As I turned toward shore, a ribbon of slime caressed my foot and wrapped itself around my ankle. The grindylows’ long hair and bony, grasping fingers flashed to mind, and I gasped for breath.
Jerking my foot back, I fled the shallows with Fynn shouting after me. I ran until I reached dry sand, then finally let my legs collapse from under me. I lay there, trembling, as Fynn dashed to my side.
“I’ve slain the monster for you.” He tossed a ball of kelp onto the sand.
When my shaking subsided enough for me to sit up, I jabbed the tangle with my index finger. “T’eh myr tromlhie dou.”
“I don’t speak Manx, Bridey,” Fynn said gently.
I buried my face in my hands. “All this—the water, the things that grab at me with no warning—it’s as though I’m trapped in a nightmare.” I took a shaky breath. “I wouldn’t have to learn how to swim or try to fight a sea monster if everyone in town would just listen for once. But I know what they’d say if I told them about the fossegrim. They’d call me mad. Just like you will now, thanks to my display out there.”
Fynn leaned close. “I’d never call you that.”
“No? I’m shaking because of a wet plant!” I turned to him, not quite meeting his eyes. “Did you feel the least bit afraid when you swam out there earlier? I mean, something out there sliced you open.”
He shook his head. “No. But fear can be a good thing. You can’t have courage without it. And it makes you alert. You notice things others don’t—like the fossegrim. You stand a better chance of helping this town than either Mr. Gill or the authorities.”
I tried to smile, but we were still on the beach, and much too close to the sea. “Are you afraid of anything?” I asked. Fynn nodded, but kept his silence. “What, then?”
“You.” As I blinked at him, he hastily added, “The way I feel about you. It … confuses me sometimes. That’s why I’m glad we’re out here.” He took my hand and squeezed it. “Doing this together. I think it’ll help me clear my head.”
“Does your confusion have anything to do with Lugh? Because we’re—”
“No. But we can talk about it later. Right now, it’s time you made peace with the sea.” Fynn scooped me into his arms and stood, holding me dizzyingly close. I put my arms around his back and felt his heart beating as hard as mine.
Brave, calm, self-assured Fynn was nervous.
A wave thumped me on the back as we moved forward, and droplets sprayed my face. I took a calming breath and inhaled his familiar scent—brine and lavender water and damp earth. The smell of the air after a rainstorm. Fynn.
As we passed the breaking waves and glided into deeper water, a feeling of weightlessness overtook me: my body remembering childhood explorations of the sea. A small voice whispered that if I let go of Fynn, I could float here forever, no different than a feather or a leaf.
“Look around you.” Fynn’s voice startled me, much louder than the slight hiss of the waves.
I tilted my head, studying the sky. Fat white clouds drifted along while a lone bird circled the sun. There was hardly any wind to speak of. The water moved in gentle ripples, nothing like the dark oceans in Mam’s recent paintings.
Bracing myself, I dropped my gaze, expecting to glimpse a dark shape slithering beneath us. But there was only the flowing skirt of my bathing dress, and Fynn’s legs kicking as he treaded water.
“This isn’t as horrible as I’d imagined.”
Suddenly, it struck me just how alone we were, and that made me as nervous as what might be hiding below. I tried to focus on the boy in front of me, the boy who believed me so effortlessly, and all the things I wanted to say to him. “Fynn, I—”
I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Promise me that, whatever happens—whatever you remember about your past—you’ll stay with me until we can leave this dismal little town and carve out a life for ourselves together.
Ridiculous.
As I raised my eyes to Fynn’s, his hand slid to the back of my neck, and he pulled me closer until our lips touched. Startled by the sudden warmth spreading down my body, I gasped against his mouth. He made a low noise, almost like a growl, but the sound was swallowed by another, firmer press of his lips to mine. I ran my hands along his back, feeling the tensed cords of muscle working to keep us afloat.
“You still confuse me.” There was a haunted look in his eyes, one of sorrow and longing and something almost feral.
“How is that possible?” I demanded. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“That’s just it. You’re here, and you taste so good, yet all I want to do is …” His tongue grazed my bottom lip, teasing my lips apart. I wasn’t sure how I knew what he wanted, but I did. He ran his tongue over my teeth, tasting of salt and dark sugar—maybe treacle.
How had I ever been cold out here?