A few seconds later, a different pirate lifts up the flap and swaggers inside. He’s missing even more teeth than the others are, and deep, circular scars pockmark his face. He smells horrible, too, like rotting garbage left out in the sun for far too long.
With a harsh grunt, the pirate yanks me to my feet, nearly wrenching my arms out of their sockets. I cry out in pain and try to kick him. Pizza Face snarls at me and jerks back his meaty hand, but pauses. I cringe, waiting for a blow, when another gravelly voice interrupts.
My captor lowers his hand slowly. He pushes me in front of him and grabs my chin, forcing me to face the newcomer.
The man silhouetted against the light is taller than the rest. His clothes are cleaner, he holds his shoulders straight, and he exudes a sense of power that tells me, even without seeing the expression on his goon’s face, he’s in charge. His beard is closely trimmed, and his hair is pulled smoothly in a ponytail secured at the base of his neck. He approaches me slowly, stroking his beard and raking my body with his eyes. I wonder if he’s as confused as I am to find me here. I bet I don’t look like normal women around here.
“Ti échoume edó?” He picks up my hair and lets its auburn strands cascade through his fingers. Maybe redheads aren’t very common in this part of the world.
I lurch away from his touch, trip over one of the crates, and crash to the ground.
The captain barks an order at his man, who reaches down and jerks me to my feet. He smirks and says something to the other pirate, who laughs and elbows me in the side. I may not know what they said, but I’m guessing it’s not good. When he leers at me again, I feel my anger rising to the surface. The boy watches our exchange, his eyes huge black ovals in his pale face.
“What do you want from me?” My voice cracks under the strain.
They ignore me. I stomp on the captain’s foot. His meaty hand flicks back and cracks against my cheek so quickly I’m reeling into the tent pole before I even register that he hit me. Black stars flash in my vision, and the air leaves my lungs in a massive whoosh.
The leader of the pirates leans in, so close his rancid breath overwhelms me, and flecks of spittle hit my cheek. He glares at me, his eyes a deep black, and pokes his finger in my face before growling something at me. Out of the corner of my eye, the young boy shrinks further into the folds of the tent. I don’t need Google Translator to tell me he’s not welcoming me to the island. I do my best to straighten my spine and stand tall, hoping that my body language will say that I’m not afraid, even though I’m shaking inside.
As night falls on the island, the sailors add more wood to the fire. It roars and crackles, sending bright bursts of light into the night sky. Surrounding the flames, the men laugh and drink, their bodies and faces becoming more grotesque by the minute. I tremble, but it’s not from the cold. It’s the men and an inherent fear of the way they occasionally glance at my tent. Eventually, when the fire dies down and the drinks have dulled their senses, they’ll come. I don’t know how I know it, but I do, and so does the boy. He shifts from side to side and fiddles with his leather satchel. I have to get out of here.
If I could communicate with him, I’m sure I could convince him to help me. “My name is Austen.”
No response.
“Can you help me?”
His gaze flickers from mine to the tent flap, and then back again.
“Please, I need your help.”
Still nothing.
Frustration bubbles up inside me. I’m trapped and no one’s coming to help.
Heavy footsteps clomp toward my tent. Terror shoots up my spine. There has to be some way I can get out of here.
One of the captain’s goons shoves aside the tent flap with such force it hits the small boy and flings him to the side. The pirate smirks at me, his dark eyes gleaming in the moonlight. I freeze when he lifts my hair long enough to tie a leather cord around my neck, which he attaches to the same rope tying my hands together.
Then the captain shouts something from outside, and the man shoves me forward. From the corner of my eye, I see the boy slip out ahead of us and disappear around the corner.
The pirate leads me outside and marches me to another tent. This one is markedly nicer than the others. The sides are constructed of a thicker material, almost like leather, and secured to the ground with wooden stakes. A flag waves lazily from the middle post, and both sides of the entrance are tied back. Light glows inside, as if beckoning us in. Coldness fills me. I may not be able to speak these people’s language, but something deep in my core tells me I don’t want to go inside that tent.
