Page 8 of Summer L.A.W.

“Bloody hell,” she whispered into her hands. “She’s not coming for me when I’m aboard a ship this time.”

The bird trilled low, almost approving, and Crystal dropped her hands. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll tell the others. Eventually. Once I know I’m not losing my mind.”

But she could already feel it… that same slow drumbeat the shard had given off when she touched it. Only now it was under her skin.

Crystal waited until the hallways stopped creaking with the sound of people doing witchy things, like shuffling grimoires, clinking chalices, arguing over whether nettle tea could be substituted for stinging nettle, and then she slipped out the back door.

The mansion’s gardens were still slick from the earlier plumbing purge. Her boots sank into the mossy path like the earth was trying to keep her from leaving. Which, given the house’s general protective personality, wouldn’t surprise her.

Her bird followed her overhead, wings silently gliding through the damp air as she took the long trail down toward the cove. The air was sharp with brine and the kind of humidity that crawled straight under your clothes.

When she stepped onto the rocky beach, she knew immediately something was wrong. Brianna’s owl familiar was sitting in a tree, like a sentinel. The tide was way up… too high for the moon phase or weather. Waves slapped at the black rocks in quick, impatient bursts, as if the ocean had better things to do than wait for her.

And that hum…

Under her skin and in her ears. Slow, steady, matching the beat of her pulse. A ripple ran through the waves, far out in the dark water. Crystal narrowed her eyes. Not a boat. Not a log. A figure.

Her name came on the wind, not in her head this time, but out loud, stretched into something both intimate and mocking.

The figure was tall, with wet hair streaming behind it in a wild wind. Even at this distance, she could make out the unnatural paleness of the face, the black line of the mouth, the creepy smile.

The hum turned to a pounding drumbeat, and the air changed. Heavy. Charged.

“Not today,” Crystal muttered.

The Atlantic’s voice slammed into her mind like a shout. A raw, booming warning. Beware!

A wave reared up, bigger than it had any right to be, and crashed over her in a sheet of saltwater. She staggered back, coughing, hair plastered to her cheeks, and by the time she blinked the sting from her eyes, the figure was gone.

Her bird landed on her shoulder. “Don’t give me that look,” she told it, swiping at her dripping face. “I’m fine. Mostly.”

The tide was already receding, but the drumbeat under her skin didn’t fade.

She turned and started the climb back to the mansion, boots squelching. “Yeah,” she said to herself, “definitely telling the others. Right after I figure out how to make it sound like I’m not cursed or crazy.”

By the time Crystal shoved open the library doors, the fire roared in the hearth, and four heads turned toward her: Joell, Brianna, Magda, and Sahara, all gathered around the big oval table like they’d been plotting the downfall of a small nation.

Brianna arched an eyebrow. “I assume you didn’t just lose a fight with the shower?”

“Worse,” Crystal said, heading straight for the hearth and peeling off her rain cape with a wet slap. Her bird fluttered to the mantle and shook itself indignantly, scattering droplets onto Crystal’s head. “I just got told off by the Atlantic Ocean.”

Joell leaned back in her chair, studying her like a puzzle piece that didn’t fit. “You want to run that by us slowly?”

Crystal held her hands out to the fire, letting the heat sink into her fingers. “I went down to the cove. The tide was too high for the moon, waves all wrong, and then I saw her. Tall, pale, dripping malice, my old friend the sea-witch.”

Magda paused mid-page-turn. “The one from the Sutherland? The one you told me about when you visited me in Australia? I thought you were joking.”

“The very one. Same picket-fence smile. Same ‘I’m here to ruin your life’ energy.”

“I thought Bas spelled the entire ship to forget about that encounter.”

“She did, but as I was trying a ‘forget Stan’ spell, the memory resurfaced.” Crystal recounted the whole thing… her name on the wind, the drumbeat under her skin, the Atlantic’s bellowed beware, and the rogue wave that had tried to shove her into early retirement.

Brianna was standing now, her mug of tea forgotten. “You’re certain it wasn’t a vision? Spell backlash from earlier?”

Crystal shook her head. “I’ve had visions. This wasn’t a vision. This was weather trying to kill me while something in the water looked for the best angle.”

Sahara was already flipping through one of her coastal folklore tomes. “If she’s moving again, the tide patterns will show it. Did you feel the pull on the shore?”