Page 47 of The Witches Catalogue of Wanderlust Essentials (Natural Magic #2)

Chapter 27

Time and Tide

T wo days had passed since Goldie’s strange encounter with Cosimo. Her conversation with Cosimo haunted her. He’d disappeared before she could demand clarification, leaving behind only cryptic riddles and the hint of centuries-old regret. Two days of questions with no complete answers that made sense to her.

Her mind buzzed with fragments of recovered memories and the bizarre revelation that she was, of all impossible things, a mermaid. The proof was sitting beneath her bed in the film reels. And it was confirmed by her own body’s recent post-seawater transformation. But a century of believing herself human made the truth seem more like a fever dream.

Goldie pushed open the heavy door of the Los Angeles Central Library, stepping out onto the street and into the afternoon heat. The glare of the sun made her sneeze. The scent of dusty old books and disappointment clung to her clothing. She’d gotten more than a few strange looks that morning, and it had taken her a moment to puzzle out why. Her tailored sweater set and sensible rubber-soled leather loafers looked perfectly acceptable to her elderly self. But now it was all wrong. She appeared to be borrowing her country-club bound grandmother’s clothes.

She’d ignored the curious stares and managed to stay on task. But despite hours poring over obscure references to sapphires and cursed gems, hoping to identify the odd necklace taken from the bassinet in her vision, she’d found nothing even remotely similar.

“Another dead end,” Goldie muttered, adjusting her oversized sunglasses.

Locating Burnie had proven equally fruitless. No public records, no property listings, not even a phone number. It was as if her mother’s half-brother hadn’t existed at all. Which, given what she now knew about her own origins, seemed increasingly possible. The Maine property that she recalled so fondly was now the site of a strip mall. The theaters he’d owned showed no records with his name. Who was her uncle, really?

* * *

The ferry ride back to Catalina was mercifully empty, allowing Goldie to sit outside, alone with her thoughts. She closed her eyes, the gentle rocking of the boat and the hum of the motor comforting and familiar. She felt the wind lift her hair and smiled at the gulls that trailed in the boat’s wake. With every wave, the boat crested and conquered, water slapped against the hull, knocking the sides of the boat in a rhythmic greeting. The sound was like music to her ears—a melody in a foreign language that she almost understood. She’d always loved that sound, along with the sound of waves crashing. She’d loved the insistent call of the water despite her alleged allergy.

A lifetime spent avoiding the very element that, it now seemed, was her birthright. More than that. It was part of her life force .

By the time she disembarked at the port in Avalon, evening was settling over the island. Tiny lights flickered on in the pastel houses that crawled up the side of the hill and inside the cabins of boats moored at port. Goldie walked not toward her cottage, but down to the promenade along the shoreline. An unseen force dragged her back to the same beach at the end of the bay where she’d met Cosimo the week before.

The beach was nearly deserted as twilight descended. Only a few workers lingered to finish stacking the lounge chairs beneath a palapa. They joked with one another, discussing their evening plans as they folded the sandwich signs advertising the rental of snorkeling gear.

Goldie kicked off her loafers, feeling the cool pebbled sand between her toes. Then she walked past the far end of the beach, picking her way over the jutting rocks that protected a small colony of jewel-toned tidal pools. Water surged in between the rocks here as the tide came in. She glanced back at the beach, reassuring herself that she was alone. The last worker had packed up and gone for the day.

Cautiously, she edged out toward the water’s edge, creeping along the ledge of a large jutting rock. When she reached the edge, she settled herself there with her feet dangling above the sand and the rushing water below.

“Hello,” she whispered, feeling simultaneously ridiculous and like she was greeting an old friend.

The water surged forward, nearly touching her feet before retreating, as if beckoning her closer. A pelican cried overhead, the sound eerily resembling her name, not Goldie, but the other one. Her real name.

Ondalune .

In the crevice between two rocks beside her, she noticed a large spiral shell, washed clean, polished and bleached white by sun and waves. She picked it up and held it to her ear, not sure what she expected to hear. The usual hollow roaring? The faint echo of her name? For once, she heard neither.

