Waveborn

19

The coast near the Piper Center wasn't the sort of place to take a gentle stroll along the beach, but it was perfect for working off pent-up frustrations. Cass scrambled up and around shoulders of granite, dodged tide pools, picked her way across tumbled driftwood. It was slow going. When she ventured too near the water, tiny crabs scuttled for cover in the muddy tide pools and barnacles crunched underfoot. Everything smelled of fish.

After twenty minutes, she was breathing hard but about ten degrees less hyper. She slowed her pace enough to look for the bald eagles that were supposed to nest in the area, which was about as far from town as anywhere on the island. Searching for their dark silhouettes was calming, too, like watching the sea for orcas.

Rounding the southern point of the bay, she found a narrow strip of muddy sand that probably disappeared completely at high tide. An eroding bank loomed above the strip of beach. Evergreens grew all the way to the bank's edge and tall madronas twisted papery-barked branches out over the water. The sun hadn't quite reached its highest point; trunks, branches, and leaves cast a semi-circle of flickering shadows over the water.

It was magical, the kind of place to find sea otters or tame deer that would eat right out of your hand. She imagined her mother coming here. Jen had said she loved these trees.

"Do you like it here?"

The voice thrummed through Cass's mind and body the way she imagined a humpback's song must thrum through miles and miles of ocean.

She felt she should be startled-she hadn't expected to meet anyone so far from town-and yet she didn't jump out of her skin the way she usually would. Maybe because the sound hit her ears as gently as fog touches the shore; or maybe it was the voice itself, the way it resonated with deep undertones of tranquility.

A woman walked toward her, following the footprints Cass had made in the wave-rippled earth. She was dressed all in white: a tiered white peasant skirt, like something out of the 70's, white sash, white blouse with sleeves that fluttered with her movement. Cass couldn't decide how old she was. Something about her face, the intensity of her gaze, made her think the woman had seen a lot of life, and the hair falling loose down her back was pure white, but she didn't move like an old woman. She moved with a wolf's grace and strength.

She was barefoot. Long lines of bones, tendons, muscles moved beneath the skin of her feet with each step. When she stopped, she was so close that Cass could see the fine creases that surrounded her lips and eyes and twin lines of white on one side of her face, faint, like old scars.

"Well?" the woman asked, tone sharp. "Do you like this place or not?"

Cass blinked. "Oh. Yes. Yes, I like it very much." Her voice came out slow. She couldn't take her eyes off this strange woman in her garb of white.

The woman huffed out a breath, studying her. "Turn around."

Part of Cass's mind knew the request was strange, but that part had been buried beneath a slow river of molasses. By the time the thought pushed its way to the surface-the thought that the woman was acting oddly-she'd already spun in a lazy circle.

"So it's true," the woman said. "My granddaughter told me you came back. I hoped your mother's blood might run true in you...."

"My mother?" Cass had to force her thick tongue to form the question. How did this woman know her mother?

"But look at you." A finger flicked under Cass's chin. "Useless. You've spent too much time with humans."

"Wh-what's wrong with humans?" Cass's vision had narrowed until she saw only the woman's eyes: almond-shaped, fringed with short, pale lashes, with irises a deep blue, almost lavender, surrounding pinpricks of black. Those eyes captured her, drew her deeper and deeper; they filled her chest with such weight that she could barely breathe.