Page 6 of Sea of Evil and Desire (The Deep Saga #1)

4

Morgana

D rumming reverberated through the kitchen as I made dinner for my grandfather. It was October 31. In America, this was Halloween. Here, it was Samhain—the end of the harvest season and a time for welcoming winter, the darker half of the year.

“Make sure you set a place for her.” Granddad nodded at the table as I began pulling cutlery from one of the wooden kitchen drawers.

“For who?” I opened the microwave, grabbing the frozen vegetables I had been heating up.

“For Iona,” he said matter-of-factly, rapping his weathered knuckles on the table across from him where my grandmother must have once sat.

I paused mid-stir over the mashed potatoes, glancing at his face to see if he’d gone mad.

“Tonight and the three days that follow, the veil around this world and the other comes down. The souls o’ those who have left us can visit, so we like to leave a place for them.” Granddad surveyed the seat across from him with sad, dark eyes, as if he could see her sitting there.

I scrambled to get some cutlery and a plate for my grandmother. I chose one of the special ones with embossed lemons she’d undoubtedly picked up on her travels. This made Granddad smile, and my heart clenched.

The rhythmic drumming echoed through the kitchen while we ate our dinner in silence. I found myself glancing at the window and the empty place I had set, wondering if my grandmother would indeed appear to have dinner with us.

“You should go check it out.” Granddad nodded at the window. “It’s an old Celtic festival. Not many places in Scotland celebrate it any longer, but this town likes to keep with traditions.”

Bonfires were lit on both arms of the bay. The drumming was coming from the grassy cliff behind the Ferris wheel, by the old graveyard, and I made my way up there.

Tears bit at the corners of my eyes as I thought about my grandfather eating alone, waiting for the love of his life to return.

Evening had begun to cloak the world in shades of indigo as I arrived at the Bayside shopping center. The café under the Ferris wheel was open, and for the first time, it was bustling. The young man from my grandmother’s funeral was waiting tables. He had a stack of plates in one arm and a notepad in the other, but he smiled at me and nodded hello.

The usually deserted grassy cliff face behind the Ferris wheel was alive and alight with makeshift market stalls tonight. Bonfires blazed all along it. The nearest, set on the grassy strip to the wheel’s left, was the largest. Drummers sat around it, their rhythms pulsing through the air. Further up the cliff, smaller fires dotted the landscape, trailing past the old graveyard like beacons of light against the darkening night.

As the last rays of sun penetrated the horizon, a gush of ocean wind hit me. I faltered as the smells washed over me. Perhaps a clifftop festival was not a good idea when my mind was so . . . fragile.

“Morgana!” A squeal rang out. Skye was coming out of the crowd, holding hot fries in a cone. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I would have gone with you instead.” She jerked her head toward a man glowering at us beside one of the stores.

Parker . He was exactly as I expected: handsome, but too handsome. The kind of looks that create an air of cockiness. He had sandy hair, a cleft chin, and an aura of impatience. Arms folded, he watched us with irritation flickering in his baby-blue eyes.

“I—I better go.” Skye looked crestfallen.

“I’m going to go check out the fires anyway.”

The bonfire crackled, shooting flames into the darkening sky. Drummers were using wooden sticks to beat against round, hide-covered drums. Some of the leathers had patterns, a Celtic design, and a bird. There was a throng of people all moving back and forth to the steady beat. They were dressed up, I realized. A man with giant antlers wreathed with vine leaves on his head, someone wearing a cow skull, men and women bearing flags, and women in full-skirted dresses were all moving around the fire to the music. In my jeans and jacket, I suddenly felt underdressed.

“Morgana.” I heard my name again—a man’s voice. A horse skull was at my shoulder, colorful ribbons streaming from its sides. Someone was holding it beneath a sheet, giving the impression of a ghostly stallion.

