Page 4 of Sea of Evil and Desire (The Deep Saga #1)

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Morgana

I liked the desolation of the Bayside shopping center. It was an outdoor complex, and the sea air seemed to soften the feelings of the shopkeepers. They disintegrated into clouds and cold. Behind the center lay a few industrial sheds, and cement bled into a grassy cliff face before the land fell away to the bite of the sea.

It was my first day at a real job, and I’d put some effort in, donning a dusting of mascara and throwing my grandmother’s coat over my jeans and T-shirt. It felt luxurious, yet stirred a tinge of guilt, because I could tell it was real fur.

The center was gray like the rest of the town. Gray concrete met gray facades, which collided with a gray sky.

I grabbed the keys Barry had dropped off that morning and opened the door to Celtic Keepsakes. The store was lined with locked glass cases filled with Celtic jewelry, brooches, and figurines, and in the middle was a glass counter. The little lights that shone from beneath the panes gave the place an unwholesome fluorescent glow. The irony of being a tourist in this town and selling souvenirs wasn’t lost on me.

“You must be new here. I got you a pastry!” A woman appeared in the doorway, clutching two white paper bags in her long, pink-nailed hands. Her raven hair was perfectly curled. She wore a leopard-print sweater and had a zebra-striped bag on her shoulder. I’d never seen anyone pull off double animal print, but somehow, she was doing it.

“Erm, thanks,” I muttered awkwardly, taking the hot paper bag she held out to me even though my instincts to recoil had already kicked in.

“I’m Skye Davies. I work at Tartan Treasures next door.” She extended her free hand and peered at me curiously.

“Morgana.” I shook it, then quickly pulled my sweaty palm back and made myself busy moving things under the glass counter, hoping she would get the message.

She didn’t.

“Shall we go and get coffee?” Skye moved from the doorway to lean on the counter, her many gold bracelets jangling.

“I have to work.” I waved her off with a curt smile, glad I had a genuine excuse.

“Work?” She huffed a laugh. “We’re lucky if we see five browsers a day. Some days, no one comes in.” She crumpled her empty pastry bag and tossed it to me as if we’d been friends for years. Pulling a bubblegum-pink gloss from her purse, she slicked it over her lips and pouted at her reflection in the glass counter. “Come on.” She grinned at me.

Then, she swished out the door. She was smiling, but I was overcome by the sadness emanating from her—a haunting sadness I didn’t think she was even aware of. I hesitated, but my jet lag had kicked in, so I followed her to the coffee stand.

“My boyfriend, Parker, he’s a lawyer. He’s just been made partner in a firm in Campbeltown, so he spends most of his time there.” Skye quickly began delving into all the details of her life. I listened silently.

The morning sun cast a cool glow over the center, and the shops on either side of us were springing to life when I noticed him: the man from yesterday. He was smoking a cigarette outside a shop called Ruadán’s Port Pawn. A dark tendril of hair had fallen across his face, obscuring his features, but I knew it was him. He was wearing black jeans tucked into lace-up leather boots and a hand-cut singlet that exposed his shoulders. One arm was covered in tattoos.

Suddenly, he looked up. His glance surprised me, and it was too late to look away. My eyes met his, which were black, crowned by black brows.

“The dream!” I gasped.

“No, it wasn’t a dream. This happened,” Skye exclaimed at my side.

“Huh?” I had forgotten she was there.

“My boyfriend’s been acting shady since he got his promotion . . . Do you think he’s having an affair?”

Skye followed my gaze, noticing the dark-haired stranger.

He was lingering out the front of the pawnshop. Maybe he worked there. The man looked up again. This time, I held his gaze as he flicked away the remains of his cigarette and squashed it under his boot. His eyes were cold. I flushed and turned to Skye.

“He must be new! I’ve never been into the pawnshop. The old man who owns it scares me,” Skye whispered.

“Shhh, he’ll hear you!” I smoothed my hair and chanced another glance. He was still watching us.

“He’s kind of attractive in a dark I-want-you-to-do-bad-things-to-me way.” Skye laughed.

“Let’s go,” I hissed, pulling her away and trying to focus on the quaint coffee cart before us, nestled between a souvenir kilt shop and a whisky store. I inhaled the rich aroma of freshly brewed beans.

Skye glanced back at the man as we joined the small line of other shopkeepers waiting by the cart. “Is he making you flush?”

My cheeks must have been as red as they felt. I found myself hoping that the growing rouge was bringing out the green of my eyes. My wild auburn hair, freed from the fishtail braid I had worn on the plane, prickled around my shoulders. I wished I had chosen to run a brush through it.

