Page 14 of Sea of Evil and Desire (The Deep Saga #1)

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Morgana

“I need to get out of this ship. I have literal cabin fever!” I banged my fist on the table, rattling the chess pieces of our game. Restlessness spread over me. There was also something else: a tightness in my chest. Anxiety, perhaps.

We were in the games room directly above the tavern. Like the tavern, it had been magically preserved. There were polished dark wood tables standing at regular intervals across the space, with chairs grouped around them. Some had high velvet backs and looked like they matched the décor, but others must have been gathered from different wrecks. Wooden beams supported the ceiling, and the light came from a chandelier of anglerfish in its middle. Edward had explained that apart from when they Mourned, the Drowned did not possess the power of light. The Captain bought bottled light magic from the Neptūnus Mer—who could channel lightning hitting the Atlantic—and used it to enhance the fish.

A roulette wheel was the room’s centerpiece, and the Drowned surrounded it, squabbling. Wooden chests lined the walls, brimming with games collected over centuries from countless ships. There were chessboards, dice, playing cards, marbles—I even spotted a Monopoly board. A thin layer of algae coated these things, but for the most part, they were well-preserved.

“For the hundredth time, we can leave the ship when the storm has passed.” Edward’s brow furrowed as he gestured to the storm globe. Its giant half-sphere was embedded in the roof directly above the room’s entrance. Dark, swirling waters crashed around its insides, and lightning illuminated its glass circumference.

“How long do you think I’ve been down here?” I grumbled.

“We don’t keep track of time. That’s just depressing. But if I were to guess . . . around two days.” He started to rearrange the chess pieces.

Two days. My heart clenched as I thought about my grandfather.

“I ain’t giving you a cent!”

My shoulders hunched instinctively as a snarl echoed from the table behind us. I turned to find a pirate with matted hair brandishing a knife at his fellow poker players.

“Pay up, Rackham, you filthy cheapskate!” A pirate with a thick black mustache growled at the shaggy-haired pirate and flipped the table, sending cards flying and coins clattering to the floor around us.

I plucked one from the soggy carpet and examined it. It was silver, with the Ocean Symbol etched on one side. On the other side, an outline of a mermaid was engraved, and peculiar runes surrounded each picture. I flipped it back and forth with my fingers.

“The pawnshop!” I gasped.

“The what?” Edward pulled his attention from the chessboard.

“I saw some of these coins in a shop on land, but they were so faded I thought the mermaid was a fish!” I thrust the coin in his face.

“It’s the ocean’s currency,” Edward said, looking at the coin.

How did they get to Mr. Inegar’s shop?

“What does the lettering say?” I held it up to the light of the anglerfish chandelier.

“It is in the ancient Runes of the Ocean. We need a key to read it.”

I grabbed more coins from the carpet at my feet. “This all spilled onto the ground when that pirate upturned the table.” I gestured over my shoulder at the hulky man with the mustache. He had now righted the table and was intent on a new game.

“That’s Teachie, and next to him with the shaggy hair and beaded braids is Rackham. They’re from Port Royal, the sunken city, but they migrated to this boat about six months ago.”

“What’s the sunken city?” I asked, watching Teachie’s face twitch as he glanced down at his hand of cards.

“Port Royal was once a pirate town in the Palisadoes. In 1692, though, it mysteriously disappeared beneath the waves.” Edward’s gaze flicked toward the pirates.

Teachie’s scowl morphed into a grin as Rackham set down his cards. Stacks of the ocean’s currency and shipwrecked treasures lay before each player.

“What would you even buy down here?” My focus returned to the coin, running my fingers over the intricate carvings adorning the silver. It looked like something archaeologists would dig up on National Geographic.

“Sometimes, we might buy things from the Taberna,” Edward said, creeping one of his pawns forward.

“What’s the Taberna?” My eyes widened, and Edward’s brow creased.

“It’s a shop run by an old merman who doesn’t mind associating with all creatures of the sea. It’s your move.” He rapped his copper-haired knuckles on the table between us.

