A single tear slid down her face, like the first raindrop that heralds the oncoming storm. She brushed it away without even really noticing it. “Don’t you see, Chewie? Marcus may like me, but he doesn’t like the magical world, or any of the things about it. He couldn’t even decide if it would be worse for his father to be dead or to become a Selkie. If I choose to stay a Baba Yaga, I’ll lose him. But if I give up being a Baba Yaga to be with him, I’ll lose so much more. Including you.”
Chewie licked her hand, shoving his big head under her arm for a rare affectionate cuddle. “You never know, Beka. People can surprise you.”
“Sure,” Beka said, feeling more tears prickling behind her eyes, hot and full of pressure, like a geyser ready to burst through to the surface. “They can. But most of the time they do exactly what you expect them to.”
“Really?” Chewie said, sitting back and looking at her pensively. “Because you know, I would have sworn that if I came back from hours and hours of heavy labor on your behalf that you would have gone to the trouble of getting a little snack out for me. You know, like a T-bone steak or a couple of whole chickens. And yet, here we are, sitting around talking about some guy who may or may not love you back no matter what choices you make, and surprise—there’s no snack!”
Beka gave him a watery smile, knowing he was trying to distract her, and letting him succeed, at least for the moment. She’d get through the last of her tasks and deal with it all then. For now, she had a dragon-dog to feed. And as he’d so forcefully reminded her, that always came first.
“How about a steak and a couple of chickens?” she asked as she got up to walk to the refrigerator. “Would that be enough of a snack for you?”
“Maybe,” Chewie answered. “What else ya got?”
Beka snapped her fingers, and a plate full of s’mores appeared from where she’d hidden them in the bedroom. “Surprise!”
Chewie gave her a huge lick, practically a one-dog bath. “Dude, that’s what I’m talking about. Forget about that Marcus—he smells like fish anyway. Stick with dragons; they’re way more reliable.” He sat down and started happily munching, blowing tiny sparks at each s’more to warm it up.
Beka patted him on the head and got the remainder of his food out before she went to bed to rest up for what promised to be another long day. She didn’t expect to sleep though. Not when all she could think about was Marcus’s face when he said, “It was bad enough to find out there was such a thing as magic.”
Should she give the magic up? Could she?
TWENTY-NINE
THE LATE MORNING sky was pewter gray, a color that matched Beka’s mood so well she almost thought she’d summoned it up. Storms flickered farther down the coast, visible over the vast, open expanse of the water, but so far the only thunder in the bay came from the sound of her heart when she saw Marcus waiting by the Wily Serpent.
Why did he have to be so handsome? She should have turned him into a toad after all. Toads didn’t have broad shoulders and strong chests, and muscles on their muscles. Toads didn’t have one wavy lock of brown hair that refused to curl in the direction of all the others, or hazel eyes that were as changeable as the sea.
Those eyes looked tired, as if their owner had gotten about as much sleep as she had. He helped her on board without saying much and went off to start the engines and take them out of the harbor.
His father came out of the cabin, his face pale and pensive, and walked over to stand by the rail with Beka.
“So,” he said. “Selkies and Mermaids. And witches. He wasn’t making any of that up, was he?”
“I’m afraid not,” Beka said.
They stood there in silence for a moment, then Marcus Senior said, “I saw one once, you know. A Mermaid.”
“What?” Somehow Beka had expected more resistance to the idea.
“When I was a young man, the ship I was crewing on got caught in a storm,” he said. “I thought I saw this woman in the water, pointing us away from the rocks. The captain laughed at me, but he listened anyway, and steered us safely past. I used to tell the boys about it, when they were young. I’d almost forgotten, until Marcus came and talked to me last night.”
Beka didn’t know what to say. For the first time since she’d met him, Marcus Senior looked every year of his age, plus some. The skin hung loosely on a frame that had once been as muscular and broad as his son’s, and his face was the color of chalk. His hands, leaning on the rail for support, trembled slightly.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “The Selkie’s kingdom under the sea. It’s different from up here, but it is really beautiful.” She wasn’t trying to persuade him—just reassure him, if she could.
“I’d be amazed if it wasn’t,” he said, looking out over the surface of the ocean, its greens and blues muted by the overcast day. “There isn’t anything about the ocean that I don’t find beautiful. Even after it killed my son, I couldn’t stop loving it.”