Page 7 of Sea of Evil and Desire (The Deep Saga #1)

5

Morgana

F inn was leaning against the glass doors of Celtic Keepsakes the next day, nonchalantly smoking, dressed in a khaki jacket, jeans, and boots. My palms grew sweaty, and warmth flooded my cheeks. It had been easier to be around him in the flickering light of the Samhain bonfires, but my heart started hammering now that I observed him in the light of day. I took in his dark hair, gently tousled, and his sensuous lips.

“You always smoked?” I asked, nodding and raising my eyebrows in a way that made me feel cool.

“Since I was a suckling babe.” His cheeks caved as he took a draw. It made him look like someone from an old black-and-white Hollywood film.

“You know smoking isn’t cool anymore?” I scoffed. I had my satchel slung across my chest like a side bag, so I wasn’t really in a position to say what was and wasn’t cool.

“I like to try new things while away from home.” His mouth curved into a half smile. I liked how he stood, always straight-backed and confident, even with his shoulders resting on the glass—the complete opposite of me. He ground the butt of his cigarette into the ashen cement with the heel of his boot, and brushed his raven hair back from his face.

I wanted to say something intelligent—or anything at all—but I just stood frozen as we stared at each other. Finn seemed to flit between charming and arrogant to cold and distant. Both personas must be masks, but what was behind those masks? I had to know. Was this what it was like to speak to someone when you couldn’t sense their emotions, or was it just him?

He seemed to want to be around me, though; this was the fourth time he’d sought me out, and the thought made my stomach flutter.

“Yes, well, I better open up now. If you would be so kind.” I jerked my head to motion him away from the doorway.

He exhaled a breath but didn’t move. We stood like that for a moment, and I stared at him. I knew I was feeding his ego, but he needed to move and let me into my store. I attempted to reach around his body to put the key into the lock, and his scent washed over me—sea salt blowing off the waves.

He grabbed my hand, and his eyes met mine. “Have lunch with me?”

My mouth fell open. I clamped it shut and collected myself. “Um, okay, sure.” I wrenched my sweaty palm from his grasp as his lips tugged into a grin.

I inserted the key into the lock as he finally began moving away from the glass. My fingers were trembling, and it jammed. Shit . I wiggled it furiously. As his footsteps retreated, I relaxed enough to unlock the door.

“Oh, and Morgana!” Finn stopped and looked down at his feet as though suspended between wanting to say something else and needing to leave.

“What?” I was smiling now.

“Think of somewhere we can go that’s not here .” He gestured to the empty center .

Peering into the dusty window of Ruadán’s Port Pawn, I didn’t see anybody behind the counter, so I entered.

The arrangement of odds and ends cluttering the walls made me feel claustrophobic. A bowl of coins on display caught my attention, and I plucked a piece from the pot. It was silver, just like the fifty-cent pieces I was used to, but different. Instead of the presidential seal or a monarch’s torso, this depicted a fish, or something that looked like a fish. Its engraved tail was long and curved up one side of the coin. There was lettering around the outside. It looked like runes, but they had been worn smooth, and I couldn’t be sure. I snatched another piece from the bowl. They were all the same, and they had all been badly worn.

Finn’s voice emerged from the back room, and I froze to catch the conversation.

“Look, all I want to know is what my father is going to do with this information,” his cold, clear voice said.

“I’ve already told you everything I know about this second job,” a voice, which I assumed belonged to the old shop owner, Mr. Inegar, growled.

“You wouldn’t lie to me for him, would you?” Finn sounded stern now. I thought this was strange, given that Mr. Inegar was his boss.

“I have tutored you since you were a lad. We’re like family! If I knew more, I would tell you,” Mr. Inegar replied.

“He’s been acting . . . stranger than usual.” Finn sighed.

“And you’re dragging it out. Why? Surely, it can’t be difficult,” Mr. Inegar said gruffly.

“Of course not.” Finn scoffed, “It’s just a bit different, that’s all . . .”

I had been absent-mindedly running my fingers through the bowl of coins, which now tipped and spilled across the counter with a clatter. The voices stopped. Finn and Mr. Inegar appeared as I scrambled to collect them.

