Molly hurried down to the garden, running up to the sorceress. The tattooed man said nothing, nodded to Udbala, threw a hood over his head and slipped away. Molly didn’t bother to inquire after him; her only concern was finding Tom.
The sorceress, radiating the violet aura as strongly as ever, turned to Molly. She took a small vial from her robes and handed it over. “Give him the entire vial. He must drink it. I can sense that he is beginning to weaken.” She pointed toward the staircase leading down to Tom’s cell. “None will oppose you now. Hurry!”
Molly raced toward the dungeons, Tom’s crew trailing behind as she sped foward. The light of her map ring dimmed in and out. She followed its waning guidance, finally coming to Tom’s cell. Taking out a pistol, she broke the lock with one shot and raced inside. Tom lay very still, sprawled on the cold cell floor. Breathing out his name, Molly knelt beside him. As she took out the vial, her eyes watered at the sight of his horrible condition. She administered the medicine, trying to steady her hands as she pried open his lips and poured it over his tongue. In that moment, the contents of the vial were more precious than anything she had ever held in her mortal hands. “If I spill even a drop,” she whispered, “Thomas’s life is over, and so is mine.”
Tom’s weary eyes opened. When he gasped suddenly and sat upright, Molly flinched. She saw that the medicine was working quickly, beating back whatever noxious poison that had compromised his health. Then all energy seemed to drain from him. He exhaled slowly, and then limply lay back down. Color returned to his face gradually, but he turned a feverish pink.
The sorceress entered Tom’s cell. “You must leave,” she told Molly. “I can protect you until your ship is away from the city, but beyond the port I cannot easily shield you. My abilities have their limits. Leave before the authorities retaliate. Fahkir’s fleet will be looking for intruders until the confusion is cleared and the people learn of the truth.”
Molly nodded, her voice hoarse. “I understand.”
The crew lifted Tom and led the way out of the palace. As they boarded the ship, Molly instructed the men to place Tom in his cabin, then shouted out to set sail. “Mr. Shaw! Get us out of here! Aim for Gibraltar!”
“Aye, miss! Raise sail! Man cannons!” shouted Morgan.
The Scotch Bonnet instantly came to life. Spinning the wheel clockwise, the helmsman strained the rudder, and the ship sluggishly turned about. “We may have trouble soon!” he said, pointing toward the waterfront. Fahkir’s fleet was hastily maneuvering toward them. “Wha-?” The helmsman looked up to the sky above Tangier.
Molly’s eyes followed his gaze. An ominous violet cloud was rising from behind the city’s rooftops. The aura grew and moved like a living fog as the Moroccan ships continued to gain on them. Suddenly a figure took shape and climbed high into the night sky. The Sorceress’s face manifested itself in the cloud. The figure stood like a colossus over the city and its port. The figure of Udbala extended and formed an arm, then a hand. With one powerful sweep, the hand summoned a fierce wind, shredding the sails of the Moroccan ships and pulling them apart by the plank, sinking most of them in the process. The gust of wind blew Morgan and the crew backward across the deck of the Scotch Bonnet, but the ship was otherwise unharmed. The figure of the sorceress seemed to smile before leaning forward, pursing its lips and exhaling another monstrous gust of wind, propelling their ship quickly and smoothly out to sea. In the distance the massive aura shrank and raised a smoky hand in farewell before dissipating into the air altogether.
Astonished and pale, the crew tended to their duties, trying to ignore the odd and seemingly impossible events that had taken place moments earlier. A few of the men looked at one another in utter bewilderment, dumbfounded laughs escaping their mouths. Molly smiled as the ship raced foward.
As soon as Molly saw that all was well on deck, she hurried to Tom’s cabin, entering quietly. Looking over at Tom’s form, she saw that he slept quietly. The effects of his poisoning had been subdued. Silently Molly walked to his side, making sure he seemed comfortable. She looked at him solemnly for a moment before making her way back out, going down to the galley to fetch Tom a cup of water for when he awoke. As she descended toward the galley she glanced down at her ring and smiled. It was glowing radiantly once again. With water in hand, she made her way back to the captain’s cabin, avoiding the looks of the crew, embarassed over her unabashed fury earlier that day.
