The Abysmal Sea by C.N. Crawford

Author:C.N. Crawford [Crawford, C.N.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gothic Imprints

5

Cool, salty air rippled over Isolde’s bare legs as she leaned on the boat’s starboard gunnel, staring at the moonlight that glinted off the water. Lir had said you couldn’t burn the demons away. He’d said that her mom might have been right about the existence of magic, but that didn’t make her sane. So who was Isolde supposed to trust?

All she knew was that she was sick of being responsible. She gripped the pewter cup of warm black strap, taking a long slug. It burned her throat going down, and it had a sweet, herbal aftertaste—almost medicinal.

Lir had said mothers were supposed to take care of their children, not the other way around. But that hadn’t been the case for Isolde. Even before Gil had died, he’d always been sick. Vomiting, fatigue, the endless hospital visits, the perplexed doctors…. Mom had to spend spent countless hours in the hospital, moving from one doctor to the next to try to get a real diagnosis. Even then, Isolde had to take care of herself.

After Gil had died, Isolde would come home to find her mother drinking champagne at four in the afternoon, hammering away on the baby grand piano. Once, Isolde had returned from school to find that flames from one of the iron candelabra had ignited the old drapes. Though the room filled with smoke, Mom had just lain on the chaise lounge, painting her toenails red.

Even if Isolde had managed to make a friend at some point her life, she’d never have been able to invite them over to the dusty old mansion. Strange oil paintings covered the walls—chalices, a bleeding Roman soldier, a wolf. Old, matted seal pelts hung on the wall. Mom rarely changed out of her silky bathrobes, and if Isolde didn’t cook for her she’d consume nothing but coffee ice cream and wine.

Isolde took another sip of the strong drink. Behind her, footsteps sounded on the deck, and she turned to see Captain Nod.

He stared at the moon. “Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright.” He smelled of pipe-smoke.

“Very pretty words.” Her head was spinning slightly. Waves lapped against the side of the vessel, and she looked up at the towering masts. The ship must’ve been at least a hundred years old. She took another sip, and the drink made her feel lighter. “It’s a gorgeous old ship.”

“It is. And we live in beauty under the unchanging North Star.” He closed his eyes, muttering in the magical language. Fiddle music began filling the air—distant at first before it swelled.

Nod pulled the drink from her hand, emptying it in one gulp. “I’ll get you another. Do you dance?”

“No.”

“Do you do anything fun?”

She wrinkled her nose. “No. I’m not good with people.”

“You don’t need to be good with people to dance.” He grabbed her hand, spinning her across the deck. She tried to keep up over the ship’s bobbing, tried not to think of the dark look in his eyes when he’d grabbed her necklace.

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