CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Fynn draped an arm around my shoulders, allowing me to carry some of his weight, just as he’d done when I found him on the beach. Dusk fell around us as we struggled toward home, another ten or twelve houses up the lane.

More red stained his shirt with each passing moment, and it didn’t take us long to attract the attention of the few curious neighbors who weren’t yet snug in their homes.

“What happened to him?” Mrs. Kissack called, her words echoed by Mrs. Kinry. The two women stood in the Kinrys’ yard, no doubt having a suppertime visit. I wished they would stop gawking and offer to help.

“I’ll tell someone to send for a doctor,” a young lad across the lane offered, dashing away before I could stammer out a thank you.

“What happened?” Mrs. Kissack demanded again shrilly, her hand fluttering at her throat. “Who attacked you? Speak, lad!” She glanced from pale, shaky Fynn to me with wide eyes. “Bridey?”

My head and heart pounded. I’d almost leapt off a cliff, enchanted by a monster’s melody. Between the unabashed stares of Mrs. Kissack and her friend, and Fynn bleeding and gasping beside me, I was too shaken to carefully weigh my words.

“There was something in the sea—the beast that took my grandad. It almost got me, too.”

Someone gave a derisive cough, and my skin prickled. I longed to bury my words forever like the sea swallows a lost ship.

Mrs. Kissack threw me a pitying look I knew too well—the one she usually reserved for the very old and very daft. “You might want to reconsider your story before the doctor shows up, dear. He’ll need the facts to determine proper treatment.”

As if proving her right—though I knew he couldn’t help it—Fynn groaned, leaning harder on me, like his legs might soon give out.

“She’s madder than the witch on the hill,” Mrs. Kinry murmured from behind her handkerchief. “Mad as her grandfather who jumped off that cliff.”

“It’s not her fault!” Mrs. Kissack snapped at her friend as Fynn and I resumed our struggle toward home. These neighbors of ours wouldn’t be any help. “It seems Morag Maddrell has addled her brains. It’s exactly what I knew would happen if she kept the witch’s company. I told her mother as much just the other day, when I saw her at …”

I started humming, trying to block out their voices as I guided Fynn farther away. “We’ll be home soon,” I whispered.

“We should pray for her!” Mrs. Kinry’s booming voice chased us up the lane.

“I made a mistake.” Memories of the town’s merciless stares and whispers flooded my mind, echoes of the last time I’d tried to tell what had happened to Grandad. If I hadn’t been so shaken, I never would have let those words pass my lips today. “A terrible mistake.”

Fynn grunted to show he’d heard. His half-lidded eyes and the sweat beading on his forehead made me all the more desperate to get him safely home.

Mam met me at the door, taking the burden of Fynn’s weight and shouting for Mally.

Time seemed to slow, as though I were moving through a dream. I fetched clean rags, then put water on to boil in the kitchen.

Fynn had saved my life today, yet I was powerless to help him in return. I leaned against the sink, taking deep breaths, trying to fight off the shakiness that hadn’t left me since I was nearly lured over the cliffs. The salt air blowing through the open window cooled my flushed face as I listened to Fynn’s ragged breaths from the next room, but the murmur of the sea trickling in with the breeze sounded too much like laughter.

I slammed the window shut.

There was nothing to do now but pace the kitchen, fetch supplies for Mally when she called for them, and hope the lad who’d run off to send for help was as good as his word. Even so, it would take hours to find a doctor and bring him here.

“I think the bleeding’s stopped again.” Mally’s voice was faint and uncertain.

Wringing my hands, I tracked the moon’s journey across the sky, trying to ignore the feeling of a massive fist squeezing my chest every time Fynn made the slightest noise. My stubborn eyelids were growing heavy, but until I knew he was out of danger, I would fight the haze of sleep and keep my vigil with the moon and stars.

Someone pounded on the door.

“It’s nearly four in the morning!” Mam hissed. “Took the doctor long enough.”

I poked my head into the main room in time to watch her open the door. I blinked, wondering if I’d fallen asleep at the kitchen table and was only dreaming this moment, but the vision before me didn’t change. Instead of the tall, gray-haired doctor from Peel who usually came to us, Lugh was framed by the doorway, his fiery hair ablaze from the light of torches at his back. Behind him were several men, including his stern-faced father and Mr. Gill.