She entered the cabin and set the water down on the desk. Pulling up a chair quietly next to his bed and taking care not to wake him, she watched the steady rise and fall of his chest as he slept. Molly frowned when her eyes fell upon her ring again. She’d had enough of danger, and she didn’t know if she could bear to go on living Tom’s way of life. It was fast and crude and cruel—a never-ending woe. She placed her hand gently on his, wondering hopelessly why such things had to happen. After a moment, she stood, leaving Tom to sleep undisturbed for a while.
Later that night Molly crept quietly from her cabin out onto the deck. She had awakened after trying in vain to sleep, feeling it would help if she knew Thomas was still sleeping soundly. She paused momentarily to allow the gentle sea breeze to waken her senses and refresh her lungs. Stopping at Tom’s cabin door, she gingerly tugged at the handle and let herself in. Shutting the door behind her, Molly turned to discover Thomas was not in bed. Taking several more steps into the room, she jumped in surprise, spying his silhouette by the stern windows, facing out to sea. “Thomas,” she sighed, putting a hand to her chest, “You frightened me. What are you doing up in your condition?” she asked.
“Condition?” he asked innocently. “I’m perfect. Look at me,” he said happily, stretching out his arms without turning around, smiling at Molly from over one shoulder.
“The medicine must have worked.” Molly realized it was a gross understatement.
“Like a dream,” Tom added, turning to her and taking a few steps.
Molly’s eyes nearly jumped from their sockets when faint light revealed that Tom was covered only by the ragged remains of his clothing.
“Sorry. Tangier wasn’t the holiday I had hoped,” he apologized, his blue eyes charming her like sapphires. He was standing very close. Molly could feel his body heat. It was intense.
“I haven’t exactly come to expect holidays in your company, Mr. Crowe.” She reached out to touch his chest. Her fingertips blazed, as did her frantic heart.
“Then we should take one in the scarce time we’ve been allowed.” Thomas flashed his white teeth, touching a hand to Molly’s cheek and craning down to brush her neck with his lips. The medicine had done much more than repair his flesh. It had invigorated his spirit and unchained his bravery. He wanted to know, right then, if tequila had had anything to do with Molly’s attraction.
“Thomas.” Molly couldn’t put a sentence together. She didn’t know what she’d want to say if she could. Her hands spoke for her, moving over Tom’s body excitedly, grasping at his arms and shoulders.
Tom spoke no more. His hands found her waist, and he kissed lightly at her neck, teeth grazing her soft skin.
Molly closed her eyes and clung to his arms, feeling his hot breath sweep down her neck to her shoulder. She gasped as it traveled lower, warming her chest. She squirmed her shoulders from the confines of her blouse and chemise, pulling her arms in so that her breasts heaved, nearly exposed, and placed her hands on Thomas’s stomach, fingertips curling around the fringes of his ragged clothes.
Just as Thomas touched his lips to her again, a torturous pain struck his limbs. He had abused his recovery-high, and the curse was going to punish him if he didn’t lie back down.
Molly felt Thomas wince and held him tight at the waist when he appeared to have trouble standing. “Thomas?” she demanded. “What is it?”
“Nothing. Please, don’t upset yourself.” He struggled to smile again, cursing the horrible onset of aches.
“No, Thomas. Lie down. Please, lie back down. You’re in no con
dition. Don’t strain yourself for my sake.” Molly herded him to his bed despite his incessant refusals, straightening the sheets, fluffing the pillows roughly and yanking her clothing up above her shoulders in embarrassment. Above all she wanted him to be healthy again, but damn if she didn’t despise his curse that night! Her inward frown could’ve been used as a pair of tongs…
Realizing she was quickly running short on restraint, Molly apologized for keeping Tom from his rest and scurried out the cabin door, bidding him a regretful goodnight. Before she could change her mind, she fled to her own cabin, shut and locked the door, threw herself on her bed and groaned as if she’d been punched in the gut.
Tom lay in bed for another half hour, staring at the ceiling. He kicked at the foot of his bed hard, trying to convert his tension to physical power and unleash his frustration upon the hapless wooden framework.
