Free Surrendering (Swans Landing) by Shana Norris Page B

come in. Mr. Connors stood in the doorway, his dark eyes locked on us.
    “Tell me Elizabeth’s not with him,” Sailor muttered, turning back toward the shelf in front of her.
    “I don’t think so,” I said. “But he’s bad enough by himself.”
    I hoped Mr. Connors would go on about his business, but his heavy footsteps on the wooden floor sounded as if they were coming straight for us. He stopped only a few steps away and I felt his eyes scanning the two of us.
    “Shopping?” Mr. Connors said. “I thought your kind liked to just steal the catches right out of my crab pots. Easy dinner for you, right?”
    Ignore him, I thought, trying to send a silent message to Sailor. She seemed to be unusually interested in a jar of spaghetti sauce.
    “I got a visitor this morning,” Mr. Connors said. “That fool guidance counselor from your school. Seems you all brain-washed him into believing your stories about bad finfolk coming to take over. He tried to tell me not to go out on my boat anymore. Like I have a choice. I don’t fish, my family ain’t got no food. Not that it matters, with your kind stealing my catches anyway.”
    “You should listen to Mr. Richter,” I said. “These finfolk could come at any time. You don’t want to be out there, facing them alone.”
    Mr. Connors sneered at me. “I ain’t scared of nobody, boy, least of all freaks like you. I’ve dealt with the trash of your kind long enough to know that the only good finfolk is a dead one. Like your daddy.”
    I clenched my teeth, but I forced myself not to slam my fist into his jaw.
    His gaze flicked toward Sailor and he looked her up and down, his lip curling. “Too bad you found your mama still alive, girl. Just when we thought we’d rid this island of one piece of trash, you had to go and bring her back.”
    I reached out to grab Sailor and hold her back before she could lunge at Mr. Connors, but another figure stepped between us. Jim Moody stared at Mr. Connors, an ancient double barrel shotgun clutched in his hands.
    “Harry,” Mr. Moody said, his eyes never leaving the other man’s face. “I’ll have to ask you leave my store. I ain’t tolerating harassment of my customers.”
    Mr. Connors’s face twisted into a snarl. “Ain’t I your customer, Jim? Or you gone soft over these freaks too?”
    The shotgun rose steadily as Mr. Moody aimed it at Mr. Connors’s chest. “I’ll ask one more time, Harry. Leave, or you’ll never make it out of here in one piece.”
    “Don’t tell me you’ve grown a conscience now,” Mr. Connors snarled. “She may be your granddaughter, but she’s just as much an abomination as the rest of them. You made a mistake long ago with her grandma. We can all understand that, the way they use their songs to manipulate and control us. But if you don’t watch yourself, Jim, the rest of us might not be so understanding anymore.”
    Mr. Moody raised the shotgun until the barrel was pointed at Mr. Connors’s head. “I’ll give you three seconds to get the hell out of my store.”
    Mr. Connors opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. He shot us all one last glare before he stomped out of the store.
    Mr. Moody lowered his gun, his shoulders sagging. Then he turned and looked at Sailor.
    “If he bothers you again, let me know,” Mr. Moody said. He nodded once to me, then started back down the aisle, swinging the gun at his side.
    “Thanks,” Sailor said. She didn’t look at him, but stared at the jar of spaghetti sauce she rolled back and forth between her hands.
    Mr. Moody paused and glanced at her, then at the floor. “How is Gale? And…your mama?”
    Sailor set the jar back on the shelf and then bent to pick up her shopping basket. “You should come see for yourself,” she said. She hitched the basket onto her arm and then disappeared out the door, the bell jingling behind her.
     
    * * *
     
    “It’s freezing out here,” Mara said as she sat down on the edge of my beach towel. She offered me a