There was something etched into the bottom of the empty bowl. My breath hitched. It was the same insignia from the box holding my grandmother’s ashes—a wave with a crescent moon rising above it, surrounded by a mermaid, a skull, a seal . . .

Mr. Inegar rushed over, grabbing the bowl from me before I could make out the other images. He scooped the coins back in with a scowl.

Finn greeted me with a welcoming smile. “So, have you decided where we’re going?”

“Yep.” I grinned, wiping my dusty fingers on my jeans.

Mr. Inegar frowned at us over his shoulder. His brows were snow-white, and his skin was leathery.

“Wait, I think I would like to buy one of those coins—” I swung back to the mess I had left on the dusty counter.

“Not for sale.” Mr. Inegar glowered.

“But why were they on display?”

He placed the silver bowl under the counter, continuing to glare at me.

“What country are they from anyway?” I shot him a smile in the hope of some reciprocity. He didn’t return it.

“Don’t worry about him,” Finn said, gently tugging me toward the doorway. His touch made me forget all about the coins.

As we passed beneath the towering broken Ferris wheel, I glanced at its rusted beams silhouetted against the overcast sky. Streaked with mold, dirt, and seagull droppings, it was like a relic of a carnival long forgotten.

Ducking under one of the lower beams, I caught it sparkling in the sunlight. I reached up, running my fingers over its rough surface. There were messy silver markings streaked across it as if someone had painted them. Silver . Just like the face of the man I’d seen here.

“The wheel is impressive, but I don’t know if I’d ever get the urge to stroke it.” I sensed Finn’s smirk behind me.

“There are markings on it.” I turned to face him.

“Let me see that!” Finn’s eyes narrowed, and he rushed forward. He ran his hands where mine had just been. His eyes moved to and fro like he was reading.

“Do you know what the drawings are?” I asked, shielding my eyes from the bright midday sun to squint at the white beam.

He ignored me, staring up at the top of the wheel. I followed his gaze but saw nothing unusual, only its carriage-less circle silhouetted against the clouds.

“You know, you’re right.” Finn turned back to me and grinned. “It’s impossible to walk past this wheel without giving it a stroke.” He brushed the silver designs on the beam in an exaggerated caress.

“Shut up,” I grumbled, pushing ahead of him. I wondered if I should tell Finn about the man. But what would I say? That I’d seen a man with a silver face and sunken eyes? I was certain reaper-looking creeps weren’t the best topic for a first date—but was this even a date? I wasn’t sure.

We crossed the grassy area where the festival of Samhain had been held, but this time, we didn’t turn toward the cliff’s edge. Instead, I led us to a dilapidated fence marking the center’s boundary from the industrial area. Behind it was a small concrete wasteland of deserted shipping containers I had noticed the night before. They must have been hauled up here and left behind from the port days of trade.

“Are you enjoying working at the pawnshop?” I asked as I trailed down the fence line, looking for the perfect spot to cross. I was still thinking about the strange conversation I had overheard between him and Mr. Inegar.

“You never know what curious items someone might bring in. How are you liking this wee town?” Finn moved closer, his salty scent washing over me.

“Believe it or not, I like this forgotten outdoor center.” I stopped at a spot where the rusted fence was sagging.

He grasped my hand as I stepped over first, and I flushed as a flash of excitement coursed through me. I turned to face him as he sprang after me, still holding my hand. The gray flecks in his eyes were sparkling. Could he tell how his touch made me feel? I couldn’t sense his emotions, but sometimes it seemed as if he could read mine.

The emptiness of the industrial area, which bled into the rugged green cliffs beyond, now loomed before us, and Finn’s shoulder brushed against mine as we surveyed the scene together.

“I like this place too,” he said. “It offers me . . . well, freedom.” There was a heaviness behind his reflective eyes. It was a feeling I thought I understood.

“Before coming here to look after my grandfather, I’d never left the Midwest. My mother has always been overbearing and I’ve lived a sheltered life.” I hooked my hair behind my ear and turned to him, thinking about how nice it was not to have her fussing over my “condition.” Living here, it felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I didn’t tell him I sensed college was not my destiny, but that maybe this town was. That would be way too weird.

“Are you and your mother close?” he asked, his eyes flicking to mine.

“No, not really. We are very—well . . . different.” I thought about her again. “She’s an accountant and practical to a fault. Everything’s about what makes sense—numbers, rules, logic . . .”

