Still, I refused to leave without answers. “What’ll happen to him?”
Mam frowned. “He’s not on death’s door, if that’s what you’re thinking. They’re nasty scratches, to be sure, but Mally’s salve should keep the infection out.”
“No, I mean, where will he stay? What if his wounds heal but he still can’t remember who he is?” I didn’t like the thought of returning from Morag’s to find the sofa bare, and Fynn thrust onto a neighbor with a spare bed and no curious daughters.
Mam smiled and waved a hand dismissively. “He’ll stay with us until he’s sound in body, mind, and spirit. The Corkills don’t turn their backs on anyone in need. And never mind the inconven—”
The front door swung open with a low groan, and Da stumbled inside, his lunch pail and fishing poles in hand.
“Peddyr, you’re home early!” A crease formed between Mam’s brows as she swept over to kiss his cheek. Da had been away at sea as usual, and we hadn’t expected him back until suppertime.
“Something wrong with the boat?” I asked through a yawn.
“It’s not that.” Da didn’t meet my eyes as he answered. “I saw some commotion on the beach, and the fellas and I decided to head in early in case there was trouble. It’s not like we were catching much anyway. Danell Gill met us at the harbor.”
“And …?” Mam demanded.
Da brushed a hand over his beard. “Eveleen Kinry disappeared last night. Danell said her parents found her bedroom window open. They followed her footsteps to the cliffs, but if she jumped, there’s no sign of a body.”
Cold prickled along my arms as I thought of Grandad’s cliff dive, of Nessa Daley, then of Eveleen. I’d barely known Nessa, but Eveleen had only been a year ahead of me in school—the few years of it I’d attended, anyway, before Mam got pregnant with Grayse and needed me home to help with the housework. Eveleen had skinned her knee outside my house once, and cried all afternoon while my mam held her. And we shared a birthday at the end of summer. She’d been so close to seventeen. Just like me.
“Suppose Eveleen went to join Nessa in Peel?” Mam sank into a chair, her face pale. “Girls get all sorts of wild ideas in their head at Eveleen’s and Bridey’s age.”
“You don’t think this has to do with what happened to the girl who drowned?” I glanced between my parents, unable to read their faces through a haze of tears. “You don’t think she and Nessa and Eveleen were murdered by a madman or—or something?”
“Heavens, bird! What a thing to say.” Mam’s hand fluttered to her chest.
“And what about him?” I pointed at the sleeping Fynn. “Being attacked by a creature that tried to shred him to pieces!”
Mam didn’t have an answer for me. Nor did Da, who looked bone-weary as he set down his gear and struck through another area on one of his maps. Another area where he couldn’t find fish.
From somewhere overhead, a seabird gave a low, mournful call.
It began to drizzle as I reached the edge of the forested hill. Droplets pelted my face and hair, cold enough to freeze my blood, but not enough to numb the ache that had settled in my chest since learning of Eveleen’s disappearance. Whatever had befallen her could very well be the same fate shared by Nessa and the waterlogged stranger.
Still, who would believe me if I suggested there was something dreadful in the water? Certainly no one in Port Coire, not the same people who’d refused to believe that something had called Grandad to the sea all those years before. Until I could identify the culprit and gather some sort of proof, I’d have to keep my mouth shut, or risk being called daft and laughed out of town. Or worse, coddled like an invalid by my own family.
Slicking back my hair, I tried to think of anything but the sea. Mam would be tending the fire now, unconcerned that her daughter was outside shivering. After all, she’d still sent me off to Morag’s after the shock of the news about Eveleen had begun to fade. I envied my sisters, who could talk to Fynn when he woke. The only conversations I’d have all day would, no doubt, concern tea and witchcraft.
Several long strides later, I approached Morag’s door. As I lifted a hand to knock, I tensed, anticipating the now-familiar odor that would hit me like a blow to the stomach. The drizzle became a downpour, and I flung open the door.
“It’s Bridey!” The warm, sugary scent of baking mingled with the aroma of wood smoke, making my stomach rumble despite my mood.
Morag stood in her kitchen, a small alcove that lacked a door to separate it from the rest of the one-room dwelling. She gave no indication that she’d heard me, occupied with watching her stove.