Whitley
I allow my mind to wander to things of the past. In my few days alone, I continued Rosemera’s game of playing out my memories and attempting to fit the pieces together. The more I run over the things I do remember, the more that comes back. And I suspect—or at least, hope— that it will help me retain the memories in the future.
So, while Bluff sits beside me, blaming and accusing me—whether he voices these accusations or not, I can hear it, can feel it rippling off of him in waves—I lose myself in thoughts of what ifs. What if I’d stayed in that little town? What if I’d never met Bluff at all? I had spent most of my time desperately wanting to run away. And I know my father had arranged for Mr. Robinson to join us and become my forced husband-to-be, but... Well, I don’t want to dwell on negative things. So I consider something else—what if things were different? What kind of life might I have if I’d simply lived here in a normal capacity? Might I have become good friends with Mary? Or would I have stolen that pretty spotted horse and fled into the night? Might I have met a nice boy and lived happily ever after?
My mind jumps to the handsome man I danced with before the pirates raided... only to remember that it was Bluff. Bluff before I knew he could change his appearance to look like anyone at all.
Everything goes right back to him. And yet, he hates me. Hates what I am.
He’ll never forgive me for what I’ve become, will he?
TIME GOES BY RATHER quickly while I’m in my head thinking through random scenarios. Some good. Some bad. Soon the carriage comes to a stop.
“Are we there?” I ask, surprised.
“We’re as far as we’ll be going tonight,” Bluff says, calmly, in his older man skin and deep voice. “The sun will be setting soon.”
We exit the carriage into a quaint town. There are only a few rows of buildings before open fields, likely farms, spread out as far as the eye can see. We walk a short way down the rocky road and enter a quaint inn. Bluff books us a room and escorts me down the hall. Neither of us says a word.
Is he mad at me like I’m mad at him? Or does he simply have nothing to say to a siren?
I bite my lip. I know I’m being somewhat unfair. It was one comment, and he’s done much to show he still wants there to be some kind of alliance between us.
Or perhaps all of it is simply to save his own skin. That’s why he saved me the first time—because he knew if Stede got me, they’d use me against him. Is it the same now? He experienced what it’s like to be physically controlled. He must align with me to avoid a life of slavery. I swallow.
I suppose I can’t blame him for that. It just hurts, to consider the possibility that he doesn’t feel for me as he used to.
I tap my hand my on my knee.
“Are you all right?” he asks, shedding the old man skin now that we’re alone and turning back into the silver haired boy I’ve had a crush on for weeks.
“Yes,” I say, but my voice is too small. Weak. His eyes are sad as he studies my face.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “For what I said. What I implied.”
I nod. “I understand.” Thinking of Rosemera. “You don’t trust sirens.” I shrug like it doesn’t matter. But it does. It does matter.
He swallows. “I’ve had a lot of bad experiences with sirens. It’s just hard... hard to figure out where you stand. Are you Whitley, or are you one of them?”
I bite my lip. Can I not be both? “I’m trying,” I say with a broken voice.
He steps forward, his eyes soft and broken like mine. He lifts his hand to my cheek, letting his fingertips drift down the side of my face. He doesn’t speak, but the intensity in his eyes is more expressive than a thousand words. He leans his forehead onto mine, and we sit there for minutes just breathing. Just touching.
I’m afraid to speak. Afraid to move.
If I say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, he’ll be disgusted by me all over again. If I open up to him too easily, I’ll leave myself open for pain.
I don’t know what I want now. I want him, but I want it differently than this. I want him to want me. Love me.
All of me.
And there is no going back. I’m a siren. If he can’t love a siren, then what are we even doing?
I pull myself away from him slowly and crawl into bed without another word.
Bluff
I wake to an empty bed.
My eyes fly open. I’m surprised she’d have risen before me. Even more surprised she’d be able to rise without waking me. I sit up, heart pounding. Where did she go?
Mostly, I’m concerned for her safety. And that of innocent bystanders, though I suppose I should keep that part to myself. But also, I feel empty. Part of me is missing when she’s not here next to me.
When she was here, I was too anxious to appreciate it, my mind too busy obsessing over the magic in her blood. The violence inherent in her body. The whole night, I was aware of her lying next to me, her warmth seeping over. Her magic sizzling. Drawing me closer. We never touched, not once.
It’s not the first awkward night we’ve spent in the same bed, tension holding us hostage. I recall that first night on The Freedom, when I was so determined not to love this beautiful girl I’d made so many assumptions about.
I thought she was privileged. Stuck up. Stubborn. Prissy.
Not one of those things held true.
Is this the same? Am I assuming she’s one thing when I’m actually unequivocally wrong? I’d already decided to fight for her. And I will. I just...
I shake my head as I leave the room. It doesn’t take long to find her. Right next door, Whitley is sitting at the bar of the tavern. I stop to watch her talk with a very enthusiastic bartender. The woman’s curly hair falls in her face every time she laughs. Whitley smiles politely at whatever jokes the woman finds so humorous.
