Chapter Twenty-Six

It's been a week since Abe and I walked the plank and had a trial decided by a shark. I'm still unsure how the shark decided anything, but I suppose if it bit our heads off, that would have meant we were guilty of something. Either way, we survived, welcomed into the crew as if nothing had happened, like we were old friends.

Well, I should say it's that way for Abe. Even though the doctor can be awkward and strange at times, he fits in well with this band of misfits and miscreants. All of them are equally odd in their own ways; I suppose that's why they're pirates and not living in the upper reaches of society as normal Vampyres do. High society loves those with money, and the immortals tend to have a lot of it. Still, it takes a lot to mold yourself to seem like an ordinary yet extraordinarily successful human and not the blood-drinking, murderous deviants we all are.

When it comes to me, however, I seem to have made good progress with everyone on the ship—everyone except for Maren. I don't possess a great deal of charm—I am far too grumpy for that—but what I have goes a long way when I'm dealing with a non-Vampyre. Yet, Maren seems immune. I don't run into her very often, which is quite strange when you're stuck on a ship together, but when I do cross her path, she treats me with distance and suspicion. It was her decision to make a shark the judge, but I'm not sure she agrees with the verdict.

I'm starting to wonder if perhaps she knows of my relationship with Larimar. I haven't said anything, and so far, no one has asked for any more information about the Syrens, nor has the objective of our journey been brought up.

Well, that's not quite true.

The other day, after we were treated to blood, Ramsay and Thane sat us down and questioned us about our true intentions. I let Abe do most of the talking. He convinced Ramsay that I need to be around my own kind for a change, that the isolation he thought would help cure me is what drove me to madness in the end.

I think they believed him. I expected them to badger me with the same questions, but they dropped the subject after that. What I really wanted was to ask about their journey to find the Syrens, but I didn't want to call attention to myself when they seemed satisfied with Abe's answer.

Strangely enough, our destination and mission haven't been brought up that often. Here and there, I'll hear a crew member talk about the island, and I assume they mean Roche Island. Some will talk about whether we'll find trouble in the Strait of Magellan, but nothing more than that.

It's fine with me. I can handle a strained yet cordial relationship with the lady of the ship. I've noticed that Ramsay is very protective of her; if I even stare at her for too long, he gets gruff with me, so I'm not about to try and win her over.

Besides, I know how to keep my place and when to bow my head. Now that we've been sailing for a bit, I'm getting rather used to being on the Nightwind. It reminds me of the comradery we had at the monastery, or at least in those later years when we had more humanity. After being stationed alone for so long, or with Abe's sole company, it has been nice to actually be around others, especially blood-drinkers. I know I'm different, and there's a bit of trepidation and curiosity from the others, but we're all birds of a feather.

Though I suppose I'm the only one who has ever had wings.

"Mew."

I startle and turn around to find an orange cat standing on the rack of pots and pans. I'm in the galley with the cook, Sedge, as he prepares tonight's meal. He's the other human here, other than Maren. A mute, but that's fine with me; I learned some basic sign language when I was at the monastery, taught by the monk Pedro Ponce de Leon to aid us when we had to live in silence.

Who is that?I sign to Sedge, moving my hands in a clumsy manner. I'm still rusty, and Sedge hasn't exactly learned the language I have, but the longer I'm with him, the more he's teaching me to adapt to the way he communicates. While I could talk to him, because he's not hard of hearing, I think he appreciates me signing.

Skip, Sedge says, spelling out the letters. Ramsay's cat.

The cat stares at me with piercing green eyes, its tail waving back and forth.

Skip mews again, tilting its head at me.

"Mew to you too," I say, tipping my imaginary hat.

Ships are great for cats, Sedge explains, his fingers moving so fast that it's hard to keep up. They take care of the rodents.

Do you have a lot of rodents? I try to ask, though my attempts are awkward.

Sedge nods gravely. The blood.

Ah. The blood.

I look back down at the food he's preparing, chopping up fresh-caught tuna into steaks. No wonder it caught the cat's attention.

We eat well on the ship, even though we don't need to eat food. Sedge is a good cook, and he has to make meals for Maren and Thane's son, Lucas, who hasn't become a Vampyre yet and won't need blood until he's thirty-five, so Sedge often insists on cooking for all of us blood-drinkers, plus the humans in the hold.

Suddenly, the back of my neck prickles, and I breathe in a scent that reminds me of Larimar, making my heart skip a beat.

The cat mews, and I swear it raises its paw in greeting.

I turn around to see Maren standing in the doorway to the galley.

"Aragon," she says in a clipped voice with a tight smile. "Might I have a word with you in private?"

"Of course," I say. I nod at Sedge and walk with her out of the galley. From behind, I hear the cat drop to the ground and follow us.

