by Raine Miller
Davis packed her baubles back into her basket.
She dropped her sandals to the floor and slipped into them. “Did you know it was a portal?” Emily eyed the congenial werewolf, taking care with her mirror, her portal, as she moved closer to assist him.
“No. It’s unusual for one to be this small. I don’t know how Mick surmised. But he may be wrong, Pawes.”
“You think Silvestri used me?” She sat again, uncertain.
“It doesn’t matter what I believe. What do you consider the truth?”
“I don’t know. He never asked me anything about the Quill, nor about Mick. He told me about this world. He helped me find my way. I’m a suspicious person, Davis. I assumed he wanted something from me. I don’t know at this moment what I believe.” She lifted the pendant at the end of the chain, glanced at it a moment, slipped it off from around her neck, and tucked it into her pocket.
“Can I leave now?” she asked the bickering couple.
When they ignored her, Davis picked up the basket and grabbed the bag. She took up the smaller pack and followed him past Jezebel and Mick, heads together. It looked like their argument was ending, no more shouting, but a lot of whispering. He stroked her arm and she laid a hand on his chest.
Outside, the sun was setting. It seemed hard to believe an entire day passed since leaving Tortuga. She wondered where Silvestri was at this moment, off on his mysterious voyage. She ignored everyone, went to stand at the rail and reached into her pocket. For a moment, she considered throwing the wonderful pendant away. Throwing everything he’d given her away was one way to handle her pain.
He knew she searched for a portal. Maybe he didn’t know the mirror was a portal? She kept her hand wrapped around the chain in her pocket and shook her head.
“You looked right together.”
She turned to gaze at Tink, the last woman she’d expect to hear a kind sentiment from. Tink met her eyes, a crooked smile on her face. But it wasn’t an unkind smile. It appeared thoughtful, almost envious. “You whirled and twirled, completely focused on each other. One would have thought no one else was in the grotto, just you two. Absolute perfection. Even the vampires commented on how perfectly you danced. They were enormously impressed with your waltzing. I talked with Keitran. He remembered you and regretted your escaping them. They do so enjoy a good dancer. I told him you’d never dance like that with them. They’d need to take him, too.” She chuckled. “Made him laugh. Imagine a vampire with the devil’s luck? Would the curse embrace the idea, knowing it would make him nearly Immortal or see it as an attack? Boggles the mind!”
Emily took a deep breath, fighting not to cry, scream, or babble.
Tink lightly touched her arm, and they both turned to watch the sun set, saying nothing more.
***
For two days, Emily ignored the rest of the crew. She felt old, and looking at any of them reminded her of exactly how many years she’d been around. She caught Mick eyeing her whenever she took to the deck. Davis brought her food to the cabin, but she barely ate.
The third day, they anchored at the Baths Island. Emily didn’t even ask to go ashore. She knew there was no settlement, no way off and she didn’t want to be marooned or risk reminding herself of how wonderful it was when Silvestri showed her the great pool. She examined her mirror again and again, and tried to will it to show her something. But it remained just the bit of bric a brac she’d won from the woman at the pirate festival.
Most of the crew remained ashore that night. Emily heard Mick return to the ship cursing and assumed he’d fought with Jezebel again. It didn’t matter, they’d work it out. Emily had grown used to watching them spit and circle each other. It was usually a prelude to their disappearing into the cabin for hours on end. Some people enjoyed the rush of a good battle. Who was she to judge?
Not like her and Silvestri. One thing about Alan, he wasn’t argumentative.
She crawled onto her cot, wearing a tattered pair of breeches and a light shirt. She still hadn’t taken the pendant from her pocket. So tired, confused by all she’d been told, she drifted into a troubled sleep.
When the finger of cold air crept through the thick hull to touch her, she shivered. A dream wove around her, of Alan, his soft voice and warm hands. But nothing was warm about this dream. The shivering grew worse, but she didn’t wake. Finally, it stopped and her eyes opened.
But her eyes were blue, before slowly fading to brown.
