33. Haunted #3
She pushed past him down the steps, headed for the private cabins near the back of the ship. Jack followed on her heels, but before she could get too far, he grabbed her hand to stop her.
He looked at her intently, his gaze boring into hers. “There’s no blood on your hands,” he said earnestly.
Her heart panged, hearing it for what it was—forgiveness. He didn’t have to offer it, nor had she asked for it. Though the woman he’d contended with the night before had been some consciousness other than her own, she still carried the shame.
With the rest of the crew asleep, they were practically alone here, and she wished they had more time to discuss all the things left unsaid. Hurts, apologies, their future…
Well, their future if they survived.
For now, she only nodded and replied, “I love you. For all you are.” Because surely his own guilt from the night before had not left him. She could see it in the way he gazed at her, and she knew it would burrow into his mind as surely as the blood coated her hands.
Not real, but real enough to hurt.
He stepped closer and raised her fingers to his mouth, pressing a warm kiss to her knuckles where the blood was thickest. His lips came away clean, proving to her that it was only the haunting.
Too soon, he let go and turned for the crew’s quarters.
His voice rose, barking a command for them to wake.
Cecily rushed to Greyson and Hester’s door and pounded on the wood. It opened to reveal her cheerless friends.
“We need the tide stones,” Cecily said before they could speak.
Greyson stared at her in growing awe. “You survived siren sickness.”
Hester said, gazing at her in the same way, “We thought for sure that one of you was dead after you went quiet last night.”
“Yes, we’re both alive.” Cecily urgently gestured toward Hester’s bracelet. “May we borrow those?”
“I never heard of anyone surviving it,” Greyson said reverently. “We saw you changing before Jack took you away. Heard you fightin’ him all night and thought there was no way he could…”
“We’re both fine,” Cecily insisted. “Please may I have the stones before Jonah comes to kill us.”
“Jack said the stones aren’t real,” Greyson said while Hester unclasped the chain.
“Jack lied,” Cecily said, the words heavy on her tongue. “Probably didn’t want anyone else to have them, because if there’s anything powerful enough to save our asses, it’s these.” Hester set the bracelet in Cecily’s open palm. With a breathy thanks, Cecily took off for the main deck.
She hardly noticed how the waking crew watched in reverential silence as she passed.
An hour later, the Fortuna Royale was sailing faster than was possible.
Behind the wheel, Copson watched the horizon. The yellow stone hung around his neck, filling the sails with wind while the green stone glowed faintly in a bowl of sea water at his right. The moment he’d dropped it in the water, the ocean seemed to pull the ship to the northeast.
The pirates held on to their hats and the rigging, leaning into the wind as the ship groaned with the strain of their speed. Cecily moved among them, and no matter how staunchly she tried to ignore it, she felt their attention trailing her.
Copson had warned the crew that Jonah’s power would twist their minds. Most, like Jack, were troubled by a quiet anxiety that left their mouths pursed and spines stiff. A handful, like Cecily, saw or felt their greatest regrets and either busied themselves or withdrew completely.
There was little conversation and no happiness, as though they’d all become husks of themselves—until they saw her. Only then did she hear whispers of serpent and siren sickness, and one instance of unkillable. A spark of hope lit their eyes, and she wished she could feel the same.
The sailors didn’t know that killing the serpent had been one of her idiotic whims and that she’d only been saved because a friend looked out for her.
They didn’t realize she only survived the sickness because Jack was strong.
And she wasn’t unkillable—the blood on her hands reminded her that she’d be very killable had she not fully explored the dregs of her own desperation.
Their misplaced hope was nothing more than superstition. It made her skin crawl, so she made her way to Jack’s side where he stood with his father, hoping to hide herself for a few minutes behind the Copson men.
“Can the Fortuna withstand this?” Jack asked his father.
His coat whipped around him, his tawny hair blowing back from his stern face as he surveyed the sails and taut lines as though the masts might snap in half.
No matter how much wind filled the canvas, the sails and masts continued to drip, like the ship itself was haunted along with its crew.
“If it doesn’t, will it matter?” Copson replied evenly.
A scrap of paper was wedged between his thumb and the wheel, and he’d occasionally scribble a new line.
A tiny crab scuttled near one of the spokes, and the captain flicked it away.
Then he handed the paper to Jack. “We’ll split the crew.
At sunset, you’ll be acting captain and sail through the night. ”
Jack read the list. “So we’ll get to England in half the time,” he said, sounding unconvinced. “And Jonah can kill us there instead.”
Copson lifted the stones. “A quarter of the time. Two weeks, three at most, and every day he doesn’t catch us is another day to consider what we’ll do when he finally does.”
“Die,” Jack said with biting sarcasm.
The captain turned a bored look on his son. “That would hardly be appropriate. I haven’t found my treasure yet.”
Jack’s expression chilled even more, but Cecily elbowed him lightly before he could launch into an argument. Several pirates looked their way, and seeing the Copsons fight would put no one at ease.
“Notify your crew, then rest,” the captain said to Jack. “You’ll sail tonight.”
“Cecily’s not on my crew,” Jack said. “Why?”
Cecily scanned the list, a knot forming in her chest.
“The crew is terrified and I need you both to fix it,” Copson said, the howling wind tearing his voice away from any unsuspecting ears. He glanced at Cecily. “Especially you. The hardier men will sail with Jack, the more nervous will be kept in the daylight. I want them to see you.”
Copsons didn’t miss anything. He’d seen the way the crew looked at her too.
However, she grimaced, prickling at the idea of parading around like some herald of fortune. “I’m not a good luck charm.”
“You are,” he said, his tone leaving no space for dispute.
“If we are to be cursed, then you will prove not all curses overcome us. Your sickness was unfortunate but not without convenience. You’re a cunning little snipe, so surely you can see this from my side.
” He pulled his gaze back to the sea. “Make them hope, and this journey will be slightly more bearable.”
She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this. He wanted to separate her from Jack—but for what purpose? To convince Jack he was better without her?
Or perhaps her paranoia was merely the beginning of this haunting.
No matter their objections, it was a command both she and Jack would be compelled to follow. They wouldn’t argue—not when so many lives hung in the balance.
So, terrified but hiding it well, they obeyed.