I got up at night to grab a glass of water and walked into a door. I’m so clumsy.
That’s what I would giggle and tell anyone who asked.
Parker grinned when he saw me, and despite myself, my heart fluttered. His designer sunglasses caught the last afternoon light as he strode down the dock. He was flanked by two workmates in navy suits, their loafers far too polished for the salt-stained planks beneath them and ridiculous for sailing the isles at this time of year.
I had tried to convince Parker to wait until the summer to hold his party, but he’d insisted on having it now—typical reckless Sagittarius. Luckily, the weather was mild, but darkness would soon fall.
Parker and his colleagues were laughing too loudly, the kind of conversation that left no room for anyone else. His blazer was slung carelessly over his shoulder, revealing a crisp white shirt, unbuttoned just enough to show off his golden tan and a glimpse of his gym-honed chest.
He turned to a girl—she must be someone from work, I assured myself—who was trailing behind the men. She had long legs, glossy blonde hair, and a halter top that defied the winter sea breeze. She giggled at something Parker said, her hand brushing his arm in a way that made my stomach twist. I slipped my leather trench coat off my shoulders to reveal my own bustier, shivering immediately in the cold.
It was going to be a long night.
Parker’s Wet Lassbobbed lightly in the bay, sleek and ostentatious with chrome railings and a bottle of champagne already chilling in a bucket of ice by the entrance at its rear. I quickened my pace as Parker helped the girl aboard with his practiced charm.
“Happy birthday, babe.” I slung my arms around him, and his scent washed over me—Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille, which he always overdid.
The leggy blonde was watching me, a slight pout shadowing her features. My thoughts returned to the message I had seen on Parker’s phone:I miss you, baby.
Parker peeled himself from me, offering a tight-lipped smile, the opposite of how he’d been in the bath. I could tell by the scent of his breath and the red in his eyes that he was already drunk.
He and his friends made their way into the sheltered area, but I lingered in the open stern, watching the sunset over the bay. It wasn’t a huge yacht, about sixty-four feet long, yet it had probably cost him a few million. Well, his father, Douglas Stewart, anyway.
Parker had a good job as a partner at a law firm, but he was also a nepo baby. The Stewarts were well-known for their ties to the whisky industry and had spearheaded the development of Bayside.
If Aranare’s family owned the older half of town, Parker’s family owned the other. Although the Bayside development had failed, they had numerous successful developments across Scotland. Most of them livedin Glasgow, but they’d built a clifftop holiday home during the Bayside expansion. That was how we’d met.
I settled myself in the outdoor seating area in the stern, where oysters, caviar, and other delicacies had been laid out beside the ice buckets of Dom Pérignon. I glanced at Parker and his friends, who were now inside, slapping each other on the back and speaking animatedly. They were drinking whisky, so the champagne was just for show.
Thankfully, Parker wasn’t driving the yacht tonight. He knew how, of course, but with all the gales we’d been having, I had begged him to hire someone for the occasion, and he had listened.
I helped myself to a glass and leaned back in my seat, sipping my champagne slowly. The evening darkened around us, and the wind picked up as the boat chugged away from the bay. Guilt curled in my chest for not returning to Morgana’s as I watched Parker, his workmates, and the leggy blonde laugh together inside. What else had I expected? This was how it always went.
I pulled my iPhone out of my pocket and toyed with it. I should have let Morgana know that I was no longer coming; she must be worried. She still had no cell phone since she’d lost it somewhere, but perhaps I could find her grandfather’s home number. I pulled up the browser. Damn it, I had no reception. The twinkling lights of Ruadán’s Port glimmered alluringly in the distance but then faded altogether, replaced by the dark rushing of the sea.
7
Morgana
Icouldn’t focus on meditating. The cushion pressed uncomfortably beneath me, my eyes scrunched shut, fists clenched, even as the beautiful music curled around me.
My mind fixated on one thing: Parker. Foreboding filled me, the same sinking sense that had gripped me when we got the call about my grandmother.
“I think that’s enough for today,” Louisa said, appearing with a stack of dusty books and studying me closely. “Shall we sit?”
I stood, knees stiff from my time on the pillow, then crossed my arms and dropped into the seat opposite Louisa. “Why didn’t you tell me about Aranare and your husband? What other secrets are you keeping?” I ground out. My worry over Skye had curdled into something sharp and confrontational.
Louisa sighed. “You were processing a lot already. I find that with these magical revelations, it’s best to peel them back layer by layer, like an onion.”
I scoffed, keeping my arms folded.
“I went through the same thing as you when I discovered this world existed... Then I met my husband and your grandmother.”
My mouth was dry as I asked the question that had been troubling me. “You don’t think I’m ready, do you?”
“Oh my dear, no one is ever truly ready to face destiny. That’s what makes it so mysterious. All we can do is our best.”
“And you think if we find the rest of this prophecy and I... fulfill it... we can stop the war somehow and save the ocean from the Shadow?”
