The ocean has always whispered to Morwenna Willowheart Brightwood, but now its call is relentless, impossible to ignore. When a mysterious letter appears, laced with ancient power and secrets, it pulls her from her peaceful life on the rugged Maine cliffs to the mist-laden Scottish Highlands. There, sheâs swept into a world where magic is as real as the rocky shore she left behind, and family secrets run as deep as the sea.
Joined by her fierce, quick-witted sister Ava, Morwenna discovers that her lineage is more than she ever bargained for. Dark forces lurk beneath the surface, creatures from myth walk among mortals, and a villain with grand, sinister designs plots in the shadows. As she awakens powers that set her soul alight, Morwenna must decide: dive headfirst into her destiny or let the waves of fate swallow her world whole.
Anchored by wit, grit, and the roar of the ocean, Morwenna is ready to battle the supernatural forces that threaten everything she holds dear. This isnât the life she choseâbut sheâll fight to protect it, one spellbound step at a time.
The ocean has always whispered to Morwenna Willowheart Brightwood, but now its call is relentless, impossible to ignore. When a mysterious letter appears, laced with ancient power and secrets, it pulls her from her peaceful life on the rugged Maine cliffs to the mist-laden Scottish Highlands. There, sheâs swept into a world where magic is as real as the rocky shore she left behind, and family secrets run as deep as the sea.
Joined by her fierce, quick-witted sister Ava, Morwenna discovers that her lineage is more than she ever bargained for. Dark forces lurk beneath the surface, creatures from myth walk among mortals, and a villain with grand, sinister designs plots in the shadows. As she awakens powers that set her soul alight, Morwenna must decide: dive headfirst into her destiny or let the waves of fate swallow her world whole.
Anchored by wit, grit, and the roar of the ocean, Morwenna is ready to battle the supernatural forces that threaten everything she holds dear. This isnât the life she choseâbut sheâll fight to protect it, one spellbound step at a time.
The storm pounded against the windows, the wind clawing like it wanted in. But it wasnât the storm that made my skin crawl. It was the letter.
The one that slipped through the mail slot like a predator biding its time. The one Iâd been waiting for without even knowing. The one that would change everything.
I froze, my hand hovering over the pile of junk mail scattered in the entryway. Bills, catalogs, credit card offersâforgotten in an instant. But that envelope... it was different. Old. Alive. Behind my sarcasm lay a truth I wasnât ready to faceâthis letter felt final, like the world as I knew it was about to shift.
A sudden chill crept into the room. From the living room, the clock tickedâeach beat a reminder of how absurd this situation was. A letter shouldn't feel like it was breathing. It shouldn't command my attention with such dark allure.
âOh, fantastic,â I muttered, eyeing the parchment warily. âNothing says 'relaxing Saturday' like a creepy letter from the dawn of time.â
The paper was thick and yellowed, its edges frayed as if it had crossed centuries to find me. The faint scent of brine clung to it, as though it had been pulled from the depths of the sea. There was no return addressâonly my name, scrawled in spidery, elegant script: Morwenna Willowheart Brightwood.
I shivered, pulling my oversized sweater tighter. The air grew heavy, charged with an electricity that had nothing to do with the storm. The locket around my neck pulsed faintly, feeling strangely alive, as if it shared a secret with the letter. The unmistakable scent of seaweed and salt filled the house, as if the ocean itself had crept inside, as if the sea had reached out to claim a part of me.
âNope. Not today, Satan,â I muttered, though my voice cracked on the words. Even as I backed away, the pull of the letter gnawed at me, whispering secrets I wasnât ready to hear.
The letter throbbed with a strange, ancient energy, each pulse resonating with something buried deep inside me. It was absurdâletters werenât supposed to breathe, to pull, to demand. And yet this one did. It didnât whisper to my ears but to something beneath my skin, its hum like the oceanâs deepest current.
As much as I wanted to walk away, I couldnât. Not because I wanted to open it, but because something had already decided I must. The choice had never been mine.
I ran a hand through my hair, grimacing as another gust rattled the windows. The storm outside mirrored the churning inside me. Something was wrong. Something was changing. And that letter was the start of it all.
âOf course, it couldnât be a pizza coupon. That would be too easy.â My voice sounded small, almost like a plea.
The joke fell flat. The pull grew strongerâa hook behind my navel, drawing me toward the innocuous envelope. My fingers twitched, aching to touch it, to tear it open, to devour the secrets inside.
