CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
web of lies

𖦹 ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ˚⋆˚ 𖦹

  "SO, CAN YOU TURN INTO A SEAL ON command?"

   Cove shifts awkwardly in her seat, wrapping her woolly cardigan around herself tight for a fraction of comfort. She notices that it's raining, again. Condensation from the torrents bead upon the glass, slipping earthward to engrave intricate patterns that'll only be washed away come nightfall. She begins to trace her own depictions of seashells and flowers, the very same ones that she tends to draw on car journeys with her dad. The thought of him at the moment leaves a bittersweet sensation coursing through her anatomy. She wipes her drawings away with her sleeve.

  Mary, Fallon and Cove have gathered in a small nook that lies at the foot of the Astronomy Tower, the tall window beside them bringing in a glacial chill from outside. Her friends are bursting with questions about selkies, and she's trying her best to keep up with answers that actually make sense. She notices that even all the portraits have gone quiet, trying to eavesdrop on what she has to say. It makes her simmer slightly, her voice dropped low so that the discussion will stay between the three of them.

   "I mean, yes and no," Cove says, her voice just above a whisper. "Normally, I can only transform with my sealskin on me, but if I've gone too long without transforming, my body will begin to shift on its own, seeing as I haven't made the permanent decision between land or sea yet. It's a painful process, so I try not to let myself, er, dry out. I have to maintain balance if I'm going to stay undecided between a permanent seal form and a permanent human form."

  Fallon purses her lips. "Right. Was that what happened on Halloween?"

  "Not exactly. Around the festivals in the Wheel of the Year, selkies naturally transform to be closer to nature at the junction of a solstice or equinox. Something to do with our ancient ancestry. Triton, I barely even understand it myself."

  Mary and Fallon nod along in understanding, though she can tell they don't completely follow. It makes her laugh.

  Fallon's head falls back against the wall. "Rigby never told us any of this," she remarks, her mind going into overload.

   "For a teacher, she was extremely misinformed," Cove says, an edge to her voice. "You shouldn't believe most of what you learned in her class."

  Fallon blinks in surprise at the shift in her tone. She bites her tongue and refrains from saying anything more.

  "Is that friend of yours from back home a selkie?" Mary asks to casually change the subject. "Is that why we've never been allowed to meet her?"

Cove inhales sharply. She hadn't even thought about what Cordelia would think of this.

"Yeah," she says. "She's a selkie. She doesn't take kindly to human-selkie bonds, so I'm not sure how she'll react to yous two knowing. Or the whole Remus thing. She's been warning me against a relationship with him since the start of term."

   "Really?" Mary exclaims. Fallon nudges her and she lowers her voice. "Sorry. It just makes sense now. I've always thought that you and Remus are perfect for eachother. I was so confused why you fancied him one day and couldn't stand the sight of him the next."

   Cove picks at a hangnail on her thumb, switching to fidget with her rings when it starts to hurt. She smoothes her fingertips over the surface of the sea glass to quell the tempest battering about in her head. She can remember beach combing with her wee cousin, Alasdair, to find the very pieces embellishing her fingers some years ago, trying to make the most of the warm summertime before it faded into frost.

   Lord Poseidon, does she miss the sea.

   "It's not always as simple as that for selkies," Cove murmurs. "Love is probably one of the most dangerous threats to our kind. My mother is a prime example. She trusted the man she thought she loved and got her sealskin stolen from her. That doesn't exactly fill me with romanticism."

  Her friends fall silent. Their eyes grow wide, Fallon's mouth hanging slightly ajar.

"We're sorry, sweetheart," Mary whispers. "We didn't know."

"Don't apologise," Cove replies. "You couldn't have." She rises to her feet, eyes pinned to the floor. "I'm going to the Owlery to check my post. I'll see yous at dinner, yeah?"

She disappears into the winding stairwell before either of them can get a word in.

°•.•°•.•°•.•°

  THE OWLERY IS PRACTICALLY deserted, the brutal wind lashing through the open space and sending goosebumps prickling along her arms. Her cardigan does little to insulate her body heat, and even her thick skin can't quite block out the chill. She perseveres with her pointy teeth chattering, making a direct beeline for the puffin on the opposing side of the tower.

  Goldie is preening her feathers on a faraway perch, her vibrant beak sticking out amongst the brown, sooty hues of all the other owls. Cove tosses her a fish-flavoured treat, delicately exchanging it for the pile of letters at her little orange feet. There are ones going all the way back to September that she had patched, so instead of beginning at the root of the problem, she selects the first two at the top and begins to skim through.

It's glaringly obvious which one's from her father, with the carelessly scribbled down lettering and ink smudges dotted around the paper. The envelope isn't sealed properly, the letter tumbling out the second Cove lifts it from the top of the pile. She braces herself for the worst and unfolds the crisp piece of parchment.

