“Whitley,” I say like a prayer.
Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t speak. Doesn’t respond. She simply begins her torment.
Whitley
“Make him hurt, like he hurt you,” my master tells me. I hesitate, still wondering how and when he hurt me. It’s doesn’t fit. But the magic in my veins doesn’t care. It reacts to the command, sending a jolt from my fingertips into his body.
He writhes on the ground like an animal. It’s uncomfortable, watching him.
“Let’s make this quick,” my master tells me. “One more and we’ll move on to bigger things.”
What bigger things? I wonder. But I send my jolt, this time more like lightning, straight into his chest, and my blood runs colds as his body stills on the deck. I listen. His heart has stopped.
I blink rapidly. Something deep in my belly clenches as I stare at his lifeless form. I react, without command, and send another jolt to his body, this time gentler. It reaches his heart, and after a long beat, he sucks in a breath and I resume my own breathing.
My master doesn’t react. I spin around and see her talking with the ugly pirate man. I curl my lip in disgust but am relieved she didn’t notice I almost killed the boy she told me not to kill.
We need him, she’d said. Why—well, I’m still not sure.
I’m hoping those ‘bigger things’, will give me a clue.
I stop my practice and turn to face her and wait. She standing with the ugly pirate, his face a grimace. “I told you I wouldn’t fail again,” she says under her breath.
Fail at what?
“When do we begin?”
Begin?
“We’ve only established my power over her. She has no problem hurting him. He is a plaything to her. But this is only step one. Now we must establish her power over him.”
The ugly pirate lifts his hands up. “What do you mean over him? She’s been torturing the hell out of him for days.”
My master smiles, so much joy. Joy because of the pain of this strange boy. I look back at him, his muscles tense as I meet his eye, but then he lifts his upper body, sitting up straight. Who are you? I wonder, not for the first time.
He continues his stare, his eyes grey and soft as he peers into mine. What does he see? I am his pain. Something in his eyes tells me he knows more than only his pain. There is something much deeper behind those eyes, behind that broken body.
More than the bruises and red lines along his arms. The scars on his skin, soon to be scars. His clothing is in tatters. His soul is wounded but strong.
“Do you remember me?” he asks with a weak voice.
I blink, surprised. Then shake my head slowly.
“Siren!” My master calls, and I jump, looking back at her. “Why have you stopped?”
I swallow. “He was going to die. You told me not to let him die.”
She slithers forward on her thick and powerful tail and looks at him. “He looks very alive to me.”
“His heart stopped. The lightning.”
“Lightning?” her eyebrows pull up.
I nod.
“Very good,” she slithers in praise. “I’d like to try more of that. But not on him. You’re right, that would kill him much too quickly. We’ll try that elsewhere.” She looks over her shoulder at the boy and smiles victoriously before pulling me away from him.
“I have another toy for you to play with.” She nods to the pirate, who in turn nods to another. I stand still waiting for my instruction.
Soon, several men emerge from a door in the ship. I tilt my head as I watch two men drag a limp body towards us.
“Is this the bigger-thing you spoke of?” I ask.
She smiles. “No. If you pass today, we will move on to that tomorrow.”
So this is a test? I wonder.
A pathetic old man is dropped at my feet. His hair is brown, with streaks of gray. His skin is sallow, his bones protruding. He’s been starved, I realized.
The man attempts to lift himself from the floor, but drops back down. He manages to lift his head enough to look at me. “Whitley?”
I narrow my eyes. Is that not that same word the boy had called me? I turn to glance at the end of the ship where the boy stands watching, a hand over his mouth. His eyes wide.
Shouldn’t he be pleased it isn’t his pain we’ll be playing with now? He doesn’t seem pleased.
“Whitley, please,” the man says with a groggy voice. He wears a velvet jacket that appears to have once been a luxurious item. It is now in tatters. I wrinkle my nose at his smell.
“Hurt him,” my master tells me.
The man’s eyes grow wide. “Wait, no!” he cries, tears running down his cheeks.
I push my magic from me the way I did with the boy. There isn’t the same affect. I can’t make him hurt without touching him the way I can with the other one. Strange. I wonder what it means?
I step forward and the man shrinks away, but then I pause and he looks up at me. His bottom lip trembles. “Whitley, it’s me.”
“Who is ‘me”?”
He blinks. “Your father.” His voice breaks into a short sob. “What have they done to you?”
Father? I don’t have a father, do I? There is only me and my master.
I reach a claw out to him, pressing it to the soft skin under his chin. He winces and sobs as I press harder. “Whitley, please!” he gasps, closing his eyes. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean... I’m sorry!” he screams pathetically.
I don’t know what he means, so I don’t respond, even as blood drops down my finger, to my wrist, down my forearm and to the damp board of the pirate ship.
The man sobs against my claw.
“Finish it,” my master says in a bored tone. She’s right, he is not near as fun as the boy.
The man looks into my eyes one that last time, fear streaming in them. “Please,” he says one more time, just as I cut his throat with my clawed finger.