My mother had no room for “feelings,” whereas they consumed me.

Finn and I made our way between the scattered shipping containers, their rusted maroon and mustard pillars towering above us.

“At least she’s consistent. One moment, my father’s shouting orders; the next, he’s cold and distant, like I don’t even exist to him.” Finn laughed sarcastically. “Your mother— does she care about what you want? Or is it always her way?”

“She’d say she cares. She wants me to get a good job, live a ‘normal’ life, whatever that means.”

“I get it.” He let out a low chuckle. “My family has money, and with that money comes duty. With duty comes sacrifice.” He adopted a deep, would-be-fatherly tone.

The ground beneath our feet was a patchwork of cracked concrete and wild grasses that had claimed the land back from its man-made purpose, the air thick with the scent of metal and sea.

“What would you do with your life if you could do anything?” I angled my head to survey the side of his sharp jaw.

“Honestly, just this. I find beauty in the simplest things, like having lunch with a pretty girl and feeling the first autumn winds on my face.” Finn turned on the spot, taking in our surroundings.

We reached the base of a large navy shipping container, and I imagined the cloaked silver-faced man crouching in its shadowy depths. In the light of day, I would have been able to see what was inside his hollow eye sockets.

But the container was empty; the daylight reached its dark back and showed that only sand and bird droppings had made it their home. I had chosen this container because it was the largest, and the smaller ones had fallen by its side, leading like a mismatched staircase to its roof. I scrambled up first, and the sea breeze caught me as I emerged on its top. I crouched down for fear of being buffeted straight off or, worse still, acting crazy and sniffing all its scents. The last thing I needed was for Finn to see me inhaling the wind like some frenzied animal.

From the top of the shipping container, the Ferris wheel, the Bayside shopping center behind it, and the two arms of the bay beyond stretched before us. I looked sideways at Finn, who had seated himself spread-legged beside me. His elbows rested lazily on his cocked knees. His jacket hid his tattoos today, but I tried to conjure the feeling of being in his arms—carried down the jetty, away from the water’s edge.

“I like how you find beauty in the mundane.” Finn looked out over the harbor, and the wind was in his hair.

Was it a compliment or an insult? I couldn’t tell.

His eyes found mine with a turn of his head, and he looked sincere. “Now you have to let me return the favor. Would you like to come to my house tomorrow night to watch Netflix? I find myself quite fond of this platform you have here.”

“Don’t you have Netflix on your estate?” My eyes widened.

“No, it’s quite archaic, really.”

I had practically lived on the streaming service in Kansas City, but Grandpa didn’t have a smart TV, and Mom hadn’t let me take the laptop. I couldn’t deny I missed watching movies. Movies and books had always been an escape for me. I couldn’t sense the emotions of the characters, allowing me to interact with them in a way that was almost . . . normal .

“So, do you want to come?” Finn surveyed me, his black eyes narrowed.

I thought about my dream and its warning but found myself nodding. I swallowed. It felt like a real date.

“See those houses?” He gestured to the luxurious buildings with big glass windows clustered around the bay’s curve. “The largest one in the middle is where I live. I won’t be at work tomorrow, but you should come over afterward.”

My entire body heated up as I thought about being in his home.

“This place is so wild and empty,” I muttered, looking away so he wouldn’t notice the flush in my cheeks.

“I think you will like it here. Morgana means ‘dweller of the sea’ in Gaelic. We also have the Morgen—water spirits said to drown men.” He chuckled.

“I had never seen the ocean before moving to this town, but I seem drawn to it.” I smiled, thinking my grandmother must have had something to do with my name.

“You are unique, Morgana.” Finn sighed as he surveyed me, and his cold hand brushed mine. “What’s most captivating about you is that you don’t even realize how rare you are.”

I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt like this. My blood was racing. I was used to being overwhelmed by emotions and wanting out of there as soon as possible, but I didn’t want this to end. I wanted to live in this feeling. I wrenched myself from his gaze and squinted in the direction he had pointed.

“The pawnshop must be doing well if you can afford to live there.”

“It’s only one business of many . . .” I could hear the shrug in his words as I stared at the houses. Tomorrow night, I would be inside those walls with him.