by Lindsey Duga
“Where is the office?”
“There’s a few. But the operator will tell me the location of the closest one. The BOI is for the public after all, they can’t really be hidden from the world.”
Colt opened the door to the cabin and we entered an open seating area with low comfy chairs and small tables. A bar area made of the same rich wood sat in the center with no one there, but a small spread of coffee and breakfast had been laid out. Colt and I didn’t go near it. It wasn’t that I wasn’t hungry—it was that it felt prepared for other guests. Reputable guests that weren’t fugitives on the run. Instead, we took two seats in the corner by a circular window to watch the waters swallow the distant Chicago shore.
We sat in silence for a while before I decided now was as good a time as any to iron my shoelaces. I certainly wasn’t going to make it the whole day without having to use the bathroom at least once.
I excused myself from Colt’s company and he looked like he wanted to follow, but I gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. Exiting the main cabin, I emerged into a narrow hallway, and to the left was the restroom. After using it and washing my hands, I was just about to open the door when voices came from beyond the thin wood.
It was mostly nautical speak that I didn’t quite understand. Knots, wind speed, and engines—things like that, but as their voices grew a bit further away, I peeked out from the restroom to see if the narrow hallway was free.
Through the crack in the door, I saw Captain Leroy and his first mate. And then I witnessed something that made my heart stop beating.
Something moved under the captain’s blanket that was draped over his legs.
Not a foot, not something…human. The movement was a slither. A ripple under the blanket.
Sucking in a breath, I jerked backward, pressing myself against the wall of the farthest end of the bathroom.
Oh, God. What was that? Is he a monster?
Taking a deep breath, I scooched back up to the crack of the door. I had to find out.
“Hello, little kitten.”
Before I could even scream, a hand shot through the crack—a muscled arm following—and gripped my mouth, squeezing. His hold was so strong and so painful, I couldn’t move my jaw. No, this can’t be happening. They found us? Again? How?!
“Billy!” the man called. It must be the first mate—Frank—who had hold of me.
Thundering footsteps, then the bathroom door was pulled all the way open and, sure enough, Frank stood before me, all six-and-a-half feet of him, gripping me like his life depended on it. “A little help here?” he grunted to his brother, who stood gaping at the two of us.
Billy swore, digging into his pocket and pulling out a little vial of clear liquid. “Tip her neck back.”
With great effort, they tipped my neck back while I tried to wrestle away. Billy pried open my teeth just enough to dribble some of the clear liquid on my tongue. I tried to spit, but like at the Cerberus Club, a hand clamped on my mouth, forcing me to swallow.
No, no, no, please. Not again. Please, God!
The liquid burned and scorched my throat and when they dropped their filthy hands from my face, I was no longer a threat to them. Maybe I’d never been, weak thing that I was.
“Are you willing to fight for your freedom?”
Those words roared inside my chest, echoing through my heart and soul and limbs and carrying me into action.
I dropped my head, clenching my fists as I inched my foot backward.
“I’ll watch her, you tell the captain that we need to take down the hunter now—”
The tip of my pointed shoe connected with Frank’s groin and he folded with a high-pitched groan. As the second brother just stood there, blinking in shock, I shot forward, driving the top of my head into his nose.
It wasn’t perfect, not like Colt’s headbutts. But it was enough to disorient him and push him into the wall. I wove past their big bodies and dashed out into the hall.
Coming right around the corner, I nearly crashed into the captain in his wheelchair. Captain Leroy took one look at me and the tangle of legs coming from the bathroom and put two and two together.
“GET THE HUNTER!” he shouted.
On instinct, I grabbed the blanket on his lap and ripped it off.
If I could’ve screamed, all of Chicago would’ve heard me.
Where the man’s legs should’ve been was a cluster of tentacles. Not like that of an octopus, more like those of a squid. Light blue and silver with red and pink freckles decorating the slimy skin. They writhed and slithered around the wheels and the footrest where his feet should have been. They left patches of dark ink, slick like oil, on the carpet of the hallway.
