Under His Skin (6 page)

His brother was waiting for him in the cove. When Brec entered the cave, his brother slipped off his fur. The strained look of hope on Micah’s face was almost physically painful for Brec to look at. It said more than words what fate waited for a selkie with no fur. His brother was trying to put on a positive expression, but Brec could see the fear underneath. He clutched his hope to him and jogged up to his brother.

“I think I know who took my skin.”

Micah’s eyes flashed and his mouth tightened in a grim line. “Give me a name.”

Cold determination gripped Brec’s chest and he shook his head. He’d had plenty of time to think about the situation on his way back to the shore and one thought had become perfectly clear.

“It’s my skin, Micah. I’ll be the one to get it back.” The muscle in his jaw twitched as he struggled not to clench his teeth. “I’ll be the one to punish the thief.”

Micah pressed his lips together, staring hard at his brother’s face. Brec didn’t need to read his mind to know what he was thinking. This situation clearly fell under the jurisdiction of the warriors. The days when a selkie’s kin waited passively in the water for their own to return to them after having his skin stolen were gone. Now any human who stole a skin in the hopes of getting an attractive spouse to have children and live happily ever after with could look forward to a visit from that selkie’s brethren. He thought of the rifle Micah had just purchased. The victims were armed now.

He knew his brother could order him to give up the name—could take the matter completely out of Brec’s hands. Tension sang in Brec’s shoulders and his emotions tumbled violently in his head. What would he do if his brother wouldn’t let him handle this? It would take him forever to find Ana on his own without his brother’s help. Frustration bit at his gut. Still, he couldn’t just stand back and let Micah handle the whole thing either. It was his skin, dammit. He should be the one to get it back.

Micah let out a deep breath and Brec tensed even further.

“What do you need from me?” Micah asked simply.

Relief crashed over him, washing the tension from his body for one glorious moment before the reality of his situation seized him all over again. Micah’s acquiescence to his wish couldn’t completely overcome the panic and anger over the theft of his skin, but it helped.

“I need you to organize a search party. I’m looking for a home along the shore with no houses for at least a mile on either side. There may be a wreath made of dried herbs hanging on her door. A woman lives there alone. She has white-blonde hair just past her
shoulders,
she’s about five foot eight, maybe five-foot nine.”

“Anything else?”

“Unfortunately, no.”
Frustrated, Brec raked a hand through his hair. Now that he said it all out loud, the information he had sounded weak and pathetic. “It’s not much to go on, is it?”

Micah clapped a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s plenty. We’ll find this woman and before you know it you’ll be beneath the waves where you belong.”

Brec’s throat constricted as his brother began to slip his seal-skin back over his shoulders. “Where do I stay until then,” he whispered, not even ashamed when the threat of tears burned behind his eyes. For someone who may have just lost his entire world, he thought he was holding up very well.

His brother enveloped him in a fierce hug and Brec took the comfort he offered. His older brother may have a twisted idea of what was best for him, but when it really counted Brec knew he would always be there. He buried his face in his brother’s neck, inhaling the scent of the sea mixed with the familiar musk of seal.
What am I going to do if I can never go back?

Fear and overwhelming despair crashed over him, mercilessly pounding down on his spirit. He tightened his hold on his brother. Micah held onto him, offering him the strength and support he needed to keep from falling to the ground under the weight of his circumstances. Brec squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the tears back as he struggled to pull himself back together. He had to stay calm. His brother was giving him a chance to handle this and he had to show him he was up to the task. With one last squeeze to let his brother know how much he appreciated him, Brec pulled away.

When he finally looked at Micah’s face, his brother’s countenance was full of the confidence every warrior seemed to wear when going into battle. For the first time Brec could remember, that expression inspired gratitude in him instead of jealousy.

“Give us an hour,” Micah said briskly. “Cruise the shops. Use your skills to help people if you can.
Manannan
helps those who help his people, building a little good will may help us.” His gaze softened. “If we don’t find her in an hour, you need to find an inn to spend the night. There are some pearls in my chest, you can sell them to the jeweler next to Mrs. Downing’s shop and use that money for room and board.”

Because if you stay outside in human form you’ll freeze to death.
The words hung unspoken in the air, but the weight of them still sat heavily on Brec’s lungs. The thought of spending the night on land, far from Orkney the selkies underwater home, made the human skin he wore feel uncomfortably tight. He fought to keep his composure as he followed his brother to the shore, but the closer it came to the time his brother would return to the water without him, the harder it was to breathe. As always, his brother seemed to know how he was feeling. He gave him a fierce hug and then, like ripping off a Band-Aid, threw on his seal skin as he ran toward the water. By the time he hit the surface he was a seal again.

Brec’s body jerked as his brother dove under the water. The instinct to run after him was so strong it brought a gasp from his throat. He raised his arm slightly, as if he would dive into the sea in his human body and just pray for his seal skin to magically return. For a second, he hovered there, not able to move forward and not able to stand down.
Stuck between water and land.

When the moment finally passed, his body sagged with the weight of reality. He
couldn’t
 
go
back to the water. Not yet. Clenching his jaw, he fought back the tears as he started the walk back to the shops with a heavy heart. His entire body ached as if it knew something was wrong. Suddenly his human form had become painful. He clutched the bag of herbs tightly in his hand, mentally going over what he had and who he would be able to help. Micah was right, he needed all the help he could get and if he focused on the problems of others for awhile, maybe the gods would take pity on him. He sent a short prayer to
Manannan
, begging the sea god to have mercy and give him back his skin.

