Hunter got directions from a begrudging fisherman on the boardwalk, who merely grunted and waved his hand towards the general direction of town. Hunter, frustrated that he would need to find someone else, heard the church bells ringing in 7 and felt some relief. He knew that the church was just across the street from his house, so if he could find it, he would already be that much closer to home. He followed the faint sound of bells and headed north.

            Graves Cay was only about five miles long from end to end, and luckily Hunter had washed up only a mere two miles away from home—closer to the south half of the island than the north. He walked for what felt like ages along the boardwalk, little shops and tourist traps just beginning to wake up for the day. The boardwalk eventually became an uneven sidewalk along stretches of squat one story houses and little beach homes on stilts. The older folks he passed on their morning walks (few and far between, all things considered) gave him strange looks. He couldn’t blame them, really—he probably looked as though he’d recently escaped a shark attack, and not unscathed.

The sidewalk eventually petered out into limestone gravel, the houses becoming empty shacks. Finally, they merged with the line of trees that made up Cairn’s Wood—the only part of the island he had been specifically warned to never enter. The road narrowed and cut straight through it for nearly a quarter mile until it disappeared into the unkempt trees, winding around the island’s many curves. Hunter stood at the edge of the wood, staring down it to see if there was a way to walk around the forest entirely, but the trees went on as far as his eye could see. Holding his breath and sending up a silent prayer, he ventured inside.

The trees of Cairn’s wood had scarce felt the touch of a man’s axe, and they claimed their boundaries fiercely as a result. The road was dark and cold, the air so humid Hunter could taste the water in it. Old live oaks hung their branches over his head as he walked, further overshadowed by leafless loblolly pines and bald cypress. He stepped over fallen trees and split branches in the path, rotting where they laid, and carefully minded twisting tree roots. Birds gave alarm calls at his approach, but otherwise there was a terrible empty silence.

Hunter might have enjoyed a walk like this in other circumstances, but he couldn’t shake the peculiar feeling that he was a stranger here, and the forest was not so welcoming.

The sentiment only grew as the trees closed in and the early morning sun could no longer penetrate the thick branches as easily. When it seemed as though it couldn’t get any darker, he came across a creek, too wide for him to leap over. He plodded in; cold, fresh water coursing up to his shins and falling off into a deep valley to his right. His eyes followed the flow of water up the hill, and that was where he saw it—an old fort made of stones, stacked without any mortar but somehow still standing. The bare trees seemed to curl over it like skeletal hands; the sun shone unimpeded into its center, but nowhere else. The stream coursed through a hole in its bottom. And faintly, over the babble of the brook, he could hear a pounding—the pounding of drums, growing ever louder.

Hunter ran. He ran, and ran, and ran. He ran until his lungs felt like shriveling into husks, leaping over roots that tried to twist his ankles and ducking under branches that reached to grab him, to hold him there. His feet were cut by sharp rocks and his legs scraped and battered by jutting, but he ran on until he came out of the trees and out onto a grassy hill, the path finally meeting again with a pavement staircase.

Somewhere nearby, the bell tolled eight times. Catching his breath, Hunter struggled up the hill and saw it—down in the valley, there was a sprawl of old, ramshackle buildings in tiny square streets, with the steeple of the church standing tall above it all. And there, by the water, was the Wittebane manor. Breathing a sigh of relief, Hunter walked down the crumbling cement staircase towards town.

He followed the path by the beach, which was empty this time of year. He saw the manor in the distance, right down by the beach, and skirted around the outside until he came into the bare front garden. He walked up the steps to the front door, where a Christmas wreath still hung.

Hunter hesitated outside the door, holding the key just outside the lock. What was he so afraid of? That he’d come back to an empty house? That there’d be nobody there to know he was alive? I’m being ridiculous, he thought, but that didn’t make him dread calling his uncle’s assistant any less.

He unlocked the door with a click and went through the entryway.

To say the Wittebane manor was merely cold would be like calling the continent of Antarctica a little chilly. In so many ways, the Wittebane manor was frozen—in time, in atmosphere, in place. The air was stale. The halls were tall, wide, and empty. Marble floors, yellow runner carpets, cabinets of antique photos and hunting trophies and plaster sculptures. The entryway was the largest space in the house, but despite that, it was built to usher someone through it into the rooms for hosting beyond. There was an uncomfortable velvet couch next to the coat hanger besides the door, and a wall of old rapiers on display (he’d been told a million times growing up that he wasn’t allowed to touch them). Above him, a skylight ushered in early morning light, making it slightly more inviting than it normally was. Still, it didn’t make Hunter feel any better about coming home.

As he slipped off his singular shoe, he began to fantasize about his warm bed, and how nice it would be to finally rest in a room of his own for the first time in six weeks. He padded down the hall, listening for his uncle’s voice, he instead heard yelling—but it wasn’t Phillip yelling. The voice was feminine, silky, but authoritative and almost hysterical. It was a voice he recognized, and it was coming from the drawing room.

“And you’re sure they haven’t found anything more?” Hunter heard, as he crept around the corner. It was Lilith, his governess. Even when he’d grown too old for her to be of much use, Hunter’s uncle had kept her on. Hunter didn’t know his reasonings, but he couldn’t complain. She was a woman of high stature, in every sense of the word, and a good companion. She reminded him a lot of a raven—what, with her black feathery hair and how she dressed (all black, long skirts and tight armed dresses), he thought she belonged in one of Poe’s works. He liked that about her, though. She was odd, like he was.

