Dark and Stormy: Phantom Queen Book 4 - A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries)

by Shayne Silvers

  Once we were well on our way, Ryan cleared his throat. “Hand me the bat,” he said, holding out his hand. The goblin carrying my bat exchanged looks with his companions, but—seeing as how he clearly didn’t want to hold on to it either—gave it up without complaint. In fact, he practically sighed in relief. Ryan cradled the swaddled weapon, then carefully withdrew the bat from the confines of the cloak to the sound of barbed wire tearing through cloth. Once free, he held it aloft by the base, eyeing it up and down.

  “Put that away before you hurt yourself,” the helmsgoblin snapped.

  In response, Ryan settled the bat across his knees, one hand hovering over the barbed wire. “Do you think it’s true, what the Manling said?” he asked absently, studying the wood.

  “Who cares?” the helmsgoblin replied, spinning the crank slightly to send us banking left, the island of Neverland far behind us.

  “I was on Hook’s ship for a long while,” Ryan replied. “If the Manling was telling the truth, it means Hook was keeping the properties of this wood a secret from me. And, by extension, from King Oberon.”

  The helmsgoblin’s eyes narrowed, picking up on the implications. “He’d have to answer for that.”

  “He would,” Ryan said, meeting the goblin’s gaze, the question on his face apparent.

  “Alright, check it, then,” the helmsgoblin said, shrugging.

  Ryan nodded and—as planned—pressed the tip of his finger against one of the iron barbs. He hissed in pain, his eyes fluttering for a moment before he could even bring himself to press his finger against the wood. By the time he had his bloody digit prepared, he had the attention of every goblin onboard.

  Which meant it was time.

  I nudged Alucard as hard as I could—our signal—and closed my eyes to preserve my night vision. The vampire burst into flames. Or so it must have seemed to everyone else; I heard goblins curse and scream as they shied away from the monster in their midst. I could feel Alucard rising behind me, the ropes binding his hands and feet likely little more than a smoldering mess at his feet by now.

  “Get him secure!” the helmsgoblin snapped, forgetting all about Ryan for the moment. Of course, that had been Ryan’s plan all along—misdirection 101. Ryan slumped over, letting the bat fall into the middle of the boat, his skin faded and leathery, as if he’d been drained of every ounce of blood. The goblins at the front of the boat, several of whom had risen to deal with Alucard at the helmsgoblin’s command, scrambled away, much as I had not too long ago—clearly not eager to donate their plasma anytime soon.

  Selfish goblinses.

  Fortunately, that meant Alucard had plenty of room to work with. Following the sudden fiery outburst, the vampire had already lashed out once, kicking two goblins overboard before they could so much as draw their swords. Unfortunately, the other goblins he squared off against were well-trained; they prepared their shields almost immediately, hunkering down with their blades out. Alucard crouched, searching for an opening. The helmsgoblin’s large companion—perhaps realizing the lesser goblins might need backup—sneered, rose, and—in a very gutsy move—picked up the vampire bat. Hah. He took a practice swing, testing its weight, and grinned, one tooth poking out from between his gums—a regular Babe Tooth. Then he headed towards our side of the boat.

  Well, that had decidedly not been part of the plan.

  Time to improvise.

  Still seated on the bench and attempting to appear meek and frightened, I leaned back as far as I dared, contracted my abs, and drew my legs close. I swiveled, incrementally, lining up my strike. I had one shot before Babe Tooth got close enough to do real damage, and I couldn’t afford to miss. I took a deep breath and lashed out, kicking Alucard from behind with everything I had, sending him flying over the edge of the boat along with the three goblins he’d been squaring off against.

  Their warbled screams faded remarkably quickly.

  A meaty fist yanked me around by my hair, and I found myself looking up, teary-eyed, at the goblin with my bat. “Why you do that?” Babe Tooth growled, clearly less intelligent than the helmsgoblin, who was preoccupied with keeping the ship on course.

  I mumbled something through the gag around my mouth. The goblin frowned, reached down, and tore the gag off—literally tore, making my cheeks ache. “Son of a faerie whore!” I cursed.