After that night the Alaouite Dynasty was returned to its prior state. The locals awoke from the illusion in which the qareen had cursed them to live, and the sorceress Udbala vanished from Tangier altogether.
Udbala, I have guessed from Molly’s description, was born far from Morocco, just as she had told Molly that night. What I wouldn’t give to have met her! I can only imagine what depths of magical knowledge she possessed. She was apparently an adept producer of potions, for she created things I’ve never heard tell of before, such as the concoction that aided Molly in her conspiracy, and the antidote that drove a silver-laced toxin from werewolf blood! What interested me most, though, was that Udbala could project herself, using the violet aura Molly described.
Elemental projection is not a common magic. I’ve never heard of its being used by a mortal. In fact, I’ve never heard of its being used in the modern world by anyone or anything alive, outside of legends. Elemental projection is often thought to be a fictional magic, for no one, not even a magesmith, has been able to describe to me how one could use magic to convert one’s flesh into another pure substance. Most magesmiths swear that one can manipulate the elements only with a gem whose composition agrees with the substance being manipulated. None of them knows of anything violet in color that could not only command the winds but also exaggerate the spellcaster’s form to such a large scale as what was witnessed in the port of Tangier. How strange.
Thomas was on his feet again soon after the incident in Tangier. I often think he would have fared better during his capture had he not been temporarily weakened by the effects of the curse-inhibiting tattoo on his back. Doing just as it was meant to, the holy Arabic inscription most likely caused Tom’s body to fail to produce enough of the werewolf hormone to combat the destructive effects of the silver in his flesh. Tangier was simply an unfortunate and unexpected turn of events that no one aboard the ship could have predicted. They had been so careful, but then again, bad luck had always seemed to foul up Thomas Crowe’s otherwise intelligent decisions.
Bad luck is an interesting thing to me, because it seems, like all things of a bad nature, to come in threes. In this case, Spain and Tangier would be bad luck’s first two strikes. Tom’s ship was allowed a few days of peace as it sailed through the Mediterranean, through the Strait of Gibraltar and out into the vast Atlantic, but even far from land and the violent world of man, danger is never in short supply.
Geoffrey Mylus,
May 15, 1833
III
Blackheart Reprise
Tom awoke on the cold, wooden floor next to his bed. The fire in the stove in his cabin had long diminished. Only a few hot orange coals were left burning. Groaning, he lifted himself to his feet and shed the sheets tangled around his legs. “Ugh.” He stretched. A bad dream had kept him up all night. Weeks separated the ship from Tangier’s waters. The closer Tom got to Barbados, the more Harlan appeared to him in his sleep. The tattoo on his back burned as badly as the mark whose darkness it was meant to suppress. Tom shook his head and left the cabin, crossing the main deck to rest on the railing of the forecastle. Animated only in body, his mind lingered in the dream realm. He hung his feet over and clung to a secure line for support. Below, the Atlantic sparkled calmly in the moonlight. He sighed, the weight of the universe keeping his eyes from opening.
Molly climbed the galley stairs, a fresh cup of water in hand, and crossed the deck to check on Tom. Noticing him up and awake, loitering on the forecastle, she turned and went to him.
Tom rose and stretched, moving about while fiddling with the lines. Looking up at the moon, he rested against the nearest yardarm, quite comfortable. He began to doze dangerously by the portside railing. The yardarm slowly swung back and forth in the wind. Tom’s arms dangled over it like a ragdoll’s, largely unaffected by the motion. The ship rocked, and Tom was tossed to the deck. He rolled to a stop and continued dozing.
Molly ran up to him, crouching down beside him and holding his face gently in her hands. “Thomas? Thomas can you hear me?”
Tom’s eyes snapped open in surprise. “Hm?”
Molly laughed in amusement. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oh, Thomas.”
“What?”
“Mishaps aside, you’ve done right by me. Thank you for keeping me along.”
“Mishaps?” He grinned. “Oh yes, I remember.” He tried to draw a smile from her as he continued casually, “Almost died again? Back in Morocco? You see, that’s the thing—I tend to forget, it happens so often these days. Terribly sorry if I woke you, by the way. I thought I was being rather stealthy when I got out of bed. How did I give myself away? Or were you watching me walk in my sleep?” He smiled.