With a guttural grunt, my captor drags me to the opening and shoves me inside with such force that I practically tumble into the captain’s arms.
He grabs my rope and leads me over to a spindly wooden table. Candles flicker on the top, and in the center are two silver flutes and a bottle of what looks like wine. A small bowl of olives and a plate of flat, misshapen bread also rest on the table.
The captain points at one of the wooden chairs. I plant my feet on the rug, but when his grin twists into a snarl, I sit down. He grabs the glass bottle, twists off the cork, and fills my cup almost to the top before pouring his own. The dark liquid inside absorbs the candlelight. Hypnotized, I stare at my cup until the captain pushes it toward me. He mutters something in his foreign language, and I shake my head. I don’t know what he’s asking me to do, and it’s probably better that way.
Even from several inches away, the overpowering scent of alcohol stings my nostrils. This isn’t anything like the box of wine perching on the second shelf in our fridge, or the bottle of the “good stuff” Grandma Norris kept above the microwave before she died. For a split second, I wonder what happened to that lonely half-empty bottle of scotch, but then the pirate captain grabs his own cup and tips it back, emptying it in one long gulp. I watch the thick, hairy column of his throat convulse with each swallow. When he finishes, he thumps his chest, eyes watering.
I shudder as he grins at me, plucks an olive from the wooden bowl, and pops it into his mouth. He jerks his head toward my cup and mimics drinking the wine. I shake my head and push it away from me.
The captain’s face twists into a mask of anger. “Potó!”
“Fine,” I mutter. I reach for the cup and bring it to my lips. The liquid burns my mouth and my throat tightens. Lungs seizing up, I hack and cough until I drag some clear air into my chest. The captain chortles with laughter. Then, his black eyes filling with merriment, he pours himself another drink.
An hour later, I’ve consumed only about half of my cup, and the captain has downed four, emptying two bottles. He’s getting sloppy, slurring his already unrecognizable speech. He pops the cork on bottle number three, filling the cup so full it overflows. As he sets it down, he knocks the cup over, flooding the wooden table.
Rage reddens his face, and he stands up so suddenly his chair crashes to the floor behind him. Several of the men roar in laughter outside the thick tent walls. Oh God. I have got to get out of here.
The captain grabs another bottle and tips it back, drinking so quickly, I wonder how he doesn’t drown. Once it’s empty, he drops the bottle on the ground with the rest and thumps his chest to release a huge belch. Another roar outside the tent.
Weaving from side to side, the pirate captain stumbles to a wooden crate. His thick fingers fumble with the top, but it’s nailed shut. He mutters and kicks it.
I eye the tent flap. Can I escape while he’s distracted? Light flickers through the narrow slit from the roaring campfire outside. No. Even drunk, there are too many of them for me to escape undetected. In fact, they might be waiting outside for their chance. I can’t risk it. I’ll have to do something else instead.
Oblivious to my inner turmoil, the pirate captain bends over and tries to pry the top of the crate open. Now. You need to act while he’s distracted.
I wrap my fingers around the empty wine bottle’s neck and raise it high above my head. You can do th
is, Austen.
I take a step. The captain grunts and uses all his strength to pry open one corner of the crate. Deep breath. In and out. Keep going. The second corner pops up as the nail gives way.
I keep going until I’m right behind him. My hands tremble, but I force them to be steady. Now!
Air whooshing out of my chest, I bring down the heavy bottle on the back of the pirate’s head. Time stands still, my heart beating like a drum in my chest. Then the pirate captain crumbles to the ground without a sound.
Heart racing, I whirl around to face the tent flap, sure that the pirates know what has happened, but no one barges in. I have to act quickly. My fingers scrabble on the thick leather cord around my neck, and after a few minutes, I manage to untie it.
With an ear toward the tent flap, I loop the rope around the captain’s left foot and tie it around his other boot. When he doesn’t stir, I cinch the rope tighter and tighter until I’m sure he will be held up at least a few minutes after he wakes. My hands hover over a huge metal blade strapped to the captain’s waist. If I take it with me, at least I’ll have a weapon. No, I’d probably stab myself as I try to escape. It’d be best if I leave it alone.
