I push the hilt up with my thumb and immediately regret it. My finger is sliced open by that very real weapon.
But as my blood blooms, it isn’t exactly the right colour. It’s not a red red, it’s lighter. The deep colour reminds me of the flesh of a dragon fruit. Goosebumps erupt across my skin and the hair at the base of my neck rises. When I look up, there are three pirate women singing directly at me.
The words of the music pierce my thoughts, and sharp pain vibrates over my chest. I drop the scabbard and clutch my bloody hand over the exposed etching. My nostrils flare as I breathe through the pain. I don’t take my eyes off the singers.
I won’t be intimidated by whatever sort of monster they are. As foolish as that might be.
“Sirens.”Love’s whispered voice eases the pain, but as I am about to speak with them, they are gone again, slithering away somewhere else.
The monster women in front of me seem to get I’m off the menu. A sigh leaves my lips and I watch as they sing around the hypnotised crowd. They inch closer to the benches, and as the few men in the crowd grab for them, I see it.
Almost invisible, magic flows from their lips as they sing in wispy, pearlescent bars. As the men eat it up, the sirens move between them without being touched. The women and children look sleepy in comparison. I can’t make out what they are doing, and too soon, the drum fades, and the music stops. The captain steps back in front of the crowd, and the crew sets to work doing whatever it is they do on a pirate ship. Ropes go swinging and I shuffle over to the far railing. We are nearly back to the docks, and rows of small commercial fishing boats come into view, along with colossal sea freights that will make port on the South Shore.
I lean over the railing when my stomach rolls again. Not doing it, I am not going to be sick in public. The ship slowly pulls towards the opening of the Paspawa River, and a historic wharf comes into view. Bunting floats around some of the mooring points and I see a few old, motorised boats floating just out of sight under the dock.
Everyone ignores me, which is weird and great. I’m used to being around people who would recognise me. They are people who know who I am, what I am. These families probably don’t have a clue that I used to be almost famous.
I also don’t know what to do with my hands. At times like this, I usually think about content, write out caption ideas, and review my calendar. My phone was essentially my whole life and now I don’t have it. It feels wrong, like my body is unsettled because I don’t know what is happening. There is no feed.
That is a good thing, I think. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath of the surprisingly refreshing sea air. The only thing on socials at the moment is most definitely those pictures. I wrap my arms around myself to cover the shudder that racks through me.
It’s fine. Doesn’t matter any more.
I’m out of the contract; I’m out of that god-awful fake relationship.
I’m free to act however I want and have a soulmate now.
And I’m going to kill Miles.
My limbs tingle a bit as I think about how I am going to do it. He will fear me, even before he knows I am not dead. Rage swells in my chest at the months I spent in screaming matches about stupid shit. When he suddenly had all the money he could want again at the tip of his finger, it quickly meant nothing to him if it meant he couldn’t continue his old life.
A smile spread across my face. I bet he is having the best damn time right now.
And I am going to rip the rug right out from underneath him.
Chapter nine
Orthia
3 Days
Howthefuckdidshe get out? I blink against the sun as it pierces through the sails, highlighting Delphini like she is an offering. She glows under its warmth as she moves from the mast to the railing.
Love is in my head. I sense them, but they refuse to answer me. That explains where they went during the morning. They were with her. Is this how it is to be now? I must share them?
For centuries, monsters of all kinds have come and gone from my crew, but I have always had Love with me. In my thoughts and in reality. When my rage wasn’t enough to keep me buoyant, their tentacles held me aloft. They kept me from sinking into a darkness I couldn’t return from. They guide me on our mission to return Love to their true power. They are mine. Never has there been a split of their presence in me after a crew member joins up.
Is this because she is mine or because she is human?
I move through the motions of finishing the show. My sword is drawn and I mimic my “famous last battle” on the high seas where I went down with my ship. Lagulla, the gorgon who is dressed up in the heavy British uniform, dances around me to make the crowd giggle. Nonetheless, quickly enough, it all comes to an end when she rests her sword on my shoulder near my neckerchief and the mooring ropes are tossed down onto the dock.
She makes a grand final announcement and the crowd of tourists cheer. It is hard to keep the grimace off my face as they rise to form a queue for a photo opportunity with us. A chill racks my body as the first grubby child places their sticky hand in mine.
This story is a necessary fabrication. Piracy was at an end, and we needed fresher hunting grounds. Too many ships that came into these waters were immigrant ships filled with humans and monsters alike seeking refuge in Gwenmore and further afield. They wanted a new life, a second chance, and that was something we couldn’t take away from them.
The best way to create a myth is to die. So, in one final battle with the British, I faked my death. Now, children take photos with me while they hold tiny cardboard swords of their own, their parents commenting on the craftsmanship of this recreation.
They don’t know it is my real ship.
