Skulls & Crossbones

by Andi Marquette

  Anger swirled sluggishly through Sarah's veins. "Anything. Whatever you want."

  Nefi nodded slowly. "My price is high."

  "Name it."

  The buccaneer's hand fell away from her chin. "Twenty percent of what was taken and—" She grinned, displaying a set of fine white teeth, the long canines of which ended in points. "Your services, Lady Sarah." Sarah gaped.

  "Your history has already been written," Nefi continued. "You disappeared while searching for your father's lost shipment. Your body was never found." She shrugged. "I can change that. I can grant you the time you need to complete the tasks you lamented at your impending death."

  Death? Sarah covered her wound with one hand, and her palm pressed into thick, sticky blood that no longer flowed.

  "Once you do so—" Nefi said. "Once you get those affairs in order and give me twenty percent, you are bound to me and my ship."

  "How long?" Sarah's voice was barely a whisper.

  Nefi smiled again. "Forever. But have no fear. You'll be in fine company."

  She stood and gestured toward the three behind her and the black brigantine anchored off shore. She turned back to Sarah.

  "I'm dead, then?" Sarah croaked.

  "Not yet. You still have a few minutes. Plenty of time to contract, if you so desire."

  Sarah looked past her at the ship off shore, then back to Nefi. "If I don't?" Nefi inclined her head, and her gaze marked the blood on the sand. "I'll leave you to the island. I can't guarantee you'll rest, given the circumstances of your death. And it's isolated enough here that you may have only this beach to haunt." She rested her hands on her belt. A sheathed dagger hung at her right side.

  Sarah's thoughts had slowed, but life and death she understood. "If I sail with you, will I live?"

  "Not in the traditional sense. But we're a merry band of immortal damned." The three behind her laughed. Nefi flashed a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "The conditions, since you don't have much time. No one breaks a contract with me. Ever. If you try—" She flashed another grin, one that reminded Sarah of wolves. "There'll be hell to pay." The laughing continued behind her. "What's worse than death?"

  "A life without it. I'll grant you years on this island, plagued by the agony of your wound. You'll rot, from the inside out. Scoured by maggots and flies. Ravaged by thirst and hunger. But you will not find release. You will not be able to move. You will feel each and every bit of your decay. And when the wind finally claims your dust, your spirit will haunt this beach, bearing the pain of your final disintegration. Until time ends." The laughter behind her had ceased.

  Sarah's muddled thoughts turned to Blakesley's betrayal, and fire flashed through her near-empty veins. Crenshaw stabbing her, with no more thought to it than had he been engaged in a walk through a park. Blakesley with her family's gold. God knows what he would do with it. She had promised her father. Promised him she'd find the shipment and return it to England. Promised him she'd marry his choice if he just granted her a taste of freedom to find his gold. Freedom. Sarah had grown quite fond of it. And she was quite fond of life. "I accept your offer."

  Nefi nodded once, extended her right hand. Sarah tried to raise her own hand, but she was too weak. Nefi reached, took her hand, and a cold wind raced up Sarah's arm into her midsection. Nefi released Sarah's hand, pulled her dagger from its sheath, and ran its razor tip lightly over her own left wrist.

  Sarah watched, fascinated, as blood oozed quickly to the skin's surface. Nefi dipped her right index finger in it and gently wiped it on Sarah's lower lip. Not knowing why, Sarah licked her lip, tasted the ferrous overtures of blood, along with something else. An insistent throbbing, an ache in her bones, a need so deep it overwhelmed death's mantle. The buccaneer leaned forward, gently gripped the back of Sarah's neck with her right hand. She brought her left wrist to Sarah's mouth, and with a greed Sarah had never felt, she clamped her lips over the wound and sucked like a starving dog on a bone.

  Heat and pain coursed down her throat, infused her muscles, but she couldn't stop wanting the taste of this life, such as she had never experienced. Nefi withdrew her wrist, and Sarah gasped, hunched, and curled into a fetal position. It was as if her bones and blood vessels bubbled. A strange ache filled her, but she burned, too, with new, cold life. Gasping, she turned her gaze to the Black Angel 's captain.

  "Welcome aboard," Nefi said. And she winked as she clapped Sarah gently on the shoulder.

