Chasing Boston

by Grey, Rebecca

  "And I don't need magic to do this?"

  "The magic is in the stardust."

  Jac leans on the back of a chair watching our small exchange. She rubs at her chin as if she's in deep thought. It only makes me wonder what's going through her head. Jac is more experienced than me with the ship, with the crew…with Rumi.

  Rumi moves closer to me, the bag still between us.

  "Would you like me to hold your hand? Walk you through this?" His tone is taunting and I don't hide how deeply I roll my eyes. With a half laugh, half snarl I shove my hand into the leather pouch. The dust inside is warm, almost hot. With a pinch in my fingers, I step around him, keeping direct eye contact, as I sprinkle the fine particles onto the surface. It leaves my fingers like ash caught on the wind.

  Glowing like embers, the dust settles into the wood grains glowing and sparking. It takes the form of a map, where we can see nearly every continent. A few black flecks merge together creating the image of a ship. Our ship. Other than the landmasses and the small soul stealing ship there's nothing worthwhile on the map.

  I lean down, examining it, trying to find any proof that it'll point the way to my brother. "There's nothing on this map. How is it supposed to help us find my brother?"

  Rumi whistles, looking at the map, our little boat, and then at Jac. The edges of his lips tease at a smile that he tries to force back down.

  Jac sighs then looks at me. "You were not thinking of your brother." Her eyes skip to Rumi, who licks his lips, and takes a step away.

  "Maybe I should give you some distance. Clearly, at this proximity, I am taking over too much of your thoughts."

  "Why would you think I'm thinking about you?" I snap, far too quickly. "Maybe I'm just thinking about how I want to throw myself off the edge of the ship."

  "Well, we do have a plank if you would like to walk it, but I don't think that the cold water is nearly as enjoyable as my presence."

  I grab a hold of the back of a chair to steady myself as I level him with a cold stare. "You might in fact be the actual worst. One minute you are oozing with confidence and then the next you act as if someone would be completely mental to want to be around you. Which is it for me? You tell me. Am I justified in wanting to be around you? Or am I clinically insane? Currently, I'm leaning toward the latter."

  Jac continues before Rumi can say anything. "I wish you two would just fuck and get it over with already. The tension between you two is ruining my day." She snaps her fingers at the captain. He tenses, but when she points to the other end of the table he frowns and walks away. "You give her some space." Then she looks at me. "And you…clear your mind. Then picture your brother. Don't think about this asshole."

  I sigh heavily and look down at the glittering map again.

  "You need another pinch," Rumi says under his breath.

  "Let me help with that," Jac growls taking a few steps to Rumi, snatching the bag and handing it to me.

  It's heavier in my grip than I imagined it would be considering it's nothing but powder. This time I face the map refusing to give Rumi any of my attention or space in my head. This time I picture my brother’s face, his fierce green eyes. I focus on his dark brown hair tied at the nape of his neck. I think about the way he laughs at all my stupid jokes and how he never thinks less of me for the way I desire more than my life can give me.

  My thoughts trail along on all the times he's defended me or lied for me to our parents. Somehow father always knew. And Boston was always punished.

  While Boston is happy with the life provided for him, content to take over my father’s business and one day find a wife, marry, and have several children of his own, he always seems to understand that it isn’t the life for me. Frankly, I don't think he could picture me as a mother either. He’s seen me kill too many plants in our mother’s small garden.

  At the evening parties my father likes to attend or host, it's common for Boston to help me find an excuse to leave. One time he even went as far as to accidentally spill an entire glass of red wine across my gown. I suppose I should've been humiliated, but I was only relieved. Boston's always been a good actor. He played the part of dutiful brother well and escorted me to our carriage so I could go home. Father had lectured him on his clumsiness and his drinking habits…Boston hardly drinks at all…and Boston had sworn when he helped me into the carriage that I owed him one. I owe him more than one. I owe him one-thousand times over.

  So I'm here. I'm fighting for him. I will find him.

