Curious to see what vision had seized Mam this time, I glanced at her new canvas. But I regretted the decision as soon as I laid eyes on it. The scene was set close to shore—a blue-eyed, raven-haired girl besieged by a serpent. Under a sky the color of a cast-iron pan, a gale tossed the girl’s tiny boat and whipped her long braids out behind her. The serpent gnawed the girl’s leg while she jabbed its saucerlike eye with a harpoon tip.
Shivering, I turned away, but something about the girl’s raven braids and sea-foam eyes made me look again. They were Morag’s eyes. And though I’d only seen her in braids the color of dull silver, their clumsy styling was familiar.
I edged toward the sofa, gripping its sturdy back for support. The serpent in the painting was clamped down on the girl’s left foot, the same foot Morag claimed to have caught in a hunter’s trap.
I laughed, a mirthless sound. Staring at the serpent’s teeth, I remembered something.
The night Lugh and I heard the big crash, which seemed so long ago now, I’d seen a massive dark shape dip below the ocean’s surface. And the next day, while hunting for shipwreck debris, something long and sharp and white had pierced Lugh’s foot.
It must have been a serpent tooth.
Heart hammering against my ribcage, I hurried to the bookcase and cracked open Morag’s book. The serpent had to have an entry. I must have missed it while searching for the fossegrim.
I flipped the delicate pages at lightning speed, collecting only paper cuts for my trouble.
No luck. Near the back of the book, however, someone had carefully ripped out the last sheet. Perhaps Morag couldn’t stand to be near the serpent after it attacked her, even in paper form. Remembering the sharpness of the tooth I’d held, I could understand why.
Casting the useless book aside, I went to wake Fynn. I had to tell someone about Morag and the serpent. Perhaps he could help me decide if it was yet another beast we needed to worry ourselves about. But when I returned to the sofa and gently peeled back the blanket, there was no Fynn. Just a couple of lumpy pillows beaten into the vague shape of a boy.
What if he’d gone hunting for the fossegrim without me, despite his promise? Or worse—what if staying to celebrate Mally’s engagement last night was his way of saying a silent farewell to us all?
I rushed outside. “Fynn!” Stumbling toward the road, I called for him over and over.
Mrs. Gill stopped sweeping her front step to glare. “Young lady, are you aware that everyone can hear you? I thought even you’d have the decency to keep your tongue after the wild things you’ve been saying of late.” She shook her head. “If there are sea monsters in Port Coire, then I’m the queen of Spain.”
Ignoring her, I forced myself to take deep breaths. If Fynn was leaving, there were many paths he might’ve taken. The harbor, where the tourists’ ferries ran to places like Dublin and Liverpool, seemed a good place to start.
But as I stood there, breathing deeply, I was hit, again, with the stench of spoiled milk. Fynn had assured me before that it was nothing more than a dead seal, yet the carcass would surely have been picked clean by now. No, the putrid scent had to be coming from something far worse.
I turned, directing my shout toward the sea. “Fynn, can you hear me?”
Mrs. Gill dropped her broom with a noise between a sigh and a growl. When she frowned, she bore a striking resemblance to a six-horned Loaghtan sheep. Muttering under her breath about my mam and the dangers of being litcheragh, she banged her door shut.
I spun on my heel, pausing long enough to scowl after her and call, “My mam’s not lazy!” before hurrying to find Fynn.
He wasn’t at the harbor. Nor was he on any of the cliffs we’d visited together. It wasn’t until I was trudging homeward, bone-tired and defeated, that I spotted a familiar pair of Da’s old boots dangling from a tree branch.
I grabbed the biggest rock I could find and hurled it into the tree.
“Watch it!”
I crossed my arms, not at all satisfied with Fynn’s reaction. “What in Manannán’s name are you doing up there?”
Fynn dropped down from his perch. His clothes were rumpled, his hair unkempt, and there were deep shadows beneath his eyes. “I could see all of Port Coire from up there.” He shrugged. “I was just saying good-bye.”
“Why?” I bit down hard on my trembling lip. I refused to cry.
He lifted a hand, then quickly dropped it as I stepped back. His eyes shone with concern as he studied my face. “You’re so pale. Did you see the fossegrim again, or—?”
“My mam’s done another painting of that foul serpent. Not that you’d care.”
The boy in front of me worried me far more than the serpent, though. It could be dead by now, for all I knew.
“Tell me,” I said, glaring at Fynn, “why are you leaving?” I hated the whine in my voice. “And why didn’t you ask me to come with you? Have you remembered a past that’s calling you home?”
“Bridey. Stop.” He brushed a lock of my hair away from my eyes, conjuring memories of our kiss at sea. The taste of treacle, the heat of his tongue, the pull of his fingers in the tangle of my hair. I wanted to feel and taste those things again.