He swallowed hard. “All of those blue ones are…?”
“I believe so. It seems when someone is the product of interbreeding with a selkie, they have an affinity for water or can possibly do very simple water magic.”
“So how can we tell who is or isn’t a selkie?”
“I think we can assume all of the women are selkies unless they came from the mainland. After centuries of interbreeding, you get a whole population that is at least partly selkie.”
Adam’s eyes ran over the papers pinned to the wall. “So Jacobs came here to investigate the high rate of disappearances reported on the island, but they weren’t missing women, they were all selkies.”
“Technically they’re still women, but yes.”
“But did he know they were selkies? Did he even know they existed?”
“I don’t know. In his notes, he—”
Immanuel paused, darting for the pile of papers jumbled across the cramped desk. Flipping through the pages, he checked the dates carefully transcribed on the headers. His heart thudded against his ribs as he counted back from when he figured the investigator had been killed. He couldn’t be certain, but—
He checked the dates once more. “There’s a gap in his notes. The information about the women and the interviews with people from the other islands stop three or four days before he died. Where are the things from his pockets?”
Dragging Jacobs’ suitcase out from under the chair, Adam dug out the pile of bloodied papers. Immanuel carefully opened each one, prying the half-melted pages apart as best he could without tearing them beyond salvation. Some were forgotten receipts from a life far from the island. Others were tickets or invoices, but as Immanuel flattened the next wad of paper, his throat convulsed. Blood had spread along the folds, casting fantastical shapes of bats and angels across the looped hand until it diluted and dissolved into fractured thoughts. Here and there, Immanuel caught something coherent in the blurred ink. Islanders keep to themselves… No one willing to speak of disappearances… if part of life… legends state… met with… believes it to be familial madness and instability… Immanuel frowned. So much of his notes had been dissolved by sea water from his pocket pressing on the wet bench or the offal leeching from his decomposing body that he couldn’t make heads or tails of them without any context. Madness. If there was too much inbreeding, that was possible, but no one he met seemed mad or deficient in any way.
“Immanuel, look at this.”
Tearing his mind away from the page, Immanuel’s mouth hung open at what was in Adam’s outstretched hand. In the center of his palm sat a jagged cube of translucent green stone wrapped in frayed twine. As Immanuel touched it, a faint pulse passed through the pendent in his pocket, as if it recognized the other.
“Where did you find it?”
Adam held up a tarnished silver pocket watch in his other hand. Its lid hung open to reveal an empty space inside where a face and internal workings should have been. “Jacobs’ watch was hollow. I didn’t even look at it when we found him.”
With the stone in his hand, Immanuel tried to clear his mind for fear of inadvertently calling the selkies if his power flared. This stone had no metalwork or carvings, just the uneven polish from many years of the press of fingers. The magic within it felt as if the corners had worn smooth while the other in his pocket retained its intensity. Where could he have gotten his hands on a calling stone?
“Does this mean he could have been calling selkies?” Adam asked as he slowly took it from Immanuel’s hand and returned it to the pocket watch.
His companion nodded before turning back to the pages strewn across the desk. “He found out something. He mentions legends and talking to villagers. Who knows how much he knew.”
“Could the selkies have killed him for finding out?”
“The person who killed him didn’t look like a selkie.”
“A disguise, perhaps?”
“I highly doubt they anticipated someone would see his death. They were human. I can’t explain it, but I can feel that. I need to go and talk to Miss Larkin and Mr. Durnure. He may have spoken to them.”
Abandoning the desk, Immanuel grabbed his coat from the rack by the door. When he looked up from stuffing the vivalabe into his pocket, he found Adam beside him donning his jacket. Adam smiled at the look of surprise blossoming across his features. As Immanuel’s hands stilled on his buttons, Adam slid his scarf from its hook and carefully wound it around his lover’s neck. Adam tucked in the end of the flannel and leaned in to place a soft kiss on Immanuel’s lips. The kiss sealed the words hanging on his lover’s tongue with a twang of the invisible tether running between them.
