by Lisa Kessler
He spat out water, fear in his eyes. “I tried to stop it, Uncle. But my legs…I can’t move!”
Drake pushed through the rising water just above his waist and hung the lamp on the wall. Frowning, he pulled in a breath and dove underneath the cold water. One of the iron vises he used to measure and cut wood now pinned the boy’s legs to the hull of the sinking ship.
Breaking through the surface, he gasped for air. All the color had drained from Thomas’s face, and his breath came in short gasps. He cupped his nephew’s cheek in his large hand. “Yer not going down with this ship. Ye understand me, boy?”
Thomas nodded, his lip trembling. “Hurry.”
Drake dove into the cold water again and gripped the vise on either side. He tugged, air escaping his lips with the effort. The fucking thing didn’t budge. He needed more leverage. Breaking through, his chest heaved for air while he scanned the area for something to pry the wretched weight off Thomas, and every second, the water level rose.
Spotting a sturdy iron spear for hauling in shark, Drake splashed across the hull to retrieve it. The shadows around them grew as more water fed on the Sea Dog like a hungry scavenger. He hurried back to Thomas. The boy had to tip his chin up to keep the ocean at bay and struggle for air.
“That’s it, Thomas.”
The ship groaned and lurched, opening another hole near the stern. Water gushed in. Fuck. They were running out of time. Drake dropped the spear and grabbed Thomas under his arms. Using all his strength, Drake pulled, cursing Flynn for demanding they reach the shore tonight, and God for trapping this child.
But none of it mattered. He couldn’t pull Thomas free.
“I’m sorry, Uncle.” His nephew coughed, spitting out seawater from his lips. “I thought I could plug the hole.” He gasped for air. “Leave me. You have to get off the ship.”
Drake’s vision wavered, his eyes burning with tears as his decision was made. “I’m not leaving you.”
He kissed the top of Thomas’s head and closed his eyes.
The boy sputtered, water garbling his words. “Will we see the angels, Uncle Drake?”
“Aye,” he whispered as the ocean swallowed them.
Drake opened his eyes, breaking through the haze of memory. He’d never seen an angel that night. After the burning pain of water filling his lungs, he’d welcomed the blessed darkness and surrendered to the peace.
He’d never expected to wake up along the bank of the Savannah River, coughing seawater from his lungs. It wasn’t until he stumbled into town that he’d understood what had happened.
His sip from the Holy Grail had granted him eternal life. But unlike his crewmates, Drake raged at his fate. He had endless days to carry the burden of Thomas’s death, to dream of his angelic face, to see the terror in his eyes as he realized that his young life was being snuffed out.
Guilt festered in Drake’s heart, leading him to attempt to end the torture, but nothing stopped the torment. He couldn’t end his wretched life. His physical wounds healed almost instantly, but his soul remained tainted with pain and regret. Unable to die, he worked. Day and night at first. Sleeping brought nightmares, so he did all he could to stay awake, driving his exhausted body to hammer more nails and sand more wood until it became soft and buttery under his callused hands.
This year things had started changing. The crew found a new purpose while reviving their piracy, this time for the good of their country. In the process, three of his crewmates had also discovered love, and strong women were now part of their crew. For the first time since the original Sea Dog surrendered to the Atlantic Ocean, Drake had managed to sleep through the night, without the constant torment of nightmares.
Until Heather mentioned Thomas.
Drake stepped out of the shower and towel-dried his hair, his head spinning. He’d shut her down before she shared any of the details about the ghost she’d seen on Oatland Island. Had Thomas told her about the night the Sea Dog sank?
And if someone was after him, then why?
He couldn’t die, but…Heather could.
Fuck.
Chapter Six
David narrowed his eyes at the sails in the distance. He hadn’t visited Savannah since the fiasco in the Bonaventure Cemetery, since his nephew, a few generations removed, died in his arms. He chomped his gum a little faster, reminding himself that he wasn’t here for the backstabbing pirate crew.
This trip was about keeping Heather safe.
His cell vibrated in his pocket. “This is Bale.”
“Ah, David, how chipper you sound.”
He rolled his eyes at King’s sarcasm. “Yeah, I’m effervescent. You have a lead for me?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. You were right. There is a new coven in Savannah.” He cleared his throat and continued. “One of our informants reported a recent recruitment offer. The leader claims she has the power to command the spirits of the dead.”
David frowned. “A necromancer?”
“Not exactly.” Papers shuffled on the other end of the line. “Here it is. She’s not raising dead bodies. She’s commanding the spirits, bending them to her will.”
“To do her bidding?” David rubbed his forehead. “That’s impossible. How?”
“I don’t know.” King sighed. “I offered our informant the standard reward package for additional information. I guess we’ll have to wait and see what she can find out.”
“Let me know if you hear anything.” David ended the call and cursed under his breath. Communicating with spirits was generally accepted, with some mediums being better than others, but “commanding” them was new. The question was how. He’d never stumbled across a relic that offered that kind of power, but that didn’t mean it didn’t exist.