“Where have they searched, besides the north side of the island?” She continued, stretching the landline’s cord with her pacing. “You don’t know? You’re with the Coast Guard, it’s your job to know…! No, you calm down, mister!”

“I’m home.” Hunter called out, smiling weakly. He stepped into her view.

Lilith’s head whipped to look at him, the landline falling out of her hands and clattering on the floor. “Hunter!” She cried, her eyes welling up with tears. She almost bowled him over with the force of her frantic embrace. “You’re alive, thank the stars!” She half laughed; half sobbed. She pulled away to hold his head between her thin hands, turning him this way and that, examining him. “I’ve been on the telephone all morning, between the Search and Rescue team and your uncle—they were close to calling out the divers. That’s how serious it was! Where in heaven’s name have you been? What happened to your clothes? More importantly, what happened to you?”

Hunter opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Lilith stared at him, her gaze warm and worried at the same time. After a few seconds, he shook his head with a croak. Lilith tutted and tucked him against her chest, her long nails scratching his scalp soothingly. “Oh, don’t you worry your weary head. How about this? I’ll make you some tea, and you can wait here while I call your uncle. He’ll be relieved to hear you’re alright.”

Hunter nodded. His stomach clenched. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Lilith ushered him onto one of the stiff entertaining couches, where he sat and waited for her to return, his head full of static. He sipped the hot tea she gave him (lavender and earl gray—somehow, she always knew what was best) and listened as she spoke terse words with his uncle’s assistant. Lilith placed the handset back on the receiver with a huff, collapsing in a very unladylike way onto the couch across from Hunter. “Kikimora answered for him,” she frowned, leaning forward to rest her chin on the seat of her palm. “We’ll be lucky if he ever gets the news.”

Hunter took a sip of his tea, the hot liquid warming him from head to toe. “So, he was busy?” He rasped, clearing his throat right after.

“Probably caught up with the search, still.” Lilith grumbled. After a moment’s pause, she turned her eyes on him. “Are you feeling up to talking? We’ve got plenty of time, now.”

Hunter stared at his feet, collecting his thoughts into a big pile and sorting them out, piece by piece. “I don’t know if you’ll believe me,” he said, gripping his mug tightly. His hands shook.

“Highly unlikely,” Lilith laughed, tapping her chin with her index finger. “Lay it on me. I want to hear all the nitty gritty details.”

“I killed a faery,” Hunter blurted out. “It was on the boat—some kind of dog, or a wolf. It chased me and I—I killed it. With a knife.”

Lilith sat up, her eyes wide. “What? A faery? But they—that’s—why would a faery try to kill you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been wondering that since it happened. I’ve never even seen a faery before today—I knew they were real, but… I didn’t think there were any left.”

Lilith stood, beginning to pace again. “Tell me the story. The whole story.”

Hunter told her of the locks turning seemingly on their own, the hound, the white blood, and finally, the invisible hands that dragged him off the deck and into the sea—and strangely, whatever had pulled him out of the water and onto the shore nearly a mile away. He even showed her the bite shaped bruises on his wrist but thought it better to keep his bite wound bandaged for the time being.

“That hound—it could have only been a Cú Sidhe.” Lilith mused aloud, holding her chin between forefinger and thumb. “They hunt alone, that makes sense. But on a boat? I can’t figure out how it ever would have wound up there.” She pivoted around again in her quick meander between their couches. “Some faeries can turn invisible, of course, but the hands—those must have been a third fairy. I’ve also heard that Cú Sidhe pair up with faeries to kidnap human women, but clearly this isn’t the case. This is all so…” She trailed off, throwing her hands in the air and collapsing back into the couch. “And that thing in the water could have only been a selkie. I don’t know any other faery sea-dwelling faery that would be inclined to save a human.”

“A selkie?” Hunter hissed, his stomach turning over. “You mean that there’s a selkie on the island? Right now?”

“I’m certain of it. There’s a reason your uncle forbids you from going into town.” Lilith bounced her knee restlessly. “Faeries outnumber humans nearly 4:1 on Graves Cay, ever since the fishing business boomed and tourism plummeted. Less humans living here means more room for the fae to move in. Adding to that, a faery with a glamour on is indistinguishable to the human eye.” She stood again, seemingly too anxious to stay seated. “And you’re aware of how he feels about faeries, he’d never let you out there knowing that. He’s still convinced that faeries are just itching to carry humans off to God-knows-where at the drop of a hat.”

 Hunter blinked. “They aren’t?”

“Of course not!” Lilith crossed her arms and began to pace again. “Maybe back in the old days, but not now, of course. Can you imagine the publicity so many disappearances would get?”

Hunter stared at the bottom of his mug, the leaves arranging themselves in the little liquid left at the bottom. “This curse I’ve got,” he said. “If a selkie really did give it to me, could I find that selkie and force them to reverse it?”

“No. Absolutely not.” Lilith stopped her pacing, just for a moment, and perched herself on the edge of the couch next to him. “That would be far too dangerous, and I’m insulted that you would ever suggest such a thing. Any selkie that would curse a human is clearly deranged—you’d be more likely to get cursed again. Nineteen years of careful caregiving, down the drain. It’s like you want me to get fired!”

But I could fix everything, he thought. I could take away his pain forever.

Hunter set his empty cup on the side table. “I’m going to go shower,” he said. He tried to ignore how his knees wobbled as he stood.