  He tugged on my hair again, eyes dilating. “Why kick friend?”

  “Because,” I snarled, “me friend flies, and ye lot don’t.”

  The goblin’s single eyebrow furrowed as he tried to process what I was saying, but it turned out he didn’t have to work that hard; Alucard had already found his way back. “Look out!” the helmsgoblin cried, but it was too late. Alucard came swooping in and tackled Babe Tooth by the waist—the impact forcing the goblin to drop my weapon as the vampire carried the big green fucker off into the night sky.

  “Get into formation!” the helmsgoblin yelled. “Now!”

  The remaining handful of goblins locked their shields together and faced outwards, creating a perimeter, a fence to shield them from the monster outside. Of course, that meant they’d forgotten about yours truly—always a mistake. I cut through the ropes binding my wrists and feet using the boot-knife Ryan had slipped me earlier. The Faeling, still prone on the deck, winked at me through the illusion he’d woven over himself to make it seem as though he’d been sucked dry.

  I kicked him as I rose—to maintain the illusion that I hated him. And because there was nothing he could do in retaliation without giving the game away.

  Just because we were fighting for our lives didn’t mean a girl couldn’t get in a little petty payback for a fake abduction.

  “The woman’s free!” the helmsgoblin screeched, clearly out of his depth now that he had both a renegade vampire and what appeared to be a batshit crazy redhead on his hands.

  Like a flaming exclamation point for the helmsgoblin’s panic, Alucard came blazing through the air from the port side like a comet. His laughter almost drowned out the helmsgoblin’s attempt at reestablishing order.

  “We’re not far from the fleet! Keep him off us!” the helmsgoblin called out, then rose, brandishing his spear, prepared to take a jab at me the instant I moved. “Our orders are to bring you in alive, but I will kill you, if I have to,” he threatened.

  I hefted my bat in response while my wild side whispered sweet nothings into my ear canal. I opened up the buffer I had placed between us and felt my heartrate skyrocket as raw emotion and bloodlust bathed over me.

  There was nothing remotely rational to be found within my wild side’s seductive coos.

  Simply the promise of undiluted mayhem.

  And the one thing we agreed on, of course—that there was no way in Hell we were going to end up King Oberon’s prisoners.

  We are no one’s prize, it said. I didn’t realize I had echoed the sentiment out loud until I saw the mortified look on the helmsgoblin’s face. I smiled wider, agreeing that dead sounded a hell of a lot better than owned. Which is why I ignored the helmsgoblin’s last warning and swung at the nearest wing of our flying Fae-ship…

  Bashing it to flying Fae-shit.

  Suddenly, it was all any of us could do to hang on as the dinghy pitched violently to the right, clearly losing altitude. I wedged my boot in between the bench and the deck as the remaining goblins—off-balanced—flew past, tumbling end over end, the poor helmsgoblin the first to go. Ryan, I noticed, followed my lead, too concerned with actually dying to pretend any longer.

  “What the fuck was that?” he yelled.

  “Ye heard him, we were close!” I screamed back.

  “So you decided to get us all killed instead?!”

  I rolled my eyes. “Always such a pessimist,” I mumbled. I wormed my way over to the edge of the boat and stared down, trying to make out the landscape below. I felt my jaw drop. Below, far below but getting closer, was a large body of water—as wide and far-reaching as an ocean. “Um, Ryan?” I called.

 
“What?”

  “D’ye know of any bodies of water in these parts that are…well, red?” I asked.

  “Did you say red?” he called back, a twinge of barely-veiled terror in his tone.

  “Aye!”

  The Faeling curses that flew out of Ryan’s mouth after that were largely unintelligible, and definitely unrepeatable…even for me. At last, he responded. “Is it glowing?”

  “Aye.”

  “Well, I’d love to say it was nice knowing you, but…”

  Always so dramatic. “Are ye goin’ to tell me where we’re landin’ or not?” I snapped. I turned my head, hunting the skies for Alucard, but couldn’t spot him. I sighed, realizing that would have been too easy; it was far more likely he’d end up looking for us in the wrong place, what with the abrupt change in trajectory.

