Page 11 of Summer L.A.W.

“I was busy not drowning,” Crystal replied.

That earned a smile. “You were warned.”

Crystal held the seashell up. “Is this supposed to be a peace offering, or just a creepy collectible?”

The sea-witch’s gaze slid to the shell, and the corner of her mouth twitched. “A key. To open what’s locked. Or to lock what’s been opened. Depends which side you’re on.”

“I’m fairly sure I’m not on yours.”

“I’m fairly sure you don’t know what side you’re on at all.”

Before Crystal could answer, the air shifted. Someone else was there. A figure half-seen in the moonlight, a man standing just behind the sea-witch. His face was the one from the scrying vision, but here it was clearer. Still weathered, watchful, and somehow familiar. But it rippled like a reflection in warped glass.

Crystal’s stomach tightened. “Who is he?”

The sea-witch ignored the question. “You’ve been marked since the Sutherland. You can’t stay ashore forever. The pull will take you back, one way or another.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Crystal said.

The man finally spoke, voice low and rough, and it rattled her more than the witch’s threats. “You don’t have that long, daughter.”

The water beneath Crystal shifted, tilting her forward. She staggered, and suddenly she was ankle-deep in the freezing surf, the shell clenched in her fist. The waves picked up again.

Out beyond the cove, two silhouettes watched her for a moment longer before the sea closed over them.

Crystal stared down at the shell. Its spiral gleamed faintly in her palm, and from deep inside it, the same man’s voice sang again.

This time, it wasn’t her name.

It was a date and time.

Crystal didn’t remember walking back. One minute she was knee-deep in surf, the next she was climbing the stone steps to the mansion’s back patio, dripping and sand-streaked like some shipwreck survivor who’d washed up at her own house.

The kitchen light was on. Joell was at the table, wrapped in a robe, coffee cup in hand. She didn’t blink. “I’m going to guess you weren’t just out for a stroll.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Crystal said, peeling off her wet sweater. “Thought I’d check the tide.”

Magda appeared from the pantry, hair a half-tamed braid, holding a jar of honey like it might try to escape. “You’re soaked. Again.”

“Your observational skills are why we keep you around.”

Sahara’s voice floated in from the doorway. “You went to the cove.” It wasn’t a question. She crossed the room, set a towel in Crystal’s hands, and added, “And you brought something back.”

Crystal hesitated before opening her palm. The seashell gleamed under the bright kitchen light, its spiral smooth and pale.

Magda frowned. “Net magic residue.”

Joell leaned forward, studying it without touching. “What did she want?”

Crystal dried her hair, buying time. “Nothing I plan to give her,” she said, eventually, and then sighed.

“That’s not an answer.” Joell’s voice sharpened.

“Because I don’t have one. Yet.” Crystal dropped into a chair, the towel bunched in her lap. “She’s not just playing in our backyard. She’s got backup.”

Sahara’s brows drew together. “What kind of backup?”

“The man kind.” Crystal glanced at each of them in turn. “He looked human. He didn’t feel it, though.”