***
Mick couldn’t believe how angry Jezebel was. Days later, and she still kept him at a distance. Usually, he found their fights energetic, and when they made up, the sex was incredible. She was wondrous when angry.
He burped, gazing toward the shore. The fires on the beach glowed where the rest enjoyed the night. The crew was subdued, concerned about the congenial new shipmate, but were following Jezzie’s lead and feigning a lack of concern. Emily Pawes was keeping to her cabin. She hadn’t mixed a drink since they’d left Tortuga. She should stick to what she did best, he fumed.
Lifting a hand, he brushed at the letter in his coat pocket. He hadn’t shared it with Jezebel. A letter from Alan Silvestri, promising the Immortal to him if he came alone to the southern tip of Bath Island. He’d talked Jezzie into stopping there, but wasn’t sure if he trusted the letter. Silvestri spoke of mutual respect and the truth. He knew the truth, already. Didn’t he?
When her hand fell on his arm, he jerked away.
“Christ’s blood, Pawes! What the hell are you doing, sneaking around?”
She didn’t answer, only pointed to the cutter tied to the starboard side of the ship.
He tilted his head at her, wondering what she was about. She touched his arm again, pulling him toward the rail. There was urgency to her demeanor.
“Ah, you know where he is, don’t you? Know about the offer he made to me? What does it mean, Pawes? He’s gonna turn the ship over to me? It’s a trick, isn’t it?”
She shrugged and climbed over the rail.
Mick patted his sash, where he kept a pistol ready for use. He was fine with using her to get close to that bastard, to make sure he didn’t try anything. He grinned and followed her down the hull to the cutter.
She untied the small boat and lifted an oar. He turned, searching for the other. He didn’t know what hit him.
Hours later, he woke up groaning, hands tied behind his back. He managed to sit up—it was still dark. But he couldn’t see the ship or the island. He turned to see Pawes, one hand tight to the tiller, the other holding his pistol. That hand didn’t waver, pointed the heavy pistol straight at him. He didn’t think she could manage that for too long.
“Emily…this isn’t necessary. Come on, woman. Put the pistol down.” He glanced at the small mast where a sail had been rigged and strained for all its worth. He straightened his back, and an icy cold wind ripped his hat off. “Damn!”
That wind wasn’t natural. He lowered himself in the cutter, shivering. A glance at Pawes, frozen to the tiller, caused that reaction to translate into something other than driven by icy air. She wasn’t shaking with cold. She wasn’t moving. The waning moon illuminated her face. No expression. Her hair blew forward, with the wind that carried them at such speed. She wore a light shirt, ragged breeches—damn, she must be cold!
He shook his head and worked at the knotted rope around his wrists.
CHAPTER 21
So cold. She’d died and gone to California Hell, where the sun wasn’t warm, and the cold was deeper than an Alaskan crab boat on the Bering Sea. She kept trying to wake up and draw the blankets tighter….
A sudden jarring finally forced her eyes to clear and focus. But instead of the darkness of her cabin, she faced a wall of ice, coming at her fast and Mick staring at her. The small mast was too tall for the opening! She dove forward, Mick staring up at her with shock. He was going to get hurt!
The loud snap of the mast was the last thing she heard. Mick felt soft…and warm. Something struck her head and sh
e was out. Again.
***
Mick cursed, trying to push Pawes off his back. He’d almost gotten the knot loose when she suddenly threw off the walking sleep, screamed at something behind him, and threw herself atop him.
He’d spent the night working on that knot. He tested her, moved to one side, and she aimed the pistol at him, another side, it followed. Yet her eyes didn’t track him. It went on all night. Thank God she didn’t pay attention to what was going on behind his back, with his nimble fingers.
The sun rose while the wind grew faster. The spray from the bow soaked through the back of his coat. When the sail split, the little boat should have stopped. It didn’t and he’d realized they were being driven by some devil current. Ice crystals sparkled on Pawes’ hair. The spray had soaked through her shirt, her nipples stood out plain and they were stiff; he almost groaned. Another time, another place, he’d find them enticing, but he knew they were stiff with cold.
