Sea Witch (23 page)

another doctor.”

“It’s for your own good. Trust me.”

“Why should I trust you? You don’t believe me.”

“I believe something bad happened to you,” he said carefully, “and

your mind is dealing with it the best way it knows how. So you’ve come

up with a story to explain—”

She thrust out her foot. “Explain
this
.”

He glanced down at her bare foot, up into her eyes. “What?”

“My toes are webbed.” She wiggled them to prove it.

Caleb grabbed the back of his neck. “Maggie, they’re still toes.” His

tone was patient. Pained. Caring. “Not fins or flippers. I need more from

you than that.”

She closed her eyes so she would not see the pity in his. “So do I.”

She needed him to believe her.

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And he couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

Damn Dylan, anyway, for leaving her alone to fight his brother’s

skepticism. Maybe he had not expected her to tell Caleb the truth.

Or maybe he had. Maybe Dylan, more experienced in the ways of

humankind, had anticipated Caleb’s reaction and chosen to spare himself

his brother’s disbelief. His rejection.

You are selkie, or you are not
.

She was not wholly selkie. Not any longer.

But she would rather be half selkie, banished from the ocean,

crippled by the loss of her pelt, than be dismissed as a damaged crazy

woman by the human she was having sex with.

She could use her magic to prove herself to him. Summon a wave, as

Dylan had. Summon a storm, and dump it on his unbelieving head. But

she should not have to. He should trust her.

“Let’s get you back to the house,” Caleb said gently. “You can

change out of those wet things, and—”

Margred opened her eyes. “Getting naked with you is not going to

help.”

He smiled a little. “I wasn’t suggesting we solve our problems with

sex. Although if you like the idea—”

“I want to go to your sister’s.”

Caleb looked wary, like a man approaching a shark on the beach.

“Sure. We can stop at her place on our way home.”

“I am not going home with you.” Her hands trembled, but her voice

was quite steady, firm with her decision. “Not until you can accept me for

what I am.”

Caleb raised his eyebrows. “It didn’t matter to you before. ”

He
didn’t matter to her before.

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But now it did. He did.

And she was not backing down.

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Fifteen

IT AMUSED TAN TO FEEL HIS HUMAN HOST WRITHING on

the floor in ineffective protest, its thin, diluted spirit no match for his pure

will.

The very creation of man was demeaning to the sacred. Mankind’s

continued existence was an affront. Yet the Creator doted on this short-lived, bastard hybrid, had given it dominion over the creatures of the sea

and earth and air.

Incomprehensible. Insulting, really.

Of course, mankind had screwed up. Better that all creation were

cleansed in fire than be polluted by the presence of this vermin.

Tan forced the human to drag itself across the floor on hands and

knees toward the glowing fish tank on the other side of the room.

The balance of power between Heaven and Hell rested on a knife’s

edge. Sea’s children had remained weakly neutral for too long. For

centuries, Hell had watched humankind despoiling the oceans, taking

selkie pelts, eroding the sea folk’s patience.

And still the mer did not act. Llyr withdrew deeper and deeper into

the sea and self-indulgence. Conn clung to the status quo.

It was time to tip the scales in Hell’s favor.

Manipulating nerve and sinew like puppet strings, Tan jerked the

human upright beside the aquarium. Small fish glided in their bright,

contained world, smug in their beauty, insensible to their danger. Smiling,

he removed the lid of the tank. The human’s hands trembled.

Tan was charged with the murder of the mer in ways and places that

would put the blame squarely on humankind. If enough selkies died by

human hands, if enough lost their immortality through human action, they

would be forced to side with their fellow elementals in self-defense. And

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if Tan could eliminate Atargatis’s line at the same time, he would ensure

Hell’s new allies never became a threat.

So complicated.

So clever.

Tan plunged a hand into the tank. Fish scattered. Not— quite—fast

enough. Tan glanced at the small, striped creature shining between his

fingers. An angel fish. How . . . appropriate.

He savored the frantic flutter against his palm, its frenzied struggle

to breathe, to survive. He licked the smooth, scaled skin, inhaling the

fish’s delicate scent, its desperation a delicious seasoning to the human

horror rising at the back of his throat, the denial beating at the back of his

brain.

He opened his mouth wide.

Oh, the delight of it, the squirming, wriggling pleasure against his

palate, over his tongue. A silent scream echoed in his head at the cool

burst of living flesh, crunching, slurping. Tan forced his host to chew, to

swallow, compelling his clenched throat muscles to relax, running his

tongue along his teeth, savoring his shudder. The body he inhabited

gagged. Retched. It was delicious, that taste of bile and self-loathing

mingled with the juicy living sacrifice.

Very tasty. Almost . . . satisfying.

Tan deserved his bit of fun. Even though the necessity chafed him,

he had been discreet, careful not to risk any action that would arouse the

suspicion of the sea prince, Conn, or the attention of Heaven’s general,

Michael.

He had not murdered the selkie Margred in front of a witness—even

a human witness.

But now that Margred had recognized him, well . . .

She must die.

Iridescent scales spangled his hand like jewels. Like tears. Hot

moisture streamed helplessly from his host’s eyes.

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Smiling, Tan reached the human’s hand into the tank again.

* * * *

Caleb scowled through the windshield at the quiet streets of his

town, his nerves twitching and his senses straining for . . . what? He

wasn’t in Mosul anymore, where every turn in the road could hide

roadside bombs or enemy fighters. Kids with rocks. Potholes.

