One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel

“Oh, Annie, Annie, is he really gone?”


“He is.” The Luidaeg patted the girl’s back with her free hand, and said, “Diva, this is October Daye. She was Connor’s sweetheart.”

Diva straightened, not bothering to wipe her eyes. Tears rolled unashamedly down her cheeks as she studied me. Then she smiled. “You really are a pretty one. He was lucky in the having of you.”

“I was lucky to have him,” I said, and extended my hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Family never meets family,” she said, ignoring my hand. She hugged me instead, with surprising vigor. “Welcome to our home.” Releasing me, she looked back to the Luidaeg, and said, “Come in. Food’s in the kitchen. I’ll tell Mum you’re here.” Then she was gone, vanishing into the halfseen living room. The Luidaeg and I followed her inside, and into chaos.

Purebloods don’t have funerals, but they do have wakes—sedate, structured things, meant to tie off loose ends rather than to allow for public mourning. The Selkies must have missed that memo. Everywhere I looked there were Selkies and Selkies-in-waiting, their children who had yet to inherit a skin of their own. Some of them wept as unreservedly as Diva. Others laughed, or sawed away on their fiddles, filling the air with jigs and reels that had some people dancing, despite the nature of the occasion.

And all of them were thrilled to see the Luidaeg, even as their eyes sorrowfully acknowledged the nature of the bundle in her arms. “Cousin Annie” was apparently a valued member of the family, even if she didn’t visit often enough for most of them. She was stopped a dozen times as she led me toward the back of the room. Each time, she was hugged and welcomed, and each time, she told the ones who’d stopped her who I was, and each time, they told me they were sorry for my loss. They told me Connor was lucky to have had me. I was crying, too, before we reached the stairs . . . but they were good tears, because everyone in this house understood them.

We finally reached the door at the back of the room, and the Luidaeg led me into a narrow hall, where a flight of stairs led to the second floor. She put a hand on the banister, and asked, “Do you understand why we’re here?”

“I think so.” I wiped my cheeks with the back of one hand.

“Good. Come on.”

The sounds of the party fell away as we climbed higher, replaced by the deep, comfortable silence that only old, well-loved homes ever manage to attain. We met Diva at the first landing; she was going down much faster than we were going up, and barely managed to stop herself in time.

“Annie!” She stepped to the side. “Mum’s expecting you. She said October could come, if you thought it was appropriate.”

“I appreciate it, Diva,” said the Luidaeg, and hugged the girl quickly before resuming her ascent. I followed, giving Diva a smile as we passed her. Then the girl was gone, leaving the faint smell of seawater in her wake as she thundered down the stairs.

“Diva’s a good kid,” the Luidaeg said. “Her mother’s a Selkie, and her father’s Roane. They’re still waiting to see which she’ll take after—if it’s him, she won’t need one of the family skins.”

“Oh,” I said, unsure what else was expected of me. “The Roane are . . . they’re pretty rare, aren’t they?”

“Now they are. And Selkies aren’t supposed to mate outside the family. Diva’s mother never cared much for rules. Diva’s father . . . well. He was just glad to have a child at all. When you’re on the verge of extinction, you’ll take what you can get.”

“Oh,” I said again.

The Luidaeg gave me a tolerant look, and kept climbing.