“It’s Láir Bhán—the white mare.” Finn grinned as he threw the sheet off himself and casually placed the skull under his arm. “Supernatural beings and the gods of old are said to be abroad tonight, but these costumes can ward them off.” He passed me the skull. Its eyes had baubles stuffed into them, and spirals were painted onto the bleached bone.

It had been three days since I’d last seen Finn. Now, firelight was illuminating his angular jaw and dark brows. My breath caught in my chest—not so long ago, this beautiful man had carried me in his arms away from the water’s edge and saved my life.

“How was your time away?” I asked, passing him back the horse skull and wiping my sweaty palms on the legs of my jeans.

“It’s always . . . difficult to go home.” Finn smiled dryly, and I thought I could see a shadow flicker across his face—maybe the same darkness that had arisen when I’d noticed the scars.

What did he mean difficult? I hated that I was wondering what he was thinking about and trying to sense his feelings. Still nothing .

“What made you decide to go back to the estate?” I asked. The crowd ebbed and flowed around us between the market stalls and bonfires, drinking and dancing.

“Oh yeah, the estate . . .” He dragged his fingers over his lower lip. “My father wanted a report on how my new job was going.” I liked how he talked: all proper. It was refreshing. I noticed again the lack of a local accent, or any accent I could pin down.

“Oh.” I hooked my thumbs through the belt loops on my jeans and removed them, realizing how ridiculous I must have looked. Folding my arms, I surveyed the people gathered around the fire.

“Coming here and dressing up is a ritual for my cousin and me. He’s here somewhere.” Finn scanned the rest of the clifftop merrymakers; when he didn’t see who he was looking for, he half yelled, “Do you want to get a drink?” over the drumming.

I nodded, and he shrugged off the sheet, letting it fall beside the skull on the grassy hilltop. Now, he was back in his usual attire: black jeans and a black sweater. We returned from the cliff’s edge toward the bustling makeshift market stalls.

While we waited in line, I watched kids light wooden torches in the bonfire.

“People take flames back to their homes as protection.” Finn’s dark eyes reflected the fire as he watched the children.

“I wonder where my cousin is. Off doing something debauched, no doubt.” Finn chuckled.

Is that what Finn would be doing if I wasn’t here? The thought caused my throat to tighten, and I sipped the soda he had bought me as we walked back toward the large bonfire and the merrymakers around it.

As we neared the cliff’s edge, the sighs of the waves rose above the rhythm of the drums. Night had masked the sky, but the flickering flames bathed us in a soft light.

“Being here reminds me of my grandmother . . . of the stories she used to tell me as a child.” My teeth sunk into my lower lip as I surveyed the scene.

“You loved her,” Finn stated. He was staring at me in that all-consuming way. The way part of me liked, and the other part found unnerving.

“I used to cry for days when she returned home after visiting me in America.” I sighed. “They say you don’t forget the sound of someone’s voice, but I’m starting to think I have.”

My grandmother’s stories of her travels and magical tales always captivated me. When she left me with my mother again after those trips, I felt more alone than ever.

“I lost my mother when I was young.” Finn’s tone grew rigid, and he paused. “Sometimes I imagine what her voice sounded like—soothing and sad, maybe like the ocean at night . . .” A shadow danced over his face.

We were silent as the waves crashed against the rocks below.

“Do you ever wonder if people we’ve lost can still see us?” I said. “Maybe they’re watching from somewhere, even wishing they could say something?” I thought about my grandfather sitting next to the empty place setting.

Finn’s black brows were drawn as he turned from me and looked out over the ocean. “Tonight, they can see us,” he said.

“It’s strange. I could tell my grandmother loved this town, but for some reason, she never let me visit.”

Finn turned back to me again, his dark eyes flickering with something.

The bonfire behind us cracked, and I jumped.

“The fires mimic the sun,” he explained, following my gaze. “They are a bid to hold back the darkness of winter.”

Tears peaked in the corners of my eyes. Something about celebrating life and death, light and dark, embracing the supernatural and warding them off simultaneously was so . . .

