Immortal Sea

by Virginia Kantra

  “I could,” he answered shortly.

  “Then why don’t you?”

  “I like to walk.”

  “Me, too.” She sounded out of breath.

  It occurred to him her questions might be driven by more than curiosity. Her legs were very short.

  He reduced the length of his stride. “Shall I carry you?”

  She stuck out her chin. “I’m okay.”

  Dauntless, he thought, amused and admiring. Like her mother. “Give me your backpack, then.”

  She wriggled out of the straps. “Where are we going?”

  He kept his tone casual as he hitched the small pink bag over his shoulder. “Not far.” He hoped. Zachary did not have a car either. “Why don’t you take me where you went yesterday with your brother?”

  He could not enter the water with the girl watching. But he could mark the place, assess the danger, return later to set wards.

  Her gaze slid from his. “It’s kind of a secret.”

  “You do not have to tell me,” Morgan said. “You can show me.”

  She did not answer. But where the road dipped down to the beach, she turned off the paved way and onto a narrow track through the tall grass. Beach roses and blackberry bushes pressed in on both sides. Thorny vines like trip wires crossed the uneven ground. Her short legs were soon scratched with thin pink lines.

  “Careful.” Morgan cleared a trailing cane from her path.

  She flashed him a smile before flitting ahead.

  He smelled the sea before he saw it, shining like mother of pearl in the sun. The path broke up in a welter of rocks. The rocks tumbled down to a crescent of gray sand littered with pebbles and shells.

  Secluded, with soft footing and a deep draft. A smart choice, a safe choice, for a finfolk youth learning to Change. A perilous place for the human child left on shore.

  Morgan frowned. “Do you come here alone?”

  Emily shook her head. “I’m not allowed.”

  “And where do you wait when your brother goes in the water?”

  Those big eyes widened before she hung her head.

  At a loss, Morgan regarded her soft, dark curls. The child had not yet developed her mother’s defenses or the human facility with lying, but she was clearly keeping silent. To protect her brother?

  He could understand that. He could even applaud her loyalty. He had his own secrets, his own loyalties. But he had promised Elizabeth to keep her daughter safe.

  “You must not go into the water.”

  “I don’t.” She scrunched her small face. “It’s too cold for swimming anyway. Not like the beach at home.”

  “Home?”

  “North Carolina. Where we lived before.”

  “It is the same.”

  “No, it’s not.” She skipped down the rocks.

  He felt an unfamiliar qualm at the possibility she might slip and break her little neck. He took her arm to prevent it. Under his palm, her skin was as smooth as the inside of a shell, her bones delicate and fragile as a bird’s.

  “The sea,” he explained. “It is always changing and always the same. You are always at home with the sea.”

  She tipped up her face. “But I don’t know anybody here.”

  He stared at her, baffled. “You know your mother. And your brother Zachary.”

  “They’re family. I don’t have any friends.” Her childish mouth trembled.

  Morgan felt a flicker of panic. He had little experience with children. None at all with crying ones. “You know me,” he offered desperately.

  The alarming moisture retreated as she assessed him with her mother’s clinical, critical eye. “You’re old.”

  “Very old,” he agreed. “Hundreds of years old.”

  She gave a watery chuckle.

  The sound woke a memory in the cavern of his heart that had been still and cold and silent for centuries—the echo of another child’s laughter. His sister, his twin, Morwenna. He had not let himself think of her in years.

  “You’re not that old,” Emily said. “You could be my friend, I guess. If you want.”

  The tentative hope in her eyes struck like a barb in his heart. He was one of the First Creation, elemental, immortal, solitary. He did not make friends.

  “Mr. Bressay?”

  He stared down at her.

  “I’m hungry.”

  He was, too. In his heart. In his soul, if he had one.

  “I can take you back.” Now that he had marked the place, he had no need of the child’s company. None at all.

  “I have a sandwich. Peanut butter. In my backpack.”

  Wordlessly, he slid the pink bag from his shoulder and handed it to her.

