Deep Water

by Nicola Cameron

  He waited for the usual gasp of horror and overflowing sympathy. Dunn surprised him by nodding. “So you came out here to spend your last holiday in the sunshine,” the other man said. “Sensible. Although I would think the coast of Spain would have been closer for you if you wanted warm weather.”

  “That’s the problem. It’s too close.” Griffin shook his head. “I don’t want people fussing over me. I just want to relax and be out on the water while I still can.”

  “I understand.” Dunn turned and glanced out one of the large lounge windows. A sliver of the cove could be seen through it, tropical blue under the bright sky. “But I would think it’s risky for you to go out sailing by yourself. And it would be a terrible waste if you accidentally sloughed this mortal coil while you still have some good days ahead of you. So I have a proposition for you.”

  Griffin narrowed his eyes. “Oh, yeah? Like what?”

  The tall man folded his hands on the counter. “I would like to offer my services as first mate. Since I work for myself, I can arrange my hours as I see fit so I can sail with you whenever you like. That way, you still get your time on the water.”

  Griffin’s first response was to snap that he didn’t need a minder. Don’t be an arsehole. He’s trying to help.

  “That’s very generous of you,” he finally said. “But what’s in it for you?”

  “One, I enjoy sailing and I haven’t had much time to do it recently. Two, you strike me as an agreeable type, and I enjoy talking to you. Three…” Dunn nodded at the bag of cheese on the counter. “I brought you a large chunk of white Cheshire in the land of petrochemical byproducts otherwise known as American cheese. I expect at least one damned sandwich out of it.”

  Griffin grinned at that. “You have a point. Fine, you’re hired. Let me get a shower and a shave, and we’ll take her out.”

  “With sandwiches,” Dunn said.

  “With sandwiches,” Griffin agreed, levering himself out of his chair. “And since first mate takes care of the food, you’d better get started on that, right?”

  As he left the kitchen, he chuckled at the gobsmacked look on Dunn’s face.

  Chapter Four

  Amphitrite sat back in her chair, smiling at Nick. “So how have you been sleeping?” she asked.

  “The nightmares have been easing off,” Nick said, lounging in his own chair. “Haven’t had one for a couple of nights, so I count that as a win.”

  “Excellent.” Before coming to the cove, Nick, a sexual submissive, had been assaulted by his sadistic ex-Dom during a scene gone severely wrong. He still had a healing scar in the shape of a capital B on his chest, and both Liam and Aidan bore physical and emotional injuries from their own encounter with the late Barnard Whitfield. Amphitrite had volunteered her therapist skills to assist Nick and his mates with their recovery. “How’s the job coming along?”

  “Which one?” Nick said with a smile.

  Amphitrite smiled back. “Both, actually.”

  “Well, Chiron’s been riding my ass about selkie physiology, but that’s par for the course with him. The ER job is working out nicely. I like my boss and most of my coworkers, so I’m pretty happy on that front.”

  She made a mental note of his last comment. “When were you and the boys planning on going back to Chicago to close up your apartment?”

  He chewed his lip. “We were going to do it in a couple of weeks, but now I think I may hold off on that.”

  “Why?”

  “We’ve got this new neighbor—took the cottage over here.” He thumbed at the north wall. “Nice guy, but he’s got a brain tumor and he’s terminal. I got the impression that this is his last vacation. I’d just feel better if I hung around until he left or … you know.”

  Once again Amphitrite was struck by the compassion mortals could show for one another. “That’s very kind of you,” she said. “It must be difficult for you as a doctor to be in that position.”

  “Knowing he’s going to die and I can’t stop it?” Nick sighed, scrubbing at his bristled cheek. “To be honest, yeah, I hate it. But even with the Rod there’s nothing I can do for him except be there if he has another seizure or something.”

  “Another seizure?”

  “Yeah—” Nick hesitated. “Um, Poseidon brought him here yesterday. Apparently Griffin was seizing out on the pier.”

  “Oh.” For a moment she wondered what Poseidon was doing with a mortal, then put the thought aside. “Well, that was kind of him, as well. I take it he—your neighbor, I mean—came out of the seizure without any issues?”