Turning on my heel, I ran the other direction, bursting through the door at the end onto the stern. Churning bubbles exploded behind the ship, leaving a trail of white water in our wake. I skidded around the corner of the cabin and nearly slipped as my heels struggled to find traction on the well-waxed wood. Racing past the circular windows, I came to the open deck and reared back in horror.
They already had Colt at gunpoint.
Thirteen men stood scattered on the deck, all of them with tommy guns drawn and pointed at his head and heart. Where had all these men come from? Below deck? This was an ambush. A plan in the making far before we stepped onboard.
But I had no time to consider it. I was too consumed with the vision of bullets ripping through Colt. His gaze frantically combed the ship and when he saw me on the port side, his eyes widened and he shook his head barely perceptibly. I knew immediately he was trying to tell me to run away.
No. Only toward you.
I ran across the deck, my heels clicking on the hard surface. Not stopping—even with the sound of bullets exploding and hitting the waxed floor—until I reached Colt and threw my arms around his middle. His arms wrapped around me and his heartbeat pounded under my cheek.
“HOLD YOUR FIRE, FOOLS!”
The furious voice of Captain Leroy cut through the spray of bullets and everyone froze. I peeked over my shoulder, where I still protected Colt with my own body—the body that was too valuable to shoot at—to see the captain roll himself forward in his chair. His tentacles were going every which way, as if responding to the man’s rageful emotions.
“A kraken?” Colt hissed above me. I felt the word vibrate in his chest more than heard it.
“Let the girl go,” Captain Leroy called across the deck. “She’s ours now.”
Colt had the gall to laugh. Loud and without humor. “Wrong on both counts! See, it’s she who won’t let go of me.”
Proving his point, I tightened my hold on his middle, squeezing my eyes shut. No, they won’t take him. Not if I can stop it.
“And she’ll never be anyone’s. She’s her own woman.” At his words, Colt shifted under my embrace. His arm slid into his jacket then threaded into the pocket of my dress.
“Last chance, sonny,” the captain called, voice echoing across the expanse of water.
Then Colt’s hands clamped down on my waist and he lowered his mouth to my neck. For a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me there again but instead, he whispered something. Before I could comprehend his words, he shoved me backward. Hard.
No sooner had I hit the deck than the rain of bullets went off over my head. Five seconds later, a splash from down below followed.
And he was gone.
Only now, as rough hands grabbed my arms and hauled me to my feet, did I register Colt’s parting message to me.
I’ll find you.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Dragon
Exhaustion would kill me before my bullet wounds did.
Mostly because the wounds weren’t that deep. They were merely grazes, skimming across my skin in a comet of heat and lead and deliverance. Painful, but tolerable. When I hit the icy waters
of Lake Michigan, my heart stuttered like the engine of a spent hayburner. It began beating again, but sluggishly, fighting against the intense shock to my system.
Trails of blood twirled off me and streaked toward the surface of the water. I held my breath, knowing that if any sign of life came to the surface that I’d have to worry about the henchmen turning their tommy guns to the lake.
As I let my body drift, gathering strength, fighting the cold, letting the boat chug past me, I replayed Eris’s look of horror as I shoved her onto the deck and threw myself over the side.
I’d left her. Abandoned her.
The only thing that kept me fighting against the freezing temperature and the knee-jerk reaction to inhale as my lungs screamed was the promise I’d made to her. I’ll find you.
And I would.
When the ship was far enough away, I kicked to the surface and my head broke free. I inhaled with four sharp gasps before my shriveled lungs reduced to coughing and hacking out a small dose of lake water. Blinking droplets out of my eyes, I watched the boat continue onward just in time to catch the gold letters plated on the side.
Cassiopeia, and then, BKH.
Son of a bitch.
