The Jinxed Pirate (Graylands Book 2)

by M. Walsh

Seba’s Magistrate introduced himself as Harrison Elliot. He greeted Krutch with a fake looking smile and hearty handshake. He was a thin and fairly young man with a pointed face and light, well-groomed hair. He wore a nice suit, and his right eye was obscured by a monocle.

  “Would you care for a drink?”

  “Sure,” said Krutch, sitting down.

  Elliot snapped his fingers at Gojhi. He then sat behind his desk and waited for their drinks. Dune stood off to the side, and the Magistrate stared at Krutch with an almost vacant smile. Visible through the window, the tower loomed over him like a watching creature.

  “Tell me, Mr. Leeroy,” he said. “What brings you to our fair city?”

  “Just hiding out from Sentry Elite,” he replied. “You know how it is.”

  Krutch was handed a drink from Gojhi. He didn’t recognize what it was, but it was brown liquor with a formidable smell. He took a sip, and it tasted like cardboard.

  Elliot accepted his and took a gulp, as if bracing for something. “Are you planning on staying?”

  “Crossed my mind.”

  “May I ask what you plan to accomplish here?”

  Krutch took another sip and already felt lightheaded. “You may.”

  The Magistrate frowned.

  “I don’t really have a plan as such,” he continued. “I’m kind of going with the flow—if you follow.”

  “I see.”

  The Magistrate held his drink, deep in thought. Moisture dripped from the glass, and after a sigh, he took another large swig. Krutch glanced at Gojhi, then at Dune, and neither gave anything away in their faces.

  “Um,” he said. “May I ask how you knew I was here?”

  “A man with your reputation does not come into a city such as this without being noticed,” Elliot said. “The exploits of Krutch Leeroy are well known to the people of Seba. You should not be surprised your presence here has already garnered the attention of certain parties.”

  He nodded and took another sip, no longer noticing the taste. Elliot watched him with an odd, strained face. He adjusted himself in his seat, as though uncomfortable, and seemed to be on the verge of laughing or screaming. It was the look of a man trying to look poised.

  Is he afraid of me?

  Elliot finished his drink with another gulp. He twitched his lip as if an unpleasant thought had come to him. “Speaking of which,” he said. “Are you a … card player, Mr. Leeroy?”

  He shrugged, making a noncommittal noise. Thus far, his meeting with the Magistrate wasn’t living up to his expectation. Despite being the leader of such a notorious city, Harrison Elliot seemed more like an unassuming man of business. He was twitchy and stiff and appeared uneasy in Krutch’s presence.

  “Are you familiar with Sebastian Clock?” he asked.

  Krutch shook his head. Another sip and not only did he no longer notice the taste, he was getting quite buzzed.

  “Mr. Sebastian Clock,” Elliot said, “is a powerful man in our city—in charge of much of our industry and trade. It was he who suggested I meet with you.” Before Krutch could respond, he continued, as if he wanted to get this out of the way as quickly as possible, “Every so often, Mr. Clock hosts a private game of cards with other notable men of Seba—myself included. He has informed me that he is holding another game this weekend and wishes you to attend.”

  The liquor taking hold, it took a few seconds for the words to sink in. “Neat,” he said. “Where, uh, where is this game going to be?”

  “Mr. Clock usually hosts the game in his tower.”

  The Magistrate gestured behind him, out the window. Upon realizing he was referring to the tower across the square, Krutch said, “The shit, you say!”

  “It’s a private game, so I’m afraid your lady-friend isn’t invited,” said Elliot. “But Mr. Clock informed me he would be most honored to have you present. However, if you aren’t interested, you are by no means obligated to play. In fact, if you indeed only mean to ‘lay low’ here, it might be wise to stay out of Seba’s affairs altogether.”

  Krutch hesitated, confused by the sudden shift. Was he being invited to the game or not?

  He took another sip, trying to gather his thoughts, and realized what the purpose of this meeting was: Harrison Elliot may have been the Magistrate of Seba, but he was not the man in charge. That person—this Sebastian Clock perhaps—was using him as a messenger.

