The Reef

he could.
     
    The storm came in hard, with sheeting rain and howling wind. Ten-foot seas buffeted both boats and made diving impossible. After a debate and vote, the Lassiter-Beaumont team opted to ride it out. Once she’d accustomed herself to the movement of the boat, Tate settled down with her computer and a jug of hot tea.
    There would be no midnight rendezvous tonight, she mused. It surprised her how much the lack disappointed her. Perhaps the storm was a lucky break, she decided. Without realizing it, she’d let herself get entirely too used to having Matthew beside her.
    It wasn’t wise to become used to anything that included Matthew.
    After a great deal of internal debate, she’d convinced herself it was all right, at least safe, to care about him. Affection and attraction didn’t have to be a dangerous combination. However much they clashed, however muchhe tended to irritate her, she liked him. They had too much in common to remain truly at odds.
    At least her heart was her own this time around. For that, she was grateful. To care and to want were a far cry from being in love. Logically, practically, sex was more satisfying when a woman felt affection, even friendship for her lover. Just as logically, practically, only a fool loved when the end had already been written.
    Matthew would take his share of the Isabella and go. Just as she would take hers. It was a pity that what they wanted from that long doomed ship was so diverse. Still, it didn’t matter as long as neither interfered with the other’s goals.
    Frowning, she switched documents so that the article she was drafting out on Angelique’s Curse popped on screen.
Legends such as the one surrounding the Maunoir amulet, also known as Angelique’s Curse, often have their roots in fact. Though it is illogical to ascribe mystical powers to an object, the legend itself has life. Angelique Maunoir lived in Brittany and was known as the village wise woman, or healer. She did indeed own a jeweled necklace such as described above, a gift from her husband, Etienne, the youngest son of the Count DuTashe. Documentation indicates that she was arrested, charged with witchcraft and executed in October of 1553.
    Excerpts from her personal journal relate her story and her intimate thoughts on the eve of her execution. On October the tenth of that year, she was burned at the stake as a witch. Limited available data indicates she was sixteen. It is not indicated that, as was often done to show mercy, she was strangled first rather than burned alive.
    On reading her words written the night before her execution, one can speculate on how the legend of Angelique’s Curse grew and spread.
    NOTE: transcribe last portion of diary.
    A deathbed curse, from a woman distraught and desperate? An innocent woman grieving over the loss of her beloved husband, betrayed by her father-in-law and facing a horrible death. Not only her own, but her unborn child’s. Such truths lead to myth.
    Dissatisfied with her own take on the matter, Tate leaned back and reread. When she reached for her thermos of tea, she saw Buck in the doorway.
    “Well, hi. I thought you were battened down with Matthew and LaRue on the Mermaid. ”
    “Damn Canuk makes me nuts,” Buck grumbled. His yellow slicker ran with water, his thick lenses were fogged with it. “Thought I’d come over and hang out with Ray.”
    “He and Mom are up in the bridge, I think, listening to the weather reports.” Tate poured the tea, held up the half filled lid of the thermos. She could see that it wasn’t just LaRue that had Buck nervous. “The last I heard, the storm was blowing herself out. We should be clear by midday tomorrow.”
    “Maybe.” Buck took the tea, then set it down without tasting it.
    Reading him well, Tate pushed back from the monitor. “Take that wet thing off, Buck, and sit down, will you? I could really use the break and the company.”
    “Don’t want to mess up your work.”
    “Please.” With a laugh, she rose to get another cup from the galley. “Please mess up my work, just for a few minutes.”
    Reassured, he stripped off his dripping slicker. “I was thinking maybe Ray’d be up for some cards or something. Don’t seem to have a lot to do with my time.” He slipped onto the settee, drummed his fingers on the table.
    “Feeling restless?” she murmured.
    “I know I’m letting the boy down,” he burst out, then flushed and picked up the tea he didn’t want.
    “That’s just