Chasing Boston Page 3

  3

  After The Deal

  Millie

  Everything stops when he lets go. The pain recedes. My heartbeat calms. His eyes fade from black to brown. Then something new begins, my hand misses his grip, the skin on my forearm feels tight, and the air between us flashes with a palpable spark. He still smiles at me, my gaze catching on his utterly kissable lips.

  No, I tell myself, condemning the intrusive thought.

  His attention is fixated on me, steady and unwavering, but his smile starts to lessen until it's a shadow of what it once was. The knot in his throat bobs once. His hand slides against the table and back to his glass.

  Rumi sits perfectly still. His chest doesn't move, as if he's holding his breath, holding time itself in his lungs just to keep it from hurtling forward.

  No one around us speaks or offers those same mocking laughs. Their heads are bowed, chins to chests. It feels as if they are mourning the girl I was minutes ago, the one I'll never be again.

  With a long inhale, I curl my fingers into my sleeve and pull it up my forearm to examine the place where my body feels wrong. Fresh black ink is a stark contrast to my porcelain skin and the brown freckles on my arm. The mark shimmers under the lantern light, an hourglass, dropping the sands of time.

  "You tattooed me," I gasp. "How—that’s not possible." I brush my fingers over the surface, the edges of the image raised...no scarred...against my skin, and drag my attention up to Rumi. What had I done?

  "Tattoos are for criminals," I whisper.

  Whatever spell he'd cast to keep the clock from ticking forward breaks when I speak. Rumi rolls his dark eyes and stands from the table. "A lady, yet here you are making a deal with me, a criminal." He chuckles under his breath and begins rolling up his sleeve to show me the tattoos, all hourglasses of different sizes that litter his skin. Some are faded, more blue than black, but it's hard to miss the one that matches mine, the rich shade of midnight.

  With one knuckle, he knocks against the wooden table. "We're leaving." He looks at me. "Let's go."

  "Now?" My chair scrapes behind me as I stand. My pulse spikes. "What of my parents? Of my plans?"

  "You can write them a letter once you board the ship."

  "And my clothes?"

  "You can borrow some from the crew." He tilts his head, amusement shining in his gaze, then gestures to the men, and starts forward.

  The way he drifts through the bar makes everything fluctuate around him. The pull of his gravity changes how the room functions without him to ground it. His entire crew follows, the tail of the snake following the head. They push past me. Shoulders knock into me, pulling me with them, an invisible tether that ties us all together goes taunt in my chest. The tide pulled back to sea and I must go with it.

  Follow, follow, follow, my mind says.

  Conversations pause, then start back up. People freeze, lost in thought, then slowly merge to fill the space he'd just taken up. Even the shadows seem to curl like smoke in the corners of the room.

  No one looks up at us. No one sees me—the girl in the middle of the room terrified and excited all at once. The music plays at a distance. The room is empty without him. Hollow. I don't know how I know that, but I do.

  Our table fills with men who don't care about the two glasses still sitting there, rings of sweat ruining the wood. It's as if we were never there and the idea of it makes goosebumps trail over my body. Because even if none of them know that I was here, the tattoo on my arm remains. A stain on a once perfect body.

  I hurry after them. I leave behind the bar I never thought I'd find myself in tonight and hurry through the dark streets of Himond. It isn't a long walk from here to the docks, but it's not a walk I find myself wanting to take alone. The minute I set foot outside, I tug my sleeve down to hide the tattoo. Staying at the edge of the group, I can't keep from looking over my shoulder every few minutes.

  Street lights provide small pockets of light that reveal the crew moving forward on quiet roads. Black fog steams up off the road, smoke that trails up and around our bodies. The night itself hides us. The people of Himond don't know that I'm leaving the town behind. They don't know that something wicked and sinister moves through the place that they call home.

  I stretch out a hand, feeling the way the smoke curls at my fingers. It teases against my skin, grazing up my hand and around my forearm in a lover’s caress. My lips part on a breath. It's warm, but just like mist, it vanishes when I move.

