A Sea of Purple Ink

by Rebekah Shafer

The room’s gravity changed. Shock waves billowed outward as the two opposing fields collided. The impact sent Reese plummeting toward the bookshelves. She slammed into the charred remains of the shelf. Ash burst in her face and triggered a new flurry of calculations.

  Reese rolled to her back and saw Niela, gravity clinging to the wall by the window. And on the opposite wall— Stryker. Reese whipped her gun out. Joplin, Tyrone, and one last policeman lay around her. “Hang onto the shelves,” she shouted.

  Stryker launched himself across the room. Gravity rippled, tugging at Reese’s skirt and hair. Then the two shifters barreled into each other.

  The room lurched to the side. Reese grabbed a charred shelf in a desperate effort to keep from falling to the wall. Her arm jerked tight. Pain exploded through her shoulder. Reese screamed. Her fingers slipped. She heard Tyrone cry out, then she fell backwards towards the wall. Above her, Stryker wrestled Niela to the ceiling.

  Reese landed flat on her back. Black spots swirled before her eyes. Her arms felt like lead.

  Tyrone landed beside her in a crouch. “Reese?” His white face blurred in and out of her vision. “Reese?”

  The room began spinning.

  Tyrone pushed her into the corner. “Hold on,” he ordered. The walls banged into Reese’s head and shoulders as they jostled back and forth. She heard Tyrone frantically swearing. “Joplin,” Reese managed. “He’s been sho—”

  Niela screamed.

  Reese jerked upright.

  Stryker held Niela against the wall, wrenching at her injured shoulder.

  Fear clamped down on Reese. “Don’t let him write you!” she shouted. She raised her gun, straining to think through the pain. I have to penetrate two fields. Factors burst in waves. The pain was excruciating. Focus. She could feel Tyrone beside her. Smell his familiar smell. The room began to go dark.

  Gravity returned.

  Reese slid down the wall, feeling every inch against her burns. What happened? Why did it stop? Her feet hit the floor. She forced herself to stand and saw Niela in the far corner of the room. Blood ran down her arm and dripped on the discarded bandage.

  Beyond her, propped in the corner, stood Stryker. His face was red, and he seemed to be gasping for breath. Both hands clutched at his chest.

  Bile rose in Reese’s mouth.

  Stryker’s chest was bent inwards, a line of rib bones jutting through his police uniform. He hiccuped and blood dripped from his mouth.

  Beside Reese, Tyrone took aim. Bang.

  Stryker’s whole body jerked. Then, slowly, he sank to the ground. He gave one ragged gurgle, then lay still. Dead.

  Reese threw up. She rolled to her side, coughing and retching in exhaustion and horror. Her breath caught in her throat. Calculations poured through her head in a panicked wave. I’m going to die. The air burned against her lungs. I’m going to die.

  A strong arm wrapped around her shoulders. “Calm down,” Tyrone said. His voice sounded shaky, but Reese clung to it. “You’ll be all right.” He gently pulled her to a sitting position and held her. “You’ll be all right,” he whispered. His lips brushed against her ear.

  Reese’s calculations slowed their frantic pace. She leaned her head against Tyrone’s shoulder and tried to stop shivering.

  “Who was that?” Niela demanded, limping toward them. “Shifters know better than to be on the king’s side.”

  King. Reese pushed herself upright. “Where’s Joplin?” she asked. She saw the king before anyone answered. He lay a few feet away, an ugly crimson stain across his shirt. Reese crawled across the floor. “Joplin?”

  The king looked up at her, white-faced and trembling. “You should go,” he said. “Get out before any more police come.” Pain lanced across his face. “I owe you that much.”

  “You owe more than that,” Niela snapped.

  Factors began piling up. “We need to get both of you to Lacewing,” Reese said. She pushed herself to her feet. The room seemed to sway and grow dark. Reese put a hand to her head.

  Tyrone offered her an arm. “Wait, you want to take him to Lacewing? He won’t make it past the rioters out there.”

  Think. Reese tightened her grip on the merchant. Her thoughts were colliding in fiery trails. “The riots… your canal revolution?”

  “Of course,” Tyrone said proudly. “Not bad for an ex-merchant, eh?”

  Joplin lifted his head. “Reese,” he said. He hesitated a moment, then gasped, “I’ll lift the ban, I swear.”

  “It’s not up to you anymore,” the merchant snapped. “There are enough people knocking at the gate to take down your police. Your reign is over.”

  Enough. “We can’t let them kill him,” Reese said. The reason faltered on the tip of her tongue. Exhaustion flickered on the edges of her consciousness. I can’t do this. “Niela,” Reese gasped. Her voice felt raw in her mouth. “How much do you have left?”