  Taking it from him, she settled herself on the rocks and patted the flat place beside her.

  He froze.

  She did not appear to notice. Her small, grubby hands pawed through the pack, pulled out a squishy plastic bag. Peeling it open, she extracted the mangled sandwich. She regarded it a moment and then carefully tore the bread in two. Smiling, she offered him half.

  The hook in his heart dug deep. An unfamiliar emotion welled in his chest. He did not need her food. But he was touched by her determination to share what she had with him.

  The way Elizabeth had last night.

  Folding his long legs, he eased down on the rocks beside Elizabeth’s daughter. Solemnly, he accepted the sandwich. “Morgan,” he said. “If we are to be friends, you must call me Morgan.”

  10

  “I DON’T CARE ABOUT THE HAIR.”GEORGE WILEY glanced at Zack’s new dye job and away. “As long as it’s clean and out of your face. And I don’t care about your clothes as long as you don’t smell and I’m not staring at your underwear all day. I don’t care about your lifestyle either.”

  Zack swallowed. His lifestyle? Shit.

  “I’m not gay, Mr. Wiley,” he wanted to say. “Actually, I’m very interested in having sex with your daughter.”

  But that wouldn’t get him the job or Stephanie, so he kept his mouth shut.

  Wiley shifted his weight, making his desk chair creak. The small office was at the back of the store, crammed between the meat counter and the stockroom. The cold air smelled of bananas and spoiled milk. “Islanders, once they get used to you, tend to live and let live,” he said.

  Zack nodded to show he was listening, but inside he was wondering how long it would take for the Nazi twins, Todd and Doug, to get used to him. And how he could avoid them if he was working at the grocery store.

  Wiley cleared his throat. “This time of year, though, we get a lot of summer people. They think they want local color, but they don’t want to see anything that makes them uncomfortable.”

  Again, his gaze flickered to Zack’s aggressively black hair. Zack’s stomach sank as he waited for Wiley to tell him he didn’t get the job after all.

  His hands clenched between his knees. Screw it. It’s not like he wanted to sweep floors and carry boxes for minimum wage.

  Only . . . He wanted an excuse to hang around her. Stephanie. And a job would prove to his mom he wasn’t a kid anymore. It was something to do, something to hold on to.

  “So I’ll tell you what I told my daughter,” Wiley continued. “If customers are distracted by your makeup, you’re wearing too much. This is a store, not a circus. I’m not hiring you as a clown.”

  Zack’s heart thudded. “You’re hiring me?”

  Wiley ran a hand over his receding hairline. “Looks like it. I can use you thirty hours a week. Friday and Saturday are our biggest days, Wednesday and Sunday you’re off. Monday and Thursday we stock shelves, do the weekend store displays. Out by eleven.”

  “Eleven at night,” Zack repeated to be sure he understood.

  Wiley’s eyes—blue, like his daughter’s—narrowed. “That a problem for you?”

  It wasn’t like he had school the next morning, Zack reasoned.

  His chest expanded with the power of making a decision, taking an action, without checki
ng first with his mother. He met Wiley’s gaze. “No, sir.”

  Wiley gave a short nod. “I’ll see you tonight, then. Six o’clock.”

  “Six,” Liz repeated. “But what about dinner?”

  She bit her tongue the instant the words left her mouth. She was the one to insist Zack get a job. But she hadn’t expected him to find one so soon, she thought, torn between guilt and pride. And she’d never intended him to work nights.

  Despite their sometimes competing schedules, throughout her husband’s illness and after his death, Liz had made the family dinner a priority, a constant, a way of demonstrating to her children and herself that life went on.

  And life did go on. Life changed. Zack was changing right before her eyes. He was barely wearing makeup tonight, she realized, just a touch of liner to offset his long gold eyes.

  He shrugged, apparently uncomfortable with her inspection. “I’ll grab a sandwich before I go.”

  “I’ll make you something.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  She needed to do something, to connect with him somehow, to make up to him in some way for whatever failures had brought them to this place. “I want to.”