  "Okay… " Jac claps her hands together.

  Slowly opening my eyes, I peer down at the map before me. The little black ship is still there but it's smaller now, distant from the mark at the top of the drawing where a small dot glows like a star. Between the shining mark and the ship is a thin trail showing the way from where we are to where Boston is. Names of the continents are scrolled in a stiff cursive that looks far too much like my father's handwriting. I recognize many of the names, quite a few of the towns where my father's business goes to trade and sell. But where Boston is, where the embers shine white gold, is somewhere new.

  Rumi’s steps are heavy as he takes his time walking back to my side. He allows the smallest bit of space between us so that he can get a good look at the map. One hand pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes falling shut as he shakes his head.

  "What is it? Where is Boston?"

  "Well, I have the creeping suspicion he found the Treasure of Talifi. However, he is definitely in Drowntier Trove. The blacksmith knew what he was talking about, and here I was hoping he was just a babbling idiot."

  The room becomes painfully quiet. All I can hear is my pulse throbbing inside of my ears. "Why is that bad?"

  Finally, Rumi meets my gaze, his brown eyes look like chocolate. "For starters, I've heard from my brothers that Drowntier Trove is full of sirens. It would make sense that they are protecting the treasure. However, not only is the Trove a dangerous place to be, but the route there isn’t safe either. You think I'm bad…you've only met the tip of the iceberg."

  Questions crowd against the back of my tongue. I know Rumi isn’t exactly good, and someone who takes souls for a living should be terrifying, but when I let my mind wander to every myth and legend I've ever heard when I think about the idea of sirens… he pales in comparison.

  13

  After The Deal

  Rumi

  Immediately after retrieving the stardust map, we rerouted the course of my soul eating ship, and not long after, when the sun was gone and the moon was high in the sky, we sailed into a storm. Now, not even the powerful waves of the sea can make me stir. Nights like these are when I get my best sleep.

  I might be the devil’s son, one of millions in history, I might have great power, and the ability to never be killed, but this body is still painfully human. At one point in my life, I tried to starve myself just to see if it would put me out of my misery. I'd grown incredibly thin and weak but even after a month without food I still did not die.

  I've come to realize eating is more of a comfort than anything else. I still feel hunger and my body still needs rest. So at night, I sleep.

  The sea rocks us violently. Thunder booms so loud that the wood around me vibrates with it. It is at the beginning of a particularly dark dream that there's a knock. Blinking my eyes open, I stare into the darkness wondering if it was all in my head when another knock comes from up the stairwell.

  My room has fogged with black smoke. Shadows obey my command, but more often than not they feel as though they're my only friends. I will them to clear as I throw myself out of my covers and wince at the harsh cold of the floor. With slightly uneven steps I make my way through my room, yawning.

  At the bottom of the stairs, I wave my hand, too tired to actually walk up them. The door unlatches and swings open on its hinges. Lightning strikes somewhere out on the sea, illuminating the sky, the scuffed boots and the brush of a navy-blue dress appears.

  "Come in." My voice is rough with sleep
but my guest starts down the stairs.

  I lean into the wall waiting as Millicent comes into full view. Her cheeks flush red and only then do I remember that I’d stripped down to just my undershorts for bed. Still, I make no move to cover myself or reach for an article of clothing. The most I can offer are the shadows that weave between us making my image blurry. I rub my eyes seeing the dark bags underneath hers.

  "What do you want?" I ask.

  She toys with the end of her hair. "I… " she starts but stops. "Were you sleeping?"

  Confused by her question, I try to think through my groggy thoughts. Her teeth scrape over her bottom lip and I make myself answer only so my thoughts can't run away with all the dirty things I want to do to her. "Yes. Does that surprise you?"

  "I didn’t think a creature like you could sleep. Surely death calls at all hours." I frown and she sighs a little. “The storm rocks the boat so badly, sleeping in that stupid hammock is too hard. I was going to…” She looks into my bedroom and I understand immediately.

