Ashes on the Waves (35 page)

And neither the angels in Heaven above,

Nor the demons down under the sea,

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

—Edgar Allan Poe,
from “Annabel Lee,” 1849

E
ven in death, Anna was beautiful—her perfect flawless skin so pale, offset by her raven black hair. Long lashes fanned over her cheeks and a serene, almost-pleasant expression graced her features. My Anna. Forever.

I stared up at the fierce Celtic god of the ocean as he looked down on me with pity. There was nothing he could do, he told Muireann. I had expected as much. Why would the Otherworld give me relief when the human world would not?

<1">Poor Muireann wept and ran to him atop his great stallion. She reached up and pulled on the edge of his kilt. “My life for hers,” she said. “I know it can be done. I’ve heard of your generosity in this regard. I will gladly die to restore her life.”

There was no room in me for more pain. Numb, I hugged Anna’s cold body tighter, unable to even conjure coherent thought.

“Why would you do such a thing?” he asked.

“Because I love him.”

He dismounted and took her face in his hands. “Sweet child,” he said, wiping a tear away with his thumb. “Were she of the Otherworld, I could do such a thing. But she is human, and therefore I cannot.”

“They are bonded,” she said. “Otherworldly bonds.”

He smiled. “Then they will be together. She waits for him just on the other side. She will continue to wait until he comes to join her. My power isn’t needed.”

With that, he swung his leg over his horse and galloped out over the surface of the water, disappearing in a bolt of lightning.

Muireann sank to her knees in front of me, fiddling with the sash on the bathrobe.

She had been willing to die for me. For Anna.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Human tears burn the eyes,” she said, brushing hers away. “It’s a good thing you have hands to wipe them off. I suppose I’ll have to get used to it since I’m stuck this way.”

Something caught my eye over the water where the horizon would be when the sun rose. Just a flicker of light, then it was gone.

“You aren’t stuck,” I told her, shifting Anna off my lap and setting her head down gently. Again, a fleck of light glittered on the horizon momentarily.

“But Brigid Ronan took my pelt.”

“My mother’s pelt is in the mansion. It’s stuffed inside a needlepoint chair in the library. The room with all the books.” The light seemed closer and brighter this time. I stood and squinted to bring it into focus. It vanished.

“What is it?” Muireann asked, staring up at me.

“It’s . . .” I held my breath and waited for it to reappear.

“Liam.” It was a whisper, just as faint and fleeting as the light over the water had been.

Surely this was madness. I stared down at Anna’s lifeless body.

“Liam,” her voice whispered again. It came from the direction of the sea.

I ran several steps toward the water. “Anna!” I called.

The sun had just begun to define the horizon. Halfway between the water’s edge and morning’s fuzzy white line was a silver form just over the water. It was too far away to make out. “Anna,” I called again.

Muireann joined me. “What is it?” she asked.

I pointed to the form that was getting closer to us. “Just there on the water. A light. Do you see it?”

She shook her head. “No.”

As it got closer, I could make out its form, but not the face. It was a girl, sheer and shimmery and gauzy like the material of Anna’s silver dress.

“Liam.”

And she spoke with Anna’s voice.

My heart hammered and I gasped for breath. “It’s her! Don’t
you see her?”

“It’s Anna?” Muireann asked.

Anna’s face came into view as she hovered maybe fifty feet out from shore. She held her arms out toward me. “Liam,” she said. “Forever.”

“You don’t see her? Hear her?” I asked, stumbling to the waterline.

Muireann answered, but I only heard Anna’s voice calling my name.

I waded into the water toward Anna’s open arms, ignoring the cold seeping into my legs from the frigid Atlantic Ocean.

Anna smiled and my heart soared.

“Liam. I love you,” her beautiful voice whispered.

“Anna,” I called.

“Yes, Liam,” she said. “I want you forever.”

Forever. I closed my eyes.

“You are almost here,” she said. It sounded as though she were right next to me.

And all at once, the water became warm. So very warm. I felt buoyant. As light as air.

“Love makes you feel as though you can fly,” she whispered. “Fly with me, Liam.”

I opened my eyes to see her lovely face as she enveloped me in her arms.

“Forever,” I said as the sun broke over the horizon.

“Forever,” she whispered as her lips met mine.

Acknowledgments

T
he work of Edgar Allan Poe has affected and fascinated me since I first read “The Tell-Tale Heart” in elementary school language arts. It has been a delight and honor to work on a book based on “Annabel Lee,” one of the most hauntingly beautiful poems I have ever read. That said, I wish to thank Edgar Allan Poe, first and foremost, for his overwhelming genius and contribution to literature.

I also would like to thank my agent, Ammi-Joan Paquette, and the crew at Erin Murphy Literary Agency for seeing through my BS and believing in me. Those unscheduled phone calls? You know you love them, Joan.

The professionalism and talent at Philomel blew me away again. Love to Jill Santopolo for the props when I needed them most and for the excellent advice and guidance. Thank you to Julia Johnson and Karen Taschek for making my work shine and to Linda McCarthy and Amy Wu for making the book beautiful.

When the “winged seraphs of heaven” and the “demons of the sea” needed an Otherworldly incarnation, Robert Cremins stepped in to help me discover their identities. Thank you for the time spent discussing things Celtic over lattes, Robert.

Love and gratitude to Kari Olson, YA guru and speed-reader extraordinaire, for her keen eye and excellent input—also for her nagging and harping at me to send the next chapter. Put the taser away, Kari. As you can see, I finished it.

I’m grateful for the expertise and time shared with me by Victoria Scott, Lindsay Marsh, Heather Dyer, and Patrick MacDonald. You guys are the best!

And of course, gratitude beyond words to my husband, Laine, and my kids, Hannah, Emily, and Robert, for putting up with my brooding and angst. Sunshine and bunnies in the n"-1">Andext one, I promise.