Whitley’s beauty strikes me, not for the first time. But the sadness in her eyes is what kicks me in the gut. Is that my fault?
Probably.
The last thing I want is to cause her pain. She’s proven she’s not heartless. I’m just so terrified at how easy it would be to lose her completely that I have a hard time believing. A hard time trusting that fate won’t destroy me all over again. The feeling of having her ripped from my arms—literally—still lingers. It still scares the hell out of me.
But then again, why should I let the possibility of future pain take away my joy now? I’d decided to let that go weeks ago, on a bright beach with an incredible woman. Yes, she was ripped away from me. Yes, the weeks since then have been fairly awful. But I have the chance to be with her again, and by God, I vow to take every second I can with her.
We could have had an amazing night together. Even if it was just holding her. Instead, I’d spent it anxious and stupid.
I approach her spot at the bar, and her eyes jump to meet mine. I smile but she doesn’t return it. By the time I reach her, my stomach is rolling like waves in a storm. How mad is she?
“Whitley,” I whisper into her ear, a desperate ache in my chest. Her expression changes, her eyes softening only slightly. Hope. Curiosity.
“I’ve come to a conclusion,” I tell her, sitting beside her and ignoring the bartender to who asks if I’d like something.
“Do tell,” Whitley says, her face still fallen.
“I’ve spent a lot of time dreading the bad possibilities in my life. I’d like to stop being a complete moron and appreciate the good I have in front of me.”
“Which is?”
“You, of course.”
A blush crosses her cheeks. “I see.”
She looks down at her hands, and my blood runs cold. She hasn’t forgiven me. Did I hurt her more than I’d realized? Does she not remember enough about me and our time together to love me? I recall the kiss we shared before the bar fight. Was that just her siren reacting to physical attraction? The remnants of feelings but nothing more?
“Unless...” My heart breaks just at the thought that she might not
feel the same about me anymore. “You feel differently,” I say breathlessly.
Her eyebrows furrow, then she meets my eye. Blue, with a hint of iridescent flourish of color. It’s beautiful. For the first time, I wonder if I could, possibly, love a siren. I love Whitley, but perhaps not the siren in her. Perhaps with her, only her, it doesn’t matter.
“Is that an apology?” she asks.
I open my mouth. Is that what she’s been hoping for? God yes. Just forgive me. Love me, please. “Yes,” I say. Studying her face.
She nods, then a small smile spreads across her face. “I didn’t think....” She shakes her head like casting off whatever thoughts pressed on her mind.
“What?” I press.
“I thought you didn’t care for me the same. Since I...”
I take her hand, holding it tightly between both of mine. “Whitley Davies,” I say firmly. “I am in love with you.”
Her eyes grow wide, and then so does her grin. Yes! Thank you. I would give anything in the world for more of this. I vow to keep that smile on her face every moment I can.
“But I’m a siren,” she whispers, looking down at our entwined hands.
I shake my head. “You’re Whitley.”
Whitley
Warmth floods my body at his words. At the way he looks at me.
I’ve spent my whole life wanting someone to look at me like that. Anyone. My father. Jeb. A random suitor at ball. And here he is, a boy I’d never have imagined falling for. But he’s everything I didn’t know I needed.
I’m happy. I’ll allow myself to feel happy.
He leans in and presses his lips my mine, and I pull him in tighter, longing for more of him. Any amount I can get. Bluff.
But there is still the prick of doubt in the back of my mind. He’s willing to love me despite the change I’d taken. Because I’m still human enough. Still Whitley enough.
But there is always a catch. Always a reason. If I lose my value, I’ll lose him.
If I let the siren take over too much, if my memories slip, if my grip on my magic slips, my instincts that pull at me... Will he still love me?
I know the answer. And part of me wonders if it’s only a matter of time until I fail him.
WE EAT BREAKFAST IN the tavern and then pack up, ready to head to another new town.
“What now?” I whisper.
“We could keep going to the town north of Tar like planned. Or I suppose it could be time to risk a boat ride.”
“Really?” I ask. “Where to?”
He shrugs. “We can only run for so long.”
My mouth falls open, sweat stings my palms at the thought of facing Bluff’s mother. “We’re going to fight?” I ask breathlessly.
“At some point we must. But my intention isn’t to confront our enemies just yet. Before we do that, we need some answers.”
I tilt my head. Before we’d split up with intentions of a rendezvous, we’d uncovered a large secret about the power the sirens and pirates so desire—whenever I use it, I lose more of my memories. More of what makes me me.
We could defeat them now. Together, our power is stronger than theirs. We could kill Stede and perhaps even Bluff’s mother, if she didn’t just flee back to the depths before we completed the mission.
But the cost would be catastrophic. We’d win the battle, but I’d lose my soul. Someone else would simply rise to take over control. I’d be a thoughtless creature who doesn’t even know her own name with the ability to physically control Bluff, the “son of the sea.” I’d make him a slave without even knowing what I was doing.
They’d lose.
But so would we.
“You think there is a way to stop me from losing memories?”
