From the Enchanted Heritage series by Lisa A. Moore

(Whispers of the Selkie – out now | Song of the Drowned – coming late 2025)

When people ask about Morwenna Brightwood, they usually mention the ocean. The curse. The magic. The bloodlines.

But before she was all of those things, she was someone’s little sister.

That someone is Ava Brightwood—a tall, sharp-eyed boutique owner with a tactical mind and the unwavering posture of a woman who does not wait to be rescued. If Morwenna is the storm, Ava is the breakwater. And she’s proud of it.

I met Ava in her shop, where the clothing is arranged with precision and the scent of cedar and ocean air still lingers, even in landlocked months. She offered no handshake, no small talk—just a raised brow that said, If we’re doing this, let’s get on with it.

“We’re sisters,” she said when I asked about Morwenna. “Not by blood, but by bond. I was adopted first. Morwenna came later—found on the beach like something the sea refused to drown. We grew up together. We fought like hell. We had each other’s backs. Still do.”

Ava speaks like someone who’s used to explaining things to people who don’t listen the first time. But when she talks about her sister, the edges soften—just slightly.

“She was always the reckless one,” she continued. “I was the planner. The watcher. She’d be chasing sea myths at dusk, and I’d be the one with a flashlight and a first-aid kit, ready to patch her up afterward.”

But things changed the day Morwenna found out she wasn’t just curious about the sea—she was of it. A selkie by blood. A druid by birthright. And cursed in ways neither of them fully understood.

“It was like watching someone realize their own shadow had teeth,” Ava said. “She didn’t just learn she was different—she learned she was dangerous. And no one handed her a manual. Just a warning.”

You can hear the frustration in Ava’s voice when she talks about not being able to protect Morwenna from the things she can’t see—magic, curses, ancient oaths buried in salt and memory.

“I’m not magical. I can’t throw runes or summon storms. But I can answer the phone at 3 a.m. when she’s spiraling. I can tell her she’s not crazy when her reflection starts doing things it shouldn’t. And I can remind her who the hell she is when everyone else is trying to tell her who she’s supposed to become.”

Ava’s protective streak runs deep. She calls it pragmatism. I’d call it a form of devotion. But she’s also learning that sometimes, protecting someone means letting them go into the darkness alone.

“Do I want to be there with her? Of course. But she’s in Scotland chasing ghosts and prophecies, and I’m here keeping the rest of her life from falling apart. That’s the deal we made. I stay grounded, so she can fly into the storm and come back.”

When asked about their adoptive mother, Miread Brightwood, Ava grew quiet.

“She was lightning in a bottle,” Ava said at last. “A marine biologist who believed in selkies. A scientist who told bedtime stories like they were sacred scripture. She was the first person who made me feel like I didn’t have to change to survive.”

Miread adopted Ava first. Then Morwenna. She raised them both in a coastal lighthouse, teaching them to be strong, curious, and just superstitious enough to respect the sea without fearing it.

“She had this way of making even science sound like magic,” Ava said. “But toward the end… there was something in her. A pull. Like part of her had already gone back to wherever Morwenna came from. She disappeared during a storm, and not a day goes by that I don’t wonder if she walked into the sea of her own free will.”

Miread’s influence lingers—especially in the way both sisters wrestle with the tension between logic and legend. And though she’s gone, her legacy is stitched into every decision Ava makes.

“She taught us to be brave,” Ava said. “But I don’t think she realized how much bravery costs. Or maybe she did. And she just hoped we’d be strong enough to carry it anyway.”

At the end of the conversation, I asked Ava what she wants readers to know about her role in all this. The story tends to focus on selkie magic, curses, and the unraveling of ancient secrets. Ava isn’t magical. She doesn’t shape-shift. She doesn’t throw lightning.

But she knows exactly who she is.

“I’m the one who picks up the phone,” she said. “The one who double-checks the perimeter and makes sure no one’s sneaking through the back door while you’re distracted by a glowing rune. Morwenna’s learning who she is. I already know who I am. I’m the one who stays. The one who watches the storm roll in—and keeps the fire burning for when she comes back.”

Ava Brightwood is the kind of character who may never demand the spotlight, but without her, the story would lose its grounding. She’s loyalty personified. Tactician by necessity. And older sister by oath.

She doesn’t believe in fate. But she does believe in Morwenna.

And for now, that’s enough.

Whispers of the Selkie is available now in paperback and ebook.

Song of the Drowned releases in late 2025.

 Keep an eye on the waves. Ava certainly will.