I blink, because she doesn’t look nearly old enough to be a mother and yet their implication was clear. They walk down the street and into another shop.
It’s several more moments before Whitley moves. Then, she begins a slow walk down the street in the opposite direction.
“What was that?” I ask her.
“Mary,” she says simply.
“Mary. Your friend?”
She nods and then stops just outside a jewelry shop.
What does Whitley really see when she looks at a girl like Mary? Clearly, she was happy. Young, married to a wealthy older man and having his child. Is that a life she wishes she could have had? Is she relieved to have avoided it or does she regret?
“I just wanted to know if she was well.”
I bite my lip. “She was there, the night Stede came?”
“It was her home.”
“I see.” I take in a long breath, wishing I understood her better. I wish we’d had more time to get to know each other before thrust into this storm together. I don’t know what Whitley really wants, now more than ever, but I will do everything within my power to make her happy. I grab her hand. “Come on,” I say, and I pull her into the jewelry shop.
The shop keeper is eager to greet us and show us her most precious items. My eyes never leave Whitley as she wanders through shops, waving off the items the woman pushes at her. Her eyes do linger, though, on a gold necklace with an emerald stone.
“Would you like it? I have money.”
She shakes her head quickly, moving on to the next shelf. “I just like looking. I’d have no use for any of these things.”
It’s true, and I don’t like it. This was a life she could have lived, once upon a time. She’s told me she didn’t want it anyway, even said she’d been planning to run away, but it still hurts to know that she never even had the chance. That possibility was ripped from her because of me.
What if she’s lying just to make me feel better? What if she longs for pretty dresses and ribbons and lace? I would be the one taking it all form her.
I sigh as I follow her around. Hoping she really does long for the sea, for adventure and the unknown, the way she implied not long ago. Those are the things I want. But I want to make her happy in any way possible. In every way.
At the far end of the store something else must have caught her attention because she stops. Her body freezes, eyes pinned.
“What is it?” I ask.
“It looks like my mothers,” she says, eyeing a modest emerald ring. “The one I sold to Knick for passage to The Freedom.”
I pause, unsure of what to say. Her feelings about that ring were bitter sweet, if I recall. One of the only things she had left of her mother but also the token left for the cruel man her father had sold her hand to. She’d told Knick he could have it whether he helped or not. She didn’t want it anymore.
Finally, I come to a decision. “How much?”
Whitley jerks her head up. “No, I don’t want it...”
“Are you sure? That ring meant a lot to you. Screw what happened after. Your mother wasn’t at fault.”
She nods, her cheeks growing red. “But I don’t want a fake.”
I take in a breath. “Very well. Next we meet with Knick we’ll see if we can track it down.”
The only thing we leave the store with is a knot in my gut.
Whitley
After an afternoon wandering the market with Bluff, we settle into the inn for the night. It was strange to act so normally. To revert back to...well, weeks ago. But it feels like years. An eternity. A different life.
It was cathartic, I think.
And also a reminder that those things will never make me happy. Bluff was willing to buy me some of those items, but even as much as I could admire the beauty in the scarves and ribbons and gloves, and even sometimes imagine myself wearing them—I don’t want them. I never did.
I wanted to ride bareback on a spotted horse and sail away into the sunset with no destination in mind. I wanted to be swept away on an adventure.
I wanted freedom.
That’s something money cannot buy. It’s something that must be paid for in blood. And I’m willing. I’m ready to fight for it.
“Did you find the ship you were looking for?”
“The rumor of one. I’d like to check back before dusk and see if it’s docked yet. I did see one new ship coming in an hour or so ago.”
I nod. “How will it work? Do we barter passage? Pretend to be someone else and board the ship as crew?”
Bluff taps his hand on his knee. “Probably pretend to be crew. Though that’ll be easier for me than you. I may have to pay to get you aboard and keep mouths shut.”
I nod. Merchant ships aren’t eager to employ girls. Even if I pretend to be a boy, they may be able to tell there is something off. It’s not like I’ll be a very able seaman. If they look closely enough, they’ll be likely to know I’m running from something. Which is bad for us.
“Where do we sail to?”
“New Orleans.”
“Really?” I ask, head held high. I’ve heard stories of that town. Good and bad.
“One of the few places pirates still sail as freely as possible these days, short of travelling to the Indian Ocean. The witch can be found in the marsh north of New Orleans.”
“I suppose this’ll be something of an interesting journey.”
“It will indeed.”
I SPEND AN HOUR IN our room alone, just looking out the window at the fish market—the only view I have from this part of town. Finally, he comes back with good news. The ship we need has docked, and in two days, it’ll set sail for New Orleans with us aboard.
We have one more day before we’ll make our way toward answers. One more day before I can answer the voice of the sea still calling me as we speak. I long for the salt and spray of the ocean. For open waters, with no one in our way.
We spend our day waiting by securing items we’ll need for my disguise. Bluff, of course, can just shift and be anyone he wants. I am a bit more difficult. For more than an hour, we sit in our room and practice wrapping my hair up beneath a bandana, which proves more difficult than anticipated.
