Page 38 of Sea of Evil and Desire (The Deep Saga #1)

36

Morgana

A ranare looked up from the paperback he was reading as I burst through the bookshop’s front door, the sweat on my brow turning to droplets. I doubled over, drawing shuddering breaths.

Could this Taranis character have been in my grandparents’ house? In the kitchen, I ate in each day? I pushed past my heaving chest, winding my way through the narrow aisles to the counter at the back of the store.

“Are you okay?” Aranare’s amber eyes flooded with concern as he took in the state of me.

“I . . . I need to . . . speak with Louisa,” I gasped, still struggling to breathe after my jog up the hill.

Aranare shut his book and glanced toward the back room. The older woman from my grandmother’s funeral appeared in the doorway, her body a silhouette against the yellow glow inside.

“Morgana, it is a pleasure to see you again.”

She moved into the store’s dim light. Her short gray hair was sleek and straight, and she wore a sweater with the same loose brown slacks I’d seen her in before.

Louisa, the historian. Louisa, the woman who had been friends with my grandmother. The woman who might know something about the prophecy. Aranare’s mother. I glanced between them.

“Tell me what you know about my grandmother—about . . . the prophecy.” I was still panting. I cursed my lungs, wiping perspiration from my forehead.

“Shall we sit down?” Louisa gestured to the back room. I sensed gentleness from her, and a flicker of something: fear. The same fear I’d felt that day on the beach when she’d observed me.

I didn’t move, but Aranare was at my back, and his touch was warm as he escorted me. I shook him off but continued toward the table and chairs in the back.

“Tell me what you found out about the prophecy,” I demanded again, eyes narrowed on Louisa as I slid into one of the seats.

“Hush.” She motioned to her lips. “It is not wise to yell about such things.”

“Well . . .” I continued to stare at her.

She moved to a small kitchenette, filling a stainless steel kettle with water. Only when its boiling whistle filled the room did she turn to me.

“After your mother moved you to the middle of America, as far away from the ocean as possible, we thought you’d be safe. We didn’t think it would come to this.” Louisa sighed.

“Come to what?” I ground out.

“‘One of both Drowned and Selkie lines is the answer, the curse’s sign.’” She recited the words in a whisper over the kettle’s brewing. “We were initially relieved when we found more of the prophecy. It did not name Iona or Anna; perhaps there were other relatives of Siana Selich in hiding.”

“But then my father drowned . . .” The kettle reached a piercing peak as the realization washed over me. The prophecy named me. Unlike my grandmother, who’d transformed into a seal, I transformed into something else—the fur that covered my body was ragged and sparse. My human form was still visible underneath. I was not a true Selkie—I was half Drowned.

“So you know about . . . me being . . . a shifter?” I looked from Louisa to Aranare. The words felt so strange to say out loud on land. Aranare’s eyes were wide, and I sensed his surprise, but Louisa’s face remained passive. I sensed sadness.

“I knew Iona was a shifter. I didn’t know you would be.” Her brow creased. “After your father’s death, we wondered if you might have inherited powers—the powers of the Selichs. We wondered if we should train you, raise you to embrace those powers and fulfill the prophecy. To fight the evil we knew would seek you. But your mother was devastated by your father’s death. She bundled you up and moved you far away from the ocean that broke her heart.”

“B-but my grandmother visited me in America. She never mentioned my father’s drowning. I never knew.” My voice was cracking.

“She thought that knowledge might draw you back here. We saw your mother’s reaction to your father’s passing as a blessing; perhaps you could escape the prophecy.”

Anger bubbled within me. “A blessing!” My words were sharp as a blade, but tears appeared on my cheeks. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through?” I thought about the pirate’s rough hands, the dead mergirl, and the red eyes—always watching me.

I glared between the two of them.

“I’m sorry,” Louisa whispered.

“D-do you think Taranis killed my grandmother?” I asked, swallowing the lump in my throat.

Louisa’s eyes widened, as if she hadn’t been expecting me to know so much. She glanced at Aranare and nodded. He slipped from the room. I could hear him rifling around on the wall behind the counter. The wall that held the rare books. He returned with a dark leather-bound volume. It had no title and was fraying in places.

“Taranis is no longer himself.” Aranare’s throat bobbed as he set the book on the table before me.

“What is this?” My head whipped between him and his mother.

“It’s my research.” Louisa’s tone was grave. “After your grandmother’s death, I started piecing together the things she had told me about the Mer kingdoms and Taranis . . . How he had changed.”

She leaned over me and flipped the book open to a marked page. The pencil sketch made my blood chill. It was a horse, but its eyes were glistening chasms on either side of its skull. Its black mane draped from its bony body like wet vines as it emerged from the ocean. A cold shiver ran down my spine. Its eyes contained a glimmer of red.

“Wh-what is it?” My voice shook.