Drawing back, Adam pressed his hand to Immanuel’s cheek and whispered, “We’re in this together.”
***
Thunder grumbled overhead as Adam and Immanuel made their way down the weatherworn path with their heads bowed against the wind. The wind rolled with bullish force, popping Immanuel’s ears and sending salt and sand into their eyes as they cleared the cemetery and fallen church. When the expanse of green gave way to tiered rows of houses overlooking the docks, Adam waved for Immanuel to follow him, his voice lost in the gust. Immanuel’s eyes lingered on the darkened storefronts, but as they turned the corner, he found Byron Durnure’s back silhouetted in the warm light of a shop window. The wooden placard swung wildly on a solitary chain. While it showed a worn painting of a butcher, the shop counter had been replaced with tables and stools. Instead of meat hanging from the hooks, it was a mechanical device as tall as a man.
Immanuel went to knock on the shop window, but Adam pulled him away to a small door, which had been painted long ago to look like part of the storefront. Rapping on the peeling wood, Adam stepped back and peered up at the light glowing dimly on the upper floor. A shadow moved to the window before disappearing back into the house. He went to tell Immanuel but found him watching Durnure with keen interest. Whatever device he was working on was simple for its size. Between Hadley, George, and their father, Adam had seen all of them create devices of porcelain and precious materials with pieces that outnumbered his bones. This invention lacked a semblance of that finesse and complexity. While large, it appeared to mostly consist of a turbine and a casement of clay or brick, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling it was just as important as those precious pieces.
Adam and Immanuel snapped to attention as Greta Larkin appeared on the doorstep. Upon seeing them, her face fell as she released a huffed breath. Adam couldn’t tell if it was from having to come all the way down or merely because it was them. The latter, he thought as she waved for them to follow her upstairs. The moment the door closed behind them, the stormed died down to a muffled roar even as the occasional gust sent menacing creaks through the cockeyed building.
At the top of the steps sat a sparse common room that was dwarfed by a sooty stone hearth flanked by two squat armchairs. Heat radiated through the room along with the smell of fish and vegetables cooking in the cast iron pot over the fire. As the men reached the top step, Clara popped out of the only other room with a book in hand and a broad smile on her face upon spotting their visitors.
“Go back inside,” her mother barked before she could set foot in the common room.
The girl opened her mouth, her eyes running between the two men, but when she returned to her mother’s stern countenance, she stepped back inside and slowly closed the door. Adam listened for her steps as Immanuel followed Miss Larkin to the wooden table, but Clara never moved from her perch near the door. He smiled to himself, knowing he would have done the same at her age.
“What is it you gentlemen need? I don’t mean to be rude,” Greta said as she eased into a low chair, “but I have supper to cook and wash to do.”
Immanuel looked to Adam, eyes wide, silently asking if they should go on. Adam replied with a faint nod as they took a seat on the other side of the table.
“Miss Larkin, we have come to ask you a few questions.”
Even as the last word left Immanuel’s lips, Adam could see the woman’s hackles rising.
“The thing is,” the redhead interjected, “we were supposed to meet our associate when we arrived on the island. I think we spoke to you about him before, Mr. Jacobs. Frankly, we haven’t seen heads or tails of him, and after finding the body on the beach, we are fairly certain he was the one to meet a rather untimely end.”
Greta’s face flickered with uncertainty.
“When we spoke on the ferry the other day, you seemed to be familiar with Mr. Jacobs or that you had at least met him. If he had a fight or falling out with someone, we thought you might know who.”
“I’m sorry to hear about Mr. Jacobs, but if you think I know anything about his death, you’re speaking to the wrong person. I doubt I can help you.”
“Miss Larkin,” Adam said, glancing at Immanuel to see if he was overstepping, and found his companion looked relieved to step aside, “did Jacobs speak to you? I know he wanted to interview people on the island.”
Miss Larkin frowned thoughtfully, sweeping a few strands of greying brown hair from her forehead. She shrugged and replied, “He came around asking about some women who disappeared. I can’t remember any names or anything, but I hadn’t heard of them. They weren’t too recent.”