“Hunter,” Lilith caught his arm as he went to leave. “From now on, you must be careful. Don’t leave the manor, if you can help it. It’s possible that whatever is after you is waiting for you to be alone again. It might even have something to do with… well, I hate to say it, but it might be related to your father. We just don’t know anything right now, and I’d hate to see you get hurt. Let me do more research before you do anything rash.”

Before Hunter could respond, the two heard the echo of the front door crashing open, just down the hall. “Was that…?” Lilith wondered aloud; her brow furrowed. Just as the two thought that maybe they had been hearing things, Kikimora appeared in the doorway; so silent that if they hadn’t been looking that direction already, they wouldn’t have known she was there.

“Hunter, Mr. Wittebane would like to see you in his study,” She announced, her arms folded behind her back. She was an exceedingly short and uptight woman, dark skinned, with braids pinned on top of her head so firmly they looked like a single fist. Her words were muffled by the coat she wore up to her nose against the cold. “Lilith,” Kikimora addressed her, a sneer in her voice, “you are dismissed for the remainder of day.”

Lilith’s jaw clenched. “Fine,” she said, standing. “I’ll be in my room.” She turned to look at Hunter, her gaze softening. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” Hunter whispered. Straightening out his clothes, he followed Kikimora down into the west wing, where his uncle conducted all his business.

Phillip’s study was at the end of a long marble hallway. There were no windows here, just the dim overhead lights, and rows and rows of paintings decorating the walls. Most of them featured fishermen on the job, or scenic views of the island. Some were clearly antiques, with tarnished gold frames. He tried not to look at those ones for so long—they were full of grotesque, writhing bodies experiencing only the worst punishments of hell, witches burning, faeries luring unknowing women to their deaths. Every few paces, the paintings would be interrupted by numbered doors. He had never been allowed into any of the rooms behind them.

They came to the set of oaken double doors. Kikimora came to stand beside them, still holding her arms behind her back. Hunter paused for a second, steeling himself.

Hunter knocked twice and entered the study slowly. The windows had their shades drawn, so the room was even darker than it would have been, even with the oil lamps lit and burning on the walls. Behind the desk in the center of the room, the fireplace was cold and empty, and above the fireplace, a portrait hung of Phillip and a man that looked so much like Hunter, it made him ache. His uncle stood against the large oak desk, leaning on one arm and stooping just slightly.

“I’m here, Uncle,” Hunter announced, closing the door behind him. He paused. “Would you like me to bring you some tea?”

Phillip raised his hand, and Hunter shut his mouth tightly. From the desk, he grabbed a bottle not unlike the one Hunter had in his bathroom, but this time it was full. He leaned back and took the whole thing, dark green liquid dripping down his chin. He wiped it away with the back on his hand.

“I am… relieved to hear your voice, and know that you are alive and well, Hunter.” Phillip straightened, setting aside the now empty bottle. “You’re like a son to me, do you know that?”

Hunter shook his head, and then realized that Phillip wouldn’t be able to see it. He cleared his throat. “No, I didn’t, Uncle.”

Phillip turned. Even in the dark, he looked so much older than the day before—his hair a little duller, the hunch in his back deeper. Hunter felt a stab of guilt, his brow creasing with worry. Hunter opened his mouth to speak, but Phillip barely beat him. “Your father went nearly the same way. And yet, you lived. Why is that?”

“Lilith thinks… it was a selkie that saved me when I fell.”

“You don’t remember?” Phillip tilted his head, his expression indecipherable. Hunter couldn’t tell if his eyes were twitching, or if that was the light from the lamps squirming across his paper white face.

Hunter shook his head. Phillip sighed in disappointment.

“Could it be the selkie that...?”

“No,” Phillip said immediately. “That selkie is long dead. I made sure of that.” Phillip went to his desk, opening one of the drawers and pulling out a roll of parchment—yellowed and crackling, he unrolled it and beckoned Hunter over. Phillip held it aloft so they both could see the contents.

Hunter didn’t recognize the language it was written in—it looked like long lines, with hashmarks or loops drawn through them in places, top to bottom. There were five illuminations—a seal, biting its own tail; a sea-serpent, curling itself into a knot; a faery, faceless and holding an eye in the palm of its hand; a man in a cloak, carving a branch; and finally, a half woman, half beast creature that gave Hunter an uneasy feeling.

“These is the instructions for a spell. I found it in the old faery ruins of Deadman’s Cove,” Phillip explained, ignoring Hunter’s curious look. “The power held in this could reverse our curses, Hunter, if everything goes as planned. I only need the one more ingredient, of which I’ve been unable to find for many years. I had all but given up hope, until today.”

Hunter’s eyes landed on the selkie, biting its own tail. The drawing was so simple, but the illuminator had been careful to draw a line down the middle of its forehead. It was a slit, he realized—a slit for a person to escape from. “A selkie,” Hunter mumbled. “The last ingredient has something to do with a selkie?”

“Think, Hunter,” Phillip rested his hand on Hunter’s shoulder, letting the scroll roll back into itself. “What gives a selkie her power? What makes her so dangerous, so conniving, and when it is taken away, so tame?”

“The coat,” Hunter realized. “We need the selkie’s coat.”

Phillip nodded, a glimmer of pride glowing in his expression. “When we have it, we can finally be free from the hex that has haunted us all these years. Now that we know there’s another on the island, we must seize our chance as soon as possible. Can I depend on you?”

Hunter wanted to say a million things. How would he get it? What kind of selkie would ever be apart from her coat long enough to take it—or, if he was unable to steal it outright, what kind of selkie would ever willingly give it to him?

