It was half-past one in the morning. Hours ago, Connor had gone to find Jonathan’s body on the beach. Then he reported to the police that he’d found it, which was technically true. He didn’t mention Hæra and Madeleine, however, nor the shotgun. Madeleine had no idea what he’d done with it. The police came out to recover the body for a post-mortem, and it seemed there was nothing else to do for the moment.

“Heart attack, right enough,” Connor had said when he’d returned to the house, his shoulders slumped. “My uncle went the same way and looked just like that. Coroner’ll say for sure. Poor bugger. Still, he looked peaceful enough.”

Now Madeleine, Connor, Isla, and Jim all sat in the living room of the main house; the broken back door made the cottage a non-starter. Battery-powered lanterns provided the only lighting. Madeleine had changed her filthy clothes and used just enough reserved water to wash her face and hands.

Hæra was in her bedroom, hopefully asleep. Hopefully not dreaming. Madeleine had guided her straight into her bed and she’d gone without a protest, losing consciousness the moment she lay down.

As for Madeleine, she didn’t know what to feel. Or how to feel.

The adrenaline had worn off, and she was completely drained. The last few hours seemed like a dream, especially right now, in an ordinary cottage with ordinary people. Even as she was recounting the story, she thought: Could that really have happened?

“Bloody hell.” Jim took a long pull of one of the beers he’d brought from home. “That’s a story, isn’t it?”

He didn’t sound doubtful. Madeleine had been right. Not a single one of them had been as shocked or skeptical as Hæra had expected.

“It sure is.” She rested her elbows on her knees. Good grief, she could sleep for a year. It was amazing she’d been able to talk to the three of them with any coherency. Thank God she hadn’t had to speak to the police. “Some things I’m keeping to myself, but you’ve got the gist of it.”

The gist: that Hæra had been an Each-uisge, that she was now human, and she’d had a brother who’d tried to kill her before dying himself. That she and Madeleine had met when Madeleine was a nun, and years later Madeleine had come back to learn more.

No need to say they’d become lovers. That seemed pretty obvious to everyone.

Connor rubbed the back of his neck. “Fuck. Poor Jon. You don’t know why the other beast grabbed him?”