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Much like New Englanders, the folks of Starlight Hollow saw everybody who had moved to town during the past decade as a newcomer, though I’d grown up in Port Townsend, a mere forty-five minutes away. I wasn’t a local here. At least, not yet.
I leaned against the counter. “So far, so good. I’ve been here almost six months now, and I feel like I’m really starting to settle in. I’ve been mulling over what I want to do with the land.” I had three acres. “I’m going to be building raised beds for my herb garden next, I think. I should get them in before the autumn comes, so the plants have time to acclimate.”
“How’s the cottage?” Tracy asked, shooting me a sideways look. “Mrs. Jansen was always so particular about her home.”
“Oh, it’s fine. I think she’s gone—I don’t sense her there. I have the workshop where I’ll eventually be meeting clients, selling spell components and home-grown herb mixtures and so forth.” I caught one of the flower containers that almost fell off the cart, pushing it back on.
“I’d love to see the cottage now that you own it,” she said. “Mrs. Jansen always had it decked out in Scandinavian décor. Do you have any Scandinavian in you?”
Though the question felt personal, I realized she was curious. “Probably, back along the line. My mother’s Scottish, but family stories say that back in the Middle Ages her people married into the line of Viking invaders. So my mother’s Scottish and Norse. Her family came to the States in the 1800s. On my father’s side, though, I’m pretty much all Scottish. His father and mother were immigrants.”
“Interesting,” Tracy said. “I’m fourth-generation Italian.” She finished ringing up the flowers and started in on the ferns. “So, you think old lady Jansen crossed over? I always wondered. She loved that house.”
“I haven’t seen hide nor hair of her—the cottage felt cleansed when I first walked into it. I understand why she loved it, though. I’ve come to love the place, too. It’s perfect—and then I also have the workshop that’s fully heated, and I also have plenty of storage space in the utility shed. Along with the acreage, I can build my own world.” I could tell she was angling for an invitation to come out and snoop around, but delicately avoided offering her the chance. Tracy was nice, but she was definitely the town gossip and she had a mouth on her a mile wide and as loud as an air raid siren.
“Well, I’m glad you settled in with us,” she said, returning to the cash register. “That will be one hundred thirty-five dollars and twenty-eight cents.”
I handed her my credit card and she rang it through. “Here you go, and here’s your receipt. Maybe I’ll schedule a reading with you sometime and come out to take a look around,” she added, handing me back my card.
I tucked it back in my wallet and slung my purse over my shoulder. “You know where to find me.” I smiled, hoping she’d never act on the thought. “Thanks for the flowers! They’re beautiful.”
“Do you want some help loading them into your car?” she called as I pushed the cart toward the door.
“No, I’m good. Thanks anyway.”
As I left the store and pushed the cart over to my car, I pressed the button on my key fob to unlock the liftgate of my SUV. It opened as I trundled the cart over and loaded the flowers into the back, onto a tarp. I had barely finished when the wind picked up, washing the smell of brine and seaweed across me. Nothing said home to me more than that smell—brine and seaweed and the sharp scent of saltwater.
Dabob Bay was an internal bay connected to Hood Canal, which was actually a saltwater fjord. The Navy had its claws deep into the area, given there was a naval base in Bremerton as well as the Bangor Trident Submarine Base, headquartered on the other side of the bay. Civilians enjoyed the estuary as well, and during open seasons, locals went fishing and crabbing in the water. Conservancy groups had worked with the Navy, throwing money into maintaining the ecology of the bay and protecting it from overdevelopment. And several groups, from Selkies to witches aligned with the water elementals, played liaison to ensure that nothing went awry on the magical end.
I glanced at my phone. It was four-fifteen. After returning the cart to the nursery, I wandered over to the winding wooden staircase that led to the narrow beach next to the water. A concrete ramp next to the steps provided handicapped access.
The water called to me, and I was pretty sure I could hear one of the local Selkies singing. Their voices echoed through the water but, unlike the sirens, they didn’t lure people in. Their songs were comforting, if mournful. I followed the stairs down to the beach.
Cautious—the beach was rocky, primarily made up of pebbles covering the sand and soil—I followed the shore to a nearby driftwood log. It was near the beginning of the beach, but I could still see the high-water marks that had covered the shoreline, a few feet closer to the bay. As I sat on the log, the tide rippled, the waves rolling in but then washing out farther with each cycle. A reader board near the bottom of the stairs predicted low tide in about two and a half hours.
I closed my eyes and drew in the energy. It flooded my senses, spreading through me in ripples, calming me as it washed past. There was an immensity about the water, even fjords, lakes, and ponds. The oceans and seas were massive, threatening to swamp and overwhelm, but the smaller bodies of water had their own feel. And our bodies responded, if we only listened, given we were close to ninety percent water ourselves.
I was warm in my leather. It was sixty-eight degrees. But most of the year round, Starlight Hollow—and the Quilcene area—received far more precipitation than farther up the peninsula. In fact, the town received almostfifty-five inchesof rain annually. Dabob Bay was good for swimming, although no matter where you were in the Pacific Northwest, if there were tides, you always had to watch for rip currents.
As I sat there, meditating, my phone rang. I glanced at it. My mother,again. I’d let her last two calls go to voicemail. I loved her, but I was a disappointment to her in many ways and I didn’t want to hear yet again about how I had failed the family. I contemplated not answering, but she was as stubborn as me. I bit the bullet and hit the speakerphone.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey? That’s all you have to say? Are you all right? I’ve called twice—”
“I’m fine. I’ve just been busy.” I cut her off. I wasn’t in a mood to bicker. “What’s up? What do you need?”
There was a silence on the other end of the line for a moment, then she said, “I wanted to make sure you were okay. When I don’t hear from you for a while, I worry.”
I sighed. Given everything that had happened, she had a right to worry and I couldn’t refute that. “I’m okay. I’ve been planting flowers and getting my workshop ready. I want to walk every inch of the acreage and create a few access trails through the undergrowth.”
Another pause, and my mother said, “Well, that sounds nice. I’d love to see your new home.” And there we were. She wanted to come visit.
“Once I have everything set, I’ll invite you and Aunt Ciara and Owen down to visit. I promise.” I tried to work some enthusiasm into my voice.
“I’d like that. We all would. I want you to be happy again, Elphyra. That’s all I have ever wanted—for you to be happy.”
Feeling suddenly guilty for my snippy attitude, I let out a sigh. “I know, Mom. I know you want the best for me.”
