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And it gave her the time to fetch the basket of seashells: cockles, mussels, periwinkles, and scallops. And the painted top shell she was looking for. In London they used the Tabula Rasa spell, inking messages into parchment that showed up in the receiver’s journal, or sometimes on their skin. But on the island, they used seashells. Mussels wrapped in silver thread trapped voices, snippets of songs, spoken memories. If you listened hard enough, you could hear a thousand secrets. But painted top shells linked whispers together, sending them far away. Sorcha had a shell of her own, spelled and connected to Briar’s. Briar whispered into hers: Black Shuck in the hills. Find him before the others can.

The reply came quickly, an excited squeal: Puppy!

“Your friend is a menace,” Ethan said, standing so close behind her that her skin felt electrified even though this definitely was not the time for that sort of nonsense.

Briar nodded. “One of us has to be.”

He raised an eyebrow incredulously. “Do you think you’re not a menace? Woman, you took on an Iron Crow whom even I don’t care to fight, armed only with a teacup full of honey and a mermaid hair you nicked from my belt. Don’t think I didn’t notice that. And then you released a Black Shuck. Into your parlor. And told him not to fuss.”

Something about the disbelief in his tone made her feel significantly better.

She really did need a good magical cleansing.

Ethan left to secure a cart and Briar brought Bramble a basket of pasties made with potatoes and carrots and peas, a handful of pears and cherries, early for the regular season but not for Briar’s orchard. She convinced her to sleep for the couple of hours that remained until twilight. Briar spent her time pacing between the windows, watching for Keepers or Iron Crows or museum curators. When Ethan returned, shrouded in storm clouds, she was tense as a bowstring. The road had fallen into the blue shadows of dusk. Rain hit the roof, spattered the windowpanes.

It was time.

A covered wagon trundled along the lane beside the cottage. It was painted blue with cheerful pennants and garlands of bright flowers. Yellow silk birds were attached to the roof by wires so it appeared as though a flock was continuously flying overhead. The horse was a village horse, sturdy and unbothered by magic. It was perfectly suited for the Midsummer Festival. It could easily be carrying casks of strawberry wine, a soothsayer arriving to read tea leaves, a carnival troupe.

But unlikely to be housing a wanted witch and criminal.

The driver jumped down, blond curls plastered to his head. Briar vaguely recognized him from Ethan’s ship. He strode toward her, all friendly smiles. Were anyone watching, they would not have looked twice.

The rain beat down harder.

Briar gave the garden a little push, encouraging the branches and leaves to tangle low, the lilac bushes to stretch out, the hydrangea to spread.

Ethan climbed out of the wagon wearing a cloak that shadowed his face. He nodded to the driver and they ducked inside the tearoom. “This is Matthias,” he said. “No one ever believes he’s a Crow.”

Matthias grinned. “I would take offense, but I’m afraid it’s entirely true.”

They carried Petal down the stairs gently, but swiftly. Briar and Bramble had wrapped her in a cloak of her own. The rain came down in silver lashes as they brought her into the cart. Thunder cracked, discouraging anyone from approaching the cottage, from looking too closely.

“I’ve left the bonfires on the beach alone,” Ethan said. “So everyone will head down there. Except for the Keeper hidden across the street. He is not having a good time.”

Bramble crouched to slap her palm against the earth three times, the way rabbits thumped their hind legs to warn of danger. “My sisters and their Jacks will lure anyone away from us.”

Jackrabbits were even shier than rabbit witches, and twice as feral. Short of an actual invisibility spell, which was complicated and expensive and rarely worked as intended, they could not ask for a better guard. They climbed into the covered wagon and Briar pulled the door closed, palms sweaty.

Petal lay on the bench along one side, her head in Bramble’s lap. Ethan sat next to Briar, like a shadow turned sharp and deadly. The wagon rumbled along the rough path through the grass, away from the village, cutting around to the far docks. The Sea Dragons had elected to dock away from the main festivities, even before her sister stole the moon.

The ship was as impressive as she remembered, with the tinkle of bewitched sea glass and the gleam of weapons. The dragon figurehead opened its jaw and blue sparks shot over the water, discouraging any approaching kelpies with thoughts of murder, as well as mermaids, also with thoughts of murder. The crew waited on deck, fierce and suspicious.

Briar swallowed, her throat dry. Was she quite mad to trust her sister to Iron Crows? Infamous ones at that? She glanced at Bramble, who had frozen, eyes narrowed. One breath, two. Finally, she nodded at Briar and turned back to oversee Matthias when he carried Petal from the back of the cart.

The rain fell harder, blurring the ship, the sea, the sand. Anyone who might be watching would only see water.

Briar hurried after them, slowing down on the plank so she did not slip. Her hip was rather cross with her. Ethan was at her back, warm and solid, fingers pressed to her lower spine. Was he pushing her forward? Or steadying her? She honestly did not know anymore.

“We’ve a guest,” he said.

Briar saw Anais and Maleko of the tattooed chin. There was a woman with snakes for hair, a man with the legs of a satyr. She had never heard of a satyr who chose the sea. He winked at her. Satyrs were not known for their shyness. She blushed and she wasn’t even sure why. He had not done anything untoward. A wink was hardly a proposition.

“Easy, Godric,” Ethan rumbled.

When Petal’s hood slid free, revealing her shining auburn hair and alabaster skin, the attention shifted dramatically. One of the sailors looked as though he’d just been hit in the head. Briar was very accustomed to that expression. Ethan, clearly, was not. “Get it together, man.”

“She’s like a fairy princess.”