If she came out of this, she’d be in some serious pain. Then, to have her wake and just surge at him! What was the matter with the woman?
Finally, he was able to shove her body to one side, free his hands and assess the situation. The little boat still moved, though slower, and the wind disappeared. But the air surrounding them was frigid. Emily remained where he’d shoved her, limp and unconscious. He lifted her face and his hand came away bloody.
“Oh, hell!” The snapped mast must have smacked her in the back of the head. He carefully examined her skull, searching for the source of all the blood. She’d been cut, but it didn’t appear too bad. She woke up, pushing his arms away. First thing she did was shiver.
He helped her up, keeping low in the boat, trying to conserve what little heat he could from the outside frigid air. She appeared dazed. “Mick? What the hell did you do to me?”
“Me? Wasn’t me that kidnapped you! You snatched me!”
“What the fuck?” She raised her right hand and paled at the raw flesh at her palm. A massive shudder drove through her. She looked up at him and blinked. “Mick? Where are we?”
He studied their surroundings, almost absentmindedly urging her close to share warmth. He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her nearer, tried to cover her legs with his coat. Hell, she was wearing sandals!
“I think we’re inside a glacier.”
“That’s impossible.” She gasped, drawing his attention to the port side. “Is that the Immortal?”
He twisted, and there bobbed the ship he’d always claimed, anchored and motionless. No one manned the rails. Taking up an oar, he tried to steer them toward her, but the current wouldn’t let them loose. They slid past the ship without a sign from her decks. He cursed.
***
Her brain didn’t want to work. Instead, her thoughts just shot from one tangent to another, none of it making sense. What happened to her? She’d kidnapped Mick? And why the fuck was it so cold?
Her feet were like blocks of ice. Her hand pulsed with pain, but even that was fading, replaced by numbness. She huddled against Mick fighting for some clarity. She glanced at the tiller, then at her hand and nearly vomited. Her skin stuck out starkly on the frozen piece of wood. How did she do that to herself? Mick picked up a pistol from the floor of the cutter.
“I held that on you? Is that why you didn’t just stop me? You’re faster, stronger.”
“Yup. Never said a word. Pawes…Emily…he wrote me. Invited me to come to the southern tip of Bath Island and he’d hand over the Immortal.” He held her close and she appreciated the comfort.
“Give it to you? He told me, on Tortuga, that he would be gone for weeks, maybe months. You sure it was him?” Her teeth chattered.
“Right now, I don’t know. There’s the ship, but no sign of him.”
“Where are we going?” She twisted to look over her shoulder. “Shit!” They were racing toward an ice shore, with no sign of slowing down to make an easy landfall. “Hang on!” She hauled him down with her.
The cutter hit the shore and ran right up about ten feet; ice and snow flew into the air. The tip of the cutter shattered, wood chips flew everywhere. Mick pushed her off again. “Your landing on me is getting old.” He turned to survey the wreckage. “This boat is going nowhere.”
“What do we do?” She tried to stand, but her feet wouldn’t hold her. He caught her before she fell. “Mick, I’m freezing to death.” She’d lost the feeling in her feet, her nose, her ears, her fingers were curled so tightly, they all but disappeared in her palms. And it wasn’t helping! Her tits ached fiercely.
The Immortal was here. Did that mean Silvestri was around somewhere?
Mick stepped out of the ruin of the cutter. “I might be able to start a fire with the wood chips”
They were surrounded by a frigid fog. She heard the crunch of feet coming their way. “Mick!”
He set her down, leaning against his back. It was scant protection, but it was the best he could do. He pulled the pistol, facing toward the sounds. Emily peered from behind him, shivering. Four huge figures loomed out of the mist. Mick softly cursed.
“We…uh…come in peace?” he said. The bravado he normally spoke with was absent.
Emily tried to focus on them. Huge men, wrapped in layers of fur. One of them gestured to Mick.
“Come with us.”
Luckily, Mick was smart enough not to resist. He tucked the pistol away and turned to Emily, who promptly fell on her face.
She heard him, sounding muffled and it was if he spoke from a distance.
