Fear the Drowning Deep(46)
Thinking of Fynn and his sudden urge to leave after kissing me just yesterday, my blood ran hot. “Listen here, Thomase. Why don’t you go bother someone else? I’m in the mood to hit something this morning, and your face is awfully close. And a wide target.”
“I know what I saw yesterday,” he growled. “Mr. Gill believes me, and so should you. It was the comeover. Lie to yourself if you must, but Gill won’t be the last person I convince. You can’t hide the truth.”
I quickened my step. “You’re mad.”
Thomase laughed. “I’m the mad one? I’ve heard you like working for the old witch. Think you’re special, don’t you? Well, you and that hag are the daft ones, and your friend is no better.” He jabbed the air with his index finger, calling out as I dashed away, “Trust me, folk would be glad to see the back of you disappearing over a cliff!”
“This town is lucky to have me,” I said, my words carrying on the wind. They might not have realized it, too busy giving me sideways glances and sniggering behind my back, but I was trying to save them all.
“The search party found her footprints!” Thomase’s voice was so faint, I could just make out the words. “Leading right to the water …”
Out of sight of the market at last, I paused in the shade of a tree at the base of the hill. My heart ached for Lugh, yet my mind kept circling back to Fynn. Back to the kiss that almost made me love the taste of saltwater. Back to the boy who thought me brave. Had he ever felt anything for me, or had he only meant to use me to pass the time until his memories returned? Surely he’d recalled something if he was suddenly so keen to leave me and this town behind. My hands curled tighter around the edges of the painting as I realized what hurt the most: he hadn’t even asked me to go with him. I might’ve said yes, once I knew my family was safe.
But they weren’t yet. That was up to me and, perhaps, Morag.
Fixing the faces of my missing friends and neighbors in my mind, I knocked on the warped cottage door.
Seconds stretched into minutes as I waited for Morag to answer. I pressed my ear to the wood, hoping to catch the sound of a foot dragging across the floor or the hiss of a kettle. But there was only the sigh of the wind through the trees.
“Morag?” I called. “You can’t keep avoiding me like this!” I knocked again.
And again.
I called and knocked until my knuckles were red, and my voice hoarse. “I’ll just leave your gift out here, then, where it might be ruined!” I trusted that my voice would carry through the rotting wood.
Once more, I pressed my ear to the wall and listened for a familiar scraping sound, but none came. Still, I stood and waited.
The thought of staying here all day was tempting, when I didn’t know what I’d find at home—Fynn, or no Fynn. I shivered, struck by an echo of the pain I’d feel in the absence of the boy who might be stealing my heart.
But judging by the stretching shadows, I’d been here long enough to make Mam nervous, even if Fynn had remembered to tell her where I’d gone.
“Fine.” I raised my hands in surrender. “I’m leaving now. But I won’t stop coming here until you’ve told me what you know about sea monsters, Morag!” I kicked a small stone, sending it hurtling into the trees. “I know you don’t care about the folk I’ve lost, but the disappearances won’t stop until we kill the monster that’s stealing our friends! Maybe you’ll care when it’s someone you love, like—” I broke off, drawing a breath.
Who did Morag love? Surely she cared about someone besides her miserable old self. No one wanted to be alone all the time, no matter how much they argued to the contrary. My gaze fell on Mam’s painting, and the answer came to me.
“Like my mam!” I shouted. “You could lose my mam if this monster isn’t stopped. I’m going to try to fight it on my own, but if my mam gets taken in the meantime, you’ll know who’s to blame.”
I ran until I was clear of the trees. Towering thunderheads obscured the sun, threatening a late afternoon storm. Of course, it was possible that Morag might not know how to hunt a fossegrim. That I might have to figure it out myself, with or without Fynn. But the more she avoided me, the more I was sure she had something to hide. Otherwise, as usual, she’d be ignoring me while I swept her hearth and made tea.
Anger bubbled inside me as I followed a different path home, careful to avoid the market and the stares I was sure to receive there. I had been starting to like Morag, and now I had to wonder whether she knew something that could’ve saved Grandad all those years ago.
“You win for today,” I muttered, though I knew she couldn’t hear me. “But I won’t be giving up easily.”
Not when my sisters, and my town, depended on me.
As I came within sight of home, I hesitated. If Fynn was truly gone, I didn’t think I could stand the sight of the empty sofa. And if he wasn’t, if he’d made me worry all morning for nothing, I might not be able to keep myself from hitting a wounded lad.
I opened the door, bracing for the silence and the sting of Fynn’s absence. But I was greeted by a burst of noise—Da’s deep laughter and Mam’s off-key singing filled the house. I hadn’t heard the like of it for weeks, maybe months, and the sound made my pulse quicken.
An unplanned celebration was unusual, even by our family’s standards. Even when fish and tourists were plentiful.