It felt strange passing through Bayside, the place that had started it all. I’d been so consumed by my training that I hadn’t spent much time here since returning.
I couldn’t help but glance into Ruadán’s Port Pawn. The windows were dark, and a pile of letters and papers lay scattered by the door. It looked like neither Finn nor Mr. Inegar had returned in some time.
As we rounded the corner, Celtic Keepsakes came into view. Barry’s son, Jamie, was manning the counter, looking thoroughly bored, but he waved when he spotted us.
I quickened my pace. The lights in Tartan Treasures were off, and a spike of panic pushed me into a jog. The store was dark. I scanned the windows and yanked the door handle. It was locked.
“Skye,” I called, banging on the glass. “Skye!”
“She’s not here.” Aranare’s voice was gentle, but his fear washed over me.
“I’m going to kill Parker.” My fists curled into balls so tight I thought I might break a knuckle bone.
“Parker Stewart? That’s her boyfriend who gave her the bruises?” His golden eyes pulled wide, brows sinking.
“You know him?”
“Aye, I know him. The Stewarts are a powerful family. They think they’re untouchable. This is bad.”
“Let’s go to his house. Skye said it was on the clifftop near Finn’s.”
“Aye,” Aranare said again, “I know where it is.”
“How do you know the Stewarts?” I panted as we raced back through the center to his truck.
He waved a hand over Bayside. “They built this place.”
“Are you serious?” I raised my brows as I yanked open the car door.
He nodded. “Our family business—Williamson Industries—once owned this land, including the cliffs on which the Stewarts later built those three fancy homes.”
I’d walked to the houses from the docks before, but now I discovered you could drive there from the Bayside parking lot. We rumbled along the unsealed path, crumbling stone fences flanking either side. Aranare’s hands were trembling as they turned the steering wheel.
“So what happened?” I clutched the door handle as the car jolted over the uneven road.
“The Stewarts offered to buy the land, but when we refused, things turned ugly. With their influence, the council declared it ‘under-utilized’ and approved it for development. The joke was on them—Bayside flopped after the Ferris wheel packed in.”
“What about the pawnshop?” I asked as the narrow stone road widened into a driveway that sloped toward the cliff’s edge.
“Finn’s family owned that long before the Bayside development. It was part of the original stone cottages that were here.”
Parker’s house sat just before Finn’s, closer to Bayside, but the landscape was designed to provide each residence with privacy. I wrapped my arms around myself, relieved we wouldn’t have to pass Finn’s towering glass windows.
Like Finn’s, Parker’s clifftop mansion had a turf roof and stone-cladfaçade that echoed the earth’s natural contours, allowing the structure to blend harmoniously with the wild landscape.
“The Neptunus Mer bought the house on the hill from the Stewarts, just to spite us, no doubt.” Aranare laughed sharply as he parked the truck in the circular gravel drive.
I flung my door open, eyes scanning the property. The driveway was empty, and the house sat in silence.
I raced to the front door and banged on it. “Skye!”
No answer.
My pulse was pounding as I darted around to the front of the house, where floor-to-ceiling windows framed panoramic views of the churning Atlantic beyond the cliffs. I cupped my hands to the glass, squinting inside, but the open-plan living area and kitchen were empty. That was all I could see.
“Skye!” I pounded on the glass, tears blurring my vision.
“She’s not here.” Aranare put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me from the window.
