Sea Spell (Waterfire Saga #4)(39)

“And there aren’t any pickled crayfish, or spiced shrimp, or cups of cattail coffee!” Esmé cried. “I’ll never survive!”

“You don’t have to. You’re dead,” Manon said. Then she put her arm around Ava’s shoulders. “We have to move. Have to make the Gulf by morning, just in case my gators don’t get every last one of those no-good death riders. You ready?”

Ava nodded. Manon was glad to see a little spirit trickling back into her.

“Where there’s life, there’s hope,” Esmé said sagely.

Manon arched an eyebrow. “Like you would know?”

There was a shout, sharp and surprised. It was quickly cut off.

“I told those boys to be quiet,” Manon said, clucking her tongue. “They’re going to get themselves in a world of trouble. Come on, cher,” she said, tugging on Ava’s hand. “We’d best be going.”

And then the two mermaids and three ghosts disappeared into the dark swamp waters.





ASTRID KOLFINNSDOTTIR looked different.

Her fur parka was gone. And so were her braids. The skirts of the beautiful black sea-silk gown Orfeo had given her swirled around her like tidal currents as she swam down the long hallway.

She’d put the gown on earlier that morning—unwillingly, but she’d had no choice. Servants had disposed of her own clothing while she slept off the effects of the painkiller.

As soon as Astrid had finished dressing, a maid had come into her room. She’d made Astrid sit at a vanity table; then she’d fluttered about with a brush and comb, smoothing Astrid’s long hair. The styling session had irritated Astrid, who didn’t like primping. When the maid—Bahar—had started working her silvery blond lengths into braids, Astrid had asked her to stop.

“No, no,” Bahar had insisted. “The master likes his guests to look presentable.”

Without hesitation Astrid had picked up her dagger from atop the vanity, and—to the maid’s horror—sliced her braids right off.

“Too bad for the master,” she’d rasped, her throat still sore.

Bahar had backed away, a hand pressed to her chest. She gathered her things and made a quick exit. Astrid glanced in the mirror and smiled. Her hair was a jagged bob that just grazed her chin. She liked it.

Another maid had appeared with a tray, and Astrid was much happier to see her. The blood loss she’d experienced had made her feel weak. A meal of soft, bland foods—nothing that would hurt her tender throat—restored her energy, and when a third servant arrived with the message that Orfeo would like to see her in the conservatory, she’d felt up to the long swim through the palace.

Astrid hadn’t seen Orfeo since he’d given her the thick, murky potion that had eased her pain. How long ago had that been? Hours? Days? She had no idea.

Why does he want to see me now? she wondered uneasily. He had helped her, but she still didn’t know why.

The servant who had come to fetch her stopped now in front of a pair of massive doors. He opened them, and Astrid swam through. Shadow Manse was brooding and remote, an immense, sprawling structure, and the conservatory, as she now saw, was its dark heart.

Blue waterfire burned in the tall fireplace at the far end of the room. High-backed chairs made from the gnarled roots of mangrove trees flanked it. Lava bubbled in sconces on the walls. A gilt mirror stood in a corner. A massive dome of faceted amethyst capped the conservatory, casting a purple-hued light over the room. But what truly took Astrid’s breath away were the shells. The room was lined with shelves that stretched all the way from the floor to the bottom of the amethyst dome, and every inch of space was taken by shells. In her astonishment, Astrid forgot her anger about Bahar’s attempted makeover.

“There must be a million of them,” she whispered, turning in a slow circle.

Every type of shell she’d ever seen, and many she hadn’t, were on display: conchs, turitellas, whelks, nautiluses, urchins, ceriths, augurs, murexes, tritons. Some were shiny and new, others cracked with age. Long-legged spider crabs scuttled over the shelves, cleaning away silt and debris.

As Astrid drew closer, she saw that each shell was labeled with the name of a songspell. There were the basic spells of invisibility, camouflage, and illusion; spells to control water, wind, and light; and spells Astrid had only heard of that allowed the caster to create dragons from silt, monsters from rock, or reanimate the dead.

“It’s an ostrokon of magic,” she said wonderingly, her voice less raspy now.

“Of mer magic, yes,” said a voice from behind her.

Astrid turned to face Orfeo. He was wearing a jacket with a stand-up collar and his usual dark glasses.

“You collected all these songspells?” she asked.

“Collected them, learned them, mastered them,” he replied.

Astrid’s eyes widened. No wonder he was so powerful.

“I have another such place on land,” he continued. “It’s called a library. That one contains every magic spell ever devised by a human.”

Astrid arched an eyebrow. “I have trouble seeing goggs as magical.”

Orfeo smiled. “So do I. These days, at least. It wasn’t always so.”

Astrid had forgotten that he’d been human once, before he’d become whatever he was now. Her wariness returned. He must’ve healed me for a reason, she thought. And whatever it is, it can’t be good.