Immortal Sea

by Virginia Kantra

  “He would not have the words to tell you what was happening. To explain. How could he? He did not know himself.”

  Her heart broke for him. Her poor boy. Emotion clogged her throat. “I never suspected . . .” Wasn’t that what parents always claimed while their children suffered teasing, addiction, abuse? “I didn’t know.” “I never dreamed.” “He never said anything.” Useless now to look back and wish and wonder. “I thought he was doing drugs.”

  “You must not blame yourself.”

  She shook her head. He didn’t understand. “I knew something was wrong. I should have found a way to fix it.”

  “He does not need to be fixed. He is not your patient.”

  “No, he’s my son.” She pressed her fingers to the headache pounding in her temples. “I could have handled drugs,” she muttered.

  How did she handle this?

  “There is nothing you can do,” Morgan said.

  She raised her head and stared at him.

  “Zachary needs to be with his own kind now,” he continued calmly while her world crashed around her ears. “On Sanctuary.”

  Her blood chilled. The drumming in her head made it difficult to think. “Excuse me?”

  “It is dangerous for him here. He needs the guidance of his own kind. When I return to Sanctuary, Zachary goes with me.”

  She stared at him, her warm brown eyes huge and accusing.

  A completely foreign emotion gripped Morgan’s chest.

  Guilt.

  He resisted the urge to look away. He had faced down demons in the deep, stood unfaltering on the wall of Caer Subai when Hell’s own flood had crashed down on his head. He would not flinch before one mortal woman.

  But that look harpooned his heart.

  Even when he had left her at dawn sixteen years ago, even when their son was arrested, even when Morgan had Changed before her eyes, Elizabeth had retained her essential courage, her indomitable determination.

  Now she looked shaken. Vulnerable. Betrayed.

  He gritted his teeth. Of course he must take Zachary with him. The boy could not be left to bumble on his own.

  Especially not with Gau hunting these waters.

  She inhaled audibly. Her chin jutted out. “Over my dead body.”

  He felt a rush of relief. He would rather fight her than feel this grinding guilt.

  “Let us hope it does not come to that.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Threats?”

  Over the water, a gannet folded rigid white wings and plunged into the sea after unwary prey.

  He was handling this badly, Morgan realized. His emotions were a nameless, toxic brew, a witch’s cauldron seething and bubbling inside him, corroding his customary detachment.

  He had never before concerned himself overmuch with the truth, only with survival. Compared to the preservation of his people, the fate of one human female could hardly be allowed to matter. Her good opinion should matter even less.

  And yet . . . Elizabeth mattered.

  He had to make her understand without terrifying her. Zachary was a target. They both were. Removing the boy to Sanctuary would protect him and divert any danger to Elizabeth.

  Or leave her alone and defenseless.

  Doubt slid into Morgan, cold and sharp as a blade. The island was warded, he reminded himself. Elizabeth would be safe as long as she remained on the island.

  But his uneasiness lingered like the stain of blood in the water.

  “I do not threaten. But until Zachary receives the proper training, he is a danger to himself and others.”

  Water lapped against the boat, filling the silence.

  “You said you could choose,” Elizabeth said at last. “What if he chooses to be human?”

  “He is not human.”

  “He’s not an animal either.”

  “An elemental. Immortal. One of the First Creation.”

  “Immortal?”

  He hesitated. “The children of the sea can be killed. Or lost beneath the wave. But as long as we live in the sea or on Sanctuary, we do not age and die as humans do.”

  “You don’t age.” She considered him, her head tilted to one side. “Exactly how old are you?”

  He had stretched her credibility enough for one day. But he would not lie to her or hide the truth any longer. If she rejected him, it was no more than he deserved.

  But his palms were sweating.

  “I was born on the isle of Bressay,” he said carefully, “in the year of your Lord seven hundred and fifty-eight.”

