Fear the Drowning Deep(45)

As I had lain in bed, I’d thought of how Morag spilled boiling water when I mentioned the disappearances. “She definitely knows something she isn’t telling, and I intend to get the truth from her today.”

Fynn arched a brow, looking curious as a housecat. “And how do you plan to do that?”

I dashed to the serpent canvas, which no one had moved since Fynn turned it against the wall, and lifted it into my arms. “With a bribe, of course. She’ll love this awful old thing.” It was still wrapped in a sheet, thick enough to hide the Bully’s face, and I liked it that way. I hurried to the door.

“Bridey,” Fynn choked out. It sounded like he was struggling to sit up. “Wait.”

Once again, I paused and turned back to him. “I want you to stay a while because …” His face was pale and pinched, though somehow, I sensed, not with pain. “Because I wanted to say good-bye. In case I’m not here when you get back.”

I nearly dropped the painting as my arms went limp. “What? Why wouldn’t you be here? You’re hurt.” I swallowed hard. “And I thought you had good reasons to stay in Port Coire. At least for a while yet.”

“I heard everything those men said last night. I don’t belong here …” Fynn’s words were difficult to make out over the rush of blood in my ears. “I’m putting your family at odds with the town by staying. That seems a poor way to repay your kindness. And as for you …” His eyes glistened as he swallowed and said in a low voice, “After yesterday, I realized just how much I care about you, and—”

“And showing how much you care means taking off just because a stupid lad like Thomase Boyd told a petty lie?” I wanted to cry and shout. My voice shook with the effort of not waking Mam. “You and I know what’s really luring people away!”

Fynn winced, but his mouth was set in a firm line. “This isn’t just because of what anyone said. Caring about you means I want what’s best for you. And while you can’t see it now, and there’s no way you could understand, being around me isn’t—”

“No? I’m not capable of understanding whatever foolishness is running through your head?” I clutched the painting with white knuckles. “Well, hopefully you understand this: You don’t get to decide what’s best for me, no matter how much you claim to care. I do. And what’s best for me is you staying here. If you really feel anything for me at all, you’ll do just that. If not, then perhaps it is best you leave. See how far you get with your wounds half-mended, and good luck.”

I spun on my heel, hoping I’d been quick enough to hide how my heart was breaking. I needed fresh air. I needed Fynn to be here when I got back. I needed to get rid of this blasted sea monster.

“Bridey, I’m doing this for your—”

“I’m going now.” I nudged the door open but called back over my shoulder, “I’ll see you when I return.”

I hope.

I didn’t let a single tear fall until home was far behind me. Lugging the painting to Morag’s was, at least, a distraction from the awful turn the morning had taken.

A few houses up the lane, a blonde woman in a long gray skirt kneeled in her garden, though it was barely sunup. She hummed as she trimmed clusters of flowering yarrow, a gentle melody, yet the sight of her twisted my stomach in knots.

“Morning, Mrs. Kissack.” I hesitantly waved to the baker, wondering if she’d told anyone about the things I’d babbled to her and her friend the day before. I was afraid to ask.

She stopped humming and glanced up. For a woman who made cakes and sweets, she looked rather fierce. “Bridey.” With a stiff jerk of her head, she returned to her plants.

I crossed into the market square, where a few of the usual merchants were setting up shop for the day. Most of the fishermen’s baskets, which usually displayed their catches, were woefully empty despite Mr. Boyd and Mr. Nelson’s giant crab discovery. I tasted the bitterness of the town’s worry on my tongue each time I gulped a mouthful of briny air. I couldn’t wait to reach the shelter of Morag’s hill.

As I rushed past the pottery stall, Thomase Boyd fell into step beside me.

“Hello, Bridey. Seen any krakens lately?” Thomase drawled, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I was in a hurry.

My stomach dropped. Mrs. Kissack and her friend had already been busy telling people how daft I was, then. I’d never buy another scone from her after this.

“See any monsters on your way here?”

I tried to act like I hadn’t heard Thomase, though my burning face gave me away.

“My da and Mr. Nelson’s empty boat turned up in the harbor at first light,” he murmured, soft enough for only me to hear. “And here I thought your friend was only after our women. Tell him from me, if he so much as glances at my mam and sister, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing he ever does.”

I paused, tempted to smack Thomase in the face with the covered painting. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” I gritted out. Of course, that wasn’t true, not unless I found a way to fight the fossegrim.

“What does that mean?” When I didn’t answer, he added, “You’d best stop watching the sea and watch your back instead, Bridey Corkill, or you’ll be his next victim. And what a painful loss that would be.”