  "You were going to sleep in my bed." I rub my face and force myself to stand up straight, then finally I walk into the room waving her after me. Her steps follow. Turning back around to look at her, I lift my trousers that have been thrown over the back of one of my dining chairs, slipping my legs into them and button them up, tightening the belt at my waist. I don't bother with a shirt as I make my way to my desk. "Well, I'm awake now. You can have my bed."

  Millicent hesitates, but by the time I lower myself into my desk chair and pick up a quill, she's already under my blanket.

  The sheets are likely still warm from where I lay. She curls in the exact spot my head was, pulling my blanket up to her chin. Her dark hair fans over my thin pillows. She looks so…out of place.

  Her beauty in my shabby captain’s quarters doesn't belong. Millicent looks like an angel; sometimes I wonder if she is one. Her energy, her hopeful outlook on life, and the way she takes everything in as if it's new and exciting and altogether wonderful; it's like a beacon of joy shining light into the dark pit where I live. I want to reach out and take a hold of that light, but I fear that if I did it would only drag her down to my level. Angels don't survive in hell.

  Her eyes remain closed, long lashes curling against her cheeks. The slightest hint of her blush remains, just a kiss on her cheekbones. She cracks an eye, looking into the dark room and immediately I put the quill to paper and begin scribbling nonsense. Shuffling a few papers, I pretend to work in the dark.

  My heavy eyelids droop and I force them back up again. Exhaustion screams at my body for rest. Ignore the demand. My head is propped up on my fist, my hand scribbling random letters in lines on the pages. I try to keep shaking myself awake until I realize at some point my eyes are closed and the ink is now scribbled across the desk. I tip back in the chair, stretching, and another yawn is already fighting its way out of my throat. My body feels light, ready to shut down. It's all I can do to refuse it.

  "Are you tired?"

  Her sweet soft voice comes from the corner of my room. I startle at the sound. I whip my head toward Millicent, who sits up in my bed, the blanket pooling in her lap and her dress hanging from her shoulders and her chest deeper than normal.

  "You keep rubbing your eyes and yawning," she says.

  I swallow, forcing myself to speak. "I’ve fought through more exhaustion than this."

  She frowns slightly. I watch the downward curve of her lips. The way she always looks utterly kissable continues to astound me.

  In the dark, when I can feel the thickness of my shadows crawling around her, it's as if I can feel the warmth of her body on my hands. I force the shadows away. Darkness rips away from her and she looks down to her hand where she's been curling it around her finger like she had done yesterday. I felt that too. Her soft touch as if she had been playing with the strands of my own hair.

  "I didn't mean to kick you out of your bed."

  Shaking my head, I set down the quill and run my hand across my face into my hair. The touch is nothing like the way Millie had touched my smoke. I crave to let it overtake her. Just the thought of the shadows touching, exploring, every inch of her body is enough for me to feel my cock pressed against the buttons on my pants.

  "You didn’t kick me out. I gave it to you."

  When she notices the way the neckline of her dress has dipped lower, revealing the slightest bit of cleavage, she tugs the material back up. Her hands move against the blanket, always needing to be busy, she fiddles with the flimsy fabric.

  "We could share the bed," she suggests. It's barely a whisper above the wind that howls outside.

  My eyes widen in surprise. I would love nothing more. However, I don't say that. Millicent might mean it, but she doesn't need it. It didn't take me long to realize that her five years of service here will ruin her. It will make her jaded. I quite admire her innocence. The closer she gets to me, the worse off she’ll be.

  For once, I don't want her to get close. I can push her away for five years, try to shield her from as much as I can, then I can let her go. My heart splinters in my chest in the deep lonely way when I know that I can’t have her. Because, fuck, I want her.

  I don't remember the last time I wanted something so bad. I want her laugh. I want these stupid little arguments. I want her beauty. Her light in my life. I am no good for her. When my time serving my father is done and I can live my human life, she won't remember me if she doesn't want to. And I'll still be the devil’s son.

