Into the Light by Calisa Rhose

Into the Light

          Wendy Parson placed a hand over her pounding heart. If the crystals were right, Ren was in the ostentatious manor in front of her. She ogled the rock and mortar building in awe and a touch of fear. After all, this wasthe infamous Dracula’s castle and he would be the party host with his built in ghost, or so rumors claimed.

     Wendy wondered how true it was that Cupid’s ghost haunted those great halls within. Why not? She herself was a direct descendant of the modern-day cartooned Wendy the good witch. If people only knew the cute little witch in red that befriended Casper was actually real, would they believe it? Probably not. Perhaps Cupid’s ghost was only a wild rumor.

     Wendy lifted her skirt and made her way in, following a group of party-goers through the wide doors, immediately swept into the euphoric atmosphere. “Here goes nothing.”

     No sense guessing when she had a hand delivered invitation from Dracula to see firsthand. She wasn’t sure why the vampire wanted her there…probably to take a juicy bite. She almost hadn’t gone but the scrys called, so here she was, fighting a shiver of eerie anticipation.

     After ten long years she hoped to see her beloved once again. The fury that had driven her for so long tried to surface but she pushed it away. 

She needed answers. Why had Ren left, broken her heart without a word?

     Her goal was clear. Find Ren and get what she needed, then make him pay. That was the necessary order of this night. And pay, he would.

     If her magic cooperated.

     Igor greeted guests, his arms piled high with coats and hats nearly burying his head, making his hunched back seem more prominent than she suspected it actually was. Wendy added her cape with a sympathetic smile for the misshapen man.

     A footman offered drinks and she accepted a glass of something red. Not blood, thankfully, by its sweet aroma. Wendy mingled, slowly taking in each face one by one. After an hour she had not recognized a single face. Finding somewhere to conduct a little spell was critical. She gazed around and side-stepped another guest, then bumped into someone else.

     “Sorry,” a voice mumbled from behind.

     “Excuse me.” Her arm brushed the person again. Confused, she turned to move out of the way, but there was no one near her. The closest patron stood a good five feet from her. “Odd.”

* * * *

     Rengal Fisher stepped to one side as the lady whirled, an apology uttered from those lovely red lips. His darling, Wendy. The love of his heart. Once upon a time. In a time before the evil Tessa revealed her jealousy. Her malevolent intent as obvious as the bold white streak in Wendy’s raven locks.

     Ren studied the vision before him and his heart cracked open. How he’d missed her. Yes. She was his love. He’d recognize that unpigmented strip of hair anywhere. The scrys had spoken to her just as the gypsy promised they would.

     

     But now that Wendy stood before him, he hadn’t a clue how to reach out to her. She would never accept him as he was, as Tessa had cursed him to live. How could Wendy take him back when she couldn’t even see him? She’d probably believe it was some kind of cruel trick.

     

     Not that he’d blame her.

     Ren watched her swing one way then other trying to find the source of her apparent confusion. Wishing he could speak her name, knowing he shouldn’t until he had a face for her to see. Ren spun and bolted into the cold night.

     

     He’d been a fool to think the Harvest Moon Ball was the time or place to reclaim her. But having come this far…he stumbled to a standstill, gasping for air, and glared angrily back at the mansion.

     Suddenly, just talking to her seemed lame. He needed a better strategy. The pain, or perhaps anger on her face each time she suspected she’d seen him was unbearable. Of course every man she secretly stalked wasn’t him. He’d watched from a discreet distance. Had witnessed the hope, the deep anger that followed, and then the despair at her repeated mistakes.

    The pain of her emotions ate into Ren’s very soul. Still, he couldn’t give away his secret. Not yet. For ten years he’d been torn. Had Tessa’s words been truth or cloaked with another black lie? Had Wendy truly asked her cousin to curse Ren into nothingness, leaving him to walk the earth as a ghost?

     Not a ghost, for even spirits could be seen by those who believed. He was an invisible man without a ghost of a chance at happiness. He’d only drawn Wendy to Transylvania to see her one last time before taking his own life, ending both their misery. She wouldn’t even know he was there, that he’d smelled her lavender scent, touched her silky hair as she passed by. She would return to America none the wiser, if not a little less hopeful of ever seeing him again.

     Then again, if Wendy had set him up after that horrible argument Tessa had engineered so long ago…was she really as miserable as him? He found it hard to accept that she’d believed he’d ever touch her wicked witch of a cousin. That she could take Tessa’s word over his.

