Chapter One
Something was wrong with the sea.
Marina Pearl noticed it at 4 AM, elbow-deep in croissant dough, when the smell hit her. Salt and lightning: the scent of a storm that wasn’t on any forecast. It rolled through the bakery’s open window and prickled across her arms.
She shivered. Kept working.
It’s nothing. You’re imagining things.
The fourth batch of croissants sat on the counter, mocking her. Overworked. Dense. The kind that would break a tooth and destroy a reputation. She scraped the dough into the compost and started over.
Flour. Butter. Salt. Her hands trembled as she measured.
Three days. She had three days until the Supernatural Legal Summit, the biggest catering contract The Salty Siren had ever landed.
She was going to fail spectacularly.
Stop it. You’re catastrophizing.
But the smell of the sea was stronger now, curling through the kitchen like fingers. Marina’s skin prickled. The locket at her throat, her grandmother’s locket, felt warm against her collarbone.
That hadn’t happened in two years.
She pressed her palm against it, felt the silver pulse with something that might have been her imagination. Inside was a photograph of Nana on one side and a twist of dried seaweed on the other. The seaweed was supposed to be dormant. Dead. Just a memento.
It didn’t feel dead right now.
The sea is calling, something whispered.Something is coming.
“It can take a number,” Marina told the empty kitchen, and turned back to her croissants. She was very good at ignoring things. Ominous portents, apparently, included.
The back door banged open.
She yelped. Flour went everywhere.
“Morning, sunshine!” Bea Thornwood swept in like a hurricane in yoga pants, purple hair piled in a messy bun, carrying two cups of something that steamed with suspicious intensity. “I brought anxiety juice.”
“It’s four in the morning.”
“It’s also three days before your thing, and your aura is doing something deeply concerning.” Bea set one cup on the counter. “Drink. It’s chamomile and something I’m not legally allowed to name.”
Marina eyed it. “Is it going to make me see colors?”
“Only the ones that are already there.”
Bea hopped onto the counter, ignoring Marina’s pointed look at the flour she was sitting in. Her nose wrinkled. “Do you smell that? It’s like the ocean is… louder than usual.”
Marina’s hand went to her locket again. “You can smell it too?”
“I’m a witch, babe. I can smell a lot of things.” Bea’s expression sharpened. “Why? What do you sense?”
“Nothing. I don’t—” Marina shook her head. “I don’t sense things. I bake things. That’s my whole skill set.”
“You’re a selkie. You absolutely sense things.”
“I’m a selkie who hasn’t swum in two years. I’m basically a very anxious human who happens to own a sealskin that’s currently gathering dust in my closet.”
Bea looked like she wanted to argue. Instead, she stole a cooling scone. “Fine. How’s the spiral?”