Either way, if this woman truly could bend spirits to her will, American citizens could be in danger, and the situation had become a threat that Department 13 would need to stop. He turned away from the river, heading back to the safe-house apartment. He had some research to do.
…
After seeing her final client out, Heather grabbed her laptop and opened Skull & Crossbones. A message from Queenie was already waiting.
PirateQueen817: Working late. Should be online by 8pm.
Heather sighed, pulling her hair back from her forehead. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been looking forward to chatting with Queenie until now. She hadn’t confided in anyone about her meeting with Drake last night, and it was driving her crazy.
She set the computer aside and started to get up when someone knocked on the front door. Changing course, she peered through the lace curtains and sighed.
“Hey, Ash.” She opened the door and stepped back, allowing her twin sister into her living room. “What’s up?”
Ashley’s gaze zeroed in on the discarded laptop and back to Heather. “Did I interrupt your gaming?”
Heather rolled her eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t come across town just to remind me about what a waste of time computer gaming is.”
Ashley went directly to one of the antique wing-backed chairs, tugged on her pencil skirt, and sat. Her sister’s sense of style was opposite of Heather’s. While Heather preferred a more bohemian look, with crushed velvet long skirts and peasant blouses, her sister wore styles that hugged her curves and gave off an aura of power. Daring you to defy her.
She placed her Coach bag on the floor next to the chair and crossed her ankles, displaying her leopard-print Ferragamo pumps. With a sigh, she rested her hand on the arm of the chair, making her new ring impossible to miss. The antique, ancient-looking piece of jewelry was out of place with her fashionable attire. The silver serpent coiled around her sister’s finger, its ruby eyes glaring at Heather.
Her heart stuttered for a second. Heather had seen a similar ring during one of her freelance projects for Department 13. The men who had killed one of
David’s informants had been wearing the same ring. They called themselves the Serpent Society, an ancient brotherhood of fanatics trying to earn their way back into the Garden of Eden. As far as Heather knew, they didn’t welcome women into their ranks.
Where had Ashley found it?
When she forced her gaze away from the ring, Ashley arched a perfectly manicured brow. “I came across town because we need to talk.”
Heather wandered back over to the sofa, tucking one foot underneath her as she took a seat, hoping to hide her apprehension. “You could have called.”
She regretted the words the second they left her mouth. Ashley’s shoulders tensed, her lips pressing together into a thin line. Heather smacked herself inwardly. Why did she have such a tough time connecting with her twin? They were supposed to be cosmically bound from birth, but the years had strained the connection until they rarely spoke, and when they did…this was the result. Stilted, forced conversation.
But that ring suggested Ashley might be in mortal danger.
Ashley flipped her dark hair over her shoulder. “I thought I should discuss this with you in person.”
“Okay.” Dread crept up Heather’s spine. She twisted her grandmother’s ring around her finger with her thumb in an attempt to calm her nerves, and suddenly her grandmother’s spirit surrounded her.
“It’s time to sell the house.”
Heather’s jaw dropped. “This house?”
“Yes.” Ashley bent over to retrieve her purse. “I’ve had a lawyer draw up the papers. We’ll split the proceeds fifty-fifty.” She held out an envelope with a well-practiced smile. “You didn’t think I would let you keep this place forever, did you? Do you know what it’s worth?”
Heather didn’t reach for the envelope and didn’t acknowledge her grandmother’s cursing. Ashley couldn’t hear it anyway. She didn’t have the gift.
“You don’t have any claim to this house. Gram left it to me.” Heather shook her head in an effort to find clarity. “Why are you doing this? You’ve never liked this house.”
Ashley ran her tongue across her teeth and tossed the envelope onto the coffee table. “Just look over the documents. This doesn’t have to be ugly or emotional. My lawyer found a loophole in the will. I can sue you, and we can waste time and money, but Flynn Enterprises made us an offer that even you can’t refuse.”
“A loophole?” Heather’s grandmother kept repeating one word. Fight. Heather crossed her arms. “I don’t need to see the offer. I’m not selling.”
Ashley stood up with a dismissive shrug. “You’re not going to have a choice, sis.” She went to the door and glanced back over her shoulder. “I’ll see you in court.”
The click of the door echoed through the silence, magnifying the finality of the moment. It was no secret that Ashley had been hurt by their grandmother’s will. Gram left jewelry and investments to Ashley, but the deed to this house, the heirloom of the Storrey family, was given solely to Heather. That decision hadn’t helped their already strained relationship.
But Heather still hadn’t seen this coming.
After eight years, why now? Ashley didn’t need the money. She’d been a phenom in computer programming and eventually opened her own cyber security company. She had offices in Savannah, Los Angeles, and New York.
Heather didn’t begrudge her sister’s success. Being a medium was never going to pay what her sister was making, but money had never been much of a motivator for her. Over the years, she’d helped police departments, the FBI, and Department 13 solve crimes and bring justice to grieving families. She counseled clients from all over the world. Her work mattered. She could see it in the lightened spirits of the families who sought her help.
