The Selkie Read online

  His keen sense of otherworldly sight recognized her pain and wanted to fight for her. His sense of chivalry made him want to obliterate the man who’d hurt her. And stronger than anything, a new desire invaded his soul, making him lust for her with a force he could not fathom.

  In his own dream, as a bizarre nocturnal communication began between them, Calan watched Maggie’s fingers slide over her moist sex. Saw the delectable dew on the red curls between her legs. She was thinking of him, although she didn’t understand it yet. He heard her whimpers, and they sounded like poignant music to him. He could almost smell her, even from his great distance. That sense, keen as it was, gave way to his sense of taste. Calan swallowed and his saliva was flavored with her sweetness, making him wish he had her under him so he could drink her in properly.

  What was he thinking? She was a human. Not his kind and not to be trusted. He’d learned that after what happened to Kyla.

  Oh well. It’s just a dream. Not as if you’ll ever meet the lass.

  His conscience appeased, he reached for his member. He couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t help groaning as he reached a delirious climax, his dark eyes trained on the tantalizing image of her.

  Human or not, real or dreamy wraith, no woman had ever fired up his body with as great a heat or sent such shudders through him. And as her image faded away, he realized no woman had ever left him feeling such an aching sense of loss.

  Chapter 1

  One night, three months later, Maggie lay in bed, thrashing as she relived the same dream. Only this one was different.

  Yes, it still featured the beast with the wildly erotic eyes that managed to undress her even in her sleep. Yes, she could still see its face, the visage of a great seal. But more often than not, he appeared to her as a man. A large man of sinful proportions with long, brown hair that flowed down his muscled back. He had a flirty grin and a body that seemed to glimmer with a soft sheen, as if he were bathed in moonlight.

  He always seemed to know just what she needed, offering her friendly companionship when she was beating herself up over what happened at work. Telling her that the idiots at city hall didn’t deserve her. And during those dark, haunted moments when she felt like a total failure as a woman, he came to her as her lover. Whispering sweet words of temptation. Touching her body as no one ever had.

  But this time, her Scottish grandmother was there, accompanying him. The great seal standing at her side.

  Aw, man, what’s my grandmother doing in my sex dream?

  Dream Maggie turned to the old woman. “Gran! You shouldn’t be here.”

  The large animal chuckled in its deep human voice, and Maggie felt a stirring in her sex. A low, delicious hum of sexual connectivity. The same potent force that drew her in each time she dreamed of him. Pure magnetism.

  “Maggie, lass,” her grandmother’s voice broke through in stiff remonstrance, “listen to me. There’ll be enough time for shenanigans later.”

  Good old Nora MacLean. She always managed to bring Maggie back to Earth with her no-nonsense attitudes. She’d been the one to stir Maggie from the depths of her despair at being fired and at being betrayed by Matthew. Her clipped pep talks, laced with the odd Orkney swear word, never failed to make her feel better. But she didn’t really want Gran to see this. Whatever this weird relationship with the seal-man was.

  As if sensing that her Gran needed to speak, the seal glided into the background of the dream. Maggie watched it move. For a moment, it seemed to morph into the image of the gorgeous man. But then it became a seal again.

  “Maggie,” Nora intoned, her Orcadian accent thick and comforting. “Come to Orkney.”

  “I’ll be there soon, Gran. Just a few more weeks until the yearly pilgrimage.” And then she smiled upon hearing the amused huff in her grandmother’s voice.

  She couldn’t wait to see her grandmother and the Scottish isle of Orkney again. After finishing another temp job that only went nowhere, after still feeling like such a shmuck for having faith in men who deserved no such faith, Maggie was ready for a good visit and some Nora-isms.

  God, first Bobby, then Matthew. I’m such a tool.

  Gran would set her straight. She just hoped Gran was up for the visit. The old lady hadn’t felt well for a while. In fact, her most recent phone calls had only added to Maggie’s stress. Her gran had always had a sharp mind, but recently Nora had begun to ramble, sounding confused.

  The dream grew darker then, the images more murky and disjointed. And even though she was tucked in her bed in her cramped Toronto apartment, Maggie could suddenly smell the sea.