     Unless…

* * * *

     Another look around and Wendy decided to scry again. Using magic crystals was the unobtrusive way to search without being discovered. Perhaps she’d been mistaken? It wouldn’t be the first time. Magic seemed to have it in for her, never working right. Well, not “never” since there was that time nine years ago when she put that wart on Tessa’s nose. That was fun. Her evil cousin still hadn’t managed to override and remove the growth. It hadn’t taught the witch to keep her nose out of Wendy’s affairs though.

     Accepting another drink to replace the now-warm first one, she forced a smile as she wended her way through the raucous crowd. She’d barely avoided a nasty pass from Dracula and was searching for somewhere quiet to scry. If only the tingling in her chest would go away.

     Strange. About the time the vicious vampire nuzzled her neck, in the pretense of smelling her perfume, a sharp pain struck in her chest and spread like fire, pleasantly warm but slightly uncomfortable. It had finally eased into an annoying, almost pleasurable sizzle she tried to ignore. Dracula had also moved on without biting.

     Finding a quiet room to work in, she surveyed the dark corners, making sure she was alone. A cluster of black candles on a center table was the only light in the chilly room. Perfect. She reached into the air and retrieved her bag and set it on a stool. Lying out a silk scarf, she then set travel-size crystal ball in the center of the white cloth.

     "If he’s near, spare my heart,

     Reveal my love, if he’s far.

     Show me now whom I seek,

    Rengal Fisher, as I speak."

     Instant thick fog gathered within the crystal. Swirling, dancing before her eyes.

     The mist seemed confused, clearing here, then there around the inner globe. “Wonderful. Just dandy.” Of course magic failed her. Nothing new about that. Despair gripped her.

          At last the mist parted and cleared to reveal a room. The room she stood in right then. “Stupid ball. I know where I am.” She lifted the ball and shook it like an etch-a-sketch to clear it, then shoved it back into her bag and shook the bag. With a toss into the air,  the bag it faded to nothing. Of course inane magic cooperated. She spun toward the door to return to the party, then stalled.

          Before her, the mist from the crystal ball seemed to have escaped into the room, swirled in a hazy smoke. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, shook her head and still the mist drifted.

          With a gasp she watched as the outline of a man came into shimmering view. “Ren?” She was barely able to whisper as her throat constricted. The form altered and the mist dissipated. “That was weird.” And not Ren. “Stupid magic.”

          “My love.”

          The voice was faint and disembodied, eerie. Fighting off a shiver as the room suddenly chilled more, she wrenched open the door and slammed it behind her as sounds of the party consumed her, heat soaking into her. “I have nothing to feel remorse for. He left. I never should have come here.”

          She passed the wide French doors leading out to a patio as one door swung open and closed again. No one was there. Maybe it was Cupid. She was a ghost, right? Wendy stared at the door, waiting to see if it would open again. Minutes passed. Nothing.

          Determined to get out of the mansion as quickly as she could, Wendy searched for the cloak closet where Igor had stashed her cape. Coming back around to the grand ballroom she glanced back at the door to see a beautiful dark-haired woman in a long green gown hurry through. She pulled the door tight but it opened again only a minute later.

          A tall man stepped through and met her gaze instantly. Wendy glanced around and back to him. What there was of him. Wendy saw only a face—most of a face—hidden behind a black mask.

          Dark blue eyes peered through the mask at her. Familiar eyes. But there was nothing above or below the mask. No hair, no legs or feet, no hands. No body. And when he turned fully toward her…no lower part of a face. Where the three-quartered mask ended, so did he. He was nothing more than a floating mask.

          Except for the hazy mist outlining his invisible body. She trembled as recognition settled over her with the force of a hammer. He took a first step toward her.

* * * *

          Several witches had tried and none could reverse the spell set on him by Tessa. Hope was a dream. Ren had fought the urge to call to Wendy in that dark room he’d followed her into. But he’d failed. He’d given in and cried out with his very heart and she’d heard him.

          She was searching, calling to him and he shouldn’t have answered. Not until he could be seen and be able to convince her of his presence, to tell her he’d left in desperation to save them both. Whether saving them meant staying apart, or proving they belonged together, he couldn’t be certain. Not until he knew Wendy hadn’t sent Tessa after him. Ten years and it had been hopeless.

