Oriana took a deep breath of the air, still humid from the previous evening’s rain. The sounds of traffic on the Street of Flowers and birds squabbling along the river’s edge touched her ears, but neither was as seductive as the distant rush of the water, barely detectable this far into the city. Perhaps it was only her desire that made her hear it. The water called her, always at the back of her mind and heart, the reason few of her people ever strayed far from the ocean.

The lady’s eyes rested on the view of the river, gray under overcast skies. “My sons worry if I come out here alone,” she said after a time.

Oriana cast a glance at Lady Ferreira’s lovely face. The woman had only one son now. Surely that was what the maid Teresa had told her. Alessio Ferreira had died well over a year ago. Some scandal had attached to the gentleman’s death, but Teresa hadn’t supplied any details. She’d shown Oriana a photograph of the man, though, kept on the mantel in the front sitting room in a well-worn silver frame. Alessio had strongly resembled his mother—strikingly attractive, more beautiful than handsome. Oriana decided he must remain alive in his mother’s mind, prompting her to speak of her sons. “Are they concerned you’ll take ill?”

“No.” Lady Ferreira hugged her arms about herself. “I miss the sea.”

Well, she certainly understood that. It made her think Lady Ferreira a kindred spirit. She touched the lady’s elbow. “Can you not go down to the water?”

“Here in this house, Duilinho can keep me safe,” the lady said in a firm voice, almost a mantra. She ran her hands along the railing as if it were her cage.

“From whom?”

Lady Ferreira shuddered delicately. “That bastard Paolo. He would see my son dead.”

Dead? Mr. Ferreira hadn’t mentioned that anyone wanted him dead. And who was Paolo? Oriana leaned forward, trying to read Lady Ferreira’s expression. “And what of your other son? Does this Paolo seek to kill him also?”

Lady Ferreira looked up sharply and laid a slender hand on Oriana’s arm, her seal-brown eyes fearful. “Paolo mustn’t know about Erdano. That’s why I can’t go back to Braga Bay. He might follow me to Erdano, and then Erdano would die, too.”

Erdano? Who was that? Oriana was certain Teresa hadn’t mentioned any Erdano. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

Lady Ferreira wiped one eye with the edge of her mantilla. “I only have my sons left now. I will do what I must to protect them, even if it means never going near the water again.”

That didn’t clarify much. Clearly Erdano wasn’t another name for the dead Alessio, though. He must be yet another son, sired by a different man, perhaps a former husband. Even so, Oriana couldn’t imagine why the lady would go to Braga Bay to see him. There was no settlement at that secluded bay north of the city. It was tiny, more a cove than a bay . . . and only the seal people lived on that narrow strip of sandy beach beneath the cliffs.

Oriana gazed down at Lady Ferreira’s worried face; her delicate, pointed features; and large dark eyes and something strange occurred to her. Unlike Oriana’s own people, the seals took human form—a completely human form—when they shed their pelts. Could it be?

Mr. Ferreira had promised her that she would be safe in this household. Perhaps he’d felt safe offering that promise because his mother was as much at risk as she was. That would definitely need discussion when she could catch him next.

Duilio found Joaquim at the café nearest the police station in Massarelos parish. It was Joaquim’s usual stop for lunch when he had time—the Café Brilhante. The tables had elegant white cloths and shining cutlery but didn’t cater to an upper-class clientele. Duilio liked the place. He wended his way through the crowded café to the table near the back, where Joaquim sat. It was, rather predictably, in a corner with a good view of the entryway, but Duilio managed to sit down before a distracted Joaquim could rise to greet him. “What are you working on?”

Joaquim straightened a handful of papers and slid them back into a folder. “Another case. Nothing for you to worry about.”

Duilio translated that as meaning a case Joaquim didn’t want his aid on—not yet. Joaquim often investigated cases other inspectors had given up on, usually on his own time. He was too stubborn to quit. “I see. Have you ordered?”

After learning that Joaquim had, Duilio waved over one of the waiters. It was noisy in the place, but everyone seemed inclined to mind their own business. At least he needn’t yell at Joaquim, as he must in some cafés. “Miss Paredes took the position as Mother’s companion.”

The waiter arrived, and Duilio ordered coffee and a large lunch while Joaquim sat shaking his head. Once the waiter had gone, Joaquim frowned. “You hired her? Why didn’t you just bring her to meet me down at the station?”

“I don’t want Miss Paredes near your station, Joaquim.” There were no other diners seated near enough to overhear them, so Duilio told the truth. “She’s a sereia.”

That gave Joaquim pause. “Truly? How do you know?”

He was not going to tell Joaquim how much of an eyeful he’d gotten the afternoon before. It had probably been an unwise action, given the effect the mere sight of her nude had on him. He should probably start looking about for a mistress—although he wouldn’t mention that to his cousin. Joaquim had a prudish streak, likely a reaction to having been raised around Alessio and having Erdano as a regular guest at the house. Joaquim had even considered entering the priesthood, choosing the seminary over the university at Coimbra. He’d been relieved when Joaquim finally chose the police instead.

Duilio puffed out his cheeks, deciding how best not to offend him. “I’ve seen her webbed hands and her gills,” he admitted. “I’m absolutely certain she’s a sereia. I’ve honestly suspected it for some time.”

Joaquim gave him a flat stare. “And you didn’t think to mention that to me?”

Duilio tried for a casual shrug. “I didn’t want to bother you with excess information if it turned out to be . . . unimportant.”

“Wrong, you mean.” Joaquim eyed him with exasperation. “This is why you’re right all the time: because you omit all the times you’re wrong.”

That sounded damningly like what Miss Paredes had said about seers the night before. Duilio waved airily, a gesture he usually saved for his society persona. “Dear Joaquim, I’m simply infallible.”

Joaquim laughed, a rarity. “So, what else haven’t you told me yet, assuming I don’t need to be bothered?”

“Too many things to count.” Duilio didn’t intend to tell Joaquim any more about Miss Paredes. He wasn’t going to mention her striking coloration, her narrow waist, or her lovely breasts. “Unfortunately, I was right about Lady Isabel. She’s dead. Miss Paredes can breathe underwater, so she had time to untie herself and escape, but she watched Lady Isabel die.”

Joaquim rubbed a hand over his face and sighed, his expression changing to sympathy. “Poor girl. Why did she not go to the police? Wait . . . never mind. She’s a sereia; no police. Did she see who put them in the house?”

“No, she was drugged and only woke once inside,” Duilio told him. “Lady Isabel was intending to elope with Mr. Efisio, as the paper says, but she and her companion were grabbed by a different coach than the one they expected. They were disguised as housemaids.”

“Fatal mistake,” Joaquim said softly.

Duilio held up one finger in warning as the waiter approached with his coffee. One never knew where a stranger stood on the matter of nonhumans. Once the man had gone again, Duilio shook out his napkin, laid it in his lap and took a sip of his coffee. It was strong, as he preferred. “I discussed the case with Miss Paredes in detail this morning.”