Page 13 of Saved By the Selkie

“It’s simple—it’s the day you were born,” Johan says.

“And you … celebrate that?” I crunch my brow.

“Aye,” Porthos agrees, pushing past me. “Made it through another year, and that’s worth celebrating.” He lumbers up the stairs, the wood creaking under him.

“Are you going to fire the cannons again?” I ask, glancing nervously at Johan.

“Heavens, no!” Johan cries. “The cap’n would never allow us to waste shot like that.” He claps me on the shoulder. “C’mon—there’ll be plenty of grog instead!”

“Grog?” I ask, but he’s pushing me, until my knees give and I stumble toward the stairs.

I find out what grog is soon enough. The crew’s already into three huge barrels of the drink, pouring liberally into cups. Porthos hands me an overflowing mug. “Bottoms up!” he bellows, then tosses back his own drink.

I follow suit, then choke when the liquid burns on the way down. I clutch at my throat, dropping the mug as I cough and splutter. Porthos laughs at me. “Ain’t ya never had grog, boy?”

“No,” I gasp, shaking my head. My eyes are watering. What evenis that stuff? It’s vile.

A cheer goes up from the crew, drowning out Aramis asking, “What’s all this?”

“Happy birthday, cap’n!”

“Cheers, cap’n!”

“’Ere’s t’ yer health!”

The crowd clears a little, and someone shoves a mug into Aramis’s hands. He’s smiling, even though he’s shaking his head. “You scallywags,” he admonishes, grinning ear to ear. “How’d you even find out about that? I made a point not to tell any of you rascals.”

“Drink, drink, drink!” some of the crew starts chanting, so Aramis tilts his mug up and empties it in three long, smooth swallows. He finishes and bows, as though he’s accomplished some great feat.

Porthos hands me another cup and claps me on the shoulder. “Drink up, me ’earty!” he booms. “Plenty o’ that!”

With that, he lumbers off, joining a jig that some of the others have started. Smitty has broken out the accordion, while Tom has the fiddle and Giles has a pipe.

I sip the grog, then grimace. Nasty stuff. I debate tossing it overboard as I lean back against the railing, settling in to watch Aramis.

It doesn’t take him long to free himself of the throng on deck. There are plenty of well-wishers, but the crew seems mostly intent on drinking and dancing.

I look down into my cup when Aramis joins me, leaning on the railing as he looks out to sea. “Enjoying the party?” he asks.

“Not really,” I murmur, then force myself to drain my mug. I must pull some kind of face, because Aramis laughs, long and hard, tilting his head back, and his cheeks are rosy with mirth, and I’m suddenly warm all over.

He claps me on the shoulder. “Well, you’ve got the right idea. Have a couple more glasses of that and we’ll see what you think then. Maybe we’ll even get you to dance.” He winks at me.

I shake my head furiously. “No way!” I’m a selkie. We don’t dance. Not on two feet anyway.

“Oh, c’mon! You haven’t even tried.” He sets his glass down and turns to me, hands out. “At least give it a try—you might like it.”

“Doubtful,” I mutter, but he just stands there waiting. Blushing furiously, I ditch my own mug and take his hands.

Aramis looks down at his feet. “It’s easy,” he says, “just follow the rhythm.”

“What rhythm?” I ask, ears twitching.

“Like this,” he instructs, taking a little hop to the left. Then he hops to the right. He picks up speed, heels hitting the deck in time to the jaunty music. Then he stops abruptly and looks at me. “See? Easy. Now you try.”

I’m lumbering and clumsy—I think that makes sense, given that I’m a good deal taller and heavier than he is. I also spend most of my time in my seal form, so I’m not nearly as used to these limbs as I am to my tail and flippers.

Aramis links arms with me and starts to skip around in a circle. “See? It’s not so hard, is it?”