     Until he’d met up with the seer on the balcony, a woman running from demons of her own. Her soul mate was a wounded man as well. He’d understood Ren’s plight and graciously offered the magical mask. Ren knew it was working because Wendy stood not ten feet from him, staring through him…literally. Yet, she recognized him. It was in her hazel gaze.

     “Ren?"

     She whispered his name and a jolt shot through the short distance to pierce Ren’s chest like an electric charge. Not that she’d know, but he grabbed his chest and winced at the shocking pain his name on her lips caused.

     “Wendy.” He prayed she hadn’t had a part in her wicked cousin’s deed. 

     “Tell me it was a lie.”

     “What? Are…is it truly you?”

     “It is. A good man gave me this magic mask so you could see me.”

     “Why? What happened? Please tell me. Why did you leave?”

     Did she really not know? “Tessa said you’d sent her after me, that you believed we, she and I…had betrayed you.”

     Wendy moved closer and reached a hand out and cupped his face. Life filled him for the first time in all these years. “I never knew. She did this to you?”

     “She cursed me.”

     “I came here to get revenge. To make you pay for breaking my heart. Why haven’t you found someone to undo it and return to me?”

     Ren wanted to laugh. Did she actually think he’d gone merrily on with his life? Given up without a fight? “Five powerful witches couldn’t undo Tessa’s magic.”

     Wendy pressed her bow-shaped lips together in the determination he recalled in her spirit. “Well, I can.”

Ren smiled. He remembered her magic. How sweet her confidence in her powers was. Could it be possible she had finally mastered her wayward magic? “Set me free, my love.”

     She nodded and led Ren back into the dark room. “I came here looking for you not long ago. I swear I heard your voice. Was it you?”

     “Yes. I was afraid to reveal myself. I didn’t want to scare you off, so I let you leave.”

     “Now it makes sense. My calling mist showed you to me, or your outline, but I couldn’t see you so I thought the magic was misbehaving as usual.” She laughed then. The sound was magic to his lost soul.

     It had always been one of the things he’d loved about his little witch. Her ability to laugh at herself was amazing in a sorceress with her familial background of extreme powers. “Perhaps you’d like to take your time and say a prayer that something will work this time? I don’t relish the idea of being a frog for the next ten years.”

     “Look at the bright side, Ren. If my magic doesn’t work—at least no one will see you hopping around.” Wendy grinned with pure wicked mischief and held out her hands.

     “Not funny, my favorite little witch.”

     Her bag appeared in her hands. It impressed him that one thing had never failed since she’d learned how to vanish and retrieve the mystical bag from thin air. She dug in and pulled out a red candle and a batch of sage and lavender. He knew the routine. Cleanse the room first. She had skipped that step earlier in her haste. She suddenly seemed nervous and the emotion transferred to him. If she was worried…

     “Okay. Do you remember any of the words Tessa said that day?”

     He’d never forgotten them. “Poof of proof, go insane Forever aloof, time to wane.”

     Wendy arranged the candle on a silk scarf as he spoke and lit it. When he stopped speaking she turned to face him. “What else?”

     Wasn’t that enough? “That’s it.”

     “Are you certain?”

     “Positive.”

     “She said ‘go insane and time to wane?’”

     “Yes. Why?”

     “Because…if I know Tessa,” she grimaced. “And I do all too well, she did nothing more than put an insanity spell on everyone you come into contact with. What I mean is, you aren’t invisible. Others just can’t see you.”

     “Isn’t that the same thing? Wouldn’t I at least be able to see myself?” Her theory didn’t make sense.

     “You’d think so, but no. Tessa likes to complicate spells. That’s why no one has been able to undo it. The spell isn’t on you, but on everyone including you, that lays eyes on you. I mean, she just made it impossible for us to see you, but you’re really here. We…just can’t see you. Oh, Ren, if only you’d come to me years ago. I know it makes no sense, but I know how to undo what my terrible cousin has done.”

     “How?”

     Wendy smiled, and his heart surged. “She did it to me one time. After you left. She now sports a lovely wart on her perfect nose that plastic surgery can’t erase no matter how many times she has it taken off.”

     “Remind me not to cross you, my darling. Can we do this now?” The thought of his gentle Wendy pulling such vindictive magic on her ridiculously vain cousin made Ren realize what a dangerous foe she could be, and was glad she was on his side.

     “Absolutely. Stare into this.” Wendy held out a small object.

