Chapter 14 Archie
Archie
Archie cranked the car window down as he turned off the main road.
The cooler evening air rushed in around his face.
Freshly cut grass and the faint drift of barbecue smoke filled his lungs, clearing out the buzz of chatter rattling around his head from the Johnston house.
He’d raised a glass to the mayor, and thrown back a tumbler of whiskey to dull the noise.
He shouldn’t have—he needed his wits. But for a few minutes, the burn had been a well needed respite.
Malachi would be raging he’d left without saying goodbye, but Archie couldn’t risk him asking to come.
Going back to the Wolf’s Den was a flimsy lie, and they both knew it.
He needed Malachi’s full attention when he told him about the Selkie and what had really happened to Rhys—that conversation belonged at Riverside, not at a waterfall, and definitely not in the car with no way out.
He hadn’t even begun to work out how much to tell Malachi about Heather.
He wasn’t sure how much of her past and her desperate attempts to keep her children shielded from the Otherworld Malachi needed to hear.
He closed his eyes and rubbed his temple, trying to push away the dull throb of a forming headache.
An hour’s delay wouldn’t hurt. Malachi had avoided this conversation for years.
This was duty; this trip was for everyone on Latharna, not just for him.
Checking the waterfall would buy him peace of mind—and extra time to rehearse the conversation with Malachi.
Now the Selkie were back and had left the remains of Mayor Johnston at the Polar Bear, he couldn’t stall any longer.
If he didn’t act, more innocent people would die.
Rage fizzed low and hot in his stomach. If he’d dealt with the Selkie properly seven years ago, Marty Johnston would still be alive.
This wasn’t just about Rhys anymore—this was about the entire island.
The car bumped down the narrow laneway into the carpark.
Children’s voices carried through the trees, high and bright, the kind of carefree shrieks Glenoe had always known.
Archie’s shoulders unclenched a fraction.
If children were playing, the Selkie weren’t close or, at least, they were deep underwater.
Their stench only polluted the air when they rose to the surface.
They used the waterfall as their route upriver, but even they weren’t bold enough to risk being seen by a crowd. They couldn't have lost their fear of humans completely.
Archie climbed out the car and stretched, his back clicking as he shook off the tension. He shrugged off his blazer and laid it over the passenger seat, then rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows. Too hot for a suit, but custom took precedence over comfort—even during a heat wave.
He shut the car door and a twig snapped behind him.
Archie spun, hand flying to the hilt of the knife at the small of his back.
His muscles locked. He scanned the tree line.
Leaves barely stirred. No movement at all.
Even the birds fell silent. An eerie silence filled the air, as if the world itself had just stopped.
Archie’s heart stuttered. The children had gone quiet, too.
Until a scream cut through the trees, sharp enough to slice the air.
He ran along the well-trodden path towards the sound; he couldn’t go back for the crossbow.
Every second he spent going to his car was a second a child didn’t have. Knife and wits would have to do.
“Help!” A girl stood on the edge of the rocks, staring into the water, arms outstretched. “Help us!”
“Get away from there!” Archie waved her back as he bolted over the wooden bridge that connected the walkway to the far side of the pool.
“My brother’s in there!” The girl’s shoulders heaved with sobs.
She leaned dangerously towards the water, her weight rocking forward as if about to dive.
Panic clawed at Archie’s throat. He couldn’t save them both, not if the Selkie were in the water.
He’d already lived that nightmare once. Malachi’s shaking body, Rhys’ sandal on the rocks—the memory flashed like a punch.
He forced it down and lunged for the girl, grabbing her arm and hauling her back from the edge before she tipped in.
“Stay here.” He jabbed his finger at the stone beneath her feet. There was no time for gentleness.
He scrambled onto the rocks, ignoring the pull in his calves, and scanned the surface of the water.
He held his breath, eyes straining for the slightest disturbance.
For a moment, there was nothing but the churn of the pool.
Then a small head broke the surface, gasping, with little arms flailing towards the sky.
“Simon!” The girl’s voice cracked, choking on thick sobs.
Simon spluttered out a mouthful of water, arms thrashing as he tried to swim but something held him back. An arm wrapped around his chest, pinning him in place.