  Upon seeing he was only talking to a middle-man, Krutch almost burst into laughter.

  Elliot sighed and wiped his monocle with a handkerchief. “Mr. Leeroy, I don’t want you to have the wrong impression of our city. Contrary to her reputation, Seba is not the wasp nest of villainy the rest of the country believes her to be.”

  “Yeah,” he muttered. “I know all about reputations.”

  “Once, this city might have been a beacon for … unsavory sorts. But those days are over. We are a thriving city with a growing industry—spearheaded by the good Mr. Clock—and Vincent Dune has done wonders with the militia and law enforcement.”

  He snorted, recalling the scene with Brick, but felt embarrassed because Dune was right there.

  “Naturally,” Elliot said, frowning. “Like any large city, crime remains inevitable—especially in the Three Sons. We do have problems with gangs of Goblins, and I’m sure you’ve seen and heard things in Frank. But the fact remains: we are an orderly city here, Mr. Leeroy.”

  Krutch nodded and blinked, waiting for the Magistrate to continue. His drink was empty, and having realized he wasn’t talking to the big boss, he lost all interest in the conversation. “Your point being..?”

  Elliot adjusted himself in his seat and folded his hands in front of him. With another sigh, he said, “I mean no disrespect, Mr. Leeroy. I am well aware of your reputation and accomplishments—”

  “HA!” he barked, knowing he hadn’t accomplished anything in his life. Elliot looked taken aback, and it wouldn’t be until later that he realized the Magistrate thought he believed he’d been condescended to.

  Clearing his throat, Elliot resumed, “I mean no offense, Mr. Leeroy. I did not have your pistol confiscated. I have not strong-armed you, and I am being quite cordial.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “If it would please, I can arrange a payment of gold for you.”

  “Wait … what..?”

  “If,” Elliot continued, looking sullen. “If you are … erm … indeed going to remain in Seba, I believe it’s only fair you tread respectfully during your time here.”

  Krutch stared at the Magistrate. He looked to Gojhi, whose face gave away nothing, and turned back to Elliot, blinking. Slowly, the words sank in and he understood what the Magistrate was getting at: Clock wants me at the game, but he wants me to leave.

  “So,” he said, drunk and smirking. “How much gold..?”

  15

  If not for the lightning, Lily wouldn’t see anything.

  The rain was coming down hard, but there was little wind. Demons can see better in the dark—All the easier to hunt with, she thought with a laugh that was partially a sob—but between the trees and late night, even she couldn’t see much of anything.

  Every so often, the world lit up. It wasn’t the thin bolt that would crack across the sky, but lightning that illuminated everything. In those flashes, she would see where she was—not that it told her much. She was wandering through some forest nestled between the mountains. If it had a name, she didn’t know. She was heading in a southern direction, but beyond that, she had no idea where she was going.

  After what happened in Gerritsen, Lily sneaked onto a train heading back into Graylands. She didn’t witness the commotion, but knew the bodies were found before she left. She caught a few whispers suggesting Brother Myers was killed by a demon and Captain Stark valiantly gave up his life fighting the beast. The young woman Myers was seen with was believed to have been taken by the demon and likely dead.

  Not far off, she thought with another half-crazed, half-despairing laugh.

/>   She got off the train in Lacon and started south on a pass through the mountains. She was unfamiliar with the area, but there were no villages or outposts for miles, and she preferred it that way. She wanted to be far from people.

  As the days went by, she slept little and fed even less. The thought of feeding on someone—even if it was her preferred prey of “evil” people …

  (Evil. That’s a laugh. Who am I to judge?)

  … made her feel sick. She’d been making do with squirrels and the occasional deer or wolf she came across. But that barely sustained her. Her kind was meant to feed on humans.

  Guilt-ridden, deprived of sleep, and delirious with hunger, Lily wandered deeper into the woods—almost never stopping. When she did sleep, she would see James again. She’d see his horrified face. She’d remember him backing away from her, as if she would infect him if she so much as touched him. She remembered the pain of the Sigil burning her.

