35. The Ghost of Jonah Lovibond
THE GHOST OF JONAH LOVIBOND
Jack was sitting on the bed, shoving his feet into his boots when Cecily slipped into the room. Dark circles sagged beneath his heavy eyes. If he’d slept, it hadn’t been restful.
“Evening,” she greeted softly. She’d slipped away early to see him, hoping to have a few minutes with him before he took over as captain.
Jack stood and shrugged into his long coat. There was anger in the way he moved, fury in the set of his mouth—he was a man who was used to having everything under control, only to be faced with night after night of uncertainty. “Evening.”
Trepidation urged her to slow her steps as she crossed the room to him, but she pushed past her fear as she always did, as Jack and all the others had done too.
She lifted a gloved hand, displaying the set of finished mermaid-scale knives.
The black scales were thinner now, fabulously sharp and tapered to cruel points.
All three had different hilts, giving each a unique beauty.
She was proud of them, for after all the terrors of these past weeks, she had still managed to create something beautiful.
Jack lifted one from her palm. It glittered as he tilted it, then he lightly strummed his thumb over the sharp edge.
“Your father would be proud,” he said.
Cecily ought to have smiled at the compliment, but one edge of her mouth turned down. The sentiment cut surprisingly deep, because she could only hope he was right and would never know for sure.
Blood, coughing, dread… She tried not to flinch as it all began again.
Jack studied her, missing nothing. “Was that the wrong thing to say?”
“Not at all,” she said with a feeble smile. She shoved at the thought of her father, the hallucinations, the anxiety creeping down her back. Without meaning to, she wiped her hand on her leg.
Jack saw that too, and the flames in his eyes guttered. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’ve just made it worse, haven’t I?”
“You didn’t,” she said. “It was already there.”
He didn’t believe her. “I’m sorry,” he said again.
She could practically see the thoughts playing through his mind. This was not the terror of ghosts that had driven him to rage. No, this was fear of her hatred and the painful memory of a mother who had let herself waste away.
Pocketing the knives, she took hold of his forearms and stretched up on her toes to kiss him.
It was the first kiss she’d had in two weeks, and the simple feel of him and his closeness chased away the chill she hadn’t been able to escape since Jonah began his pursuit.
Beneath her fingers, his arms lacked the bulk of bandages. She didn’t know when he’d stopped wearing them. The wounds would be mostly healed by now, but that didn’t account for the ones she’d left in his mind, which the haunting now twisted and used to abuse him.
He kissed her back, his mouth gentle and subdued, as though he wouldn’t let himself enjoy her.
“I love you,” she whispered against him. “Whatever convinces you otherwise is a lie.”
“It is very hard,” he said, “to believe I am not the worst possible thing that could have happened to you.” He shut his eyes for a breath, and when he opened them, they were bright with longing. “And I know you will say otherwise, but there’s still more you don’t know—”
“That you’ve sworn to tell me,” she said. “I understand, Jack—”
“You don’t.” He shook his head. “You couldn’t—not without the explanation I owe you.
And when I speak to you, when I see you and crave your touch…
” His hand slid over her hip, gripping her beneath her coat.
“I’m reminded how selfish I’ve been, and that I’m a devil to have made you mine.
And when you realize that, you’ll run your sword right through my heart—and I won’t even blame you for it. ”
“That’s not true,” she said emphatically, even as her hands were coated with blood that felt so real. “It’s only the haunting. You know that.” So many assurances, but none of them would land.
A mournful smile spread over his lips, heartbreakingly handsome. “What I know, my darling,” he said as his other hand moved to her face, “haunting or not, you will try to kill me again. It’ll hardly be the first time, and I doubt it’ll be the last.”
She shook her head again, about to insist otherwise, but then a bell rang. It wasn’t the frantic clanging to call all hands, but a summons for Jack.
Cecily reached for his face. “We could very well die at any moment, and I’ll not have you convinced that I hate you when that happens.”
She pulled him down to her into another kiss. This time he gave in.
He hauled her to him, kissing her like they truly might die, like he was selfish, and she was glad that he did as she echoed his desperation back to him. Because she loved him, and she needed him to believe it.
Jonah was close. So terrifyingly close.