It turned out good intentions didn’t hold up well under mind-numbing fear and the overwhelming weight of depression. By the time he’d walked from the
shore
of
Chikloot
Inlet to the main street of Haines, the bag of herbs hung limply in his grasp. All thoughts of helping others took a backseat to a horrifying parade of doubts.

What if Micah couldn’t find Ana? What if she destroyed his skin, or lost it? He stumbled, almost falling to his knees on the icy sidewalk. What if Ana wasn’t the one who had stolen his fur and the real thief had vanished without leaving any clues behind?

“Brec, are you all right?”

Brec stared up at the man standing beside him, barely able to see him through the haze of his own misery. The face looked familiar . . . Bob?

“I’m fine,” he nodded, shoving himself back to his feet. “Thank you, I’m fine.”

“Just goes to show that no matter how long you live here, Mother Nature can still knock you on your ass if she wants to, eh?’

Brec struggled to pull his lips into a smile, forcing a short laugh. “That’s the truth,” he agreed weakly.

‘Bob’ smiled at him and gave a little wave as he walked away. Brec watched him go. Bob was a human. Had always been a human. He didn’t know what it was like to cut through the water like a knife, swirling along with the currents in a dance only the sea could move to. He didn’t know the joy of finding treasures buried in the sand, pearls and baubles dropped by careless tourists. Brec’s throat tightened. He didn’t know what he was missing.

He walked around town like a zombie, barely able to keep his gaze from wandering back to the sea. He couldn’t even bring himself to go into the shops, not wanting to be closed off anymore than he had to from the water. He tried to keep an eye out for people to help, but he couldn’t. It was impossible to tear his mind from the waiting, from the thoughts of what would happen to him if his people couldn’t find Ana.

And if she’s not the one who stole your skin?

The thought attacked him for the second time, but it didn’t faze him. He knew with a ridiculous certainty that she had taken it. Once the idea had occurred to him, he had wrapped his hope around it, fed the flame with every ounce of his energy. As long as she was the one who took his skin, there was hope that he would find her and get it back. She took his skin. He would find her. He would get it back.

Misery kept his attention so wrapped up in thoughts of his
skin,
he didn’t see Mrs. Downing until he nearly ran her down. Her keys hit the ground in a cacophony of metal and she gasped as she whirled to face him.

“Why, Brec, you nearly scared me half to death!”

Startled and a little embarrassed at his lack of attention, Brec just stood there as she bent down to retrieve her keys. It just figured that his autopilot would have him wandering back to her shop. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Downing. I was lost in my thoughts and I guess I didn’t see you.”

“Are you shivering?”

The way her voice went up and her eyes widened sent a flash of confusion over Brec’s panic-riddled thoughts. Was he shivering?

Mrs. Downing stared at him with a look akin to horror on her face. She reached out and patted at his coat. Brec jerked and tried to raise his hands from his pockets to ward her off, but when he tried to move his arms he found they only jerked up an inch or so. A dull pain settled over his body as it protested the sudden movement.

“You’re half-frozen,” Mrs. Downing said sternly. “How long have you been walking around out here?”

He gritted his teeth as he wrenched his hands out of his pockets, moving his arms to get the blood flowing again. Now that she’d pointed it out, he could feel his body shivering. His skin practically crackled with the cold.

“I’m just waiting for my brother.” Brec almost panicked at the sound of his voice. His teeth chattered so that every word trembled and his breath hitched between syllables. It was as if now that it had been pointed out to him that he was freezing, his body couldn’t panic fast enough. He’d never stayed in human form this long out in the cold.

Human forms are worthless,
he hissed to himself.

His drop in body temperature must have taken hold of his senses because before he knew it, Mrs. Downing was dragging him along behind her.

“My house is just up this way a bit. You are coming home with me, young man, and you’re going to have some hot soup and thaw out!”

Young man?
I’m ninety-two. In human years, I’m ancient.
He wanted to argue with her, but he couldn’t bear to hear the horrible chattering thing his voice had become. And besides, it was getting more difficult to move this miserable bag of flesh humans called a body. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Mrs. Downing was probably right. Hot soup and a warm chair to sit in was probably exactly what this miserable body needed.

The
Downings
lived in a pleasant little house just a few blocks away from the main street and its lines of shops. The pale blue paint and little white shutters couldn’t have looked
more homey
if they’d been surrounded by a white picket fence. And they were.

Mr. Downing didn’t seem the least bit surprised as his wife dragged Brec through the door. He was a large rambling man, nearly as tall as Brec. He had a kind face wrinkled by years of laughter and a head of silver hair. Brec mused that Mrs. Downing had likely played a part in every one of those frosted strands. He tilted his head, wincing at the cracking sound from his neck. He wondered idly how many of the laugh lines had been Mrs. Downing’s doing as
well?

“Come to join us for dinner, lad?”

Brec opened his mouth to respond, but Mrs. Downing cut him off.

“This young man is near-frozen to death! Get a blanket, George, and throw some more wood on that fire!”