Lugh’s da opened his mouth to speak, but Lugh was faster. “My mam is missing. She took supper to my aunt, and she was supposed to come straight home after, but she never did.” In the torchlight, Lugh looked ill, his face hollow like it had been after last winter’s fever. “We checked with my aunt, and my mam never even made it there …”

“I’m so sorry,” Mam said at once, putting a consoling hand on Lugh’s shoulder. For a moment, I thought he would shrug her away, but he merely flinched, accepting the warmth of her touch. “Peddyr is at sea now. He can join the search party as soon as he’s ashore—”

“That’s not why we’re here,” Lugh interrupted, his voice strained. He locked eyes with me for the briefest moment, sending a shiver up my back as I glimpsed his haunted look, then dropped his gaze to the ground. “Thomase Boyd says he saw …” He paused, then squared his shoulders. “He saw Fynn sneaking around near my aunt’s house earlier. Around dusk, right when Mam would have been arriving there.”

I shook my head, my mouth too dry to speak. That was impossible.

“That’s right,” another voice said. Mally’s former suitor, Thomase, pushed through the small knot of men to stand beside Lugh. “And there’s another thing, too. My da and Mr. Nelson never came home from sea today. They promised to be back by suppertime. That comeover on your sofa—” Thomase clenched his fists and took a step across the threshold, scanning the room for Fynn—“has a lot to answer for.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

The words rang out with force. Mally and I had spoken at the same time.

“Fynn was with me at dusk.” My face grew hotter as I added, “He was with me all day! Ask Mrs. Kissack or Mrs. Kinry. Plenty of people saw us. We were hurrying home. Fynn’s wounds—”

“Stop, Bridey,” Mally cut in, crossing her arms and looking daggers at Thomase. “We don’t have to defend ourselves, or Fynn, to these idiots.”

My gaze flitted over the faces of the other men in the search party. Mr. Gill had a supportive hand on Thomase’s back, as though he was so quick to believe the worst about Fynn—no surprise from him. Some of the other men had faraway looks, like they weren’t sure who to believe.

Lugh caught my eye again, mouthing an apology, but I wasn’t of a mind to accept it. I trusted Fynn, and that meant Lugh should, too. Believing Fynn could have anything to do with the disappearances was as bad as accusing me.

“Bridey,” Lugh murmured, but I focused all my attention on Mally and stuffed my hands in the crooks of my arms to hide how they were shaking.

“If you keep making false accusations, I’ll make sure you’re laughed out of town, Thomase Boyd.” Mally shook her head, still bristling. “Honestly. I don’t know what I ever saw in you. Now off with you. Go! Help Lugh find his mam instead of wasting time pointing fingers where they don’t belong. Or someone might break them!”

Mam stepped in front of Mally, blocking Thomase from taking another step inside. “That poor lad on our sofa is injured. There’s no way he attacked anyone. Good night to you all!” She started to shut the door in their faces, but before she closed it all the way, she called softly to Lugh, “I hope they find your mam soon, dear. I pray they do.”

After latching the door, she leaned against it, rubbing her temples.

Fynn shifted restlessly, and Mally hurried to his side.

I crept quietly into my bedroom, where Liss and Grayse had somehow managed to sleep soundly through our nighttime visitors’ raised voices. Climbing under the warm quilts, I snuggled against Grayse’s back.

But as I lay there, my mind churning over my brush with the fossegrim and Thomase Boyd’s insane accusations, the gray light of predawn slowly filled the room. Sleep wouldn’t be coming any time soon, and I had much more important things to do than rest.

I had to stop the fossegrim before it claimed another soul.

Hopping out of the bed it seemed I’d only just crawled into, I pulled on yesterday’s rumpled clothes and snuck into the main room. Mam and Mally had finally gone to bed, and not even Fynn stirred as I stuck my feet in my boots. He was surely in a deep sleep from one of Mally’s tonics.

But when I crossed to the door, a familiar voice whispered, “And where are you headed at this unseemly hour, Ms. Corkill?”

I turned to the sofa in time to see Fynn crack an eyelid and grin. I smiled back. It was a good sign that he felt well enough to make jokes.

“Morag’s. Tell Mam where I went, would you?”