“Did he tell you he suspected the women were selkies?”
Immanuel and Miss Larkin’s eyes widened in surprise, but Greta snuffed it out with a sniff and a shake of her head as she rose with the aid of the table. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Selkies are an old sailors’ legend. Now, if you can see yourselves out, I need to finish dinner.”
“Miss Larkin, please listen to us a moment longer,” Immanuel began softly, wringing his hands. “I have already spoken to Völva Hilde, and she has accepted my help in finding the person who killed a selkie woman named Berte.”
Greta slowly turned back, her stormy eyes staring into Immanuel’s face as if she hoped to discern something deeper.
“The only reason we’ve come is because we need help. We were supposed to meet Mr. Jacobs while we investigated Berte’s death, but he appears to have been killed by the same person who killed her. I didn’t know either victim, and I hoped you might tell us something about Berte or the selkies that could help us.”
Lowering back into the chair, Miss Larkin leaned forward until her swollen belly disappeared below the table. She rested on her elbows with her attention leveled on Adam and Immanuel. Her eyes flared with the light of the hearth as she hissed, “How did two Londoners find out about selkies?”
Licking his lips, Immanuel replied, “We are working for the Interceptors. They’re a group of practioners who are a bit like Scotland Yard, and they discovered someone had tried to mail a preserved selkie to the Royal Zoological Society. They wanted me to prove she was a real selkie and I discovered she had been killed.”
“And why do you think your Mr. Jacobs and Berte were killed by the same person?”
Immanuel opened his mouth to speak only to find the words dissolving into visions of a hooked metal rod jutting from his chest. The sickening yank, the shocking disbelief and pain, the surreal sensation of his heart ineffectually squeezing around the rough metal an instant before it was yanked out. He jolted at the press of Adam’s hand closing reassuringly over his.
“We also found this on Mr. Jacobs’ person when we searched his body.”
Swallowing, Immanuel forced his quickened breaths and pounding heart to slow as Adam drew the false-bottomed pocket watch from his coat. Tipping the calling stone into his palm, Adam held it out for Miss Larkin to examine. She twirled it by its fraying hemp cord. The stone spun lazily, glinting in the fire light.
“Can you tell us who could have given it to him or who made it?”
“No, they aren’t made for a specific person. They can call anyone. Some create incantations to direct the call to one person.”
“Intent,” Immanuel said weakly, his face ashen.
“Yes, but that would only be known between the creator and her mate or child. This one looks old though, like something my grandmother would have made.” When she noticed Adam’s cocked brow, she added, “No selkie would give away a calling stone with an ugly bit of boat twine. It would reflect poorly on her line. A lot of the old ones look like this, though.”
“Is it possible that Jacobs could have formed an attachment or had a rendezvous with a selkie woman?” Adam rubbed his wrist and released a cough to mask his discomfort. “We spotted your nephew on the beach with a selkie woman, so we thought perhaps Mr. Jacobs may have become entangled as well.”
“Byron? You saw Byron on the beach with a woman?” Miss Larkin asked, her voice lined with the same steel she had used on her daughter.
“We don’t mean to cause trouble. We’re merely asking if it’s possible that Jacobs and Berte or another selkie could have crossed paths.”
“No. Berte wasn’t much older than my Clara. She—”
Miss Larkin trailed off as the door below opened and shut with the rattle of glass and the low roll of thunder. Byron Durnure’s dark mop of hair appeared through the rails, followed by his slow, clattering tread.
“Greta, I thought I heard someone come in. I wanted to make sure you were all right.” Upon seeing Adam at the table, Byron stiffened before returning to his quiet intensity upon seeing Immanuel. “Mr. Winter, have you come to see my project?”
His aunt rolled her eyes, but before she could speak, Immanuel ambled over to him with an eager grin.
“I had hoped I would get a chance to speak to you. Your aunt said you were frightfully busy, but I would love to see it,” Immanuel said to Byron, casting a meaningful glance back at Adam.