  What unholy alliance had she made? Sarah stared at the ship's timbers above. Maybe she had died after all and gone to hell. She turned over on the mattress so she might stare at the door and await Nefi's visit. Or was it dread? Sarah thought of food, of tables set with fine silver and china from distant lands. She envisioned her mother's servants bringing puddings and fruits from the kitchen, and platters of meat. Her stomach churned in revulsion and she hung her head over the side of the bed, staring down into the bucket she'd had yet to use for vomit.

  The door opened but Sarah didn't look up. She focused on the bucket, waiting for her nausea to subside. "How long," she whispered, "will I feel this bad?"

  Nefi didn't respond right away. Instead, she stroked Sarah's hair until the sickness passed, and Sarah once again lay on her back, staring at the timbers and avoiding Nefi's gaze.

  "Perhaps you have yet to accept your true nature," Nefi said, and the sound of her voice made Sarah both ache and fume. Nefi pressed a cool, damp cloth to Sarah's forehead.

  "What nature is that? My birthright? Or what I traded death for? What manner of monster am I?"

  Nefi turned the cloth over, and Sarah felt her shift her weight, move closer, felt Nefi's lips on her neck, soft and sensuous, and her stomach was unsettled again, but not from sickness. "I only bargain with those who want it," Nefi said against her ear, and her breath was warm, arousing. "You summoned me, Sarah. And as long as you continue to fight this process, you will feel this bad." And she trailed her lips down Sarah's neck. "Now, what would you have me do? You'll be strong enough to take the change tomorrow." Nefi took the cloth away from her forehead.

  Sarah clenched her teeth, an ache between her thighs and at her core, far beneath the fresh scar that marked the cutlass's entrance wound. She nodded, and Nefi drew another thin line on her wrist as Sarah watched, battling revulsion and need. Need always won. She took Nefi's wrist to her lips and sucked, greedily, remembering folktales from Romania she'd heard in salon discussions and her family's kitchens as servants tossed dark tales to each other while working. Old, musty stories about phantoms, banshees, and blood-suckers drowning in sunlight.

  And then, Nefi's blood would roar through her veins, charging her with life she'd never felt, leaving her sated and relaxed on Nefi's bed, on Nefi's ship, in Nefi's arms. She'd bargained with thieves, privateers, and cutthroats to find the family gold, which she'd tracked to the unmarked island where she'd been left to die. She'd bargained with far worse than Nefi, and it had nearly killed her. Nefi could be no worse than what Sarah had seen in the year she'd left England. She shut her eyes, and Nefi's lips rested for a moment on her forehead before Sarah slipped into sleep again.

  When Sarah next woke, a new resolve shared her bed, and she sat up. She'd bargained with Nefi, accepted her terms. She'd made her choice, and so she stood and waited for Nefi, no longer plagued with nausea or weakness. When Nefi arrived and she moved toward Sarah, and her hands traveled from Sarah's waist up to her shoulders and then her neck, Sarah sighed and tilted her head, trembling with anticipation.

  Nefi's teeth penetrated Sarah's neck quickly and painlessly, effortlessly graceful. Sarah gasped, tried to scream in combined ecstasy and pain as her blood flowed freely into Nefi's mouth. She clutched Nefi, an erotic hunger racing through her core. She held Nefi's head against her neck with a strength she didn't know she had, writhing against the pirate, weakening as her life's blood ebbed.

  Nefi pulled Sarah to the thin border between life and death before she released her hold on Sarah's neck, and carefull
y lowered Sarah to her bed. "Once more," Nefi whispered in Sarah's ear as she opened a vein on her own wrist, held it to Sarah's mouth. "Drink."

  And Sarah did, clamping her lips over the cut. She suckled and licked, and Nefi's blood now mixed with her own to fill an aching void within. All Sarah knew was the exquisite taste in her mouth and the pinpricks of power running down her throat. Sated at last, she fell back, felt Nefi gently wipe her lips with a cloth then kiss her on the mouth.

  "There will be pain," Nefi said softly. "But it will pass."

  She was right. The pain started within minutes. It every joint, muscle, cell of Sarah's body. Sweat leaked from every pore as Sarah endured the shift, felt her body change, her bones creak and moan. Her teeth loosened in her gums and her eyes were surely melting, dripping from their sockets. Nefi stayed with her throughout and wiped her forehead and limbs with a cool, damp cloth. She spoke soothingly in a language Sarah didn't recognize, though it hung images in her mind of a great river flowing north from the guts of Africa to dump its legacy into a turquoise sea. Finally, Sarah slept. And when she woke, everything had changed.

