Fantastical Island (Old School Book 2)

by Jenny Schwartz

  Corey helped steady him.

  A ripe smell of rotting offal descended with Roy. If Naomi had been feeling fanciful, she’d have described it as corpse-like. But standing in the nengaal’s cave was not a safe place to indulge the imagination. Bakus might scare off nightmares, but the nengaal was one: the nightmare of implacable justice.

  Janelle’s cocoon split. She screamed. “I can’t jump.”

  On the ground, Roy turned his head away.

  Corey had a thin rope ready. “Iovanius, if you wouldn’t mind?”

  The ghost grasped the end of the rope and rose to loop it around the top of the cocoon. Some of his glow was lessening. Thank goodness for the energy Otis had channeled to Iovanius yesterday. Without it, the poltergeist might not have had the power for this sustained assistance.

  Corey positioned himself below Janelle’s cocoon, just to the front of the split. “Grab the rope,” he instructed her. “And slide down.”

  That she could do, although she landed with a bump and once down, sat down. The same rotten odor that surrounded Roy emanated from her, too.

  “Water. Food.” Naomi forced bottles of water and bars of chocolate on them. “We need to go.” The nengaal could always change its mind and return.

  Maybe Roy and Janelle thought the same. Or else, they just wanted out of the cave.

  Corey went first with the one working flashlight, then Janelle, then Roy. Iovanius floated beside Naomi, providing her just enough illumination that she didn’t stumble over the uneven floor. Stalagmites and stalactites seemed to loom out of the darkness, only to vanish. It was a relief to reach the relatively smooth tunnel; even better to know they were nearly outside.

  The valley smelled of freedom, and the rain tasted clean and fresh as it struck Naomi’s face. The open air somewhat diminished the impact of the odor clinging to Roy and Janelle, but they’d both need a bath; perhaps with tomato juice, as when dealing with the aftermath of a skunk encounter.

  Night had fallen while they were underground, but after the cave’s darkness, the late evening light was positively radiant.

  With Naomi no longer needing the illumination of his presence, Iovanius zoomed away. He headed for his gladius, probably to retrieve it so that Corey or she could carry it back to the pickup.

  Neither Janelle nor Roy watched his flight, which was dramatic enough to compel attention. Since neither of the nengaal’s former captives noticed Iovanius’s loop-the-loop maneuver, he must have ceased manifesting. Without the amulet around her neck, Corey would have been the only one to see him.

  Maybe that was why Corey had such success negotiating with ghosts: he saw them. Everyone liked to be recognized, even the dead.

  The night wind swirled down the valley and picked up the odor around Janelle and Roy.

  Ugh. Naomi grimaced. The pickup’s cabin would be a tight and stinky fit with those two crowding in. If it was fine weather or they were in better shape, perhaps they could have ridden in the back. Perhaps I could?

  “How far is your car?” Janelle tucked her arms inside her jacket and shivered. She’d do better to zip the jacket and trap in what warmth she could as they trudged along. The rain had changed the muddy bottom of the valley into a pool of water that lapped midway up Naomi’s boots. She squelched on grimly. Wet feet were the least of this day’s horrors. At least they’d survived.

  “About a mile that way.” Corey pointed. “The ground’s too muddy to bring the pickup nearer.”

  “You drive a vintage pickup, don’t you? Green?” Despite their slow, slogging progress, Janelle insisted on talking.

  Roy walked behind her, nearer to Naomi than to Corey and Janelle. His head was bowed as he watched where he trod, and possibly, from exhaustion. He gestured, stop and go round.

  Naomi blinked. She’d been distracted by Iovanius. They were nearly at the tree where he waited with his gladius and he was staring at Janelle who’d moved yet closer to Corey. Naomi looked where Roy indicated and saw the hole, perhaps a half-dug, abandoned jackalope burrow entrance. “Thanks.” She side-stepped the hazard.

  In her moment of distraction, there was a gunshot, a scream, and a battle cry. Not necessarily in that order. The sounds all crashed together.

  Naomi ran forward.

  Janelle had collapsed to the ground.

  Iovanius stood over her. The sword was no longer in his hands, but stuck in Janelle’s shoulder.

  And Corey? He caught Naomi as she flung herself at him, hands gripping him hard in her desperation to know he was safe. He caught and held her, but looked beyond her, challengingly, at Roy.

