Passionate Magic. Dawn Addonizio
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continued his pacing, staring moodily out over the water, and then he went stock still. That was odd. He could have sworn he’d just seen a merrow’s tail break the surface out beyond the reef, its large, silvery green scales sparkling in the sunlight.
The merrow were mer-folk, and notorious for keeping to themselves. There had been tales of sailors spotting them throughout history, but he’d never seen a hint of their existence in all his years in the Keys. It was strange that one would be anywhere near a place that was so populated by humans. His eyes scanned the water, searching for another glimpse.
Instead, he saw something that made his blood run cold despite the blazing afternoon heat. There was a single orange jersey floating about a hundred yards off the starboard bow, like so much abandoned flotsam.
Without a second thought he dove over the side of the boat and began a furious swim toward the empty snorkeling vest. He realized too late that he should have donned a mask, as he squinted through blurry, salt-stung eyes to gauge his surroundings. As soon as he reached the solitary jersey, he plunged deeper.
This was where the reef started to become the territory of divers. The seafloor dropped and the coral became a rocky landscape of peaks and valleys, jutting out to create hundreds of miniature caves. Many were large enough to conceal a human body. Had some fool decided to go exploring on their own and gotten stuck? Inadvisable though it was, he began feeling around inside the dark dens with his ungloved hands.
A perturbed moray eel shot out at him, its jagged teeth nearly clamping onto his fingers. He jerked his hand back and moved onto the next opening, growing frantic. The human brain could only go without oxygen for about five minutes. It must have been at least two since he’d jumped in the water. And though Doyle wasn’t human, whoever had been wearing that orange snorkeling vest was. And they were running out of time.
A large, sleek shape rushed past him, creating its own wake beneath the surface. Doyle squinted at it, thinking it was a shark. But then he glimpsed something that seemed out of place on the seafloor below and he dismissed the creature as he lunged toward it.
A clump of dark wisps floated at the edge of a recess of rock, disappearing into a hidden cavity beneath. His fingers tangled in the mass, identifying the clinging strands as human hair. He reached deeper, past the curve of an unmoving head, to grasp a lifeless body beneath the shoulders. He tugged, and found himself holding an unconscious Violet in his arms.
He felt as if he was looking at her in slow motion. Her beautiful face was pale and eerily still, her long hair hovering in a weightless raven cloud. Then time caught up with him and he pushed off the rock, his leg muscles stroking for the surface.
“There they are!” someone shouted.
Doyle barely registered the sound as he rolled onto his back, pulling Violet’s limp form with him, desperate to get her to the boat where he could perform CPR. His arms tightened beneath her ribcage as he struggled to position her, and suddenly she was choking and sputtering as she coughed up water and gasped for breath.
Doyle didn’t think he’d ever felt such stark relief in his almost two hundred years of existence.
His first mate reached his side and began trying to pull Violet from him. Doyle’s grip on her tightened reflexively, some primal instinct roaring to life, unwilling to relinquish her to another.
“Easy now,” Manny soothed.
Doyle wasn’t sure whether the calming words were meant for him or for Violet, but he relaxed his hold and allowed Manny to slide her down so that she was supported between them.
“We’ll have you out of the water soon,” Doyle assured her gently as they began working their way back to the boat. She murmured a sound of gratitude between coughing sputters.
The rest of the group bobbed in loose knots around them, treading water and staring. Doyle knew they were only concerned, but it was all he could do not to shout at them to get out of the way. He heard a faint, agitated buzz and looked up to find a distraught faerie hovering overhead, her wings sifting sparkling purple dust that scattered behind her on the wind.
She was a sprite, approximately three inches tall with dark shining hair that fell past her knees. Her skin glowed with silvery light and her pastel dress shimmered in shades of pink, blue and yellow. From the anxious stare she was directing at Violet, Doyle guessed that she must be the young woman’s faerie guardian.
Faerie guardians bonded with certain mortals at birth, following them throughout their lives to bring them aid and protection. Most mortals had no idea of the existence of the faerie realm or any of its denizens. If they had a faerie guardian helping them they simply attributed it to luck, when they noticed it at all.
Doyle had a bone to pick with this particular faerie. Where the hell had she been when her charge was drowning, and why hadn’t she steered Violet away from the danger?
“How the devil could you let this happen, little sister?” he muttered up at her, his jaw set in a grim line.
Her tilted eyes widened a fraction. “You’re sidhe,” she gasped in surprise.
He was just about to let loose a scathing reply, when he realized that Violet was trying to speak, her voice coming out stilted and hoarse from a throat raw with saltwater.
“Excuse me?” she managed finally. “I didn’t let anything happen,” she croaked. “Something knocked into me and dragged me under!”
She sent him a how-dare-you scowl and looked to the other group members for support.
“Of course it’s not your fault, sweetie,” a plump, motherly woman cooed. Her flowered rubber bathing cap was askew, leaving her kindly expression lopsided, but Violet smiled back at her in gratitude.
Some of the others nodded their agreement, staunchly remaining nearby, but several people were rapidly working their way back toward the boat. No doubt it had something to do with Violet’s announcement that something had tried to drag her beneath the waves.
“I didn’t mean you,” Doyle assured her quickly. He directed an aggravated glance at the faerie as he realized his mistake. Of course Violet had assumed he was talking to her.
Violet shot him a disbelieving look. “Who did you mean, then?” she demanded, her voice still husky. “I’m fairly sure you weren’t calling your friend here ‘little sister’. He looks manly enough to me.”
Doyle was forced to tamp down an unreasonable surge of jealousy toward Manny. “I didn’t…I’m sorry, okay? Let’s just get you back on board,” he said with an irritable sigh.
“Captain Doyle’s just a little hot with me for no keeping a closer eye on things,” Manny said in a smooth tone. “He only wants to keep you safe, lindita.” He gave Violet a reassuring smile, but a question flickered in his dark eyes as they traveled to Doyle’s.
Doyle shook his head in silent apology and concentrated on guiding Violet to the ladder. He ignored the faerie now flitting back and forth in front of them. Apparently she found the situation humorous, her attempts to stifle her laughter with her small hands failing miserably. The dust from her wings changed from purple to green, and it drifted into his face as the wind changed direction, tickling his nose.
He sent her an irate glare. Most types of faerie dust made humans sneeze, and right on cue, Violet and Manny erupted in unison.
“Bless you,” Doyle said, unable to keep the sourness from his tone.
The faerie shot upward with a muffled chortle.
“Just a little salt water in the nose, eh, lindita?” Manny chuckled.
Violet tilted a smile in Manny’s direction and Doyle fumed.
They reached the ladder and Manny managed to ascend it first, helping Violet up and leading her to a bench. Doyle scrambled after them and hurried to Violet’s other side.
“Thank you, Manny. Can you get everyone back aboard while I tend to Miss Hendrickson?”
Manny