The frustration and anger and despair burned my chest, literal flames scorching the back of my throat as I watched the yacht sail far out of my reach.
They had her, but not for long.
Glancing up at the sky, I was able to tell directions thanks to the position of the sun. Because of the distance already traveled from Chicago, going south was my best bet rather than turning around. Unfortunately, thanks to the sluggish October currents, there was hardly any to speak of in the western side of the lake. I’d have to do most of the work myself.
I wrestled out of my clothes so I was left in only my boxer shorts. Everything would only weigh me down, offering no warmth whatsoever.
Luckily, I could produce my own heat.
One of the few benefits to being a dragon was that the cold was merely a minor inconvenience. Giving in to my emotions, the heat in my chest built and built, burning through my body like a spark on dry leaves. I blew into the water, steam rising to the sky as the two extreme temperatures clashed.
But I was careful not to expend too much of my fire breath too quickly. I had a long way to go.
I swam for what felt like days. My muscles groaned and protested with each kick and stroke. Eventually, my toes and fingers grew numb and exhaustion threatened to pull me under.
Just float. Rest your eyes a bit. Would it be so bad?
Each time the traitorous thoughts bit into my mind, I would picture Eris’s face, and hidden strength would flow back into my limbs. I had to find her again. I would find her again. I jumped over that side so I could live to fight another day. I was no good to her at the bottom of Lake Michigan.
But as the day wore on and the sun dipped behind the horizon, there were brief moments of darkness that I actually wished for my wings back. Maybe I could’ve flown to shore. Flown to Eris. Gotten us both out of there.
Then I’d remember some of the thoughts that had gone through my head with those wings attached to my back. Truly monstrous thoughts.
Human flesh…what does it taste like?
Burn everything. Destroy. Destroy.
Hunger, hunger, hunger.
I hadn’t thought of what those wings had made me think, feel, and yearn for, for a long time. Even as a thirteen-year-old, I’d managed to somehow keep them at bay, but there was that small voice that whispered to me, testing my strength.
Someone was always testing me.
Teeth chattering, I summoned more fire in my chest, but what came out was just a pathetic cloud of steam.
Twilight descended. Stars peeked through the vast, vast sky. Endless. Beautiful. Horrible.
My hands sliced through the full moon beams reflected on the placid surface. I played a game with myself. I picked a star’s reflection and tried to catch up to it.
I was swimming, swimming…until I wasn’t.
A shrill cry pierced the air and I jerked upward in response. I gasped, hacking up water and mucus, and tried to fight against the sensation of my muscles seizing. Dimly, I blinked the water from my eyes and a bird circling overhead came into focus.
Clarity cut through my mind like a hot knife and I twisted around, the waters thrashing around me.
And there it was. Land. A line of evergreen trees decorated the shore—nature’s perfect skyline. The break of dawn made it just visible. Merely a shadow against the lightening sky.
With a surge of strength, I kicked and pulled and swam. The shore didn’t seem to get any closer, but then it came up on me fast. To avoid the current pulling me into the sharp rocks, I dove down into the depths, dodging the undertow, and managed to grab hold of an outcrop.
Using what little strength I had left, I climbed up onto the rocky shore, and once I was out of the icy waters, showered occasionally by spray from the wind’s restlessness, I passed out.
When I woke again the sun was higher in the sky. My whole body was sore and aching and the bullet grazes itched and burned. I exhaled and the heat of my steam breath warmed the rock.
My fire breath wasn’t completely gone yet.
Pulling up my bare limbs, I folded into a ball as tightly as I could. Then I took deep breaths, letting the fire in my chest build and build. I focused my mind on Eris and how I’d been separated from her yet again. Was it Sister Adaline who had betrayed us? After all her work on discovering the virus and helping us, it seemed highly unlikely. It could’ve been Father Clarence—I was never one to trust a priest. Or perhaps Gin had found the man with the dingy who took us to St. Agnes. There were a dozen different ways we could’ve been tracked, but in all the scenarios, one thing was bound to be the same—the real Captain Leroy lay at the bottom of Lake Michigan.
