Page 115 of Bewitched By the Sea Monster
“Be careful, Onyx,” I say, “with whoever you’ve chosen to work with. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
And I mean that.
I am angry. But I have no hate in my heart, even for the one who damned me.
She stands then, agitated and restless. “Does your new love ken? What ye’ve done?”
“I’ve told her what I am able to,” I say. “The parts and words I can remember.”
“Ach, well, could be she thinks yer a bleedin’ heart that needs her mendin’, eh? A pity project for her to nurse while she rebounds from that sodden headed oaf she’s?—”
“That’s enough.” I am gentle, but firm in saying this. “Pippi has nothing to do with our fight.”
“But ye’ll put her in the middle of it anyway, eh?”
“She is leaving at the end of the week. And I’ll be alone again. If you find yourself getting irritated with her, focus onhow devastated I’ll be when she’s gone. That should cheer you up again.”
Onyx places her hands upon her hips and stares down at me, contemplating.
The magic she’s used to clear my head is fading. Slowly. Words haven’t begun to slip, but my brain grows sluggish. Soon, I’ll have only the fog again. And the feelings. And the few words I manage to cling to.
I try not to despair at that. But I do.
“You know,” Onyx says, “I dunna think it matters.”
“What doesn’t?”
“What happened to that ship. You coulda handed me sharp proof that it was not yer doin’. That ‘twas a beast from the sea that killed me sister, not yer negligence. And it wouldna mattered. Because she’d still be dead, and ye livin’. And I’d still hate ye for it. Now I’ve a ship to catch.”She turns, preparing to climb back up the cliff. “Be careful with that sweet little Sensitive of yers, Alistair.”
Jacksondespisedmy outfit.
When I’d emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a billowy rainbow blouse, tucked into a hot pink skirt, he’dscowled. And I’d glared back, daring him to say something.
He hadn’t.
But, goodness, I’d gotten some seething looks.
Even as we waited in the queue to board the ship, Jackson’s eyes burnedinto me. And quivers of rage zapped my belly—hisrage. The sort of anger that made you itch to grab someone and shake them until they yelled in pain.
It was violent. And soextreme.
I gnawed on the inside of my cheek and forced myself to look anywhere but athim.
The problem?
In avoiding Jackson, I kept seeing Alistair.
The boat tour was the premier activity on Niverwick Isle, since it got you up close and personal with the doofus dino (a.k.a.: their Loch Ness Monster; a.k.a.: Alistair). And they showcased himeverywhere.
The odd, squiggly-shaped building called Misty Mages, which hosted both the tour departuresanda dive bar, was painted a deep cerulean. Moss dangled from the gabled roof, andcraggy, coral-colored stones bracketed the doors and windows. It was very obviously meant to look like the sea—especially with the way the one-story building curved in a loose wave around the docks—although it was far prettier than the actual ocean around Niverwick.
Inside the building, peppering the glossy lapis walls, were dozens of small, cartoon-y pictures of Alistair. All of them depicted him as a wild-eyed monster who savagely hunted the other beasts of the sea. They were all PG images, no blood or gore. Cartoon Alistair was just snarling viciously at whales and sharks and monster squids. But a grim black-and-white portrait of him cleaving a ship in half hung above the black marble table, where we all penciled our signatures on a waiver, agreeing to not sue Niverwick Isle, should the dreaded sea beast wreck our ship.
A little girl had bawled upon seeing that portrait.
I understood her fear.
Oh, stars, did I understand.
