Chapter 62 Danica
Danica
"Hold up, Cordelia's pulling the strings with the Dark Tides?" I ask, my eyebrows shooting up so high they practically hit my hairline. "I thought Calypso was supposed to be the resident sea witch with a monopoly on all things aquatic."
Mirella shakes her head as she dips her pen back into the ink. With a few quick strokes, she scribbles out a response.
The stone Cordelia poces possesses control the waters.
"The Aquanite stone." I muse, my mind racing to connect the dots. "So that's the secret behind the Dark Tides? But why? And more importantly, why let Calypso take the fall? And what curse?"
Mirella takes a deep breath, frustrated. "It is easier to show you than try to tell you."
"Okay, how do you show me?"
"The Atlantean Ruins has the answers. There's a book down there written by a mermaid scribe—a seer named Nixie."
Nixie?
That name hits me like a ton of bricks. "Nixie? As in the Gypsy on Captain's Haven?"
Mirella's eyes light up like she just won the underwater lottery. "You know Nixie?"
"I met her once," I confirm, my brow furrowing as I try to piece together this mind-bending puzzle. "She read my cards to me..." I squint my eyes shut, shaking my head. "Are you sure we're talking about the same person here? Because I'm pretty sure the Nixie I met had legs, not fins."
Mirella nods her head so frantically I'm half-worried it might fall off. "Yes, that's her... It's..." She struggles again, her words getting caught in her throat like a fish in a net. I point to the paper, silently urging her to write it down before she pops a blood vessel.
I can't blame her—if I couldn't speak my mind freely, I'd be pretty pissed off, too. She quickly scribbles again, her quill flying across the parchment…
Nixie scibed scribed her vicion vision. She was a mermaid before she traded her fins for legs to permenetly permane escp escape the sea and the curse
Holy shit. If someone had told me that Nixie, of all people, would be tangled up in this underwater shit show, I would've laughed in their face. But here we are, and apparently, the Gypsy who read my fortune is a former mermaid with a direct line to the secrets of Atlantis.
Go figure.
And this curse she's talking about? I'm willing to bet my left tit that it's got everything to do with Mirella's magical gag order and Cordelia.
I turn to Mirella, my mind already racing ahead. "Okay, so the next order of business is for us to get our hands on that book and see what it says. I want to know everything."
Because let's face it, knowledge is power. And in a world where Mirella can't even voice what the hell is going on without choking on her own words, this book might just be our golden ticket to the truth.
Mirella nods her head in agreement, a determined glint in her eye. "I can go retrieve it; I know exactly where they are," she says, and I don't doubt her for a second.
"What about the Siren's Lyre?" Erik asks, "We need to get that first, don't you think?"
Erik has a valid point; I shouldn't be deterred from questing to the Atlantean Ruins right now. Maybe Cordelia will throw another tantrum, trying to drown us.
"Okay, let's divide and conquer," I offer. "Mirella, you grab the scrolls, book, or whatever, and we will stay the course and head to Tempest Isle."
"Whoa, whoa, hold your seahorses there, Princess," Lucian cuts in, his smartassery dialed up to eleven.
"You're seriously thinking about sending little mermaid here, who's got strings pulled by some sea queen with a throne lodged up her ass, on a solo mission to Indiana Jones her way through ancient ruins and bring back some magical paperwork unscathed? Really? Are we in the same movie here?"
Lucian makes a fair point, and I can't help but smirk. "Alright, smart-ass, what's your grand plan, then?"
"We'll go with Mirella," Seraphina declares, cutting Lucian off at the pass. "I would love to see the Ruins."
I can't help but snort at the look on Lucian's face. It's like someone just told him his favorite leather pants are out of style.
"No way, Cupcake. I'll go with Mirella, and you, with your sweet, angelic ass, will stay right here where it's safe. No arguments." Lucian fires back.
Gideon saunters in like he just battled Poseidon, taking a seat at our table. He pours himself a pint of ale and downs it in one go. "Got the ship righted, and we be on course to Tempest Isle."
