Page 10 of Forgotten Monsters
The Scot peels a card from the top of the deck. “If the Dark Gods had told me I’d be harbouring Robert fucking Winslow’s daughters on my boat one day—and not for ransom—I wouldn’t have believed them.”
Allie and I exchange a heavy glance, and we have a silent conversation. We both hate that he has the upper hand. Ever since we set foot on his boat, Barron seems to know—or guess—everything about us. If only we could learn something tangible about him.
“Ransom? Are you a pirate?” Allie asks with her best aloof tone.
The Scot straightens his cards, his tongue tucked between his front teeth. “It depends…what price could I get for ye?” He appraises her body up and down, and the intensity of his gaze sparks shivers in my body.
Allie’s cheeks heat up to the point of turning bright red. She stands up to serve herself another tea, and Barron tracks her every movement.
Mal covers up a budding smile with her hand and leans into my ear. “Allie should decide if she likes pirates, and soon.”
With a chuckle, I nod in agreement.
Barron might like to act like he’s older and wiser, but I’m not fooled. He’s hot for her.
4
YATCH FEVER
Two weeks at sea with rationed food and nasty waves work better than the trendiest diet. After a quick shower, I wrap a loose jacket around my frame and return to the bridge, reluctantly leaving the warmth of the cabin. The mismatched clothes Barron lended me fall haphazardly around my frame. As of right now, we’re officially out of shampoo, and my muscles are stiff from the thin mattress and lack of proper pillows.
Jules and I huddle in the nook of the bow each night, while Mallory and Barron sleep in his bed.
Jules is still puking her heart’s out over the rails, her stomach wasn’t made for sea adventures. At least I can keep in what I eat.
“You look wretched,” I taunt her.
She flips me off—not so dehydrated that she can’t tell me to fuck off. That’s reassuring.
After she empties her stomach one more time, she breezes past me and sits with Barron by the mainsail.
The wind muffles their conversation, but my sister chats him up with an easy smile like he’s our new friend. Like he wasn’t about to leave us for dead in the Underworld palace with a throng of soul-sucking monsters.
We haven’t learned much about our reluctant host since we commandeered his boat other than he’s a beast at poker and a bad cook. Mallory keeps her cards close to her chest, too, both literally and figuratively. Jules didn’t share her secrets either, our tempestuous relationship at a standstill.
We have a few days left at sea, my powers stirring us in the right direction quicker than Barron had thought possible, the fury of the elements barely hindering our progress thanks to my magic. We haven’t caught a glimpse of land, or another boat, since the castle, alone in the immensity of the Underworld’s Fallen Sea.
The wind whips my hair forward, and the blond strands snake at the edge of my vision. A dark shadow condenses into solid form in the early morning fog, and I squint at the apparition. The edges of a tall, rocky cliff slowly appear.
Barron bounces to his feet. “By the Dark Gods and their wicked brooms, the Belial canal. It’s a new record.” He slides under the boom, arms braced above his head, his wondrous gaze skirting the shadows of the outlandish landscape. “You’re good at this, little storm.”
I grit my teeth together. “Don’t call me that.”
His eyes gleam with mischief. “Why not? It fits ye, I think.”
“Alright, now, we have to become invisible.” Mallory dashes out of the cabin with Barron’s spell gear in tow.
They warned us that this particular part of the trip could get unpleasant.
Barron motions to me and Jules. “Ye two. In the cabin.”
I brace my hand on my hip. “Why do we have to hide? If you expect trouble, we could be useful.”
Jules nods in assent.
Barron crosses his arms, his gray shirt stretching over his biceps. “Your powers are mostly useless against these creatures.”
Ice cramps my chest. What monster is immune to both lightning and fire? “Still, we could help you set up—” I motion to the ritualistic chalk Mallory holds in her hands—“whatever this is.”