  “Yeah, otherwise I would have taken him to ORMC.” He grimaced. “To be honest I still want to do that, but he talked me out of it.”

  “I see.” That flutter of curiosity was back. “Did Poseidon explain why he was with this man?”

  “I think they were out on Griffin’s boat.”

  “Ah.”

  Nick looked wary. “Is that a problem?”

  “Not at all. Poseidon is free to do whatever he likes,” she said, ignoring the brief stab of—annoyance, it was simply annoyance. “It’s nice to see him taking an interest in mortals again. He’s held himself aloof for far too long, in my opinion.”

  Now the doctor’s eyebrows came down. “He definitely wasn’t aloof. He almost exploded when I told him Griffin was terminal.”

  Another stab of it was just annoyance. “Yes, well, Poseidon can be rather forceful at times,” she said.

  Nick rubbed his throat. “I noticed.”

  Amphitrite spotted the faint bloom of a bruise peeking out over his collar. Her annoyance disappeared, replaced by anger. “Did he do that?” she asked, nodding at his throat.

  “Uh, yeah. He kinda grabbed me by the collar after I told him about Griffin. Liam got him off me and he apologized. It’s no big deal.”

  Amphitrite pressed her lips together. After Nick’s abuse at the hands of Barnard Whitfield and the outright torture his mate Liam had experienced from the vicious mortal, the last thing either of them needed was being manhandled by a god. “If you say so,” she said. “If it happens again, however, please let me know. I’ll have a word with him.”

  “It’s okay,” Nick reassured her. “Trust me, I’ve gotten worse bruises from ER patients.”

  She nodded, turning the conversation onto other topics. But it was most definitely not okay.

  ****

  “Husband? A word, if you don’t mind.”

  Poseidon turned from his contemplation of the cove. That day’s sailing with Griffin had been even more pleasant than the first one. However, the mortal had been appalled at his lack of cinematic knowledge and had made humorous threats about something called a “movie night”. The idea of doing anything with Griffin at night was deeply appealing, and Poseidon looked forward to it.

  Belatedly, he gave the beautiful Nereid glaring at him a bow. “Amphitrite. How may I help you?”

  “What in Gaia’s name do you think you’re doing?”

  Poseidon’s jaw dropped slightly. How had she found out about Griffin already? “I beg your pardon?”

  “Nick, you oaf.” She planted her hands on her hips. “He didn’t want to say anything, obviously out of some misbegotten sense of male loyalty, but I saw the bruises on his throat. What did you do to him?”

  He relaxed a bit. “Ah. I was … taken aback by something he’d said.”

  “What you were was abusive,” she snapped. “Both Liam and Nick are already suffering from mild PTSD, and I won’t have you making the situation worse.”

  He winced, remembering his grip on the physician’s shirt collar. “I did apologize.”

  “You shouldn’t have touched him in the first place.” Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t inquire into your affairs—I never have, and I never will. But whatever is happening with this Griffin person, I will not have you taking it out on Nick or anyone else at the cove. Is that clear?”

  Poseidon’s heart stuttered at the name of their agapetos. He had to seize the
moment. “Quite clear. And while we’re on the subject, I need to tell you something about Griffin—”

  Amphitrite’s face, already strained, turned dark. “Please don’t. I’ve never objected to your paramours, but that doesn’t mean I want to hear about them.”

  Taken aback, Poseidon wondered just how many “paramours” his wife had known about. “But—”

  “Don’t!” With an irritated shake of her head, she opened a portal and stepped through it.

  Poseidon stared at the space where she had been, then sighed. “Dammit, Ammie,” he said softly.

  ****

  Ian twiddled his bare toes in the warm air, the heat from his laptop toasting his thighs through his shorts. He’d had a rare day off from godhood. Aphros had been called away to drill with a new battalion of tritons, and Bythos needed to do some research on different energy absorption paths in coral. Even Poseidon seemed oddly distracted, not popping in to insist on yet another training exercise or even leaving a sarcastic note.

