Page 161 of A Winding Wave of Magic
“Caomhán’s just joking,” he said. “He’s a good man. We’ve known him all his poor life.”
Caomhán just moved his shoulders up and down and tossed a lock of straight black hair that fell into his face.
The thump of the sandwiches on the bar top interrupted us. I paid Phelan and left the pub with a farewell to him and Jock, whom I’d be seeing the next day in class.
“Oi, girl! Wait, will you?”
A few strides from the pub, I turned to find Caomhán striding after me, sandwich in hand. The soles of his black boots slapped the pavement.
“What do you want?” I asked. “Is the fish bad, too?”
Another grin broke through those sharp features, but he quickly reined it in and stuck out his other hand instead. “Let’s start over, shall we?”
I stared at his hand, not particularly eager to see the interior workings of a man who seemed so interested in making me a fool.
“I’ll not play you for a fool again,” he said, as if reading my mind. “Cassandra.”
For a moment, I wondered if he might be a seer, but decided against it when I felt none of the telltale pressure of someone trying to read my mind. Tentatively, I placed my hand in his. Almost instantly I could feel the familiar trickle of water and a deep hankering for fish flowing through his…flipper?
“Youarea shifter,” I said, yanking my hand back and cradling it like a wounded paw. “A seal.” There was something very uncomfortable about his grasp. Like it would lead to a path deep inside myself where animal urges and instincts threatened to swallow the rest of me up.
“I am, of course,” he said evenly, as if I’d just pointed out he had black hair. “And you’re a seer. What of it?”
I balked. “You knew?”
“Of course, I knew. You fair reek of it.”
I wrinkled my nose, trying to figure out just what it was about me that smelled so distinctly seer-like. “They told me to watchout for people like you. They didn’t say it was because you’re annoying enough to drive a person crazy.”
“I apologized for the beer, didn’t I? A man can’t help but want a bit of fun.”
Caomhán fell into stride alongside me as I walked toward the end of the village, where the primary school stood amidst a cluster of other cottages. I still had a bit of time before the girls finished, so I decided to visit the nearby ruins of a medieval church, which was really just four stone walls sunken into a grass-covered knoll that almost seemed to have grown around them. It was a place where many on the island came for a bit of quiet. Unlikely with the man trailing me.
“Do you mind?” I asked over my shoulder. “This isn’t exactly the kind of place where jokes are appropriate.”
Caomhán loped beside me and kept his stride even with mine. “I’ve as much a right to visit me namesake as you have. No more jokes, I promise.” He held up both hands in surrender. His voice, though still full of humor, carried enough sincerity that I said nothing and continued up the hill with him.
“Your namesake, huh?” I asked as we reached the ruins and stepped into the shade provided by the sunken church.
The air was cooler down here, and the grass grew lush and thick, protected from harsh sea winds and benefiting from consistent care by the islands’ residents. I sat down on a rock and took out my sandwich.
Caomhán began unwrapping his too. “Sea, me gran was a great one for church. She used to come to this one almost every day when we lived here. Said she felt the Holy Spirit, so my mother named me after this place.” He shrugged. “It’s a bit much to be named after a saint. Maybe that’s why I try so hard not to be one.”
I nodded, knowing something about the pressures of a namesake. “So you did grow up here, then?”
“In that wee house over there.” He pointed to a cluster of small white houses. “Just haven’t been back for some time.”
“Does your grandmother still live there?”
He shook his head. “No, she’s been dead these past ten years.”
“And your parents? Do either of them still live here?”
“Myfatheris a miserable cunt. Left me mam before I was born, and she’s gone too. I’ve never met him.”
“My family is gone too,” I offered.
We fell quiet, munching our sandwiches and listening to the sounds of thrushes playing around the fallen church. I knew something of that kind of loss, the sort that made you want to stay away from a place. As much as I loved Oregon, it would be a good long while before I’d venture back.