I took a step back and bumped into the hall table. The photo of Ava and me at the beach toppled, the glass catching the light as if it was sending me a message. I traced her face with my fingertips. Ava had always been the brave one. Without her, I wasnât sure I could face what was coming. Sheâd been my anchor when the world spun out of control.
If Ava were here, what would she say? Probably something practical like, âItâs just a letter, Mo. Open it or throw it away, but stop being so dramatic.â
But Ava wasnât here. And this wasnât just a letter.
The wind howled louder, and in its fury, I could almost hear voicesâancient whispers threading through the storm. It wasnât just the wind. The letter was calling, summoning something from the depths. The scent of the sea thickened, filling my lungs until I could taste salt on my tongue.
I closed my eyes, trying to steady myself. This was insane. It was just a letter. Probably some elaborate prank or junk mail. There was no reason for my heart to race, for my palms to sweat, for every instinct to scream at me to run.
Yet...
I opened my eyes and stared at the envelope. It lay there, innocent yet ominous, a gateway to something I couldnât undo. Whatever it held would change everythingâI could feel it.
My hand hovered, trembling. Despite every screaming nerve in my body, I knew Iâd open it. Not because I wanted to, but because I had to. The pull was too strong. The voices in the wind grew louder, more insistent, pressing against my skull like the edge of a knife.
âOkay,â I whispered, my voice shaking as I tried to steady my heart. âLetâs see what kind of chaos youâre bringing to my doorstep.â
I took a deep breath, bracing myself as I reached for the letter. The moment my fingers brushed the parchment, a current shot through meâsharp, ancient. It wasnât painful, but it felt wrong, like brushing against something that had no business existing.
âHoly crudââ I yanked my hand back, staring at my fingertips. They tingled, charged with static. Around me, the air crackled, sharp and electric, raising the hair on my neck.
Outside, the storm paused. The wind stopped mid-howl, the rain stilled on the glass, as if the world was holding its breath. Then it resumed, battering the windows with a vengeance. The windâs feral shriek matched the letterâs energy, as if they shared the same heartbeat.
The whispers began faintly, no louder than a sigh of wind, but they grew. They pressed into my mind, an urgent, alien rhythm that made my skin crawl. The words were impossible to understand, but the intent was clear: they were waiting for me.
âLovely,â I muttered, forcing a weak laugh. âOf course there are whispers. Why wouldnât there be?â
I scanned the room, desperate for an escape. My eyes landed on the bookshelf, where an old, leather-bound book of coastal legends sat gathering dust. Without thinking, I snatched the letter and shoved it between the brittle pages, slamming the book shut with a force that rattled the shelves.
The whispers vanished, cut off as if the book had swallowed them whole.
For a moment, the silence felt worse. It hung heavy in the air, unnatural and expectant. I stumbled back, my breath shallow as I put as much distance as I could between myself and that cursed book. My hands trembled as I dragged them through my hair, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
I cast a final, wary glance at the bookshelf, half expecting the book to leap from the shelf or burst into flames. Nothing happened. The room stood still, almost peaceful.
With a shaky exhale, I retreated to the kitchen. Maybe if I ignored it, the whole thing would just... go away. Letters didnât breathe. Books didnât silence whispers. This couldnât be real.
But deep down, I knew better. A small, insistent voice whispered the truth I wasnât ready to face.
I hadnât stopped anything. Iâd only delayed the inevitable.
***
Two days had passed since Iâd shoved that cursed letter into the old book. The storm hadnât eased. If anything, it had grown worse, like it was feeding on something just beyond my reach.
I stood at the window, staring out at the furious Atlantic. The waves churned as if they were trying to swallow the sky, mirroring the chaos twisting in my chest. The sky was an unnatural shade of grayâdark, almost black in placesâclouds swirling and boiling with a restless energy. Whatever was out there was growing stronger.
âItâs only a storm. Just wind and rain. Nothing more,â I murmured, as if saying it aloud would make it true.
The wind howled in response, low and mournful, its cry threading through the house like a searching hand. A shiver crawled down my spine as the old bones of the house groaned, wood creaking in protest. I wrapped my arms around myself, but the unease clung to me, thick and unshakable.
