A rising wave, closer to the shore, caught her eye. Specifically, what was cresting atop it.

An Each-uisge.

One of Hæra’s fellows was going to shore, where Madeleine was, alone and defenseless. Not just any Each-uisge. One Hæra would have known anywhere.

Her mother, Beathag.

Hæra didn’t know why Beathag was here, nor did she care. It could only end one way for Madeleine. The witch had spoken true after all.

She struck forward again, wildly. Forget the cold. Forget her weakness. Forget, even, her despair. She was going to reach the shore, draw her mother’s attention, and save Madeleine one more time.

Or die trying.

Madeleine had taken a flashlight before she’d left the farm. Now she wished she hadn’t. Not if it was helping her see this.

Jonathan lay immobile on the beach, with another man clutching him.

“Oh God,” she choked as she picked her way over the rocks, extra slippery in the storm’s aftermath. The flashlight beam wavered with her unsteady steps. The wind felt even rougher here than usual, almost pushing her backward, as if it was trying to blow her away from this.

That might have been a mercy, but Madeleine had opened her eyes to the world, and the world could be hideous and unjust. She bent into the wind and forced her way on until she stood over the two dead bodies.

For dead bodies they were. She’d dared to hope, just a little bit, that maybe they weren’t—at least Jonathan wasn’t. But neither of them breathed, and their forms were unnaturally pale, rigid.

She didn’t recognize the other man, until she did. He was naked and lean, his body covered in wounds. His facial features were like someone else’s she knew.

“Oh God,” she whispered again as she beheld Asgall’s human form, clinging to Jonathan in death.

Asgall’s face was a miserable rictus, his jaw set in a grimace. He looked as if he was in the middle of some great effort—or had been.

Killing Jonathan, apparently, however he’d done it. Jonathan had no visible injuries. But what else could have happened?

Jonathan lay on his back, looking at the night sky with unseeing eyes. His gray lips were slightly parted. He looked oddly at peace. As if his great effort, whatever it had been, was accomplished.

Madeleine pressed her lips together, but a soft sob emerged, hot in her throat. She hadn’t known Jonathan well, but he’d been kind to her. He’d loved Hæra. He’d been a good man, and he deserved better than this.

She swung the flashlight’s beam around. No sign of Hæra or anyone else. This beach had no infrastructure to manage in the wake of a storm. Everyone would be too busy looking after their homes and businesses, if they hadn’t already gone to bed.