  Orkney, her grandmother’s ancestral home, was calling to her.

  “You must come now, lass,” Nora implored.

  Even in the dream, Maggie thought she heard a catch in her Gran’s voice. A hitch in her breathing. She ran toward her, and in her mind, she was racing through the dunes on a lonely Scottish beach.

  “What’s wrong, Gran?”

  As she waited for the response, Maggie turned to the seal creature. Why was it that his huge, brown eyes seemed to see right into her soul?

  She was due to visit Nora at the end of summer, but something now told her it might not be soon enough. As an ominous feeling took root in the pit of her stomach, she stared at the animal. He stared back at her, his dark eyes deep and serene, and she felt a strange empathy radiating out from him.

  Nora caressed Maggie’s auburn curls. “You mustn’t be sad for me. I’m an old woman, and happy to go. I’ll finally get to see your granddad after all these years, as well as your ma and da.”

  Dream Maggie gasped at the mention of her dead parents. As if on cue, the large seal glided over to her and nudged her with his cold nose. She jumped but couldn’t resist reaching out a hand to pat his silky head. The creature pushed against her hand as if soaking up the momentary affection.

  Confused, she turned back to Gran. “I don’t understand.”

  Nora stepped in front of the seal and grasped her by the shoulders. “I wish I had time to explain. You must come to Orkney. Do a dying woman a final favor. Claim your inheritance. Everything I have is yours. Come, lass. Our little island is just what you need.”

  Maggie felt pain slice through her as viciously as a knife. “Dying? Gran, no. I know you haven’t felt well, but…”

  “Come,” said Nora with a sad smile. “I have a friend who will help you. Calan Kirk. You need only call for him and he’ll come to you in Orkney. He’s the answer to your prayers, and my prayers for you. Come, Maggie.”

  The seal made a noise of encouragement at the same time Nora began to fade away. She drifted into the gray background of the dream and the animal followed, morphing once again into the image of the sculpted, naked man.

  “No,” Maggie cried into her pillow. “Don’t go!”

  With her cry, she awakened. And knew in that moment that Gran was dead.

  Even as the grief began to wash over her in overwhelming waves, Maggie couldn’t help noticing the state of her pillowcase. It was wet, but not with her tears. It smelled strangely of seawater.

  * * * *

  A few days later, Maggie stood in Nora’s parlor. She felt dazed and unable to focus. “I still can’t believe she left everything to me.”

  “She loved you, dear,” said Phyllis Brodie, her grandmother’s elderly friend, smiling through her false teeth.

  “More than anyone.” The sentiment was echoed by her other friend, blue-haired Liz Campbell. The two ladies had been chums with Nora MacLean for years. They all lived in close proximity to Kirkwall, and had endeavored to take Maggie under their wings since she’d arrived on Orkney’s mainland island.

  The jet lag hadn’t yet hit Maggie, but she knew it would. The flight from Toronto had felt longer than usual, exhausting her, leaving her with heavy eyes and a bad case of bed head. She knew she’d be a complete mess once the denial disappeared, and took a strange comfort in being so numb, if only for what would be a short time.

  �
��Perhaps I’ll brew a nice cuppa,” suggested Liz, her wrinkly hand touching Maggie’s shoulder.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” she replied. Maggie was grateful, but wanted nothing more than to be alone with her memories.

  She’d almost expected to be met at the Kirkwall Airport by Calan Kirk, the man Gran had mentioned in the dream, but there had been no sign of him. Of course, it had been just a dream, but it had felt more like a prophecy. Especially when a kind Orcadian constable had phoned her afterward with the official news of her Gran’s demise. Even still, Maggie hadn’t spared too many thoughts about the mysterious Calan Kirk. He was probably imaginary, or some old crony of Gran’s. And Maggie already had her hands full with Liz and Phyllis. She glanced at the two venerable ladies in front of her.

  As sweet as they were, they wouldn’t stop picking at her.

  Liz touched Maggie’s bob. “Such lovely red curls! Just like when Nora was a lass.”