“What’s the rush? Morag probably isn’t awake yet.” Fynn’s voice was gravelly with sleep. “Come. Rest with me a while. It’ll help me heal faster.”

My feet itched to close the distance between us, especially as the memory of our time at sea drifted back. But Lugh’s face flashed to mind, so gaunt in the torchlight, and I shook my head. “If there’s any hope of finding Lugh’s mam alive, I need to see Morag now. She gave me that book of sea monsters and claimed it would help me, but it didn’t say how to kill the fossegrim.”

As I had lain in bed, I’d thought of how Morag spilled boiling water when I mentioned the disappearances. “She definitely knows something she isn’t telling, and I intend to get the truth from her today.”

Fynn arched a brow, looking curious as a housecat. “And how do you plan to do that?”

I dashed to the serpent canvas, which no one had moved since Fynn turned it against the wall, and lifted it into my arms. “With a bribe, of course. She’ll love this awful old thing.” It was still wrapped in a sheet, thick enough to hide the Bully’s face, and I liked it that way. I hurried to the door.

“Bridey,” Fynn choked out. It sounded like he was struggling to sit up. “Wait.”

Once again, I paused and turned back to him. “I want you to stay a while because …” His face was pale and pinched, though somehow, I sensed, not with pain. “Because I wanted to say good-bye. In case I’m not here when you get back.”

I nearly dropped the painting as my arms went limp. “What? Why wouldn’t you be here? You’re hurt.” I swallowed hard. “And I thought you had good reasons to stay in Port Coire. At least for a while yet.”

“I heard everything those men said last night. I don’t belong here …” Fynn’s words were difficult to make out over the rush of blood in my ears. “I’m putting your family at odds with the town by staying. That seems a poor way to repay your kindness. And as for you …” His eyes glistened as he swallowed and said in a low voice, “After yesterday, I realized just how much I care about you, and—”

“And showing how much you care means taking off just because a stupid lad like Thomase Boyd told a petty lie?” I wanted to cry and shout. My voice shook with the effort of not waking Mam. “You and I know what’s really luring people away!”

Fynn winced, but his mouth was set in a firm line. “This isn’t just because of what anyone said. Caring about you means I want what’s best for you. And while you can’t see it now, and there’s no way you could understand, being around me isn’t—”

“No? I’m not capable of understanding whatever foolishness is running through your head?” I clutched the painting with white knuckles. “Well, hopefully you understand this: You don’t get to decide what’s best for me, no matter how much you claim to care. I do. And what’s best for me is you staying here. If you really feel anything for me at all, you’ll do just that. If not, then perhaps it is best you leave. See how far you get with your wounds half-mended, and good luck.”

I spun on my heel, hoping I’d been quick enough to hide how my heart was breaking. I needed fresh air. I needed Fynn to be here when I got back. I needed to get rid of this blasted sea monster.

“Bridey, I’m doing this for your—”

“I’m going now.” I nudged the door open but called back over my shoulder, “I’ll see you when I return.”

I hope.

I didn’t let a single tear fall until home was far behind me. Lugging the painting to Morag’s was, at least, a distraction from the awful turn the morning had taken.

A few houses up the lane, a blonde woman in a long gray skirt kneeled in her garden, though it was barely sunup. She hummed as she trimmed clusters of flowering yarrow, a gentle melody, yet the sight of her twisted my stomach in knots.

“Morning, Mrs. Kissack.” I hesitantly waved to the baker, wondering if she’d told anyone about the things I’d babbled to her and her friend the day before. I was afraid to ask.

She stopped humming and glanced up. For a woman who made cakes and sweets, she looked rather fierce. “Bridey.” With a stiff jerk of her head, she returned to her plants.

I crossed into the market square, where a few of the usual merchants were setting up shop for the day. Most of the fishermen’s baskets, which usually displayed their catches, were woefully empty despite Mr. Boyd and Mr. Nelson’s giant crab discovery. I tasted the bitterness of the town’s worry on my tongue each time I gulped a mouthful of briny air. I couldn’t wait to reach the shelter of Morag’s hill.

As I rushed past the pottery stall, Thomase Boyd fell into step beside me.

“Hello, Bridey. Seen any krakens lately?” Thomase drawled, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I was in a hurry.