“No—I just feel like I know him from somewhere, that’s all,” I muttered, combing a hand through my curls and pretending to be fascinated by the menu on the side of the cart.

“Really?” Skye raised her perfectly threaded eyebrows at me. “He looks like a creep. You know what? I reckon he came out of his store to watch you go past.” She smiled gleefully and said to the cart cashier, “We’ll have two cappuccinos.”

“Me? Don’t be absurd.” I looked back at the pawnshop; the dark-haired man had gone inside.

“He wouldn’t be looking at me. Those hipster types don’t go for me. Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful if you moved here and fell in love?” she crooned, clutching the hot coffee to her chest like a precious heirloom.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I rolled my eyes as I took my coffee, but I felt jittery inside.

“Let’s see if he comes out again when we walk back past the store,” Skye whispered.

I sipped my hot drink and trailed behind her as she turned toward Ruadán’s Port Pawn. Her sadness had turned to excitement at getting involved in my love life. Was this what having a girlfriend was like? It was kind of . . . nice.

The center was just as quiet as Skye had said. It was biting cold, yet the man had been wearing a singlet. Perhaps this was considered warm for the locals.

“He has to get a good look at us loitering outside.” Skye grabbed my arm to slow my pace. I feigned interest in the windows of the clothing store across the way while watching the door of the pawnshop in their reflection as we passed. Unlike the other Bayside stores, with their gleaming modern windows and artful stone finishings, it must have been here before the development. It was whitewashed stone, and its windows were framed with blue wood . We continued to linger across the way, but the dark-haired man didn’t emerge.

“Let’s go. This is stupid.” I blushed at my foolishness and pulled Skye away.

She pouted. “But I was hoping to play matchmaker.”

“You don’t even know me . . .” I trailed off as I noticed the dark-haired man slip out of his shop. I was sure his mouth showed half a grin. Heat blossomed in my cheeks. Had he somehow overheard our conversation?

I stole a closer glance at him. He was young—maybe a bit older than me. His skin had a pasty sheen, as if it rarely saw sunlight. His thick, dark locks fell across his forehead. And there were those eyes again. You couldn’t miss them, even with the hair dancing around in front of them.

He was still staring. I don’t know where I found the burst of courage, but I smiled widely at him. His face fell cold, and he went back inside.

“Well, that was awkward,” Skye chortled. Once again, I’d forgotten she was there.

My face burned. Of course he wasn’t interested! In this new town, I’d let coincidence and my love of films carry my imagination away.

“This is your fault,” I grumbled at Skye.

“Oh honey, at least you tried.” She slapped me on the back, still giggling.

My shoulders sagged as I returned to Celtic Keepsakes.

This was why I’d never had any friends—or boyfriends, for that matter. I was different from other women in their twenties. Most of them had already had sex, for one thing.

It’s not that I never had suitors. There was James, the boy who’d lived next door, who had shown seven-year-old me his male parts in return for a glance at mine. Then there had been Asher and Gareth. Growing up without a father, I found men foreign and inaccessible. Worse than this were the things I sensed in them.

As the afternoon progressed, I imagined my life as an arthouse movie—a slow-paced picture about a sad girl who worked in a souvenir store. Every creak would be emphasized, every rustle magnified. There would be shots of me doing something banal, like making coffee, but the whistle of the pot would sound sinister. The scene wouldn’t cut until the water had actually boiled.

I let out a long, slow breath. Sea salt consumed my nostrils as I inhaled.

My pale wrist was resting on the glass counter, and I did a double take, holding it up to my eyeline to examine it—a shadowy patch on my skin. Was it a bruise? I didn’t remember banging it on anything. I rubbed my fingers across the darkness, but it didn’t fade. It was textured .

Shoving my hand underneath one of the fluorescent bulbs, I could see the hair—a small grouping not much bigger than a fifty-cent piece. I plucked at it, and the follicles jumped to attention. Yuck!

They say that hair starts growing out of strange places as you age. Was this happening to me now? Perhaps my lack of love interests had prompted early menopause.

Thunder rumbled battle cries as its army of clouds assembled on the horizon. They began to leave their war front, closing in on the bay as I settled at the jetty’s end, wrapped in the folds of my new fur coat.

I plucked a bread roll and soda from the bag of groceries I’d bought for Granddad as the final glow of sunset tried to penetrate the inky clouds. The waves beneath me swirled like a black silk scarf around the jetty legs.

The storm was rolling in fast.

The jetty groaned under the ocean’s pull, salty spray misting my face, but it made me feel alive.

