False Mermaid

Before anyone could stop her, Miranda reacted. She whirled around and gave a savage kick, and Elizabeth’s arms and legs seemed to windmill in slow motion as she sailed off the edge of the precipice. All Nora could see were the luminous eyes, so like Tríona’s, wide with terror. Then she was gone.

Miranda gave a short, mirthless laugh. And in that moment, a transformation came over Peter. His face, so relaxed and calm only a moment ago, was suddenly drained of color. He took two steps forward, seized Miranda savagely by the throat, and pushed her to the ground. His left hand searched blindly in the gravel for a stone heavy enough to crush her skull. His voice was quiet, toneless, as if he were berating a disobedient dog. “You crazy, stupid bitch—I told you to stay away from her. I told you she was only a kid—”

By the time Nora spotted the orange flare gun, it was too late to react. All she could do was watch as Miranda lifted the muzzle to Peter’s face and pulled the trigger.

There was a flash as the flare exploded, and Nora fell back, watching in horror as he half rose and staggered back a step, dazed and disoriented, head engulfed in flames, his right hand still gripping the stone. The flare cartridge, lodged in his right eye, released a coruscating hail of sparks.

Miranda threw herself at him and began to shriek: “I didn’t mean to—look what you made me do!” He roared in pain, and tried to fight her off, but she clung fiercely. They thrashed about, engulfed in a terrible rain of fire, before tumbling together into the sea.

Nora scrambled to the rim, but all she could see was a small spot of flame, glowing red under the water at the bottom of the cliff.

Cormac’s voice came from the top of the ridge. “Nora!” He scrambled down the gravel wash. “What’s happened here? Where’s Elizabeth?”

She pointed wordlessly, and Cormac craned his neck over the edge. “I don’t see her. She’s not there.”

“But I saw it—I watched her fall.”

“Come on,” he said. He pulled her to her feet, and they both scrambled down the steep slope to the rocky beach.

Standing at the water’s edge, Nora spotted something floating on the surface a short distance away—what seemed like a human form, strangely buoyant. It was not possible. She closed her eyes and opened them again. It was.

Elizabeth floated, face up in the shallow surf, tangled in a raft of seaweed. Nora waded out and ran her hands over the child’s slack limbs, feeling for fractures. There seemed to be none. A few scratches and scrapes, but no other outward signs of injury. How could that be? A faint snuffling noise made her turn, just in time to catch sight of a gray seal retreating into the waves. The animal turned to face her, one good eye clearly visible. It let out a single, plaintive bark before plunging into the surf.

Nora sank to her knees in the lapping water, cradling Elizabeth and smoothing her still-ragged hair. Suddenly Cormac was beside her, sinking down to catch the two of them in his arms, murmuring: “Ah no, please—”

Nora looked down at the smooth, insensible face of the child in her arms, then reached up to touch his face. “No, Cormac—she’s alive. She lives.”

BOOK SEVEN