"Great. How far is that from the Atlantean Ruins?" I fire back, my mind already racing ahead.
Gideon's brow furrows like a confused seagull. "Not far at all, love," scratching his beard. "It be on the way to that cursed Isle. Why do ye ask?"
"Perfect!" I exclaim, a grin spreading across my face. "We'll be making a little pit stop. Mirella, Lucian, and Seraphina will snag the scrolls, book, or whatever the hell it is while we continue to Tempest Isle. Gideon, you'll drop us off and follow up to wait for our little mermaid squad."
Rhyland, quiet as a predator on the hunt, finally breaks his silence. "Damn, baby," he drawls, a flirty smirk playing on his lips. "When the hell did you become such a badass military strategist?"
Erik clears his throat. "I do believe the Little Huntress has learned from the best; by that, I mean myself." He punctuates his words with a wink, and I can't help but let out a snort of laughter.
"Oh great," Lucian cuts in, throwing up his hands. "Erik’s getting an ego boost now? Just what we need. Nope, sorry. That’s my gig.
You can take your newfound swagger and fuck right off with it, pal.
There's only room for one charming asshole in this group, and that spot's already taken.
I mean, really, what's next? Rhyland learning to smile?
Dani making a bad decision? The apocalypse is clearly upon us, folks!
Batten down the hatches and prepare for the end times because Erik just tried to be funny. May the gods have mercy on our souls."
I can't help but laugh, shaking my head in amusement.
Erik arches an eyebrow. "Lucian, your insecurity is showing.
Perhaps if you spent less time trying to assert your supposed charm and more time honing your wit, you wouldn't feel so threatened by a mere quip.
As for your role in this group, I believe 'court jester' would be more fitting than 'charming asshole.
' But fear not. Your position is secure.
After all, someone needs to provide comic relief, even if it's unintentional.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more pressing matters than engaging in a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent. "
Erik quickly gets up from the table and stomps off, and I damn near choke on my tongue at his retort. Knowing him, he's probably off to sharpen his sword for the millionth time until it can split a hair lengthwise.
Lucian's jaw drops, his eyes wide as saucers. For a moment, he sputters incoherently, clearly caught off guard by Erik's unexpected verbal jab.
"I... you... what... did you just... holy shit-balls on a stick!
Did Erik just... sass me? Am I having a stroke?
Is this real life? Someone pinch me. I must be dreaming.
Or maybe I've died and gone to some bizarro alternate universe where Erik has a personality.
Quick, someone check if pigs are flying outside! "
He dramatically clutches his chest, faking a heart attack. "Oh, the pain! The agony! I've been wounded by words sharper than Erik's usual glare. How will I ever recover from such a devastating blow to my ego?"
Still perched on his lap like the world's most angelic armrest, Seraphina giggles. Her laughter is clear and musical, like a chorus of tiny bells. It starkly contrasts Lucian's theatrics, and I can't help but smile myself.
"Alright, Count Dracula," I drawl, fighting back a smirk. "Maybe save the theatrics for the sirens? You can distract them with your Oscar-worthy performance while the rest of us snag the lyre."
He drops the act, that familiar mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Why, Princess, you wound me. And here I thought my skills deserved at least a Golden Globe nomination."
"In what century?" I scoff, arching an eyebrow. "The 1500s? Your acting's about as fresh as a decomposing corpse."
Poor Mirella sits there, eyes wide like saucers, watching the exchange unfold. She looks utterly bewildered at our sassy and smart-ass barbing.
Meanwhile, the captain is in stitches; deep belly laughs rocking his broad frame as he slams another pint of ale.
Seraphina's giggles die to soft chuckles, but amusement still dances in her eyes. I can't help but marvel at the scene before me—here we are, on the brink of a potentially world-ending clusterfuck, and we're cracking jokes like it's just another Tuesday night.
But you know what? Maybe that's precisely what we need. A moment of levity before we dive headfirst into the cosmic shitstorm that awaits. Because if we can laugh in the face of danger, maybe—just maybe—we've got a shot at coming out the other side with our sanity intact.