”

Clutching the book to her side, she started working her way down. She moved quickly, sure-footed and nimble. I backed away so the waves surrounded me. I was only here for the song, I told myself. That was all.

Now she’d reached the steepest part. She took a step—a stone teetered under her weight and slid, scraping and grating, and she reached out a hand to catch her balance—

The book flew from her grip and out over the waves, flapping wildly. Then its wings slapped shut and it dove into the roiling foam. Whitecaps crashed, pushing it deeper with every blow.

No! I dove under the chop, groping blindly, clutching at bubbles. Then my hand hit a hard, straight edge. I grabbed it and raced to the surface.

Nellie was standing on the ledge near the water. I swam back holding the book high above my head, victorious. I’d saved its life, and now I’d have the song as my reward. I climbed up beside her, grinning.

But she was staring at the book in horror, her breath coming in short gasps.

My smile dropped.

She held out both hands and I laid the book across them. The blue wing lay askew. Beneath it the pages were sodden and crumpled. Nellie reached out a trembling hand and lifted a torn strip of paper; it draped over her fingers like seaweed.

“Grandpa’s going to kill me,” she whispered. “I’m not supposed to take the books out of the house. For the special ones in the glass case, I’m supposed to ask before I even touch them. And I didn’t ask.”

She was going to be punished. But it was because of me she’d taken the book, because of me she’d tried to carry it down the steep path.

“Maybe . . . maybe we can fix it,” I said.

“Fix it?” She bit her lip. “How?”

I wasn’t about to tell her I’d never seen a book before, let alone healed one. I ran a finger along the cover. It was as blue as the ocean depths, and the paper inside was thick and rich. Even wet, it held its force like a living thing.

I lifted the crooked wing and gently tried to straighten it. There was a small ripping sound. I jerked my hand back.

“We’ll need to see how they’re made,” I said. “Are there any more books like this?”

“This old? Yes, a few.”

“Bring one here.”

She shuddered. “I can’t take another one out of the house. I don’t dare.”

A wild thought came into my head. I was going to push it away. But then I thought of the stone selkie waiting in her cave, and I wanted to be brave.

I swallowed hard. “Where’s your house?”

She pointed toward the trees. Inland. Away from the safety of shore and the heartbeat of the waves.

I stood up straighter and took a deep breath. “I’ll come there.”

“You can’t!” she said. “You need to stay secret.”

“I can come if no one else sees me.” I turned to climb.

“Wait,” said Nellie. “It’s too late to go today. Grandpa goes out painting early, but he might be back soon. Meet me here tomorrow at seven.”

“Seven? When’s that?”

She paused—had I shown myself as different yet again? Then she pointed to a spot low on the horizon. “When the sun’s still down there, and the robins start to sing.”