“Perhaps they have something that will help me get my human body back!”

“We can go when the storm has passed.” Edward’s eyes moved to the ceiling. The globe still showed chaos above, but it seemed to be subsiding.

Another eruption came from the poker table. Vindication spread across Rackham’s face as he won some treasure from Teachie.

“Why must you stay in the boat when a storm rages above?” I asked. “Surely its turbulence wouldn’t reach here.” Even though the globe showed violent seas, the portholes only reflected blackness, but the water around us felt warmer, as if it had been stirred.

“We stay on the ship to avoid wandering into shallower water and being swept to another part of the ocean in its currents.” Edward’s eyebrows drew apart, and then his mouth tightened.

The nagging feeling was back—the anxiety. I pushed my velvet-backed chair aside and picked my way through the tables to peer out the nearest porthole, massaging my chest. Outside, the pillar forest admitted shuddering heat into the current.

The tightness jabbed at my ribcage, and I tripped over an open trunk, skidding onto my back on the slimy floor. My chest constricted again, and I rasped a shallow breath, but it felt incomplete, like the air wouldn’t come.

I reached for the grubby porthole to pull myself up. Damn it! My hands slid on the slick algae, sending me skidding straight toward two men playing cards. I recognized them as Jackie and Donahue.

The side of my body collided with the wooden base of their table, and I watched in horror as cards spilled over the edge. A tattered pair of Oxfords and tall black boots hemmed me in on either side.

“You best watch yourself,” said a voice above me—Jackie.

I began peeling myself from the slimy floor, but felt a blade pointed at my throat. Fear constricted my being. I had never come face-to-face with this kind of danger, and my body betrayed me with paralysis.

“You’ve lost me a fair bit o’ money.” Jackie had an Irish accent.

Legs splayed, he reached for me, his filthy suit rumpled, trousers hitched to expose moth-eaten socks. He jabbed the knife toward me, forcing me into the table leg. There was nowhere to go—the blade’s tip found my throat, and I winced in pain.

“I . . . I’m sorry,” I gasped as he leaned down to leer at me. His lips curved into a malicious smile, showing a mouth full of yellow teeth.

“Jackie, do refrain from vexing the seal slut,” said the man with the tall black boots—Donahue.

Jackie’s awful smile faded as he withdrew the knife, slamming it sulkily on the table. I brought my hands to my neck. Warmth. It had drawn blood.

Using the algae-slick table for leverage, I pushed myself out from under it, squeezing past them. Jackie shifted, spreading his legs wider, and my body grazed his pants.

Both men watched me now as I stood before them, wiping slime from my trembling knees. Donahue ran a hand through his dark hair, surveying me with equally dark eyes. I was acutely aware of the outlines of my fur-covered breasts.

“It’s grand that you want to grind on me, love, but you’re not my type.” Jackie looked me up and down. The hunger in his pale eyes contradicted his words.

“Who is your type then? Him? Cute.” I nodded toward Donahue and smiled coyly, but at the same time, I reached for my chest as the anxiety flared.

Jackie’s grin contorted into a glare. “Your time’s coming, bitch! Just remember, you can still bleed.” His eyes flared.

Shit — he was right.

I returned to Edward, who had grown pastier than usual as he watched the event unfold.

“Are you okay?” He leaned forward, the words escaping his lips in a whisper.

“What’s the deal with those assholes?” I glanced over his shoulder at the men. Donahue was reshuffling the cards, and Jackie’s attention was now on him. His knife was still unsheathed on the table.

“Donahue was once an English nobleman,” Edward mumbled, color staining his cheeks. “And Jackie is nothing more than Drowned scum.” His mouth thinned.

I clawed at the skin above my left breast. It felt like someone was squeezing my heart, or was it my lungs? I couldn’t tell, but it was getting worse. Bending over the table, I coughed as the discomfort became more pronounced.

“I . . . I can’t breathe,” I gasped.

