Fear flooded her veins, and suddenly she was acutely aware of how long she’d been gone. No one knew where she was—in Mapleville or in Longmill. She was out here naked, wet and alone.
A shiver crawled down her spine.
Greta started swimming quickly toward the shore to retrieve her clothes.
Below her, the shadow followed.
She cut her arms into the water, propelling herself faster. All the while, the shape kept the same pace.
Then, without warning, it surged ahead.
The tip of a grey triangle pierced the surface, small at first, then rising higher. Until Greta could see it was a dorsal fin.
For a moment, she forgot how to use her limbs. She stopped swimming, staring at it in disbelief.
That can’t be real.
But then she glimpsed a set of red gills against grey, like the slashes of a knife. A black soulless eye was as dark as a deep well.
A shark.
Panic gripped Greta’s chest. She screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the roar of the waterfall.
Thrashing forward, she clawed her way toward the rocks. She fixed her eyes on her dress and shoes, but they seemed to recede out of reach. All her energy was draining away, her legs as heavy as iron.
She twisted quickly, glancing behind her.
The fin was closing in. And then it turned, swiftly veering so it was now coming straight at her.
The shark’s head broke the surface, its jaws stretching wide. Rows of razor-sharp teeth glinted. It came so close, Greta could smell rancid fish on its breath.
She opened her mouth to scream again. ‘Please—no!’
The jagged teeth rushed toward her, the dark hollow of a mouth threatening to swallow her whole.
And then . . .
Nothing.
Chapter 24
GRETA’S CHEST HEAVEDas she coughed and spluttered. Her breath came in laboured rasps. The air around her felt too thin, hard to draw in.
She scrabbled to grab hold of something. Anything to anchor herself. Managing to grip something hard and square, a table, she spun her head frantically, looking for the shark.
It took a few moments to realise she was back in Iris’s coffee shop. Her jeans were damp with sweat, and her armpits prickled from dread. When she blinked, she could still see pointed teeth gleaming.
There was something tight around her neck, making her choke. Greta reached up to release the pressure. With a yank, she felt her necklace snap in her hand.
Pearls spilled through her fingers, bouncing across the table. They scattered across the floor, as if trying to escape.
Greta gasped and dropped down, her knees buckling after sitting still. She scrambled to gather the pearls together, her fingers clumsy and uncooperative. One pearl rolled under a nearby table, and she stretched out her arm, reaching for it repeatedly before giving up.
She collected what she could, carefully releasing them on the table and pushing them into a small pile.
A rhythmic grinding sound gradually drew her attention.
Behind the counter, Iris stood working her mortar and pestle, her movements as calm and methodical as always. She occasionally flicked icy glances at Greta, as though she’d been waiting for her.
