Lewis glanced up from his work. “Is that the airship?”
Daniel nodded. “I’m taking her aboard. As soon as you’re finished, we can go.”
Nigel frowned as he measured out a spice and added it to the small bowl on the table. “This will take a bit longer,” he said, glancing at Daniel. “We’re nearly finished mixing, but it needs to steep.”
Daniel looked at the clock on the wall. “How much time?”
Lewis ran a finger down the page. “Fifteen minutes.”
Daniel’s heart thumped. “So, at most, we’ll have a window of five minutes.” He paused, thinking. “Can it steep aboard the airship?”
Nigel nodded and stirred the contents of the bowl with a small, wooden spoon. He looked at Lewis. “We have everything?”
Lewis consulted the book again and nodded. “Done.”
Nigel grabbed the bag containing the spindle, and Lewis carefully lifted the bowl and spell book. As they left the library and made their way through the outer room to the collapsed wall, Daniel glanced at Nigel. “I’m sorry, Crowe.”
Nigel shook his head and cast one last, unreadable look at the floor where his mother had died. “There is nothing for me here. Never has been. I’m better off.”
Samson docked the Briar Rose and helped them aboard. The ’ton gently took Isla from Daniel and carried her to the wheelhouse. The three men followed: Daniel, anxious and unsettled; Nigel, winded and slow, and Lewis, carefully carrying the cure.
In the wheelhouse, Samson lay Isla on the settee near the windows, and Daniel mentally reviewed the past hour. They had done everything they possibly could. It had to be enough.
Please, let it be enough.
Lewis explained everything to Samson while both Daniel and Nigel watched the clock. The minutes ticked closer to the one o’clock hour, and for the first time in his life, Daniel felt faint.
Nigel finally lifted the bowl and swirled the contents. He gestured toward Isla. “Lift her up.”
Daniel propped Isla against his arm and pulled her chin down with his thumb. Nigel slowly poured a small amount into her open mouth and, when it trickled down her throat without choking her, added more.
Daniel laid her back down and glanced at the clock over his shoulder. Seconds passed. He briefly closed his eyes, hoping Nigel’s supposition about the time was right.
Lewis held out the small vial containing Malette’s blood and the spindle, sharp and deadly and still stained red from piercing the witch’s heart.
Without a word, Nigel took the spindle from Lewis and knelt next to Isla. Daniel knelt on her other side.
Nigel carefully lifted Isla’s hand and stabbed the sharp end of it into her finger. Daniel extended his own finger, and Nigel did the same to him.
Daniel touched the blood welling on his fingertip to Isla’s. Nigel unstopped the vial of Malette’s blood and carefully poured out the single drop onto Daniel’s and Isla’s joined fingertips.
“Quickly now,” Nigel said.
Daniel moved his hand to Isla’s forehead and smeared the mass of dark red onto her smooth skin. He sucked in a deep breath, hoping the blood from Malette was enough, that all contributions were mixed in well enough, that somehow it would work.
Framing her face with his hands, he slowly bent over Isla and kissed her unresponsive lips. He closed his eyes against the tears that burned hot. He kept them tightly closed and remained connected to her, still, unmoving, for the space of a minute—then two.
The room was silent.
Her lips were still. She did not return his kiss.
Daniel felt a sob build in his throat, and his tears fell onto her closed eyelids. He clasped her close, hauling her into his arms and squeezing her so tightly he felt her ribs against his fingertips. He rocked slowly back and forth, her dead weight heavy against his arms.
The only sound in the room was his ragged breathing. It hadn’t worked.
Isla was swimming. She was deep beneath the surface of the nothing, the dark, but something was different. She surged upward with a speed she didn’t recognize, had never felt. Her thoughts, fuzzy at first, sharpened to a razor point, and she was aware of herself, of her soul, in the darkness. Was this it, then? She was awake, yet not, soaring through the nothing. Was she under the curse forever? Was this to be her fate? Her mind echoed with Malette’s final words.