  In the end, he thought her an evil creature. A thing that needed to be repelled. And he was right—for the Sigil did repel her. He said it was just a piece of metal … unless you believed. In the end, he believed. And now she believed, too.

  She couldn’t live among people in the civilized parts of the world. She couldn’t control herself, and no life of peace was possible for her. She was an evil creature, born of the Black, and her place was in the frontier with all the other drifters, vagabonds, and rejects with no place to call their own.

  Every time she tried connecting to someone, she only got them hurt. Just like the Hammonds. Just like Katrina and Krutch. Now James. Her place was to be alone. Demons have no place among humans or the good.

  Exhaustion came upon her, and she sank beside the trunk of an oak tree. Although she didn’t want to sleep, she soon dozed and the nightmares came.

  She dreamt of the Bad Times—when she was still in the Dark Lands and her existence was little more than fear, hate, and hunger. She’d been forged in the black pits by her master, and when a demon is born, it must be brought to heel. And that meant beatings, torture, and pain.

  She remembered the whips and clubs and being thrown into the pits with other demons, forced to fight and claw for survival. Her masters watched, faceless and hidden in shadow, laughing and shouting as their pets suffered.

  She screamed and cried, desperate to escape, and found James watching her. She begged for forgiveness—pleading for his help—but his face became a devilish grin. He held a barbed whip and reminded her of her place.

  Then she saw the broken, torn body of Byron Stark shamble back to life. What was left of his face also grinned at her. He was going to hurt her, too—but with his hands and in ways that would remind her she was just an animal.

  When she was stirred, it was still dark and raining. Her instincts were working before she was conscious of what was happening. She felt someone touch her shoulder, and in her confused, half-starved delirium, she thought it was her master come to take her back to the Dark Lands and grind her beneath his boot.

  She shrieked and lashed out at the shape standing over her. Warm blood dripped from her claws, and upon smelling it, the hunger took over. She hadn’t truly fed since Beacon. Her instincts were already difficult to control when she was in that state, and now she was half-panicked from her nightmare.

  Without thinking, she lunged on top of the shadow in front of her. She heard a muffled scream as she locked her fangs over his mouth. Somewhere, an animal was growling, and she felt something bite down on her arm.

  The feeding was foul ecstasy. She was disgusted and blissful at the same time. As her strength replenished, so did her sanity, and she began to see and feel the memories of her prey. He was an old man—a hermit who lived in the mountains with a wolf he kept for a pet. He meant her no harm …

  No … no, no, no, no …

  She tried to stop herself, but was too caught up in her feeding. He withered away beneath her as she drained away the last of his life—taking in every memory and feeling of him.

  His name was Phillip Pottz. He enjoyed painting. He came to the mountains after he’d lost his wife and daughter to sickness. He had found the wolf wounded and nursed it back to health …

  Lily screamed and threw herself off him. The wolf was still biting her arm and had drawn blood. She barely felt it, writhing on the ground, trying to regain control of herself and turn away the guilt.

  Again! I’ve done it again!

  She got the wolf away from her and ran blindly into the night. In the darkness, she tripped and fell over logs and rocks and stumbled down hills and off trees—but she didn’t care. She kept running, clutching the sides of her head and crying.

  “I’m sorry!” she wept. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

  * * *

  When Lily awoke, she was lying on a cot. She was indoors, and the room glowed with the comforting light of candles and a lantern. She was still drenched, and she heard the rain pouring outside, so she hadn’t been out long. The room was a narrow rectangle that reminded her of a train—and the thought of a train made her heart jump.

  She shot up, terrified, when a man came forward and took her by the shoulders. “Easy, child,” he said. “You’re safe.”

  He appeared middle-aged, with a square face and black hair that looked like it had been slicked back most of the day, but started to lose its placement. He wore a dress shirt with the top button undone and sleeves rolled up, plus an open, maroon vest, and black slacks.

  Behind him was a tall, imposing woman with dark hair tied in a tight bun, wearing a black dress. Beside her was another man wearing a dirty white shirt and stained pants.

  “Who,” she said. “Who are you..? Where am I..?”

