Cheers rang through the house. There was an inhuman quality to the voices of my friends and neighbors that made me shiver.
“The first order of business,” Mr. Gill called over the babble of voices, “will be to impose a curfew. Anyone roaming town after dark will be considered suspect and held for questioning.” Several people nodded. “Are there any volunteers to patrol the roads and cliffs tonight? We need enough men for two shifts: six to midnight, and midnight to dawn.”
Da’s hand shot up, as did Lugh’s. Then Lugh’s da put his hand up, and father and son exchanged a rare smile. Mr. Watterson and a smattering of younger men came forward, all willing to sacrifice their sleep for the good of the town.
I shook my head. The most disagreeable thing they were likely to find was a stray Manx cat in heat. Unless their eyes were trained on the sea, and the moon swelled to its fullest, they wouldn’t find the culprit slinking among the waves.
Every moment they spent arguing over details of a pointless patrol was another moment that the serpent was free to claim another victim.
And if the serpent was as terrible as Morag described, fighting it would be a far greater challenge than the fossegrim. I knew the truth; I couldn’t waste any more time.
Climbing to my feet, I pulled the four remaining Bollan Crosses from my pockets and strode to the front of the room. Before I had a chance to think of the eyes upon me or the laughter that would drown out my words, I addressed the group. “These are Bollan Crosses,” I mumbled, staring at my feet. “They’re a charm to ward against drowning, and I thought—”
“Speak up!” a dry voice commanded. I raised my head, clutching the crosses to my chest. Ms. Elena gave me a faint nod of encouragement.
After a slow breath, I tried again. “These are Bollan Crosses. They’re just wrasse bones on string, but they’ll keep those that wear them from drowning.”
The house was silent.
Meeting Lugh’s bright eyes helped me continue. “I rescued my best friend from the ocean last night, and my charm worked quite well. Morag Maddrell made them.” I knew how most people felt about Morag, but she deserved credit for her work. Anyone too proud to touch a gift from a witch would have to accept whatever hand fate dealt them.
“How do we know old Morag isn’t the one who put a curse on us?” Mrs. Kissack cried.
“Can witches charm someone’s head off their body?” a voice countered.
“How do we know the hag’s even still alive? When was the last time anyone saw her?”
I set the crosses on a small table with shaking hands. “You’re all welcome to them. There are only a few, but I’m sure Morag can make more.”
“I have one,” Lugh called loudly, over the throng of people who were now discussing the possibility of Morag’s involvement in the gruesome deaths. “You can scoff at sea monsters, if you must, but surely some of you are wondering how one man—or a few—could cause such a rash of murders so quietly in your own backyards.” Lugh locked gazes with me from across the room, and I mouthed a silent thank you. “Are you willing to risk your lives? If there’s even the smallest chance these charms work—what’s the harm?”
No one stepped forward, but at least I’d tried, and so had Lugh. I wove between close-pressed bodies to reach Mam’s side, aware of the disapproving glances following me.
“You were splendid up there,” Mam whispered fiercely. “Morag would be as proud as I am if she knew.” Her gaze slid out of focus, and she rubbed her temples. “She taught me about those crosses when I was younger. I remembered after you gave me one to wear for the wedding, but I hadn’t had time to tell you …”
I threw my arms around Mam’s waist and squeezed. “I’m going. I’ll see you at home.”
A current of gossip swirled in my wake as I crossed the foyer. As I stood outside, letting the breeze dry the sweat on my brow, movement from the front window caught my eye. Fenella Kewish, the town gossip, picked up a cross and slipped it on. Snowy-haired Ms. Elena took one next, followed by Martyn Watterson.
I touched my fingers to my forehead in a quick salute, and turned away.
While the town argued over murderers and how mad I was, I had work to do.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The sun hovered above the treetops as I ran home. There were still a few sunlit hours in which I could scour the land for the few poisonous plants I knew. If I was quick about it, there might even be time to deliver my finds to Morag before curfew.
Fynn glanced up from the hearth as I rushed inside. “What’s wrong?” He dropped the wood he was about to feed to the flames.
“Too many things,” I panted, running a hand through my damp, sticky hair. With hardly a moment to catch my breath, I recounted every detail of the meeting. When I finished, silence fell over the house.
We needed to act quickly, for the sake of anyone near the water.
“Fynn?” I laid a hand on his arm. The touch seemed to recall him from whatever vision had claimed him.