Okay, yeah, there were potholes in Maine. That didn’t explain the

itch at the back of his neck, that
uh-oh
feeling in his gut.

Maybe he was just stalling, delaying the moment he would return to

his silent, empty house.

He’d lived alone before. After his desert trailer “can” and his

experience in the hospital ward, he’d looked forward to living alone

again.

He should go home. With Maggie gone, he could do whatever the

hell he wanted. Strip to his underwear, ice his knee, channel surf the TV .

. .

When his cell phone rang, it was almost a relief. He glanced at the

display, his pulse kicking up as he recognized the number of Antonia’s

restaurant. Maggie’s shift had ended hours ago, but maybe . . .

“Hunter.”

"Cal, it’s Regina.” Her voice was brisk, but he could hear the worry

under it.

He was already swinging the Jeep in the direction of the restaurant.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing, really. We’re closing, and one of our patrons has had a

little too much to drink.”

Had to be something, Caleb reflected. Regina wasn’t rattled easily,

and Antonia scared most drunks. “Did you get his keys?”

“First thing,” Regina assured him.

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“So?” He was grateful for the distraction. But he wasn’t a damn taxi

service.

“He threw them at me,” Regina said. “Broke a couple of bottles. If

you could stop by—”

“On my way.”

“The thing is . . .” Her hesitation vibrated over the line. “I don’t want

you to think I’m overreacting to some broken glass. But you should know

the guy . . .”

Her caginess intensified his sense of something wrong. “What?”

“It’s your father.”

His father.

Caleb’s gut cramped. Of course. Growing up the son of the town

drunk should have prepared him.

How many times before Caleb got his driver’s license had Chief

Miller brought his father home at closing time? And those nights,

humiliating as they were, were better than the mornings when Bart

Hunter hadn’t showed up at all, when Caleb stared out his classroom

windows hoping Lucy had made it to school, wondering how he would

take care of her if their dad never came back.

“On my way,” he repeated.

Bart Hunter stood among the restaurant tables like a fir amid the

rocks, bleached by the sun, stripped by the wind and rain, upright only

through force of habit and the grace of God.

Caleb felt an old, familiar helplessness rise like bile and bit back a

curse.

“You want to press charges?” he asked Regina, who was sweeping

up broken glass behind the counter. The rich, fruity aroma of the wine

battled with the scent of pine cleaner from the bucket at her feet. The

smell made Caleb sick.

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She wiped her hands on her apron. “I want him out of here. I’ll

charge him for the wine.”

“The wine, her labor, and a two-hundred-dollar fine,” Caleb told his

father.

Bart sneered. “For what? Bad parenting?”

“Disorderly conduct,” Caleb said evenly. “Now get in the Jeep.”

Bart swayed. “I need another drink.”

“Coffee?” Regina suggested.

“No,” said Caleb.

“I want coffee,” Bart said.

Regina looked at Caleb, uncomfortable understanding in her eyes.

“On the house. You look like you could use it.”

He was fourteen when he figured out pouring coffee down a drunk

only produced a wide-awake drunk. But he appreciated the gesture.

“Fine. Thanks.”

He watched her set the coffee on the counter, watched his father

steady the mug with two hands.

Regina followed the direction of his gaze. “I didn’t serve him, I

swear,” she said in a lowered voice.

“Who did?”

“He was at the Inn most of the night. They kicked him out, and I cut

him off.”

“Appreciate it.”

She shrugged. “No biggie. Stop brooding and drink your coffee.”

He raised his mug.

“How
are
you sleeping?” Regina asked.

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He had nightmares.

He missed Maggie.

This morning he woke up edgy and lonely and raw, and seeing his

father like this again wasn’t helping his mood one bit.

He blew on the hot brew, regarding Regina cautiously over the rim.

“All right.”

“Alone?”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Are you asking? Or offering?” Regina

cocked her hip against the counter, crossed her arms over her chest. “You

told me to keep an eye out for anybody giving Maggie a hard time.

You’re not making things easy for her.”

“Is that what she said?”

Regina snorted. “Oh, yeah, she talks to me all the time. Because

we’re such close girlfriends.”

“She needs friends,” Caleb said quietly. “She’s all alone right now.”

“So, what’s she doing staying with your sister?”

Good question.

He set his mug down with a snap. “Her choice.”

“That’s right, blame the woman. Bet you hear that all the time.

‘Officer, she was asking for it.’ ”

He leveled a look at her, and she flushed.

“Sorry, that was unfair,” she admitted. “But why don’t you go after

her? It’s obvious you’re both miserable.”

So he wasn’t the only one suffering. He was glad. Which made him

a selfish bastard, because . . .

“She was right,” Caleb said. “I’m too close to her case. I can’t be

involved with her and do my job.”

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“Maybe she needs you to do more than your job.”

His job was all he had. All he knew how to do. Weigh the facts.

Keep the peace. Protect the innocent.

Only with Maggie, the facts were all mixed up with his feelings. His

gut wanted to trust her. His head told him to dismiss her as a nutcase.

And his heart . . .

He drained the dregs of his coffee. “Come on, Pop. You’ve had your

fun. Let’s go.”

“You can’t talk to me like that. I’m your father.”

“Which is the only reason you’re not sleeping it off in a holding cell

tonight.”

They drove in silence as thick and cold as a coastal fog. Not looking

at each other. Not speaking. Just like any car ride twenty years ago.

Except now Caleb could ask—had to ask—the questions that lay

unanswered between them.

“Why did Mom leave?”

“What the hell difference does it make? She left. Took the boy with