Finally, I looked around, seeing nothing but trees and boulders and thick woods stretched out before me.
Swell. I couldn’t wait to walk through the wilds in nothing but my boxer shorts. I ran a hand through my wet hair and carefully picked my way across the slippery, rocky shore. With a heavy sigh, I stepped from the rocks to the soft ground covered in dirt, grass, and fallen pine needles and began my trek through the forests.
It was late in the day, nearly sundown, when I saw the smoke. Hope rose inside my chest, following its cloudy gray trajectory. The smoke could mean a lot of things—a hunter starting his campfire for the night, maybe a cabin, or even the outskirts of a small town.
Picking up my pace, I jogged through the woods, desperate not to lose the smoke to the encroaching night sky. By the time I got close enough to see light through the thick trees, I was out of breath and my skin was covered in cold sweat. The perspiration seemed to freeze as it rolled between my shoulder blades and down the ridges of my abdomen.
As I drew nearer, I could make out the shape of a cabin and smell cooking meat. A clothesline bordered the edge of the homestead along with a small stable and shed. Counting my lucky stars, I yanked off a shirt and pants and quickly dressed in the shadows. I’d never dreamed I’d need to pull a gooseberry lay but I also never dreamed I’d fall for the lost siren and follow her all across the Midwest.
After stealing a pair of boots from the shed, I slipped into the stable and was relieved to find a gorgeous steed. I saddled up the horse and set off on the obvious trail leading to a promise of further civilization, the moonlight guiding our way.
…
Two days later, I sat in a nondescript speakeasy in Cleveland, Ohio. Outside, I looked almost like my old self, except with darker circles under my eyes. It was quite possible I hadn’t slept since I left Eris on that goddamn boat owned by BKH.
She was probably in her creator’s hands by now. I hated to think what he was doing with her, and yet I couldn’t chase away all the nightmarish, wild thoughts.
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br /> If he touches her, I swear to God and all his angels that I’ll take him to Hell with me.
As much as I wanted to go after her now, to storm whatever corporate palace in Manhattan he was holding her hostage, I had absolutely nothing in my arsenal. No money. No guns. No ammo. And no backup.
After finding a small town a few miles south of the cabin, I’d left the horse at the post office. They’d promised to return it and, with that, I had hitched a ride on the back of a farmer’s truck all the way to Cleveland.
In the middle of the bustling streets of the Midwestern metropolis, I placed a call to Gus Murdeena, requesting a loan of a nice suit, and met up with a tailor friend of his. Then I waited until dark.
Like most growing cities between Chicago and the east coast, Cleveland had boomed. Steam car and electric car companies, all pioneers in the biz, had accelerated the growth of the city, and when prohibition took hold, organized crime sank its fangs in as well. Literally.
I remembered one time with McCarney when I’d joined him on a stakeout to watch Little Italy’s Mayfield Road Mob undergo a major bootlegging operation in smuggling cases of hooch all the way from Canada. We hadn’t made a move that night. Instead, we’d been hoping to catch bigger fish. Maybe even Joe Lonardo himself—but then a minotaur showed up and ruined our plans, nearly taking out an agent’s eye in the process.
Needless to say, the BOI was no stranger to Cleveland. So I knew that if I went to enough speakeasies tonight, I’d find at least one agent. One of them watching, waiting…hunting.
Ah, the good ole days.
The jazz band in the little speakeasy started up again. It was a song I recognized. A song that had been on the set sheet that Eris had dropped that night in The Blind Dragon. I watched a black woman in a slinky red dress croon into the microphone. It was a song by Victoria Spivey, “How Do They Do It That Way?”
She was good. Real good. Rich and deep and bluesy. She could’ve been the famous canary herself.
“I’m no chump but I would jump if I could find someone that’s not unlike me, too.”
