Just then, the witch returned, five talismans in her hands. Each was a small round beaded charm on a velvet ribbon long enough to drape around the neck. She spread them out.
“These will last a few hours—four at the most. They can be renewed but it takes me a week to recharge them. To activate them, place them around the neck and say, ‘Yemaya, hear my prayer.’ That will set the charm to working.” She pushed them toward us. “You have payment?”
Delilah nodded and drew out a coin purse that I recognized as Shade’s. She opened it and withdrew five luminous pearls, setting them in front of the woman. “Five pearls for five charms.”
Fresia let out a little gasp as she picked up one of the pearls and held it up to the light. “Oh, these are exquisite. I’ve never seen quite so fine before.” She abruptly set the pearl down, looking at us for a moment. “Wait.” Sweeping the pearls into her hand, once again she vanished into the back. Another moment, and she was back. She set down a delicate shell that was iridescent white. The typical nautilus coil, it was polished, and emitted a pale glowing light.
“What’s this?” Delilah asked, leaning in.
“Moon snail shell. I collect shells and enchant them. Your pearls were far more exquisite than I expected. I drive a hard bargain but I’m fair. I couldn’t take all five for the spellwork—they’re a quality I’ve never seen. So I’m giving you this as an extra. I take it you’re off on some underwater adventure and, although I don’t know why, I feel you’re facing danger. This is enchanted. Carry it with you and it will illuminate even the murkiest depths to a radius of twenty feet. I guarantee, it will serve you better than any underwater flashlight.”
“It looks so delicate.” I reached out to slide my fingers over it, receiving a jolt in return. “That packs a punch.”
“That it does, but only when it’s out of the water. Take it beneath the waves and that jolt goes away. This only needs to be charged once a month. Place it in a bowl of ocean water under the full moon each month and it will recharge its powers. And it will serve you for hours—it will last longer than the water breathing spells will.” With that, she packaged up the charms, then wrapped the shell in a bag. “It’s not nearly as fragile as it looks. The magic has hardened it.”
As we thanked her and then left the shop, I glanced over my shoulder. “I have the feeling we’ll be returning here in the future. I wouldn’t mind getting to know Fresia.”
“I agree,” Delilah said. Back at the cars, we double checked the location of the scuba shop, which was two blocks north and one block west on Bell Street near the thin slip of land dividing Puget Sound from the town.
“Meet you there.” I waved at Delilah as I slid back in the driver’s seat. Within a couple of minutes, we were off again.
The stop at the scuba store necessitated all of us except for Delilah, Shade, and Shimmer to go in to make sure we found wet suits that fit us. I really detested the snug fit—it wasn’t like a corset or a bustier. It took a clerk tugging and pulling to help me into it, and the wetsuit clung to every inch of my body. It felt like my pores couldn’t breathe, but I figured I could handle it for the time needed. I thought about leaving it on to drive, but that just sounded way too uncomfortable. I had no clue how I was going to get into it once we were at the beach. I’d have to ask for help.
After paying far more than I ever wanted to spend on a neoprene bodysuit and swim mask, we were off again, this time heading toward Camano Island. By now, it was nearing eleven-thirty.
The drive to Camano Island from Edmonds was a little over fifty-three miles. While there were some beautiful scenic back roads, time was a factor and so I swung over to the freeway, taking I-5 north. Luckily, traffic was light and we made good time.
We passed over the Snohomish River where it was on its last leg of the journey to meet up with Puget Sound, then into Marysville and over union Slough, past the windswept corridor that separated the freeway from the water. By now, we were into agricultural areas where they grew mostly berries, until we reached the Highway 532 interchange. Heading west on 532, we drove through Stanwood—a town with Scandinavian roots—and finally, over the Stillaguamish River, onto Camano Island.
Another twenty minutes saw us around the island, down to Camano Island State Park.
I glanced at the clock. “It’s almost one o’clock. We have to get a move on.”
“Because of the charms, we’d better plan on being out of the water by three hours at the latest to ensure our safety,” Morio said. “And then, two to three hours home, given we’ll be hitting rush hour. So we go now, to avoid you popping out of the car to race away on the Hunt, and Delilah turning into a tabby while she’s driving.”