The only thing he got out was something he wasn’t even aware he had been thinking. “Wouldn’t it be cruel to steal an innocent selkie’s coat?” He said, half flinching.

Phillip tensed immediately, as if the words had burned him. “There is no such thing as an innocent faery. They do not deserve even that respect,” Phillip snapped, seizing Hunter by his shoulders with a grip of iron, his paper-mâché face contorted into rage. Phillip paused a moment, collecting himself. He drew away and ran his hands through his hair, smoothing it back from his face. “You are going to find that selkie, and you will bring me her coat. When you’ve done that, we can move forward with the plan.” He turned away and put the scroll back into its drawer in an aching, slow way, sighing deeply. “After all I’ve sacrificed to raise you, it’s the least you can do—even if it’s just for the sake of your own salvation. I want to see you well again, Hunter. I want us both to be well.”

“Of course, Uncle, I didn’t mean to imply that—that I wouldn’t help. I’m happy to. I want nothing more.” Hunter stumbled over his words, still shaken. “When do I begin?”

Phillip dug another bottle out of the desk and popped the cork. “For tonight, it would be safer if you stayed here. This accident has been very worrisome, and I would hate to have to send another in your place if you were… compromised. Go clean up. You can start looking first thing tomorrow.”

Listening at the door, Kikimora began making mental preparations of her own.

Ï Ó Ô Ï Ó

With the shower running and hot steam filling the air, Hunter removed a bottle from the medicine cabinet. He closed the cabinet mirror with one hand, the other holding the bottle aloft. It was squared, tall, the glass a sort of sickly green color—but it was the liquid inside he cared about. There was only a little bit of the orangish-black solution left, a teaspoon’s worth of the stuff sloshing around at the bottom. He hoped it was enough. He pulled out the old cork and quickly shot back the rest. He would never get used to the taste, no matter how many times he took this specific medicine. It was bitter and pungently metallic. He barely held back a gag and turned on the sink to sip water from his cupped hands to wash it all down.

Gathering his composure, he caught his eye in the mirror. The angular edges of his face and ears grew softer; the scar on his jaw shrinking before his eyes. The nails of his fingers had already begun to curl into daggers and would need trimming. His hair had somehow grown several more inches since last night, probably due to him missing a dosage. It now hung around his shoulders like a thick, blond mane. He looked a lot like his uncle with his hair like this. He wasn’t quite sure if he liked that or not.

He wiped the water off his face and reached for the electric razor he brought with him, resting on the counter beside his elbow. Grabbing handfuls of hair and working in pieces, he began to shave it all off. He left the forelock and a neat crop of hair on top of his head, but little else. It was easier to start with nothing. He swept the hair into the trash, glad to be rid of it. He then unwrapped the bloody ripped shirt from his arm and stepped into the shower, the hot water stinging his partially scabbed skin.

“…It could have only been a selkie.” Lilith’s voice echoed in his head.

Of course, Hunter knew faeries existed at some point. All the stories he’d been told, all the books he’d read—they’d all been in past tense. The world wasn’t wild and untamed like that anymore. The danger was supposed to be gone. He’d never really questioned the possibility that they were still around. That must have been a testament to his uncle’s ensuring he would never encounter any.

Maybe that’s why he felt something sink inside of him when he thought about taking a selkie’s coat—some selkie that had nothing to do with his or his uncle’s curses. If he got the chance to know one, he’d may grow to understand his uncle’s sentiment. Or that was the idea, anyways.

I can finally fix everything. His heart clenched. I’ll do it for him.

Hunter scrubbed the salt off his skin, the remainders of his grapple with death washing down the drain.

After dressing and wrapping his wounds, he went to his bedroom—cramped and cluttered with things that had been there since before it had been officially his. The things he cared about most were the bed, the desk, stacked with books, and the single window, overlooking the ocean. From where he stood in the doorway, late morning light filtered through and glowed on the hardwood floors. The sea seemed to dance. The manor was so close to the shore he couldn’t even see the beach from their second story window. Hunter remembered long afternoons he spent as a boy, stuck in this very room and staring out into that sea with lack of anything better to do.

He put on the radio on his desk and skimmed for any channels, but they were too far from the mainland to hear anything. Sometimes, he would catch the chatter of passing boats and open walkie talkies, but that was rare. Still, the sound of empty static comforted him.

Hunter laid down on the bed, only intending to rest there until Lilith called for him, but sleep claimed him and dragged him into its depths.

Hunter dreamed he was standing on a small fishing boat, with lines cast out into the water and nets strewn across the deck haphazardly. Just in front of his feet there was a jagged hole. He could see through it, down into the hull, where the water was rapidly rising. He wasn’t alone. In front of him but across the hole a seal lay motionless. It stared into his eyes. Its eyes were glassy and black and intelligent, as though they could see through him the way he could see into the deck.

“Aren’t you going to jump ship?” The seal said, with the saccharine voice of a girl—but its mouth didn’t open. He heard the words in his head, echoing. “That’s what I would do, if I were you. But I’m not you.”

“I can’t swim.” Hunter responded automatically. The water reached the top of the hole and spilled over his feet.

The seal tilted her head. “Did you forget? Or do you not want to? Did you do it on purpose?”

“No, I just—” Hunter stammered. “Aren’t you going to help me? You’re a seal, swim us out of here!” The water rose quickly to his knees, and then his thighs. The boat sank lower and lower.

“You wanted this,” The seal retorted. “You chose this. Be a man. See it through.”

“You can’t leave me here, you—you fish!” Hunter yelled, enraged. He moved to go after her, but his feet were stuck to the deck, as if glued there.