“Of course, follow me.”
Adam waited until Immanuel and Byron cleared the front door to turn back to Miss Larkin. She regarded him with a smirk that unnerved him in how much it reminded him of Hadley.
“Your friend will be lucky to be out of there by nightfall. Byron’s bright as they come, but he doesn’t have the sense to know when to keep his mouth shut.”
“That’s all right. Immanuel will be happy to have someone as smart as he is to talk to.” Adam cleared his throat. “I read an article about your nephew and his water-powered generators.”
“That was Quince’s doing,” she spat. “He thought it would bring attention to the island, bring in some fresh blood. A fool’s errand. No one’s coming here unless they’ve already been here.”
Adam nodded. “Your nephew is quite gifted. Has he ever thought of going to London or Edinburgh? He could study science or work for the electrical companies. I imagine he would do well for himself.”
Greta released a rueful laugh that sank into a silent sigh. “He did live in Leeds for a time, but he had to come back. I know what you’re thinking. The man he was apprenticing with was nice enough, seemed to like him despite the prattle. His eccentricities weren’t the problem.” She leveled her gaze at Adam, sadness crinkling the corners of her eyes. “Did Völva Hilde tell you about sea sickness?”
“I’m assuming you don’t mean the shade of green I turned on the ferry.”
“No, not that kind. There’s a reason why no one leaves the islands for long. For selkies, we tend to follow the paths of our seal cousins through warmer and colder waters for breeding or shedding. It’s instinct. Or we stay put when we’re,” she glanced down at her protruding stomach, “bogged down, which is also instinct. The men have a similar instinct.”
“But I thought men couldn’t be selkies.”
“No matter whether they change or not, they still carry the selkie bloodline. Sea sickness begins and ends in the blood. Most of our sons grow up to be fishermen or sailors, merchants even. Some go off to live on the coast or other islands, but—”
“They can’t stray from the sea.”
“Right. I tried to tell Byron to find someone closer who could teach him about mechanics. Even London might have been better with the river so near
, but he went inland. He didn’t believe the stories of sea sickness. If Quince was around, he could have talked sense into him, but…” She drew in a loud breath and rested a steadying hand on her belly. “Our bodies crave the sea so much that it can destroy us.”
“Is that what happened to his—?”
She nodded. “It nearly drove him mad. His leg wasn’t always like that. They said he tried to jump off the roof of the shop. He went to the hospital and tried it again. Then he tried to cut the blood from his veins to cure himself of the ocean’s pull, which didn’t work any better than trying to off himself. We wrote letters begging them to send him home. He made it, barely, but we couldn’t afford a doctor and he healed poorly. We thought he could at least have a chance at freedom, like Quince did. He at least got a few years by living close enough to the water to stave off the worst of it. But not Byron. He hasn’t been the same since, Quince either.” Her eyes darkened as a crash of thunder shook the house to its foundation. “We pay one way, the men pay another. Quince thought people might read about Byron in the papers and come to him. That if doctors found out about the men, maybe they could help them. But no one cares. Why should anyone care about us?”
“We came from London to see you.”
“It’s your job. Would you like tea or,” she grimaced as she stood, “coffee?”
He wanted to protest that it wasn’t their job at all. That Immanuel had gone beyond what was required of him because he cared about a dead selkie. Instead, he merely murmured, “No, thank you.”
As Miss Larkin moved to fetch the kettle hanging in the hearth, Adam helped her back into her seat and retrieved the heavy metal contraption for her. She called out where the tea and sugar were kept, fatigue settling on her tired shoulders and careworn features. From what Immanuel said about the selkies in the cave, Adam had a difficult time imagining Miss Larkin gracefully sliding from seal to human and back again. With or without fur, she wasn’t someone he would cross, but the allure of the selkie legend diminished under the strain of motherhood. Arranging her tea as she instructed, Adam gingerly placed it before her and returned to his seat.
Selkie Cove (The Ingenious Mechanical Devices Book 5) Page 22