     He took the little square mirror and it faded to nothing. As expected. And he saw nothing, as expected. He hadn’t seen his reflection in ten years. Wendy laughed as he set the mirror down so it would reappear on the table. She lifted it to set it on a statue.

     “See if you can see into it now. Imagine yourself in it and don’t look away. Focus only on seeing you in there. Oh, are you wearing anything? Other than the mask, I mean.” Wendy touched the mask and frowned. “This has dark magic in it. I’ll need you to take it off before I start.”

     “I was warned it was bad. But the mask has served its purpose. I’m wearing clothes, not that we can see them. Once I put anything on it disappears too.”

     “Hmm. That’s the spell.” Wendy waved the sage around murmuring quietly for a moment. Next she pointed at the mirror and grabbed the blood red opal hanging around her neck. “Step into the light as it comes and look in there.”

     He obeyed, moving closer to her as the opal began to lighten in her grasp. The light grew to encompass them both. He turned his attention to the mirror, unable to ignore the doubt creeping in after so many failed attempts to heal him of this curse, but still hopeful.

     The opal glowed red as light escaped to brighten the room, and he imagined she released the stone to allow its brilliance to shine. I believe in Wendy. No matter what happens, I know she means well.

* * * *

     Wendy put the sage aside and shut her eyes as she sent a prayer for guidance and direction to the elements. With a breath of courage she began to recite the spell Tessa had put on Ren. It figured her cousin would use such a cheesy one for her dubious doings.

     "Poof of proof, go insane.

     Forever aloof, time to wane.

     Lapse in time, insanity restored.

     Forever ends, wane no more.”

     Three times she chanted the words, not daring to check on Ren. Failure was not an option. Yet, her magic had let her down so many times she was afraid this would be no different. It wasn’t that she didn’t know the right words, but they didn’t seem to go to the right corners of the wind. Or at least that was her reasoning. Wendy really didn’t know why her spells rarely worked.

     After a slow count to ten she inhaled deeply. It was now or never. Before she opened her eyes warm hands touched her shoulders. Then look, she did, and tears welled. “Oh!” Spinning, she stared into the most beautiful blue eyes. Tears filled and trickled from them and she reached and touched the moisture on his cheeks. Cheeks she could see, touch. “It worked. Ren, I see you!”

     “I see me too,” he whispered staring at his hands. “You did it, Wendy.”

     “I’m so glad. I love you so much. I’ve missed you.” Wendy didn’t fight the tears on her face as she smoothed her hands along his rough jaws. It seemed incredible he was here, in her arms again.

     “I’ve never loved another as I love you. Thank you, my Darling.”

     “Come home with me.” She had a certain cousin to go see.

     “Forever.”

* * * *

Thank you for spending Halloween with the OKRWA Wildokie Writers.

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Under My Skin

Under My Skin

by Tamrie Foxtail

Selkie: a creature which takes the form of a seal in water, but can assume a human form on land by shedding its pelt.  

Mya’s first glimpse of Ryan Grace sent her spinning through time. He had his father’s tall lean build and the same dark blond hair.

Ryan crouched, aiming a camera at the castle. While his attention was occupied Mya clung to the shadows, moving closer to the offspring of the man who had slaughtered her husband before her eyes.

Ryan focused on the castle. The full moon and wisps of fog made for a perfect shot. He could use it for the cover of his upcoming book about Dracula.

The hair on the back of his neck began to rise. He turned slowly to look over his shoulder and nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of the woman stepping from the shadows.

He might have thought she was one of the guests for whatever was going on in the castle, had her clothes not been so simple. While the women he’d watched going into the party had been dressed to the hilt, this young woman wore jeans and a long sleeved blouse with a scoop neck.

Ryan stood slowly, not wanting to scare her off. There was something about her that made him think of a wild animal—curious, but ready to flee at any moment.

“I’m Ryan Grace,” he said gently, letting the soft, southern accent coat his words.

“I know who you are.” The young woman stood on the rocks, just a few feet away, legs braced for balance, hands at her side.

The moonlight washed the color from her skin, hair and clothes, casting her in black and white. Even so she was lovely, with high cheekbones, big eyes and a mouth nature meant for kissing.

“You have the advantage,” he said.

The woman took a step forward. “My name is Mya. My father was a king and yours was a murderer.”

“A what?”

“He killed my husband.”