  When I look ahead, Rumi looks over his shoulder, watching me. I drop my arm back to my side and grip my skirt again. Trick of the light, that's all this is. Fog.

  Everyone funnels up the gangway to the raven colored ship. In silver, the name Souleater sparkles under the light of the moon. As quickly as I read the name the word disappears altogether, leaving me blinking and wondering if it was only imagined. The dock next to it is painfully empty.

  I smile as the board bounces under our feet. The wood creaks at our weight until everyone is aboard the boat. The crew dissolves into their work, pulling at ropes and chains under the bright light of the moon until only Rumi and one other remain. Large black sails open up overhead. The ship shutters as the anchor is pulled up and the wind starts to pull us away.

  Fast. It's already moving so fast. I wring my hands in front of me, not sure where to put myself or how to hold myself in front of him.

  Now that he stands before me I get a better look at him. The dark fog is gone, his face clear. Sun-kissed skin, blonde hair in need of a trim, the shadow of a beard. A loose cream-colored shirt with strings instead of buttons, tucked into loose brown trousers shoved into worn black boots that make mine look brand new in comparison. He shoves one hand into the pocket of the long brown coat that sits over it, mussing his hair with the other before he points to the man next to him.

  "Jac will help you settle in."

  The man, Jac, turns and walks away. "Follow me."

  Only then do I realize that Jac isn't a man but a woman in men's clothing, her hair tucked up into a tan headscarf. Her dark, rich skin shimmers as if she herself is the evening sky, and I wonder why she would ever hide in masculine clothing like she does. She's tall for a woman too, which only adds to the illusion.

  Jac doesn't wait for me. I hesitate, Rumi still watching me with a single lifted brow. When his attention drifts down my body, as if he too is finally getting a good look at me, I jolt forward to follow. Jac yanks open the lattice work of a metal gate that leads to the underbelly of the ship. She walks quickly and quietly down the narrow stairs and into the dark.

  My eyes don't adjust to the dim shadows but Jac lights a lantern and lifts it up. It illuminates a space much smaller than I imagined. Pallets of blankets are sporadically placed along the walls and hammocks sway from the ceiling. The space reeks of body odor and sweat clinging to the blankets. My nose crinkles as I try to breathe through my mouth. I follow her to the farthest corner where she points to a pile of messily folded clothes.

  "Clothes." She points to two hammocks. "My bed. Your bed."

  I nod. I've never slept in a hammock before, I wonder if they are comfortable.

  "You're a girl," I say.

  Her expression stays blank. "I have a vagina if that's what you mean."

  "I—”

  "Here it does not matter if I am male or female. I just am."

  I sigh, not exactly sure what that means. But I know without the explanation, that it's something beautiful. I know that we may be vastly different but it's these differences that make the world so... dazzling. The sheer amount of people on this planet, the differences that make us all distinct—I’m amazed by it.

  “Is your name really Jac?”

  Her eyes narrow but she nods. “Short for Jaqweshia but no one says it right so just call me Jac.”

  “I can do that.” I agree. "Can I get a pen and paper to write to my parents?" Nerves churn deep inside my stomach. My parents will be so mad. But when I bring Boston home they'll understan
d. They have to. But I can't have them worrying for me like I've worried for my brother, so a letter will have to do.

  "We can't send letters." She folds her arms over her chest, well hidden under her clothing.

  The boat sways under me. My excitement snuffs out like a candle. Realization settles over me. "But Rumi said...?" I trail off finally feeling the panic I should have felt all along ripping its way up my throat. My feet drag against the floor as I stumble backward. I turn in the dark and race up the stairs, clawing my way up the wood.

  Get off the boat. I have to get off the boat! I made a mistake. This is wrong. It's all wrong.

  My boots slam into the steps. Moonlight finally kisses my skin again as I throw myself up onto the deck, weave through crew members, and rush to the edge, where I can already see the distance growing between me and the docks. So far, we're already so far. How is this boat that fast?