  He’d taken the opportunity to get in some writing time on his novel Greenstrike. After a day of work on the porch, however, the beach beckoned with a siren’s call that couldn’t be ignored. Grabbing a bucket and filling it with ice and bottles of Sam Adams, he’d lugged bucket and laptop out to the loungers in back of the cottage and settled in for the afternoon.

  Deep in edit mode, he was trying to think of a good synonym for “damage” when a shadow fell over his screen. He looked up and blinked at the new arrival. “Oh, hi. Griffin, right?”

  “Yeah.” The man seemed somewhat uncomfortable, shuffling slightly on the sand. “Is Dunn here?”

  For a moment, the knowledge of who this man had been sent Ian’s brain into temporary vapor lock. “Uh, no. Can I help you?”

  Griffin scratched his head, grimacing a bit. “I’d invited him over for a movie night, and I wanted to check on the lineup with him. Then I realized I never got his mobile number. Do you have it?”

  Ian had no idea if Poseidon even owned a cell phone. “Um, I think he said something about it being in the shop,” he improvised. “He accidentally washed it or something.”

  “Oh. Yeah, done that a few times,” Griffin said ruefully. “Well, the next time you see him could you ask him to call me?”

  “Sure, no problem.” Ian opened a text file on his laptop and took down Griffin’s cell phone number. Only then did he notice the beads of sweat on the Englishman’s forehead. “You look kinda warm. You want a beer?”

  “God, yes,” Griffin said gratefully.

  “Have a seat.” Ian closed his laptop and set it on the low plastic table between the chairs, fishing out two cold brown bottles from the cooler and passing one over. “Sorry. I know Englishmen don’t drink their beer cold.”

  “When it’s this hot we do,” Griffin said with a short laugh, twisting off the cap. “Cheers.”

  Ian saluted the other man with his own bottle. “So I hear you and Dunn have been sailing?”

  “Yes.” Griffin nodded at the dock where his boat floated next to Ian’s. “I’m a bit under the weather right now, so I need some help with the sails and such.”

  “Well, if you need help with a boat, Dunn is definitely your best choice,” Ian said, trying not to grin.

  The other man made a noncommittal noise, taking another sip of beer. “So what’s he like, then?” he said abruptly. “Personally, I mean?”

  Apart from the fact that he’s the God of the Sea? “Uh, well, he’s By and Aph’s dad, so I primarily know him through them,” Ian said. “But he’s a good guy. A little stiff at times, but that’s just how he is.” He tried for a casual tone. “Anything specific you want to know?”

  Griffin hesitated, one finger tapping on the side of his bottle. “No,” he said after a pause. “It’s just … well, he said he’d be willing to help me go sailing any time I liked. It’s kind of odd, y’know? Especially since he doesn’t know me from Adam.”

  “Did he tell you why he wanted to help?”

  Griffin shifted a little, rubbing sweat from his forehead. “He said he liked sailing and didn’t have much time for it, which is generous and all. I just don’t like being a charity case.”

  “Ha.” Ian waved his bottle. “Trust me, you’re not. If anything, you’re helping him out by letting him come out with you. He really needs to unwind a little.”

  “I noticed.” Griffin sighed, then drained his bottle and dropped it into the bucket. “Well, I supposed I’d better haul him out with me, then,” he said, getting to his feet. “If you do reach him tonight, give him my number, yeah?”

  “Will do.” Ian watched the man head back to his cottage, noting the stiffness to his movements. He switched briefly to godsight, noting the Englishman’s pale, patchy aura shot through with tones of grey and black.

  Father-in-law, I hope you know what you’re doing.

  ****

  The Seabird raced over the lapis water, spray lifting on the breeze and disappearing in the sunlit air.

  Griffin sat at the tiller, sunglasses firmly perched on his nose as he steered the sailboat along the barrier islands. Each one had begun life as a sandbar, a remnant of the shore cut off by the encroaching sea. Opportunistic seeds had then taken root, forming a thick mat of vegetation that stabilized the sandbar and turned it into a genuine island, albeit one that would be swamped during a hurricane or even a strong storm. The bigger islands sported palms, loblolly pines and other quick-growing trees. They waved gently in the breeze, a tan and green fringe fanning the outer shoreline.

