The bell above the shop door chimed softly as I opened the windows. The scent of the sea drifted in, mixing with rosemary and salt. Morning light painted long stripes across the shelves, catching the glass jars and scattering pale color through the air. Haven's Nook always looked alive in the mornings, the way light moved across the bottles, the quiet hum of magic that only I could feel beneath it all.
Oliver sat by the window, his small legs swinging as he drew with one of Liam's pencils. The soft scratch of graphite was a steady sound, grounding me. His world was small and safe; I wanted to keep it that way for as long as I could.
The door opened again before I had even finished arranging the herbs. Isla swept inside, the wind tugging at her curls, her apron still dusted with flour. She never knocked, never waited. Her presence filled every quiet corner as if silence were something she had sworn to destroy.
"You are working too early again," she said, placing a small basket of bread on the counter. The smell filled the shop, warm and kind. "You forget the world sleeps sometimes."
I smiled faintly. "If I stopped moving, I might start thinking."
She tilted her head. "That sounds like something Tata Sofia would say, right before warning me about curses and ghosts."
"You should listen to her more often," I said, though my voice came softer than I intended.
Isla leaned on the counter, lowering her voice. "There was another one last night. Down by the docks. They said his veins went black before he fell. Like the others."
My hand stilled around the jar I was sealing. "Another?"
"Fifth this month," she said. "People are scared. They think something is wrong with the sea, that the old stories are waking again."
"They always say that when they do not have real answers."
She gave me a look that made it clear she did not believe me. "And what do you think it is?"
I hesitated. "I think they need rest and cleaner water. Nothing more."
"Always the practical one," she said with a small smile. Then she straightened. "I have to get back to the bakery before my mother notices I am gone. But promise me you will not go to the docks alone again. There are things there that do not love you as I do."
Her words lingered after she left. I wanted to believe the town's sickness was only that, but I knew better. I had felt something growing under the surface, a darkness that whispered when I healed. It had started small, like a pulse too deep to notice. Now it pressed closer every day.
The door opened again near noon. Tata Sofia entered, shawls wrapped around her, the smell of smoke and lavender following her in. Her eyes, sharp and knowing, took in the room before settling on me.
"You are pale," she said.
"I am always pale," I replied, but even to my own ears it sounded tired.
"Not like this." She turned her gaze toward Oliver, who had fallen asleep against the counter, his drawing half finished. "Come, little one, time for lessons. Your mother needs quiet."
Oliver stirred and mumbled, "But I am not tired."
"Even dreams must rest," Sofia said, taking his hand.
He followed her out reluctantly, and for a moment, the shop was silent again. The kind of silence that listens.
I began grinding herbs to fill the time, the rhythm steady, comforting. The sound filled the air, soft as a heartbeat. It was a way to forget. Until the door opened once more.
Two fishermen carried a man between them, his face gray, his breathing shallow. The veins along his neck stood out dark and swollen. One of them spoke quickly. "He fell on the pier this morning. We thought maybe you could help. The doctor says there is nothing he can do."
"Put him on the table," I said, already clearing space.
The smell of salt and rot clung to him. His skin was cold to the touch, damp as if he had been pulled from the sea. I pressed my hand over the wound on his arm, a shallow cut near the wrist, yet black veins spread outward like roots. The sight made my stomach twist.
"Has he been to the water lately?" I asked.
"Every day," one of them said. "He swears the fish have gone strange. He says sometimes the sea hums at night."
I nodded and sent them outside to wait. Once the door closed, I took a slow breath and let my hands hover above the wound.
The darkness beneath the skin pulsed, alive. I could feel it reaching for me, testing me, like a living thing curious about its predator. I whispered the words I had not spoken aloud in years. Old words that were not prayers but commands.
The air thickened. Shadows curled around my fingers, faint and black. I reached inward, toward that cold well I kept buried under every heartbeat. It rose to meet me like water filling a void. My veins burned. My vision blurred.
The darkness resisted this time. It twisted, trying to slide back into the wound. I felt it fight me, its hunger sharp. The room grew colder, the jars on the shelves trembling faintly. I gritted my teeth and pushed harder.
"Come," I whispered, my voice shaking. "Come to me."
It obeyed. Slowly, painfully, the blackness crept from his veins and coiled into my palm like smoke. I pulled it away until his skin turned pale again. When it was done, the man's breathing eased. The shadows faded from his body and settled into mine.
I staggered back, bracing myself against the counter. My hands shook. The black threads on my skin pulsed once before vanishing. I could still feel the sickness moving inside me, waiting for release. I whispered another word and let it burn out.
When I looked at him again, the man was alive, color returning to his face. He blinked up at me, dazed. "It does not hurt anymore," he said weakly.
"It was only an infection," I said, my voice steady now. "Rest, and drink this for the fever."
He nodded, unaware of the truth, and left after pressing a few coins into my hand. When the door closed, I sank into the nearest chair. My breath came uneven, the room spinning slightly. The scent of ash filled my lungs.
This was the fifth time in a month. The shadows grew stronger with each one. Whatever plagued the sea was beginning to crawl into the veins of men.
I stared at my hands, still faintly glowing from the energy that had passed through them. I had once thought my gift was healing. Now I was not so sure. Maybe I did not remove the sickness. Maybe I only took it into myself.
The floorboards creaked. I looked up, half expecting Sofia, but the shop was empty. Then the air shifted, a faint tremor running through it, and I heard a voice that was not a voice. A whisper brushing the inside of my mind.
You are not alone.
I froze. The words were clear as thought, deep and smooth, like a memory. I turned, searching the shadows, but saw nothing. Only the faint shimmer of the air near the window, like heat rising from stone.
I stepped closer. The light bent for a heartbeat, and in it, I felt something. A pull, soft but insistent. It felt like a heartbeat that was not mine. Somewhere beyond the Veil, someone else felt it too.
The whisper came again, quieter.
You will call me soon.
I stumbled back, breath catching. The shimmer vanished, leaving only the normal light of afternoon. My pulse raced.
Outside, the first drops of rain began to fall. I closed the windows and drew the curtains. My reflection in the glass looked pale, frightened, and older than I remembered.
When Sofia returned later with Oliver, I forced a smile. She said nothing at first, but I saw the way her eyes lingered on me. She knew something had changed.
"Another one?" she asked softly.
"Yes," I said. "He will live."
"And you?"
"I am fine." The lie came easily.
She watched me for a long moment, then nodded. "Do not keep the candles lit tonight. Let the darkness sleep."
After she left, I tucked Oliver into bed. He fell asleep quickly, the way children do when they trust the world will still be there in the morning. I wished I could do the same.
When the house was quiet, I returned to the shop and stood by the window. The rain blurred the world outside into a wash of gray. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled, but beneath it, I could hear something else. A faint rhythm, slow and deep. The same heartbeat I had felt before.
It was not the sea. It was not the storm. It was something older, waiting.
I pressed a hand to the glass, the cold seeping into my skin. For a moment, the shadows inside the room moved. They leaned closer, drawn to the place where my hand touched the pane.
The heartbeat grew louder, and the light in the candles flickered. Then, as suddenly as it came, it faded. The air went still.
I stepped back, my pulse racing. The smell of the sea filled the room though the windows were closed. I whispered to no one.
"Please let it stop."
But the night outside only deepened, and in the distance, the waves struck the cliffs like something trying to break free…