At Death's Door (Deadman's Cross Book 3)

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  Perhaps that more than anything was what marked the end of everyone’s childhood. The day when you realized that might was what made right.

  That evil more often than not triumphed over good and that it never got what it should, and that karma didn’t go after the people it was supposed to. More often than not, life chose its personal whipping boys and girls for no reason and they were beat down at random, over and over again, without any justification whatsoever.

  There really was no sense in the world. It was all chaos.

  Because God knew that she’d done nothing to deserve her fate. Nothing more than fall in love with a man she shouldn’t have and believed in him, even while he lied to her. That she’d been a good friend to women who’d been bad ones to her.

  Now …

  She found herself standing on board this enchanted ship full of forsaken and damned women like her. Dressed in everything from gowns to breeches, they came from all walks of life and from every culture, it seemed. The only thing they had in common was their gender.

  And the mutual mistrust and pain that glowed deep in their eyes that said each of them had been hurt one time too many. Just like the crew of the Sea Witch II who had also been wronged by those they trusted. Abandoned by fate and kicked in their teeth by life. It was a chilling sight that was probably the nightmare of many a man, as well it should be, as hell hath no fury as a woman wronged. They were even more frightening than a woman scorned.

  After all, there was a reason why wrathful vengeance and the Furies were all women.

  “Welcome, sister,” a tall, shapely blonde said as she neared Valynda. Dressed in breeches and an ornate brocade coat, she stepped down from the upper deck and moved across the rough planks to meet her near the mainmast.

  Other crewmembers encircled Valynda like she was some kind of prized trophy. Their piercing gazes left her feeling uncertain, and it gave her a prickling sensation that crawled over her body like vermin.

  Still, there was something eerily familiar about their captain. Valynda felt as if she should know her. “Who are you?”

  “Circe.”

  She sucked her breath in sharply at the name of the Greek goddess who’d saved Odysseus on his way home from the Trojan war during his ill-fated voyage after he’d upset the god Poseidon. The goddess had borne him three children, and after caring for the man, how had he repaid her? He’d turned the gods against her for her kindness and set them upon her and their children with no regard for what it would do to them. Or what their futures would hold. He’d cheated on his wife, Penelope, who had stayed true to him at home in Ithaca for the entire twenty years he’d been gone, even though her fealty had cost her much as she stuggled to keep his kingdom intact and prosperous during his absence. And he’d broken the heart of the goddess now standing before her.

  Faithless Odysseus, so lauded as a hero by the world and praised for his cunning, had stolen all Circe had lavished on him, and forgetting that he’d fathered three sons with her, left like a thief in the night, stealing treasure on his way out the door, without so much as a thank-you for all she’d done to save his life. Just as he’d conveniently forgotten his wife and son who had pined for him in Ithaca while he dallied with Circe and Io during his twenty-year hiatus from his responsibilities as king, husband, and father, leaving it all for brave Penelope to contend with on her own.

  Of course, that hadn’t been his lies, or his story when he’d told it, but it’d been the truth, nonetheless.

  No wonder Circe had been chosen to captain this beleaguered crew. “I see.”

  Dressed as a buccaneer, Circe had eyes as dark as coal, yet there was an innate kindness to them. One that made Valynda want to trust her.

  “Tell me, little sister, do you want to join my crew?”

  It might be tempting, as they had much in common, however she was already part of a family. “I just want my body back.” Those anguished words were out before she could stop them.

  After all, it was her ever quest.

  Circe arched her brow at words that had become rote, but even so were still emotionally charged. “And what would you give me for such a thing?”

  The truth scared her. For there was nothing she wouldn’t do. “What do you want?”

  Circe smiled, as she no doubt could smell the desperation. “Rather bold for you to ask, given that you’ve already sold your soul.”

  “If you know that, then why am I here?”

  “That is always the question, isn’t it?”

  A chill went down Valynda’s spine as she realized the truth of that simple, yet extremely complex question. No one ever knew their real purpose. Just when they thought they might have an inkling, life had a way of yanking the ground out from beneath their feet and leaving them with nothing on which to stand.

  That was why she hated Nibo so much right now. She’d believed in him. Had thought that she could depend on him, and rather than stand fast and remain at her side, he’d allowed her to be cast out on her own and left adrift with no moorings.

  One moment they’d been happy. The next …

  Her throat was still raw from her screams as she’d begged him for help, and he’d turned a deaf ear. Had ignored her. How could anyone claim to love someone and ignore their pain?

  Watch them die, and say nothing?

  Do nothing?

  It burned so raw inside her that some days she was convinced she was no longer sane from it. “What do you want from me?”

  “You don’t belong with Thorn’s Deadmen and you know it. You should be here, among my crew. This should be your home … with kindred spirits who understand your pain, Valynda. Join us.”

  How simple she made that sound.