She stared at the envelope, wishing it might actually disappear. No such luck. Sighing, she reached for it and withdrew the papers. She set aside the ones on legal letterhead and held up the offer from Flynn Enterprises.
Six million dollars.
She blinked and read the figure again, not quite believing her eyes. The commercial real estate firm in Atlanta had been buying up properties in the historic district of Savannah for some time now, and judging by the figure in the offer, her home was next. She’d be stupid not to take the deal. A fifty-fifty split meant she’d walk away with three million dollars, which was most likely what she could sell the place for on the retail market. This was twice that amount. But why did Flynn Enterprises want her family’s home so badly?
She dropped the paper on top of the others and rested her head back on the sofa, closing her eyes.
Her grandmother whispered in a voice only Heather could hear, Attic, my angel. The answers are there. Find them.
In her empty living room, she didn’t have to worry about anyone questioning her sanity, so she replied out loud. “I’ve been up there, Gram. There are old pictures, the hope chest, and dusty Christmas decorations.”
You can’t sell this house. Don’t let your sister take this from you.
Heather massaged her temples. “Maybe she’s right. It wasn’t fair for you to leave it to me. It’s rightfully half hers, too.”
Speaking with the dead, even her own relatives, wasn’t an exact science. The connection faded in and out, sometimes a whisper or images, and occasionally emotions, but right now her grandmother’s voice was crystal clear. You’re in danger.
“Me?” Heather frowned. “From who?”
A knock at the door broke the connection. She got up from the couch and opened it to find Drake standing on her porch. His tan skin looked ashen, his eyes puffy, and sweat glistened on his forehead.
She blinked. “How did you…”
He held up her business card. “Are you busy? I know it says appointment only, but this couldn’t wait.”
Was he the danger her grandmother was warning her about? Surely it wasn’t Ashley. They weren’t close, but they were still sisters. She’d protect Ashley with her life.
She didn’t move to open the door any wider. “Why are you here?”
“I was an asshole, but that’s not who I am, or at least not who I used to be.” The pain in the depths of his blue eyes tugged at her stupid heart. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I haven’t slept, either. Something evil is on the wind. I’m…worried about you.”
“Worried enough to trust me?” She raised a brow.
He straightened a little, that stubborn jaw clenching. “I can trust you with my truths, but I won’t expose anyone else without their consent.”
“Sorry. I can’t do this.” Heather crossed her arms around her middle. “I think I told you that I consult with David.” She cleared her throat and corrected herself. “Agent Bale. That much is true. But I also dated him. I thought we were in love until I realized a part of him will always be more committed to his job than to me. In the end, he broke my heart, and I promised myself I’d never be second best to someone’s secrets.”
Something flashed in his eyes at the mention of her relationship with David, but it was gone so fast, maybe she’d misinterpreted it. “Not askin’ ye to love me, lass.” His tone softened, deep and raw, and she caught a trace of that nautical accent she’d heard the other night, only this time it wasn’t playful, it seemed…sincere. He swallowed, searching her eyes. “When ye warned me of danger at the Juliette Gordon Low house, it was a banshee’s wail that dropped me to my knees.”
Being in the metaphysical community, Heather had cursory knowledge of banshees. As the legends went, they usually signaled a future death. Her pulse kicked up a notch. Maybe Drake really was the danger her grandmother cautioned her about.
But staring into his tormented eyes, there was an odd familiarity there. From the depths of her soul, she knew he would never hurt her. She wasn’t sure how just yet, but she had a sneaking suspicion the vision of him bowing to her without a scar on his forehead was the key.
She stepped back,
opening the door for him to come inside. He nodded and crossed over the threshold. His scent filled her lungs, and another vision flashed through her mind. He was waving from the riggings of a ship that looked remarkably like the one she’d driven him to the other night. Just as quickly as it came on, it was gone. She checked the street outside. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, but every shadow appeared ominous.
He took a chair at the draped table she kept set up for readings. Under the fabric, the glass table was etched with a heart. A precious gift from her grandfather to her grandmother. Most of the antiques in the house were woven into the tapestry of her family. Every piece told a story, and they were all she had left of them now.
Heather sat across from him and took a deep breath. Time to see if he would really trust her with his truths. Whatever the hell that meant.
“You told me how you got the scar on your forehead, but I don’t think you mentioned when it happened.” He started to open his mouth, but she raised a finger to stop him. “Wait. Before you decide whether or not I can handle the truth, I need to tell you something.” She leaned in closer, her gaze rising to the scar over his brow. “Since we’ve met, I’ve had more than one vision of you. We’ve known each other before. You were dressed in clothes similar to the ghost boy who called you uncle. You bowed to me and offered your hand, and you didn’t have that scar.”
Chapter Seven
Drake rubbed his forehead, stunned and confused. He’d never met this woman before the night at the cemetery, and he definitely had the scar then. He’d acquired it during one of their voyages across the Atlantic from England to the colonies, around 1790 if he had to guess.
They didn’t have cell phones to check the date and time back then.
“That’s impossible. I’ve had the scar for…years. We met in the Bonaventure a couple of months ago.”