Edward’s eyes went wide with concern. “Hey, HEY . . . Something’s wrong!” he called to the Captain, who was playing chess with Daniel at a table to our right.

The supply of oxygen I had been drawing upon seemed to have diminished and I was being slowly suffocated. I clasped my throat, knocking my bottle of rum to the floor. I inhaled deeply, but my lungs remained unsatisfied. If I hadn’t been drawing oxygen from the water, then where had it been coming from? Edward’s hand was on my shoulder as the Captain’s wooden leg reached our table.

“What’s happening to me?” I peered up at the Captain.

“It looks like you need to surface to replenish your air.” His face was grave.

“Wait, what? I can do that ?” I coughed as another wave of suffocation washed over me.

“B-but she can’t go. There’s a storm,” Edward cried.

“She needs to go now ,” the Captain commanded. “I suspect Selkie’s blood might run in her veins. If this is true, she needs to try to surface, or she will die.”

“She’s a Selkie? I thought they were extinct,” Edward hissed, eyes widening with fear.

What the fuck was a Selkie?

“Go, child!” the Captain urged me.

Drawing a shuddering breath, I clung to the oxygen reserves I had left. My senses had been warning me for hours, and I had passed it off as restlessness. Another part of me was in a daze. I can leave this place. I can surface.

The storm globe showed that the turbulence above was easing as I bolted from the games room. I sped down to the bar, pushing past the rowdy Drowned, whose menacing grunts fell on deaf ears as I burst through the swinging doors.

I knew my senses worked differently down here. Perhaps they would lead if I could visualize where I needed to go. The only docks I knew were at the shores of Ruadán’s Port, the sea gray like the sky and the waves lapping against my jetty. Beyond the bay’s two fists was the Atlantic—which I was somewhere underneath right now—an ocean that stretched wild and vast.

Emptying my mind, I waited for my oceanic sense of direction to kick in. Nothing. Come on, come on, come on!

I let images of Ruadán’s Port wash over me as I propelled myself forward across the forest of stalagmite towers, drawn by the invisible thread of instinct. My lungs seared with every stroke, a piercing ring fraying the edges of my consciousness.

As I swam diagonally upward, the darkness gradually gave way to deep blue waters, and I left the bubbling forest of hot vents beneath me. The feeling of suffocation was growing.

My stomach knotted as my chest tightened. I wouldn’t make it to Ruadán’s Port in time, so I switched directions. Instead of traveling diagonally, I kicked upward. Schools of fish parted in my wake as the grip on my lungs squeezed tighter.

Up and up I went, and my surroundings became aqua.

Up and up. The ringing in my ears intensified, and dizziness consumed me. Seaweed moved in clumps left and right, strands brushing against my ankles. I shook them off to rise higher and higher . . .

I spluttered as I broke the water’s surface, letting out a rasping cough and bringing my hands to my burning throat. Sea water slapped the sides of my chin and made its way into my gaping mouth. When I spat it out, I drew in deep, life-giving breaths from the atmosphere around me.

Wind caressed my face. Oh, how I’d missed its gentle embrace. It was dark, and stars twinkled above me, strewn between shrouds of clouds. Real stars! Not the eerie cosmos of anglerfish.

The cool breeze brushed against the wet fur on my shoulders. My heart beat excitedly as a barrage of thoughts raced through my mind.

I can surface! I have not been sentenced to an eternity with the Drowned.

I floated, basking in the moonlight, feeling my chest’s rhythmic rise and fall as I inhaled the crisp air. I dived under the waves and breathed easily now as if my oxygen source had been replenished. Not only was I able to surface for air, but my life depended on it.

SS Jones’s Lady must be nestled in one of the deepest, blackest parts of the ocean. I had surfaced in—what was it—half an hour or an hour? That meant I could move fast when I wanted to. How fast? Faster than a car or even a submarine, that’s for sure. I found myself thinking of my mother. She would be able to do the math.