“Beautiful,” I said the word out loud as I surveyed the fires. I had always felt like an outsider, but in this small town—my grandmother’s town—filled with superstition and tales of magic, I was beginning to feel less out of place.

Finn put his hand on the small of my back, taking in my expression. “Beautiful, yes”—his voice was quiet—“but also said to be a night of grave dangers.”

But I was no longer watching the fires. I had turned to watch a man. He was wandering along the cliff’s edge. So close to the cliff’s edge. He stopped by the next fire over from ours and observed me. He was handsome, or so it looked in the half-light from this distance. He had a chiseled jaw and dark features, but his hair was light. His gaze flicked to mine, and I could have sworn his eyes flashed red, but then it was gone. Perhaps it was the firelight playing tricks on me.

Finn stiffened at my side as he, too, noticed the man.

I gripped Finn’s arm. Suddenly, the man was . . . gone .

“Did he . . . did he just jump?” I started moving toward the cliff’s edge, where the man had been only moments—seconds—ago, dragging Finn with me.

“I saw him slip into the shadows,” Finn muttered. “It must have been a trick of the light.”

I was at the cliff’s edge now, and the man was nowhere to be seen.

“Morgana!” Finn pulled his arm from my grasp and rolled up his sleeve. Little crescent indents from my nails marked his skin, shining red in the flickering firelight.

“I’m sorry,” I breathed. “It just looked like he disappeared, that’s all.” I peered into the crashing waves below, but there was only darkness. I shook my head, exhaling deeply. Perhaps I was losing my mind, but I wondered why, if that was the case, everything felt clearer than ever.

“I’ve got to find my cousin.” Finn’s tone was grave.

Before I could respond, he slipped away into the crowd, still swaying to the rhythm of the drums. I craned my neck to track him, but he had vanished into the shadows, just like the strange pale-haired man.

A prickle of foreboding licked at the back of my neck as I opened the door to my grandparents’ house. They were familiar to me, these sensations. They usually meant something was amiss.

Granddad was in the living room next to a crackling fire. He nodded and gave me a small smile as I crept behind him to the kitchen, where the table setting I’d laid out for my grandmother remained.

I made myself a hot chocolate, relishing its creamy sweetness after the cold night, but unease gnawed at me. Finn and Granddad were sure our loved ones could visit us tonight, but what about the man I’d seen—the one who had seemingly jumped from the cliff?

Making a second mug of hot chocolate, I set it next to my grandmother’s empty plate.

The prickle at the back of my neck intensified when I reentered the dark hallway. I found myself wanting to check every room in the house.

I pushed open Granddad’s door first and flicked on the light. Relief flooded me as his simple queen bed appeared.

I checked the bathroom. Flick—nothing.

I went to the study. Flick—nothing. I breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps the feeling had something to do with Samhain and the veils between worlds disintegrating. What was I thinking?

The feeling intensified as I climbed the winding stairs to the attic, and the fine hairs on my arms stood on end. My hands trembled as I flicked the light switch—I’d seen enough horror movies to know it’s always in the attic! But I felt foolish when nothing but dusty boxes and my grandmother’s old dresser were illuminated.

My room was also empty. I even opened the old wardrobe to check that nothing was hiding inside. I shook my head. I was acting crazy. But there had been so many strange occurrences since I’d been here: the fainting, the sunken-faced man, and now the beautiful disappearing man.

I threw myself on my bed and stared at the beams running across the dark wood ceiling. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. All of my dresser drawers were open, and I remembered closing them.

Ignoring the bed’s groan, I leaped up and rifled through them. Nothing was missing, but someone had been here. I was sure of it.

Why had someone wanted to go through my things? Could it have been my grandfather? No, he had trouble with the narrow stairs, and the prickle at the back of my neck suggested it had been someone else.

Terror clutched at my throat as I flung open the wardrobe again. My grandmother’s old fur coat was still hanging there. Relief coursed through me. I’d grown fiercely protective of the heirloom.