You’ve lost. My son is avenged . . .
Still she flew upward, feeling wind that wasn’t there against her face. Noise sounded from far away and drew closer, she flew ever faster, so fast she couldn’t breathe.
She couldn’t breathe!
She battled and clawed with everything she possessed to draw in a gasping breath, finally bursting free of the surface and into the light. She sucked in as much air as she could, lifting her arms to shove at the vise that gripped her so painfully she saw stars floating above her in the black night sky. She sobbed, fighting to pull in one more breath, just one more . . .
“Isla!” Hands grabbed her head, and the tremendous pressure on her lungs eased. “Isla!” Daniel’s face was inches from her own, his face soaked in tears, his expression a combination of pain and something else. Hope.
Her eyes widened. The wheelhouse. She was awake in the airship, and it was so very dark outside.
Daniel shook, his big, strong frame trembling with his sobs. He pulled her closer to his chest, and she put her arms around his head and neck. This was heaven, her heaven. If she was dead, she wasn’t going to complain. Confusion continued to bounce around in her brain, and she looked again at the black sky outside, and then at the clock on the wall.
The clock that clearly showed the time at 1:00.
It was past midnight, and she was awake.
“What happened?” she managed.
Daniel drew in a ragged breath, and she wondered if he was experiencing a war memory. She rubbed his hair with a hand that wasn’t tingly, wasn’t heavy. She felt strong.
“Shh, Daniel, it is fine. Everything is fine. Do you know where you are?”
“Do I . . . ?” He gradually stilled and slowly pulled back.
“Oh, Daniel! Dear man, what happened?” His face was ravaged in grief and shock. There was something she needed to remember. Something Malette said about the curse . . .
She moved her hand from Daniel’s tear-stained face to her forehead. She was so confused. She felt something sticky on her fingers and looked, noting red.
Blood.
The clock.
The dark night sky.
Her finger throbbed and she lifted her left hand. Blood smeared down her forefinger and onto her wrist.
She looked at Daniel, shock settling in. Her heart beat faster, and her finger throbbed in time.
A kiss from one who loves you equally . . .
“Who kissed me?”
“I did,” Daniel whispered. He wiped his face, smearing red along his cheek from his pierced finger. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
Nigel stood up and shook his head. “Lackwit wouldn’t admit he loves you. We might have avoided all of this horrible mess if you’d both just said something!”
Isla felt herself blush. “I didn’t want to tell you because you would have felt awful for not returning the feeling, and I couldn’t have you live your life believing you failed me. You’re a good man who rescues the strays, and I knew you would take it all on yourself . . .” She trailed off, lifting her shoulder in a helpless shrug.
Daniel laughed and pulled her close, planting a quick kiss on her lips. “Thank all things holy that Nigel and Lewis were here. I don’t think I could have done this alone.”
Isla felt her eyes burn again with tears, and this time one escaped.
Nigel cleared his throat and glanced away.
Isla was surprised to see Daniel touch a fingertip to his own eye. “Thank
you,” he murmured. “Were it not for you, Nigel, none of this could have happened.” He shrugged and swallowed. “Isla would be sleeping,” he whispered, “and I would be bereft. I am not a man with many friends,” he continued, “but I am honored to count you three among them.”
Daniel returned his gaze to Isla and smiled sheepishly. “I almost didn’t kiss you in time.”
“But you did.”
His smile faded. “I suppose I thought you’d awaken immediately. It took several minutes, and I thought . . . I thought . . .”
“I know. I had to swim through the darkness, and then I couldn’t breathe. I fear you were crushing my lungs.”
“I was distraught.” Daniel heaved a long, slow sigh and wrapped his arms carefully around her.
“I love you,” she whispered.
He nodded and kissed her neck. “And I love you.”
“Why did you not say anything to me?” She pulled back and looked at him. “You had to have known how I felt about you. Don’t you have experience with these romantic imbroglios?”
Daniel coughed in embarrassment. “I wonder if you would retrieve a few fresh bandages, please, Lewis? Nigel was a bit aggressive with the finger-piercing.”