  “Not me,” Roy said, weary and disillusioned. “No gun on me. You can have my knife.” He produced a blade from an ankle sheath and threw it away. His disgusted gaze rested on Janelle. “I don’t know when she went crazy.”

  Belatedly, adrenaline subsiding, Naomi puzzled out what had happened.

  Janelle hadn’t put her hands in her jacket because she was shivering and cold, but to reach for a pistol she’d had hidden there. She’d confirmed the existence and location of transport, and then, she’d cold-bloodedly intended to shoot Corey in the back—or had she meant only to threaten him?

  Naomi looked at Iovanius who had floated away from the woman.

  “She’s bleeding.” Iovanius’s voice was shrill.

  Corey bent down, scooped up the gun and passed it to Naomi.

  She wasn’t thrilled to receive it, but she understood her duty. She stared at Roy.

  “Stupid bitch,” he spat at Janelle as he put his hands behind his head. His whole posture sagged with exhaustion.

  However, with Corey intent on examining Janelle’s injury, Naomi couldn’t afford to trust appearances. She kept the pistol pointed in Roy’s direction.

  “You stabbed her in the upper shoulder,” Corey said to Iovanius. “If the sword was shorter, or if we could carry her easily, I’d leave it in. As it is, it’ll bleed more when I take it out, but I’ll put a pressure bandage on it. We need to get to the pickup.”

  The first aid kit he’d packed was getting full use. His hair was wet as he hunched over Janelle’s shoulder, trying to block the rain with his body as he worked.

  Janelle moaned and whimpered.

  It was Iovanius Naomi worried for.

  Corey had pulled out the gladius and dropped it. Iovanius picked it up.

  Roy frowned at it. “That thing in the cave, the ghost, he’s still here?” From his perspective, the sword must look as if it levitated. Blood and rain dripped from its point.

  “Iovanius saved Corey’s life,” Naomi said.

  “She pointed the gun at him,” Iovanius said. “After he’d saved her life. She moved or I’d have hit her heart. I’ve never…” If he hadn’t been a ghost, he looked as if he’d have vomited. “There were training accidents, but I’ve never stuck a sword in someone before.”

  Evidently, neither Roy nor Janelle heard him. Roy responded to Naomi’s comment. “A pet ghost and a pet baku and negotiating with whatever that thing in the cave was. Janelle underestimated Corey and his family.”

  Just how long had Janelle been planning her hunt of the fantastical creatures of Catalina Island?

  “If you weren’t such a coward, it would have worked,” Janelle snarled at Roy. “You had a knife. You should have backed me up.”

  “For you to shoot me when we reached the pickup? Or would you have needed me to steal a boat to get us to the mainland? Would you have shot me then?”

  Naomi exchanged a disbelieving look with Corey.

  He looked wryly, tiredly amused as he stripped off his gloves and added them to the bag of bloody dressings, tying it closed. “Whatever you think of her, Roy, she’ll need help to make it to the car.

  “You want to carry her a mile?” Roy demanded.

  “Not want to,” Corey responded grimly. “Or we go for help. I don’t know about you, but my phone’s reception is out.”

  Naomi checked hers. “Mine, too.”

  “Don
’t leave me,” Janelle whispered.

  In the end, Corey and Roy carried her out between them.

  Naomi lit the path before them with Corey’s flashlight. It was a nightmare hike in the wind and rain. Naomi no longer worried about the stink that clung to Roy and Janelle. The relief of climbing into the pickup’s cabin and sitting down was immense. Roy held Janelle on his lap. She appeared to lapse in and out of consciousness, which was a bad sign.

  Iovanius had vanished although Naomi had carried his gladius back to the pickup.

  How they were going to explain Janelle’s injury and/or hide the Roman sword, Naomi didn’t know. Exhaustion and cold left her brain akin to porridge. She watched the pickup’s headlights bounce over the island’s storm-damaged roads. Occasionally, Corey couldn’t miss a large dip or pothole and they all jolted.

  When Avalon’s town lights appeared in the distance, hot tears welled up in Naomi’s eyes. She sniffed.