  "Rumi says a lot of things," Jac says from behind me and I swear there is pity in her voice.

  Fanning around me, my skirt twists around my legs as I spin back around to face her. The wood of the railing that keeps me from toppling over the edge and into the cold waters below bites into my palm.

  She continues, lifting her chin. "Everyone here has made a bargain with the captain. We all learn our place in time and so will you." She taps her foot for a minute. "It will fade, you know."

  "What will?" My voice shakes.

  "The tattoo." She lifts up her pant leg to show a tattooed hourglass that takes up most of her calf. It shimmers as sand trickles from the top to the bottom. "It counts down to the end of your bargain. Once your bargain is done, the tattoo will disappear."

  "How much time did you bargain away?"

  "I owe Rumi the rest of my life." She clenches her jaw. "It was worth it. I'd do it a hundred times over."

  "I'm going to kill him," I seethe, starting forward. "He lied to me."

  Her hand grabs my shoulder. "You can't kill him."

  "You think I'm not capable?" The bigger question, would I kill for Boston?

  "Yes." She blinks as if it should be obvious. "You cannot kill what you are bound to. Such are the laws of magic and myth."

  "I do not believe in magic or myth," I growl up at her.

  "Stupid girl. Even death itself can never come for him."

  "Not possible."

  A wide smile spreads across her face. Two dimples appear in her cheeks and her teeth sparkle as white as the stars overhead. "Well, you better start believing in the impossible if you want to make it through the next five years."

  4

  After The Deal

  Millie

  Cold wind cuts through the fabric of my dress. The spray of the sea when a wave crashes against the stern is ice against my skin. I stare across the water to where the lights of Himond continue to fade away.

  All the stars above have disappeared behind thick clouds. Clouds… not too different from the fog in Himond. When I look up at them for too long, they stretch down toward me as if they want to take my hand again. To play against my flesh. When I look away they're nothing but clouds again.

  Jac’s words continue to haunt me though the woman is gone. With every passing breeze, the words come and go. Stupid girl. Even death itself can never come for him. You better start believing in the impossible if you want to make it through the next five years.

  It can't be real. I've dedicated the last several years of my life to hunting myths and destroying legends. There's never any truth to them, only paranoia and false hope. Rumi has to be doing...something. He has to be...a master illusionist.

  I rub my hand over the tattoo, wincing where the touch makes my flesh ache. How does he do it? I squeeze my eyes shut.

  "Captain has requested you come for dinner," someone says behind me. I don't move to look at them.

  "Does he dine with all his servants?" My hair is blown over my face and I fight to catch the strands and tame them behind my ear.

  "No. Just you."

  I turn around. A man as old as my father, with greying hair, and skin made mostly of scars, stares back.

  How long has he been on this ship?

  "Well, tell him that I would like to decline his request." He lied to me. I'm trapped here. Who knows if he's even going to take me to my brother?

  "He predicted that. He told me to tell you that if you do not wish to dine with him tonight to work out the details of his mission then you won't eat at all—”

  "I'd rather starve anyway." But what he'd just told me is that currently Rumi still plans on taking me to my brother.

  "And he'll let the crew have whatever they want from you." His smile goes a little crooked.

  Anything I’m about to say gets caught in my throat.

  "That's a deal worth taking," he continues. "Most were not as lucky as you. Most have to prove themselves amongst the crew. If you don't go to dinner you'll be tonight's entertainment in the worst of ways." He stretches out a wrinkled hand and pokes at my arm. "And you hardly look strong enough to fight back."

  I swallow to try and appease my dry throat and my sandpaper tongue. Criminals and thieves. What else did I expect? Did I think I was safe aboard a ship with strange men? Boston would tell me I'm naïve. He would tell me I'm too quick to offer people the benefit of the doubt. He'd be right.

  "Take me to him," I finally say.

  The old man purses his lips like he expected the answer but is disappointed to hear it. He leads me across the deck. The crew members, still out working the ship and carrying out their tasks, stare at me.

