Page 18 of Panther in the Shadows
"I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"No one does." She wraps her arms around herself, suddenly looking smaller. Younger. "Everyone thinks she had a heart attack. Collapsed in the inn while carrying whiskey. But I know. I felt the magic tear her apart when she sealed whatever was trying to break through. And I swore I would never let it take me the same way."
"That's why you've been hiding."
"That's why I healed Eliza and then stepped back. That's why I investigate alone. That's why I can't work with you, no matter how much sense it makes." She meets my eyes. "Becausethe moment I start using my power for more than emergencies, the moment I become known as the sea witch instead of the innkeeper, something will come for me. And it will kill me just like it killed her."
The fear is real. Deep. Rooted in trauma I can't argue away with logic.
"What if you're wrong?" I ask quietly. "What if hiding is what gets you killed? What if whatever took your grandmother is being summoned again, and by refusing to use your power, you're making yourself weaker when you need to be strongest?"
She pales. "You don't know that."
"Don't I?" I pull the research request from my pocket. The one I sent to Amsterdam. "I've been digging into corrupted sea magic. Blood rituals near water. Necromancy. Raising the drowned. And do you know what answers I expect? The same pattern. Someone tries to call back what died in the deep water. A sea witch stops them. But if there's no sea witch to stop it, if the guardian refuses to act, then the dead rise. And when they do, everyone on this island is at risk."
Her hands tremble slightly. "You're just trying to scare me into helping you."
"I'm trying to make you see that not choosing is still a choice. And right now, you're choosing to let people die rather than risk becoming what your grandmother was. A protector. A guardian. Someone who stood between this island and the things that hunt in the dark."
"That's not fair."
"No, it's not. But it's true. And you know it."
Her expression shifts—fear, then determination, then fear again. Then she shakes her head. "I need time. To think. To decide. I can't just agree to this."
Not the answer I wanted, but not an outright refusal either.
"How much time?"
"I don't know. A few days. A week."
"We don't have a week." Moving toward the door. "The bodies are piling up faster. The magic is getting stronger. But I won't force you. That's not how I work."
She blinks, surprised. "You're just leaving?"
"For now." Pausing at the door. Looking back at her standing there in the firelight, looking small and alone and terrified. "But understand this, Moira Flynn. The next body could be tomorrow. Could be tonight. And if you're not ready to use your power when it matters, if you're still hiding when the moment comes that you need to act, then your grandmother died for nothing."
"Get out." Shaking with fury. With fear. With recognition of truth she doesn't want to face. "Get out of my inn."
"I'm going." Shadows gathering, ready to slip back into the darkness. "But think about what I said. Because the next time someone leaves blood on your doorstep, it might not be a warning. It might be an execution."
Reaching for the door handle, then stopping as I catch her reflection in the window glass. She's standing there, rigid, her hands clenched at her sides. Her breathing uneven.
And the water in the glass on the bar behind her is moving. Swirling in a pattern that has nothing to do with physics and everything to do with magic responding to emotion.
Turning back slowly, deliberately. Letting her see me noticing. "You're losing control."
Her gaze snaps to the glass. Sees the water spiraling like a tiny whirlpool. She pales, and she forces the water still through sheer will. Dead calm. As if it was never moving at all.
But I saw it. And she knows I saw it.
"The magic wants out." Quietly. Not mocking. Just observing. "The more you suppress it, the more it fights back. Eventually, it will break free whether you want it to or not. Betterto learn control now than wait for it to happen at the worst possible moment."
"I have control." But her voice wavers.
"Do you?" I gesture at the glass. "That happened because I made you angry. What happens when you're terrified? When someone attacks and you can't think clearly? When the corrupted magic comes for you and your power explodes without training, without focus, without your grandmother here to teach you how to channel it?"
She wraps her arms tighter around herself. Says nothing.