She disappeared beneath the water, her clever eyes following him until they no longer could. Hunter fought to keep his head above the water, but once his head was submerged, he was pulled further into pitch black nothingness.

Hunter woke up on the floor, his thin blankets strewn across him. His neck ached. His legs throbbed. He could hear crickets outside his darkened window over the sound of the winter waves crashing on the shore. He sat up, grunting as his joints cracked. The radio crackled to life then, as if it had been waiting for him.

A tone played, three notes in succession, looping several times before going silent. A few moments later, it started again, until it eventually petered out into nothing. Hunter knew that sound—it was the trespassing alarm for the shipyard. He’d been sent there a few times by Phillip to do late night security work—and if he was correct, whoever was on shift tonight was probably not awake to hear it. Hunter stood to switch off the radio, stretching his long limbs as he went. Now that he was fully awake, he didn’t exactly want to sit in his room all night. He wanted to get moving.

It wouldn’t hurt if he went down there and checked things out, would it?

Hunter grabbed a thick wool coat, a warm sweater, and his trusty flashlight and left his room. He doubled back to grab his pocketknife (just in case). Lilith snored in her bedroom down the hall, so he tiptoed past with all the silence of a cat. When he walked down the stairs, the house was quiet. It was always quiet, but even more so at night. He shrugged on the sweater and coat and tiptoed out the front door into the cold, dark night. The town seemed skeletal as he walked further north down its lightless streets. He could almost imagine the people that lived there in the day, walking around, laughing, enjoying the island life. But now, in the depths of darkest winter evening, it was just him.

The full moon was hidden by a swathe of puffy white clouds, the stars hidden behind their fluffy sky bound comforter. It felt almost like an omen.

The shipyard wasn’t far from town. He could see the masts of the ships from far away, rocking on the water, rising and falling. He got to the chain-link fence, with the sign that said Graves Cay Shipping and Dockyard and the little guard booth that barred his entrance. Just as he suspected, the man inside, wearing a tag that said Steve, was fast asleep leaning back in his chair. Hunter rapped his knuckles against the glass. The scruffy looking man fell out of his chair, so startled by his rude awakening. Hunter watched, unimpressed, as the man picked himself up and opened the window. Hunter could hear the three-tone alarm still going off inside.

“Can I help you?” He said, still bleary-eyed. “Oh, it’s you. Mr. Wittebane’s nephew.”

Hunter glared at him and pulled his badge out of his pocket. Hunter passed it to Steve, who glanced at it and passed it back.

“You sure come here often,” Steve said, smiling at him. “What are you up to, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“You’d know if you did your job.” Hunter sniped back. The security guard’s smile faded. He pressed a button, and the automatic gate opened.

“Bang on the gate when you want back out,” The guard said, put out. Hunter bundled his coat around himself more tightly and ventured into the shipyard, the gate clinking closed behind him.

Hunter only planned on doing a loop around the docks, stretch his legs a little, and then hightail it home before sunrise. Six weeks in Colorado may have helped his cold tolerance, but his nose was starting to burn, and he wasn’t partial to frostbite (not to mention, the temperature must have dipped 20 degrees from just the night before—but that was east coast living).

Soaring tall over his head were cranes and massive fishing ships, shipping crates, nets—they stood sentinel in the dark like metal giants, awaiting orders. He had never had the opportunity to see this place while it was active during the day, so it looked the way it always did to him. Lifeless.

He walked down the pier, passing seals sleeping in piles. The few that laid awake did so silently, watching him pass with round black eyes. Hunter buried his face up to his nose in his coat and hurried on. “One of those could have been a selkie,” Hunter mused aloud, but that didn’t seem likely.

The piers stretched out in an interlocking H shape, so by the time he had walked the length of the first H and needed to double back, the cold had him about ready to call it quits. But Hunter was nothing if not determined, so he continued through the second H anyways. Some seal probably tripped the sensor, he thought as he stepped over yet another pile of ropes. From up ahead, he heard a scuffling sound, and the crumpling of paper. A pang of fear went through him as memories of last night flashed through his head. There was no way there was another one of those hounds here… right?

He stopped dead, straining his ears. He felt in his pocket for the flashlight, the other curling around his knife. He switched it on and shone the light on… a person wearing a cloak, standing and staring up at one of the ships. The person froze and turned to look at him, their face swathed in shadows, their rubber shoes squeaking on the wet ground. A fire burst to life in the palm of their hand and then promptly went out.

“Not this again,” Hunter grumbled under his breath. “I see you!” He yelled. “I’ve got a flashlight and I know how to use it! Leave this shipyard immediately, trespasser, or I’ll be forced to use… force.”

“What are you going to do, shine me to death?” The cloaked person teased. They pulled the cloak off their head, and Hunter knew this person well. She slicked the curly, dark brown hair away from her forehead with a purple bandana and grinned at him in an impish way. “Are you going to let me get through my introduction this time?”

“No.” Hunter deadpanned, glaring with all the animosity he could muster.

“I’m gonna do it anyway!” Said the trespasser rather gleefully, and Hunter groaned.

She lifted her cloak up high like a bat and threw it down, revealing herself with dramatic flair. She was a golden-brown skinned girl, freckled and smiling from ear to ear, as if she found his rejection of her eccentricities funny. “I am Luz Noceda, the greatest druid currently alive—bringer of peace, messenger of the gods, and purveyor of—”

“I know the spiel,” Hunter interrupted, waving his flashlight around in annoyance. “Is it really accurate to say that you’re the greatest druid alive if you’re the only druid alive?”