Coco,

What are your plans for Christmas? Are you coming home or will you be staying at Fallon's again this year? Please write me back soon, I'm anxious to know what you're up to. I fear that nowhere is safe anymore. There have been increased reports of violence in the Prophet and I've heard rumours of Death Eaters sighted on the Minch. Many people believe that they're trying to rally the Blue Men onto their side. Muggle fishermen from the town have been disappearing as well, and all signs point towards the Dark Lord's suspected followers. Nobody knows what will happen in the end. Take care. Anyone could be a spy.

Consider coming home for Christmas. Your mum would love to see you.

— Dad

Cove frowns. She isn't an avid reader of the newspaper, so her knowledge regarding the war is limited mainly to what her father decides to selectively tell her. Though, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that the tensions running high between her colony and the Blue Men of the Minch will be weaponised by the rivalling side of the war.

Bloody storm kelpies, Cove thinks sourly, her sharp fingernails tightening on the parchment and leaving crescents.

On a good day, Cove is a worrisome girl. When her family has their lives at stake over temperamental blood purists and a conflict they're not even involved in, she feels that her heart isn't going to cope with the looming dread. The war is spreading like a nasty virus before her own eyes, contagion burrowing deep into any lingering pacifism that may rest in the shadows. It bothers her that it doesn't show any signs of ceasing anytime soon, making her wonder if the conflict will still be raging like a wildfire by the time she's graduated in the summertime.

  The thought makes her feel ill.

  She discards the torn letter in her bag and begins to unfurl the crinkled scroll that was beneath it, secured in place by a scratchy bit of string. The ink is bleeding from water damage, though the handwriting is surprisingly intricate. She hasn't seen a letter from her grandmother in a few years, brushing her fingertips over the weeping ink and Gaelic lettering as if it'll heal the callouses.

   M' ulaidh ort,

Ciamar a tha sibh? I haven't written with human tools in years, so excuse the messiness of my writing. I would tide message but you never seem to be by the waterside when I try. Everyone back home misses you so! I sincerely hope that you'll come to visit when you're off for Yule.

  Cordelia tells me that things at school have been causing you grief. I wish I could take all your pain away but the most I can do for now is offer you comfort through this letter. If you are indeed coming home to us at Yuletide, your grandfather and I would be over the moon to take you out hunting. We've noticed an increase in haddock around our territories — your favourite.

  On a more depressing note, I presume that your father has written to inform you of the conflict. If he hasn't, then he's a greater fool than I had first imagined him to be. There are new dangers lurking under and above the surface, as the Na Fir Gorma have begun to get more violent with the selkie folk they come across. We've never seen them so bloodthirsty. I'll tell you more when you return home for your holidays.

  Stay safe and keep your sealskin with you at all times, Cove. The last thing we need is for it to fall into the wrong hands. I hope to see you soon, mo chridhe.

Love, Seanmhair

  Cove folds her grandmother's letter more delicately, stuffing it next to her dad's less eloquent one in the comfort of her bag. She rubs at her eyes to try and force composure back onto her ferny irises. The overload of information regarding the conflicts that are arising not only globally, but dangerously close to her own home, is beginning to give her a stabbing migraine.

  She stumbles down the stone stairs, hit by a gust of wind that tousles her curls and makes her balance wobble. An owl swoops past her shoulder, sucking in through the open door before it can completely close over. She laughs slightly at the cheek of it before beginning her descent towards the ground, wary of the icier steps.

  Her feet touch the ground at the bottom of the staircase, the cobblestone transforming into crunchy grass. The very first thing she notices is that it looks like someone's walking up the hill towards her. She shields her eyes from the sudden burst of sunlight that spreads across the sky, squinting to make out the approaching figure.

  Her confusion quells and is replaced by comfort when she sees that it's only Remus. His jumper is too big for him that day, rolled up at the elbows despite the freezing cold, and has holes poking through the stitches here and there. His hair glows golden, though his eyes emanate exhaustion. Cove doesn't know if she's ever seen him completely, one hundred percent awake.

  He crushes his cigarette under his heel — he knows that she doesn't like it when he smokes around her. There's something wrong. Where she expects to be greeted by his dimples and a smile that makes her feel all woozy, he's wearing an expression that's too grave to mean anything good. Remus shoves a wrinkled bit of parchment into his pocket at the sight of her, striding forwards with a furrowed brow tainting his face. She tries to meet him halfway, coming face to face with him before she can completely register what's going on.

"Hiya, Remus—"

"Can we talk?"

author's note!

me 🤝 cliffhangers

i was half asleep editing this so ignore any mistakes 💋💋

sorry if any of the text in this chapter looks dodgy! wattpad is being weird and keeps moving all of it to one side so i'm having to manually space everything out w the space bar 😭 it's so annoying