  "Why do they watch me?"

  He hisses at the men we pass and they turn away. He looks at me and the scars on his face and neck twist and tighten. "Having a woman aboard a ship is not considered good luck. Stupid superstition, considering our current circumstances."

  'Here it does not matter if I am male or female. I just am,' Jac had said.

  His attention travels over me before he states plainly, "You're so pale out here, you look like a ghost."

  "They know I'm not a ghost." I press a hand to my chest.

  "Doesn't matter what you are or are not." More phrases that mean something and nothing.

  He leads me down another door that rests flat against the deck, this one worn wood that blends so perfectly with the boards around it, I hadn't realized it was a door at all till he opened it. The passage down isn't dark in the same way the one to the crew quarters is. At the bottom of the steps, I can make out the flicker of fire light. Shadows on either side of the stairwell shrink back under the shine of the moon. When I take the first step down, I swear they tremble then reach for me.

  I don't wait to see if they do. Hurrying down the stairs the old man cackles behind me.

  The room is set like a stage with a large table and several chairs. There's a clutter of journals and empty liquor bottles that has been pushed to one edge leaving room for a line of candles, wax slowly rolling down into the plates under them, and two dinner plates. Steam rises off the meal, fresh vegetables, a roll, and a thick cut of meat. Steak, maybe? A vase with white flowers—not roses, I think far too quickly—is set in the center of it all. Two wine glasses, clearly not crystal but still glass.

  Behind the table is a bed, the blankets messily scattered over the mattress and two thin pillows. It's not a big bed, barely enough room for two people, but it's more than any of the crew members below have. It's more than a hammock.

  Rumi's face is propped up on his hand. The jacket he'd worn now hanging on the back of his chair. He straightens when I suddenly appear before him, his mouth teasing at a smile. He gestures to the empty seat next to him. I take my time walking to it, his eyes on me the entire way, and when I hesitate to sit he speaks.

  "It's not poisoned. Why would I kill someone who's about to work for me for five years?" My gaze flicks to his face. "Please eat. You won't always get meals as good as this. We only have this because we just left shore. The farther out we travel the saltier and dryer the food gets." I say
nothing. "Sorry, are you waiting for me to pull your chair out for you, princess?"

  "No," I say, lowering myself into the seat and pulling my skirt under me.

  "Good." He hums, picking up his fork.

  Before I can eat, I pull out Boston's letter, folded neatly in my pocket, and set it on the table between us. Rumi looks up, first to the letter then to me. When our eyes lock my breath catches in my chest, his eyes turning dark like fabric suddenly getting wet.

  The strangeness of him, the inhuman way he cocks his head, the breathy laugh he lets out between us, all suggest that I should be afraid. No, I should be petrified. In place of what should be fear, all I have is a desire to know, to understand who and what he is.

  It's the same curiosity my parents, Hilda, and Boston have all warned me of my entire life. It might not be safe to be as intrigued in all things different as I am but it doesn't matter, the thirst for knowledge remains.

  The meal isn't poisoned, I realize.

  Rumi is my poison. This ship, an awaiting grave.

  The captain sets down his fork, taking the paper, and clicking his tongue. He skims the page, looking mostly bored. The ties of his shirt have been loosened since this morning and the shadow of the paper in the candle light falls to the muscle of his exposed chest. Without a word, he places the edge of the letter into the nearest flame and the parchment takes to the fire before I can stand from my chair.

  "What are you doing?!"

  He pulls the paper out of my reach letting it fade away to ash until there is nothing left but the corner of the paper that he drops into his almost empty wine glass.

  "That's all I have left of him." The words of a lost girl.

  "He isn't dead." Rumi staccatos the last word and resumes eating.

  My fingers curl into my palms. Nails biting into skin. I lower into my seat, forcing myself to stare straight ahead, to pick up the fork and eat though I'm not hungry.

  "Your brother is heading for the Treasure of Talifi?" More statement than question. He chews slowly, facing me though I refuse to face him. "I know how we will find him."