Isla laughed, and she lifted her finger, which still throbbed like the devil. “I think of all the injuries I’ve sustained over the past few weeks, this one hurts the worst!” She wrapped herself closer to Daniel. “And the one I am most happy to have endured.”
Daniel instructed Samson to head directly for the cabin in the swamp where Quince and Bonadea had waited.
“Oh, my dear,” Quince said as soon as they had all gathered in the wheelhouse later that night. He took Isla’s hand and led her to the sofa. “You look much improved.”
She smiled, exhausted but happy. “Thank you, Mr. Quince. I feel refreshed.” She looked at the rest. “I am so grateful for all of you. You’ve saved me, and that is a debt I can never repay though I will spend the rest of my life trying. And Nigel—” She paused, tears gathering. “I am so sorry about everything. I am sorry for my part in anything that has caused you unhappiness.”
Nigel shook his head. “I am the one who must apologize.” He cleared his throat and addressed the small group. “I wish to clear the air between us.”
“I wasn’t aware it was muddled,” Daniel said with a smile.
Nigel nodded but his face remained solemn. “I sabotaged our flight to Port Lucy to delay Isla’s arrival, as I’m sure you all suspected.”
Daniel exhaled slowly. “I did, though I had no inkling of the motivation behind it.”
“My mother is—was—unpredictable, often left home on a whim. She tracked me with her staff and globe, and she always knew my location to the tiniest degree, while I had only a vague sense of where she was at any particular time. When we left England, I knew she was at the mansion, but I needed time. I was at a loss in deciding how to keep Isla away from her but still obtain the things she would need for the cure.”
“So you sabotaged the ship to buy time?” Lewis clarified.
He nodded. “It was a risk, but then I also knew that you would be forced to put the ship down somewhere for the others to shift over the Full Moon Phase. Malette knew I was approaching, of course, but her talents weren’t limitless—she didn’t know Isla was on board. I figured she may search me out and demand to know why I’d abandoned my post, but I was desperate. The closer we flew to Port Lucy, the sicker I felt. I’d been trailing Isla for nearly a year, had come to know her character from afar. She did not deserve the curse that had been placed upon her.”
He looked at Isla. “Somewhere in the middle of my family mess was a smart woman who did the right thing for everyone all the time. I thought she was ridiculous at first. I couldn’t believe someone with a kind heart, a genuinely kind heart, actually existed.”
Crowe lifted his shoulder, and a muscle moved in his jaw. “And Isla was flying straight to my mother. At the time, I felt I had no allies, could rely only on my own judgment, which was little more than panic.”
He shook his head with a half-laugh. “Isla found her way, barefoot and weaponless, through a forested jungle that has taken more than one victim to his death. Of all women in the world, I could not have intentionally chosen a worse candidate for abduction and a lecture about what she ought to do. I should have given her information about Malette months ago. I should have included all of you in my speculations concerning my mother’s possible reaction.”
“So your vitriol about shifters really was just a performance,” Quince said.
Nigel nodded. “An effective cover. And when I needed to ‘perform,’ I envisioned my brother.” He smiled, jaded, then cleared his throat and addressed the three shifters. “I wish you all the best of everything, and I am better for knowing you. I thank you for your friendship despite my churlish behavior.”
Quince, Bonadea, and Lewis each shook hands with him.
As Isla thought back on their rushed departure from London and the odd mix of personalities aboard, she would never have predicted such an outcome in a million years.
“I, again, offer my thanks to you all,” she said, looking around the room at each of her friends. “And Nigel, thank you for the socks and for breaking me out of the dungeon.” She smiled at him, thinking of the things she’d learned about him the last few days. “I used to believe you were quite odious.”
He laughed, a genuine sound of mirth, one she’d never heard from him. “I am quite odious. But then, you’ve met my mother so it stands to reason, no?”
Daniel shook his head. “You are not your mother.”
Isla agreed. “Definitely not.”