“Man, you never let me get through the intro,” Luz mumbled, picking her coat off the ground and balling it up. “There’s at least three more epithets after that.”

“One, I don’t care,” Hunter counted on his fingers, “and two, this is private property. You are trespassing. Again.” Hunter crossed his arms over his chest in what he hoped was an intimidating gesture. “Either you leave, or I’ll—”

“Or you’ll what?” Luz put her cloak in her backpack and pulled the hood of her hoodie over her head. “Arrest me? Last I checked, you couldn’t do that.”

“Okay, how about this? If you don’t leave, I’ll call in the guys with the tasers and let them deal with you. Would you prefer that?” Hunter snapped at her, his blood pressure spiking. He was calling her bluff—there really wasn’t anyone else, except for Steve at the gate. But she didn’t know that, and he was praying that she wouldn’t be able to see it in his face.

Luz’s eyed widened, stricken by his words, before she sighed and slumped her shoulders. “You’re such a narc.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing!” Luz said brightly. She started rummaging in her pockets for something. “You know, I have a purpose for being here—and it’s not tagging, like I know you’re assuming. I’d like to argue that what I was doing last time wasn’t tagging either, but whatever. I’m looking for something—or someone.” She brought out a stack of papers.

“What are those? Sticky notes?” Hunter leaned closer to get a better look. She held one up for him to see. In the center, a sigil was written—a flame encircled by a swirl. Hunter recognized it from an old book of druidic imagery from the library, but he couldn’t recall what it meant. She tapped the center of it while speaking an ancient word, and the paper burst to into flames. Hunter cursed and leapt backwards in alarm, but Luz only looked disheartened.

“The larger the flame,” she explained, tucking the papers away, “the closer I am to finding whoever it is He sent me after.”

“So, it’s like a homing spell?” Hunter mused; his interest suddenly piqued. He stepped forward. “He is… your God, I’m assuming?”

“Patron,” Luz clarified. “I work with the gods, not for them.” She turned to look at him, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff. “But it looks like I need to be leaving now. I’ll just have to tell Him that I wasn’t the druid for the job.” She motioned with her head towards the direction of the exit. “Lead the way, Mr. Security Guard.”

Hunter hesitated. He looked between her and the exit, torn in two. “Okay,” he said, fixing her with his most serious look, pointing a finger with authority. “I’ll cut you a deal. You can look for this… thing, and I’ll be your escort to make sure you don’t cause any trouble. But the moment you step out of line, I’m dragging you out of here. Got it?”

Luz’s jaw dropped. “Wait, seriously? You’re going to help me?”

“Don’t think I don’t have anything to gain from this.” Hunter shouldered past her. “Let’s go, before I change my mind.”

Luz jogged to catch up with him as he soldiered down the dock. “You know, you can actually be pretty nice sometimes,” she said, pulling the stack of papers from her pocket again. Hunter refused to acknowledge her. “You believed me when I said I was a druid.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He muttered. They came up at a crossroads and went straight instead of left. Luz lit up one of the papers, flinching as a spark hit her palm.

“Most people don’t think magic exists,” she said, speed walking to keep up. “I mean, most of my friends are faeries, so they believe me, but if I tried to go telling people about it off the island, they’d think I was weird. Well, I am weird. Weirder than I already am, I mean.”

Hunter blinked and nearly stopped dead, Luz just barely stopping herself from crashing into him. “What do you mean, you’re friends with faeries? They’re dangerous. You should leave them alone, before you’re hurt.”

“Is that… empathy I sense?” Luz teased. She lit up another one of her papers, and the flame glowed slightly brighter than before. “Looks like we’re getting warmer.”

“I’m serious.” Hunter said, shoving his free hand in his pocket. He lit the way for them with his flashlight, so they wouldn’t trip over any crates or buckets in their path. “There’s a reason why humans and faeries live in separate realms. We’re not meant to mix with magic.”

“Asking as a fellow human,” Luz tilted her head, “why do you think that?”

Hunter huffed, and then took a few moments to think. He didn’t exactly trust Luz, but, well… if anyone could understand his situation, it would be a druid. “I—” he started, and then suddenly stopped. He heard something behind him, an annoyingly familiar sound.

“You what?” Luz said, frowning at him. Hunter shushed her, and while she looked insulted, she shut her mouth.

“Find every last seal here,” he heard a high-pitched voice say from far off, approaching their location. “Don’t let any escape, or I’ll have your heads instead!”

“Kikimora,” Hunter breathed. He started looking all around for cover, but they were surrounded by docked boats on all sides. “We need to hide.”

“What? Where?” Luz whispered. Hunter pointed at one of the fishing boats, with a ledge just high enough for them to get up on if the other hoisted them up. There was about a foot of space between the boat and the pier, which Hunter eyed nervously.

“Up there,” Hunter whispered back. The two ran to the boat, and Hunter kneeled and cupped his hands. Luz stepped up, and he hoisted her up onto the boat.

“Have you searched down here?” Kikimora called to someone, closer than Hunter deemed comfortable.

Luz bent over the side and reached for his hand. “Hurry!” She cried softly. He grabbed it and walked up the side of the boat while Luz pulled—and just in time too. As the two scurried to hide behind the railing, he saw her.

Kikimora went to stand below the boat, but she didn’t look like the Kikimora he recognized. Her ears, human and round before, were pointed. The fingers on her hands ended with sharp claws. Standing at her side were two Cú Sidhe, winding around her and sniffing the air. Their muzzles and paws dripped red with blood. Luz must have seen it at the same time he did, because she clamped a hand over her mouth in wide-eyed horror.