The bell rang again, but Jack and Cecily didn’t stop, every moment stolen without any hint of remorse. If this was to be their last bit of time together, they would be the best of thieves and take what they wanted.
Then the bell rang a third time, and Jack broke away. It was all they could get away with, and they would have to be satisfied.
“I love you,” he ground out, voice raw. He moved toward the door, touching her for every second he could. “Sleep well, Cecily. I’ll see you in the morning.”
It went without saying that nothing—not even morning—was assured.
A few hours later, the Fortuna Royale jerked so violently that Cecily nearly rolled out of bed.
Muffled clanging and bangs carried through the walls as cargo dislodged and fell. The ship groaned and creaked around her, her body swaying as the ship—impossibly—ground to a halt.
She blinked against the darkness, her shaking breath loud in her ears. The room looked different in the moonlight, and it took her a beat to realize why.
She felt it before she saw it.
The air was drastically colder, so frigid that her breath clouded and hung in front of her, lingering before dissipating. Ice had bloomed around the porthole and crept down the wall, turning every surface white beneath a thin layer of frost.
As the ship stopped protesting, a deafening silence filled the cabin. Her ears strained against the wrongness, the silence, the disturbing lack of water rushing against the hull.
She could always hear the water.
They had stopped, either because the tide stones had stopped working or…Jonah had finally caught them.
There came a quiet cough, so close it sounded like it was in the room with her. She only had time to glance at the corners of the room to ensure no one was there before the furious clanging of the all-hands bell tore through the ship.
Still fully dressed, she flew from beneath the covers, shoved her feet into her boots, and grabbed her sword from its sheath. She scooped up the three mermaid-scale knives, kicked the door out of her way, and hurried for the steps.
The day crew streamed ahead of her, weapons in hand, only to cry out at whatever they saw on the main deck. When she mounted the last step, her breath caught in her throat.
It looked like the dead of winter. The sails had frozen, glittering with frost in the moonlight.
Many had torn or broken, and bits of canvas hung like giant icicles.
The deck wore a fine layer of ice, and the warming drums had been extinguished as the fires had given up.
More ice had gathered around the hull, thick sheets holding the ship in place on the surface of the sea.
It extended for nearly a mile before it turned back to sparkling waves.
“It’s July,” she whispered, half-hoping one of the other pirates might overhear and tell her was six months off. None of them did, muttering similar things to themselves.
Jack thundered down the steps from the quarterdeck, pushing through the crew to rush to her. “Go back,” he commanded. “Go downstairs and don’t come out.”
“What’s—?”
“Go back downstairs!” Jack begged, sword in hand. He herded her toward the steps, his eyes blazing with unchecked fear.
But she wouldn’t leave her crew out here while she cowered and hid. Jack knew that, and for him to disregard it…
Sidestepping him, she looked behind the Fortuna Royale and beheld the beginnings of the nightmare.
Neptune swept toward them in ominous silence, glowing red and sailing so close she could see the spokes of the unmanned helm.
It was a monstrous vessel, nearly twice the size of Copson’s ship.
Its rotting, barnacle-studded hull crawled with sea creatures and trailed streams of seaweed while towering black sails fluttered in the breezeless night.
There was no one on board.
Instead of pushing her to run and hide, Jack merely reached for Cecily’s hand as the ship slowed, then drifted along the starboard.
Copson’s crew waited in petrified stillness while the captain stood in front of them, ready to greet Jonah.
Several heartbeats passed. The smell of rot and death had grown stronger, and Cecily held her breath both for the stench and for fear as she clutched Jack’s hand like it was all that kept her grounded.
Then the Neptune erupted. Bellowing ghosts burst from its hull, their transparent bodies passing seamlessly through the wood as they flung themselves across the gap between the ships. They flooded onto the Fortuna Royale and barreled into the pirates.
The ghosts’ swords clashed and rang against steel, but that was the only thing corporeal about them.
Cecily watched in horror, pushed back from the line of battle as they tore through Copson’s crew, stabbing and beheading, spilling blood across the deck while the living pirates’ weapons sailed through the ghosts as though they weren’t there at all.
Cecily met Jack’s gaze. The ship was stuck, and there was no way to kill ghosts.
They were going to die.