Archie’s jaw twitched. The door slammed shut. The sound echoed down the hall. Neither of them moved, locked together in silence. The tension stretched tight like a wire.
“That’s enough.” Ina clapped her hands once, sharp and final. “Are we ready to go then?”
“I’ll meet you there.” Archie stayed braced against the office door. “I have to head back toThe Wolf’s Denon the way home.”
“What for?” Malachi’s voice rose higher than his brows.
“Paperwork,” Archie winked at him—the gesture a fraction too late, the smile not quite landing.
“Whatever.” Malachi brushed past Ina and headed towards the kitchen. “Ina, I’ll drive.”
“With him driving it’ll be your wake I’ll be attending next.” A wry smile tugged at Archie’s mouth. “I’ll not let Tilly cater.”
Ina caught his arm before he could step away, eyes on Malachi rummaging for her keys in the kitchen. “Where are you really going?”
“Waterfall.” Archie straightened, but his voice wavered.
Ina nodded. The room tilted. For a heartbeat she was back at the waterfall—Rhys’ shoe streaked dark with blood, Archie’s screams tearing through the air and ringing in her ears…
She shut her eyes hard, forcing the memory down. If the Selkie were laying traps for the Wolfendens, the waterfall would be next.
“Already taken care of.” Archie met her eyes, understanding passing clean between them as it always did. He lifted his blazer to show the knife tucked behind his back.
“Be careful.” Ina’s hand tightened on his sleeve. “We’ll see you at the Johnstons.”
“Good luck,” Archie shouted towards the kitchen. “Keep an eye.”
“I always do.” Ina headed into the kitchen as Malachi stormed out. “Don’t slam—” The backdoor crashed shut behind him.
Chapter 13
Malachi
Malachi closed his eyes and breathed in the summer evening air as he walked a few steps ahead of Tilly and Ina towards the car, drawing in the sweetness of Mrs Johnston’s flowers deep into his lungs.
The noise of the wake still rattled inside his head—the scrape of chairs, overlapping voices, the clink of glasses, all stacking on top of one another until it blurred into white noise. Every laugh was too loud. Every condolence too close. His shoulders only dropped once the hubbub was safely behind him.
Inside, the wake was cramped and airless. Too many bodies. Too much sound trapped in too small a space. He’d spent the evening with his back pressed to the wall, counting the minutes until they could leave. The ringing in his ears would take hours to fade.
Funeral customs had their place. But Mrs Johnston had spent most of the night staring at the living-room wall, rising only to shake hands and accept sympathetic platitudes. In rare moments of calm, she dabbed her eyes with a crumpledtissue, holding back the dam of tears that would flood the room if she was alone.
At Rhys’ wake, Malachi had done what he always did—folded himself into a corner with Ally and his cousin, Clare, watching from the edges. It was easier to disappear than speak. He felt a heavy wave of sympathy for Mrs Johnston. The parade of faces, never ending trays of sandwiches and the well-meant words, when she probably wanted nothing more than to draw the curtains and crawl into bed.
He'd been too young to remember Mum’s wake. But Rhys’ had stretched on endlessly, even though it only lasted a couple of days. After the funeral, when everyone finally left, the real grief would come—if Mrs Johnston let it. He wasn’t sure if he ever had. Maybe that’s why the nightmares returned every year like clockwork.
The river. The blue eyes. The moment he froze. Maybe if he finally said it out loud the nightmares would stop.
And now, with the mayor dead from what couldn’t logically be a shark attack, staying silent was no longer an option. Regardless of how Dad would react.
“Why don’t you leave Malachi home, Ina love,” Tilly’s voice echoed around the courtyard. “And then come back to mine for a cuppa?”
Malachi glanced back at Ina and Tilly walking arm-in-arm. Tilly had enjoyed a few whiskies while paying her respects—its effects making her louder than usual. Ina unlocked the car and Malachi slumped into the backseat, whipping off his tie, unable to stand it clawing at his throat for another second.
“The boy will be fine for an hour.” Tilly fell into the passenger seat, almost crushed by her enormous handbag.
Malachi caught Ina’s eye in the rearview mirror and scowled.The boy.It was usually affectionate, buttonight it grated. Dad had already gone. He hadn’t even said goodbye. A silent car ride with him would’ve been preferable to Tilly’s rolling chatter. Ina usually made sure Tilly didn’t drink too much, but she had been working the room with the same untouched glass of whiskey all evening.
Dad had been behaving cagey back at Riverside. The business about the paperwork hadn’t sat right. After spending the morning trying to reconnect, he’d slipped right back into the distance. This was the first time he’d been caught in a lie.
