Chapter Seven

Alone

A boat. And not just a speck in the distance like I’d seen before. I stared, spellbound.

A flat, wooden flipper dug into the water. Clutching the top was a hand. A human hand. It had to be. But the skin turned orange at the wrist. I leaned forward, straining to see through the gap. The boat splashed ahead, leaving only a swirl of foam—

And then the water exploded in front of me.

I leaped to my feet, my heart pounding, as a shape surged toward me in a blur of spray—Grandmam!

“Run!” she barked, her eyes blazing.

I startled to my senses. The boat was heading toward the point. Soon the human would round the rocks. He’d see the cove. The boulder. Me.

I leaped off the boulder. The instant I hit the ground, I was racing for the cliff.

Another splash: louder, closer. I glanced back over my shoulder—and skidded to a stop. On top of the rock, the sun flared off the doubloons in a spiral of blinding gold.

I swerved back. Grandmam was at my heels, snarling and butting. The gull shrieked in alarm.

“He’ll see it!” I hissed. “He’ll know I’m here.”

Grandmam followed my eyes. Her head reared up. “I’ll do it. Go.”

I sprinted to the cliff and scrambled up to the crevice, pressing back into the shadows.

A splash, a swirl, and into the cove swam the blood-red boat. A sharp beak. A broad belly. At the back, a straight line, like its tail was chopped off.

Was it a boat like this that killed Riona’s chief?

It swam through the breakers. The man’s back was toward me. On his arms and upper body, orange flesh hung loose and saggy, like an elephant seal’s. It wrinkled as he dug in the flippers. Now he swiveled his head toward shore. His hair was hacked short. Dark-brown fur sprouted from his cheeks and chin.

My stomach churned. I’d thought humans looked like selkies in longlimbs. Not like . . . this.

The boat slid ashore. Rocks scraped its belly like teeth on bone.

A flash of movement caught my eye. Grandmam was hauling herself up the side of the boulder. It was so steep, she almost stood on her tail. With a grunt of effort, she crested the top and slapped down, her flipper shoving the swirl of gold and stones into a cleft.

The man climbed out of the boat. His feet were black and swollen. Or—or was something covering them, like part of a pelt? Was the saggy skin an extra layer, too? It fit so badly, it must weigh him down. Why would he wear it?

Maybe there was something wrong with his own skin.

He grabbed the boat’s beak and jerked it higher ashore. He looped a cord around a log, tugging it tight. Then he turned and looked at Grandmam.

She glared back, swinging her head from side to side. He started walking toward her.

With a shove of her flippers, she slid off the rock, landing in a crash of pebbles. Now she’d attack to keep him from finding me. She’d drive him off, like the time she chased a walrus away. I leaned forward, eager for those slashing claws and bared teeth, that ferocious growl.

But Grandmam was scooting away from him. Away from me. She was rushing into the waves.

A swirl of foam and she disappeared.

I was alone.