Their journey back to England was filled with card games, conversation, and even hours of comfortable silence. Isla found the companionship comforting. Nigel was returning to England with Isla and Daniel, and though she missed Quince, Lewis, and Bonadea, she was happy they were settled into their new lives.
She made notes on her experiences with Lewis and his reaction to the deep hypnotherapy, as well as notes about her tie to Malette as she was dying. She made new lists, detailing such things as “Islands to Visit for Future Holidays,” “Ten Reasons Why Melody Is Not the World’s Worst Sister,” and “Ten Ways Isla Will Be a Better Sister.”
Nigel drew anything and everything in his sketchbook. When he reluctantly showed her and Daniel his drawings, Isla pretended amazement as though she was seeing them for the first time. As Nigel grew more comfortable in their company, Isla realized how funny he was. His sense of humor before had always lent itself to . . . well, nothing like humor. Now the cutting jabs and jaded remarks had a softer edge—there was no malice behind it, just a delightfully dry wit.
Daniel caught up on business matters—paperwork and details he’d neglected on the voyage to Port Lucy—and more often than not, the group gathered together in the wheelhouse to visit. The sunny hours were bright, and cloudy hours were cozy.
Isla loved to sit in the comfortable window seats high above the rest of the ship, watching Daniel monitor the weather and fly the ship. She would often daydream about shoving him against the wall and kissing him senseless as he’d done to her all those weeks ago.
They were only a few days away from arriving in England when Daniel made a surprise announcement one evening after lunch.
“I think it is time that we had a dance on deck under the stars tonight.”
Isla smiled in surprise. Nigel and Samson stared.
Daniel shrugged. “We were supposed to have a ball on the beach for your birthday, remember? And I ruined it. So I’ve decided to make it up to you. Please meet on deck this evening at six o’clock for dinner.”
Isla looked at Samson. “Is this your idea?”
Samson shook his head, eyebrows raised. “Amazingly, no.”
Daniel checked the Victrola on the deck, making certain it wou
ldn’t fall over if the ship caught a burst of wind. He straightened his sleeves, secured his cuff links, and snapped his formal captain’s jacket firmly into place.
Nigel appeared on deck in his finery, his nostrils already flaring with irritation. “I’ve never danced a day in my life. I’ll man the Victrola.”
“Nonsense. You just sway around; there’s nothing to it.” Daniel slapped his shoulder.
He turned to see Isla emerge from the stairwell, poised but uncertain on the top step. She wore the blue skirt and white blouse he remembered from their vacation on the island, but she’d also added an outer corset—one from Port Lucy, he noted, not one with pockets for throwing stars—that accentuated her assets to perfection.
As he approached, her eyes widened. “My goodness,” she said, “I’d forgotten how commanding you look in your finery!”
He was silently relieved by her approval. They had all become informal in the days since leaving Port Lucy, and he remembered her first reaction to him in his shirtsleeves and breeches. That she approved of his entire formal ensemble appealed to the masculine sense of pride he usually pretended he didn’t have.
“And you are a vision of loveliness.” He kissed her hand with a flourish. “As you have enjoyed lamentably limited time dancing and flirting, I thought it appropriate for you to refresh your skills before we return home.”
“Because I will suddenly be spending so much more time at balls and soirees?” She raised a brow, smiling. “I am on the shelf, or have you not heard?”
“Fine wine is never ideal when first bottled.”
She laughed out loud. “It is good that I didn’t know you as a younger girl. I would have been unable to string two words together.”
He bowed and led her out onto the deck. She spied Nigel, and her eyes sparkled.
“Mr. Crowe, how mysterious and dashing you are, with just a hint of danger! You do turn out nicely when not manacled to a wall.” She winked, and he chuckled.
He took her fingers and placed a kiss on her hand. He paused, seeming to search for words and coming up short. “You are beautiful, Dr. Cooper,” he finally murmured. “And kind. And a very good friend.”
Kiss of the Spindle Page 28
