Chapter 11 Danica #2
"Nothing, just a jealous harpy who thinks I'm out to steal her pirate orgy," I fire back into his mind, rolling my eyes for good measure.
Rhyland scoffs beside me, shaking his head. He knows damn well I can handle myself, so he just leans back and lets me handle it. He’s got that look on his face, probably remembering how I handled Amara and her brand of bullshit.
Erik's eyes dart back and forth between Izabelle and me, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth like he's desperately trying to hold in a laugh. He knows I won't just sit back and take shit from anyone, especially not some skanky pirate whore.
"I'm not interested in your men," I laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. "Maybe if you spent less time worrying about me and more time working on your own charm and wit, you wouldn't have to resort to petty intimidation tactics to keep your crew in line."
Izabelle looks like she's about to explode, her face turning an alarming shade of purple. I can practically see the steam coming out of her ears as she struggles to respond coherently.
"Enough, Izabelle," Gideon orders. "The lass is our guest. Treat her with respect."
Izabelle looks like she wants to argue but thinks better of it. With a final glare in my direction, she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest.
Game, set, and match, bitch. Better luck next time.
Acouple of hours, a shitload of rum, and a whole lot of me wiping the floor with these so-called pirates later, I'm sitting pretty in the winner's circle and feeling damn good about my buzz.
We've been yapping about this Siren's Lyre thing and why the Merfolk can't just swim in and grab it themselves.
These fishy folks have been trying to get their fins on this magical trinket for generations, hoping to use its power to boost their magical mojo. The thing is guarded by crazy puzzles and traps that have stumped them for ages.
This sea goddess Lyria gave the Siren's Lyre to the Merfolk's ancestors and pumped it with some seriously potent juju. But Lyria, being the crafty goddess she was, wanted to ensure no one could waltz in and snatch it. So, she set up this whole gauntlet of trials where the trinket is hidden.
These trials are designed to be impossible for any sea critter to solve. Apparently, you need some unique set of skills and qualities.
So, the Merfolk have been swimming in circles for centuries, trying to crack this code but coming up empty-handed every time. It's like the world's most frustrating underwater escape room.
I look at Gideon skeptically. "And what, Captian, makes you think I'm the key to snagging this little bauble?"
"Aye, lass. You said so yerself. You've got that fancy light magic mojo going on—Chosen One and all that jazz. So, why the hell not?" Gideon shrugs like it's the most obvious thing since rum and bad decisions.
I can't help but roll my eyes. "Oh, sure. Because being the 'Chosen One' automatically means I'm some magical lockpick for ancient underwater puzzles, right?"
Gideon chuckles, shaking his head. "You've gotta admit, it's a hell of a coincidence, love. The Merfolk have been trying to crack this thing for generations, and then you show up, destined and shit. Ye need a reason to meet with the Queen—here is your shot."
I guess there's only one way to find out.
I excuse myself from the table because my bladder is about to stage a mutiny if I don't hit the head soon. All that rum's gone to my kidneys, and they're unhappy about it.
As I'm weaving my way through the crowded tavern, the rum decides to sucker punch me right in the equilibrium. Suddenly, I'm a dizzy dame, stumbling around. I have to stop and grab onto a chair to keep from face-planting on the sticky floor.
Holy hell, that's some potent pirate juice.
After taking a moment to remember which way is up, I finally make it to the ladies' room and take care of business. Sweet relief. I feel much lighter and less wobbly as I return to the table.
On my way, I spot this gypsy-looking woman tucked back in a small room in the corner of the tavern with a spread of tarot cards in front of her.
She's got that mysterious, fortune-teller vibe—long, flowing skirts, jangly bracelets, and a scarf wrapped around her head.
Her eyes are lined with kohl, making them look even more intense as they lock onto mine.
She crooks a finger at me, beckoning me to her table with a knowing smile. It's like she's been waiting for me—like she knew I'd be stumbling by at this moment.
Part of me wants to keep walking, ignore her, and return to the game. But there's something about her—something that pulls at me like a magnet. Before I know it, my feet move, carrying me closer to her table and whatever secrets she might hold.
I guess I'm about to get my fortune told, whether I like it or not. Here's hoping the cards are kind and that this isn't just some rum-fueled hallucination.
As I stroll up to the gypsy's table, the heady aroma of incense and spices wraps around me like a sensual caress, making my head spin even more than the copious amounts of rum I've already guzzled down.