The whispers had returned. At night, they slithered through the storm, curling around me like invisible fingers. Iâd wake to the sound of them pressing against my senses, my heart pounding, convinced I wasnât aloneâconvinced that something stood just beyond the edge of my vision, watching, waiting. But when I bolted upright, breath shallow, the room was always empty. Just the storm, endless and unrelenting.
âThis isnât happening,â I whispered again, the words crumbling under the weight of the truth I couldnât name.
I pressed my forehead to the cold glass, trying to steady myself. The air outside felt heavy, charged, as though the entire world was holding its breath. Somewhere, just beyond the horizon, something was waiting. I could feel it. Watching.
I opened my eyes and stared at my reflection. The face looking back wasnât entirely mine. My eyes were darker than I remembered, shadowed and stormy, holding a depth I didnât recognize. And then, just for a moment, a flicker of silver flashed in their depthsâsomething cold, ancient, and alive.
I stumbled back, my heart hammering against my ribs. Cold sweat slicked my palms as I dragged a shaky hand through my tangled hair. âGet it together, Mo,â I whispered, but the words felt hollow, my pulse refusing to slow.
When I turned, my gaze fell on the bookshelf. The old tome where Iâd hidden the letter seemed different now, its presence heavier. The faint hum Iâd imagined before had grown into something undeniableâa steady pulse, unnatural and rhythmic. The whispers swelled, a relentless chorus that filled the room, urging me closer.
This isnât real. It canât be.
I rushed to the kitchen, clinging to the mundane act of making tea as if it could tether me to reality. Hot water and herbsâsimple, ordinary thingsâsurely they could stitch the world back together. But the whispers followed, scratching at the edges of my mind, persistent and insidious.
As I reached for the kettle, a fierce gust of wind slammed against the house. The lights flickered, and in the dim, erratic glow, I saw itâa face. Pale and gaunt, with hollow eyes as dark as the storm, staring at me through the window.
A scream caught in my throat. The kettle slipped from my hand, clattering to the floor with a metallic crash. My hands trembled, breath shuddering in shallow, uneven gasps. When I looked back, the face was gone. But the panic it left behind gnawed at me, sharp and unrelenting.
âThis isnât happening,â I whispered to myself, gripping the edge of the counter. My fingers dug into the wood, desperate for an anchor against the storm pressing in on all sides. The house groaned under the windâs assault, its old walls trembling as though they, too, wanted to flee.
The stormâs fury seeped through the cracks, filling the air with a restless energy that made my skin crawl. Even the locket around my neck, usually a steady, comforting weight, now felt like a live coal against my chest. It pulsed with the stormâs energy, heating unnaturally. I hesitated, hand halfway to it, afraid it might burnâbut more afraid of what it meant.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to shut everything out. But the whispers only grew louder, threading closer to words, teasing the edge of understanding. I shook my head violently, as if I could dislodge the sound from my mind.
âNope. Not listening,â I muttered, my voice shaky. âI donât speak... storm-induced insanity.â
Lightning split the sky, blindingly bright, flooding the kitchen with unnatural light. I flinched, eyes snapping open instinctively. For a split second, the world outside the window looked wrong. The coastline pulsed with an eerie, silvery glow, the waves alive with a strange, otherworldly shimmer. The storm wasnât just battering the seaâit was breathing life into it, twisting the water into something alive, something watching.
And in the waves...
âOh, youâve got to be kidding me,â I breathed, pressing closer to the window despite myself. My breath hitched. Shapes moved through the water, sleek and silver, their motions fluid and unearthly. Not seals.
Selkies.
The creatures from Dadâs storiesâmyths Iâd dismissed as bedtime talesânow undeniable, alive, and here.
They moved with that impossible grace, twisting in the storm-tossed waves, as if they were dancing, and my heart raced, dread curling in my stomach.
The seaâs call surged through the whispers, tugging at me. The sounds seemed to emanate from the raging storm, the creaking walls, and the very air itself. It wasnât just a soundâit was a pull, a physical sensation that crawled up my spine and settled in my chest, making my feet itch to move, to run out into the storm and dive into the waves.
âNo,â I said firmly, my voice barely steady. My fingers clenched around the locket, its vibrations humming through my bones. Was it protecting me, keeping me grounded? Or was it pulling me in, a part of the very force I was trying to resist?
Even as I denied it, I felt something shifting deep inside. A part of me I didnât know existed was waking, responding to the call of the storm and the sea. It terrified me, but beneath the fear was something worseâa spark of exhilaration, primal and undeniable.