“She can’t walk, and she’s nearly frozen….”
She heard deeper voices conferring and soon she was bundled up in a fur and in the arms of one of the giants. She drifted asleep. At some point, she woke again, when Mick was bundled into the fur with her. The cold must have gotten to him. The giants rigged a hammock and the two of them clung together for the rest of the journey.
***
He’d little luck with Glacious. She delighted in keeping him guessing about the last year. Each birthday, he came to her ice palace and she ripped the memories of the year’s victims of his curse from him. Seldom a pleasant occurrence, he left the palace determined to provide her with nothing to feed upon the next year. A resolution he never managed to keep.
Not from lack of trying.
This year, she insisted on entertaining him for days on end. He’d adapted to the cold and managed the wait, hoping Mick would show up. It was a trick, but one he hoped the man would fall for. If the appeal for a truthful meeting worked, Mick would show up, riding the current he’d bound around the cutter. Once Mick arrived, he’d have a short time to convince the man to work with him. Possibly no more than the time it took to walk from the shore to the palace, if Glacious sent him to fetch the visitor. It was a menial task she’d take delight in assigning him.
If Emily was right, it was possible to convince him. If he couldn’t use sentiment, he’d offer to pay the man.
When Glacious summoned him from the hot spring, he dressed without enthusiasm. She knew the spring was the only thing keeping him from freezing to death. Undoubtedly, she’d attempt to entice him into eating again. Eating too often at Glacious’ table was hazardous to the soul. He’d smuggled some light rations with him when he came ashore. The crew remained on board, in the hold, safe from meddling. Or more meddling. He knew they were held under some light enchantment. Otherwise, why stay with a cursed man?
He followed the messenger, a female creature of Glacious’ magic. Formed from ice and snow, she wore almost no clothing. Nice to admire, but nothing pleasant to touch. He’d learned that long ago.
She opened the great door and stood to one side. He nodded politely and entered the great hall. At one end, Glacious stood, gazing out the crystal window toward the open bay where his ship bobbed. The palace was poised high above the icy harbor, a long climb up a steep, slick path.
She turned at his entrance and he stared, unable to look away. A beautiful woman, hair an icy blue that fel
l to her knees, eyes so black they put midnight to shame. And a figure that he’d once found incredibly desirable. Age tempered that desire. He admired her beauty still, but knew those looks held nothing but the cold at the heart of deepest ocean trench. Colder.
She smiled, and he shuddered.
This visit, she wore a gown of deep grey, arms bare and hair flowing free. Sometimes she braided it into intricate whirls and cascades. She never revealed her legs.
“My dear Captain, we have company! Isn’t that delightful!” She gestured at the door, even now opening at her command. “Two ragged vagabonds caught by the currents. I’m so pleased. I do adore entertaining.” She raised an eyebrow.
Two? Damn, had Jezebel come with him?
Her giants held a bundle of several furs between them. They set it down on the ice.
“Oh, unwrap them, Alan dear.”
She stood nearby while he knelt and peeled back one layer, another. A familiar hand made him catch his breath. So small…that ring? He swallowed the balloon of fear growing in his throat and revealed the couple. Rage roared into blood. Emily, asleep in Mick’s arms!
Fighting to hold back the urge to tear Mick’s arms away and haul him from the woman he cared for, he reached across her and poked at Mick.
Mick’s eyes jerked open, and he shot upward. Silvestri gripped his throat. “Not one word. Trust me.”
The anger in Mick’s eyes matched his, but when Emily moaned, the anger switched to concern for her.
Mick broke free and pointed to her. “She is desperately cold. Her hand is injured. You bastard!”
Silvestri kept his eyes on Mick, willing the man to understand the danger they were in. He hissed. “Mick! Kill me later…look around you, man!”
Mick sat back and studied the surroundings. And he got it. His body took on that lazy attentiveness he used to employ when they’d wandered into dangerous places. He took in the surroundings, the pure white of carved ice and snow, and the woman standing a few feet away, exactly as she’d been described to him years ago. When they were friends and talked deep into the night. Would he remember?