It was fully dark now. This time, she didn’t look around for the witch; she was still in Madeleine’s bed. It was only a dream. Not real. Not…

Her cheeks hurt where the witch had pressed her thumbs in.

Hæra touched one cheek with a shaking hand. She felt no cuts from those sharp nails, but the dread had her body in its grip nevertheless, and she thought: Real.

The witch had said: Hurry to save a life.

How long had she been asleep? How healed was she? There was only one way to find out. She sat up and groaned. Everything was sore, but she no longer bled. She flexed her left wrist. Painful, fragile, but not broken. It would have to do. She struggled to her feet.

Hurry to save a life. Not Madeleine’s. The witch had said Madeleine was safe. There seemed no reason for her to lie about that—it could neither amuse nor benefit her. There was only one other person Hæra would care enough about to make her way to the shore.

But Jonathan wouldn’t have gone there. Would he? Why…?

Head spinning, she looked at the wall where his shotgun had rested. It was gone.

It’s my bloody destiny, he’d said, the sea’s wildness in his eyes.

“No, you dolt,” she whispered, and stumbled to the front door even as horror drenched her limbs.

She was stark naked. It didn’t matter. There was no reason to put on Madeleine’s clothes only to tear them up again. She couldn’t make it to the shore fast enough in her human shape. Her Each-uisge body was swifter than the Gator, swifter even than a car when she was in top form.

This was far from top form, but it’d have to do. It was dark now, for the electricity hadn’t come back, and nobody would see her so long as she avoided torches. Connor and Jim would be working round the farm to clean up whatever damage there was, and maybe Madeleine was there too. Maybe she’d come back by now. They’d be distracted.

And if Hæra was seen, she was seen. This was more important.

She poked her head through the front door to make sure. Nobody in sight. In the distance, around the sheep pens, two torches waved about. A dog barked, so at least one had survived.

Setting her jaw, Hæra closed her eyes and transformed one more time. As her body expanded, so too did the discomfort. Her left front leg wasn’t broken, but it would be beyond foolish to move at a full gallop.

Hurry to save a life.

She had done more foolish things than this. With a low neigh of pain, Hæra ran as fast as her bruised body could carry her to the shore where everything had begun, and where everything seemed likely to end.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE