“Jeff?” Malachi spun, scanning the water. His chest tightened. He sucked in another breath, ready to dive again—and then the sound changed.
The siren melted away into a single, long howl. Low and steady. It wasn’t for everyone—only for him.
The sound rolled across the bay, familiar in a way that made his skin prickle. Something inside him leaned towards it.
Ally scrambled to his feet and reached to him, eyes wide with fear. “Where’s Jeff?” he choked back tears. “I can’t see him.”
Malachi took his hand and hauled himself back onto the wall, scanning the cliffs, the car park and the fields beyond. Jeff’s car sat alone, crooked across the lines.
The howl came again. Closer.
“Jeff?” heshouted at the sea. Water churned below. A head burst from the surface.
Relief hit so hard it nearly knocked Malachi to his knees. Ally was trying to shake water out of his phone, his fingers trembling.
“Help!” Jeff spluttered, barely keeping himself afloat.
The howling rose again—louder now. Urgent. Warning or signal, Malachi didn’t know. A strange sensation rose within him, as if he wanted to call back.
He shoved Ally behind him and leaned over the wall, reaching down. “Grab my hand.”
Jeff lunged. His fingernails dug into Malachi as their hands locked. The howling echoed in Malachi’s ears. Jeff’s eyes were golden, burning bright as they glared at him. Malachi flinched—an instinctive jerk backwards—the movement tearing out of him before he knew why. His grip slipped, but Jeff’s tightened painfully around his wrist.
“You should’ve left while you had the chance,” Jeff snarled, bracing his feet against the wall. He yanked and the world lurched. Understanding crashed into Malachi too late.
Malachi woke with a violent gasp, drenched in sweat, heart hammering against his bruised ribs. His phone screamed beside him on the bed, the alarm blaring into the dark. Morning light crept through the curtains. The howling lingered, as if it never quite belonged to the dream.
Chapter 21
Archie
Archie yawned until his jaw ached, the sound bellowing out of him. The air sat heavy in his lungs, stale and unmoving, as if Riverside itself had decided to hold its breath. Time dragged, each minute stretching thin. His fingers flexed and unflexed. The itch under his skin had started, the kind that never stayed harmless for too long.
By the time the clock ticked past eleven, he couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed his keys, got in the car. A lap of the ring road around Latharna would kill an hour. Anything to escape the quiet hollow of the kitchen.
Ina was working out in the Hideaway, so that was out of bounds. Not even the Selkie could keep her from training. Malachi was still in his room, hopefully asleep. Archie’s hand hovered near his door more than once, fingers twitching, before he forced himself to step away. Malachi needed rest. Tonight would take enough from him.
Cold air blasted against his face, snapping his thoughts into something sharper. Gravel skidded under his tyres ashe pulled into the church car park, jolting him back to reality. If asked, he wouldn’t have been able to explain how he got there—or why he came.
The car park was empty. The church doors were shut, heavy oak against pale weathered stone. Archie stepped out of the car, the airless heat was almost suffocating after the sharp coolness of the air conditioning. Nearby, the shallow river babbled downstream, barely more than a whisper as it ran past the edge of the grounds.
He checked the knife hidden at the small of his back—habit more than fear—and wandered towards the wooden bridge at the Glynn, a small village of old houses surrounding the church. The bridge sagged across the narrow river, its boards warped and cracked with age. Moss crept along the railings, slick where generations of damp had settled in. The planks cracked beneath his weight, bowing with each step, as though protesting his presence.
Below, the river crawled sluggishly over stone, starved by weeks without rain. Too shallow and exposed for the Selkie. They wouldn’t risk it here, not without a clear escape route.
The breeze brushed his face, easing some of the tension coiled in his shoulders. He scanned the river once more, then let his shoulders drop a fraction. No ripples or movement. Nothing watching back. Archie turned away from the water and pushed through the rusted iron gate into the graveyard. The area was safe.
He wandered without hurry, reading the names on old gravestones as he went. Many were cracked or sinking, names eroded by time and neglect. Families who once tended them had either died out or moved on. Even the flower society who tended older graves had stopped coming regularly. Another tradition on the edge of extinction.
He passed the church itself and felt the familiar tug in his chest. This was where he’d married Heather. The irony of their church wedding still stung. The Wolfendens weren’t churchgoers and Heather certainly wasn’t. Ina used to joke he was the first of their line to stand at an altar, and Archie had never doubted it. Heather wanted something human. Something ordinary. White dress, stone walls, hymns she didn’t believe in—anything that didn’t look like where she’d come from.
He followed the overgrown path towards the newer graves on the far side of the cemetery. The sleek black headstones glistered in the morning sun, while carved angels crumbled into ruins behind them. The further he went, the quieter it became. Traffic thinned to nothing. His feet sank into thick mossy grass. Leaves rusted overhead as birds, hidden safely in their branches, sang odes to the sun.
He paused, listening. The graveyard would be unsettling at night. Daylight softened the place, but Archie knew better than to trust that. Silence was different in the dark.
He stopped, turned once, then again. The paths blurred together. His jaw tightened; he wasn’t sure which direction to go. It had been too long. After a few wrong turns, he found her. Heather’s headstone was smooth and oval, jet-black and devoid of any distinguishable features. The plot was neglected, save for a small vase of faded plastic bluebells—Ina’s doing no doubt.
He should’ve brought something, but he didn’t know he was even coming until he’d turned into the laneway.