  “Whatever. Thanks,” he added in a voice that meant “Leave me alone.”

  She fixed tuna melts, and the three of them ate dinner together. Early, so Zack could leave for work on time, although Liz had no appetite and he kept looking at the clock.

  At least he ate, she told herself as she carried their plates to the sink. But he hadn’t spoken a word to her.

  The doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it.” Emily, always sensitive to tension, jumped up from the table.

  Zack followed her into the hall.

  Liz shut off the water with her elbow and reached for a dishtowel. “Make sure you see who it is before you open the—”

  “Morgan!” Emily said.

  Liz’s heart bounded as high and glad as Emily’s voice. Stupid heart. It was only the memory of her dream, the rush of sex, the contact high she got from being in the same room with him, that caused that erratic jump in her pulse. Or maybe it was the relief of having another adult in the house.

  “And he brought a kitten!” Emily shouted.

  Liz’s jaw dropped. She closed her mouth. Swallowed.

  Adult, my ass, she thought, and went to deal with the situation.

  Morgan stood in the entryway, tall, dark, and formidable with winter pale hair and eyes. Against his chest in one large hand he supported a small striped kitten. Emily danced around them as Zack watched from the stairs.

  “What are you doing?” Liz asked, keeping her voice low.

  Morgan raised his brows at her tone. “Your daughter already told you.” He unhooked tiny claws from his sweater and handed the kitten to Emily. “I brought you a cat.”

  “She’s so cute,” Emily crooned, cuddling the little head under her chin. “What’s her name?”

  “His name,” Morgan corrected, “is up to you.”

  Her eyes widened with delight. “I can name him?”

  “You can keep him.”

  “Now, just a minute,” Liz said.

  “Can I?” Emily whirled, clutching the kitten to her breast. “Can I, Mommy?”

  Liz’s heart sank at the mingled hope and appeal in her daughter’s face. She had enough to deal with already. They all did. Morgan had no right to dump this on her. “We need to talk about this, Em,” she said gently. “You’re just starting camp. A pet is a lot to take on right now.”

  “That means no,” Zack said.

  Emily’s face fell.

  Liz drew a careful breath. “It means we need to talk. You caught me by surprise.”

  “That’s ‘Hell, no,’ ” Zack translated.

  “We have to be responsible,” Liz insisted. “We have to consider the consequences.”

  “Why?” Morgan asked.

  She turned on him. “Excuse me?”

  He took a step toward her, holding her gaze. “You are taking something simple and making it complicated. Your daughter wants a cat. I found her a cat.”

  “You found it.”

  He nodded. “Behind the restaurant.”

  A stray. It probably had germs. Fleas. Parasites.

  And none of that mattered compared to the look on her daughter’s face. Emily sat on the floor with the kitten in her lap, happiness shining in her eyes.

  “We don’t have anything to feed it,” Liz said weakly.

  “Regina has been feeding it scraps from the kitchen.” Morgan moved closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “Let go, Elizabeth. Give in. There is no harm in losing a little control.”

  Her face burned. “This isn’t about us. This is about what’s best for Emily.”

  “Your daughter needs friends. She needs this.”

  Oh, God, he was right. How could she have missed it? How could he understand what her children needed better than she did herself?

  Her sense of failure tightened her throat. She forced herself to smile. “Advice from an expert?”

  “Easy enough to give her what she wants.” His smile gleamed. “You are more difficult.”

  Her breath shuddered out. No one else looked at her the way he did. Wanted her the way he seemed to. How could he say such things to her now, in front of her children? Emily, thank God, was too young to understand, but Zack . . .

  “I can bring home the food and litter and stuff,” Zack said from above them on the stairs. “When I get off work.”

  “It’s too much for you to carry.”

  “I can do it.”

  “I’ll pick you up,” she said. “When do you get off, eleven? It’ll be dark anyway.”

  “And Em will be in bed,” Zack said. “Stop treating me like a kid, Mom.”

  He was a kid. Her kid. She didn’t want to coddle him, but life had taught her how unexpectedly things could go suddenly, horribly wrong.