  “We call it the Scarlet Sea,” Ryan said, sliding up beside me, his tone fatalistic, at best—like a doomsayer, or a priest delivering one of the less upbeat sermons.

  “Why?” I asked. The waters were fast approaching, and I knew we’d have to jump soon if we hoped to survive; the landing alone would kill us, at this speed. Well, me, anyway. For all I knew, Ryan could take a crash landing to the face and walk away without a scratch. It wasn’t a theory I’d ever tested.

  “Because it’s red,” he quipped.

  “No, ye idgit, why are ye talkin’ like we’re about to die?” I asked.

  “Because,” he replied a moment later, “everyone who’s ever sailed it supposedly does.”

  Oh, goodie, my wild side purred.

  Challenge accepted.

  I woke, floating on my back in a sea of arterial blood. Or, what looked like blood, at least; the liquid holding me aloft felt no different than any other bodies of water I’d been in. Thank God, it wasn’t a thick, syrupy goop or anything—not that I would have been surprised in the slightest. The only difference was the color, the waves lapping against me a luminescent shade of cherry. I had a few moments to play back what had happened: dragging Ryan to his feet, tossing him overboard, my flawlessly executed cannonball dive, followed by a brief, painful memory of hitting the liquid surface. Then, nothing. I sighed. I must have misjudged things a bit and hit the water harder than I thought, hard enough to momentarily scramble my brain.

  I drifted on my back, content to float until the concept of moving didn’t make me want to puke. I felt bad for Lisandra—the wizard scientist I’d promised my corpse to after I finally kicked the proverbial bucket in exchange for a little help rescuing a colleague from a coma. At this rate, my brain was probably little more than an object lesson on the merit of concussion protocols. Hell, I’d been knocked out so many times in the last year, I was lucky I could still remember to brush my teeth at night or how to tie my shoes.

  I shook off that dark thought and spun, treading water as I took stock of my surroundings. Water. A whole lot of red water. I scanned the immediate area, looking for remains of the dinghy—something I could grab hold of, at least—but saw nothing. Even my poor Fairyville Slugger had been lost at sea. I sighed. Assuming Ryan had landed far outside my immediate radius—which was likely since I’d waited until the last possible instant to leap from the damaged dinghy—that meant I was out here on my own.

  I hated to admit it, but the stupid Faeling had probably been right—unless someone came looking, I’d likely die out here. Still, there were worse ways to go, right? I could explore in the meantime. The thought—so fresh after making peace with the likelihood of a watery grave—struck me as particularly odd. My wild side, again, trying to assert her dominance? Living entirely in the moment, not planning for the future. I snorted. Fine, why not? What would it hurt to let her lead, under the circumstances?

  It’s not like things could get any worse.

  And so I let go, basically watching from the sidelines as I kicked, thrust my head under water, and dove down into the depths of the Scarlet Sea.

  Chapter 23

  I’d always been fascinated by what lurked beneath the water, even as a little girl. I used to watch documentaries of aquatic life as a teenager, my screen saver a stop-motion video of the heavily-trafficked, vibrant coral reefs. During Shark Week, Dez and I would camp out in front of the television, which was the only time she ever bothered watching cable; Dez vehemently decreed that reality television shows would lead to the degradation of our society. Still, none of that—not even the wonderfully diverse, multi-colored marine life found in the Great Barrier Reef—could compare to what my wild side found below the surface of the Scarlet Sea.

  Palatial ruins, and dozens of stone edifices and monoliths so large they would take several dives to discern details like shape and scope, poked out from the depths, some rising uncommonly tall, the proportions too vast to be believed secondhand.

  I also found the source of the Scarlet Sea’s eerie glow—the depths were illuminated by a bright, fiery orb. Crimson light spread out from it like the rays of a tiny sun, making the ruins appear as if they were burning. Sadly, there was no aquatic life to speak of—although part of me was relieved not to have run into the Fae equivalent of a Great White. Still, I quickly found myself drawn to the perilous orb, kicking farther and farther down with each dive, trying to figure out how something so bright could burn under water for so long.

