“No, but this is second nature to me. I don’t usually carry a dowsing stick, but you and this land are new to me.” She paused and raised one hand for me to stop. “Now you have a new tool for your toolbox, and I think we’re getting closer to a small body of water.”
Waving me closer, she lowered her voice. “You ever come across water sprites?” she asked.
“No. I’ve met a couple of hidden folk who tend to orchards. Are the sprites like that?”
“Mmm, not exactly. The sprites are protectors of the waterways, and if they don’t like me—or you—we’ll know pretty quickly. That is, if there are any here.” Airlie set down her stick and took hold of my wrist. “Let me stay connected to you. Water sprites are mostly found in fresh water areas. They’re related to selkies, which you’ll find along the coast. Selkies require salt water.”
“Have you ever met a selkie here on Salt Spring Island?” I asked.
“No, but River or Wes or Kaz might have.” She looked back at me. “If you’re really curious I would ask them.”
We continued to the rise we had seen from the road. The trees here grew close together and the underbrush gave a sense of being crowded, but I’d seen a couple of narrow deer trails along the way. I stood next to Airlie and followed her gaze.
A dilapidated building occupied the center of what might have been a purposefully cleared section of the property. An ancient bigleaf maple, its massive trunk gray with age and split in half, graced one side of the Craftsman-style house.
At least, I thought it was a Craftsman. Two dormers rose from the roof like eyebrows, shaggy with an overgrowth of moss and lichen and other small plants. The building looked as though it had shrugged one day, too weighted by the world, and was slowly sinking back to the ground.
“Wow,” Airlie said. “This is eerie and gorgeous. I don’t see a pond, but I know there’s one here.”
“Should we keep going?” I asked.
“I’m up for it if you are.”
Within a few steps we left the woods behind and entered a field of dried grasses, pockmarked with shallow dips and hiding frost-heaved rocks. Lilac bushes graced the sides of what was left of the front porch and as we rounded the side of the house, the source of Airlie’s sureness appeared.
The area behind the house was a marsh. Edged with cattails, sweet gale, and clusters of invasive purple-flowered hardback, the wetland extended to another ridge of forest and the rise of the hill I could see from my house. The iconic trill of a marsh wren called us to explore further.
“This is lovely,” I said, basking in the warmth of the sun on bare skin. Though islanders welcomed the start of the impending rainy season, within another month or two we’d be commiserating the loss of days like these.
“I think we should go back to your house. I sense River is uncomfortable that I’m too far away for him to easily reach me.”
“You two can do that already?” I asked.
“When you’re bound by water, it doesn’t take much to feel the other in ways that are unlike the other elements.”
We took another long look at the marsh and turned toward the ruin of a house. Only, the back side was not like the front. I continued through the grass, lining myself up with the center of the porch. My foot hit a man-made trail. I stepped onto packed pebbles and dirt, glanced to the marsh and to the house, and deduced someone—or something—had created a deliberate path from the watery area to whatever was behind the sheets of plywood hammered over where a set of steps would be.
“Calliope, I don’t like the feel of this,” said Airlie. She hovered her foot over the path and pulled away as if shocked. “Something is not right. I want to leave. Maybe come back with the druids. And tools. Or weapons.”
“Weapons?”
She nodded and began walking away.
“Wait, I’ll go with you,” I said. “Let me get a reading first, okay?”
“Okay. But do it fast. This place is creepy.”
I dropped the dowsing stick and stepped both feet onto the path. Loosening my joints, I closed my eyes and rooted downward, sending out tendrils of inquiry to the plants on the land, letting them know I was here and asking if they knew anything about this place.
A trickle of movement. Pipes maybe, or an underground stream. One person—no, more—and they hadn’t been here recently enough for me to sense the echo of their steps. What caught and held my attention was how similar this was to what I felt the day I walked onto the Pearmains’ property and found them bound by the Catatonia spell.
I tugged my cell phone from the pocket of my fashion-backward-yet-handy cargo pants and took pictures, including a panoramic view of the back of the house to the marsh.
“I got what I need. Let’s go.”
Airlie and I were wordless as we walked to the rise and through the underbrush. It was cooler here under the protection of the fir trees, and I was relieved to put my feet on familiar land and feel its welcome once we crossed the road.
“I need to hydrate,” said Airlie, “and lie down with plants. Do you have a garden, or—?”
“I have the perfect spot.” I led Airlie around the side of my house, opened my garden’s gate, and showed her the chair. “Its joints are loose but if you sit carefully, you should be fine. I’ll get you the water.”
“A pitcherful, please.”
I waved and headed for the front steps. The inside of the house was the perfect temperature, and Maritza was seated at the dining table, the pieces of the dress spread before her.
She raised her head, turned her torso, and stared at me.
“You smell of death.”
Chapter 17
“I have to bring this to Airlie,” I said, pointing at the handblown glass pitcher filling in the
