Free The Selkie Enchantress by Sophie Moss Page B

Liam’s fingers stilled on the keyboard as Caitlin’s shocked face floated back to him from that first night on the dock. Then the sand, sifting through his fingers last night, and that horrifying feeling of being swept out to sea.
    “You haven’t told anyone about it, right?”
    Liam swallowed. Told anyone about what? “No.”
    “Good. The historical society’s going to eat this up and I want it to be a surprise. To think…” His voice went wistful. “We had no idea they even existed until now.”
    “ They being…?”
    The dean laughed again. “Don’t be daft, O’Sullivan.” Then his tone turned serious. “I know your family owns a pub so don’t go tapping into the single malt before this file’s sent off. And speaking of.” Liam heard the sound of a chair squeaking faintly as the dean leaned forward to check his inbox. “Have you sent it yet? I haven’t received it on my end.”
    “Internet’s a bit slow out here. It should come through in the next few minutes.” He scanned file after file. It had to be here somewhere.
    “Did you see the Times this morning?”
    “Not yet.”
    “There was an article about the Prime Minister’s wife talking about wanting to expand government funding for more research into Ireland’s myths and legends. She thinks magic will help bring back the tourist trade.” He chuckled. “You’ve got to love this woman, really. But… I’m thinking big here, but if—and that’s a big if—you could crack this new legend like you did with your sister-in-law’s, it could mean creating a new department dedicated exclusively to Irish fairy tales and legends at the University.” He paused. “With you running it.”
    Liam sat back slowly. A new department dedicated exclusively to Irish fairy tales and legends? “Do you happen to have any suggestions on how I might solve it?” Maybe if he got a sense of how it was supposed to end, it might trigger a memory of the beginning.
    “Now let’s not go getting ahead of ourselves. One thing at a time. Let’s present our findings first, then you can spend the next term figuring out how to solve it.”
    “Right.” Liam’s hands went back to the keyboard. “I wonder… if you’d given any thought to the title of the presentation?”
    “The one we came up with last week is fine.”
    Liam ground his teeth. Come on, James. Give me something . “You don’t think we need something catchier?”
    “The one we have’s catchy enough. And, Liam, I still don’t have it. Can you try sending it again?”
    “Sure. Maybe if I hang up it’ll go through faster.”
    “Right. I’ll give it a read-through as soon as I get it and send my edits back this afternoon.”
    “Thanks,” Liam said, hanging up the phone and dropping his head onto the desk. What was he going to do? He couldn’t remember anything about going to the Trinity Library, let alone being in Dublin. Rain pounded against the windows, streaking down the glass. How was he supposed to present his findings to the Prime Minister’s wife next week if he couldn’t even remember what he was working on?
    He shoved back from the desk. A bubble of cheerful conversation drifted up the steps from the dining room and he turned away from the tempting scent of frying bacon and pipe smoke, strolling over to the bookshelf by the window. Outside, the heavy wooden Guinness sign swung back and forth on rusted metal chains, squeaking eerily in the storm.
    Scanning the volumes lining the shelf, his gaze landed on the anthology of folktales he’d compiled this summer. He snagged it from the shelf and started flipping through the collection of island legends, including Seal Island’s own legend, which Tara played a large part in this summer. His fingers parted the pages, lingering on the words of this updated edition which now included the ending. His gaze drifted to the sketch of the selkie ghost, Tara’s ancestor, who’d needed her help to break the curse so she could return to the