  She looked down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap, then up at him. The reflection of sunlight on the water danced across her face. He drank in the sight of her, the deep brown, intelligent eyes, the lines of laughter and loss, the firm, slightly squared chin. He wanted to cup her face in his hands, to comfort her, claim her. But his kind did not touch, only to fight or to mate. And he was no longer certain she would welcome his embrace.

  “Zack is only fifteen,” she said. “He’s not even ready to choose a college yet. How can he make a decision about something like this?”

  “There is no decision. He has no choice.” His voice was harsh. No choice for any of them. “He is what he is.”

  Her hands rose and fell in a gesture of frustration. “Then why are we even having this discussion?”

  “Because of you,” Morgan said with brutal honesty.

  “Because of my feelings for you. As soon as I knew the boy was finfolk, I would have taken him and gone. For no other woman—for no other force on earth—would I have stayed.”

  His declaration shook them both.

  Wild color stormed her cheeks. Her eyes were dark and confused. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Morgan’s jaw clenched. He was no mortal man to beg for her love, no sidhe lover to seduce her with promises. “What do your instincts tell you?”

  Her gaze met his. “My instincts apparently are not very reliable.”

  “Fight?” he offered softly. “Or flight?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to fight you. And I’m not going to run away from my responsibilities as Zack’s mother. I’m not like you. I believe we always have a choice. My heart hopes Zack will choose to stay, will let himself be human, will let himself be a boy a little longer. He’ll leave eventually, whatever I say. To college, to an apartment, to a girl or a job in another state. I have to be prepared to let him go. But not now. Not yet.”

  The look in her eyes tore at his heart.

  “Then why,” he quoted back at her, “are we having this discussion?”

  “Because of you. Because you were honest with me. You are Zack’s father. I need to think about what that means before I decide what’s best for Zack.”

  She could not fail to see that what was best for Zachary was to return with Morgan to Sanctuary.

  He had won.

  Elizabeth would let him win, would sacrifice her own happiness for the sake of their son.

  Morgan would have everything he wanted, everything he came for.

  He had not realized victory could leave such a hollow in his chest, such a bitter taste in his mouth.

  15

  “WATCH ME, MOMMY,” EMILY YELLED FROM THE top of the slide at the island community center.

  Camp had been dismissed for the day, but children still lingered, running, shrieking, playing, as if everything were normal. As if the rules of the playground still held true even when the laws of the universe shifted and Liz’s world turned upside down.

  “Mommy.”

  “I’m watching,” she called, standing near the other mothers.

  Here, at least, she could be like other mothers. Watchful. As if her simple presence could protect her child in this strange new world, a world where the old tales were true and lovers walked out of the sea and changeling children were stolen by the fairies.

  She wrapped her arms across her stomach, holding herself together.

  Emily hit the ground running, chasing after a skinn
y dark-haired boy a year or two older.

  Liz caught her breath. Emily. What on earth was she going to tell Em about her brother?

  Nothing, she decided. Not yet. There was no need if Zack stayed. And if he left, telling Em was several notches down on her list of things to obsess about.

  “Never gets any easier, does it?” a woman next to her remarked.

  Liz blinked, trying to place her. Chopped black hair, thin, attractive face, big, Italian eyes. “Sorry, what?”

  “Parenthood.” The woman nodded toward the playground. “You think when they’re babies that’s the scariest time, and then they’re toddlers and getting into everything, and next thing you know they’re trying to kill themselves on the monkey bars. Must be even worse having a teenager.”

  “I . . . It has its challenges.”

  Like finding out your son’s avoiding bath time because he turns into a . . . dolphin? Whale? She hadn’t asked, didn’t want to imagine.

  “God, I’m sorry. You don’t have a clue who I am.” The woman smiled, quick and wide. “Regina Hunter. That’s my son Nick on the playground. And you saw my daughter Grace when my husband brought her in for her well-baby checkup last week.”

  “Oh. Yes.” Liz struggled to pull herself together, straining her facial muscles to smile back. “Nice to meet you. How is Grace?”

