The Selkie Sorceress (Seal Island Trilogy, Book 3) Read Online Free PDF

“there are some people who don’t have any good in them at all.”
    “We didn’t think Nuala had any good in her,” Kelsey said. “And we were wrong.”
    “That’s different.”
    “Is it?” Kelsey asked, her eyes falling back to the book. “I think if we could figure out who Moira was before she was a sea witch, and what she wants, it might help us find my grandmother.”
    Tara closed the book. “I want you to leave this investigation to Sam.”
    “But—”
    “No,” Tara cut her off. “I don’t want you getting involved in this. Besides, we don’t even know if Moira’s behind your grandmother’s disappearance.”
    “There has to be a reason why she stole Nuala’s powers,” Kelsey protested. “Moira wants something.” She reached for the book and Tara let it go reluctantly. “We need to figure out what it is.”
    Tara swallowed a lump in her throat. “What have you figured out so far?”
    “Not much,” Kelsey admitted, turning to an illustration of a mermaid in a dark cave hovering over a bubbling cauldron. “But I think parts of this story are wrong.” She traced a finger over the words on the page. “It says that no plants or flowers could grow in the sea witch’s lair. But whenever I read this part, I smell roses.”
     

     
    A BLACK ROOT pushed through the dusty soil. The earth cracked, crumbling as it grew. Tight orange buds stretched toward the moon, and sharp thorns latched onto the white walls of the cottage. They climbed up to the windowsill, scratching at the glass, ravenous.
    Glenna heard the scraping, the thorns cutting grooves into the glass. She stirred as the pane shattered under the pressure, pieces of glass falling into the bedroom. The vines snaked into the dark room, coiling around her wrists.
    She inhaled smoke, choking, struggling against the binds. But the vines trapped her, holding her down. The curtains burst into flames. Smoke poured in from under her closet door. Every candle in the room sparked aflame, melting to bubbling pools of hot wax.
    She cried out as the heat from the flames scorched her bare skin. The thorns bit into her wrists and the smoke burned her eyes, blurring her vision. A hot wind blew in from the ocean, teasing the flames higher and slowly, one by one, the petals unfurled.
    Brilliant coral roses blazed like beacons through the smoke. She kicked at her knotted sheets as the vines fell away from her wrists. The roses shrank back, retreating through the crack in the glass. She grabbed for the vine, clinging to it with both hands.
    But when her fingers met the velvety petals, they turned black under her touch. They crinkled, fading to ash. She sank to the floor as the flames died and the smoke evaporated—her pounding heart the only sound over the whisper of black petals falling around her.
     

     
    GLENNA WOKE, GASPING for air. She fumbled for her bedside lamp, almost knocking it over as she switched it on. Light flooded her bedroom and she searched the room frantically for signs of a fire. But there were no burn marks on her furniture. Her candles held their original shape. And her curtains were still intact. Her gaze fell to the windowpane. The glass wasn’t broken.
    Everything looked the same as when she’d turned out the light and gone to sleep.
    But the roses. She threw off the covers and swung her feet to the floor. They were here.
    She wrenched open the window and leaned out into the night, breathing in the familiar odor of salt and sea. She scanned the dark soil beneath her window. There were no black roots or curved thorns clinging to the whitewash.
    She pushed back from the window, grabbing her robe. They had to be here somewhere. She stumbled through the darkness, feeling her way through the living room to the door and slipping out into the night.
    Moss crackled under her bare feet as she circled the cottage. A hardy edging of rosemary skirted the foundation. Crocuses—confused by the unseasonably warm weather—were sprouting in a few