A - Immortal Sea

wasn‟t until I met Dylan that I knew the real meaning. It‟s a wardens‟ mark.”

Recognition flashed through Liz. That‟s where she‟d seen that symbol before. The medal was a smaller replica of the one

around Morgan‟s neck.

“Honey,” she asked gently, “where did you get this?”

Emily‟s gaze fell. “Nick gave it to me.”

Liz looked at Regina for confirmation.

“I guess it‟s possible.” Regina scanned the play equipment. “Nick!”

Her son came running, accompanied by a freckled older boy.

“Did you give something to Emily?”

Nick rubbed the toe of one sneaker in the mud. “Yeah. Sort of.”

His freckled friend grinned. “Nick‟s got a girlfriend, Nick‟s got a—”

Nick flushed. “Shut up, Danny.”

“Which is it, kiddo?” Regina asked. “Yeah, or sort of?”

“Am I in trouble?”

“Not yet,” his mother replied.

“Because he said it would be all right.”

Liz‟s heart thumped. “Who said?”

“Morgan. He gave me the medal. To give to Em.” Nick met his mother‟s eyes. “Can I go now?”

“Five more minutes,” Regina said. “We need to get ready for Maggie‟s party tonight.”

“Cool,” Nick said and ran off.

Liz‟s mind churned. Morgan gave the medal to Em.

A sign of protection, Regina called it. A ward.

Liz looked from the engraved disk to her daughter‟s shining eyes, and her heart stumbled in her chest.

Even after she‟d told him to back off, Morgan had been thinking of Emily. Had tried to protect her.

“ I am attached to her, too, ” he‟d said, but so stiffly Liz hadn‟t understood.

Something constricted her lungs, as insubstantial and painful as hope.

“Mom.” Emily tugged on her arm. “Are we going to the party?”

Margred‟s baby shower. Half the island would be there. Morgan would be there.

Liz took a deep breath, feeling her chest expand with possibilities. “Yes. We are.”

Liz held Emily‟s small, warm hand as they strolled down the grassy slope from the parking lot toward the picnic shelter.

Anticipation hummed through her. The saturated ground and the pink glow of the setting sun lent the air an enchanted

shimmer, heightened by the fairy lights twined around the shelter‟s rafters and square wooden supports. Lanterns and rocks

anchored red checkered tablecloths fluttering in the breeze. The air was alive with laughter and conversation, the clang of

horseshoes, the cry of gulls, and the call of the surf.

It was a night to believe in magic.

In love.

Liz scanned the scene. Looking for Morgan, she admitted to herself. She was a little overdressed, she saw at once, in a blue

wrap dress that hugged her waist and floated around her legs. Most of the guests wore jeans and wind-breakers or khakis and

sweaters. But she‟d wanted to look pretty. She wanted to feel young. She‟d left her hair loose on her shoulders and slicked an

extra layer of mascara on her lashes, a deeper shade of rose on her mouth. She wanted Morgan to look at her and see the girl

she‟d been sixteen years ago, bright and fearless.

Blankets and camp chairs dotted the grass. A volleyball net stretched across the hard, damp sand. Zack had already joined

the knot of teenagers around the cooler holding up one pole. Liz spotted a can in his hand and angled for a closer look.

Catching her eye, he smiled crookedly and held it up.

Soda. She smiled back.

On the crescent of shale below the shelter, two huge steel washtubs balanced on rocks a foot above a roaring fire, the red

flames competing with the radiance on the horizon. The scent of seaweed rode upward on the steam. The gray waves had the

sheen of molten metal.

“Morgan!” Emily shouted as if she hadn‟t seen him in weeks.

Tugging away from Elizabeth‟s grasp, she darted to the lone, tall figure at the edge of the water. Liz followed more slowly,

her heart beating in her throat.

He looked the same, her shadow rescuer, appearing out of the night. His face was angled, strong, and pale, his hair the

color of moonlight. Her gaze slid up his powerful torso to his face, her pulse rioting.

His eyes were guarded and cold.

She put that look there, she realized with regret. When she sent him away. His pride—and her own—demanded she take

the first step toward him.

She took a deep breath that did nothing to calm her racing heart. She wished she were as young and sure of her welcome as

Em, so she could run, too, and throw her arms around him.

But she wasn‟t the girl she‟d been in Copenhagen. Life and medicine had taught her caution, particularly when the stakes

were high and the outcome unpredictable.

She stopped, her courage failing a few yards away.

“I did not know if you would come,” Morgan said. “I am glad you did.”

His words gave Liz hope.

“We came to see you.” She cleared her throat. “To thank you. For, um, the necklace.”

“I do not require thanks.”

“We‟re supposed to say it anyway,” Emily said.

He glanced down at the little girl attached to his leg like a barnacle to a ship‟s hull, his austere expression lightening. “Then

you may.”

“Not like that.” She tugged at his arm until he bent over. “Like this,” she said and smacked her puckered lips against his

cheek.

Morgan looked as stunned as if a butterfly had landed on his knee or he‟d been hit with a two-by-four.

Liz‟s heart swelled. Her eyes swam, blurring the picture they made, the pale, forbidding lord of the finfolk and her dark

pixie daughter, so odd together, odd and right, his hand curled protectively over her shoulder, her weight resting against his

thigh.

Morgan‟s gaze locked with hers. A tiny muscle beat at the corner of his mouth. “Are you going to thank me, too?”

Her pulse stuttered. They were attracting attention, she knew, curious and mostly friendly, from her neighbors, her patients,

her children.

Her children.

For a moment she froze, nerves quivering in the pit of her stomach. She took two steps toward him, aware of taking a risk,

of crossing a line she‟d never crossed before.

Could she do it? Could she put the woman before the doctor, before the mother, in such a public way?

First steps, she told herself firmly. Sometimes the outcome was worth the gamble, in medicine and in life.

Standing on tiptoe, she leaned up to brush a kiss against his cheek. At the last moment, he turned his head, and their mouths

met.

So soft, so tender, their lips seeking, claiming.

One, two, three long seconds, while her heart did a slow roll in her chest and her blood simmered. All the needs she‟d

tucked away, all the impulses she‟d denied, swam to the surface.

He knew it, too. She felt it in his kiss.

He raised his head, a glint in his eyes.

She was dimly aware of some commotion behind her, scraping metal and billowing steam, shouts of caution and cries of

appreciation, but her attention was on Morgan. She pressed her lips together as if she could hold the taste of him inside.

His eyes darkened. His nostrils flared. He wanted her. The knowledge made her giddy, lighthearted with hope, drunk with

power.

“Mommy, look! The lobsters are done. See?”

Liz blinked and turned her head. Regina, swathed in a bright red apron, was ordering the transfer of dozens of lobsters and