  “Enough to turn someone inside out.” The shifter’s voice sounded low and dangerous. “What do you want?” she asked.

  The floor seemed to dip and ripple beneath Reese. “Get Joplin out of here,” she said.

  Niela’s eyes flashed. “Are you insane?” she hissed.

  “We’ll smuggle him to the mainland until things have stabilized.” The room seemed to be swaying. Reese put out a hand to stabilize herself. “Please, Niela. For me.” She blinked hard, trying to clear her vision. “We…” Her knees buckled.

  Reese felt her feet leave the floor as Tyrone lifted her in both arms. “Relax,” he said. “We’ll work our way to one of my ships.” He held her against his chest. “Well, I guess they aren’t technically my ships anymore, but we can borrow one.” His breath tickled against her face. “You’re not going anywhere without me,” he murmured.

  “You can’t carry me all the way… I…” Reese groped for the next word. A loud humming rang in her ears. The world tilted. She heard Tyrone sniff. “What,” he said, “do you doubt my strength?” The room dropped from beneath Reese, leaving her in darkness.

  Factors occasionally rippled through the blackness, faint trails of thought. The roar of a crowd. The smell of the mists. The hissing slide of rope. And a rhythmic lap, lap, lap of water.

  38

  Where am I? Reese lay still. The world still seemed to be bobbing and swaying beneath her. Water. I hear water. Wood creaked close by. Reese’s eyes shot open.

  There above her, silhouetted between the moon and faint wisps of mist, was Tyrone.

  This has to be a ship. “We got away?” Reese asked. Her mind began filling in the details from the palace.

  Tyrone nodded. “So far, at least.” He took her hand in his. “We’re sailing up the coast a little ways before landing.”

  That’s a trip of several days. “And the others?”

  A smirk crossed the merchant’s face. “Niela’s doing quite well at steering the ship. And keeping an eye on you. The others are around here somewhere.” His gaze softened. “How do you feel?” he asked.

  Reese hesitated. A few pains registered, but nothing too bad. “Better,” she said. She sat up carefully. A few blankets lay beneath her on the deck. I almost died back there. Reese shivered. What if Stryker had a chance to write me again? I could turn burner at any moment. “Tyrone…”

  The merchant’s smile turned into concern. “Are you cold? There’s almost nothing left of that dress of yours.” He released her hand and wriggled out of his long coat. “Here, take this.” He held it out.

  Reese took the still-warm fabric between her hands. A faint smell of aftershave mingled with the tang of the mists.

  Footsteps sounded against the wooden deck. “Reese?” Joplin circled the railing, a white bandage wrapped around his waist. He halted when he saw Tyrone. “If you’re busy…”

  Reese gathered the coat around her shoulders. “What is it?” she asked. Her g
aze traveled to the bandage. “I’m sorry you’ve been put through so much.”

  The king shook his head. “I deserved it,” he said, then seated himself on a crate.

  Tyrone grunted.

  Joplin met Reese’s eyes. “Thank you.”

  Warmth spread over Reese. “You’re welcome,” she said. The words felt strange on her tongue. I never thought I’d be accepting thanks from the king. “You took that bullet on purpose, didn’t you?”

  A smile trembled on the king’s face. He looked away, clasping and unclasping his hands. “I’ve been thinking a lot,” he said. “All those years ago, when Stryker came to me with his plan for ridding the city of stains…” A quick flush sprang up on his face. “I mean, abilities… I thought the ban would solve things. Keep me safe.” He managed a shamefaced grin. “Instead it created a nightmare.”

  Grant’s voice rumbled faintly up from below decks. Ropes creaked. Water lapped against the side of the boat.

  “If you don’t mind my asking,” Joplin said at last, “where are you going now?” He glanced at Reese, a cautious look on his face.

  Tyrone gave a low growl of irritation. “Leave her alone for a few minutes, can’t you? It’s none of your business.”

  Reese stood up and slid onto another crate. The wind stirred against her neck. A few factors began churning. The king’s question. The rebellion. The odds of survival. Reese shivered.

  Joplin lowered his gaze. “I’d… I’d like to come with you, if you’ll have me.”

  Reese could almost feel Tyrone’s stare. “Why do you want to?” she asked.

  “He doesn’t have anywhere else to go,” Tyrone grumbled.

  Joplin didn’t speak for a long moment. His eyes dimmed in thought and one hand held his bandaged side. The rigging creaked overhead. “A second chance,” he said, so softly Reese almost didn’t hear it.

  Reese tensed. “With us, or as king?” she asked.

  The king met her gaze.

  There was a question in that look. Reese felt the familiar tug of calculations. Should we try to put him back on the throne? If the rebellion fails, it would be handy to have a king ready, but can we trust him?