He shook his head slowly. His father had been selfish and mean as hell, but a murderer?

Ryan motioned toward the castle. “Let me guess, your father was the king of Transylvania?”

She took a step closer, long dark hair tumbling over her shoulders. “Don’t mock me.”

He had to admit she had the regal air down pat. He stood his ground.

“My father has been dead for nearly twenty years. You’re what? Twenty? So unless you were married as an infant you need to start looking for another villain.”

Something howled at the moon. The woman whirled at the sound, a move that cost her balance. Her arms pin wheeled for a moment in a desperate attempt to maintain her footing.

Ryan lunged forward, making a grab for her. His fingertips brushed the soft material of her sweater. Before he could grab hold she fell, her head striking the rocks below.

He scrambled down the jagged rocks and crouched next to the woman. His fingers found the pulse in her neck. Strong and steady. He ran his hand over her arms and legs. No bones sticking out, no puddle of blood. He stroked his palm over the back of her head. His fingers came away sticky with blood.

Ryan was thirty and in good shaped, but lifting an unconscious woman while crouched on uneven rocks was no easy task. He nearly lost his own balance, recovering just in time to avoid tumbling them both down the side of the cliff.

He carried her back up the rocks, to where the earth was solid beneath his feet. After a quick glance in the direction of his car, parked nearly half a mile down the road, he turned toward the castle.

Ryan shifted the woman in his arms. Before he could reach for the ancient brass knocker the heavy door swung open.

“Welcome.”

The man stepped back, motioning for Ryan to enter.

He stepped into the castle. The door swung closed behind him.

“Follow me.”

Somewhat bemused, Ryan fell into step behind him, catching sight of several men and women in the background.

The man led the way up a wide stone staircase, coming to a stop in front of an open door. He again motioned for Ryan to proceed him.

Ryan carried the woman to the bed, setting her down gently.  Up close, and in the light, she was a little older than he’d thought, twenty-three or twenty-four, perhaps.

Her skin was pale and smooth, like porcelain. He watched the rise and fall of her chest. She seemed to be breathing normally.

“I need to call--” He looked around. “Where the hell’d he go?” He stepped into the hall, nearly running into the servant who now carried a bowl of water and a cloth.

“Here. There are clothes in the wardrobe. You and the lady may make yourselves at home. My name is Igor. Call if you need me.”

Ryan watched him walk away then turned back to the woman on the bed.

“Darlin’ I got a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

Mya opened her eyes. For just an instant she was back in Scotland, in a cottage on the shore, with Thomas Grace bending over her.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. “And now you’re mine. I’ve hidden your pelt where you’ll never find it.”

She shook the memory away, sitting up slowly, relieved when the room didn’t move.

“How do you feel?”

His voice was deeper than his father’s. The sound of it sent tiny shivers dancing along her spine.

He stood next to the bed, arms folded across his chest, jaw set. Up close, the resemblance to his father was not as strong. Ryan’s features were less refined, his eyes dark blue instead of pale gray.

He canted his head to one side. “That was a hell of an accusation. Since my father’s been dead for almost twenty years, you obviously have your facts skewered.  Unless you were married at the age of two.”

With her pelt gone the aging process had slowed. A human might think that was a good thing. A selkie knew it was torture.

 “I was married on my fifteenth birthday,” she said.

He raised one eyebrow. “A child bride?”

“My father chose my husband.” It was the way of the selkies. A female had no say in her mate. They were married young so they could begin having children. Few of the children would survive to adulthood.

Mya swung her feet over the bed, a move that had her head drumming and the room spinning. Ryan crouched in front of her, hands resting on her knees.

“You all right?”

“I think so,” she whispered.

“You have a knot on the back of your head, not to mention a hell of a gash.”

Her fingers went automatically to the tender lump on the back of her head.

“Did you carry me?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Then it’s my blood on your clothes?”

Ryan looked down at the gray sweatshirt he wore, plucking it away from his chest. A smear of blood had dried on the front of the shirt.

“Yeah. I’m afraid your clothes are in bad shape as well. Igor said there were clothes in the armoire and we could help ourselves.”

She looked down at the rust colored sweater she wore. It didn’t seem to be in bad shape, a snag on the wrist, but no other damage.

As if he read her mind, Ryan leaned over her. His finger traced a path from her shoulder halfway down her back. “There’s a huge tear in your sweater, not to mention blood stains.”