“There is a story written in Gaelic. It tells of death’s shadow taking the form of a horse. It would wander by the waters and lure people onto its back, then gallop into the water and drown them. Each-uisce, they called it,” Louisa said gravely, flicking forward a few pages to another drawing. This time, the horse was underwater, and it had the glistening tail of a fish.

“The people of Crete described this to me.” She ran her fingers over the new sketch. “They said death took the form of a Hippocampus horse. With each drowning, he collected more souls and grew stronger. Kelpies, water horses, kappas . . . throughout mythology across the world, there have been stories of animals drowning humans.” She sighed.

“Manannán,” I whispered, a shiver rippling through me.

Louisa nodded. “He appeared throughout different folklore, and each narration chilled me further as I remembered what Iona had told me. Manannán was stripped of his godly form after the battle of Cerulean Templum, but he’s been attaching himself to animals for centuries, no doubt hoping to return to power. I now believe the spirit of Manannán found Taranis on his travels.”

“So you think it was Taranis possessed by Manannán who killed my grandmother.” Winter had seeped into my bones. Red eyes and shadows. I thought of the merman I had seen in the Therme Skótos forest and my dreams. He called me Siana.

Louisa nodded.

“‘The spirits of Siana and Manannán must return, for only then shall the clans truly learn . . . only with blood that need not be taken.’” I whispered the other parts of the prophecy we knew. “So you’re saying my blood could end the feud . . .”

“ No! We have no idea what that sentence about blood relates to. So much is still missing. All we know is that you have a role to play. I have to find the rest.” Louisa’s eyes were stern, and she crossed her arms.

“What do you think Taranis plans to do?” My hands were trembling.

“My guess would be to overthrow the Mer and regain his power.” Aranare’s tone was grave.

The Mer strung up on crosses.

“You knew all this!” I rounded on him.

“I didn’t know about the prophecy or your family’s connection to this, but I have been helping Mom research Manannán. Our family has a vested interest in the feud,” he said, eyes narrowing on Louisa.

She looked at her son, and pain shadowed her features. “I didn’t tell you or anybody about the prophecy because I wanted to keep you safe. Knowledge of the prophecy is power.” I felt her agony as she said this. “But now you know, and like Morgana, you are in danger.”

Anger coursed through me. My grandmother and Louisa had kept all of this from me, and now, coming here and asking about it, I had unwittingly put Aranare in danger.

“You saw me at the funeral! You could have pulled me aside and said something.” My balled fists were shaking.

“I was scared. I thought maybe it was best to leave it alone . . . But it’s not too late,” Louisa whispered.

Aranare had moved to my side. He put his hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t . . .” I shook him off, pushing out of my chair.

My heart was thundering as my thoughts spiraled. My grandmother had been murdered, and whoever did it could be looking for me. From the sound of it, my presence alone could be putting Louisa and Aranare at risk—and maybe even my granddad, Finn, and Skye. The dingy bookshop’s confined space began to feel suffocating. This was all too much. I needed to get out. To think.

I stumbled back toward the entrance and the gray afternoon light, but I turned in the doorway to hear Louisa call my name.

“Power comes from in here.” She tapped her heart.

I shoved the door shut, and the little crooked “BOOKS” sign tinkled behind me.

The ocean’s sighing calmed my pattering heart as I walked back toward the bay. My grandmother had kept this from me my whole life, and now I had to face it alone—to discover it on my own.

My grandmother had known her blood wouldn’t work because she was not of Selkie and Drowned. She could have told Taranis when he came for her, but she didn’t; she died to keep the prophecy’s secrets. She died to save me. My stomach turned as the realization washed over me.

I swallowed, stopping dead in my tracks, as guilt consumed me.

She died to save me.

The Mer blood graffiti, the knifed fishtail, and the young mermaid drifting away from me, her one good eye wide and unblinking—were these occurrences all related to a prophecy that I have something to do with? How many more people might die because Louisa and my grandmother had allowed me to be sent away? They hadn’t given me a choice, but I had one now.

The rest of the prophecy had to be found. No doubt Taranis was searching for it if my grandmother’s blood hadn’t worked, but finding it could take years, and I had no idea where to start. In the meantime, I had to try and do something . . . anything .

I held my hands out in front of me; they were trembling.

When I got home, Granddad wasn’t there. Perhaps he was still at sea or in the pub with his friends. I ripped out the first pages of my grandmother’s diary, which revealed she’d wanted to be trapped. Then I wrote a quick note and left them underneath it on the kitchen table.

I’m going back. I think she would have wanted it, and I think she would have wanted you to have this.

It was time Granddad knew the truth about her skin. It was time he found some peace.

As I walked toward the beach, the sky was clear over the bay, my hands nestled in my grandmother’s fur coat pockets. The waters were a deep blue as the last light danced on the ridges of the swell. I strode into the waves until they were about my waist. Then, as the sun’s dying rays glimmered on the skyline, I dived.

Come ye drunken sailors to the bottom of the sea . . . the sea . . .