  And burn it did.

  I dove several times, using the debris below the water to propel myself, realizing the closer I got to the light, the hotter the water became. After my fourth descent, my skin felt fevered, as if I’d sat too long in a jacuzzi. After my seventh, I felt singed and raw. A voice in the back of my head complained, that we needed air, that we should rest for a while, but I simply couldn’t do that; I needed to know what was down there, no matter what. And so I took a deep breath, the deepest I could manage, and dove for an eighth time, dolphin-kicking past the gargantuan face of some forgotten god carved on the side of a doorway, then through the outstretched fingers of a stone statue, and, finally, under the lip of the statue’s shield—a disc as large as the Space Needle. I could feel my lungs burning, not to mention my flesh, but by the time I cleared the shield—the farthest I’d managed so far—I could finally see the orb for what it was.

  I kicked forward with everything I had, fingers splayed, content to black out if I could just touch it…

  And felt my hand brush open air.

  Suddenly, I surfaced.

  I came up gasping for air, my skin steaming. Overhead, a bloody sun hung in a dull ochre sky, its light brilliant and yet only faintly warm. I was still in an ocean, but the water that lapped against me was a dark, familiar shade of blue. A rush of vertigo hit me as I realized I’d passed from one world to another, somehow; the Scarlet Sea somewhere below me—or above me—held in place by some other source of gravity. But how? I shook my head, using the displaced sensation to reassert my true self, to take my mind back from my wild side, concentrating on my wrist—seeking out the pain like a lifeline.

  But there was no pain.

  I glanced down at my wrist and found nothing but the cool, metal bracelet; the salve Peter had applied had been completely washed away, and yet not a single scar remained. I checked my hands, arms, and shoulders—everywhere that I could see—and realized not only was I no longer covered in wounds, but all my old scars had been scoured clean. I felt baptized. Born again.

  And…

  I hated it.

  My scars, no matter how ugly, no matter how conscious I was of them when out in public, were mine—no different than my green eyes, my red hair, or my accent. They were a part of me, an accumulation of life’s harsher lessons. Without them, my body felt like the body of a stranger. I cursed, but—before I could bemoan their loss—I realized I needed to figure out where I was; my odds of survival depended on it. I kicked a small circle, exhaustion riding my shoulders like a lead blanket.

  My wild side had overdone it, again.

  Surprise, surprise.

  Fortunately, that’s when I spotted my salvation—a city fl
oating like an island, drifting listlessly in the distance. I started swimming before I could even stop to think about it; if I stopped to consider how far away it was, I knew I’d never have the energy to make it. That’s the trick with doing the impossible: the less you think about it, the better your chances. And so I swam, dragging my sorry, scarless ass through the water, propelling my body over the gentle waves until the city’s spires were fully visible.

  After what felt like an eternity—my arms aching, lungs on fire—I heaved myself out of the water and collapsed onto the harsh, unyielding stone surface of the island city. I lay there, unmoving, for so long I honestly felt like I forgot my own name, before finally drifting off, too exhausted to move or think.

  You know how nice it feels to wake up, comfortable, tucked away beneath the covers with sunlight drifting in lazily through your bedroom window on a day when you have nothing to do? How everything seems right with the world, and your only regret is that not every morning could be like this?

  Now, imagine the opposite of that, with your covers on fire, your stack of favorite books smoldering, and your bed a heap of jagged gravel.

  Then make it a little worse, somehow.

  Do that, and you’ll begin to have a smidge of an idea how it felt to be me waking up on the unforgiving ground of an ancient city in the middle of an unfamiliar ocean—a stranger in a strange land.

  Of course, it didn’t help that my figurative alarm clock was a harsh bright light beaming directly into my eyes, coupled with a vicious two-handed shake. I woke, startled, and scrambled back, scrabbling across the stone, my heart pounding. At first, I had no idea where I was, or even who I was—I felt like my mind had been thrust into someone else’s body.