  Sarah stood on the deck, surveying the crew of the Black Angel, which defied easy description. Twenty, an odd mix of men and women from a plethora of backgrounds, nationalities, and eras. The women had surprised Sarah. She herself had chosen to sail disguised as a man in search of her father's gold, but didn't realize how common such behavior actually had been through the ages. Through new eyes blessed with Nefi's gift, Sarah saw the differences between them. Some were like her, predators who needed blood to survive. Others were simply not alive. But not dead.

  "I only go to those who ask," came Nefi's voice at her elbow. "Sometimes, I'm too late and can only grant a half-life. But those who agree, do so willingly." Sarah didn't answer right away. Had she called Nefi ? She must have. How else could she explain what had happened? Things she'd never thought to believe had come to pass.

  "So, Lady Sarah. You have questions." Nefi regarded her, calm. "Ask."

  "What language were you speaking when I changed?"

  Nefi smiled. "A very old one. You will find it inscribed in stone within the pyramids of Giza and the tombs of Thebes. That is my language, what I spoke when I was mortal."

  Nefi reached then, and her fingers ran the length of Sarah's bare forearm. The sensation was more than pleasant. Nefi smiled again and turned, placing her forearms on the railing to gaze out to sea. "My name is Nephthys. I was given that name when sent to grace the house of the Pharoah Sneferu." She caught Sarah's eye. "I was never to marry. Instead, I was educated and trained in the ways of diplomacy and entertainment for visiting dignitaries. At the age of twenty-five, it was time for me to earn my name."

  "How?"

  "Nephthys is the goddess who grants immortality. My people believed she required appeasement from a mortal woman chosen from the kingdoms during each Pharoah's reign. I was Sneferu's choice. And on the eve of my twenty-fifth mortal year, the contract was made."

  "Who—"

  Nefi turned then. "The high priestess of Nephthys bequeathed her blood to me. It was understood that I would serve in the same capacity, should such be required. I entered the temple of Nephthys after my transformation was complete."

  Sarah saw something shift in Nefi's eyes—sadness, maybe. Or perhaps it was merely a trick of the afternoon light.

  "My world lived and died many times during my service, until finally, beneath the onslaught of foreigners, the old ways dispersed. With the coming of the Greeks, I took to the seas." A smile seemed to twitch at the corner of Nefi's mouth. "I learned quite a bit from the Greeks," she added, thoughtful. "Including sailing." She straightened and regarded Sarah with her implacable eyes. "We dock in Nassau on the morrow. I have a feeling you'll have a bit of luck in your search for the Queen's Rest." Her gaze held Sarah's for a long moment before she turned languidly and headed for the bridge. As Nefi's boot hit the first step, she cast a glance back over her shoulder and smiled at Sarah, and she knew that Nefi was extending an invitation to her for the evening. Sarah smiled back. She would accept.

  The Port of Nassau crawled with beleaguered privateers, pirates, deserters from a variety of navies, merchants, speculators, bandits, thieves, and assorted lowlifes from every conceivable occupation. The city itself was a mish-mash of squatters, tents, and ramshackle structures, erected on the cremated remains of earlier buildings that had been burned to the ground by contingents from the French and Spanish navies.

  All manner of craft anchored in the harbor. From the most resplendent vessels of the British Navy to the meanest sloop, all found welcome in the boomtown atmosphere of Nassau. Whatever debauchery, decadence, illegality, or perversion one could imagine, it had already been tried here, expounded upon, and cast aside for newer manifestations. And for those who chose to live far outside the boundaries of acceptability, Nassau was perfect. And as Sarah had expected, Blakesley had come here with his "find" and registered the strongboxes at the customs house. All it took for Sarah to convince the agent was the seal on her ring and the key she inserted into the locks, opening them each for him. Blakesley wouldn't be alerted to her right away. Sarah almost wished she could tell him herself. But she knew any conversation she had with him was best left to open water, where he wouldn't stand a chance against Nefi or her ship.