"It's really good of you to use your sign language with Sedge," she says to me, her hands clasped at her front, but I don't believe the demure act.

"I learned it at the monastery. We had to live in silence for many years as part of our training. It's nice to be able to use it again."

"Mmmm," she hums as we walk down the stairs to the lower deck, her gold dress sweeping behind her. "I have to say, most of us were…apprehensive about having a man of the cloth on board. A Vampyre one, no less. But the fact that you haven't tried to tell any of us that we're bound for hell has been refreshing."

"As you know, I was a priest. I'm not anymore."

She glances at me over her shoulder. "Ah, yes. Why is that?"

I frown at her. "Because I'm not fit to be one. You know what I did to my congregation."

"I do," she says, facing forward again as we walk toward the back of the ship, both of us listing to the side as we do. We're a level above the hold, and the ship groans and creaks in its own eerie song punctuated by the slap of the waves. We are somewhere off the coast of Southern Chile, and the weather has taken a turn for the worse. Any day now, we're supposed to enter the strait, which should give us some relief.

"I find it peculiar that you were more concerned about me being a priest than about me being a turned Vampyre. A monster."

"I suppose a monster is something we all have to grapple with deep inside."

"But not you," I point out. "You're just a human."

She comes to a stop outside the closed door to the jail cell and quirks up her dark brow. "Even humans have the devil inside them." Then she opens the door and shows me into a room where a large, human-sized cage stands in the corner.

My mouth goes dry, and I'm on high alert. Is this a trap? No doubt I could fight her off, but if the rest of the crew joined with the intention of locking me in there, there's not much I could do.

"Don't worry," she says. "This is our jail. It's not for you."

I step inside the room and look at it from a distance. There are a few other items of interest in here—chains hanging from the wall and ceiling, a long, empty glass box with a lid.

She adds, "Well, I should say, it's not for you yet."

I frown at her. "Have I done something to offend you, my lady?"

"Possibly," she says. Then, she gathers her black hair and piles it on top of her head, showcasing her gills. "I know you've seen these. I know you know what they are. They said you have experience with Syrens, so you must know that I am one."

"A Syren with legs," I remark carefully. "How peculiar."

"Yes," she says, letting her hair back down. "It is very peculiar. I won't go into the logistics of it, but since you were a witch, or are a witch, I'm sure you can guess what happened."

Larimar's words ring in my ears.

I know a Syren who wanted legs instead of a tail. She wanted to be able to become a human, to walk and live on land. The sea witch was able to do that for her.

My mouth feels full of sand, and I try to swallow. "A witch gave you legs," I say hoarsely. "What kind of witch? How did that happen? When? Is that common?"

Her brows pull together. "It was a sea witch," she says warily. "Her name was Edonia, and as far as I know, it's not a common thing. I wanted legs so I could be on land."

"But why?"

She shrugs. "I was young and terribly stupid. I was angry at my father for ignoring me, for paying more attention to my older sisters. So I made a deal with her…" She waves a dismissive hand at me. "At any rate, it's a long story and, depending on how you behave, there are many days and nights ahead of us to tell it."

I'm trying to remember if Larimar ever said anything about her family or her sisters, but she never told me anything.

"What do you mean ‘behave'?" I ask, thinking back to what she just said.

"I heard the rumors of a Syren being found in the waters by your village, and I heard your account of what happened."

"From who?"

"From Abe," she says with a coy smile. "You get that doctor some rum and he'll tell you everything."

Skip mews, and she reaches down to scoop the cat up into her arms.

"I know," she says to the cat. "But I have to make sure he's not a threat."

"Are you talking to the cat?"

"And the cat is talking back," she says frostily.

I ignore that. I suppose being on a ship for too long will do that to you. "What did Abe tell you?"

"That you hunted for the Syren, caught her, tortured her a little, fed from her, and then she escaped. How did she get away?"

I remain composed. "She was drying out. I put her in the surf to wet her tail, and that's the last thing I remember. She must have hit me with it."

"I'm glad she escaped," she says.

"I'm not."

She gives me a knowing smile. "And that's why I need to know if you'll behave. I can't have you capturing these Syrens and trying to torture or feast on them."

"No?"

"I'm a Syren, after all," she says. "Even now. With magic, I can get my tail back anytime I am submerged. I'm still a monster, same as you, and I must protect my own kind, even if we're feral beasts. You must have felt the same way about your kin at the monastery."

I blink, still perplexed by all of this. "But if you don't want any harm to come to the Syrens, why are you going after them? I heard this was a hunting expedition."

"It is," she says, a coldness coming over her eyes. "We're hunting one Syren in particular."

"Which one?"

"My sister," she says with a raise of her chin. "Her name is Larimar."