Instead, she heard the refrain of a distant melody, haunting and familiar, though she couldn’t quite place it. She dropped the shell, startled.

“I’m losing my mind,” she murmured, but bent to collect another, smaller shell on a shelf of rock beside her. The same music, slightly louder this time. Tentatively, she stood and picked her way back to the sandy beach, gathering a third shell, and a fourth. Each one was singing the same mysterious tune. Goldie retraced her steps, heading back into town.

The water in the bay before her seemed to glimmer with unnatural iridescence as it reflected the last lingering streaks of pink and orange in the sky. As she made her way past the Casino and back to the promenade, Goldie could still see the bright orange flashes of Garibaldi fish darting through the kelp forest just offshore. But they seemed much clearer than should be possible in the dimming light of twilight. The swaying kelp looked like streamers, welcoming her to a party. Her party.

She thought of the film reels, of the way her skin had shimmered when soaked with seawater, of her youth suddenly restored, and felt something shift. The moon rose overhead, and the tide rushed closer to land, and she realized that the truth, however impossible it seemed, was undeniable. Something within her had awakened, and it would not be ignored any longer. She could not, would not, deny who and what she was.

Goldie walked along the shore until she reached the pier.

Without crowds of tourists, the wooden structure seemed ancient and mystical, stretching out into the darkening water like a bridge to another world. Her world, perhaps.

She stepped up the ramp and walked toward the end of the pier, her heartbeat accelerating with every step. Behind her, the lights flickered and dimmed as she passed, as if to offer her privacy. Not that she was particularly worried about who might be watching. She was beyond caring now. The song was too overwhelming. She could still hear it.

The distant music she’d heard in the shells seemed to emanate from far out in the channel now. Below her, the water rocked and rolled sensuously, like a compelling dancer with swaying hips. Dark and secretive yet somehow welcoming. It called to her, begging her to follow its waves and offering to wrap her up in its velvet embrace.

Goldie looked back toward shore, at the twinkling lights of Avalon, at the life she’d built on the island for herself. Then she turned to face the vast ocean before her. Without giving herself time to reconsider, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and jumped.

For one terrifying moment, she felt nothing but panic. A century of fear and conditioning couldn’t simply disappear in an instant. The cold Pacific shocked her system as she plunged beneath the surface. She flailed, eyes squeezed shut, lungs already burning. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold her breath. She sank down deeper, into darker waters.

It wasn’t long before her instincts won over. She simply couldn’t fight the primal urge to breathe. It was far stronger than her fear. It could not be denied. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with sea water.

Immediately, she felt better.

Her skin tingled, pleasantly now rather than painfully. A warmth spread through her body despite the icy cold water. Instinctively, Goldie knew what to do. She stopped struggling and simply surrendered, allowing herself to sink even deeper, letting the current take her. She felt comforted in the ocean’s embrace, and let the tide carry her farther out to sea.

Her skin tingled with new sensations. Temperature, current, and the slightest vibrations tickled her, making her fight the urge to laugh. Her clothes were only getting in the way, so she wriggled out of them.

She opened her eyes, watching as the current carried her human clothing away. Then she looked down at her feet.

The curious transformation was happening before her eyes. What had appeared painful and alien in the film reel felt more like returning home after a long journey and slipping into her pajamas.

Her legs grew warmer. Her feet crossed at the ankles, calves overlapping, ankles together. Then they seemed to lose their distinction, melting together. The same strange silvery shimmer she’d noticed before spread across her skin, forming delicate scales that caught what little light penetrated the water.

Goldie watched in wonder as her body remembered what her mind had forgotten. Her lungs no longer burned or ached at all. She was breathing naturally underwater. Her hands remained human-like but slightly webbed between the fingers. Finally, as the transformation became complete, where her legs had been, a powerful tail now undulated. It was covered in scales that shifted between silver, pale blue, and iridescent purple, depending on how the moonlight struck.

She gave an experimental flick of her tail and shot forward with preternatural speed. The sensation was exhilarating. Far more powerful than human swimming. Another flick and she rose toward the surface, breaking through with a joyous splash before diving deep again.