“No seals down here,” Kikimora mused aloud, petting one of the Cú Sidhe between their massive ears. “Which of you doggies wants a treat? Find the boy, and you can have him as a snack. I know he’s here somewhere.” She moved as if to leave, but suddenly noticed something on the ground—one of Luz’s sigils. Almost as if with her mind, something invisible picked up the wet, disintegrating paper and placed it in Kikimora’s waiting hand.

“¡Anda el diablo!” Luz cursed; her voice muffled by her hand.

“How interesting,” Kikimora said, holding the paper aloft for her hounds to sniff. She walked back in the direction she came, but her Cú Sidhe pets split off—one further down the pier, the other following Kikimora.

            Hunter and Luz sat there, motionless for many long seconds until they could no longer hear the click of her boots on the ground, and no longer heard the panting of the Cú Sidhe.

            “Was she talking about you?” Luz hissed, getting to her knees.

            Hunter put his head between his hands, his heart racing. “I don’t know.”

            “Who was that? Why is she killing seals?”

            Hunter couldn’t answer her at first. His mouth had gone dry. “I don’t know—that was Kikimora. My uncle’s personal assistant. She was a faery this whole time. Oh god, what do I say? How do I tell him?”

            Luz opened her mouth as if to ask more questions, but just shook her head and grabbed his wrist. “C’mon,” she murmured, pulling him to his feet. “Let’s find whatever it is I’m after and get out of here. Those dogs look mean, and I want nothing to do with them. You with me?”

            Hunter nodded. He looked down the pier, expecting to see the Cú Sidhe’s red eyes staring into his soul again, but he saw nothing. When he looked back, Luz stood at the entrance to a ladder that led to the lower deck, the hatch already open. She lit up another sigil, and it glowed brighter than ever before, illuminating all the round features of her face. “This way,” she waved him over, and without another word, descended into the depths of the ship. Hunter followed, the meager light from the moon disappearing the further down he went.

            The bottom of the hatch was pitch black, but the echo of his feet hitting the ground told him he was in a narrow corridor. Hunter pulled out his flashlight and hit it a few times until it flickered to life. He was right—this was the hallway connecting the sailor’s living quarters when the ship was in use. Now, the air was cold and damp from disuse. Luz trailed behind him as they walked on, slowly and deliberately. They passed doors left half open, bunkrooms with the beds still unmade, breakrooms with the tables tipped over, showers with mold growing in the corners.

            “This ship must have been out of commission for a while,” Hunter said to Luz, who periodically set off sigils that grew warmer and warmer against Hunter’s back. “They must still be waiting to send it to the scrapyard.”

            “You seem to know a lot about these ships.” Luz stated, tilting her head at him.

            “I care a lot about my uncle’s company,” Hunter shrugged. “He took me in when I had no one else. I want to support him in any way I can.”

            “So, you must know about the dredging Belos Corp. is doing on the south side of the island,” Luz lit off another sigil.

            He hadn’t, or he hadn’t until that moment. “What are you talking about?” He asked, genuinely confused. “That’s illegal. He—the company would never authorize that.”

            “Things being illegal has never stopped anyone from doing them.” Luz stated in such a matter-of-fact way that Hunter had a hard time coming up with a rebuttal. He just glared at the darkness ahead of him and made a mental note to ask his uncle about it later.

They reached the end of the hallway. There was only one door left, and it was closed. Luz’s sigil burned so brightly that she hissed and waved the smoke away from her hand. “This has to be it,” she said. “Whatever Titan has waiting for me has to be in this room.”

Without waiting to deliberate any longer, Hunter kicked the door in. He expected a monster, or maybe a demon, waiting to jump out and attack them. Instead, it was just a tiny office with papers strewn across the floor. Hunter shined his flashlight across the room, seeing nothing of note. “Maybe we need to go down a level?” He asked Luz, but the moment he spoke, he heard the mad tweeting and the fluttering of wings.

In the corner of the room, with a coat thrown over it, was a birdcage. Hunter and Luz carefully stepped into the room, the mildewy papers scrunching beneath their shoes. Luz pulled the coat off the cage, and inside was a red cardinal, flying around in circles in its excitement. “Oh, poor pajarito, let’s get you out of there,” she cooed, prying open the little door. The moment the door opened, the cardinal flew out and did a loop around the room, singing with glee. It landed on Luz’s head, pulling her curls out of her bandana in apparent appreciation.

“But how? There’s not a bird in the world that can survive so many months in a cage without food or water—unless someone’s been coming here and feeding it.” Hunter marveled, holding out his hand. The bird peered at him curiously but preferred to nestle himself into Luz’s warm hair.

“This isn’t just any bird,” Luz smiled, carefully picking the bird off her head. It moved to perch on her index finger, and from this vantage point Hunter could see the poor thing was missing an eye. “This is a brownie. A house faery. They bring good luck.”

Hunter was suddenly a lot less interested. “Aren’t those dangerous?” he asked, scrutinizing the bird with suspicion.

“Does this little rascal look dangerous to you?” Luz scratched the bird under its beak, to which it narrowed its eye in joy. She tucked the cardinal into the hood of her jacket. “C’mon, let’s hurry up and get out of here. The sooner we can put a stop to whatever it is Kikimora is doing, the better.”