  Liz flipped through her mental file of patients. Grace Hunter, three months old, father Dylan.

  She felt an almost audible click in her skull as another piece slid into place. “You’re married to Dylan Hunter.”

  “That’s right.”

  Liz resisted the urge to grip her arm. “Your husband works with Morgan. Morgan Bressay.”

  Regina eyed her cautiously. “Sometimes.”

  “Environmental protection.” Her heart pounded. “Underwater exploration.”

  Caution morphed into suspicion. “So?”

  She was scaring her, Liz realized. She scared herself. She was taking a risk she wasn’t prepared for with a woman she didn’t know. The children’s voices faded in and out like the sound from a television a room away.

  “I just wondered . . .” Her nerve and her voice failed her. “Have you known Morgan long?”

  “Never saw him before this trip. You?”

  She licked dry lips. “He’s Zack’s father. Zack is my son.”

  “The teenager.”

  Liz nodded. She couldn’t do it. No matter how desperate she was for information about Morgan and insight about their son, she couldn’t unload her deepest fears and secrets on this friendly, normal, uncomprehending stranger.

  “Puberty’s rough. All those changes,” Regina said.

  Liz caught her breath.

  “I can just imagine,” the other woman continued deliberately, “what you must be going through.”

  Her heart beat in her throat. “Can you? It’s harder for Zack, I think, because he . . .”

  “Takes after his father.”

  Liz swallowed hard. “Exactly.”

  Their eyes met. Held.

  Regina smiled crookedly. “Dylan takes after his mother in almost exactly the same way.”

  “His mother,” Liz repeated, afraid to guess. To hope.

  “His mother was the sea witch Atargatis.”

  Liz stared blankly.

  “Selkie, merfolk, whatever you call them. The children of the sea.”

  A wave of gratitude and disbelief swept over Liz, making her dizzy. There were others. She wasn’t alone.

  Regina’s arm slipped under hers, warm and supportive. “Here, you look like you need to sit down.”

  She led her to a bench beside some play equipment, fortunately deserted.

  “I’m fine.” Liz raised her head, a bubble of panic rising in her blood. “Em.”

  “Right over there with Nick,” Regina reassured her. “That’s my son, Nick.”

  A dark-haired boy launched himself from the top of the fort, arms and legs wrapped around a pole. He looked so normal, so much like Zack at his age, Liz’s chest ached.

  “Is he . . .” She stopped. She was a doctor, trained to ask the right questions, to find the right answers, to respond quickly and decisively in a crisis. But Morgan’s revelation had left her floundering.

  “Dylan is Nick’s stepdad,” Regina said.

  Liz nodded, feeling like a bobble head doll.

  Regina sat beside her on the bench. “How long have you known?”

  “I didn’t. I guessed. Honestly, I’m not trying to pry into your personal life, I just—”

  “About Morgan,” Regina interrupted. “When did you find out?”

  “This afternoon. He took me out on a boat.”

  Regina nodded, her eyes sympathetic.

  “I thought he was crazy.” Liz drew a deep breath. “Or I was.”

  “Not crazy. In shock maybe.”

  “Not seeing things?” She’d meant to sound ironic, but there was a wobble in her voice that shamed her.

  “If you are, then half the island is hallucinating along with you.”

  “Half the island?” Her voice rose.

  One of the other mothers glanced over curiously.

  “Okay, slight exaggeration. Listen, we can’t talk here.” Regina stood. “Come to my house. The kids can play video games while we talk.”

  “Talk,” Liz said.

  She hadn’t had a close girlfriend since Allyson ditched her for Gunthar sixteen years and a lifetime ago. She’d been too busy, too immersed in her studies, her work, her children. Her grief.

  Connections, she reminded herself. She’d moved to the island in search of a community where she and her children would belong.

  She’d never needed a friend more than now. Never imagined she’d bond with another woman over their lovers from the sea.

  Regina shrugged. “Talk, open a bottle of wine. Frankly, you look like you could use a drink.”

