Chapter Six #2
What to do now? Stulla never discussed this situation in her lessons. Then again, they focused on prying the arcane abilities from her, not teaching her to survive amongst foul humans. She wasn’t supposed to be near humans. Not without her aunts nearby.
Twirling, Mila strode away from another table, blithely acting as if she hadn’t noticed the lech.
He continued to follow at her heel like an overconfident spectral.
The ones who just lost their body, realized their new life would be a half-existence as a ghoul, and couldn’t stop speaking about their memories.
“My name is Branstead,” the man called jovially. “I'm the head pirate in these waters, if you talk to most people here.” He pumped a fist with a proud smile. Pride, yes. The fragrant smell wafted from Stulla often. Juniper, mixed with . . . a hint of black pepper.
“Some would say that there’s no such thing as a head pirate, but—” He scoffed. “I prove them wrong with my cannons, don’t I? Anyway, if you’re new here, I’d like to invite you to dine with me. I can introduce you to the right people, if you know what I mean.”
Mila stiffened. She might be sheltered, but she wasn’t an idiot.
He had little-to-no dining in mind. All her aunts had extensively instructed her on the designs of preying men.
On that subject, they had been mutually eager: avoid all human males at all costs, particularly sailors.
When they washed ashore, her aunts imprisoned their souls to serve the sirens, and thus wrought revenge on the gender they long loathed.
Well, some of her aunts. Stulla never participated, nor spoke poorly, about men in general. She never explained why, just as Stinna never explained her seething hatred for men.
“No,” Mila muttered. “I’m not interested in dining, thank you.”
He recoiled dramatically, laughing, “Oh, come now! You finally speak, and it’s only to refuse me! Well, at least I know you’re not mute.”
Mila’s lips tightened.
“No one refuses Branstead!” he cried, slapping the side of a thick stomach that hadn’t entirely gone to fat. He had muscle underneath that wide frame.
Through his forced levity, she heard the note of steel in his voice. “It’s a fair table that I spread, with lots of fresh fish, fruits, and it’s all free for you. Can’t find that offer anywhere else, and I extend it to all the new lovelies that find my island.”
A fair table that I spread must refer to the food he offered. Her head twirled in confusion. No one spoke like this at home. Her aunts rarely laughed. Mother? Never that Mila recalled. Not even the spectrals had this way of double speech: saying one thing, but meaning another.
His hand touched her elbow. She jerked away.
“Leave me alone.”
“Don’t think I will.”
“I’ll—”
“What?”
A fist clamped on her arm, squeezing hard. He scooted closer, shifting them into the middle of the walkway. On either side, people ignored them, eyes averted. Some turned their backs. Branstead must have some power, indeed, to compel others to ignore his foulness.
What did she have to fight him off? A pitiful hope of arcane power locked inside, but no proof it would come to her rescue. This scenario is what Stinna crowed about for most of Mila’s youth. You have the arcane but will never use it.
With his tight grip, Branstead forced Mila to walk. They barreled toward the market end, with no clear path for where to go after. His determination ended on a six-story building with glittering windows, and oddly, no door.
“Here’s what you don’t understand,” Branstead breathed, his heated breath curling in her ear.
“You came to my island seeking something from the market, which you have found: me. The head pirate in these waters, and a man who you cannot turn down. You will eat with me, because I’m boss here and I never let a lovely leave.
After our dinner—and a good time it will be—you can return to your vessel and never see me again. ”
Mila froze before the wooden wall, one of his hands gripping her dress at the small of her back. She wanted to vomit. A scream like a wild sea dervish nearly ripped out of her throat, but fear stopped her. Dare she scream? Make a fuss?
Would anyone care?
Chuckling, Branstead murmured, “See now, you’re in a bit of a pickle.
I don’t take no for an answer, and no one in this market is going to help you.
I control their tables and their dock spaces, you see.
Without me, they’re as good as dead. You can make this a lot easier for everyone else and come with me without a fight. We’ll be easy on you, I promise.”
We’ll be easy on you, I promise.
Oh, no.
The scent of sulfur drenched the air, dredging panic from her stomach.
The we in his statement terrified her more than the rest of his demands.
Mila gazed over her shoulder to find all the vendors facing the other direction.
They spoke with potential buyers, their attention wholly invested away from her.
“You might,” Branstead sang with nasty inference, “think to make a bunch of noise and fight your way out of here, but I would highly recommend you think differently. See, you’re in violation of the law.
Didn’t pay your dock fee. But I’ll be a good pirate and handle that for you.
Over dinner. There’s really no reason to fight, you see. ”
His head tilted to the right, motioning to a similar man with a matching leer. He stood with beefy arms folded over his chest, blocking a path behind the tables that might allow an escape. His glower undressed her.
“You’re attracting new friends,” Branstead said gleefully, motioning to the left. Another miscreant loured from the shadow of a table covered by fronds.
Mila swallowed.
His chubby hand reached out, dusted with grime.
“Come on, now,” he whispered, eyes gleaming. “Be a good girl and come along.”