  There's another strike of lightning that lights up the room from the small window and I can see her unquenched desire to know me. I can't be sure if she really wants to know me or if I'm just another legend to her. Before I can change my mind, I stand from the desk and begin slipping my feet into my boots. I tug my shirt over my head forcing my arms into it and look at her only briefly. If I look any longer I'll crawl to her side.

  "The storm sounds nasty." Thunder rattles the boat. "I think I should head out to help the crew." Without one last look, I hurry up the stairs, dragging my shadows behind me. They reach for her with outstretched arms and for once I have to yell inside my head to get them to obey. Every bit of my dark soul wants Millicent Acker, and I'm only hanging on by the finest, barest, fraying thread.

  14

  After The Deal

  Millie

  There is light somewhere past my eyelids. A heaviness settled at my waist. The morning air is crisp with the slightest chill that I am starting to become accustomed to. Still, somehow, warmth surrounds me. Hearing the sound of boots overhead, I finally will my eyes to open.

  The captain's quarters are much brighter than they had been when I arrived last night. All of the light comes from the tiny window across the way, but it's enough for me to be able to see the way Rumi’s heavy smoke flows through the room. The thick fog pushes against the walls touching me with its curling wisps.

  While I slept last night my dress had tangled around my body. A warm hand is sprawled against my abdomen. I follow the sun kissed skin of the arm all the way to his body where he lays on his stomach, his face turned toward me. His breath is slow and steady, his shadows pulsing like his heartbeat around him.

  In his sleep, Rumi’s eyebrows have bunched together, his lips parted. He looks nothing short of tortured. His hair curls over his ears and his cheeks look even more sunken than normal. He must've finally gotten tired enough to give in to sleep.

  Somewhere between going to help his crew last night and him climbing into bed, he's gotten rid of his shirt. From this view, I can see dozens, if not more, of black hourglass tattoos. All of them shimmer, the images slightly moving as the sands of time fall through them. I wonder if it's simply because he's not entirely human that he can look so stunningly handsome. I've seen many attractive men, but none of them intrigue me quite like him. He's so…pretty.

  Shadows skim the palm of my cupped hand. Using my other hand, I stir the darkness as if my fingers are a spoon and the smoke is my tea. Rumi shi
fts. I freeze as if I've been caught but his eyes remain closed. Letting the smoke go, I stretch my arm up into it, threading a long strand of it through my fingertips and enjoying the soft satin feel of it. A hot breath fans against my neck, I turn.

  Rumi’s eyes are open, dark, pitch black. He stares at me and I stare back.

  "Hi," I breathe.

  "Hi," he whispers back.

  His attention travels up and down my face but never pans to my body. His thumb strokes against the thin material of my dress. The muscles in his back tense and I can't help but let my attention fall back on him. He might be gentleman enough not to stare at the curves of my body but apparently, I'm not lady enough to not look at him.

  The top of his black pants pokes out from under the blankets that are slightly pulled over his legs. The longer I linger watching him, the more leisurely the brush of his thumb becomes.

  "I should get up before the crew wakes up and finds me in your bed and assumes something," I say, though I really don't want to leave. I know I should. I know that his power should leave me wanting to run instead of wanting more. Yes, I know all these things, and still, even saying it is hard.

  His hand is still flattened against me…

  "They already assume a lot of things and it makes no difference to me.”

  Something in me curls under his touch. Maybe I have a little darkness of my own inside of me. The feeling only swirls lower, settling between my legs.

  He moves just a fraction closer to me and starts again. "Stay." I can almost hear my own want echo back to me. “It isn’t often I find myself with such lovely company in my bed." His fingers, soft like smoke, drift down toward my hips.

  My parent’s words repeat somewhere in the back of my head and I find myself saying them out loud. "I’m a lady. I’m engaged," I whisper.

  While I find him attractive, I've slept with men for less.

  Rumi is death. Rumi is a monster. What sort of terrors might unfold if I unsheathe him in this very bed?