In the water, she was grace personified. Every movement came naturally, as if she’d been doing this her entire life, which, she supposed, in another existence she might have done. The distant music grew louder now, emanating from somewhere out in the channel. Goldie swam toward it, each powerful stroke of her tail carrying her farther from shore.

The underwater world opened before her like a dream. Schools of fish parted to let her pass, some choosing to trail in her wake for a moment or two, though none had her speed, and didn’t keep up. The kelp forests that swayed in the current felt like caresses against her new form. Even the temperature of deeper water in the channel, which would have been challenging for an unclothed human to bear, felt mild and comfortable against her newly armored skin.

Goldie dove deeper, discovering the pressure that would have hindered a human diver had no effect on her. Colors that should have been lost in the darkness remained vivid to her enhanced vision. She could see details of the ocean floor that she knew had to be thousands of feet below the surface. She marveled at her other senses as well. She could sense the presence of creatures that were miles away via a combination of sound and movement. She even had a sense of smell beneath the water that rivaled her senses on land.

A shadow passed overhead as a massive and graceful creature silently slid by. Goldie looked up, recognizing at once the familiar silhouette of a particular humpback whale, her enormous body cruising through the water with unlikely elegance. Without fear, she swam upward, approaching the magnificent creature. It regarded her patiently, with an ancient, knowing eye as she swam alongside it for a moment, matching its pace.

Welcome back, daughter of the deep, Kitty seemed to say, though no words were spoken. Goldie felt the meaning in her bones, in the water between them.

The whale continued on its journey as Goldie dove once more toward the mysterious music. It was clearer now. She heard voices singing in a language she didn’t consciously recognize, but their song resonated with her soul.

Time lost meaning as she explored the depths of the channel. Throughout her explorations, the water continued to embrace her, guiding her gently, showing her the wonders it had to share and welcoming her home. Though she was alone, she felt no fear. Only a newfound sense of belonging so profound it brought tears to her eyes. But those tears had no way to fall. They instantly became one with the surrounding sea, and the sea seemed only to hold her closer, as if it understood. As if it was equally moved by her presence.

She wasn’t sure where she was going, or meant to go, but each time she wandered off course, the current seemed to corral and correct her, gently showing her the way. It was bringing her closer to the music. And it was also as if the music itself pulled her along, growing louder and more enchanting the closer she got. She kept following, drifting farther out into the channel, curious to discover its source.

Suddenly, a deep, resonant horn blasted overhead, snapping Goldie out of her trancelike state. She darted upward, breaking the surface just in time to see the massive hull of a container ship passing by, dangerously close to her. The ship’s engines churned the water, creating a violent, unnatural turbulence that tore her away from the current’s tender hold, and pushed her into colder, lonelier waters.

Heart racing, Goldie lingered at the surface, watching the enormous vessel slip into the night, dark smoke leaving a scar across the sky as it passed. She’d been so entranced by the underwater world that she’d lost track of where she was. Looking around, she could only barely make out Catalina Island’s silhouette in the distance, shrouded in evening mist. She’d swum out at least a dozen miles, possibly more. So much farther than she’d realized.

The distant music still whispered to her from the depths, begging her to continue exploring, to follow it to its source. But as the adrenaline from her near miss with the ship faded, another reality began to resurface in her mind.

The film festival. Her responsibilities. She couldn’t simply abandon them. The film institute was counting on her to run the antique projector. This was a skill few modern souls possessed. They couldn’t get just anyone to do it. And her cottage, her art creations, the life she’d built... While it might be a human life, it was still her life.

Plus, she was proud that her films were being featured in the film festival. She was curious how modern audiences would respond to The Mermaid’s Whisper . And the magical lost footage… if she allowed that to be screened. What would the modern audience make of it?

Goldie took one long look in the direction the music came from, memorizing its call. Another time , she promised silently. Soon. Then she turned and began swimming back toward Catalina, her powerful tail propelling her through the water with magnificent speed.

The sky was darker now. The moon hid behind dark clouds. Night settled across the open water like a thick black curtain. But Goldie still knew the way home. Tiny lights studded the island, guiding her.