Bluff
Whitley and my mother leave the ship, and my body collapses onto the floorboards. My heart is screaming, head pounding.
Whitley just killed her own father. I don’t know what to think about that.
My mother made her kill her father, and she didn’t have even an ounce of recognition. If—when—I pull her back from my mother’s magic, will she remember that? Will that moment haunt her for the rest of her life?
I press my eyes closed. I don’t know. I breathe steadily, forcing air through my lungs, my lips shuddering as I do.
I swallow and cover my mouth with my hand as I hold back my first tears since I boarded this godforsaken ship. I will mourn him for her.
He deserved what he got. It is not him I am sad for. It’s her.
Whitley
Knowledge, ironically, leads to more questions. Today, I learned a lot.
The difference between the silver-haired boy and the old man was very clear. It’s the why I’m unsure of. My master doesn’t want him dead. Why? She had no problem with me killing the old man. She desired it, even.
I can force the silver-haired boy to do whatever I want him to, in a way I couldn’t with the man, even though he was half-dead when they gave him to me. He was weak, and yet I held less power over him.
The boy is useful because I can pull power from him and use it myself. The boy, however, is full of untapped power that only I seem able to harness. He holds power he doesn’t desire. Power I can use. Only me.
Do you remember me?
That is only where the questions begin.
My master, the Siren Queen, wants to use my power, combined with his. But again, why? She already has incredible power. She can command me to do her will, and I am compelled to obey. She is a powerful and strong siren. No one dares to stand against her.
Someone out there must have more power than she, or else this power I have been able to tap into would be pointless. So who is her enemy? Who will she battle?
The power I gain when I pull from the boy’s soul is immense. Someti
mes I wonder if I am her enemy. But then she strokes my hair like a cherished pet and praises me. I could crush her, I think. If I wanted. If I could break this spell she has on me.
THE NEXT DAY, WE PRACTICE more of this power combining, and I am able to create a cyclone of wind that could demolish an armada of ships. I relish this power, the potential for destruction.
It swirls in the water, careening and crashing. Its roar is deafening.
The Siren Queen laughs in delight. But the pirate man covers his ears and tries to resist the urge to cower. I watch him searching for a hiding place, barely controlled panic covering his features. His eyes grow wide in terror as my beast edges closer. I smile.
His lovely ship rocks violently in the disturbed waves. “Make her stop, Elethura!”
My master places her hand on my arm, and I expose my fangs. I do not want to stop.
“Turn it that way,” she says firmly, pointing to the right of the ship. I sigh, magic tensing in my gut, and I obey.
The cyclone passes the ship, but I make sure a large wave crashes into the hull as it fades away into the depths, shaking the ship in a crack of power. Even my master nearly loses her balance as the ship rocks so intensely it nearly tips on its side. I smirk, arms crossed.
The pirate man is angry. Once the ship settles into a small sway, he stomps over to the Siren Queen. “Control your beast, Elethura!” He leans and whispers something into her ear. She sneers at him, but follows him to the other end of the ship to argue. I do not like him. I don’t like that he holds power over my master.
More questions. What power does a mortal like him hold?
“Whitley,” a small gravelly voice calls. I turn to a body curled up by the railing of the ship. He pulls himself up to meet my eye like he does every day. I find I like looking into his eyes. There is something comforting there. A softness in a pool of harsh violence. He is my relief.
Another irony. I make him hurt. He gives me the gift of comfort.
“Why do you call me that?” I ask him. He blinks, like he’s surprised I’d speak to him.
He coughs. It’s a rough sound that reaches all the way to his chest. It must be painful but he is likely used to pain by now. I feel the sudden urge to make it stop.
But even I don’t have that power.
“It’s your name,” he says with his rough voice. “Or was.”
Was.
My name is Siren. Did I once have a different one?
“Who are you?” I ask him, head tilted as I examine his weak body. “Do they feed you?” I wonder.
He gives me a weak smile, those kind eyes at it again. “My name is Bluff. And not much.”
I nod. “They want to keep you weak,” I say. It’s an answer to one of my many questions. He is powerful, but he doesn’t use his power. Perhaps that’s out of self-preservation. They’ll kill him if he uses his power against them. He isn’t strong enough to fight my master. So he makes himself weak purposefully.
He nods.
“Will they do the same to me? Once they realize my full power?” I wonder aloud. Not considering the boy might actually have the answers to my questions.
“Possibly. But so long as my—the Siren Queen believes she controls you, that won’t happen. She wants you powerful so long as she can use it for her own gain. She wants you as a tool.”
I blink at him. “A tool for what?”
He looks down at his bloody pants. My stomach shifts uncomfortably thinking of all the pain I’ve given him. Why is he kind to me despite it all?
“Her power is limited. She wants those barriers gone so she can control all of the sea. And perhaps even the earth, after that.”
“That’s possible?”
“Evidently.”
“Why don’t you hate me?” I ask him, honestly. He should. I would.
“I couldn’t ever hate you, Whitley.”
I blink, a strange feeling in my chest simmers. I stare at him for several long moments. He doesn’t say more, he just meets my eye, steady and strong. So much stronger than someone in his circumstances should be.
