The horse walked closest to the wall, farther from the streetlamps. It kept its pace slow and stately next to Madeleine, who felt no less rubber-kneed than she had on the beach. The windows along the street were dark. She and the horse were alone and, it seemed, unseen. The lamplight threw their shadows heedlessly around as they walked. The horse’s shadow looked even larger than its owner when it stretched out into the darkened street or along a wall.

Away from the sea, the only sound was the clop of the horse’s pointed hooves and the steady susurration of its breath. It was the strangest and most silent stroll of Madeleine’s life.

Eventually, they reached the steps of the Merryweather Hotel. Madeleine looked up at the door. Then she turned to regard the horse. “Uh, am I going to run into you again?” She devoutly hoped not, no matter how good the creature smelled.

The horse flicked its tail.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

The horse just flicked its tail again.

“Right,” Madeleine muttered. What else was there to say? Thanks for not killing me? That seemed like a great way to revisit the possibility. She settled for, “Good night.”

She turned around. Climbed the first step.

Hard pressure at her shoulder.

Madeleine wheezed in shock as the horse sank its teeth into her jacket and tugged. Instead of tearing into her skin, it ripped off a patch of fabric.

Then, before she could scream, the horse stepped back, turned, and galloped down the sidewalk.

Madeleine stared after it in disbelief. Its massive body moved with unbelievable speed as it raced away and turned down the first side street in view. Then it was gone.

She looked at her shoulder, at the rip. The jacket’s fabric was tough. That was the whole point of it. That creature’s teeth must be razor-sharp. Its mouth and jaw must be able to exert tremendous pressure.

Did that just happen? No. No. This is a dream.

Yes. That must be it. She was dreaming, so she’d better go to bed. That made sense.

Madeleine stumbled into the hotel and made her way to her room. She knew she should brush her teeth, say her prayers, and sleep.

Wobbling a little, she eyed the spot at the foot of the bed where she knelt to pray.

“Not tonight,” she mumbled, and then collapsed on the bed fully dressed, shoes and all, as everything went black.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

I couldn’t do it.

Hæra sat on the back steps of the house, staring at Ætlaquoy’s fields. The sun was rising, but it was only a patch of light through the clouds. Today would be gray.

Fitting. She felt gray inside too. She felt as heavy as she had the first time she’d walked onto land, when the water had stopped carrying her.

I couldn’t do it.