He nods. “There’s a lot we don’t know about this power. The prophecy. My mother’s plans. The more we know, the more ammunition we’ll have.”
“Where do these answers exist?”
“With the Sea Witch. Well, one in particular. She was the woman who foretold the prophecy to start with.”
I raise my eyebrows. That sounds interesting. “You know where to find this woman?”
He nods. “It’ll be risky, but I’m hoping so much so they won’t ever expect it.”
I laugh. So our choices are to run as long as we can, until we’re cornered into fighting a losing battle. Or we risk capture by seeking the answers we need to gain an upper hand.
“Tell me.”
Bluff
I explain to Whitley my insane plan, then we book another carriage ride toward the sea. The closest port is Tar, the town I’d been avoiding but Whitley seemed so intent on travelling to.
It feels ironic and risky, but it does seem to brighten Whitley’s mood. It’s hard for me to understand what connection she has with this little coastal town she lived in for literally two days but whatever makes her happy makes me happy.
The journey all the way to the gulf will take several days. Then we must travel through the swamps and then swim into an underwater cavern. It’s a beautiful place. And the swim should be easy for two almost-sirens, but just the act of entering the water is...well, it’s stupid. Our magic will call to their magic. We’ll be in fresh water, so the call will be limited, but we’ll send out a call none-the-less.
In addition to that risk is another, just as bad—the Sea Witch is my aunt. My mother’s sister.
Which means trusting her is a fool’s errand.
There are about a thousand ways this could go wrong.
Part of me wants to take Whitley back to some obscure southern sea town on the mainland and hide away with her, enjoying as much time together as we can before the inevitable comes. Before she’s taken from me again.
But I refuse to give up. And this is the only thing I can think of.
So I’m jumping in head first. I must find a way to save us both.
THE RIDE TO TAR IS only a few hours. We arrive long before sunset and Whitley requests a stroll through the town. It’s an unnecessary risk, exposing her face to as many eyes as possible when we’re in hiding is unwise.
But I allow it because I’m a complete sucker.
“I must head to the docks first and secure passage. There’s a chance we must wait a few days for the right ship, and I want to know exactly what we need as soon as possible.”
“Very well,” she says, staring at the steep cobblestone pathway up to town.
“You can go into town now, if you’d like.”
She raises her eyebrows and turns to me. “That would be rather unorthodox, for me to be alone.”
I smile. “I’m sure you can handle yourself.”
“Of course I can,” she smirks. “But appearances.”
I shrug. Of all the risks we’re taking, this one seems the smallest. “It’s up to you. I’ll be back within an hour.”
“Very well, I’ll go then.”
“Just stay in the main row of shops. I’ll find you there.”
She nods and gives me a small smile. I take the form of a reasonably handsome sailor and wink at her as I jog down the hill towards the ships below.
I talk to several sailors, asking about the ships in the dock, where they’re headed and when. At first, my search seems fruitless, until an older man in the fish market tells me of a ship that should be in to port with a day or two that will head almost immediately back out to New Orleans.
With the information I came for, I rush back to find Whitley in town, eager to be near her. I shift again, into the form I took when I danced with Whitley in this very town. The irony feels appropriate. I fit in with high society in that form once, albeit for a small amount of time. I might as well try it again. Though if I’m honest, the biggest reason is because I liked the way she looked at me that night.
I walk slowly, at first, hands folded behind my back, eyeing the shops as I pass. I locate one with a board still nailed over a broken window. I stop, examining it.
That’s the store Carlos smashed through as they sacked the town in
Stede’s shadow. He left with a crate full of rum. I hold back a laugh at the memory. It hasn’t even been long enough for the window to be mended. And yet so much has changed in those weeks.
I keep moving farther into the upscale market until I come across a beautiful woman, standing outside a fabric shop, simply looking through the window. I approach and stand beside her. She doesn’t even flinch as I lean over her shoulder to see what she sees.
I’ve spent long amounts of time with friends while wearing someone else’s skin, and even though they know, there’s always moments of hesitation. Moments where they forget who I am because I look like someone else. Is that him? Oh, yeah, that’s him. Rosemera has done that at least a dozen times.
Whitley never has those moments. She looks at me in some stranger’s form, like she’s looking at me. Like the skin and hair and clothes and everything else aren’t at all what she sees when she looks at me.
She looks straight to my soul.
I resist the urge to kiss her right here and now. “Why don’t you go inside?” I ask her.
She pauses before responding. “I have no desire for ribbons or scarves,” she says.
I narrow my eyes. “Then why—”
A young woman pushes through the door with a cheery smile on her face, followed by an older gentleman and a servant carrying a small bag. Whitley takes a step behind me, watching.
“Why you need more ribbons when you bought a pile of them just last week, I’ll never understand,” the older man says with a laugh.
“You can never have enough ribbons!” the girl says, curls peeking out from under her white bonnet. “Don’t you want to make me and our little one happy?” she asks with a polite laugh.
“Of course I do,” the older man says, “I’m simply unsure a mound of ribbons is what our child requires.”
Treacherous Love Page 6