Archie’s chest tightened. The trees encasing the water closed in on him. The air stifling. Seven years vanished in an instant. A Selkie lurked under the water, holding onto the boy. Playing with him. Archie’s body coiled like a spring, ready to pounce, but he had to pick his moment.
The boy’s struggles slowed, seconds from going under from exhaustion. Archie had to dive in, to take his chances against the Selkie in the water.
Spotting a shallower edge near the bridge he sprinted, dress shoes slipping on wet rock. He didn’t care if he fell in—he’d deal with the Selkie in the water if he had to. He’d die doing it if it came to that. He would not fail another child.
By the time he reached the bridge, the boy had been dragged closer.
Archie skidded to his knees, his upper body hung out over the water, spray from the waterfall dampening his face and shirt.
He waited, muscles burning, until Simon bobbed within reach.
Their fingers brushed once, missed. Archie stretched further, ribs protesting, and then…
The water split.
Something surged up beneath the boy—a figure rising in a smooth, terrible arc.
Long black hair slicked to a sharp, handsome face; pale skin glistening, beads of water catching the sunlight that pushed its way through the trees.
Shoulders and arms honed like a swimmer’s, with lean muscle coiled over bone.
Waist-deep, he seemed to grow from the water itself, every movement easy and strong.
A Selkie.
Up close, the allure of him made sense of every story Archie had ever heard: a beauty with brutal strength. Those eyes though—impossibly bright, blue like polished glass—held nothing soft. No curiosity or fear. Just cold intent.
With casual strength, the Selkie hurled the boy upwards as if he weighed no more than a football. Archie braced and caught him, the impact jolting his arms into his chest. At least Simon crashed into Archie rather than the edge of the bridge.
Archie grunted, teeth rattling, and dragged the boy fully onto the boards, rolling onto his back beside him. For a second he just lay there. Ribs throbbing. Heart hammering. The echo of another boy’s weight in his arms almost made him gag.
Simon coughed, his body heaving with each gasp for air.
Archie snapped back into motion, pushing himself upright and rubbing the boy’s back in firm, steady circles. “That’s it, son. Get it up.”
He hadn’t been so steady the last time. On the riverbank, he’d pounded Malachi’s back with shaking hands and screamed Rhys’ name until he’d lost his voice.
His chest tightened, a familiar sting settling under his breastbone.
He’d dragged one child out in time. Simon now, Malachi then.
Rhys had been the one he couldn’t reach.
The one he hadn’t saved. The Selkie hadn’t just taken his son—they’d taken the part of him that believed he could protect anyone.
“Simon!” His sister skidded across the bridge towards them, tears streaming down her face, arms outstretched.
“Let him breathe.” Archie held out his hand to halt her before she crushed him. “Just a second. You all right, son?”
Simon nodded, eyes wide as his gaze dragged back towards the water.
“You must’ve got caught in a current,” Archie forced his tone into something resembling calm, planting his hands on his hips to stop them shaking. “You need to be careful in the water at this time of night.”
Simon nodded again, relief and shock making him a little too eager to believe it. There was time for the truth later if the boy ever needed it. Hopefully, he wouldn’t.
“Are you staying at the holiday cottages at the top of the hill?” Archie checked Simon over—no obvious injuries beyond shaking and shock—and helped him to his feet.
Simon nodded, teeth chattering.
“Right. Take that path.” Archie pointed to the track on the far side of the bridge. “Straight back up. Don’t go near the river. Understand?”
The girl grabbed her brother’s hand, and after a breathless nod of thanks, they bolted up the path without looking back. Archie watched them until they were nearly swallowed by the trees, only letting himself breathe once they were a safe distance away.
The stench hit him then—rotting fish and old seaweed, sour and heavy under the clean evening air. He wasn’t alone.
He clenched his jaw and turned back towards the waterfall.
A male Selkie lounged on a flat rock near the pool, half in shadow.
He sat, waist-deep where the water calmed from its furious drop, long legs stretched in front of him, the remnants of seaweed clinging to his bare skin as though reluctant to let go.
He was young—on the cusp of a fully grown adult—tall and lean, with the kind of wiry strength that had yet to bulk out but didn’t need to.
Matted black hair plastered to his face and shoulders.
His eyes, bright as sapphires in the fading light, never left Archie.