The Witch Sea by Sarah Diemer

Author:Sarah Diemer [Diemer, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Gay, Lesbian, glbt, glbtq, speculative fiction, shapeshifter, lesbian fantasy, dark fantasy, witch, lesbian genre fiction, lesbian witch
Amazon: B007GQYZZ2
Publisher: Sarah Diemer
Published: 2012-03-08T14:26:38+00:00

Nor had not moved but simply gazed at me, hands clasped and folded before her, standing on the sands of my small, lonely beach.

"What are you doing to me?" I asked her. My voice cracked.

"Nothing," she said. I believed her.

I felt paralyzed. Should I invite her in? It was so cold, so wet out here in the dark and the mist. She had come all this way, and she hadn't said why, but there she stood, on my shore, small mouth closed, wide eyes searching mine. I stepped aside, held out one hand, pointing to my lighthouse.

"Come," I told her, and I ushered us both inside.

The night held a strange quality as she hung up her cloak over my cloak upon the peg, drawing out the chair she usually sat in, taking off her wet gloves. There was no fire in the grate because I had already banked it, but I set about asking it to wake up with a few bits of sea grass and a liberal push of magic.

"Do you use magic for everything?" she asked me, voice soft in the quiet of the lighthouse. I nodded, didn't look at her.

"I use it often." I fed the fire a handful of twigs.

"You keep the nets together." It was not a question.

"Yes."

"Why?"

I sat down upon the ground, turning a stick over and over in my hands. I didn't know how to answer her question, felt broken as I tried to think of an answer. I didn't know why I kept up the curse that had been my grandmother's business, why I had listened to my mother's stories and believed them. But I had listened to them. I had believed them, that we were the last wall of goodness between a monster and the annihilation of the human race.

Sometimes, when I saw Galo in my stone, I laughed, put my hand over my mouth, held back a sob. He looked old, worn, tired--as far removed from a monster as a butterfly.

I could not express to Nor these crumpled feelings of rage and despair and pain. They ate up my heart from the inside, greedy jaws devouring all those things that made me myself, Meriel, and spitting out replications of my mother, my grandmother, instead.

So I sat on the floor, and I twisted the stick in my fingers, and I said not a word.

I heard a scrape of wood against wood and looked up just as Nor rose from her chair, as she sank down on the floor beside me.

She was too close. She smelled of salt and soft things. She reached across the small divide between us and took my hand, touched my rough skin with her new, smooth fingers, held my palm in her own as she drew it close, into her lap.

I stared, unable to move. She held my hand tight and close. Her face was hidden by a wave of long, brown hair that swept down and in front of her eyes, concealing her from me. She was so small, so fragile.

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