As she swam through the inky waters, fragmented images began to flicker across the screen of her mind.

A darkly handsome face looking down at her with intense eyes. A nervous interview in the privacy of her dressing room, between scenes. She wore a beaded slip. He had introduced himself as “Montgomery.” A pseudonym, he’d admitted. She recalled a scene at a nightclub, hands touching beneath the table, lingering and touching, while polite conversation continued as normal above.

The images came and went too quickly to grasp. It was like trying to catch smoke. It was there. Then it was gone.

But the closer she got to shore, the denser and more frequent the memory flashes became. By the time the island’s features became distinct, Goldie was certain she was remembering Cosimo. Not as the mysterious stranger from recent days, but as someone she had once known more intimately. Someone she had loved.

She was almost upon the island now, and this presented her with a new problem. Goldie was unsure what transformation would await her when she reached land. She couldn’t simply swim ashore naked in the middle of Avalon, could she? And what would happen to her when she did reach land? What if she couldn’t transform into a human again? What if she remained this way now?

Cautiously, she swam toward Lover’s Cove, a secluded stretch of marine-protected waterfront close to town. She hoped the deserted location might offer her some privacy for whatever changes awaited her.

Goldie swam until her hands touched land. Then, with some effort, she pulled herself up onto the narrow strip of rocks just beyond the reach of the waves. As it had when she entered the water, the change began almost immediately. But this time, there was pain.

A sharp, searing sensation shot through her tail as it began to split. Goldie gasped, collapsing back onto the wet sandy rocks as the transformation reversed itself. With each wave of pain came a rush of memories, as if her mind was healing, as her body was torn apart.

A dressing room at Tantamount. 1929. Her wardrobe assistant informed her that “Montgomery Pierce,” claiming to be a reporter for The Daily Chronicle, was requesting an interview with Ondalune. It had already been cleared by the director. Did she mind answering his questions between takes? They giggled about her relative state of undress before concluding that the slip was no more revealing than the dresses many girls were wearing to nightclubs.

Another spasm rocked her body as scales began retracting into skin. The memory crystalized: “Miss Ondalune, your movies captivate millions. What inspired you to take the role of the mermaid in this film?” Cosimo asked, his dark eyes never leaving hers, a strange recognition passing between them.

“I’ve always had a fondness for the ocean,” she’d answered truthfully, without mentioning her allergy. Then she’d batted her lashes coquettishly. “I don’t know. Maybe I was born to play this role.”

The slight widening of his eyes told her he caught some deeper meaning in her words, though she hadn’t intended it.

Goldie writhed as her tail continued its painful division. The sensation of bones forming where there had been none was excruciating. And so were the memories that were slowly forming to fill the gaps.

A rapid-fire series of events, parties, dinners, nightclubs, Cosimo had shown up at every public event she attended that season. No longer pretending to be there on magazine business, but always watching from a distance. When she confronted him finally, he admitted he’d been following her career for years. And he’d told her his real name.

“I saw you in a vaudeville show in 1923,” he confessed. “Something about you... I knew you were special. Different.”

“Different how?” she asked, both frightened and intrigued.

“I think you know. You are like me,” he whispered. His words gave her goosebumps. “Not belonging to this world entirely.”

The scales on her lower body were fully retreating now, the split complete, though her newly formed legs were still fusing, tendons and muscles knitting themselves together with agonizing precision. Goldie cried out, the sound echoing against the cliffs above. With the pain came more clarity.

Their courtship was unconventional. Clandestine meetings after her performances. Long walks under starlight when others slept. He never seemed to appear during daylight hours, a quirk she’d attributed to his mysterious profession.

“What do you actually do besides write, Cosimo?” she asked one night as they strolled along a deserted Venice Beach. “You can’t live off writing one or two articles a month.”

“I exist,” he said simply. “I’ve been doing that for a very long time.”

The cryptic answer should have alarmed her, but instead, it created a bond. She told him little about her own past. They didn’t need to spell anything out. They were as thick as thieves. Two outsiders sharing secrets without speaking them aloud. They simply understood each other.

