Free Selkie's Song (Fado Trilogy) by Clare Austin Page B

who’d just swallowed the family goldfish.
    “Are there any other claims on the land?” Tynan remembered Cade’s admonition . These lands often have a twisted history. There may be cookie-jar deeds. Make sure you’re really in the clear, or you’ll have some Paddy hunting you down with a peat spade.
    Feeney paled a shade and cleared his throat before speaking. “That shouldn’t worry you at all.” The narrowing of his eyes was almost imperceptible. “There is one local who claims the land is…well, I hate to use the term…she claims—” He cleared his throat and his face reddened. “We’re trying very hard not to fall victim to what you might call superstition. A few locals seem to think this land is enchanted …they should be embarrassed…enchanted with fairies? Perfectly ridiculous, of course. She has no legal right to the land as far as anyone in authority knows.”
    She? Who was this she he kept referring to?
    Ty’s BS meter shot into the red zone. “Are you saying this might be some kind of ancient pagan site?”
    “Oh, heavens, no. It’s all about some tree,” Feeney grumbled under his breath. “Really, Mr. Sloane, no panic now.”
    The banker’s quick dispatch of local concern set alarm bells off in Tynan’s head. Tales of the supernatural, for all their loss of credence in modern Ireland, had curtailed the prowling Celtic Tiger’s progress more than once. And any area that boasted even a slight possibility of historical value would be a magnet for protests.
    He knew from what had been going on in the Boyne Valley and the Hill of Tara that he’d have everyone from UNESCO to Hare Krishna down here if they found so much as an unusual mound of earth on this site. A complication was not what he wanted. He also didn’t want to contribute to a local feud or cheat someone out of a legitimate bequest. “Can I meet this person? Perhaps we can come to some sort of compromise.”
    Feeney’s collar suddenly looked too tight. His face reddened and a bead of sweat glistened at his brow. “The land and that pile of rubble she reveres so much have no intrinsic value and no historical significance.”
    Tynan pushed back his chair and prepared to leave. “I’d like the fine points faxed to my advisors.” A good Boston lawyer would know exactly how to handle a slimy weasel like Feeney.
    “Certainly.” Feeney’s expression would rival a caged rat looking for the nearest escape route. “Just leave the contact information with Walshe.”
    “And let’s be sure everyone, even if they do believe in fairies, gets treated fairly,” Tynan added with a wry grin.
    The banker put a thumb between his collar and neck as though to loosen the strangle hold. “No…now, no panic. Let me take care of all that.” He stood and offered his hand, soft and damp with sweat. Tynan resisted the urge to wipe his own hand on his trouser leg.
    Ty had the same opinion of banks that he did of funeral homes. They were needed, but one shouldn’t hang around too long without good reason. Now, he needed to be outside on the street, hear the gulls call overhead and the sound of the incoming tide splashing the seawall. If he were lucky, he might happen across a familiar selkie taking her morning dip in the pool off the cliffs.

Chapter Seven
    Solar heat warmed the rocks where she lay. Her pelt discarded, white skin exposed to the morning light, the selkie closed her eyes and listened to the song of the sea, a pulse to match the one of her own blood in her veins. Gulls circled, their shadows fleeting past, voices raised in an ancient call.
    A darkness blocked the sun and she opened her eyes. Ebony wings hovered over her. A raven lighted gently on her breast. She watched as feathers stroked her skin, causing cool tingles to warm as the sensation moved across her body. Wingtips evolved into fingertips. Deep rivulets of heat spread in concentric circles, radiated from her core to extremities and down her midline to the cradle of her