He nodded to me, apparently having decided I was in charge. “Our cousin requires help beyond my ability,” he said in his gravelly voice, exposing sharp teeth with pronounced upper and lower canines, a little more like a ferret’s than a man’s but not as mismatched as Fielding’s had been. “You must come with me.”
I gave him a doubtful glare and did my best to keep my gaze only on his face. “Must?”
He seemed puzzled at my reply. “Of course. That is why we sent him to you to begin with.”
“This cousin would be . . . Gary Fielding?” I guessed.
He nodded with raised eyebrows, as if he thought me a bit dim, but wasn’t going to insult me by mentioning it. “Please. We can go now? I find this form uncomfortable.”
This form. . . . I made a not-so-wild guess. “You’re Father Otter, then?”
He gave another, slightly impatient nod and pointed toward the eastern cliffs. “This is our holt. Within awaits our cousin, who will not live unless you come now.” He turned and loped along a wet trail back to the stern, where the ladder came up from the swim platform. So that’s how he’d come aboard. He scowled back at us once again. “We none of us have time to waste. Come.”
I looked at Quinton and Solis. I didn’t want to leave the boat, where I had allies and dry decks beneath my feet and any fishy adversaries were at a disadvantage. However, I was sure I’d need the help of the dobhar-chú to bring this business to a close and I knew I wouldn’t get it unless I helped Gary Fielding. The thought of getting into the chilly waters of the Sound gave me a shiver as I remembered drowning as a child and all the times I’d been soaked since the beginning of this case, not to mention the dreadful things that lived in the water of this cove. . . .
Father Otter glared at me. “You will not help?”
I walked past Solis and Quinton to get closer to our visitor, but not close enough to be grabbed and hauled overboard. “I will if I can,” I replied, “but . . . I don’t do water very well.”
“You cannot swim?”
“I can swim, but I get cold when wet. That will make it hard for me to help your cousin, especially since we have to act fast or we’ll be stuck here.”
Father Otter rolled his eyes and shook his head in disgust. “Bring yourself by boat to the crouch. It is dry within.” He pointed to a particularly cluttered bit of the tumbled shoreline where there seemed to be an inordinate number of shadows that resisted the sunlight. “We will meet you there and take you within. Bring your assistant if you must. But soon. The merfolk gather their strength.” That at least explained the cease-fire since we’d arrived and confirmed my thought that the sea witch had to husband her resources with care.
Then Father Otter turned his back, crouching and shrinking into the compact, dark-furred form of a massive otter. A cross of white fur marked his spine and shoulders. The huge otter turned its head to give us one last, annoyed glance before it dove under the rail and out, into the water, vanishing below the surface in a ripple that formed an arrow toward the cliffs before it dissipated into the rolling tide.
I turned back to Solis and Quinton and saw Zantree looking out of the pilothouse door also. “I guess I don’t have a lot of choices . . .” I said.
Quinton and Solis both stepped toward me, saying, “I’ll come with you.” Then they stopped and glanced at each other.
“I’ll go by myself,” I said.
“You don’t know that you’ll be safe,” Quinton objected, his aura spiking with alarm and sending little breathless jolts through our connection.
“I won’t be any safer with an escort. There’s bound to be more of them than us and I can’t hope to fight my way out, so I’ll have to presume their goodwill, because as much as I need their help, they need mine.”
“What if something happens and you can’t get back on your own?”
“I have my pistol in my pocket. If the dobhar-chú can’t help me, I’m sure you’ll hear it if I have to use it.”
Quinton didn’t like it but he knew I wasn’t going to budge on that point. Solis continued toward me with a determined expression.
“Now, wait a minute,” I started.
“I am coming.”
“No, you aren’t. You heard what I just said.”
“Yes. But I am not your boyfriend. I am your fellow investigator and Gary Fielding is material to my case as well.”
Quinton scowled and I didn’t have to experience his secondhand flare of confusion, jealousy, and discomfort to know how he was feeling.
I objected. “Solis—”
Solis shook his head as he came up to where I was standing. “There is no argument. He said to bring your assistant if you must. I am the only person who qualifies and I will come.”
“Well, if it’s that easy—” Quinton started.
I held out one palm to nip that in the bud. “It isn’t. If I have to put up with you guys being high-handed, then Solis has the best argument. And here’s one more: I don’t think more than two humans will be welcome and even that number is obviously begrudged. Do not push it.”
Quinton’s mouth hardened and he looked belligerent, but after a second or two sorting out the battle between emotion and logic, he let out a hard breath and quirked one corner of his mouth into a resigned nonsmile. “All right. You are the boss and you know what you’re doing. I’ll stick here with Zantree and wait. For a while.”
I gave him a grateful smile and went over to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
“Just come back fast—those fish-butts aren’t going to stay off our backs for long.”
“I know. If they come, just keep them off the boat and away from the bell. We’ll be back as soon as we can. And you know I love you and need you, right?”
“Yeah. And I love you . . . even when you’re a bullheaded pain in my ass.” He finally returned my kiss and then turned me around to face the aft rail before we got too maudlin. “Now get going.”
Zantree had no interest in butting into the conversation or tagging along, but he helped us get the dinghy deployed again and heading for shore with me and Solis aboard. It was only when we were on the way that I realized the little vessel was in the hands of the half of the party who knew almost nothing about handling boats. Luckily the water on the eastern edge of the cove was nearly still and the boat was a simple outboard type without a lot of bells and whistles to deal with and no oars to pull. We drew near the tumbled rocks and cut the engine, letting it glide toward the shadow Father Otter had indicated.
Three wet, dark otter heads popped up, bristling whiskers and making chuffing snorts, sniffing at us as we neared. They eyed us thoroughly before the largest one turned back toward the rocks and the other two swam forward to guide us in by bumping the gliding dinghy into the proper path with their bodies. I had seen otters at the Seattle Aquarium and it wasn’t until one of our escorts was cruising along the side of the boat only a few inches from my hand that I realized how big they are. This one was typical at about five feet long, including its rudderlike tail, and probably weighed between ninety and a hundred pounds. It rolled on its back in the water and yawned, showing off its mouthful of ivory-colored fangs. I’ve heard otters referred to as clowns and playful, but seeing one that close I knew “play” was relative—it would be no work at all for this giant seagoing ferret to snap off one of my fingers or break one of my arms if it got those teeth into me. And while they had a thick coat of fur, the body underneath was all muscle, and quick with it. I hoped I would have no reason to tussle with any of the creatures living under Father Otter’s aegis, especially since dobhar-chú were even larger than the garden-variety sea otter swimming beside us.