He straightened, walked to the armoire and opened the door. After a moment he pulled out a dark green dress. “I’m guessing this would look good on you.”

“Are there any jeans?” There was a two-inch tear in the knee of her jeans.

“Nope. There’s a tux, but I think it might be a little big on you.”

“Hand me the dress.”

He handed it to her with a mocking smile. “Your servant, milady. You did say your father was a king?”

“That’s right. What are you doing?” She held the dress to her chest as Ryan peeled off his bloody sweatshirt.

“Don’t worry. I’m not after your body.”

She drew in a breath, held it. Ryan Grace had the torso of a Greek statue, every muscle defined. His chest was lightly furred  with a slender line of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans. 

He pulled on the dark blue shirt , buttoned it and tucked it into his jeans.

“Do you want me to step out?” he asked.

She nodded. “Maybe you can find me a couple of aspirin.”

He bowed. “Of course, your highness.”

“I told you not to mock me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Ryan knocked on the door before entering, although he didn’t wait for her permission.

At the sight of Mya standing in front of the antique floor length mirror, an appreciative whistle sprang from his lips. The dress could have been made just for her. The dark green crushed velvet fit her torso like a second skin, hugging her tiny waist and flaring hips before falling in loose folds to the floor. The scoop neck bodice was high enough to preserve her modesty, barely, yet low enough to make a man’s mouth water at the swell of flesh rising above the unadorned neckline.

Her hair had been set free and it now twisted and tumbled down her back like a dark brown cloak. Her eyes, liquid soft and black as a moonless night, met his in the mirror.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, surprising himself.

Her eyes swept over him. “You look like your father,” she said, “but not as much as I first thought.”

Ryan tried to think where she might have seen pictures of his father. Thomas Grace had been an artist, though not well known. He’d spend the summers off from his teaching job travelling and painting. The last place he’d painted had been in Scotland. He’d caught some kind of fever and died alone in a cottage by the sea when Ryan was eleven. His first emotion had been relief that the abusive bastard was gone, he’d never lay another hand on his wife and son. Ryan’s second emotion had been guilt over the first.

“I’m nothing like my father,” he said in his own defense.

Her calm, dark eyes studied him.

“How old are you?” he asked, determined to point out that his father had died when she was a baby, therefore he couldn’t have murdered her husband.

She tipped her head to one side, her full lips shifting into a hint of a smile. “I thought humans considered it impolite to ask a female her age.”

“You said you married at fifteen. My father’s been dead for nineteen years. That means you would have to be at least thirty four in order for my father to have murdered your husband.  I’d say you’re quite a bit short of that.”

She shook her head slowly, never taking her eyes from his.

“You’re thirty four?”

“Thirty six.”

“Bullshit.”

Mya gestured to the bloody clothes on the floor. “You saw the gash on the back of my head?”

“Yes, and the one on your shoulder as well. I cleaned them both.”

She turned her back to him, lifting that gorgeous tumble of hair. “Look.”

Oh, he was looking. The back of the dress was cut deep, revealing plenty of smooth, pale skin. And there was the fact that the material clung to her hips and derriere.

“I’m looking,” he whispered, clearing his throat when the words came out rough and low.

Mya looked at him over her shoulder.

“I meant, look at the injury to my shoulder.”

He stepped closer. His thumb brushed her skin, just above the dress.

“May I?”

“You may.”

He edged the dark green material down, reveal the smooth skin beneath. That was impossible. There had been a shallow gash nearly two inches long. He’d washed the blood away himself. 

Mya set her hair loose. It cascaded to her hips. “Check my head.”

His fingered sifted through her hair. No gash. No bump. Nothing.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

She turned to face him, one hand rested against his chest.

“It makes perfect sense. For a selkie.”

She watched the emotions shift across his face: Anger, bewilderment, even fear, then circle back to anger again

“Selkies are just stories told to amuse children.”

She held her arms out to the sides. “And yet, here I am.”

“Are you going to change back into a seal?” Sarcasm dripped from his words.

Mya took a step forward, put her hands on her hips, tilted her head back and glared at him.

“I would love to. There’s just one problem.”

“And what would that be?”

“Your father stole my skin nineteen years ago. The same night he murdered my husband.”

Deep creases ran across Ryan’s  forehead. “My father was an anthropology professor who spent his summers painting. Why would he…”

She saw the pain in his eyes.