“Cosimo, what would you say if I told you I never age?” She was finally bold enough to confess this to him one night after too much champagne in the Casino ballroom. They were sitting barefoot in the sand, listening to the sounds of the waves. “It’s been ten years since my first film, and I’ve had to powder my hair to convince people I’m aging normally.”

Instead of disbelief, his face reflected understanding and something more. Was it relief?

“I think I can show you why that is, Ondalune. Do you trust me?” Cosimo asked.

She nodded. Cosimo rose to his feet and held out a hand to pull her up. She giggled as he walked backwards toward the ocean.

“Cosimo, you know I can’t. I’ll break out in a rash. I won’t be able to film tomorrow.”

“You’ll be fine,” he assured her. “Trust me.” He held her fingers to his lips and stared at her with those oddly compelling eyes of his, eyes full of starlight and ancient spells. It was difficult to say no to those eyes. He stepped backward into the surf with her, pressing his lips to hers, and holding her as she changed.

And after that, nothing had been the same for her. She finally knew what she was. There was no turning back. Not in life, and not on film. When it was time to film the final scene of The Mermaid’s Whisper , she agreed to the director’s request to capture the scene with a “special” new camera. She agreed to do something that had been strictly forbidden in her contract. She ran right off the pier and dove into the ocean.

The final stage of transformation began, the most painful yet. Goldie’s lungs expelled the last of the sea water, forcing her to gasp desperately for air through lungs that still remembered their purpose. Her fingers separated with burning intensity as the webbing shrank away. As her human form fully reasserted itself, the most significant memories rushed back in a torrent.

“I’m not human, either, Ondalune,” Cosimo finally admitted one moonless night at her hillside home. “I haven’t been for four centuries.”

“What are you, then?” she asked, surprised by her own calm. She’d known this already, hadn’t she? There had to be reasons she’d never seen him eat. Reasons he only came to her in the dark of night. No mortal man she’d ever met had skin like his, or a touch that was both warm and cold at the same time. She’d been waiting for him to trust her with his secret.

“I am a vampire. Cursed to live forever in the shadows.”

She should have been terrified. Instead, she reached for his hand, tenderly taking it in hers. Then she turned her hand over in his palm, offering him her wrist. Staring at him with wide eyes, she spoke quietly, carefully. “I wouldn’t deny you, Cosimo. Anything.”

He’d turned her hand back over with a small shudder. “You don’t have to worry about that. I don’t feed on other creatures’ blood, Ondalune. I’m not like the Strigoi and other vampires you may have heard of in legends. I only feed on those whose Ordinary lives have ceased to be worth living. Those who are sick, desperate, and seeking release. The world has no shortage. Better to drain someone’s pain than their joy. I am their savior. But I am also misery personified.” He looked away, ashamed, unable to meet her eye.

His face reflected so much pain that it made him look his actual age. She would have traded all her joy in that moment to wash that pain away.

“We’re both outcasts, aren’t we? For the world, we are only acting, always hiding what we are. But with each other, we can be real.”

He stared at her in wonder. “You’re not afraid of me?”

“Of you? No. Of what the world would do to either of us if they knew our secrets? Absolutely. Besides, there is nobody else in this strange world that I would care to not grow old with.”

How grateful she was to have met him. To have broken through the loneliness of their shared solitude. She knew his heart, even if it no longer beat a rhythm to match hers. She’d have staked her life on the belief that no matter what he was, he had a beautiful soul.

The transformation complete, Goldie lay panting and shivering on the rocks, human once more. Her mind raced as it struggled to keep pace with the flood of recovered memories, sorting and organizing the scattered puzzle pieces. She struggled to sit up, wrapping her arms around herself, shivering not from the cold but from the emotional impact of remembering.

Eventually, she recognized the pile of wet rags on the sand beside her. It took her a moment to recognize what it was. The ocean had washed her clothing ashore with her. Exhausted and grateful, she shoved her legs into her pants and pulled the sweater over her head. As she slipped her feet into her shoes, the final pieces of the puzzle finally dropped into place.

It was the night of the premiere at the Catalina Casino. She felt the excitement of seeing her most ambitious film on the big screen with Cosimo at her side. They’d made plans to disappear together after the screening. Aside from her uncle, who would miss her? They would travel the world, free to be themselves. Two immortal outcasts in love.

