Page 72 of Phobia

Pockets Deep in Darker Waters

Fae Quin

Chapter 1

I should’ve known things could always get worse. If being caught kissing a boy behind the kitchens was my fall from grace, this was surely Hell. Oliver White lay beside me, the rocking ocean knocking his temple gently against the side of the rowboat. There was a goose egg the size of a small country on the side of his head, and despite the fact I hated him, I still forced myself to shove his legs around till he wasn’t sitting quite so cramped.

He was lucky he hadn’t snapped his spine when he tumbled overboard. Luckier even, that the person he’d tumbled overboard with, was me.

Despite my fear of the open water.

The ship we’d fallen from was nothing but a distant spec on the horizon, and I had given up hope we’d find our way back. Besides, I had no idea what would happen to us if we did. We’d been chased off ship after all—not my fault but Oliver’s.

I’d caught the sticky-fingered thief with his hand inside an older gentleman’s back pocket just before all hell had broken loose. I hadn’t even had a chance to sound the alarm before the hired security spotted us both, and immediately decided the fact I was with him at all meant I’d been his accomplice.

The rest…was history.

Water slapped against the sides of the boat and I tried to stave off my panic as I felt my stomach flip-flop. I shoved my glasses up my nose. They always slipped when I got sweaty like this. Admittedly this uncomfortable, frightened feeling was not that common an occurrence. And it was certainly not something that I’d ever let Oliver know about, even if hewasawake.

Oh lord.

What if he was dead?

The sudden thought sent a tumble of dread so visceral through my body it left me breathless. The only thing worse than being stuck in the middle of the ocean on a tiny rowboat with Oliver White was—of course—being stuck in the middle of the ocean in a tiny rowboat with Oliver White’s rotting corpse.

Bolstered by fear, I crossed the small space between us and latched on to his shoulder to check that he was alive. Oliver was a wiry young man. Smaller than me in width, though our heights were evenly matched. I knew this because every time our eyes met I didn’t have to crane my neck to see the wicked flicker in his molten blue gaze. His mess of dark curls lay behind his head like a halo, the slope of his cheekbones only highlighted by the moonlit splatter of salt water that sprayed over the edge of the boat and onto his alabaster skin. The silver chain he wore around his neck glinted in the moonlight, kissing his clavicle.

Dear God. Don’t let him be dead.

I shook his shoulder, biting back bile.

Oliver’s face immediately reacted, his thick dark brows scrunching up as he swatted at me like I was a gnat buzzing around his head. He didn’t wake though, his face smoothing over only moments later as he once again lost consciousness. That wouldn’t do. Now that I knew he was alright, I refused to be out here alone for even a moment longer. . I shook him harder. Hard enough the side of his head glanced off the edge of the boat and he startled awake with an angry cry.

His eyes were foggy and dazed as he fought his way to consciousness. My heart thudded as I watched his petite, dirt-smudged nose crinkle in disgust the moment his vision cleared and he caught sight of me.Typical. I knew he hated me just as much as I hated him.

“Damn,” Oliver said, his deep voice scratchier and breathier than usual. “You’re here too?”

“Unfortunately.” I released him, though the warmth of his shoulder bled like a memory against the pads of my fingers. I scrubbed them on my trousers to cleanse them, watching as Oliver blinked at me then rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation. He still looked disoriented, but the longer he remained awake the more lucid he appeared, hatred popping through the fog like the sun on a cloudy day.

Good.

That was the Oliver I knew.

At least he hadn’t hit his head hard enough I had to be worried.

“I don’t have cooties, you know,” Oliver glared at where I’d retracted my hand.

“Doesn’t mean you’re clean.”

“Oh fuck off.” He flipped an obscene gesture my way before grimacing, his hand flying to the goose egg on his temple with a pained intake of breath. Despite myself, a niggle of worry trembled nervously in my gut. What if hewasgravely injured? There was no way for me to do anything about it. I didn’t want to be stuck with him if he was hurt—that only spelled more trouble for the both of us. I wasn’t a doctor. The best I could do was pray for him, or push him overboard if he got too sick.

I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

“You hit your head,” I reminded him. “Falling off the boat.” He glared at me. “When you got caught.” His lips thinned. “And tripped over a goose—”

“Iremember, Henry,” he seethed, his familiar anger only bolstering my spirits. Then he muttered under his breath something that sounded suspiciously like “fucking geese.” I held back a laugh, so relieved that he was acting like his normal, repellant self that for a moment I’d forgotten we were stranded.

For a few blissful seconds, the fire in Oliver’s pale blue gaze erased all the demons lurking at the back of my mind. But then the fear came back. I clenched my hands tight on my thighs and tried to slow my breathing, because thinking aboutwhat—being trapped on the ocean—Oliver had made me forget, only made me remember twice as hard.