  Phyllis concurred. “And bonnie blue eyes. But you look very tired, Maggie, dear.”

  “I am a little tired.”

  “My peach,” said Phyllis, the more assertive of the two pensioners, “lie down. I’ll see to the house for you. It could use a little dusting and such. Your granny was always such a packrat. I believe they call them ‘hoarders’ nowadays, although it doesn’t sound any more glamorous if you ask me.” She began to usher Maggie toward the stairs.

  “No, really, please.” Maggie implored her with eyes, which were now burning. “You’ve been wonderful, and you were such friends to Gran. But, if it’s okay, I’d like to be alone.”

  Phyllis, lips set tight and holding her ground, eyed the younger woman skeptically. Liz shooed her friend toward the door, waving her hands in a sweeping motion. “Leave the poor, wee thing, Phyllis. She’s suffered enough.”

  Maggie blushed. They knew. Nora would have told Liz and Phyllis everything, about Matthew and her job, but she was too exhausted to be mortified.

  “Of course.” Phyllis relented, moving reluctantly toward the door. “But if you need any help sorting through Nora’s things, you let me know. Poor Nora. She was a lovely woman, but didn’t possess a single organizational bone in her body.” The old lady scanned the dusty living room one more time, and then shook her head.

  “Oh, Phyllis,” Liz chided. “Nora was hardly in any state to clean house. The blessed woman could barely find her spectacles on her head most days.” She offered a sad smile to Maggie. “She wasn’t well at the end, love, wasn’t herself. So confused. She’d just sit and stare and spout old bits of folklore. Such a shame.”

  The thought of her gran staring into space recounting Orkney myths was about as heartbreaking as anything. She didn’t want to hear any more.

  “We’ll leave you be,” Liz murmured, squeezing Maggie’s biceps.

  Maggie tried to smile as they headed out the creaky front door and back to Liz’s car. She knew they meant well. They’d been close to Nora, and would have wanted to help.

  “Just not right now,” she murmured as they disappeared down the road.

  She meandered slowly through the old house, quietly touching Nora’s knickknacks, and there were a great many of them. Phyllis was probably right. Gran had been somewhat of a hoarder. She could never resist picking up a pretty bottle or antique necklace from the local market. But Maggie didn’t mind the clutter. Right now, it was comfortable. She almost felt she could absorb her grandmother’s presence through the items she’d left behind.

  Nora had been the last surviving member of Maggie’s family. Maggie’s parents had been dead for years, having perished in a car crash together. In a way, this death was harder to take. Nora MacLean had been a larger-than-life personality, a strong woman who’d been passionate about her Orkney heritage and its rugged landscape. She’d played host to her granddaughter many a summer, and Maggie adored her with a fierceness that was unparalleled. The old woman’s death was quickly sucking the life out of her.

  She decided she would stay on in Kirkwall for a time after the funeral. Exploring St. Magnus Cathedral and roaming along the beaches would remind her of the times she’d sat at Nora’s knee, listening to the old woman spin tales of the mythical Finmen and seductive selkie folk.

  She just had to get through the funeral now. And try to figure out what she would do with Nora’s estate. She knew Nora would have wanted her to stay in Orkney, but the quiet, seemingly magical, island was worlds away from downtown Toronto.

  “Of course,” she reminded herself as she fingered the yellowed piece of lace that acted as a tablecloth on the kitchen table, “there’s really nothing to go home for anyway.” The idea of heading back was currently as appealing as diving into a pool of piranhas wearing a meat bikini.

  The last three months had been some of the worst in Maggie’s life. Losing the job that had been her passion. Being granted the glorious opportunity to see her ex-fiancé cheating on her. And then a series of discouraging temp jobs that never seemed to lead to anything more substantial than one-week assignments. To say nothing about the fact that Matthew wouldn’t leave her alone. He kept calling, kept trying to apologize. Luckily, although she’d had some lows, she never reached the kind of low that might send her tumbling back into a cheater’s arms.

  Now, with Gran’s death, it felt like the last possible rug had been pulled out from under her. This was low.