My stomach dropped. Mrs. Kissack and her friend had already been busy telling people how daft I was, then. I’d never buy another scone from her after this.

“See any monsters on your way here?”

I tried to act like I hadn’t heard Thomase, though my burning face gave me away.

“My da and Mr. Nelson’s empty boat turned up in the harbor at first light,” he murmured, soft enough for only me to hear. “And here I thought your friend was only after our women. Tell him from me, if he so much as glances at my mam and sister, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing he ever does.”

I paused, tempted to smack Thomase in the face with the covered painting. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” I gritted out. Of course, that wasn’t true, not unless I found a way to fight the fossegrim.

“What does that mean?” When I didn’t answer, he added, “You’d best stop watching the sea and watch your back instead, Bridey Corkill, or you’ll be his next victim. And what a painful loss that would be.”

Thinking of Fynn and his sudden urge to leave after kissing me just yesterday, my blood ran hot. “Listen here, Thomase. Why don’t you go bother someone else? I’m in the mood to hit something this morning, and your face is awfully close. And a wide target.”

“I know what I saw yesterday,” he growled. “Mr. Gill believes me, and so should you. It was the comeover. Lie to yourself if you must, but Gill won’t be the last person I convince. You can’t hide the truth.”

I quickened my step. “You’re mad.”

Thomase laughed. “I’m the mad one? I’ve heard you like working for the old witch. Think you’re special, don’t you? Well, you and that hag are the daft ones, and your friend is no better.” He jabbed the air with his index finger, calling out as I dashed away, “Trust me, folk would be glad to see the back of you disappearing over a cliff!”

“This town is lucky to have me,” I said, my words carrying on the wind. They might not have realized it, too busy giving me sideways glances and sniggering behind my back, but I was trying to save them all.

“The search party found her footprints!” Thomase’s voice was so faint, I could just make out the words. “Leading right to the water …”

Out of sight of the market at last, I paused in the shade of a tree at the base of the hill. My heart ached for Lugh, yet my mind kept circling back to Fynn. Back to the kiss that almost made me love the taste of saltwater. Back to the boy who thought me brave. Had he ever felt anything for me, or had he only meant to use me to pass the time until his memories returned? Surely he’d recalled something if he was suddenly so keen to leave me and this town behind. My hands curled tighter around the edges of the painting as I realized what hurt the most: he hadn’t even asked me to go with him. I might’ve said yes, once I knew my family was safe.

But they weren’t yet. That was up to me and, perhaps, Morag.

Fixing the faces of my missing friends and neighbors in my mind, I knocked on the warped cottage door.

Seconds stretched into minutes as I waited for Morag to answer. I pressed my ear to the wood, hoping to catch the sound of a foot dragging across the floor or the hiss of a kettle. But there was only the sigh of the wind through the trees.

“Morag?” I called. “You can’t keep avoiding me like this!” I knocked again.

And again.

I called and knocked until my knuckles were red, and my voice hoarse. “I’ll just leave your gift out here, then, where it might be ruined!” I trusted that my voice would carry through the rotting wood.

Once more, I pressed my ear to the wall and listened for a familiar scraping sound, but none came. Still, I stood and waited.

The thought of staying here all day was tempting, when I didn’t know what I’d find at home—Fynn, or no Fynn. I shivered, struck by an echo of the pain I’d feel in the absence of the boy who might be stealing my heart.

But judging by the stretching shadows, I’d been here long enough to make Mam nervous, even if Fynn had remembered to tell her where I’d gone.

“Fine.” I raised my hands in surrender. “I’m leaving now. But I won’t stop coming here until you’ve told me what you know about sea monsters, Morag!” I kicked a small stone, sending it hurtling into the trees. “I know you don’t care about the folk I’ve lost, but the disappearances won’t stop until we kill the monster that’s stealing our friends! Maybe you’ll care when it’s someone you love, like—” I broke off, drawing a breath.

Who did Morag love? Surely she cared about someone besides her miserable old self. No one wanted to be alone all the time, no matter how much they argued to the contrary. My gaze fell on Mam’s painting, and the answer came to me.

“Like my mam!” I shouted. “You could lose my mam if this monster isn’t stopped. I’m going to try to fight it on my own, but if my mam gets taken in the meantime, you’ll know who’s to blame.”