I shook my head, trying to clear the thought. âGet it together, Mo,â I hissed. âYouâre losing it. Itâs just a storm. Just a really weird, possibly hallucinogenic storm.â
Lightning flared again, turning the room stark white, followed by a crack of thunder so loud it shook the windows. I stumbled back with a small cry, my pulse racing. This was too much. The whispers. The storm. The not-quite-seals in the waves. It was as though the world I knew was being ripped apart, and I was caught between what was rational and... something else. Something ancient, powerful, and waiting.
The pull of the sea grew stronger, like a riptide beneath my skin, dragging me forward with relentless force. It drowned out everything elseâthe storm, my thoughts, my will. The locket against my chest hummed in time with the whispers, the vibrations intensifying until I couldnât tell whether it was anchoring me or binding me tighter to the stormâs call. I gripped it hard, torn between the urge to rip it off and the fear that it was the only thing holding me to reality.
âIâm not going out there,â I muttered, but the words felt thin, like a thread about to snap. The pull wasnât just in my mind anymore. It was in my body, swaying my legs, quickening my heartbeat, filling my veins with a tidal surge of something old and wild.
The call of the sea rose inside me like a tide, relentless and all-encompassing, drowning out reason. Before I realized it, I was at the door. My hand hovered over the knob, my muscles moving as though commanded by someoneâor somethingâelse. The whispers surged, wrapping around me, pulling at my thoughts like invisible hands. My locket burned hot against my skin.
Just as my fingers brushed the knob, the door slammed open with a deafening crack. I jumped back, heart hammering as the storm roared into the house. Ava stood framed in the doorway, her red hair tangled and wild, a grocery bag clutched against her chest like sheâd battled her way through hell to get here.
âWhoa, Mo, what are you doing?â she asked, her voice sharp as she kicked the door shut against the raging wind. âItâs a nightmare out there!â
Her voice hit me like a splash of cold water, breaking through the haze. The whispers faltered, fading into the background, though they didnât vanish completely. I blinked, suddenly aware of how close Iâd been to stepping into the storm.
âI was just... checking the weather,â I said lamely, gesturing vaguely at the window.
Ava raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched across her face. She set the grocery bag on the counter and began unpacking, her movements deliberate. The scent of lavender drifted into the room, soft and soothing, cutting through the sharp tang of salt and wind. It felt out of placeâa sliver of normalcy against the chaos outside.
She didnât smile. Instead, she watched me closely, her green eyes sharp and unyielding. âYouâve been staring at the ocean for hours, havenât you? Whatâs going on?â
I shrugged, my gaze skittering away. My mind scrambled for an answerâany answer that wouldnât make me sound completely unhinged.
âIs this about Dadâs stories?â Ava asked, her voice softer now, her eyes searching mine. âThe ones about the sea, about... them?â
The word hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. I stiffened, my hand flying to the locket before I could stop myself. Its warmth pulsed against my skin, faint but insistent, as if it had a mind of its own.
âWhat? No, of course not.â The words tumbled out too quickly, too sharp. âThose were just stories.â
But even as I said it, the weight of the letter hidden in the old book pressed against my thoughts. The whispers, though quieter now, still lingered at the edge of my mind, curling like smoke.
Ava stepped closer, her brow furrowed with concern. âYouâve been acting off since the storm started,â she said, her voice steady but probing. âDonât think I havenât noticed. You clutch that locket like itâs the only thing keeping you grounded.â
I dropped my hand from the locket, trying to look casual. âItâs nothing, Ava. Iâm fine.â
âYouâre a terrible liar, Mo,â she said, crossing her arms. Her tone was firm now, cutting through my denial. âSomethingâs going on, and I want to know what it is.â
Frustration surged in my chest, tightening like a coiled spring. How could I explain something I didnât even understand? How could I tell her about the whispers, the pull of the sea, the face in the glassâwithout sounding like Iâd completely lost my grip on reality?
âLook,â I said, forcing a smile that didnât quite reach my eyes. âI appreciate the concern, but youâre reading too much into this. Itâs just a storm. A really weird, freaky storm, sure, but thatâs all it is.â
Ava raised an eyebrow, her skepticism cutting through my weak defense. She opened her mouth to argue, but I cut her off before she could.
