Page 3 of The Otherworld

“Orca?” Papa’s warm, mahogany voice calls from the kitchen. “Is that you?”

I pat Lucius’s head as I climb to my feet. “Come on, boy. Let’s go.”

Papa’s eyes light up when I step into the kitchen. “Happy birthday, my sweet girl.”

I dash across the room and pull him into a hug. “The carving is beautiful. Thank you, Papa.”

He murmurs a humble laugh against the crown of my head. “I’m glad you like it, Orca.”

“I love it.”

Reaching over the sink, I push open the window and invite the morning breeze inside. Beyond the window, a knoll of soft young grass slopes down to the land’s end where massive, craggy rocks meet the sea. My gaze follows a pathway of golden sunlight glittering on the high tide like crushed diamonds. Waves crash, and seagulls cry.

Our world carries on, ever the same.

But today is different.

The aroma of chamomile and lavender fills the kitchen as Papa strains freshly steeped tea into two ceramic mugs for us. A sickle of morning light crests the side of his face, contrasting with the scruffy, salt-and-pepper beard that lines his jaw. Steam curls around his weathered hands as he pours the tea, his gray eyes solemn and thoughtful.

“Everything feels so much more alive now that I’m eighteen,” I begin, sitting in my usual spot at the table and settling my chin on my fist. “I almost feel like a new person. Older. Wiser.”

“Mm,” Papa murmurs, taking a seat at the other end of the table. “I’m glad to hear it…” But his voice could no more be described as glad than a rainy day could be considered cheerful.

“Papa? Is everything all right?”

His somber eyes meet mine. “I hope so, Orca.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s just… I received a phone call yesterday.”

“A phone call?”

The satellite phone is our only connection to the Otherworld, and I’ve never used it myself. Papa has always told me that the phone is not a plaything and should be reserved for emergencies if we need to reach the coast guard.

Or, in this case, when the coast guard needs to reach us.

“They’ve summoned me to the mainland,” Papa says quickly, as if the words sting and he needs to get them out in a hurry.

“The mainland,” I echo, a thrill of hope awakening in my chest.

The Otherworld.

“Why?”

Papa draws a deep breath and stares into his mug of tea. “It seems there are some changes to be made around here.”

“What sort of changes?”

“Modernization,” Papa says with a sigh. “All the lighthouses across the country have been fully automated for years now. Ours is the only one that hasn’t been converted to the new system.”

“What’s the new system?”

“One without lightkeepers.”

I frown. “But how is that possible?”

“Technology has changed a great deal since the last light was installed in the sixties. The new lanterns they make now can be controlled remotely by the coast guard. There’s no longer any need for a middleman.”

---