Page 89 of Bewitched By the Sea Monster
He dropped to a purry growl. “You say my name n-n-nice.Alistairrrrrr.”
A shriek of laughter rocketed out of me.
“Oh dear. There must be another whale d-dying nearby,” Alistair rumbled.
And I wasgone.Laughing until I wheezed. Until my stomach ached and I started crying again. Good tears this time, though. Healing tears. The sort that nourished the soul, rather than drained it.
Alistair murmured to me as I fought off the giggle attack. Nothing to set me off again. Just support, to help me down from my high, and keep me from crashing back into despair.
“You do have a lovely laugh, Pippi.”
Ahhh, there was that word.
Lovely.I’d never hear it the same way again.
I swiped at my sticky eyes. “Thank you. Not for the compliment. Well…I mean…thanks for that too. But double thank you for the goofing. Ireallyneeded that.”
A pulse of joy thrummed through me.
“I’m sorry, I…What you felt. Earlier. I should have…Cun-con-controlled it.” Alistair stumbled over the words. “And not yelled. I’m sorry.”
“Honestly, Alistair, I’m glad you let me feel that. We’ve all got nerves that flare when someone trounces on them. I didn’t know you had a nerve there. I’m sorry.”
“Youcouldn’tknow. When I haven’t told you.”
“I know. And I’d like to fix that. The things we don’t know about each other. I’m not on this island long, so we’re having tospeed run this friendship. But I like you, Alistair. And I’dliketo know you. As much as I can.”
His hope was back, twining its silken chords around my heart. “I’d like that too. And Pippi, I had to th-think. But you wanted to go. Leave. To a f-favorite place. Do you still?”
“Absolutely.”
“I know where to take you.”
We didn’t talk muchas Alistair cut through the sea. Carrying me on his head, even though I had offered to boot myself to his back.
He’d scoffed a gentle, “You’re my favorite hat, Pippi.”
So I’d taken my customary place atop his brow, holding on to his horn—ortryingto, anyway. I shook so hard, my hands kept jittering off it.
Jackson’s probably back now, right? Isn’t last call usually at 2:00 a.m.?Or is that not a thing here?
He’ll worry himself sick when he comes back and finds the cottage empty.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
A soft rumble echoed through Alistair—almost like a purr. Not necessarily one of contentment. More an offer of comfort—a reminder that he was there.
I dug my nails into the coarse texture of his horn.
I’m a terrible person.
Once we left the inlet, and the magic forcing Alistair beneath the surface lifted, he raised his head above the water.But we still didn’t talk.
The rabid waves hissed and snarled, trying to stop our progression, and Alistair plowed right through them, while the fog bore down, thickening to a gummy mist.
Eventually, the waves conceded defeat and flattened themselves into sporadic lumps, but the fog refused to relinquish its hold. It snuffed out my sight and oozed into my lungs like molasses—I couldn’t see anythingbeyond the dark, scaly slope of Alistair’s head.
There was only sound out here, like thewhoosh-sploshingof the water against Alistair’s bulk. His breathing, rhythmic and steady, mixed with my labored wheezing.