  Footsteps approached and Niela emerged from the shadows. She raised an eyebrow at Reese and took up a position behind Tyrone, arms folded.

  “You can come with us,” Reese said. As Joplin straightened she continued, “And for the rest, we’ll wait and see.” I don’t know how many of these people would want him back on the throne. She took a deep breath. “We need to lay low until the fight settles. And I…” She held the coat shut against the night chill. Her words seemed to stick in her throat. “There’s a chance Stryker put an ability trigger on me the way he did Joplin and Arrow.”

  The color drained from Tyrone’s face. Niela stiffened.

  Reese looked down again, trying to keep the factors at a steady pace. Stay calm. Stay collected. “Until I know for sure, I don’t want to risk leading any more missions in person.” She felt tears pricking at her eyes. “We can try to find others to help us hide, and I’ll do all the planning I can, but…”

  Silence fell.

  “I let that writer off easy,” Niela rasped.

  Joplin stood up. “We will wait,” he said. His gaze locked with Reese’s for a moment. “I don’t have a throne anymore,” he said, “but I do remember that you tried to help me. And if you’ll let me help you, I’m ready.”

  “You can start with taking a turn at the tiller,” Niela said. She jerked her head toward the bow of the boat.

  The king frowned for a moment, then a little of the pride drained from his face. “Very well,” he said. He nodded. “Until later.”

  Niela’s gaze followed the king. “I’ll keep an eye on him,” she said. She stepped around Tyrone and gave Reese’s shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t worry.” She hesitated a moment, as if grappling with words, then turned and strode away.

  Reese sighed. She looked at the dark waves and watched the moonlight glisten on the peaks. I’ll have to figure out what to do with Joplin.

  The sea breeze curled through the air, setting the mists to dancing.

  “You really think the writer set a suicide trigger?” Tyrone said. His voice sounded husky. He looked sideways at her, grim-faced.

  Why did you bring that up? Factors began building, speeding up. “Maybe.” Reese bit her lip. She had a fleeting image of herself, collapsing and burning, hurting Tyrone. “It could be tied to anything, any trigger word. I…” Her hands began to tremble. I don’t want to think about it.

  In one swift motion, Tyrone turned and folded her into his arms.

  Reese clung to him. She could feel his ragged breathing rise and fall.

  “We’ll find someone who can help,” Tyrone said. His voice broke, but he continued, “There has to be someone.” He buried his face in her neck.

  Reese traced her fingers along the merchant’s hair. There were so many things to think about. So many things to plan. But… “You said there were places on the mainland where we can walk without mists.” She pulled away from Tyrone and looked up into his eyes. “I want to go there,” she said. “I want to be somewhere without worrying that every thought might be the end.”

  Moonlight filtered down through the swirling tendrils of mist.

  “I want to be with you,” she said. She felt the familiar whir of calculations as Tyrone’s hand caressed the side of her face. He’s going to kiss me. What do I do? What if… Then she shoved the calculations from her mind. Tyrone bent lower and she rose to meet him.

  The End

  To Darcie,

  thanks for listening

  Copyright 2015, all rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction and the product of an active imagination. Any similarities you may see between this work and persons living or dead is entirely between you and your subconscious.

  Cover art by Isabel Westling.

  Cover design by Ruth Smith.

  Special thanks to my fearless editors Ruth Smith and Sarah Pottenger, my fabulous formatter Sarah Shafer, and John Shafer for the occasional rescue.

  About the Author

  Rebekah Shafer is a twenty-something-year-old living in southeastern USA. One summer, she sat down to write a practice scene and discovered two characters named Reese and Niela. Quite a bit of work later, with the help of double espressos, excited test readers, and lots of Henry Jackman soundtracks, A Sea of Purple Ink emerged from the mists.

  A few readers have asked whether A Sea of Purple Ink will have a sequel or not. As of publication, the author has no immediate plans to add to the story, although you never know what might turn up. Joplin, in particular, has a few secrets yet to be winkled out.

  Meanwhile you can keep in touch with the author and her new releases via her website or other social media networks.

  lanternleafpress.com

  twitter @RebekahNovella

  facebook.com/authorshafer

  Want More?

  Check out A Twist of Fae, the first novella in Rebekah Shafer’s new urban fantasy series “Surfaeillance.”

  Special agent Burgundy Graves has one mission: to track down any unlicensed Fae and nullify their threat, but what she doesn’t realize is that not everything dangerous comes from Faery.

  With Surfaeillance agency failing from the inside and shape-shifting ogres on the loose, Burgundy races to unmask her enemies before she becomes the next victim in a deadly, faery-tainted plot.

  Find out more at lanternleafpress.com.

 

 

 
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