But then Uncle Burnie appeared backstage, his face stern. He asked for a private word, and when Cosimo joined them, the tension was palpable.

“You’ve been reckless,” Burnie said, his usually kind face stern. “Both of you.”

She was expecting a lecture about the age difference between her and Cosimo. She was prepared for her uncle to argue that twenty years was too much. In reality, it was closer to four hundred years. If only he knew the truth! Burnie would never understand what they meant to each other. How could he? He was just a man.

“I don’t answer to you,” Cosimo replied coldly.

“No, but she does.” Burnie gestured to Ondalune and turned to glare at Cosimo. “Or have you forgotten the very reason her biological father placed her in my care as an infant?”

Burnies’s statement stunned her.

“You... you knew my birth parents?” She was reeling at this information.

Burnie ignored her, continuing to speak to Cosimo, eyes narrowed and spiteful. “Have you forgotten what you did? What you stole from her? From her people?”

“Uncle Burnie!” Her voice cracked. “You don’t understand. What are you talking about? This is all a mistake. My parents found me. I was a foundling, was I not?”

“You most certainly were not. I know your people,” Burnie said softly. “And I’ve been your terrestrial guardian since they entrusted you to me. They sent you away because of a war. And there was an amulet they sent with you as well, an amulet set with a powerful stone that belongs to your tribe. It’s waiting for you in a safe place now.”

“The stone in my bassinet,” Goldie whispered as she fumbled with her shoelaces. It was as if her fingers forgot how to tie them.

The memory of her uncle fit together perfectly with her vision of the night before. He must have been the one who’d placed her on the beach for her parents to find.

Burnie turned his accusing eyes to Cosimo even though was still speaking to her.

“Your father had but one wish, to keep you and the stone that this vampire corrupted with his curse safe and hidden until the time came to redeem it.” He scowled at their intertwined fingers. “I fear I have failed most miserably at my mission.”

Cosimo’s face reflected genuine anguish and self loathing. “I didn’t know what it was, nor was I aware of the curse I was creating! Do you think, for even one moment, that I wanted to become this?”

“What you wanted is immaterial,” Burnie snapped, speaking to Cosimo as if he were a much younger and more foolish man. “I cannot change the fact that your curse is bound to this mermaid’s destiny. She lives an unnatural life in exile because of the wars incited by your actions. And now you’ve enchanted a camera and encouraged her to expose herself as she really is in this film? Do you have any idea of the danger you’re putting her in? Is it your intention to feed off her misery, too?”

“Misery? The enchantment I placed on that camera virtually ensures that her film will be a hit.” Cosimo retorted. “Why wouldn’t you want that for your niece?”

“Because that kind of attention is far too risky. She never should have taken this role to begin with!” Burnie pulled a film canister from his coat. “Fortunately, I’ve brought the earlier cut. Less convincing, less... revealing. I’ll be switching it out with the final reel.”

“You can’t do that!” she protested. “My transformation scene is the heart of the film. We worked for months to make this movie a sensation! I am not ashamed of what I am!”

“Your safety is far more important than your art,” Burnie insisted. “We all have roles to play, assigned by the fates. This is not your time to reveal yourself, Ondalune. The war beneath the waves still rages. Your people need you to stay alive and hidden.”

She was furious, rebelliously refusing to accept her uncle’s argument. “I should get to choose my own fate! If I want to make movies and explore the world with Cosimo ? —”

“You have no idea what you’re saying,” Burnie cut her off. “His curse and your destiny are forever intertwined because of his actions. If you go with him now, neither of you will survive to correct this imbalance.”

The final memory struck Goldie with physical force as she made her way up the steep path toward the road that would lead her home.

The Casino was stiflingly hot that night. The theater was packed for the premiere. Women in evening gowns fanned themselves to keep from fainting during the screening. But as the second reel was loaded, many of the guests excused themselves. Even the director himself needed to step outside to get some air. Ondalune wasn’t lucky enough to step out into the night with them. She was miserably immobile, stitched into her mermaid costume, trapped on top of a giant papier-maché shell.