“We can just cut my hair,” I say. Because, really, who cares?
“No,” Bluff says quickly. He runs his fingers through my hair and leans in, breathing on my neck. “I like your hair,” he whispers, then kisses my exposed skin.
I giggle and shiver in the pleasure it sends down my back. Finally, he manages to twist my hair in a way that limits its visibility beneath the dingy cloth, and my disguise is as good as it’s going to get.
THE NEXT MORNING, WE head out to board our ship to New Orleans, equipped with dirt smudged faces and hands, which he ensures on our way to the harbor.
The captain narrows his eyes as Bluff boards me with.
“This is your cousin?” he asks.
“Yessum, sir,” he says, his voice matching the young sailor image he wears.
“Don’t look like a strong sailor to me,” he says, hands on his hips. Then he looks out towards the docks absently. “But a friend of Captain Stevenson is a friend of mine. Come on. Don’t make me regret this.”
“We won’t!” Bluff says, scurrying onto the deck. I’ve never been bothered by him looking different, but when he shrinks his body down, the anxious pitter pat of his feet it feels strange. He’s too good an actor for his own good.
I follow him up to the helm. “Captain won’t expect much from you. Just stay out of the way and we’ll be fine.”
“Who’s Captain Stevenson?”
“Captain of the ship I sailed to get to you. He took a liking to me, so when I heard this captain knew him... well, it worked in my favor.”
I smile. “You’re good at making friends.”
“Sometimes. I’m good at enemies too.”
I don’t respond to that. Instead, we stand side by side, watching the crew make ready. It feels strange to stand beside him kn
owing I can’t touch him. The crew shoves off and the little town drifts away, smaller and smaller. “This is where it all started, you know?” I say lightly.
He nods. “For you. For me, it started a long time ago.”
I turn to him. “It’s where we started.”
He smiles. “I suppose. I’m sorry I took it from you.”
My stomach sinks. “What?”
“The chance at that life,” he says without looking me in the eye.
“I don’t want it. Never did.” He should know that.
“But I didn’t replace it with much better. A life on the run. Danger and pain and fear.”
“It’s better than prison. And our story isn’t over yet.”
He nods.
“Oy! Boy, get your arse to the rig!” Bluff jumps up and leaps into action, helping the ship set sail. I still hardly know what’s what on the ship. What ropes do what? Which sails control what? It’s so much more complex than I’d ever given thought to.
I follow Bluff and just do what he does, knowing well I’m not helping a thing. But at least I’m pretending. The captain says nothing.
The sails catch the wind quickly, with a swift gust that wasn’t there before, thrusting the ship forward in a lurch. The sailors holler at each other, seeking to right the ship quickly before we ram the next dock over.
The nose of the ship turns just in time, the pointy bit nearly grazing a smaller ship’s hull. I chuckle at the expression on the other sailors’ faces as we pass them.
Finally, we’re righted and the vast sea greets us. We sail into open water, and within an hour there is only this ship, the sea, and nothing else. Crystal blue water, swirling and crashing before us. I ignore what’s below the surface of the beautiful blue and just appreciate what’s before me now. I’ve always loved the sea, even before I was drowned in it. Now I’m part of it. It’s exactly where I belong.
OUR FIRST DAY AND NIGHT as crew passes without conflict. We remain well under the radar and avoid most contact with the others. On our second night, as evening peaks, a young sailor invites us down to the galley for a game of dice. Sailors drink as much rum as pirates do, it seems.
I hardly understand the dice game, and I’m out in only a few rounds, which forces me to drink enough to leave my fingers tingling and my lips numb.
Bluff, however, wins nearly every round. He only lost two, which were by chance. Luck wasn’t on his side for those, apparently. A large gruff sailor is his last opponent and he has one die against Bluff’s three. When he beats him again, by guessing the very number of his last die, he tosses his cup against the wall. “How?” he shouts then shakes his head. “You must be really unlucky in love,” he shouts, gathering some chuckles.
Bluff side eyes me, and I smile. A few of the crew notice.
I blink and my smile drops. These men might not be pirates, but men at sea can still be dangerous. I’ve already garnered a few unsavory glances in my direction. Apparently, I don’t make a very convincing boy.
If I didn’t have magic in my veins, I would feel very nervous.
Something in my chest stirs. Coiling, ready to strike. I want them to try something. Give me an excuse, I silently beg.
Then I shake my head. Nope, bad idea. Bluff doesn’t like sirens. I can’t be one. I can’t give in to that magic.
I give the siren inside a mental slap on the wrist. I’ll use my magic only if I must to survive. Anything more would cost me dearly.
Bluff
Something shifts in Whitley’s eyes, swirling like a storm. My stomach clenches as they turn violent. Thirsty.
But then they soften, and relief floods me. I know she must constantly fight to keep control over her magic. She looks down at her feet, eyes sad. I purse my lips. She isn’t supposed to be sad.
Ignoring the side glances from the rest of the crew, I reach out and grip her hand. Delicate. Soft. Beautiful.
Whitley.
