They traveled by moonlight. The boat was quiet, a solar-powered, sleek marvel of technology that stayed nearly silent as it cut through the waves off the coast of Northern Ireland.
Lily stood near the prow, wind tousling her curls, her moonstone necklace glowing steadily like a pulse.
Pickle stood beside her, staring into the waves with silver-blue eyes. He hadn't shifted in weeks, not since the night they first heard the song in the sea. A call that wasn't a sound, but a sensation. A longing. Something old and vast had stirred beneath the tides, and Pickle, guardian of the oceans, shark-born soul wrapped in a silver dog's body, had answered.
They were going to the Selkie Veil. An island that did not exist on any map.
One known only to the sea-born and those who carried water in their blood. The Sea Council.