“Yes,” she whispered. She closed her eyes, seeing the bleak coast line, the gray seas. She had married the man her father chose for her. They weren’t in love, but then Selkies rarely married for love.  They lived in small, isolated herds and marriages were made to unite one herd with another.

She honored her father’s choice and that fateful day, nearly two decades ago, she followed her husband to an isolated spot on the coast, shed her skin and joined him in swimming the way humans swam. Afterwards they made love in human form. They stretched out side-by-side, not quite touching, half dozing beneath the late summer sky, their skins just a few feet away.

Arua was lying on his stomach. He was the first one to react to the soft click. Rolling over, climbing to his feet in a heartbeat, Arua grabbed a piece of driftwood, holding it like a club.

“Mya, behind me.”

She moved behind her husband, leaning to the side to better watch the human male.

The man held an object up. “I’m a painter. I’m just here to take a few pictures of the coastline for inspiration.”

Mya felt the tension coming off Arua. It struck her like the waves striking the shore.

“My wife and I are not part of the coastline.”

The man smiled, a soft, charming smile than probably put humans at ease. It did nothing of the sort for Mya.

“Give me the picture box,” Arua ordered.

The man shook his head and took a step back.

Arua advanced, hand extended to rip the box from the human’s hand if need be.

The human came to a sudden stop, blocked by a large, jagged rock that reached to his shoulders.

“Give me the picture box,” Arua repeated.

The man shook his head, sliding the picture box into the pocket of the covering he wore.

Arua lunged forward. The man let out a cry of fear.

A sudden crack, loud as thunder, shook the air.

Arua dropped to his knees, the movement taking place slowly.

The man stood there, something other than the picture box now held in his hand. The skin on his face turned white. His eyes were wild and his hands shook.

“I didn’t…he came at me and…”

She rushed to her husband, cradling him in her arms. His hands were pressed to his chest, crimson blood welling between his fingers.

“Pelt,” he whispered, his skin shivering, rippling, bones remolding themselves as his body used the last bit of Arua’s strength, the last of his energy, to return to his native form.

Mya lowered him to the sand, sprinting back to where their skins lay. She snatched his, ran back to him and spread his pelt over him. It fused to his half shifted form.

Kneeling in the sand, Mya stroked her husband’s shoulder while the final shudders racked his body.

“Selkies.”

Intent on returning Arua to seal form, Mya had forgotten about the man.  She turned her attention to him now. Gaining her feet slowly, she turned and gasped. He held her pelt in his hand.

The man’s gaze shifted back and forth between Mya and Arua, now lifeless on the sand in seal form.

“I never thought such creatures existed,” he said, fear and shock now replaced with awe.

Mya held out her hand. “Give me my pelt.” She had to return to her seal form and carry word of her husband’s slaughter to her father, and to Arua’s father.

The man shook his head. “I know the stories. As long as I have your pelt you belong to me.”

Everything she said was true. Ryan felt it in his heart, in his soul. His father had killed her husband, though from what Mya said he believed his father thought he was acting in self-defense at the time.

“He kept your…pelt.”

She nodded.

“Did he…”

“Rape me?”

Ryan nodded.

She shook her head slowly, the silky cloak of her hair shifting against her shoulders.

“He forced me to go with him, back to a cottage. He put my pelt in a trunk and locked it. I thought I would be able to get to it, even if it meant I would have to endure what he planned for me, then kill him as he slept.”

“What happened?” Ryan asked.

A wispy figure appeared behind Mya. Ryan had the impression the figure lifted something and pointed it at him.  A sharp sting, gone almost instantly, struck his shoulder. He clamped his hand over it, but the pain was already gone.

“Are you all right?” Mya asked, her voice gentle.

He nodded. He understood why his father had been so enamored with her he’d locked her pelt up to keep her with him. Not that it excused what his father had planned for her.

He looked past her. The wispy thing was gone.

“What happened?” he asked again, trying to concentrate on what she had to say, difficult when all he could think about was how beautiful she was and how much he wanted to kiss her.

Mya folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself.

“He tied me up and put a piece of cloth in my mouth to silence me, then he put me in the bedroom and closed the door. Two men came. I heard their voices.

“Sometime later your father came in and told me that he was leaving Scotland the next day. Two men had just picked up a trunk of his things and would be sending it back to America. My pelt was in the trunk and if I had any hope of retrieving it I would have to go with him to America.”