Not needing to be told twice, the two of them and their new friend hustled down the long corridor. They began climbing the ladder up onto the top deck, except Luz suddenly stopped dead once her head emerged at the top of the hatch. “Go down! Down, down, down!” She cried, sliding down the ladder and nearly crashing into Hunter. No sooner than she did, a Cú Sidhe’s teeth snapped at the place she had just been. They came out at the bottom in a heap. The Cú Sidhe stared down at them, snarling and gnashing its jaws. Its shoulders were too wide for it to leap down and get them, but there was no way they’d be able to go up.

Luz scrambled to her feet and brushed the water off her clothes. She helped Hunter up, who was still a little dazed. “I’ve got an idea,” she said, and though the words brought Hunter great dread, he still motioned for her to go on. She fished in her pockets for the rest of her sigils—she had about five left. “Now that we’ve got the little rascal with us and they’re still primed on his location, I can set all of these off at once and scare the wolf away from the exit.”

“And what do we do when we get up there?” Hunter reached for the knife in his pocket, for comfort.

“Run like hell. You ready?”

Hunter nodded. Luz nodded back. She stacked all five sigils on top of one another and gave the pile a mighty slap. The result was instantaneous—a hot jet of fire shot up the hole, blowing the wind back from their faces. The hound screeched, and when the flames dissipated, there was nothing blocking their way. “Go, go, go!” Luz scurried up the ladder, Hunter following just behind.

When he emerged from the hole, the hound laid a few paces away, whimpering and covering its face with a massive paw. White blood pooled on the deck. Luz leapt off the side of the ship and onto the pier, rolling and quickly getting to her feet. “C’mon, dude! We gotta move!” She shouted at him. Hunter shook himself from staring and leapt off the boat after her.

As they ran down the pier in the dark, the bloody paw steps of the Cú Sidhe flying by beneath their feet. The little bird, disturbed from his spot in Luz’s hood, flew after them. They skidded around corners and crates, passing the slaughtered bodies of seals left and right; some more intact, some torn to pieces. Luz’s face was screwed up in anguish, but Hunter didn’t need to ask why. He was feeling it too.

Just when the gates were in sight, the second Cú Sidhe leapt in front of their path from above, snarling and snapping at them. Riding on its back was Kikimora, who laughed gleefully. The trio skidded to a stop, breathing heavily.

“Well, well, well,” Kikimora cried, sliding off the back of the Cú Sidhe. “If it isn’t Hunter and the little druid girl I’ve heard so much about. When your uncle finds out who you’ve been associating with, ohoho… He will be more than pleased to promote me, his most loyal servant, Kikimora!”

“Is that what this is all about? A promotion?” Luz yelled. She pulled the bandana off her head and waved it at Kikimora in anger. “I’ve got some choice words to say to you, lady!” She handed the bandana to Hunter and growled, “Put that on.”

“Oh no, what will the poor human girl do?” Kikimora feigned a sad face. “I’ll rip you to pieces.”

“I’d like to see you try.” Luz pulled a round bottle out of her pocket and yanked the bottom of her hoodie over her nose. She threw the vail on the ground and with a crash of breaking glass, a thick mist issued from it and expanded, until Hunter could see nothing but thick white fog.

“Where are you?!” Kikimora yelled from somewhere in front of them. “Where are… you…”

Hunter felt more than heard the hound fall to the ground. Luz clamped a hand over his wrist and pulled him forward. The little claws of the bird dug into his scalp as the bird clung to him for dear life. Luz led them around Kikimora and into a mad sprint. They escaped from the fog and ran the last fifty yards to the gate, and without any hesitation, jumped to scale the gate. Steve had fallen right back to sleep and startled awake with the jangling of the gate as they leapt off it.

“Hey! Hey you!” Steve leaned out the window of his box to yell at them. When they stumbled off the ground and continued running, he leaned back in and muttered, “I’m not paid enough for this.”

They ran until they could no longer see the tops of the ships bobbing, right at the border of town. The leaned against one of the decrepit buildings, catching their breaths. “That was… the most… intense thing… I’ve seen in a while.” Luz panted, raising her arms above her head. “Those seals… ugh, I’m so mad right now. I want to—” she made a strangling motion with her hands.

Hunter nearly laughed. “If it’s any consolation, she’ll be too embarrassed to admit what she’s seen now.” Hunter pressed a hand over his heart, where it beat quick in his chest.

“I should curse her. Can I curse her from all the way over here? Curse you, Kikimora, you… ah, I’m too tired for this. I need to run more.”

The little cardinal finally released its grip on Hunter’s hair and fluttered around their faces. Luz put out her hands for it to land on. It chirped something at her meaningfully, and Luz furrowed her brow. “You’re going home?” She asked. The bird nodded. “Okay, stay safe. Don’t go getting caught again, you little rascal.”

The bird took off into the night, and the two watched it go. Luz sighed wistfully.

Hunter looked out at the horizon, where touches of orange and gold were just starting to creep. He pushed off the wall and wiped off his pants. “Our transaction is over,” he said, starting in the direction of the manor. “You can find your own way home.”

“Hey, wait!” Luz called, jogging to catch up with him. “I have to repay you somehow. Things would’ve gotten hairy down there if you hadn’t helped me onto that ship.”

Hunter thought about it for a moment, when an idea came to him. “What can you tell me about selkies? Things a normal person wouldn’t know?”

“I’m not super knowledgeable on selkies, actually,” Luz said instantly. “But I know a girl who is—Willow Park. She lives on the south side, near the lighthouse. There’s a big greenhouse in the yard, you can’t miss it. She’s the real expert.”