  “My name is Tobias Dust,” he said. He gestured to the woman and said, “This is Clara Shade, my partner. We run the Dust & Shade Traveling Carnival.” He nodded to the other man. “That’s Flint. He was gathering wood while we were stopped and found you.”

  Lily tried to speak, but was too disoriented. The last thing she remembered was running. Running because … the old man …

  “I can’t be here,” she said, trying to stand. “I have to go.”

  “Shhh,” Dust whispered, holding her down. “You have nothing to fear here.”

  “No,” she said. “No, I can’t be here. You don’t understand …”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “Everything is all right.”

  “No,” she insisted. “I’ll hurt someone …”

  Shade cocked an eyebrow at Dust, who seemed amused. Lily stared at them, trying to find some way of making them understand she shouldn’t be among them. In that silence, she was struck by a strange chill. She felt the part of her that was connected to the Black stir, and it made her afraid.

  “What is your name, child..?” Dust asked.

  “Lily,” she said. “Please … please, you have to let me go …”

  “I think you should let her go,” Shade said. “The girl clearly wants no part of this place.”

  “Come now, Clara,” Dust replied. “It’s late and still raining. Our young friend here just needs some rest.” He returned his attention to Lily and smiled. He stroked her hair and said, “You have nothing to fear, Lilith. Be calm. At peace. You’re among friends.”

  Despite herself, she relaxed. Her eyes darted from Dust to Shade and back to Dust. He continued stroking her hair, soothing her with gentle words. Again, she sensed something in Black stir—cold as always, but not threatening. It told her to be calm and at ease. She dozed off and slipped into a dreamless sleep.

  But not before she heard Dust or Shade whisper something. Something that sounded like: one of us.

  16

  “So you decided to come out after all?”

  The private deck Cassie and Seria secured offered shade and cushioned benches to recline on. The sun glistened off the lake, and there was a pleasant breeze. Lock had been close to dozing, feeling relaxed for the first time in almost a week. His headache was gone, and though still tired, his
malaise faded.

  Cassie climbed out of the water and wrapped herself in a towel. “I thought you were staying in again?”

  “Changed my mind,” he said. “Where’s Seria?”

  “Still swimming,” she said, sitting beside him. “How are you feeling?”

  “Tired,” he said, yawning. “But the fresh air is doing me good.”

  “I’m glad,” she said. “You haven’t seemed yourself the past few days. Seria’s getting a little worried.”

  Talk of the bandit skirmish was dying down. Lock kept up his training with Seria and was developing into a formidable fighter—according to her at least. He thought she was being generous. Cassie spent much of her time at the lake. Aside from an incident the week before where Deck was apparently bucked off Dian while riding, things had been peaceful for the Synclaires.

  And yet Lock’s nights were troubled and restless, leaving him morose and groggy for much of the day. For some reason, sitting in the house made him tense and uneasy, as if there was some growing pressure on his neck.

  Coming to the lake made him realize how awful he’d been feeling. As soon as he stepped into the fresh air and sun, he felt rejuvenated almost immediately.

  “I guess I just needed to get out for a bit.”

  “I know how you feel,” Cassie said, letting out a yawn of her own. “I can’t stay cooped up in that house. Every time I’m inside, I just want to get back out.”

  For a moment, he thought it more of his sister’s unhappiness with their new home. It seemed odd she was still finding things to complain about, but he noticed the bags under her eyes and wondered.

  “Cassie,” he said. “Have you been sleeping well?”

  “Not really,” she said. She scratched her hair and shivered. “I’ve been hearing dogs outside my window for the past few nights. They keep me up.”

  “Dogs..?”

  “I hear barking and howling coming from the woods behind our house.” She yawned again. “You haven’t heard that?”

  He shook his head.

  “Neither has Seria. Maybe it’s because you’re in the front of the house? I should ask Deck.” She paused, rubbing her eyes, and Lock saw his sister was exhausted. “We should think about getting a fence built,” she said. “If there are wild dogs in the woods back there, I don’t like the idea of them in our yard.”