  Just pick up everything, wave good-bye, and go. But …

  Valynda glanced down at the Deadman’s mark burned into her straw wrist. It was the same one that all members of Captain Bane’s crew bore. The moment they’d agreed to hunt demons for Thorn for a chance to earn their way out of their damnation, the mark had appeared, and as each one was closer to freedom, the mark became fainter. Once they’d redeemed their souls and were free and clear, the mark vanished.

  So far, Captain Bane, Kalder, and a handful of others had already erased the slate and earned back their souls. Belle, Will, Bart, and Sancha were close.

  Hers hadn’t lightened at all.

  Not even a bit.

  Because you haven’t killed many demons.

  Not that she hadn’t tried, it was just more difficult for her. Unlike the others, she wasn’t trained at fighting. She’d been thrown into a life she barely understood.

  Which caused her even more despair, as she feared that she’d never go free.

  “Poor Valynda. You don’t know whom to trust, do you?”

  She stiffened at Circe’s astute question. “Pardon?”

  “So many offers. So many promises. But none are a guarantee.”

  And all could be lying.

  How could she trust anyone? Especially given the fact that her own parents had betrayed her. The very people who were supposed to love and keep her safe above all others. They had been the first to sell her out. And for what?

  Her father’s vanity? The man who’d spent his whole life professing to have no vanity whatsoever had possessed more than any man she knew. He’d given up his noble-class ranking and lifestyle in order to appear meek and humble when he was the furthest thing from it. Had chosen to live in miserable penury and condemned his entire family to a bitter, horrid life that had sent her sister to an early grave from illness and exposure because he didn’t want to be mocked or called out for being a snob or rich man’s son, only to find that he was the worst sort of hypocrite. To spare himself a bit of mockery, he’d dumped twice as much on her and her sister and had killed Rachel in the process.

  Because in the end, everything had been about him and how he wanted others to see him. Not reality, but how he’d wanted to appear to the community. A sick form of anti-vanity vanity. Her father want
ed to appear a victim to garner sympathy from others and had used them as his tools.

  That need to maintain his “standing” and sympathy in the eyes of others was what had led him to destroy his two daughters. Rather than do the right and decent thing for his family that he’d always preached to her and her mother, he’d betrayed them. When she’d needed her father most, he’d turned his back on her and sold her out for his own reputation and sick form of respectability.

  “You will marry, or I will see you dead!”

  And so he had.

  He hadn’t even bothered to attend her funeral. So much for his lies about how concerned he was over what others thought of him, and public expectation. In that moment, she’d learned exactly how much her mother loved her. For the first time in her life, Lizzie O’Dell Moore had defied him and gone against his orders to be the sole attendee at Valynda’s burial, even though nothing save ashes had remained of her.

  If only her mother had defied him sooner, when it’d mattered, and she could have helped her daughter. Then Valynda might not have died and might have survived her father’s stupidity. And Rachel might have grown up, too.

  Now …

  Her mother had killed herself two weeks later out of grief over what she let happen to both her girls. The guilt of what she’d done to them and had allowed her husband to do had been more than she could live with.

  After that, her father had been shunned by the islanders and forced to endure the mockery of everyone knowing he’d ruined his entire family with his selfish cruelty. So maybe in the end, there had been some form of karma after all. By trying to avoid everyone’s mockery by denying his family’s money, her father had brought on his worst fears by his own actions.

  Too bad he’d destroyed three innocent lives in the process.

  Nibo was right. Never run from a fight or from your problems. You’d only die tired if you tried. Better to turn and face them while you had your full strength than to tuck in your tail and try to avoid the inevitable.

  Lightning flickered in Circe’s eyes. “So tell me, Miss Moore … do you continue with Thorn, trusting him to keep his word and find a way to restore your body? Or betray your precious, betraying Nibo and help the Malachai so that he can destroy this world that’s never done you any favors? Or join us for our crew where we all understand you and why you don’t care about the others? Not really, and who can blame you? Hmm? It’s a hard decision, my lady. And I need an answer. What will you do?”

  Valynda had no answer for Circe’s question. Her life was ever a perplexing mess, out of her control, and had been for a long, long time. Every time she tried to fix it, it seemed to only worsen.

  Then worsen more.

  Circe leaned forward and blew a fine golden powder over her. It literally spun and danced about in the air like a group of tiny fairies. Enchanting and beguiling, it made her head spin. Faster and faster it turned. She swore she could even hear it laughing. With a faint apple scent, it warmed her.

  A sudden gasp went through Circe’s crew. They clambered forward as if they were staring at some freakish thing.

  Tears blurred her gaze as the memory of insults and the screams of horror rang in her ears. It was just like that first day when Thorn had brought her back before he’d perfected his shield around her straw body and everyone who’d encountered her had seen her freakish poppet form. People were so unkind. So cruel.

  And that cruelty resonated inside her now and made it almost impossible to see humanity in any other light. For, once having tasted the bitterest part of it, it was hard to ever remember the sweet. Something not helped by the fact that, rather than do the right thing, so many chose to do the wrong.

  Instead of helping her get past what had been done to her by others, they seemed to rush to reinforce in her mind why the Malachai was right and the world needed to end.