  Sarah stood on the pier in the late afternoon light. She turned abruptly and strode back into the city, hat pulled low over her eyes. She made her way along the filthy, crowded street that edged the harbor, bumping into a variety of humanity in a variety of stages of cleanliness. Shouts and shots filled the air, chased by screams and screeching laughter. Nassau was a pit and for those who weren't already dead, it promised to press them into the service of those ranks quickly.

  Sarah worked her way around vast mud puddles, sloppy with filth, and searched for a proper target. She needed to feed after her long day in this hole. She ducked down a narrow alley between a tavern and a boarding house just as a young serving woman emptied a pail of scraps out the tavern's back door. Wearing new seaman's trousers and a rough linen shirt, Sarah presented as a man. The tricorn on her head further marked her as a sailor. She smiled at the serving woman and tipped her hat as she approached. The alley was very dark. The woman was too trusting.

  Though she hadn't had much practice, Sarah was very good at locating a human jugular quickly and piercing it efficiently. She had overcome her initial discomfort with seducing women, and found them easier to attract in her male guise than men, though she had fed on an amorous sailor who returned her advances because he thought she was a man. On Sarah's first boarding—a Dutch schooner—Nefi had demonstrated to Sarah how much blood to take, and how not to leave lasting harm beyond small puncture scars.

  Nefi took Sarah on proper hunts in New Providence soon after, though the initial outings proved difficult for Sarah, who could not yet reconcile her thirst for blood with her mortal past. Nefi seemed to understand, and she made it easy in some ways for Sarah to adjust to this new existence. Sarah thought of her now as a mentor, among other things.

  And now here she was, in a dark, stinking alley, enthralled with the taste of the barmaid's life on her lips, coursing down her throat. It aroused her, caused an ache between her thighs, this unholy intimacy. Not too much, Nefi had instructed. Leave them mortal.

  Sarah's first had died, a young Dutch sailor aboard the schooner. She had felt an overwhelming need to sob but nothing came, except the insidious and exhilarating sensation of life, throbbing through her veins. Terrible, terrible bargain. Nefi had only laughed softly. "I knew you would accept," she said. "I only offer to those who will."

  Thousands, Nefi had said. She had ignored thousands over the centuries. Unlike others, she did not pass the gift lightly, something that intrigued Sarah. In every port, dozens like her occupied every strata, every job. She sensed them now, saw the ethereal glow in their eyes and caught brief glimpses of canine teeth too sharp. When mortal, she would not have notic
ed. Yes, Nefi had standards. But looking around the seething city, it was obvious others did not.

  The serving woman collapsed against her, and she withdrew her teeth with

  an effort, wiped her mouth and the woman's neck on a bit of cloth she pulled from her pocket. The gift granted her physical strength unlike any she had ever known, so it was an easy matter for Sarah to carry her the short distance to the tavern's back door and leave her just inside, out of reach of other nightcrawlers with even baser intentions. She straightened her clothing and quitted the alley and made her way through the foul streets to a particular drinking establishment.

  Low-slung and slovenly, this tavern stood to her left. Sarah entered and shouldered her way through the crowd to a table in the corner. Nefi sat with her back against the rough wooden wall, chair tipped back, left leg draped rakishly over the tabletop. She was surveying the room, ignoring the full tankard she held in her right hand. She offered one of her oddly appealing smiles as Sarah sat down across from her.

  "Success, I trust." She held a discreet finger to her lower lip. Sarah quickly wiped her own mouth again with the bit of cloth. Nefi nodded. "My ablest apprentice thus far." She grinned, handed Sarah the tankard. Sarah sipped, washing the taste of ecstasy down her throat with harsh ale. She slid into the chair to Nefi's right.

  "And the other matter?" Nefi was speaking to her, but her eyes were on a young Spanish man who had just entered. Nefi obviously needed to hunt as well. "Tomorrow afternoon. There are four strongboxes. However many crew you think to carry them. Ask for Townsend and use the name Lord Samuel Churchill."

  "Well done," Nefi said softly, eyes once again on Sarah. She had already acquired her target. She stood and stretched languorously. "You've completed a task. And had a grand time doing it, I'd warrant." She winked and moved off into the crowd with a leonine grace. Sarah drained the tankard and sat back, enjoying a sense of satisfaction, ease, and excitement.