Page 17

Cathy

I haven’t been to the beach in ages. Too crowded, and there’s nowhere to run if I need to mourn, except into the ocean, of course, but families on vacation tend to frown upon girls standing in the waves, screaming and weeping.

This time is going to be different. It’s October, not quite as busy along the coast, and the spot where we’re gathering is a remote cottage on a large piece of land owned by friends of the Lintons. I think I’ll be okay here. I think I can relax and have some fun.

One time, I suggested to Dad that we move far away, to a cabin in the mountains or somewhere I wouldn’t ever be triggered.

He got mad, told me I didn’t understand anything about his responsibility to the church or to Wicklow.

When he finally quit ranting and I escaped the room, I decided the mountain cabin plan would never work anyway.

I wouldn’t want to be trapped there with him.

Trapped… I feel trapped so often, and it’s glorious to feel free for once. As we crest the dunes and the chilly wind collides with my whole body, I can’t hold in my excitement any longer. I drop the towels and the basket I’m carrying for Edgar, leap out of my flip-flops, and run.

It was hot today, and my bare feet fly over sand still warm from the afternoon sun. I race past a stone firepit surrounded by log benches, over the scattered pebbles and chipped shells, onto the smooth, wave-swept sand, into the cold, curling foam of the surf.

A reckless urgency squirms under my skin, and I shuck off my hoodie and my dress as fast as I can, hurling them onto the dry sand.

I hesitate for a bare second, glancing at the others along the ridge.

They’re walking calmly down the path like adults.

I’ve known most of these people all my life, and I’ve seen them in church countless times, but I wouldn’t call any of them friends.

They know me, but they don’t understand me—never did, even before my curse manifested.

With a rush of manic liberty, I realize that I don’t care what any of them think.

Wild and windblown, I laugh at them, and then I turn and wade into the sea.

The water is a frozen shock to my system.

My heart rate spikes, my breath catches, and I scream another laugh.

The setting sun glitters on the water, paints it rich orange and deep blue, with highlights of pale yellow.

I stand upright, toes curling into thick, wet sand, and I run my hand through fringes of foam.

This is glorious. This is everything.

Maybe I should feel bad that I’m not helping everyone set up the food and the fire.

But I don’t. I wade deeper, relishing the keen slice of cold water around my shins.

The wind coils through my hair, tosses it around my shoulders, twirls it into a mess of tangled curls.

I wish I were a pirate, standing on the deck of my own ship, headed far, far away from gods and churches and supernatural secrets.

“Cathy!” Linton’s voice, thinned by the breeze.

I turn around.

He’s on the wet sand, smiling nervously at me.

“It’s colder than I thought it would be,” he says.

“You never know this time of year,” I tell him. “It could be worse. Come on in!”

“And freeze my rear off the rest of the night? No thanks.”

I’m about to make a teasing retort when I glimpse a figure behind him, striding forward. Heathcliff’s dark eyes hold mine as he pulls off his black T-shirt. He’s wearing black swim trunks, too, all his tattoos on full display. The wind ruffles his dark hair as he gives me a villainous smirk.

“I’ll take some of that action,” he says.

I knew he might be here, half hoped he would be, but he wasn’t in the big van that left from church. Come to think of it, neither was Isabella. She must have ridden with Heathcliff in his truck.

The thought makes me unreasonably angry. I give him my most ferocious frown, but that only makes him smile wider.

Edgar stares open-mouthed, like a disapproving fish.

“Your sister invited me.” Heathcliff gives Edgar a nod. “I met her right before church last Sunday.” He turns toward the firepit and gives Isabella a wave. She waves back with a bright smile.

Well, she’s obviously smitten.

Edgar clears his throat. “Cool, so…I’ll get the fire going, Cathy. You’re going to be freezing after this. Good thing I brought blankets.”

He trudges back up the beach, throwing another dour glance at Heathcliff over his shoulder.

“Blankets?” Heathcliff murmurs, looking out over the waves. “Who needs blankets when you have body heat?”

“Stop, you heathen. This is a church get-together for singles, not a frat party.”

“Speaking of that—did you do the Greek life thing at college?”

“I went to college online—pretty much the only option for a banshee who might explode into catastrophic grief at any moment.”

“I didn’t go at all, online or in person. Took a few business classes, though. And I watch a lot of videos, workshops and stuff. You can basically get a free business degree on YouTube if you subscribe to the right channels.”