  It was indeed a struggle to hold on to a belief that there was good in anyone these days. That people could be helpful and kind. Adarian was right. There were far more reasons to end the world than save it.

  Circe held up a hand mirror to Valynda’s face. Like the others, she gasped at what she saw.

  Nay …

  She must be dreaming. Or else this was another cruel joke being played on her. Aye, that was it. They were beginning to take pleasure in doing this to her.

  Damn them for their futtocking cruelty.

  Angry tears filled her eyes that had tearducts again as she reached to gently finger her now supple cheek.

  “You’re human!” Circe was proud of herself for her work.

  But Valynda wasn’t a fool. She knew well the story of how this witch had transformed men into pigs. Why not turn a pig into a woman? No one did kindness for free. So, it begged the question as to what would the witch want for this? Since she couldn’t have her soul, there must be a steeper price to be paid. “Indeed.”

  Even so, she cupped her cheeks with her hands so that she could savor the sensation of feeling her own flesh. Unlike what Thorn had promised her, this wasn’t just any body, it was hers. A body she’d never thought to have or see again. “How did you do this?”

  Circe shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m a sorceress, milady. Transmutation is one of my many gifts … like the Malachai. But as with him, there are rules to what I do, and there is a price.”

  As she’d feared. Raw dread made her stomach shrink over what fee she’d exact for it. Would it be even worse than what the Malachai had asked? “And that is?”

  “I want my son back. You make Thorn release Agrios, and I’ll make sure that you stay as you are.”

  Stunned, she scowled at her. That seemed eerily easy compared to the fee the others demanded. “And if he refuses?”

  Circe sighed. “Then you’ll revert back to straw.”

  Valynda rubbed her hands down her arms that once again tingled with goose bumps. God, how she’d missed that sensation! It was so surreal to have true feeling again, on flesh that could sense something as light as the breeze touching it. “I will make sure he agrees!”

  “Good.”

  Valynda glanced over to the Sea Witch. It seemed strangely tranquil … almost deserted.

  “There’s one more thing.”

  Of course there was. Her stomach shrinking, Valynda hesitated at the odd note in her voice. Wasn’t there always one more dreaded thing? “That is?”

  Circe handed her a small round bottle of something that looked like blood and herbs mixed together. It strangely reminded her of a darker version of the rum Xuri carried with him. The top was sealed tight with black wax and covered by a hexagram. A piece of twine was wound around it, with a small hagstone and bone charm tied to it. “This is the spell that binds your flesh and maintains you as you are. Keep this bottle safe and undamaged. Should anything ever happen to it, you will again be as you were and become separated from your flesh.”

  Well, that wasn’t creepy at all. What was it with witches and their bottles? Sallie had his, where one had placed his soul as punishment, and now she had hers.

  Still, Valynda was grateful enough not to complain. Anything to be human again.

  Inclining her head, she clutched the bottle in her palm. “Thank you!”

  Circe bowed her head respectfully. “You have until the next full moon to complete your task. If my son returns to me, the spell will hold. If he doesn’t, you’ll turn back to what you were.”

  “Thank you, Lady Circe.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. If you fail, this will be a far worse curse, for there is nothing crueler in life than having a glimpse of what you want most and then having it ripped from your hands when there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

  She was right about that. Valynda had never been one to believe in the old adage that it was far better to have known love and to have lost it than to have not known it at all. Because the truth was, you couldn’t miss what you didn’t know. And having had her life ripped apart so very viciously for no reason whatsoever, she was here to say that it was much,
much better to not know than to watch as those animals who had nothing better to do than play with someone’s life tore it apart for their own selfish reasons.

  “If I can’t have you, no one will. …”

  Benjamin’s psychotic words still chilled her. That was what her father had consigned her to. Two men caught up in their own greed and pride, playing with her life.

  And now you’re playing with the fate of the world.

  That thought sobered her as she realized that she hadn’t thought of that before. Maybe that made her even worse than those men.

  Terrified, she met Circe’s gaze. “You’re sure this will hold?”

  “Positive. But if you cross the Malachai, he will be after you, and he makes a potent enemy.”

  Life was a risk and it was one she was willing to take. Besides, this way she already had her body. Everyone else was making promises she wasn’t sure they could keep. The Malachai wasn’t known for playing well with others. He was a liar and a thief. The worst sort of scoundrel. How could she ever trust someone like him?

  Not to mention, she wasn’t sure she could separate Nibo from his crook.

  A bird in the hand is worth two in the tree. …

  All the others had done was make unfulfilled promises to her. Circe was the first to actually give Valynda her body and show her that it was possible. Give her a feasible outcome.

  This was doable!

  “Very well. I will do what I must.”

  Circe clapped her hands.

  In that instant, a huge windstorm began. It blew in from the water to arc up and over onto the deck. There the water formed hands that lifted her and carried her from Circe’s ship back to the deck of the Sea Witch II, where it set her down gently in front of the captain.

  The reaction there was much more animated.

  First, they rushed to attack her, as they assumed she was an enemy in their midst.