  Corey spoke across her to Roy. “I don’t care what story you tell about how Janelle got her injury. Fence post, something broken on the boat. Naomi and I drove out to check the wreck of the Second Chance, worried that Monk, the man whose boat you stole and who you sold to a drug lord, could be out there wandering alone. We came across you and Janelle, and gave you a lift into town. We’re not part of your story.”

  “Got it,” Roy said briefly.

  Corey got out. “Stay there,” he said to Naomi. He walked around the pickup and lifted Janelle out, freeing Roy to get out himself.

  Janelle moaned and woke at the transfer.

  Rather than carry her, Roy accepted her back from Corey and set her on her feet. “Move.” They staggered toward the medical center.

  Corey got back into the pickup and sat a moment, gripping the steering wheel. “We did it.”

  “Hooray.” Naomi’s ironic laugh broke in the middle.

  He picked up one of her dirty, freezing hands and kissed it. “Thank you.”

  Chapter 12

  Iovanius joined Naomi and Corey as they walked up the back steps onto the veranda of Bunyip House. None of them rejoiced or felt like jubilant heroes. The ghost looked to be fraying, his spectral form hazy at the edges. When Cait and Otis rushed out to greet them, he merely floated slowly by them and into the house.

  Naomi and Corey paused long enough to shed their boots and jackets. Corey passed the gladius to his great-uncle. “Bleach, water, then polish it. Iovanius stabbed Janelle with it—not fatally, in the shoulder—but no one’s going to believe a ghost did it. Roy’s with her at the medical center. He’s meant to make up some story to explain the injury, but just in case…”

  “I’ll see to it,” Otis said.

  “We need hot showers.” Corey shut down further talk.

  Naomi was glad. Now that they were home and safe, tremors were starting from inside and threatening to shake her apart. Climbing the stairs to the bathroom felt like scaling Everest. She dragged herself up, one hand on the bannister, with Corey beside her.

  On the second floor, they separated without words. In the bathroom, she peeled off her wet clammy clothes. They smelled lingeringly of the stench that had enveloped Janelle and Roy; unless that smell was stuck in her nostrils. She stood gratefully under the stream of hot water, using shampoo and soap lavishly. The water flow stuttered. Either Corey had just had the world’s swiftest shower, or he’d only just turned his on.

  She turned her face to the hot water, grateful that it had cured her tremors. However, not knowing how much hot water the house had, she reluctantly turned off the shower and got out. Warm clean clothes were bliss, and although she’d brought all her belongings from the boarding house, she wore the sweater she’d borrowed from Corey earlier rather than one of her own. For the comfort of it.

  Then she followed an appetizing aroma of dinner down to the kitchen. Food, hot chocolate, and sleep; that was her plan.

  “We have a problem,” Corey said as she entered.

  She could have guessed as much given his expression, and the fact that he was standing at the counter to eat his plate of stew. “I don’t want any more problems,” she wailed.

  His hair was clean, but roughly towel-dried and uncombed. Lines of tiredness bracketed his mouth.

  Cait spooned stew onto a plate and handed it and a fork to Naomi. “Eat.”

  Unlike Corey, Naomi didn’t have the energy to stand. She sat beside Otis at the kitchen table. “What’s wrong?”

  Opposite them, Iovanius had somehow managed to approximate sitting on a chair, or at least, floating at that height. The poltergeist was rapping the table with a spectral fist. Unexpectedly, each strike resounded faintly in the room. It wasn’t a happy sound.

  The stew was hot and flavorful, chicken with herbs and tomato.

  Otis sighed. “I phoned the medical center while you were showering. The night receptionist is the daughter of an old friend. I thought to ask how Janelle is.” He paused fractionally. “There is no record of Janelle or Roy entering the medical center.”

  Naomi stared at Corey. “But we saw—”

  He shook his head. “We saw them walk up the path. The emergency night entrance is around the corner from the car park. We didn’t see them enter the center.”

  She dropped her fork and leaned back in her chair, ruffling her hair. “Aargh. Why would they do that? Janelle needs medical treatment.”

  “But Roy doesn’t.” Corey scraped up the last of his stew. “His boat, the Buccaneer, is still anchored outside the harbor. He maybe decided to leave.”

  “And Janelle refused to be left behind to answer questions,” Naomi said slowly. She picked up her fork. “That’s risky.”

