They kissed again, and Jack leaned his forehead against hers for a few seconds as their lips parted.
“Have you been doing well?” he asked. “What’s it like being a, uh, water nymph?”
“Technically, I’m a water nymph hybrid.” Ryoko shrugged and then smiled. “It’s been… better than I can put into words. So different from how my life was before. So much more purposeful.”
“How so?” asked Jack.
“I have responsibilities,” said Ryoko. “Not that I didn’t before, working for you, sir. But now, I can have a real impact on the world. I help people lost at sea. I help marine life, dolphins and whales and other intelligent creatures. I deflect storms from vulnerable coastal communities. I… I explore remote islands, and sleep under the stars, and sometimes under the sea.”
“Wow,” said Jack. “That sounds like something out of a movie.”
Ryoko’s cheeks reddened again, and she reminded him of her old self as she diverted her gaze toward the bottom of the dinghy. In truth, her description of her life sounded perfect, especially for someone like her.
She’d been depressed and emotionally adrift after her uncle had died, and what she’d needed was a new beginning. Life as a water nymph had given her that, and from the sounds of it, even more.
“What about you?” she asked. “How have you been?”
“How have I been?” said Jack, scratching his head. “Not so good.”
He didn’t want to lie to her, but he didn’t want to tell her the truth, either. He’d killed people for Mezolak. He’d fed off more women than he could count without their consent. He’d helped create an army of monsters.
On top of that, the next time he came within earshot of Mezolak or Reese, he’d go right back to it. He wasn’t a person anymore. He was a tool. It might have been a mercy for Katie to have left him to his fate with the Order.
“Jack…” whispered Ryoko. “You can talk to me.”
She pressed a hand to his cheek and then frowned.
“You’re burning up,” she said. “This is bad. You need to get out of the sun if you’re going to have any chance at properly recovering.”
“Easier said than done,” said Jack.
“Not for me,” she said. “I can help you. Just like I used to help you, sir.”
She slowly stood up and then leapt over the side of the dinghy and into the water. Jack watched as she swam to position herself in front of it and started moving. She wasn’t swimming. She was creating a perfect, localized current, one that swept herself and the boat forward at an ever-increasing speed.
“Where are you taking me?” asked Jack.
“Home,” said Ryoko.
CHAPTER 22
Jack felt a remarkable shift in his spirits as the dinghy began to move with purpose. The sun had set over the ocean’s distant horizon, and a cool breeze was hitting his face and tousling his hair. He still felt fatigued, but far better than he had since first entering the custody of the Order.
It was impossible to tell how fast the small boat was going, but any speed beat the aimless meandering that he’d been subjected to for most of the day. An hour passed in much the same way, with Jack resting and watching the stars overhead.
He spotted the dark clouds in the distance at almost the same moment he heard the thunder. Jack frowned as the dinghy continued forward, heading straight for the chaotic, swirling tempest. The waves became significantly choppier as they approached, and he started to get a little worried until he remembered who and what Ryoko was.
The storm parted for them, splitting in half so neatly that it seemed as though a titan had cleaved through it with a massive sword. The dinghy moved forward on what was essentially a road through the storm. When Jack looked directly to his left or right, he saw flashing lightning, choppy waters, and pounding rain, but it was separate from their path, as though he was watching it through a glass window.
He finally drifted off to sleep as they came out the other side of it, too exhausted from the time he’d spent awake and anxious to put off rest for any longer. He dreamed of Ryoko and Katie, his imagination creating a confusing scenario in which they were angels, and he a devil.
When Jack woke up, the dinghy wasn’t moving anymore. It was mid-morning, right around when the day began to heat up. His tiny craft had washed up on the surf of a beach. And not just any beach.
He was on Lestaron Island. Home.
The mixture of emotions that flooded through him as he scanned the shore and waterfront was a little overwhelming. He’d only been gone for a couple of months, but it felt like so much longer after all that had happened.
“…Ryoko?” he shouted.
He looked up and down the beach, but saw no sign of her, or anyone else. She wasn’t in the water, but Jack managed to stave off the urge to start worrying. If anything, she was probably better at taking care of herself now than he was.
He climbed out of the dinghy on stiff, half-asleep legs and headed for the stairs leading up to the boardwalk. Jack slowed to a stop as he reached the top of them, feeling pieces of his heart break off and shatter as he bore witness to what was left of the town.
All of the buildings near the beach were boarded up and condemned, each one marked with a white chalk X on the door which presumably identified them for demolition. The nearby street signs were bent at odd angles and missing their tops. The statue of Lestaron Island’s founder had taken a direct hit from something huge during the flood, as half of the stone ship’s bow had been chipped completely loose.
There were no cars on the street, parked or otherwise, and there were no people. He should have realized it as soon as he saw how empty the beach was. The island had seemingly been abandoned. Lesser Town was Jack’s first and last real home, and it was now a skeleton, laid bare and lifeless.
He felt a painful lump in his throat and had to blink a couple of times to keep his eyes from acting all weird on him. He didn’t head deeper into town, instead following one of the side roads through the outskirts and then up to the slope that led to the mansion.