“How did he plan to accomplish that? Even nineteen years ago it would have taken some effort to get a passport. For that matter, how had he planned on explaining you to my mother?”

            “He wasn’t thinking clearly. When he untied me, his skin was dry and hot.  He tried to…force me…but his strength was already affected. Unlike the first hours after Arua’s murder, I was no longer in shock. I put up a fight. That night when his fever raged, I fled the cottage.”

            “He died,” Ryan said. “All alone in that cottage. My mother had his body flown home. We buried him. She helped me carry that trunk up to the attic. My mother just assumed it was his painting supplies. She never even looked inside it .”

            Mya stepped close, her lovely cheeks flushed with excitement. Her hands wrapped around his upper arms, the contact sending tiny zings of excitement though his flesh.

            “Is it still there?”

            “I think so. My mother still lives in that house. I don’t think she’s cleaned out the attic.”

            “Will you take me there?”

            Pain tore through his heart. Take her to her pelt? Watch her turn into a seal and dive into the water, never to be seen again, taking his heart with her?

            His heart?

            How could he let her go?

            “You’ve been human all this time,” he said. “Do you really want to become a seal again?”

            “Being separated for our skin is torture for a selkie,” she whispered.  “It’s fine as long as our skins are close by, but distance makes our human skin feel like someone is rubbing sandpaper across it. The greater the distance, the worse the pain.”

            He wanted to touch her, comfort her, but would that make the pain worse for her?

            Ryan hesitated a moment, then pulled his cell from his pocket.

            “What are you doing?” she asked, a slight frown marring her pretty brow.

            “It’s the afternoon in Charleston.” He hit his mother’s number. Keeping his eyes on hers, he counted the rings, his heart growing heavier with each one.

            “Hi, sweetheart,” his mother said. “Did you get some pictures for your book?”

            “Yes.” Without thought he reached for Mya, she came into his arms as if she’d always belonged there, resting her head against his chest.

            “Ryan? Are you still there?”

            “Yes, Ma’am.” He cleared his throat. “I need to ask you something. When Dad died there was a chest sent from Scotland.”

            “I know the one you mean,” she said.

            “Is it still in the attic?”

            “Of course,” she said with a laugh. “I’ve been storing stuff in the attic for twenty-eight years. I’ve yet to take anything out.”

            “Could you look for something?” The words were bits of broken glass in his mouth.

            “Have you seen the attic?” his mother asked. “Everything’s pushed together.  If you’re wanting something from that old trunk I’m afraid it’ll have to wait until you’re back.  It would take days, if not weeks, to drag out everything that’s in front of it.”

            He told his mother goodbye, then kissed the top of Mya’s head. “I’ll find it for you,” he whispered. “I’ll send it to you. I promise. Even if it means I’ll never see you again. I can’t bear the thought of you in pain.”

            She pulled back slightly, enough to look into his eyes. Her warm fingers stroked his cheek.

            “I could come with you.”

            It made perfect sense. She’d be close to her pelt, and therefore no longer in pain. 

            “You haven’t seen my mother’s attic,” he warned. “It could take weeks to find that old trunk. You’d need a place to stay.”

            The corners of her mouth lifted. “Do you have a spare room?”

            He touched his forehead to hers. “No, but I have a queen-size bed and I don’t mind sharing.”

           

            Mya walked beside Ryan, his hand pressed against the small of her back.  In a day or two she’d be close to her pelt and the constant pain would be a thing of the past. For the first time in nearly two decades, the burning desire to put on the pelt was gone.

            She had grown accustomed to walking on two legs and living as a human. Perhaps it was time she learned to love as a human.

            She looked up at Ryan Grace, no longer seeing a resemblance to his father. Instead, she saw the man her heart told her would calm the longing in her soul.

            “Do you want to stay for the party?” Ryan asked, motioning to the couples dancing across the floor.

            Mya wondered if he’d realized she wasn’t the only not-quite-human in the castle tonight. If he hadn’t, he would soon enough. She had faith in his ability to handle it, after all, he’d accepted her being a selkie without too much trouble.

            Should she tell him that the children of a female selkie were always selkies as well?

            He took her in his arms, the music folding around them.

             Mya smiled. She had a feeling Ryan would learn about the children of selkies first hand.
 

Thank you for spending Halloween with the OKRWA Wildokie Writers.

For information on joining OKRWA, visit our website.

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