Beyond the reach of the dock lights, movement stirred. Dark shapes glided below the surface, breaking through the water only to vanish again. My breath hitched but relaxed as a seal emerged, its head glistening in the evening light. It watched me with large, liquid eyes—human eyes. More followed. One by one, they appeared, an audience of shadowed forms drifting in the swell.

A hand gripped my left shoulder, and I started sloshing soda down my coat.

“Sorry if I scared you.”

It was him . Standing there. Grinning. His voice was deep and confident—one of those voices you can feel in the pit of your stomach, just above the loins. It was somehow smooth as silk and domineering at the same time. It reminded me of the sea billowing beneath us.

“You didn’t,” I lied. My voice came out high-pitched and shaky. I brushed the soda drops from my jacket.

A splash brought my attention back to the seals. The largest of the group tilted its head, almost questioning, before slipping beneath the waves. The others followed, their heads vanishing into the darkening water.

“I saw you working in the center,” the man said. “I’m not very good at talking to people, but when I noticed you sitting here, I felt the need to come and introduce myself. I’m Finn.”

“Morgana,” I choked out as a breadcrumb lodged in my throat. I managed to shake his outstretched hand before spluttering into a coughing fit.

“Do you mind if I join you?” His voice was warm now, possibly amused, but it was difficult to tell from his inscrutable expression.

“Um, no, not at all.” I shifted, pressing my back against the jetty’s pole and letting one leg dangle from its edge.

Not good at talking to people? Yeah, right.

“So, do you come here often?” I heard a smile in his words as he moved to stand next to me. He looked down, and his eyes met mine.

My stomach squirmed. I found him attractive. Very attractive. The feeling melted over me like treacle, and my entire body grew warm. His coat was black, matching his eyes. They were the same color as the dark ocean, and the smile dancing around them reminded me of the playful licks of the waves against the dock. I tried to sense his emotions, but I couldn’t feel anything.

I couldn’t feel anything. Strange.

“I’ve just moved here, but I plan on coming here often.” I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand, sure they would be covered in flour.

“Is that so? This could get awkward, because I couldn’t handle working in this place without coming down here to unwind.” Finn leaned on the jetty post and looked out at the approaching storm.

“I could learn to share.” I angled my head up at him. “So, you’re new here, too?”

“I moved here last week.” I couldn’t place his accent.

“Where did you move from?” I narrowed my eyes, studying him.

“My family lives on an estate a few hours inland.” He waved a hand, his casual tone contrasting with the building storm on the horizon.

“Why would you move here?” I wondered aloud. Surely, an estate was better than this sleepy town.

“I . . . my father wants me to get some work experience in Ruadán’s Port Pawn. It’s one of many . . . family businesses.” I found myself liking the way his gaze traveled from my eyes and across my body.

“I’ve heard the old man who runs that place is scary.” I laughed.

“Ah, don’t worry about Mr. Inegar. He’s an old family friend.” Finn crouched down so that we were eye to eye. “But I must admit he scares me a little bit, too.” He grinned, and his eyes crinkled in the corners.

Is he joking? I wondered if I should laugh. I couldn’t sense mirth in him. I tried again to feel his emotions, but still, I sensed nothing.

“That’s an interesting jacket.” He surveyed my new fur, a flicker of desire in his eyes, but it was gone so quickly I thought maybe I’d imagined it.

“It was my grandmother’s. She left it to me when she died.” I instinctively pulled it tighter around me.

“Well, it suits you,” he said, resting his forearms lazily on his knees as he crouched beside me.

Was he flirting with me? This wasn’t too hard! Everything was so much easier when I couldn’t sense other people’s overwhelming emotions.

My sleeve slid up, revealing the dark patch of hair I’d noticed earlier. I hastily pulled it back down, glancing up at him from under my lashes. A smile was flirting with his lips as he continued to watch me.

I flushed, focusing on the swirling black water while pulling my coat sleeve further over my hair patch. The waves sighed at each other as the gathering wind rushed over them, and I was overcome with a deep longing to dive beneath them. A ringing pierced my ears, and I grasped the jetty’s edge.

“Whoa, are you okay?” I heard Finn ask as a black mist blurred my vision.

The swollen waves seemed to be coming closer. Closer .

Splinters of wood lodged under my nails as my grasping hands briefly found the jetty. Then, they were clawing at nothing.

Finn’s face faded, replaced by the churning swell beneath me. Salty spray misted my cheeks, and a bubble filled my head. Could I hear music?

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

Come, ye sunken traitors, to swim eternally.

The tune seemed familiar, like an old song I had always known, yet I could not remember the first time I had heard it. Everything was beginning to spin. Was I falling toward the ocean, or had the sea risen to meet me?