Jack took his time, as much due to his own hesitance as because of the state of his fatigued body. He wasn’t sure what he’d find waiting for him when he reached his grandfather’s old estate.
A paranoid part of him half expected Mezolak to be there already, with a smug smile on his face and a new sinister mission for him. He brushed the thought aside. Mezolak would never expect him to come back to Lestaron Island. It was too obvious of a place for him to hide out, and the demon was either too smart, or too stupid, to seriously consider the possibility.
The mansion had fared better than the town during that fateful supernatural storm, but looking at it after being gone for so long still emphasized the extent of the damage. Shingles had been torn loose from the roof in patches. One of the cherry trees had been uprooted and knocked over by the wind. Paint had been cracked and stripped off from the walls in places, unable to withstand the intensity of the storm.
He paused outside the wrought-iron gate and, on a whim, tried the electronic control panel. It still worked, though the gate let out a disconcerting screech as it slid aside to allow him entry. If there was still electricity being routed to the mansion, maybe the town wasn’t quite as deserted as it had looked at first glance.
He unlocked the front door and made his way inside, turning the light on and surveying the foyer. It had a musty, forgotten smell, with a hint of dampness to it. The floor had a thin but noticeable layer of dust across it, suggesting that nobody had been inside in at least a few months.
One of the windows in the foyer had been smashed during the storm, but someone had carefully pinned and taped a tarp into place over the empty frame. It must have been Mira’s handiwork in the day or two after he’d left the mansion. The spot where she’d fallen to on the floor after being shot by Mezolak had also been cleaned. He smiled, feeling a sliver of nostalgic fondness for his former broodmother’s considerate ways.
He headed through
the mansion slowly, checking each room and confirming what he already knew. Ryoko’s room was exactly as it had been left the last time she’d been in it. Jack didn’t like thinking about how he’d found her there, cold and still, with empty pill bottles on her bed stand.
Mira’s old room had been carefully cleaned, set back into its original, unused state as a guest room. She’d taken most of her clothing with her, though almost all of it had originally been borrowed from Ryoko and Katie. Jack had been holding out hope that he might find her there, still inhabiting the mansion. Waiting for him to come back, like a stubborn, obsessive lover.
No, it was better that she’d gone off on her own. It made more sense. The life that Jack and the girls had lived in the mansion had ended the moment he’d made the deal with Mezolak in exchange for saving Ryoko. Holding onto the last remnants of it would have just been pointless and sad.
He headed upstairs and into his old room. He still had clothes in his dresser, and he changed out of his current outfit, which was dirty and itchy from having worn it continuously for so long. He picked out a v-neck and a pair of track pants, then decided that it made the most sense to shower first.
Fifteen minutes later, Jack had scrubbed himself clean and pulled on fresh clothes. He felt comfortable in body, if not in mind. There was a strange, unfinished nostalgic feeling to the mansion, almost as though he was rereading one of his favorite books that had never received a proper sequel.
He headed down into the cellar slowly, feeling almost reluctant to face what he knew he’d find. The chalk pentagram he’d used to summon Adana was still scrawled on the floor, along with the burned-out candles and ashes of the incense.
The door to the secret workshop opened with ease as soon as he’d put in the code. The small, hidden space on the other side was much the same as he’d left it, full of his grandfather’s collection of magical trinkets, along with a massive weapon rack with several swords that had become ornamental over time. Katie’s old crossbow was there, too, apparently not the type of utensil that the Order welcomed into the fold.
He’d left his grandfather’s staff and black leather duster sitting out on the table. Jack ran a hand over them both, trying to picture the man who they’d once belonged to. His memories of his grandfather were thin and faint, smoothed clean of the sharp details like a piece of glass washed up on the beach.
He picked up the staff and ran his hands across its weathered length. It was so easy to picture his grandfather fighting warlocks and monsters with it. Everything about the life Peter Masterson had lived had dripped with courage, from his refusal to join the Order to the way he took it upon himself to be the defender of the island. Jack felt selfish as he considered his own choices and the lack of that same sort of natural valor.
“What would he even think of me?” he muttered.
“He’d be proud of you,” said a voice.
It caught Jack by such complete surprise that he didn’t even have a reaction. He glanced around the workshop, blinking in disbelief as he saw a ghostly, bluish apparition of an elderly man he recognized standing in the corner, watching him. Smiling and watching him.
“Grandpa Pete?” he asked, half as a question and half as a statement.
“Sort of,” said the apparition. “But not precisely. It’s complicated.”
CHAPTER 23
Peter Masterson had been a handsome man all throughout his life, and he still was as a ghost, or apparition, or whatever he currently was. He was old, with a wrinkled face and a bald head, but he carried it well, and there was a touch of boyish mischief in his eyes. He’d taken care of his body in life, and he had a lean, healthy figure. He was wearing jeans and a button-up flannel shirt tucked into him, which were both tinged the same bluish color as his body and skin.
“How is this even possible?” asked Jack. “I… don’t think I’m hallucinating. Though I did drink a fair amount of seawater recently.”