I remember the day I thought I’d lost her. Her limp body in the water. Her lifeless form being held up by sirens on Stede’s ship. The first time I saw her harsh siren eyes, I was convinced she’d be gone forever.
I have her. Here. Now.
I don’t care whatever else is going on. I don’t care what truth is hiding beneath her skin— I am the most blessed man on the planet to have her for even a moment.
I haven’t lost her. Not yet.
Even if it’s inevitable, I’ll love her while I can.
I lean in, and she smiles, a sharp joy in her eyes as I whisper into her ear, “You’re beautiful,” so lightly no one else could hear. When I pull away, I remember that I’m still in this awkward boyish form, but the look in her eye tells me she doesn’t care.
“Get outta here, love birds,” one of the sailors says with a chuckle.
Gladly.
She stands, and my eyes follow her as she walks to the door. There’s too much sway in her hips but I don’t care. Not right now. It’s not unheard of for boys to be intimate while out at sea, but given her expression and openness of her affection, paired with a lackluster disguise—they’re sure to have put the truth together.
They have an impersonator.
I stand and follow her to door. I’ll deal with that issue later.
“Go have your turn, lad.”
I freeze. I know men like this well enough to catch the implication.
I turn slowly, eyes narrowed, shoulders back, confidence filling my body in a way the boy I’m pretending to be would never carry. I don’t care.
“What?” the man I beat in dice says. He’s the largest man in the room. “I think I’m being generous.” He shrugs.
Acid fills my veins. “No one will touch her,” I growl.
The walls of the galley shudder as laughter fills the room. They don’t believe my threat, but then I wouldn’t expect them to.
“We’re all simply curious what’s beneath the costume, that’s all.”
“Be curious all you want. None of you will ever find out before you find a knife in your eye and out the other side of your skull.”
They pause, the threat graphic enough for them to consider its truth. I join Whitley out in the hall and slam the door behind me before another word is uttered. My hands tremble as I run them through my unkempt hair.
Whitley lays her hand on my upper arm gently. “No one will hurt me,” she whispers.
I nod. “I know,” I growl. “I won’t let them.”
She swallows but says nothing more. There is no fear in her eyes or in her body, and I marvel at that. How could that not have bothered her? The way they treat women as playthings?
It’s disgusting.
The Freedom was usually better than that, with Rosemera on board. But the occasional creep would get through the cracks. Like Lucky Seven. I shudder with hate, even though he’s already received his comeuppance.
Is that what Whitley was getting at? If these sailors tried anything, she’d... I shake my head, refusing to think about the ragged body left behind after Whitley’s attack. I thought she was moving beyond that animalistic instinct?
“Nothing’s happened,” she says, as if reading my thoughts. “Nothing will.”
I take in a long breath and release it slowly. “We simply must be careful. No men are to be trusted around you.”
“Except you,” she whispers, a delicate sound that sends a shiver down my spine at the implication.
I let my anger and fear release, my body filled with a new sensation. Desperate desire. I kiss her fiercely, and for a moment—she kisses back. Then she pulls away.
I breathe raggedly. “What’s wrong?”
“I want you.”
I smile. “I want you,” I say in return.
“No, I mean you. Bluff. Not this silly sailor boy.”
I tilt my head. “I thought you could feel me no matter what body I was in.”
“I can,” she says, a slither in her voice, “but that doesn’t mean it’s what I prefer.”
I clench my fir
st in ache. God, I want her. “It’s a risk,” I say.
She leans in and takes my bottom lip between her teeth as she says. “Worth it.”
I morph my body back into my usual self and push her against the wall, pressing my body against hers.
Whitley
I smile as I watch Georgie, one of the youngest crewmen, dance as he “swabs the deck.” Over the last hour, he’s shown me several cleaning duties. They’re unsavory but things I can do easily, so I welcome the work. At least I’ll feel more like one of the crew if I’m doing something of worth.
“You don’t have to do that,” Bluff tells me as he approaches, with more of swagger in his step. His shoulders are back, his head up, his eyes alert. He still looks like a young boy, but his attitude has shifted. I wonder if his shift is about last night.
I shrug. “I like doing my part.”
He leans against the railing with his arms crossed, staring at the ground. “We have our own duties now.”
“What duties?”
“We have the crow’s watch. For the rest of the trip.”
I pause and study him. “I see.” That’s not a bad thing, I realize. I enjoyed my time up there the last opportunity I had.
I simply wonder if he asked for this duty. I tap my fingers on my thigh. “When?”
“In a few hours.”
“Very well,” I say, and then go back to scrubbing the deck with Georgie. He’s young, around the age of the body Bluff is wearing. Fourteen, perhaps? And kind, with a sincere smile and freckles.
Bluff shakes his head and crosses his arms as he watches. An hour later, Georgie runs off and reappears with a cup filled with brown liquid. “Thanks for helping,” he says.
I sip the rough liquid. “You’re welcome.”
“Is it true, what they say?” he asks me as we set on the steps to the helm. Bluff is a few feet away, still staring at his boots. I ignore his sullen state because I don’t want to feel the same. We’ll talk about it when we’re along in the crow’s nest.
Treacherous Love Page 7