Molly let out a hearty laugh.
“Ah, I might have known!” He snuck both arms around her, holding her close. “I admire how your repertoire of roguish skills has grown.”
Molly felt her cheeks turn pink and her heart quicken. Her lips were tempted. “You’re very difficult to keep up with. There are only so many times I can save you, Captain, and only so many hours of the day I can keep my eyes on you.”
“My little misfortunes sway neither myself nor my loyalties to my crew or guardian angels.”
“That’s not what concerns me.” She struggled to her feet. “You were a mere moments from death weeks ago. Had it not been for that sorceress, you would not be alive to see me. I can’t lose you, Thomas. That’s what frightens me.”
“My death is of no concern to me. Your life is much more fragile than mine. Molly,” he said shaking his head and rising. “I’ll gladly give a thousand of my lives to keep the one of yours. You didn’t listen when I promised you that I will … not … die.”
“Even if an assassin came upon you in the night with a silver blade?”
“Not even then.”
Molly looked at him for a moment, her eyes swimming with uncertainty and concern. She shook her head sorrowfully. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“There are things you don’t know, Molly. If I die, I will surely die before I ever break one of my promises. If I make you a promise, do not shake your head and tell me I’m lying. I know what is to become of me, and vaguely when and where it will happen, and I can confidently tell you that I will not die in vain any time soon!” He sighed. “I cannot explain to you how I know this. I barely understand it myself …” He looked at her sadly.
Molly’s eyes fell to her feet as she crossed her arms and held her shoulders.
Tom continued quietly. “I won’t die. Not until everything falls into place, at least. If you cannot trust me, there is no man or woman alive you can trust.” He turned and headed for the quarterdeck.
Molly turned her eyes away to the sea, her voice distant. “I trust you with my life, Thomas.”
“What is destiny, Miss Bishop? Is it a place chosen for us before we take our first breath or first steps, or is it somewhere we’ve always been headed because of the choices we’ve made? Is it a spoonful of both? How would we ever know we were bearing down on a different conclusion yesterday, and how can we know we won’t set our sights on anothe
r tomorrow?”
Molly felt her breath catch in her throat. His words became fainter as he continued.
“Why Barbados? Why you and I? Why are we both still alive?”
Something about his words struck deep within Molly’s soul.
Tom climbed to the quarterdeck and hauled himself up the rigging and high into the mizzenmast. Frustrated, he leaned against the highest yardarm, addressing the night sky. His tone became harsh. “So, how much longer then, eh?” He laughed cynically at the clouds in the distance.
Molly flinched at the hardness in his voice.
“How many more times will Death tip its hat to me before I go?” He yelled angrily. “That’s not specified in the contract is it? I can’t know the duration of my curse, but I can know what its departure will look like. No matter what, it’ll end when I say so!” He took a pistol from his gun belt, eyeing it in an amused fashion and aiming it at himself as a morbid joke. “Boom! Heh, oh no, think again! Thomas Crowe, the ever-living wonder!”
Molly couldn’t stand seeing Tom like that. It wasn’t often that he succumbed to such moods, but when he did he always looked far frailer than when he was smiling and looking upon the world with eyes that defied his fate. Molly stood in place for a moment before making her way unsteadily to her room.
Tom spoke ominously into the wind. “A man with only one life and certain death ahead of him seeks all the joy and pleasure in the world, but a man with a thousand lives and everything in the world eventually seeks only death,” Tom thought aloud. “Have you had the dreams I’ve had, Harlan? Have you looked down the path and seen me standing in it?” Tom’s anger subsided as he pocketed the pistol and stood straight to scan the clouds in the distance. “Now where did that come from?” he muttered.
In the distance, lightning played back and forth between the gathering clouds. The sea had become restless in the previous hour—the waves rocking the ship as a gentle warning. Below the clouds, several dark triangular shapes were barely visible. They swayed on the water’s surface like toys. The sea all around them flowed in a slow, circular motion. It was not a natural pattern, and it was too dark to be the beginnings of a whirlpool.
The Lore Series (Box Set): All 3 Books In One Volume Page 24