  Corey opened a kitchen cupboard. His voice was muffled as he reached inside. “I’d leave them to it—their decision—except that I don’t want them to escape whatever legal punishment the government can throw at them when they finally send a team to pick them up.”

  Naomi swallowed a too large chunk of chicken and nearly choked on it. “You want to take them prisoner?”

  “No.” Corey had gotten a travel mug out of the cupboard. He filled it with coffee. His expression was stern, that of a man who’d reached his limit. “I want to disable their boat.” He snapped on the lid of the travel mug. “I’m going to blow it up.”

  Forty minutes later, Naomi and Corey were one their way to the lighthouse. The rotten odor that the nengaal’s cocoons had left on Janelle and Roy lingered inside the pickup, but at least the cabin wasn’t crowded. Otis and Cait had been convinced to remain at Bunyip House.

  “Janelle is unpredictable,” Corey had said. “Maybe our guess of their retreat to Roy’s boat is wrong and she’ll return here, hopped up on pain pills. Someone needs to guard Poppy.”

  The only thing against that argument was that Poppy had vanished, but who knew when the baku might reappear? Otis held onto the pistol Iovanius had taken from Janelle.

  As for Iovanius…

  “Are you okay?” Naomi asked the ghost who’d rematerialized as she and Corey climbed into the pickup. Iovanius rode by the passenger window, while she was squashed in the middle against Corey.

  “I stabbed a woman.” Iovanius stared straight ahead, his lower body amorphous, but his face crystal clear. His expression was strained. He looked as if he’d aged. The roundness of his teenage face had lines on it, dragging down the corners of his mouth, and his eyes had sunken in. “I thought that smiting the enemy would be glorious. I wanted to be a hero.” His right fist materialized and struck the door. “Hearing the sound of the blade tearing into her body made me feel sick.”

  The thought made Naomi queasy, too. And then, there were the two bombs travelling beside the drone, wrapped up, secured and hidden under a tarp in the back of the pickup. She rubbed her upper arms, feeling cold.

  It was freaking scary how quickly Corey had constructed a bomb, and not just from the firecrackers they’d carried to and from the nengaal’s cave. Evidently, bomb-making supplies existed around an ordinary home,
and his not-so-ordinary workshop.

  Even freakier was Corey’s mood. It was as if learning that Janelle and Roy had skipped out on medical treatment was a worse crime than kidnapping him; worse than attempting to shoot him. He was no longer being calm and reasonable. He was going to bomb a boat. Two boats! The Buccaneer itself and its dinghy—to ensure that Janelle and Roy couldn’t escape.

  There were so many things that could go wrong with his plan. What if the bombs didn’t harmlessly disable the boats but hit Janelle or Roy? Right now, Corey might think he’d be okay with that—Naomi glanced sideways at his forbidding expression—but she didn’t think he’d be able to accept it long term.

  She could have argued with him. Even now, with the lighthouse looming before them, she could shout for him to stop the pickup. She could fake a faint. He might want to punish Roy and Janelle, but Naomi believed she was more important to him than revenge. He would abandon his bombing schedule and take her to the medical center if she feigned unconsciousness.

  She dug her fingernails into the edge of the bench seat and stayed upright. The memory of Corey playing with Poppy’s tiny tiger paws served as a talisman. The baku loved and trusted Corey. Naomi had to do the same.

  I have faith in you. She bounced beside him on the seat as the pickup took the final, bumpy stretch of track to the lighthouse. The night was dark, the moon hidden by clouds. What light there was came from stars shining in patches of clear sky.

  Iovanius’s face flickered in and out of view, as if he’d lost control of his materialization. Like Corey, he was stuck in his own lonely, emotional world. “I wouldn’t go on because I wanted to be a hero. Heroes kill people. I thought I’d feel heroic when I finally used my gladius.”

  Naomi struggled to respond. On the one hand, she couldn’t comprehend Iovanius’s Ancient Roman view of the world in which death was a kind of trophy, but she could empathize with his obvious anguish. “You saved Corey. That’s heroic.”

  “I swung a sword. I was in no danger! I’m a ghost. Nothing can kill me. But when you took that little boat out to save Corey, you risked your life. Then you risked it again for Janelle and Roy—your enemies. You are a woman and you are more heroic than me.” Iovanius dematerialized.