A: Immortal Sea

heart thumped. Really, that was too careless. She‟d told Zack and told him . . .

“Zachary?”

The living room was empty. The downstairs was quiet. If Zack were home, where was Morgan?

She set her medical bag in the hall, hanging her purse over the banister. The house was too warm, as if someone had

fiddled with the thermostat.

“Zack!” She pitched her voice to carry up the stairs. “I want to talk to you.”

No answer. He must be listening to his iPod.

Annoyed, she started up the stairs. He was fifteen and finfolk. He still had to follow the rules.

Sure, this was Maine. They had one of the lowest crime rates in the country. But he shouldn‟t be up in his room with the

door unlocked. Anyone could walk right in.

His bedroom door was closed. She tapped. “Zack?”

“Don‟t come in.” His voice was strained. Urgent.

What was he doing in there?

She grimaced. Okay, she could think of several things a fifteen-year-old could be doing alone in his room that he might not

want his mother to see.

“Honey, we need to talk.”

“No.” He sounded really upset, almost as if he‟d been crying.

She leaned closer to the door. “Are you all right?”

“No . ”

Maybe he was sick. Maybe . . . “I‟m coming in,” she warned and opened the door.

Zack huddled in the narrow space between his bed and the wall, curled in a tight ball, his arms wrapped around his knees.

Concern clutched her heart. His face was flushed, his eyes fever bright and miserable.

She started across the room toward him. “Zack, what‟s wrong?”

“I don‟t know. Stay away.”

She heard a sound— the front door opening? —from downstairs, but her attention was on her son.

“Do you have a fever?” She reached to brush a hand over his forehead the way she had a thousand times during his

childhood.

He jerked his head away. “Don’t touch me!”

“Zack.” She stared at him, shocked, dismayed. “What‟s the matter with you? Did you take something? Did someone give

you something?”

“He has been possessed,” Morgan said grimly from the doorway. “By the demon Tan.”

20

ZACK WANTED TO HOWL. IT WASN’T RIGHT, IT wasn’t fair, Morgan wasn’t supposed to be here, he would tell her

everything, he was ruining everything . . .

He gripped his head, fighting the pain, struggling for control of his own brain. No, that wasn‟t right, Morgan was his father,

he was supposed to make things better, he was trying to help.

“What happened?” the woman—his mother—asked. “When did you get here?”

“I tracked them from the beach,” Morgan said. “Zachary and the other.”

Fishy bastard. The wave of rage burned Zack‟s throat until he nearly puked. If Morgan hadn’t shown up, none of this

would have happened, everything would be all right.

One heart. One pulse.

Two minds.

He struggled for control.

“What other?” The woman turned to him. “Zack? What‟s going on?”

She was killing him with her questions. She was wearing her fake, everything‟s-fine doctor face, but her eyes were wide

and worried. Scared. He liked that. He liked scaring her.

Zack shuddered. No, he didn‟t.

“Don‟t want . . .” He choked the words past the constriction of his lungs, the searing in his throat. “To hurt.”

“It‟s okay, honey. We‟ll take care of you,” she said.

“We‟ll take care of everything.”

Stupid. She was stupid. She didn’t understand.

Stop. Zack tried again, wresting another tiny victory from the demon. “Don‟t want to hurt . . . anybody.”

Morgan said, “You won‟t.”

Hate him. Hate him. Hate.

Zack hissed in pain.

Just for fun, the demon rolled his eyes back in his head and growled. “Fuck off, fish face. I‟ll suck your bones.”

The woman gasped. Even Morgan, the big bad demon hunter of the deep, looked shaken. The demon laughed, hot energy

spurting through him. It was good to be free. Three long years in the damp and the cold and the dark . . .

Tan wished he could stay long enough to enjoy himself, to feed on the pain of the human woman, to drink her despair. But

his freedom was more important than his revenge. He must not underestimate his foe.

Margred, the sea bitch, had entrapped him.

Morgan, the warden, had the power to destroy him.

Tan forced the boy‟s reluctant limbs to uncurl, jerking his captive body to its feet like a marionette on wires. His borrowed

eyes shifted from window to door and back again. He needed to be free. He needed to escape. Morgan would end him

otherwise.

But . . .

Morgan would not be so quick to end his son. This body was Zack‟s body, the warden‟s seed, his legacy.

Tan‟s hostage.

The demon eyed the window again, balancing on his borrowed feet, gauging the distance and his chances.

Morgan slid forward into the room, putting the woman behind him. Seeing his opportunity, the demon sprang. But at the

last second, the boy refused to cooperate, dragging his feet, throwing his arms wide, fingers scrabbling for the window frame,

crying in fear.

“No! I‟ll fall!” Zack shouted.

Tan screamed in frustration, punishing the boy‟s disobedience, pouring fire along nerves and sinews, forcing him to release

his grip. Too late.

He stumbled.

Morgan seized him from behind and whirled him around. Pain cracked Tan‟s jaw, knocked his head back.

He felt his host body sinking, felt unconsciousness reach and wrap him, trapping him in a useless shell.

Nononononooo . . .

It was so unfair.

Liz pleated her fingers together in her lap, trying to stop their shaking, struggling for calm in a situation in which she had

no control.

Her son, her boy, her baby Zack, was in the grip of a demon. And she didn‟t know how to fight it. How to defeat it. How to

fix this.

Morgan paced the kitchen, strong and vital and violent. Her eyes followed him.

She had faith in him. She had to have faith in him. The only alternative was despair.

“How long do we have?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice steady, to think past her terror.

Morgan‟s mouth compressed. “Perhaps five minutes until he regains consciousness. The bonds may buy us a little more

time.”

The bonds. She winced.

Morgan had tied up her son, their son, with latex tourniquets from her medical bag. Zack was lying trussed in the living

room like a mental patient or a prisoner. Zack and Not Zack. She shivered.

Even bound, Morgan hadn‟t trusted him alone upstairs. He didn‟t trust him in the same room either.

“The demon must not touch you,” he had explained when he carried Zack‟s prone body to the couch.

She‟d looked at her son, helpless even to smooth the hair that had fallen across his white face. A purpling shadow rose on

his jaw. “Why not?”

“Tan could possess you next.”

She had flinched, her face stiff, her heart numb with fear.

But her mind refused to rest.