I give him a sidelong look. “You don’t seem like the ‘start your own business’ type.”

“Yeah?” He throws me a glare as he wades deeper. “And what is my type, Earnshaw?”

“Deliveries and odd jobs, with a side of beer-drinking and tailgating.”

“You got me so wrong, girl.” He surges forward, plunges into the waves, and swims away with long, powerful strokes.

I gape at his gleaming, wet back muscles for a moment, and then I follow him in.

We go out until he can barely touch bottom and I’m treading water. The sun is melting into the sea, liquid fire pooling along the horizon. Heathcliff wipes his face with a broad hand and looks at me, his brown eyes honeyed in the golden light, inky lashes beaded with sparkling drops.

He’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen—and the most dangerous.

“You shouldn’t be here.” I raise my voice so he can hear me over the rush of the sea.

“You think I’m here for you ? I’m here for Isabella.”

My chest tightens.

Heathcliff moves closer in the waves, his arms sweeping through the water.

“I’m going to push that flimsy little dress up around her waist and pull down her panties and thumb her clit the way I did yours.

I think she’ll whine so prettily for me.

Then I’m gonna bend her over, wrap all that blond hair around my hand, and fuck her from behind. ”

“Good luck with that.” I force the words out.

He leans closer. “If I thought you had a problem with it, I wouldn’t go there at all.”

“Why should I care who you fuck?” I manage. “I’m planning to seduce Edgar. So looks like we’re both getting laid tonight.”

“Wanna put some money on that?”

“Are you serious?”

“A bet. Who can get a Linton sibling to orgasm first. The stakes…let’s say twenty bucks since you’re poor.”

“You’re no Elon Musk yourself,” I snap. “And you’re on. It’ll be a challenge, though. Our ‘cult,’ as you call it, has one thing in common with literally all the Bible-based religions—purity culture.”

“Yeah, but I’ll bet Edgar has been inside a girl before. Maybe even a guy.” Heathcliff grins. “And Isabella is basically salivating for cock. I can smell her desperation from here.”

“You’re the worst.” I follow his gaze back toward the beach. “But you’ve got a point. Let’s go back. I’m freezing my tits off.”

“Can’t have that.” He swerves, facing the beach again, and we head inland.

Isabella is waiting for us at the edge of the water, skittering backward like a timid bird every time the water glides in and nearly touches her toes. “Here’s a towel, Cliff. You must be freezing.”

As usual, she ignores me and stands on tiptoe to wrap the towel around Heathcliff’s big shoulders.

I can’t help letting my gaze linger on the tanned expanse of his pectorals, dark, damp hair flecking their contours and the valley between them.

Below a prizeworthy set of abs, another swirl of wet, dark hair is plastered to his skin, disappearing below the band of his swim trunks.

Isabella leads him toward the firepit, talking animatedly, while I follow, shivering.

When Heathcliff walks past a tote bag of beach towels, he grabs one and flings it over his shoulder without looking back.

I catch it, gritting my teeth against the clash of gratitude and anger thrumming in my heart.

I take it back. I never wanted him to show up. In fact, he has ruined this for me. I was all set to have a calm, happy, relaxed evening, and then he arrived, with his body and his face and his stupid mouth.

Forget singles night—this feels like high school. Not that I’d know from personal experience, of course—perks of being a lonely, homeschooled banshee. Anyway, a high school party would have beer, and alcohol is notably absent from this gathering. A pity.

Once I’m mostly dry, I put on my dress and hoodie again, and I join the others in a game of beach volleyball, during which Heathcliff seems determined to break either my nose or Edgar’s with the damn ball.

Maybe his brand of supernatural, whatever it is, possesses an extra dose of strength.

Or maybe he’s just trying to sabotage my chances of scoring with Edgar tonight.

If this is a game of chicken, he’s going to be sorry he started it. I’ll fuck Edgar just to prove I can, and if Heathcliff thinks I won’t go through with it, he’s got a nasty surprise coming.

After the game, there’s food—hot dogs and sausages mostly, roasted over the roaring fire.

Isabella is vegan, so she brought a fruit salad and some raw veggies.

Thomas Chaiya brought egg rolls from his mom’s restaurant, which he warms in a pan over the fire.

They’re a little soggy on the outside and chilly on the inside but they’re still damn good.

Our church is disgustingly white and heteronormative, with the exception of a few families. I’ve wondered before how it makes them feel to be part of this freakish Wicklow community. Why do they even stick around?