I didn’t want to return to the deep, not yet. I didn’t know if I ever wanted to go back there, but I couldn’t go home either. I no longer looked like a human. But what if I returned to Ruadán’s Port for a visit? The idea of seeing those familiar shores comforted me.

Perhaps I would see Finn as he walked down from his clifftop fortress to work in the morning. The thought coated my body in warmth, but the water lapping against my fur-covered breasts reminded me I would have to stay hidden. He couldn’t see me like this, and what if someone else spotted me? They would capture me and cut me apart like a science experiment. I had seen enough Hollywood films to know what happened to creatures of the deep when someone from above caught them.

I propelled myself in the direction my senses were taking me, parting the swell with my webbed hands. One stroke and then another.

After traveling for an hour, the blue became monotonous. Aside from the odd fish I devoured, I lost interest in the multitude of sea life. I let my mind wander as I swam . . . and it found Finn. I pictured him strolling along the water’s edge toward the jetty, his pants rolled up, his white shirt billowing in the breeze. The wind tousled his dark hair, and his gaze searched the sea as if looking for me.

Wait—was that Finn or Prince Eric from The Little Mermaid ? I chuckled to myself. Either way, it was working for me. I imagined myself emerging from the ocean, water streaming down my fur bodysuit, as Finn’s dark eyes filled with lust.

I swallowed hard as the sea floor became visible below me. My daydream had carried me into shallower water. Cans were scattered here and there, and I slipped between the two rocky arms that enclosed the bay. Twice, I passed the hulls of small boats heading out to the open ocean. I propelled myself deeper, almost crawling along the seabed.

My limbs were aching when the barnacle-ridden legs of my jetty materialized out of the gloom. I was home.

The waves lightened around me as the dawn broke. I popped the top of my head out of the water, revealing one facial feature at a time. The sun’s rays were turning the waves around me crimson—that gorgeous ball of glowing light! Allowing my entire torso to break the water, I inhaled fresh air. I floated on my back as the sun made its way into the sky, and all the pink colors disappeared.

Something had changed. The sea continued to caress my legs, but they beat against it like they’d never had webs. I fumbled at my chest—my sleek fur was gone. Instead, my grandmother’s coat was flapping uncomfortably around my shoulders. Beneath it, I was naked.

I dove beneath the swell, eyes burning with salt, and a swirling green mist of bubbles met me. A relentless urge to surface and breathe took hold, and my body remained free of fur.

I wrapped my arms around one of the jetty’s slimy poles, ignoring the barnacles that dug into my thighs, and rested my head against the rough wood above the water. My chest heaved with relief. I was human again.

Was it all a dream, or am I losing my mind?

Someone was walking along the shore. I stiffened. They were wearing black jeans and army-style boots. I knew those jeans. Those leather boots. Finn . A surge of emotion washed over me—comfort so deep it nearly stole my breath. What was he doing out at this hour?

He was dragging something black along the sand. The wind plucked at it—a garbage bag. I yelled out, but a strangled gurgle left my lips. The language of the sea was still on my tongue.

No, I can’t think like this .

If I had descended into madness, I needed the rest of the world to believe I was sane. I tried again. This time, the gurgle seemed more intelligible.

Wait a minute. I swallowed my cry for help, my relief quickly soured by humiliation curdling into anger. The last time I’d seen Finn, I’d been drunk and naked in his house. I was nude again now. Heat flared in my cheeks as I pressed deeper against the barnacle-crusted pole.

I waited until his black-jeaned legs had disappeared before I grasped the end of the jetty and hoisted myself up. My arms felt like they had no muscles. Work , I willed them in frustration as I hung on to the edge. I had dreamed of feeling the wind on my skin, but it was causing me to shiver in the wet coat. Work , I thought again, glaring at my arms. This time, they responded, and I pulled my bedraggled body up onto the scratchy wood.

I slowly pulled myself upright. The harbor was coming to life, and some fishermen eyed me curiously from their boats as they chugged past.

“Morgana?”

I knew that voice and how it coated my body in heat, making my heart beat faster.