I ran until I was clear of the trees. Towering thunderheads obscured the sun, threatening a late afternoon storm. Of course, it was possible that Morag might not know how to hunt a fossegrim. That I might have to figure it out myself, with or without Fynn. But the more she avoided me, the more I was sure she had something to hide. Otherwise, as usual, she’d be ignoring me while I swept her hearth and made tea.

Anger bubbled inside me as I followed a different path home, careful to avoid the market and the stares I was sure to receive there. I had been starting to like Morag, and now I had to wonder whether she knew something that could’ve saved Grandad all those years ago.

“You win for today,” I muttered, though I knew she couldn’t hear me. “But I won’t be giving up easily.”

Not when my sisters, and my town, depended on me.

As I came within sight of home, I hesitated. If Fynn was truly gone, I didn’t think I could stand the sight of the empty sofa. And if he wasn’t, if he’d made me worry all morning for nothing, I might not be able to keep myself from hitting a wounded lad.

I opened the door, bracing for the silence and the sting of Fynn’s absence. But I was greeted by a burst of noise—Da’s deep laughter and Mam’s off-key singing filled the house. I hadn’t heard the like of it for weeks, maybe months, and the sound made my pulse quicken.

An unplanned celebration was unusual, even by our family’s standards. Even when fish and tourists were plentiful.

“There you are, Bridey!” Mally stood in the center of the room, beaming at everyone gathered: Mam and Da, Liss, Grayse, and a reedy lad with red hair—Artur. And tucked into one corner of the sofa, beside Grayse—Fynn.

My heart leapt. I barely had a moment to look a question at him, and for him to carefully avoid my gaze, looking miserable, before Mally turned her radiant smile on me.

“Come, dear sister!” She drew me into a floral-scented hug and squeezed my sides so hard I coughed. “Artur and I are going to be married! He proposed last night, after—well, I’ll tell you that part when we’re alone.”

The crushing losses of my friends and neighbors had pushed the possibility of Mally’s engagement to the back of my mind. I hugged her around the middle, trying to feel a shiver of happiness, but images of Nessa Daley gathering flowers and Alis’s jack-o’-lantern smile prevented me from offering more than a weak grin. “That’s wonderful, Mal. When’s the wedding?”

An excited squeal followed my words. “We’re going to have a feast!” Grayse cheered from the sofa, nearly walloping Fynn in the stomach in her excitement. “Capons and geese and hogs and breads and puddings …”

“The wedding’s on Thursday. Can you believe it?” Mally’s voice was as bright as Grayse’s, but something in her eyes told me she would be missing Nessa and Lugh’s mam helping her with the wedding preparations.

I looked to Mam. A wedding so soon was absurd. But she nodded, seeming to be at peace with the idea. I shifted my gaze back to Mally. “How will you put a wedding together in three days? It takes months to write to relatives, and arrange the music, and—”

“There won’t be time to invite a whole scutch of people from out of town,” Mally interrupted. “Artur’s uncle offered him a job in London, and our boat leaves a week from today.” She kissed the top of my head, her haunted eyes at odds with her radiant smile. “I’m going to miss you, Bry.”

“No, you won’t.” Mally frowned, and I hurried to add, “You’ll be too busy seeing the sights in England with me when I visit every other month.”

“Oh, good!” Softer, she added, “And be safe in the meantime, all right?”

“I will.” I embraced her again, holding on longer this time. “Now, what can I do to help?”

“Let’s discuss the preparations over tea, shall we?” Mally’s smile finally reached her eyes. “Perhaps Fynn and Artur can talk in the meantime. I’m sure they can find something in common.”

For the first time in my life, I was jealous of Artur. I needed to talk to Fynn, to find out what had changed his mind about leaving, or if he was simply putting off breaking my heart for another day. I wouldn’t beg him to stay, but I at least needed to know what memory prompted him to abandon us. Me.

Still, it wasn’t every day my eldest sister got engaged. Faking a smile, I followed Mally to the kitchen, listening to her prattle on about seating arrangements and music while I worried about having a wedding with the fossegrim lying in wait for a girl to call his bride. I couldn’t think of a greater beauty than Mally. What if the fossegrim found her lovely face too much of a temptation, and rose out of the water to claim her?

Mally couldn’t have chosen a worse time for a wedding.