Immortal Sea (26 page)

“And you are . . .”
Impossible. Unthinkable. Unreal.

“Remarkable, too.”

She itched to touch him, ached for the reassurance of his solid flesh. His human flesh. She clasped her hands together tightly in her lap. “I thought you’d have a tail,” she blurted.

“I beg your pardon.”

“You said finfolk. Merfolk. And in Copenhagen, at the statue, you said . . .” She could no longer remember exactly what he’d said at the statue of the Little Mermaid all those years ago. “Anyway, I thought . . .” She gestured toward his legs, encased in wet black denim. Avoided looking at his feet.

“Ah. No. One chooses to be one or the other, a man on land or a creature of the sea,” he explained patiently. “To be both at the same time denotes a lack of control. I chose the forms most likely to be acceptable to you.”

“Flipper,” she said, only a trace of bitterness in her tone.

His eyes narrowed. “The
muc marra
and
whaleyn
were land mammals once. The closest to human of the creatures of the sea.”

She turned his words over in her mind like a child with a shape puzzle, struggling to make things fit. “What?”

“Eons ago, they gave up the land for the ocean. I thought it might help you to know that. To see their choice as right and natural.”

Her focus sharpened. Her maternal instincts woke. She straightened on the narrow seat. “Zack isn’t a dolphin. He’s a fifteen-year-old boy.”

“Already past his first Change.”

“You can’t know that.”

Everything in her rejected what he was saying. They were talking about her baby, her firstborn.

But the pieces fit.

“I saw it. I saw him last night. Elizabeth.” Compassion deepened his voice. “Where do you think he got the lobsters?”

Oh, God.

Her face felt stiff. “I thought he was having trouble adjusting to the change.”

“He was.”

She was too upset to appreciate his irony.

In the distance, an early lobster boat headed home, the chug of its motor traveling over the water. Liz’s mind spun, picking and discarding memories, testing pieces of the puzzle.

“The grief counselor said he was okay. ‘As well as can be expected.’ ” She bit her lip, the small pain a distraction from the ache at her heart. “But about six months after Ben died, Zack changed. His hair color, his hygiene, his clothes.”

Those damn boots, she thought. He never went barefoot anymore. Even in the house, even in the summer, he wore socks.

Morgan nodded. “The Change comes on at adolescence. He would try to control it. Failing that, to hide.”

Liz swallowed painfully. “He started spending all his time in his room. I thought—he’s a teenager. But then his grades dropped. He didn’t want to see his friends.”

“He could not confide in them.”

“He could have come to me.” The hurt burst out of her. “I’m his mother. I’ve always told him he could come to me about anything.”

“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.

“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 skinny 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.”