Only a handful of people remained for the final scene. If they found the footage of her sitting atop the same unconvincing shell, and waving her hands to mimic swimming through a crepe paper ocean unconvincing, they were polite enough to keep it to themselves.

Afterward, at the reception, and after she’d been cut out of the stifling costume, the orchestra began to play a Cole Porter song that they both loved, “You do Something to Me.”

Cosimo led her onto the dance floor where they’d spent so many happy, carefree nights. He held her close, his body cool against the oppressive heat.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her hair. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“We can still leave tonight,” she insisted. “Burnie doesn’t understand everything. He doesn’t feel the way we feel.”

“I think perhaps he understands more than we do,” Cosimo said sadly. “I promise, someday I will find a way to put an end to the curse I created, once and for all. You will not have to live a half-life in hiding anymore.”

“I don’t want promises. I want you,” she argued, but he didn’t answer. He only held her tighter as they danced.

After the song ended, they stepped out on the balcony because she was complaining about the heat. Cosimo produced an exquisite hand fan from his pocket. “This fan is no ordinary fan,” he explained. “It’s a magic fan. I cast a spell on it, so it can cool you, and make you feel better, almost instantly.”

“You are what makes me feel better. I don’t need you to fan me. The ocean breeze is enough.”

He was still so melancholy, though. She didn’t argue with him as he opened the fan.

The cooling sensation was immediate and delicious, but it brought with it a strange heaviness as if she were falling asleep. Her thoughts began to cloud and grow confused. Memories seemed to slip in and out of focus, the sequence of events no longer making any sense.

“What’s happening?” she mumbled.

“You’re forgetting me,” Cosimo had whispered. “It’s better this way. Safer for you. Tomorrow I will take a walk in the sun, and you will be free.”

Her words were slurring as if she’d had far too much to drink. Ondalune tried to fight the sensation, clinging to Cosimo’s lapels.

“Don’t do this,” she begged, but her consciousness was like a lost balloon floating up into the sky. Her memories were fading even as she grasped to catch the string.

The last thing she remembered was his kiss, gentle on her forehead, and his final words: “I’m so, so sorry, my love. Goodbye.”

Goldie reached her cottage well after midnight. Her muscles ached and her eyes were sore and swollen from the tears that would not stop flowing.

Her Uncle Burnie was waiting in her kitchen when she got home. He looked old. Far older than she remembered. She supposed this made sense, since it had been nearly a century since she’d last seen him.

“Hello, my darling niece,” he said. “We have so much to talk about. There’s so much I need to tell you.” He began to cough, an awful hacking cough that shook his whole frame. She laid a hand on his shoulder. He was thin and felt frail.

“Let me make you some tea.” She reached for the kettle.

“No need.” Burnside held up a flask with a shaky hand. He unscrewed it and took a sip, which seemed to calm the spasms. “I’m okay now.”

“Just the same, I think I’ll make some tea.” Goldie filled the kettle. “I could use it myself.”

“I’ve missed you so,” Burnside said, looking at her with watery eyes. “Look at you. Still so beautiful.”

“I’m having an unusually good hair day,” Goldie said wryly. She lit the stove. She was still wearing wet and sandy clothing, which was chafing. “I’m going to change into some dry clothes now, Uncle Burnie, but I’ll be right back.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” her uncle assured her. She noticed now that he’d found the folder of photos. He must have been looking through them before she’d gotten there. He’d pulled out one of her as a baby, and another of the house in Maine.

“We have so much to talk about,” Uncle Burnie said. “But just in case, I want to tell you what I’ve come to tell you first. There’s a young witch making her way to you and Cosimo right now. She has something you both need. It belongs to you, or rather, your family. It needs to be returned to the ocean tomorrow.”

“The amulet?” Goldie guessed.

“You’ve seen it, then?” Her uncle looked surprised.

“Only in a vision,” Goldie admitted. “But it seemed important.”

“It is.” Uncle Burnie suppressed another cough. “Zani will bring it. You should have it before the eclipse. You’re going to need it to end the curse.”