“I’m not a hallucination, either,” said the ghost. “I’m an imprint of your grandfather, imbued with a small fraction of his life essence. I was left within the staff specifically so that we could, in due time, have this conversation.”
Jack looked down at the staff in his hands, and then back up at the imprint of his grandfather. The ghost had a patient smile on his face, the kind of smile that his grandfather had used to give him and Katie when he’d find them playing in the yard.
“Why?” asked Jack. “More importantly, how? This isn’t the first time I’ve picked up your old staff. Why show yourself to me now?”
“Again, it was specifically for your own sake,” said the ghost. “I—my original self, that is—wanted to give you guidance if you ended up becoming involved in wizardry and the supernatural. My imprint was etched into the staff in such a way that I would only appear if you began actively using it.”
“I did use it,” said Jack. “To save Ryoko, in the storm.”
“I know.” The ghost smiled a little wider. “If you’d held onto it for a single minute longer than you had, we would have met each other much earlier. But that’s often the way of things in life.”
Jack didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds, and neither did the ghost. Despite the explanation he’d been given, he still felt like he was brimming with questions. It reminded him so much of his childhood, and the way he’d constantly badger his grandfather with each little curiosity that popped into his head.
“Can anyone else see you?” asked Jack. “Not that there is anyone else here, but if there was, could they?”
“No,” said the ghost.
“Is there anything I should know that you haven’t mentioned yet?” asked Jack.
The ghost nodded. “I draw the essence required to appear for you from within the staff. Since the weapon can no longer be recharged, given the death of my original, you may want to consider limiting the amount of time you summon me for.”
“Fair enough,” said Jack. “So, I can just summon and dismiss you at will, if I’m holding the staff?”
“Indeed,” said the ghost. “I do not have the same experience of existence as you do, so there is little reason for you to feel sentimental about it, I might add.”
Jack nodded slowly, finally making his way to the most important question.
“Do you really think that my grandfather would have been proud of me?” he asked.
The ghost let out a loud, mirthful chuckle. “Absolutely, Jack. I can sense who you are, and what you’ve done, through your connection with the staff. He would have advice for you, which he would give in a forceful, unsolicited manner. But it would be advice given from a place of love and pride.”
“What advice?” asked Jack. “You’re his imprint. Can you tell me what he’d say?”
“Of course I can,” said the ghost. “First and foremost, you must free yourself from the spell you are under. I can see the demon’s hold over you, and it is not a pretty thing.”
“The demon,” muttered Jack. “It’s Mezolak. The same one that possessed my father.”
Peter’s imprint brought a hand to his chin and nodded. “I’d figured as much. He has a very distinctive magical style. The type of spell he forced onto you is powerful, but there are chinks in it, as with all continuous effects.”
“What should I do?” asked Jack.
“I have an old friend who I believe can help,” said Peter. “His name is Xepher. He’s a powerful wizard, but also a very dangerous man. One of the few people the Order of Chaldea has ever given up on hunting.”
“Xepher…” repeated Jack. “Where can I find him?”
The imprint hovered across the floor, rather than walking. There was an old globe on one of the shelves, and he pressed a blue-tinged finger onto it.
“You’ll have to turn this for me,” said the ghost. “About 70 degrees to the left.”
Jack did so. The ghost shifted his finger to the approximate point of Lestaron Island, and then traced it south, toward the outskirts of the Caribbean.
&nbs
p; “Here,” said the ghost. “Mark it down with a pen. It is a place called Raptoran Island, and it is not on most conventional maps.”
“Raptoran Island,” repeated Jack. “Are you sure I’m going to be able to find it, just from this?”
“Keep the staff with you, when you leave,” said the ghost. “I can help guide you once you’re within range.”
Jack looked down at the old staff, and then back up at his grandfather’s imprint.
“Can you help me fight Mezolak?” he asked. “And can you help me… save my father?”
He had to force out the last sentence, and the words felt strange on his lips. As though by asking, he risked rekindling a hope within himself that he’d been actively trying to put out. His grandfather’s imprint frowned slightly, and gave a small shake of his head.
“It is not that simple,” said the ghost. “I tried, in the last few years of my life, to find a way to save James. He and Mezolak are no longer separate entities capable of being parted.”
“I…” Jack exhaled through his teeth. “I don’t know if that’s true. That’s not how it seemed to me.”
“I am sorry, Jack,” said the ghost. “If you have love for your father and wish to set him free, the only way is through death. Trust me when I say that it’s what he would have wanted.”
Jack did trust the ghost, but he couldn’t make himself accept the conclusion. He shifted his attention, realizing that he had the rare chance to ask the imprint about anything his grandfather would know and get an answer.
“Why didn’t you ever join the Order of Chaldea?” he asked.
“Because I’m not a square,” said the imprint, with a grin.
Jack let out a surprised laugh, suddenly remembering one of the reasons why he’d enjoyed his grandfather’s company so much as a child.
“Is that the only reason?” he asked.
“More or less,” said the ghost. “The Order sees the world in black and white. I didn’t like that, and I didn’t need their help for most of the goals I wished to achieve.”
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