The woman's eyes pierce through me, and I can't help but shiver as I plop down in the seat across from her, my legs sprawling out in front of me.
It's not exactly the picture of grace and poise, but with all this rum sloshing around in my system—being a proper lady? She has pretty much packed her bags and caught the first flight out of here.
Before I can even open my mouth to speak, she's on her feet and moving towards the door with a swiftness that belies her age. The lock clicks into place with an ominous finality, and I can't help but raise an eyebrow at her sudden need for privacy.
"Well," I drawl, folding my arms over my chest. "Looks like we've officially entered the 'serious business' zone."
I've never been one to buy into tarot cards, fortune tellings, or any of that hocus-pocus. I'm a science girl—I deal with facts, equations, and hard evidence. So, you can bet I'm eyeing her with more skepticism than a cat at bath time.
The gypsy stares at me, her expression inscrutable. " I am Nixie, and I sense a great destiny about you, child," her voice low and throaty. "But also great danger."
I can't help but snort at that, my lips twisting into a wry grin. "Tell me something I don't know," I quip. "Danger is pretty much my middle name at this point."
She ignores my sarcasm, her eyes never leaving mine. "You seek answers," her voice becoming mystical. "About your power—it's lost."
I bolt upright, my buzz evaporating fast—my heart pounding in my chest, "How the hell do you..."
She waves a hand dismissively as if my question is of no consequence. "The cards whisper secrets to those who know how to listen."
"Can you fix me?" a glimmer of hope in my voice. Maybe this Gypsy—Nixie can shed some light on why my light has decided to take an extended leave of absence, leaving me high and dry while it sips margaritas on some cosmic beach.
"I shall try."
I lean forward, my elbows resting on the table as I fix her with a determined stare. "Alright, then," my voice low and serious. "Let's hear what they have to say."
The gypsy nods, her fingers deftly shuffling the worn deck of tarot cards. The soft swish of paper against paper fills the air like a whispered promise. She lays them out on the table, her eyes fluttering closed as she begins to chant in a language I don't understand.
The gypsy's fingers deftly flip over the first card, and I can't help but lean in for a closer look. "The Lovers," she announces, tapping the card with a knowing smile. "Your past, present, and future—your mate. A Viking vampire, fierce and loyal. Your destiny."
I nearly choke on my spit at her words, my eyes bugging out of my head like a cartoon character. "Ummm…wow," I sputter. "How do you know—?
The gypsy chuckles, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "The cards, my dear. They reveal all."
I narrow my eyes at her, not entirely convinced. But before I press further, she's already moving on to the next card like she didn't just drop a major truth bomb on my ass.
"The Tower," she declares, laying down a card that looks like some sort of medieval 9/11. "Trials and tribulations, magic and Fae. You've faced them all and emerged stronger for it."
I can't help but nod, a rueful smile tugging at my lips. "You can say that again," I mutter, thinking back on all the crazy shit Rhyland and I have been through. "But I'm not sure if 'stronger' is the right word. More like 'barely hanging on by a thread.'"
The gypsy clucks her tongue, shaking her head. "Ah, but you underestimate yourself, my dear. The fact that you're still standing here after all you've endured? That takes a strength that few possess."
I can feel my cheeks heating up at her words. "Yeah, well, I had help," I mumble, thinking of Rhyland, Lucian Erik, and all the others who have stood by my side.
Nixie smiles, her eyes knowing. "Of course you did. No one can face such trials alone. But your inner strength allowed you to accept that help and trust in others even when the world seemed darkest."
I swallow hard, feeling a lump forming in my throat. She's right, of course. As much as I like to play the tough, independent badass, I know I wouldn't have made it this far without the people who have become my family.
I can feel the sting of tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as I think of all the people who have become like family to me on this wild ride. Axilya, Faderyn, even the snarky bastard Lucian—I miss them all so damn much it feels like there's a gaping hole in my chest.
Nixie must sense my sudden melancholy because she reaches out and pats my hand in a gesture of comfort. "The bonds of friendship and love are never truly broken, my dear," she says softly. "Even when distance separates us, those connections remain."
I sniffle a bit, nodding my head in agreement. "Yeah, I know," I mutter, swiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. "Doesn't make it suck any less, though."
Nixie chuckles, her eyes twinkling with understanding. "Indeed it does not. But take heart, for the cards have more to reveal."