  Dunn sat on the bench seat, studying a map and the ship’s compass. The Seabird came equipped with modern positioning equipment, but the big redhead had made a disgusted noise when Griffin pointed them out. “Electronic trash. One solid gout of water in their guts and they’re useless,” Dunn said, sniffing. “Give me a sextant and a compass any day.”

  Griffin had grinned at the announcement and left his first mate to the navigation. It was impossible to get too terribly lost this close to the shoreline in any case, especially in good weather.

  Dunn lifted his head, strands of dark red hair whipping around his face. “Keep on this heading,” he shouted. “We want the third island after this one.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain Bligh,” Griffin shouted back amiably.

  Dunn smirked at that, then turned and stared out at the passing islands. When he’d shown up at Griffin’s cottage that morning, he had mentioned a local island that had been turned into a small marine wildlife reserve by some of the locals. “I’ve been told it’s something of a hidden treasure. There’s a small inlet where we can anchor and go ashore for a bit, as long as we don’t leave any trash behind.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” Griffin had said. For a moment he wished he could still dive. Strapping on a rebreather and going down for a look at the local marine ecosystem would have been enjoyable, especially if the surrounding waters were anything like Olympic Cove.

  But that wasn’t going to happen. His seizures had brought his diving days to an abrupt end. He still remembered his last dive off the coast of Greece, and the great good luck he’d had in finding a beautiful female octopus tending her nest. He could still see her clinging to the side of an algae-carpeted boulder as she piled rocks and plants around the nest’s entrance, camouflaging it from local predators. He’d swum away quietly at the end, not wanting to disturb her housekeeping efforts.

  He sometimes thought that if there were an extinction level event that wiped land animals off the face of the earth, the cetaceans would wind up arm (so to speak) wrestling it with the octopuses for who would become the next dominant race. Personally, he hoped it would be the octopuses. No matter what all the woo-woo New Agers thought about them, dolphins were aquatic apes and just as prone to murder, rape, and abuse as their land-based cousins.

  “That one,” Dunn called, breaking into his thoughts. Griffin glanced at the indicated island. It was significantly larger than its neighbors, and its vegetation was well
established. He was surprised some enterprising businessman hadn’t tried to build a summer cottage on it. Or maybe one did and it got washed away by a hurricane. He grinned at the thought.

  Dunn pointed out a small inlet on the northeast side of the island. He stood and reefed the Seabird’s sails as Griffin cranked the engine and guided the boat into the space. A soft thud under the bow indicated that they’d struck the island’s underlying sandbar.

  “We may have to push off this damned thing,” he announced, getting to his feet behind Dunn. “And by we, I mean you. I’m the invalid, after all.”

  Dunn raised an eyebrow at that. “I have no intention of camping out here overnight,” he said, setting the anchor before hopping over the gunwale onto dry land with a mooring rope in one hand. He lashed it around a small but sturdy-looking pine. “Trust me, I’ll make sure we’re not stuck.”

  Griffin grunted at that, stepping to the bow. The smell of land was stronger now over the salt and seaweed tang. A cautious hop/step over the gunwale landed him on soggy but relatively stable soil. Looking around, it was clear that someone had been out here before and had trampled down paths through the foliage, but there were no man-made elements like gravel or concrete.

  Dunn reached back into the boat and hauled out a backpack. “Feel up to a bit of a walk?”

  “It’s not going to be very long, is it?” The island was maybe two hundred meters in length, and half that in width. Before his diagnosis, Griffin could have strolled the entire thing comfortably in less than an hour. Now, though, he suspected he’d be lucky to make fifty meters before needing to sit down and rest.

  “Not at all. Come on.” Dunn turned and set off towards the island’s center, his pace slow but not deliberately so. Gritting his teeth, Griffin followed.

  ****

  Poseidon studied the island’s foliage as he walked, happy with the work of his daimons. He’d told them to find a barrier island and turn it into a natural park for the day. They’d done their work admirably, and were now busy chasing off biting insects.