Fear the Drowning Deep(36)

“Poor little Alis. The search party hasn’t found a thing, and not for lack of trying,” Mr. Cretney remarked to his wife as they repaired a broken shutter.

“But who could be behind all these disappearances? Not any of my neighbors, surely!” Mrs. Cretney dropped a handful of nails as I hurried past. “Do you think the old witch has finally figured out how to work a curse on this town?”

I pressed my lips together and looked away.

“I haven’t a clue, dear,” said Mr. Cretney.

I pointed toward the cliffs, though I doubted either of them would understand that no signs of Alis or Eveleen or Nessa had been found because they’d been taken somewhere unreachable. Nothing kept secrets like the sea.

Ms. Elena’s words drifted back. Don’t be a victim, Bridey Corkill. I didn’t intend to be. With any luck, Morag would know something to aid in my search for the town’s monster, whatever it was.

As I ran to the witch’s house, the bright sky and twittering birds seemed to mock me. The sky should have looked thunderous, the birds silent out of respect for our sorrow.

“Morag!” I leaned against the weathered wood of the cottage, panting. “Mor—”

The door swung open, and I made a wild grab for the frame to keep my balance. Morag raised her brows as she put a gnarled hand on my shoulder to steady me. In her other hand a spoon dripped with sticky-sweet batter.

“I wasn’t expecting you today, Apprentice Bridey,” she grumbled, stepping aside to let me in. “Though I should know by now that you rarely turn up when you’re expected.”

“There’s something terrible happening in town.” I took a few deep breaths and sank gratefully into a chair at Morag’s table.

“Is there?” Morag hobbled to the kitchen and began fixing tea.

“Remember the two girls who went missing?” I hesitated, wondering how to explain about Alis without my eyes leaking worse than Morag’s rusty water pump. “Another vanished last night.” I dug my nails into my palms to stop myself from losing my nerve. “And around that time, I saw something in the water that looked like a ghost. And I’ve seen other things, too. Something dark and scaly, the night of the big crash.”

Morag kept her back to me as she poured the tea. Boiling water shot over the side of the first mug.

“How does any of that concern me?” she asked at last.

“I thought you could tell me about monsters. Being a witch and all. You swore to me they exist.”

“And you laughed,” Morag said shortly. “I didn’t think you believed me.”

“I thought you were teasing me.” I bowed my head. “I’m sorry. But I’m not laughing now, and I need your help. Do you have a spell to get rid of them?”

Morag finally turned, a grim but determined light in her eyes. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, lass, but the only magic I possess is in herbs and charms.” She shuffled to a stack of rubbish and picked up the battered book she’d shown me before. “Here. This will tell you far more than I can.” She thrust the book into my arms. It was heavy as a toddler, and the motion sent a wave of dust and mold into my face. “Keep it for as long as you need.”

“But—” I sneezed, and set the book on the table to examine its tatty cover. “By the time I read all this nonsense, who knows how many more of my friends will have disappeared?” Morag still wouldn’t look at me. “A little girl went missing last night. She was seven. Seven. She liked cake and horses and spending time with my sister.”

“I’m sorry,” Morag grunted, returning to her kitchen. She started mopping the spilled water. “But I can’t help you, and even if I could, why would I bother aiding a town that mocked and abandoned me?” Her eyes flashed. “Take that book and go now.”

“If you know anything, please—”

“There are monsters in the sea, that’s the extent of my knowledge. All I will do”—Morag paused, breathing hard—“all I can do, if it will get you to drop the matter, is make more Bollan Crosses so none of your wretched friends drown.”

I scowled at her. “Morag, please! Whatever I saw last night, I think it’s the same thing I thought I saw when Grandad jumped.”

“Go now,” Morag repeated, gentler this time. Still, there was something behind the words. Not a threat, but maybe tears. “Go. Now. And never ask me again about any of this.”

“Fine,” I huffed. It was plain there was nothing I could do or say to convince her. I reluctantly grabbed the heavy tome off the table and sprinted out the door, not slowing until I came within sight of home.

Fynn was reclining on the sofa when I stormed into the house. It seemed everyone else was still at the Stowells’.

“You left early?”

“Same as you,” Fynn said groggily, sitting up. “I was tired of all the questions about why no one was looking for me, and how a tourist could be clumsy enough to fall off a boat on the calm ride here. What’s that?” He pointed at Morag’s book.

“Just a stupid, useless old thing.” I tossed it into a corner, where it landed with a bang. “Morag isn’t going to be of any help.” Only my tremendous love of books stopped me from kicking the moldy tome. “How can she not care if every one of us walks off the cliffs in the night?”