âSeriously, Ava, Iâm fine,â I snapped, my forced smile slipping. âYouâre blowing this way out of proportion.â
Her shoulders sagged slightly, and she sighed, her eyes still fixed on me. âFine. But this conversation isnât over, Mo. I know youâre hiding something.â
As she turned away, the weight of my silence crashed over meâa wave of guilt so heavy it nearly dragged the truth out of me. Weâd always shared everything. But this... this was different. This wasnât something I could explain, not even to her. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
I glanced back at the window. The storm still raged, but Avaâs presence dulled its sharp edges, like her being here created a buffer between me and the chaos outside. Still, the whispers lingered, quieter now but persistent, pressing faintly at the edges of my mind.
Whatever was out there, whatever had started to wakeâit wasnât going to stop. And a part of me didnât want it to.
The storm roared louder, its winds howling with a fury that drowned out the sound of Ava unpacking in the kitchen. The air in the house felt heavy, thick with salt and dampness, and a faint metallic tang clung to the back of my throat, like the storm had seeped into my very blood.
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, trying to ground myself, but it was no use. The whispers grew sharper, relentless, scratching at my thoughts as if they were trying to burrow deeper, unlocking something I wasnât ready to face.
âMo? Are you sure youâre okay?â Avaâs voice sounded distant, muffled by the storm and the cacophony in my head.
I opened my mouth to respond, but the words stuck. The house groaned under the weight of the wind, its timbers creaking like bones ready to break. My pulse quickened as I pressed harder against the glass, certain the entire place would collapse into the sea.
âIâm fine,â I finally croaked out, but even I didnât believe it anymore.
The storm pressed in on me from all sides, a living, breathing force that seemed to answer my thoughts with its own will. Lightning flared, illuminating the churning waves, and thunder cracked so violently it shook the house.
For a single, shattering moment, I saw faces in the waves. Blurred and fleeting, but their gazes were unmistakable. I stumbled back, my breath catching as a chill raced down my spine. They were watching me, waiting.
And then, slicing through the chaos in my mind, a voice: sharp, undeniable, ancient.
âOpen the letter."
The words vibrated through me, resonating in my bones, as if theyâd been waiting centuries to be spoken.
I shook my head, trying to resist, but the pull was too strong. My rational mind clawed for control, screaming that this wasnât real. Curses didnât exist. Selkies werenât real. Those were just stories Miread and Seamus, my adopted parents, told me as a childâfairy tales to fill long nights. But now, those tales felt like they were clawing their way out of the past, demanding to be acknowledged.
Fear warred with the inexplicable pull. My feet moved without my consent, dragging me toward the bookshelf. My mind screamed at me to stop, to fight it, but I couldnât. The storm and the voice had taken hold.
âMo? What are you doing?â Avaâs voice cut through, sharp with concern.
I couldnât answer her. My hand reached for the old book, trembling as I pulled it from the shelf. The letter thrummed beneath its pages like a heartbeat, sending shivers up my spine. Its presence was so powerful it felt aliveâancient and dangerous, waiting for me.
My fingers brushed the envelope, and a jolt of energy shot through me. Heat seared up my arm, and the locket around my neck burned against my skin. I gasped, almost dropping the letter as pain radiated through me.
âI canât,â I whispered, but even as I said it, I knew it wasnât true. I had no choice. Whatever was coming wouldnât be ignored any longer.
I stared at the seal, my heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the storm. Every instinct screamed at me to throw it away, to run. What if I ended up like my mother, swallowed by the sea? Momâs warnings echoed in my mind, tales of a fate Iâd always dismissed as fantasy.
But the possibility was thereâthis letter could hold answers. The truth about who I was. About what was happening to me.
The storm raged outside, and the house seemed to breathe with it, its walls shuddering as if alive. My hand hovered over the seal, trembling. Was I willing to risk everything to find out?
The conflict twisted in my chest, the pull of the unknown battling my instinct to resist. Each possibilityâsuccumbing or refusingâfelt equally terrifying.
âThis is insane,â I muttered, even as my trembling fingers betrayed me, breaking the seal and unfolding the parchment.
The words were written in elegant, flowing script, but they werenât in English. Gaelic. The language of my ancestors, of myths and curses Iâd never learned. I hadnât needed to. Until now.
âA Mhorwenna Willowheart Brightwood, Fuil na Mara, Nighean an Chaillte, GiĂšlanair an Uallaich Gun Tagradh...â
The words echoed in my mind, unfamiliar yet weighted with meaning. My name. How did it know my name?