The Siren Queen turns in our direction, and the boy—Bluff—notices. His expression changes, a darkness falling over his eyes.
“Make her believe she’s in control. Even if she’s not.”
Why wouldn’t she be?
“Siren!” she shrieks at me, slithering over so quickly my eyes can’t follow her until she’s in front of me. Her hand whipping against my face in a crack. Pain reverberates through my whole body. My lip curls, exposing my fangs as rage ripples through my body.
A cool calm reaches out and touches the palm of my hand. I blink and look down, but there is nothing there. Nothing is not touching me...physically. So what is that?
Bluff, a whisper moves through my mind.
I turn to him, confused. His eyes are full of knowing. Full of the same cool calm I felt over my skin. Was that him?
“You do not talk to him. Ever,” she tells me and I swallow and turn back to my master. I suck in a breath. She is in control, I think.
For now.
Bluff
My heart is sore, like a muscle stretched after too much disuse. Does she feel the same? Did she feel that connection the way I did? I shake my head, splintered wood stinging against my cheek as I curl up on the uneven planks of the main deck. I turn onto my back, staring up into the sky. Stars are scattered across a dark blue backdrop. It reminds me of Whitley’s first night in the crow’s nest.
Whitley.
That’s my prayer. The only prayer I have left.
Light footsteps approach, and I sit up quickly. A thin man, clean-shaven with the beginnings of grey in his brown hair, comes closer. Jasper. I haven’t seen him in a few days, at least. I blink, my vision slightly blurry, focusing on the items in his hands.
“You look like you need these.”
My mouth is so dry it hurts to swallow. He holds out a cup of fresh water. I marvel at such a simple thing. But out at sea, fresh water does not come often. It’s the reason we drink rum so much—it’s the only thing that keeps.
I suck it down like a man dying of... Well, I suppose I am dying of thirst. Or close to it.
Then he holds out a thick slice of bread. I smell it before taking my first bite. I haven’t had more than crumbs and gruel for a week now. “There was soup, but I didn’t think I could sneak that out here.”
“This is more than enough. Thank you, friend.”
He nods, sitting beside me. “Have you figured it out, yet?” he asks me.
“What?”
“How to use that power they’re so afraid of.”
I suck in a breath, then take another bite of the best tasting stale bread I’ve ever had. I think of the power I felt leave me and attach to Whitley. The way tension seeped from her muscles when I was sure she was going to attack the Siren Queen prematurely. The way she looked at her hand, and then at me. I’d done something, I know. I’m just not sure what. Or how. Or how I could use such a small bit of power to my advantage.
“Working on it,” I answer him.
“Good.” He doesn’t look at me, just stares out over the railing towards the open water.
“Why? Why are you helping me?” I ask him. In my experience there is always another motive. What is he looking for?
“Seems to me you’re our only hope.”
“Hope for what?”
“Hope that whatever world that evil siren and Captain Stede are dreaming up”—he turns to meet my eye for the first time—“doesn’t come to pass.”
I consider this, then take my last bite of bread. “So you are still holding onto that honorable sailor bullshit,” I say, nodding to myself.
He smirks. “I hadn’t planned on it. I joined the crew knowing I’d have to do some awful things to survive. But that was when this was just a pirate ship, in my mind. This shit? That girl controlling tornados and lightning?” He shakes his head. “No one should have that kind of power. So if you can stop it...” He pres
ses his lips into a thin line. “Well, perhaps that’s worth death.”
“You should go,” I whisper. “Before someone catches you.”
He stands. “I’ll see what I can do about that soup tomorrow,” he whispers, then walks off, across the ship.
I watch quietly as he heads below deck with the rest of the crew, unsure what to make of my new friend. It’s possible he’s telling the truth. It’s also possible this is another part of Stede’s plan. He’s cruel, but smart. He needs to feed me enough to keep me alive, enough to have strength for Whitley to pull from. But not enough to fight against them. Maybe they’d realized my body was on its breaking point, that soon I’d need more. And if that’s the case...
Why not orchestrate a “friend” to help? One he could have control of, without me knowing. One that could, possibly, gain enough of my trust for me to confide in. A friend I could tell my secret plans to, who would then sneak back and tell the captain everything I said
I swallow.
I’d like to believe him. I’d like to trust him. But it’s not worth the risk.
Whitley
In the morning, I find I’m eager to board that smelly pirate ship again. I want to see that boy, want to learn more from him, peeling back layers of these secrets all around me.
“You seem bright,” my master says, as I twirl through the water on our way to the ship at the surface. She is in control.
“What are we going to try today?” I ask her. “What power will I learn?”
She swims in a straight line, eyes narrowed. “What would you like to try?”
“Anything. You know more about my own power than I do. Teach me something!”
She doesn’t respond, and I hope I’ve played my role well enough. We slink up into the ship, and I search for the boy. He’s sitting against the main mast, his knees up against his chest. I tilt my head, watching him.
His head snaps up, meeting my gaze.
Treacherous Love Page 17