  “I’m still responsible for you.”

  Zack shook his head. “I’m out of here.” He thumped down the stairs, stepped over Emily in the hall.

  “Zack . . .”

  “See you.” He brushed by Morgan and slammed out the door.

  Liz closed her eyes.

  “If you want him to be a man,” Morgan said, “you must let him take a man’s part.”

  It was a relief to have someone her own age to fight. She opened her eyes to glare. “He’s only fifteen.”

  “Old enough to pull at a tight rein. Did you never take the bit in your mouth when you were his age?”

  “Not really. I was a good girl. A good student.” Her voice was only faintly bitter. “I spent my time cramming to get into a good school.”

  “Ah, yes. The Plan.” His lips curved, cool and amused. “I remember.”

  She blinked. “You do?”

  His gaze met hers, and her heart jolted. His eyes were not cool at all. “There was a time you wanted more than your parents wanted for you.”

  She swallowed. “And I got more than I bargained for.”

  “An adventure,” he said softly.

  Memory thumped in the pit of her stomach.

  “More than an adventure,” she reminded him. Her rash decision that night had life-changing consequences. Morgan had given her a baby.

  And now, it seemed, he’d given her a cat.

  She looked at Emily, playing with the kitten on the floor. The little pucker between her brows was gone, her expression open and more relaxed than at any time since their move to World’s End. Liz would accept anything and anyone who put that smile on her daughter’s face.

  And the kitten was responsible, she thought. No, Morgan was responsible.

  He arched an eyebrow. “Regrets?”

  “No,” she answered honestly. “Thank you. For the cat.”

  Emily’s head shot up. “We’re keeping him?” She sought confirmation in her mother’s face. “We’re keeping him!”

  Scrambling from the floor, she launched herself at Morg
an, hugging as high as she could reach. “Thank you! Thank you, Morgan.”

  He stiffened like a startled dog.

  Liz bit her lip, a pang at her heart. He wasn’t used to children, she reminded herself. Emily wasn’t his. Despite his kindness this afternoon and his gesture with the kitten, he could not give her open-hearted daughter the affection she sought.

  “It’s Mr. Bressay, honey,” she reminded gently.

  He raised his large hand and slowly, carefully stroked her daughter’s curls. “Morgan.” His voice was harsh. He cleared his throat. “I told her to call me Morgan.”

  Emily tipped back her head and beamed. “Because we’re friends.”

  “Yes.” His deep voice made the word sound like a vow. “We are.”

  He crouched beside her. “Now that the cat has a home, you must give it a name.”

  They both watched the kitten. Deprived of Emily’s attention, it stalked across the floor and pounced on Morgan’s boot.

  Emily giggled. “Tigger.”

  His brows rose in question.

  “From Winnie the Pooh,” Liz supplied. “He bounces.” Morgan looked blank.

  Poor man. He really was out of his element.

  Yet there was nothing false about his interaction with Emily, none of the fake heartiness of her male colleagues who had tried to hit on her with her children around. He treated Emily with the same grave courtesy he might have shown an adult.

  And Emily, Liz saw, soaked up his masculine attention like a flower turning its face to the sun. “I’ll take good care of him,” she promised. “He can sleep on my bed.”

  “In a box,” Liz said.

  “In a box on my bed,” Emily said without missing a beat.

  “I saw big boxes in your garage,” Morgan remarked. “Big as houses, if you were the size of your kitten.”

  Emily’s eyes rounded. “We could make a Tigger house.”

  “I imagine we could,” he agreed.

  Smooth, Liz thought. He was very good at getting what he wanted.

  “I want you,” he had said last night, his tone low and thrilling, dark desire in his eyes.

  She gnawed her lower lip again. She appreciated his intervention with Emily. He was perceptive, he was kind. But he was not safe.

  “The moving carton is a great idea,” she said. “Emily, honey, why don’t you look in the linen closet and see if we have any towels to make a bed for Tigger? The green ones.”