Page 64 of Saved By the Selkie

There isn’t a single space in New York that isn’t jam-packed with humans.

I glance around, searching for Aramis’s pocket watch. It was a gift, I’m told, from Lord de Sellegue—his father figure, even if Aramis denies he ever had a father.

The Count seems rather indulgent too, even if he pretends at being gruff with both Athos and Aramis. I really don’t think he’s as mean as the brothers make him out to be.

I haul myself out of bed and pad to the armoire on the other side of the bedroom in our rented flat. Blizz will be out with his nanny—a woman Anna knew and recommended.

I find the watch and peer down at it. It’s still really difficult for me to tell time, because selkies don’t need to tell time. There’s sun-up and sun-down, and there are constellations when endless night comes upon us.

Anyway, I think that Aramis should be home soon, judging by the placement of the little hands. I bounce Squall lightly as I try to make sure I’m reading the contraption right.

Aramis was supposed to meet with his uncle and some of his other patrons today to talk about Mythos. We’d arrived back in New York in the late fall, before the freeze came on, and the Count said there was no point in convening a meeting; some of the key players were absent and wouldn’t be returning until the spring. Lord de Sellegue has little patience for people, so he didn’t want to meet more than once or twice and he didn’t want to hear the same story over and over again.

He’d melted during what Aramis calledChristmas, which seemed to be a strange ritual around the winter solstice, based on eating a lot of food and giving presents and telling stories about a thief called St. Nick.

I don’t get it, although I’m not going to say no to feasts. Suffice to say both Squall and I were better fed than I’d been with Blizz. Poor Blizz—he’s still pretty skinny, even going into his second year. Squall is much chubbier and, in my expert opinion, cuter because of it. Selkie babies are supposed to be roly-poly. Blizz had looked sick; I can admit that now, because Squall is so much different.

A door bangs, and Squall starts. I wait, but nobody materializes in the flat. With a sigh, I wander to the window, peering out into the street below.

It’s still hard for me to tell humans apart. It feels like every other one could be Aramis. I watch them stream by, hurrying here and there.

They’re always in such a rush. I feel harried just watching them. I miss Mythos more, thinking about long days stretched out on the beach, lounging in the sunshine. Nothing to do—sleep when I wanted, eat when I felt like it. No such thing as mealtimes or schedules or …

I sniff loudly when I feel the tears start dripping off my chin. I miss it so much. I even miss my stupid brothers.

I sniff again, which startles Squall awake—kid lives up to his namesake. He’s bawling so loud I don’t hear the door to our apartment until it slams shut. I jump, Squall barks, and Aramis stomps by us, a storm cloud over his face. He marches into our bedroom and pitches his hat against the wall, then kicks the door shut behind him.

I stare at it for a second. Then I let my gaze drift toward the dining room, where Athos is standing. “It went that well?”

Athos’s dark gaze shifts to me. “I thought it went well,” he says with a shrug. “My lord father has granted us three of the finest galleons in his fleet, and we’ll be heading north as soon as we can find sailors to man them.”

My heart leaps. “You mean we’re going back to Mythos?” I clutch Squall to me, and he squawks indignantly. I glance down, releasing my grip a little. My son glares up at me—he looks just like his drasili when he makes that face.

Athos quirks a brow. “I don’t know about this we business,” he says, gesturing to the closed door. “As you can see, my brother seems upset by the news.” He raises his voice a little. “Which I don’t understand—generally, when one is given a gift, one expresses gratitude!”

Aramis mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a curse. We wait a moment, but he says nothing more. Athos and I look at each other again, and Athos tips his hat to me. “If you’ll excuse me,” he says. “There are many arrangements to be made. Ships don’t crew themselves.”

“I suppose they don’t,” I agree, not that I know anything about crewing ships.

Athos departs, and silence settles over the apartment. I wait a moment or two, bouncing Squall again.

Apparently Aramis isn’t going to come out on his own now that Athos has left. With a sigh, I rap on the door, then push into the bedroom. “Are you going to sulk until Blizz and the nanny get back?”

Aramis scowls at me but says nothing. It’s reminiscent of the look Squall gave me just now. Like drasili, like child.

I pad over to the bed and sit. “Your brother says you’ve been gifted three of the finest galleons in the fleet.” I still don’t know the difference between a galleon and a sloop. Galleons sound nicer, if nothing else.

“I just don’t see why he has to go!” Aramis cries, grinding his teeth and clenching his fists. “Why does he have to be involved in everything? I went to Mythos, I found it, and I made it back—so why send Athos? I’m more than capable!”

“Maybe to make sure you don’t bring home a whole colony of selkie mates this time?”

He gives me an affronted look. “I wouldn’t,” he says.

I lift a brow. He frowns. “Aren’t you the one who thinks we’re … fated mates or some such?”

“What does that matter?” I ask, and Aramis tilts his head. I mirror the move. “Are you an alpha or not?”

He snorts. “Lir …”