I inspect the outer wall of the tent, feeling along the seams and edges for some sign of weakness. There has to be another way for me to escape. Something scuffs the ground and brushes up against the crates behind me. A slight sound I wouldn’t normally notice, if I weren’t on hyper-alert. I whirl around and a small shadow separates from the darkness between a couple of crates.
“Eínai entáxei.” The young boy holds out his hands, showing me he’s empty-handed. Then he points at his chest. “Nico.”
I point at my chest. “Austen.”
He nods and holds a finger to his lips. He points at the tent flaps and shakes his head. Yeah, I don’t think leaving that way is a great idea, either. Then he slinks along the far wall. When he gets to the head of the bed, Nico squeezes between the mattress and the wall.
When I don’t move, he wiggles back out and motions for me to follow him. On the floor, the pirate captain groans. Terror like an icy knife slices through my heart. I have got to get out of here before he wakes up. You can do this. I swallow my fear and follow Nico behind the bed.
I trail behind him until he reaches a long seam stretching from the bottom of the tent to the apex in the ceiling. He runs his fingers along the hem until he finds a small spot that’s unraveled and loose. Then quicker than a flash of light in a thunderstorm, he ducks underneath and disappears.
The other pirates could be waiting outside to recapture me. It could be a trap. The pirate captain rustles. Oh God, he’s waking up. I have to get out of here. Before the voice in my head can convince me to wait and think up another plan, I grab the tear in the hem and duck under the edge.
Once outside, I lay flat on the ground for a few seconds, just in case any of the other pirates are around. Silence. The breath whooshes from my lungs. Except for Nico, I’m alone.
I stand up and brush myself off. Nico tugs on my sleeve, a worried expression on his face. Yeah, I know, little buddy. We should keep moving. We don’t want to be here when the captain and his goons find out we’ve escaped.
With a whispered prayer that I don’t make a sound, I slink behind Nico through the cluster of tents to the edge of the forest. Once there, Nico thrusts a small leather pouch in my hands and shoves me into the undergrowth. I turn around to thank him, but he’s gone.
“Thank you,” I whisper, even though he’s not around to hear me. Part of me wants to find him and convince him somehow to come with me, but I know that’s a stupid idea. They’d catch me for sure. He’ll be all right, right? He has to be. This is his world, not mine. I’m sure he’ll be fine.
Even though I tread carefully through the trees, twigs crack beneath my feet, louder than the birds and insects around me. I search for the seaweed trail I’d made before, but it’s too dark. What I wouldn’t give for a flashlight. Just don’t end up in Pirate’s Cove again, and you’ll be fine.
Eventually, I stumble upon the edge of the beach that follows the rocky cliff sheltering the portal. Now all I need to do is find the path. I hurry along the beach, eyes searching the inky water, but any trace of the ledge I’d used is gone. High tide.
“Damn it!” I stomp my foot loud enough to startle the birds in the nearest trees. Come on. Get a grip, or you’re going to get yourself caught again. I’ll have to find a place to hide and wait until the tide goes down enough for me to find the ledge.
After collapsing against the base of a tree, I open the pouch Nico had given me. Inside, I find a stale lump of bread, which I quickly devour, and a hunk of cheese. I eat that, too, and then stuff the pouch in my pocket.
Suddenly, a shout shatters the still night. Crap. The captain must have woken up. I can’t let them catch me again, I just can’t.
I eye the fathomless water. I’ve seen Jaws. I know what happens when people go swimming in dark water at night. At this point, though, I’m not sure which fate is worse, a giant shark or the pirates. Maybe I should wait for daylight. I’m sure I can stay hidden until then. I turn away from the water just as flickering torch lights appear among the trees.
There goes that idea. As I flatten myself against a tree, the lights creep closer, and one bobs straight toward me. Terror rises deep within me. I don’t know where I can hide. It’s too dark for me to see. The pirates definitely have the advantage.