  In truth, things had been bad for a while. Before Matthew, there had been another failed engagement to a man who had seemed promising at the time. Sure, at first, Bobby had been all wine and roses, or more like beer and carnations. Still, he’d been kind and sweet.

  But it had turned out the salesman had a woman in every port. Her first cheater. What a milestone.

  After that experience, Maggie had figured she could spot a liar at a hundred yards. So why had her cheater radar failed so spectacularly with Matthew? Perhaps she just hadn’t been willing to see it. Maybe it had just been easier to pretend.

  She was now determined to swear off men altogether.

  And she couldn’t even run into the welcoming bosom of her family anymore. Mom,

  Dad, Gran, they were all gone, and she was reeling from the pain.

  She needed ibuprofen. She needed to get her life back in shape. It was all she wanted now. Some semblance of normalcy. A good job. And given her current hatred of the male species, she was seriously contemplating a lesbian love affair.

  Her head pounding, Maggie trudged upstairs and threw herself on Nora’s bed. “Just a short nap,” she said to herself, knowing she needed rest before tomorrow’s funeral. “Then Liz and Phyllis can fuss over me again.”

  Nora’s pillow felt unfamiliar and she couldn’t get comfortable. She sat up and grabbed the pillow, meaning to give it a good fluffing, but somehow knew sleep wouldn’t come.

  It was then that she remembered the cookie jar. Gran had never forgotten her love of sugary cookies, and had had a significant sweet tooth herself. Nothing had given the old lady more pleasure than to sneak cookies to Maggie when she was a little girl. To aid her in this quest, she’d kept her biscuits in a cracked jar on her kitchen counter. Maggie now wondered if she might find a stash in that same jar. Perhaps coming down from a sugar rush might help her sleep.

  She padded down to the kitchen, which still appeared well stocked for a nuclear attack, and looked around. The old, red jar was still there. Grinning in spite of herself, Maggie lifted off the cover. There were indeed cookies in there, her favorite kind with the bits of sugar on one side, but there was also a piece of paper wedged at the back. Curious, Maggie stared at the paper while she inserted most of a cookie into her mouth. And then she reached for it.

  When she saw it was a note from her Gran, she almost spit out what was left of the cookie. And when she saw what it said, she almost tossed all her cookies.

  Maggie, my love. I knew you’d want a wee sweetie, and I thought this was the safest place to leave you a note.

  There is a special part of your inheritance that
I have had to hide. I dare not even mention the hiding place here. It isn’t safe. I shall have to trust you to find it. Just look in the places that meant the most to me.

  It is the skin of a selkie. Once you find it, and find it you must, you are not to give it away until you’re done with it. Keep it hidden. Maggie, trust no one with it. There are those who would go to great lengths to steal such a prize. When I discovered it on the beach, I wanted it for you, and you alone. It can bring you great pleasure, something you haven’t had in a long time.

  It belongs to my friend Calan Kirk, but he mustn’t have it back until you’re done with it. I explained that to him. I know he needs it, and he’ll try to get it back. When he realized I didn’t want it for myself, he said it had to be returned to him. I suggested we settle the matter in a friendly game of poker.

  Thank the Lord your granddad taught me all those poker tricks!

  I won it from Calan fair and square. Don’t get me wrong. Calan is a good man, but even he cannot be trusted with the selkie skin. Do not put it in his hands until you no longer have need of its powers.

  You must find it. I won’t rest unless you do.

  I love you, my wee one. Stay safe.

  Maggie breathed in. “Hidden sealskins? Yuck.”

  Surely these were the ramblings of a sick, old woman. And yet her Gran had

  mentioned Calan Kirk again, and she wasn’t even dreaming this time. What did she mean when she said she won the sealskin from him? Maggie could just picture the sight. Two old people playing cards for a smelly animal pelt. It was almost sad.

  If it weren’t for the parts about not resting and trusting no one. That was just plain scary. What would make her Gran so paranoid?

  She sat still, not sure what to do next.

  It took all of thirty seconds for her curiosity to get the better of her. She turned and eyed the piles of books and figurines and small appliances ordered from the television. The mass of stuff around her. Where did one begin in such chaos?