Selkie

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

I woke up in a robin's egg blue bedroom. The curtains were a soft cream, casting lace shadows across the room. It wasn't a dark day, but it was raining a little, just enough that I couldn't tell what time of day it was.

My phone had died in the night, and I didn't want to disturb anyone, so I switched on the little brass lamp on the bedside table and started to read.

The three books I'd chosen were: The Great Silkie of Sule Skerrie, Selkie Wife, and Seals and Swans: Cryptid Maidens by Prue C. Jamison.

In Jamison's introduction, she writes:

A Selkie is an example of the Swan Maiden motif. In folklore, this motif tells the story of a Cryptid who has two forms: a young, attractive human and another creature, most typically a swan. While in their human form, the impossibly beautiful human catches the attention of a lover who steals their clothing while bathing or swimming. The clothes hold the necessary magical ingredients for the Cryptid to change shape; without them, the Cryptid cannot shift back to its most authentic form and, therefore, cannot return to its home. In Selkie myths, the Cryptid's most true form is that of a Seal. 

In the Orkney Islands, these seals are easily identifiable as they are larger and brighter coloured than their counterparts. In Swan Maiden myths, made famous by Swan Lake, the Cryptid is a beautiful woman by night and a swan by day."

So, my mother wasn't human. Cool. I mean, I knew that before this point, but I hadn't sat with it. What did that say about me? Was I a... Cryptid? Am I... a monster?

I don't think I'm a monster now, and I don't think I was a monster then. I am just like everyone else, complicated. I have my strengths and weaknesses, and some of those strengths and weaknesses are due to my genetics.

 
I skimmed the book and found a paragraph on the children of these 'swan maiden cryptids:'

Often these children exhibit supernatural gifts, otherworldly beauty, magical allure, unconscious powers of seduction, playfulness and a gift of trickery, uncanny luck, and a tendency toward deep emotions. Their heart-rending sorrow and sunshiney delight can - in rare cases - affect the weather.

Oh.

Growing up, my Dad and brothers teased me that the weather reacted to my mood. It was like instead of me having Seasonal Affective Disorder, the weather itself had Edie Affective Disorder. When I was happy, we were guaranteed a clear, mild day, but when if broken up with my first boyfriend, it had rained for a week.

Once, in my first year of college, I struggled in a symbolic logic class held at 3 pm on Tuesdays and Thursdays. For almost a whole semester, the winds had gone crazy around that time. There has been a lot of talk about global warming.

I kept reading until I heard movement in the house, then I showered and got ready for the day myself.

The water took forever to heat up, but it was well worth the wait. I'd been too tired to shower the night before, and there was something liberating about washing away the travels. I borrowed Maria's shampoo - it smelled like eucalyptus and lavender with a highlight of mint. She had a large selection of body washes and soaps, but I just grabbed what was close. The water felt glorious on my skin. I revelled in it - letting the steam unknot all the little aches and stiff spots from the long flights.

I took my time and made use of Maria's extensive skincare collection - masks, oils, and creams. It felt incredibly luxurious after living out of a suitcase.

Wrapping a towel around my hair, I left the bathroom to make my way back to my room and get dressed.

In the hallway was a tanned man with dark hair at the very top of a rickety-looking wooden ladder.

Now, I don't know if you've ever seen a handsome man with a beard in a flannel shirt rolled up past his elbows, changing a lightbulb, but I recommend it. Even as embarrassed as I was to be caught in a towel, I stopped to appreciate his deft movements as he screwed in the bulb.

"I'm sorry - I didn't know anyone else was here." I managed to get out, one hand securing the towel wrapped around myBody.

"Well, you took long enough in the shower. I thought I'd get to doing something useful.""Great time management, then." I walked across the hall to the room I was staying in and closed the door with an efficient and satisfying click.

I like to think that he sat there perched on the top of that ladder with a bemused expression on his face. The kind of expression that says, 'What a gal.' But unfortunately, I now know Ian, so I know that what he probably did was screw in the lightbulb and go downstairs to make himself a sandwich.

Can you blame a girl, though? I was used to men taking an interest - some women too - and I'd only just learned that morning that it wasn't my unique and sparkling personality but rather my selkie blood that people found so intriguing.

I didn't know Ian was immune.

But I learned quickly enough.

After repacking my bags, I headed downstairs to the kitchen. One odd thing about Maria's house was the lack of mirrors. The bathroom was mirrorless. The bedroom was mirrorless. I hadn't seen a single mirror on the whole main floor, so I didn't know why Ian and Maria burst out laughing when I entered the kitchen.

Remember how the Reverend bleached my hair for me? Good. Now, remember how Maria has red hair? I bet you already see where this is going, but just in case you don't, let me spell it out for you.

Like many red-headed women, Maria uses a shampoo that deposits a subtle pigment in her hair to make the red a bit more vibrant. What happens to bleach-blonde hair when you add a bit of that colour-correcting shampoo is that it turns a pale shade of the most pastels of pink. But me? I rinsed, lathered, and repeated. Again and again and again.

I had pink hair. Undeniably pink hair, I only saw it because of my reflection on the glass-front cupboard doors.

"That'll do," Maria said when she handed me the envelope containing my new identity, Nieve McIsaac—the woman I'd sold my birth mother's Croft to. She didn't have pink hair in the picture but I could imagine her making that choice. She had a full arm sleeve of intricate tattoos and her hair pulled back into a severe high ponytail.

Maria had a stack of high-quality two-week tattoos at the ready.

It was makeover time, again.