In a matter of minutes, the torch and its bearer come into view. It’s the man who initially found me. The flames transform his face into a gruesome mask. My palms sweat and my knees shake, but I fight the urge to flee. I’m on an island, it’s not like I can keep running in circles and hope they give up.
About ten feet away, the pirate crouches down to examine the ground. I shift from side to side, adrenaline racing through my system. Something skitters across the ground behind me, probably a bird or other small creature.
The pirate stills, only the flickering flame of his torch betraying his position. He swings the light toward me, his face twisting into a gruesome leer when his eyes land on me.
I rush into the dark water where the path used to be. I don’t care if I have to fight off sharks with my bare hands, I will not let that man catch me.
Within a few minutes, the warm water laps around my waist. My foot slips off the rocks, and I stagger back, flattening myself against the side of the cliff so I don’t slip into the deeper water. Visions of huge man-eating sharks flash through my head. Nope, nope, nope. Not going to happen.
The water climbs higher the farther I get from the shore. Half floating and half walking, I get to the edge by the cave. I almost stop there, the waves lapping gently against my chin, until I look at the shore and see a trio of torches dancing on the beach. The pirates are waiting for me.
Panic grips me as I reach around the edge of the cliff until my fingers find the lip of the cave. There. Thank God. I fill my lungs with air, let my feet drift off the path, and duck underwater to get inside.
Almost immediately, I bob to the surface. There’s just a few inches between the water’s surface and the cave’s ceiling. It’s pitch-black, and everywhere I touch, the walls are wet and slimy. Breath heaves in and out of my lungs. I could die here, I really could, and no one would know what happened. Come on, Austen. Get it together. You can do this. You’re almost home. I paddle toward the back of the cave.
Suddenly, my foot kicks something colder than the ocean water. It must be the portal. I sink under the surface and dive straight into the ice-cold hole that I hope will take me home. Here goes nothing.
Chapter 8
The rocks on the other side of the portal bite into my backside as I tumble to the ground. The air is much colder here, and the darkness is overwhelming, but at least I’m not underwater or being chased by pirates. From what I can tell, the cave is empty, and the shadows are too small to house a large beast like the one that had chased me through the portal.
&n
bsp; After listening closely to a silence so thick I could hear my own heartbeat, I push myself to my feet. Thank God for small favors.
Once outside, stars fill the sky with a brilliant and welcome light. Maybe luck is in my favor, and I’ll get out of here unscathed. Now I have to figure out what to do. I can hike through the woods to my car, or I can go to the lighthouse. Ian. He must know about this place. He needs to know what happened. But it’s the middle of the night; I don’t want to wake him up. He was miffed enough to find me washed up on his shore, who knows how angry he’d be to find me snooping around again.
I pause at the edge of the forest, wondering how long I’ve been gone. I spent a day on the pirate’s island, so does that mean I’ve been gone a day here, too? Mom will kill me, especially since Dad’s missing. I have to get home before she worries any—
“Going somewhere?” Ian’s deep voice brings a shriek to my lips.
I spin around as he glides around the shadowy trunk of a nearby tree. “Oh God, you scared me.”
His lips twitch. “What are you doing out here?” He approaches me slowly, his steps measured and his eyes pinning me to the spot.
“Hiking.” I give him my best glare, even though I don’t know if he can see it in the dark. An owl hoots in the distance, and slowly the night creatures take up their serenade.
He raises his eyebrows at my obvious lie. “Come on. Let’s get inside.” He gestures to the lighthouse. “You shouldn’t be out hiking in the middle of the night.”
A million questions perch on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t ask him any of them. Maybe I don’t want to know the answers, the truth. Perhaps a small part of me wants to remain ignorant and pretend everything’s going to be okay.
When we get to the front door, he holds it open for me. I hesitate before hurrying inside. The thought strikes me that being alone in the lighthouse with Ian might be even more dangerous than the wilderness outside. I don’t really know him that well, after all, and I’m positive he understands more about what’s going on than he’s willing to tell me.
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