Page 69 of Ocean of Sin and Starlight

If they’ll have me.

I look at Abe. He’s grinning to himself with excitement, adjusting his hat anxiously. The poor sap has been through so much, pulled from his lofty work at the monastery to come down and babysit me once again. I’m sure some part of him wanted to leave me to my own devices—but being an immortal, the chances of me dying, even as a monster, were slim, and even if he didn’t feel some sort of sentiment toward me as a friend, he does seem to have this strange urge to want to protect humanity from blood-suckers such as ourselves.

This will be good for him, I think, a chance to be away from the demands of rehabilitating monsters. Maybe the pirates need their own moral compass on board.

But will it be good for me? That remains to be seen.

If I do end up finding Larimar, what will I do to her?

Will the monster make another appearance? Will he be worse to her than he was before? Will he kill her and then disappear, leaving me to deal with the consequences? Or perhaps he’ll take over for good. I might be so despondent that I’ll fully hand over control of my body, mind, and soul.

“They’re going to ask me what I know about Syrens,” I say to Abe as I pick up my satchel with my meager personal belongings, swinging it over my shoulder. “How much should I divulge about Larimar?”

“As much as you wish,” he says as we start walking down from the ridge we’ve been standing on, heading to a winding footpath that leads to the beach. “What you tell them is up to you. On the one hand, if you’re honest, they’ll know that you didn’t join their crew just to siphon their catch. On the other hand, if you’re honest, they might think you’re there to sabotage them.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Well, you fell in love with a Syren. If they end up catching Larimar, are you telling me you wouldn’t stop them from eating her?”

A hot coal of anger burns in my gut, and I clench my fists at the thought. “She’s mine, Abe. No one else’s.”

“So you say. But if you tell them you were intimate with one of the Syrens they are hunting, there’s a chance they might toss you overboard into the oceanic abyss. They would consider you too compromised.”

I press my lips together in thought as we reach the shore. “They would be right.”

“Then perhaps we don’t tell them,” Abe says.

“They’ll want to know how I got my expertise…”

He sighs, staring out at the ocean as the ship gets closer and closer, sealing our fate. “Tell them the truth. It’s easier that way. You saw what she did to the villagers. You captured her, you brought her to your house, you fed from her, and she managed to escape one day. No need to mention the part about giving her legs. They don’t need to know about your magic yet.”

“Or the fact that my house was a church.”

“Perhaps it’s best to tell them as little as possible. Vampyres are an ornery bunch, and I imagine pirates even more so. You’ll fit right in.”

It doesn’t take long for the ship to come close. Soon, she’s dropping anchor not far from shore, and a small rowboat is lowered to the water with a man aboard. The ship itself is impressive in both height and girth, and it hums with magical energy, giving it a life of its own, like a sentient being. I have to wonder how Vampyres happened to get their hands on enough magic to bespell a ship. Perhaps they might even have a witch on board. Vampyre witches are rare, but they aren’t unheard of.

The rowboat gets closer, a Black man at the oars, who pulls in a few yards from shore.

“Ahoy there,” the man says in English, casting a suspicious eye over us. “And who might you be?”

“Doctor Van Helsing and Aragon,” Abe announces with a flourish of his hands, speaking the language fluently, just as I can.

“Aragon what?” the man asks. “Or does he only have one name?”

I raise my brows. It had always been Father Aragon, but now that I’m not a priest…

“Aragon Alcaraz,” Abe says without hesitation, using the name I was born with. It doesn’t sound terrible. “We’ve been waiting for your ship for six months. I sent your captain correspondence last year.”

“Aye,” the man says with a shrug. “Schedules are hard to keep in these parts. Well, I suppose you check out.”

He starts rowing the rest of the way until the hull scrapes against the sand. Abe and I quickly walk to the boat, throwing our satchels over before climbing aboard. I wade in the water to my knees in order to push the tender out of the shallows.

Abe takes his seat on the wooden plank across from me and makes a disgruntled noise. The hem of his pants is wet.

You’re not going to last a day, I think to myself.

I’d tell him so, but I don’t want this man to kick Abe off for being unseaworthy, even though the man is shooting me a look that says, And this man wants to be a pirate?

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