The locket at my neck pulsed in time with the whispers in my mind, as though it recognized the words. My gaze darted over the text, stumbling over phrases I couldnât translate, the meaning slipping through my grasp like water. Then, some of the letters shimmered, twisting before my eyes, forming fragments I could suddenly read.
âTha an t-Ă m agad air tighinn. Tha na cagaran air gairm ort, mar a rinn iad air do mhĂ thair romhad. You are cursed, ceangailte le fuil ris a' chuan agus a h-uile rĂšn aige.â
Cursed.
The word struck me like a blow, knocking the breath from my lungs. My hands shook as I staggered back, the letter slipping from my grasp. It couldnât be real, but the truth coiled around me, sinking into my bones like an anchor dragging me under.
âMo?â Avaâs voice was closer now, sharp with alarm. âWhatâs going on?â
I couldnât answer. My eyes stayed locked on the parchment lying on the floor. The whispers grew louder, weaving around me as more of the words on the page shifted into clarity.
âThe skin that ties you to the sea must be found, lest you be lost as she was. He will come for youâhe who covets what he cannot possess. Beware the charlatan with the silver tongue.â
Skin? He? My thoughts spiraled, grasping at the fragments. Was the letter talking about my mother? About me?
The storm outside seemed to respond to my confusion, the wind howling with renewed fury. Lightning lit up the room, casting jagged shadows on the walls, and the locket against my chest burned hotter, searing into my skin.
I felt it thenâsomething stirring inside me. A power I had always felt faintly, like a distant drumbeat, now roaring to life.
I glanced at Ava, fear clutching my heart. She was my anchor, the one constant in my life. I couldnât let this touch her. The thought of anything happening to her because of me was unbearable.
âThe Highlands await. The seal skin is the key. Your motherâs fate does not have to be your own. But the curse must be broken, or you will follow her into the depths.â
The final words settled over me like a wave crashing down. The windows rattled in their frames, and the oceanâs roar seemed to come from everywhere at once, a voice calling me home.
âFollow the whispers, child of the sea. They will lead you to the truth.â
The letter slipped from my fingers, floating to the floor like a leaf on the wind. I stood frozen, the weight of what Iâd read pressing down on me, as if the storm outside had reached into my chest.
âMo?â Avaâs voice cut through my daze. She was in the doorway now, her face pale, her eyes wide with worry. âMo, what the heck is happening? What is that letter doing to you?â
I tore my gaze away from the parchment, looking at her, at the storm raging outside at the locket searing against my chest. The storm was nothing compared to what was coming.
âAva,â I said, my voice shaking with uncertainty. âWhatever this is, itâs only the beginning. Weâre not safeânot here, not anywhere.â
Whispers of the Selkie is a compelling new urban fantasy novel that is sure to dazzle fans of Amanda Hocking and Anne Greenwood Brown. Morwenna Willowheart Brightwood has always been captivated by the ocean. With childhood stories about selkies and sea creatures rippling through her mind, she is surprised when a mysterious letter comes for her. Once reads the letterâs contents, she is thrust into a mystery where ancient powers and secrets come to life. From the cliffs of Maine to the Scottish Highlands, Morwenna and her older sister, Ava, embark on a journey to learn the truth about Morwennaâs birth mother. Sinister doings are simmering, however, and as Morwenna comes into her own power, she will need to decide whether she is brave enough to follow her destiny or succumb to her fears.
Whispers of the Selkie breathes fresh air into urban fantasy with its rich ties to folklore and imaginative storyline. I always enjoy fantasy tales that feature lesser utilized creatures, such as selkies. Even though selkies have a rich history dating back to Celtic and Norse cultures, they do not seem to be nearly as popular as vampires and werewolves. It is a shame, since I believe books that manage to couple rich folk history and the fantastical are vitally important in todayâs literature. They help us remember our roots and come to understand how we might be following our own destinies â whether they are our desired fates or not.
Whispers of the Selkie could perhaps have benefitted from some additional revision. The action is compelling; however, the book would benefit from more concise descriptions. Tighter prose provides deeper emotional resonance and brings a stronger focus on the stakes for Morwenna. Trimming overly detailed exposition also helps keep up momentum. Ensuring a healthy balance between detail and action also increases tension.
Overall, Whispers of the Selkie is an enjoyable tale that is sure to find a home on many bookshelves. Teen and young adult readers will flock to this book.