  “So, the sea witch Atargatis had three children with her human husband.” Regina counted them off on her fingers. “Caleb—he’s our police chief. He’s human. Dylan, my husband, who’s selkie. And Lucy.”

  They sat at her kitchen table, sturdy oak with a blue bowl of ripening peaches and tomatoes in the center. Liz was comforted by the child’s artwork on the refrigerator, the framed handprints on the wall. Bits of sea glass wrapped in fishing line and silver wire caught the light in the wide apartment windows. She looked around the eclectic, comfortable, normal home and felt like Alice after she’d tumbled down the rabbit hole.

  She set down her half-full glass of wine, a good red Italian Montepulciano. “I’m sorry. Did you say selkie?”

  “Seal in the water, sheds his pelt on land to take human form,” Regina explained.

  Dear God, was all Liz could think. She made it sound so ordinary.

  “They’re all children of the sea,” Regina continued. “Selkie and finfolk both. But the selkie only take one form in the ocean. The finfolk can change into anything. Have some more wine.”

  “I rule!” piped Emily’s excited treble from the open door of Nick’s room.

  “Shit. No way,” Nick said.

  Regina winced.

  “It’s all right,” Liz said. “She has an older brother.”

  “That explains why she’s winning.” Regina refilled Liz’s glass. “Anyway, the third kid, Lucy, Caleb and Dylan’s sister, was supposed to be human. Nice girl. Island school-teacher. Taught Nick. Anyway, turns out she’s selkie, too, a big deal magic worker. She ends up as consort to Conn ap Llyr, who’s kind of like their king. Are you following this?”

  “Caleb, Dylan, Lucy. One human, two . . .” Not. She gulped her wine. “Did you know your husband was . . .”

  “Selkie,” Regina supplied.

  “When you married him?”

  “When I married him, sure. Not when I got pregnant.”

  “You, too?” Liz blurted.

  “Is that what happened with you and Morgan?”

  Liz nodded.

  “Must
be something in the water,” Regina muttered.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Joke,” she explained. “So now he’s found you again.”

  Liz stared broodingly into her wineglass. She was very, very grateful to Regina for finding her and bringing her home. “He said it was destiny. That fate brought us together twice.”

  Regina snorted. “Whatever. I heard he was here to haul Conn’s ass back to Sanctuary.”

  Liz blinked. “Conn?”

  “The sea lord.”

  “Right.” A headache threatened behind her eyeballs, compounded by stress and Montepulciano. “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “Who else am I going to talk to? Who else would understand? We are a small and extremely exclusive club.”

  Liz smiled wryly. The wine helped. Talking helped even more. “Women who have sex with merfolk.”

  “Oh, there are lots of those around. No, we belong to the much more exclusive club of women who got knocked up by their merfolk lovers.”

  Her smile died. “But if they have sex with so many women . . .”

  “Low birth rate,” Regina explained. “Sort of the downside of immortality. Their population is declining. That’s why children are so important to them.”

  “My son,” Morgan had insisted. “My seed.”

  Pain sliced her heart, pounded in her head. She willed her hands to steady on her wineglass. “How many are there?”

  “A few thousand, maybe. But no kids. Not for years. And three of their youngest were lost less than a year ago.”

  “I meant how many on the island.”

  “Well, we get visitors. Not just summer people, you understand. We’re right between the Arctic current and the Gulf Stream, which is convenient for merfolk making the north crossing. But living here? Dylan. Lucy, until last fall. Oh, and Margred.”

  Liz thought of that awkward moment of recognition in her waiting room between Morgan and beautiful, exotic, pregnant Margred Hunter, their two faces so different and yet somehow alike. “She’s one of them.”

  “Yes and no. Margred chose to live as a human with Caleb,” Regina continued. “She’ll grow old and die just like the rest of us. But she has her own magic. And I don’t just mean the way every man on the island falls over himself when she walks into a room either.”