2. Welcome to the Atlantic
I woke to salt air, the movement of the ocean, and an inexplicable feeling of.... extreme offness. I blinked as I sat up. The red lava lava wrapped around me announced that I was in my cabin, and after that it all came flooding back.
It was June; Anne and I had set out for a leisurely summer at sea aboard the Try Your Luck.
Though we planned on docking in a few ports along the way, but my sister and I would be spending a lot of time enjoying the open ocean. The Try Your Luck was a versatile vessel, good for cruising, fishing, and general relaxation. It also had a very well-equipped kitchen, which included the promised top of the line gimbal stove.
In fact, Anne had followed through with my many and detailed requests for cooking tools and equipment, replete with high-quality food and ingredients. I’d even set up a number of plants around the place to give us fresh herbs, cherry-sized veggies, and other small things. I wasn’t quite sure how she had paid for it all - and I certainly wasn’t going to ask. Not that she would have told me. My sister’s secrets had secrets.
Anne had promised me adventure and good times, laying out possibilities along with a surprisingly detailed map, complete with options for fun port stops and restocking. I mean, she had made an itinerary and everything. My inner rule follower and listmaker was beside herself.
Now, however, I was dealing with something that vaguely resembled a hangover. The room was practically spinning. How embarrassing it would be if I had lost my sea legs.
We bounced in the water and my head and stomach roiled oddly again. I reached for my bubbler pipe, thinking about menu plans while I waited for the smoke to settle my stomach. Something fun, and extravagant...That was when the suspicious smell hit me. Bacon.
I pulled on a coverup over my bikini as I staggered out of my cabin.
There was a tray waiting - secured with strips of hook and loop like nearly everything else on board - laden with a pitcher of water, pancakes, bacon, and a full pot of coffee. Telling. Anyone else would have seen only maple syrup and caffeine, but I knew that Anne was buttering me up for something.
So odd. Breakfast food, even though the sun outside was clearly at an afternoon level. I yawned. How could I be this tired after sleeping half the day?
Frowning, I slumped against the counter while I rehydrated. I couldn’t remember the last time Anne had made anything more complicated than microwave popcorn. I did a mental replay of the night before, wondering if I’d missed anything.
We had been on deck, enjoying the stars. They were always so wonderfully clear out in the middle of the sea. There had been lots of drinking - typical for us. We were talking about some new menu ideas I had – though, now that I was sober, tequila and marshmallows probably wouldn’t be a big seller.
“Do you remember ‘A Lady Still’?” I had asked, laughing my ass off.
She snorted with laughter. “I remember being grounded twice as long as you. Everyone believed your line that you were making hand sanitizer for the homeless. Then they jumped on me for conducting our back alley sales of your bathtub lavender gin.”
I grinned at her. ‘A Lady Still’ was our prize-winning entry in the Senior Science Fair at St. Christopher’s - a fully functional still that we had built together. I had made hand sanitizer and donated it to shelters, and then we started making the fun kind of alcohol. I insisted on making it quality. It was infused with organic herbs and botanicals from my garden, which was ‘classy as shit’, according to several customers. Anne had turned a tidy profit from selling our product to our classmates until we had gotten found out.
The last thing I remembered was telling my sister that I needed batteries for my vibrator. I had no idea how I’d gotten to bed, but I also knew I hadn’t drunk enough to blackout.
I rolled a joint for later, then went to find Anne, itinerary tucked under my arm and bacon in hand.
Upstairs, something was...weird. The air smelled off and the sun seemed extra bright as I hit the deck. Everything seemed....sharper? I was glad I’d already shoved on my sunglasses.
I blinked across the vast expanse of water, confused. “What the hell?” I mumbled to myself. Anne’s antique spyglass rolled over to me on the deck, and I picked it up. This thing should probably be in a museum someplace, and here she was letting it fall to the floor. “Which bar is this?” I polished off my bacon and adjusted the glass.
Anne started, dropping her own plate of syrup-covered pancakes all over the deck.“Right! So funny story--” she said, but I had finally spotted something resembling a building through the spyglass. A themed bar or restaurant, maybe? There was a tiny wooden structure on top of a piece of land so small I wasn’t sure it qualified as an island.
“What kind of place is it?” It didn’t look like any of the places on my copy of the itinerary. It did, however, look as though a good, solid gust of wind might sweep it into the sea. I turned to ask for more details about the establishment and stopped in my tracks, taking Anne in for the first time. “What the hell are you wearing?” I asked.
“It’s called Tavern Rock. Because it’s a tavern…on a rock.” She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, not meeting my eyes. “It’s an old haunt of mine but it’s...” Anne paused, shifting her weight. “A little eclectic. I just have an errand to run there. I wasn’t expecting you up so soon,” she added, biting her lip.
Mmmm-hmmm. I looked her up and down, taking in her appearance.
Despite her frequent impetuosities, my sister was very predictable when it came to clothing. Whether on land or at sea, she had a standard uniform - long pants, long sleeves, and some variation on closed toe shoes. And when she was getting ready to go back to the ocean, she put her hair into French braids and wore a hat with a wide brim.
The sister standing in front of me had drastically switched up her marine attire.
She’d added gloves, a long, pocketed leather vest, and a flowing patterned scarf around her head, topped with an unfamiliar hat; the leggings she wore now were leather too.
Had I mentioned that we were at sea and it was summer‽ Also, I was fairly certain that she was wearing a binder under her shirt.
“Eclectic, huh?” I was openly cynical. The weirdness I’d been feeling since waking up only felt thicker. And she hadn’t exactly answered my question about her costume.
I finished off my bacon while Anne avoided my gaze. It tasted even more guilt-laden.
“There’s an…aspect to this trip I was keeping as a surprise.” I raised an eyebrow. Here we go. “You know I invited you on this trip because our lives are going in such different directions. We’re drifting apart and I wanted a, kind of, last hurrah before your life takes off and you leave me behind.”
I blinked. Anne thought I was the kind of person who would move on and leave her behind? “Don’t deny it. It is what it is,” Anne continued blithely. “I can’t hang around you forever. So I arranged things to recreate our best summer together.” I studied her as she rambled, certain that all of this was connected to breakfast; she was being unusually verbose. “Remember the one? When we were at that pretend camp of yours? With the tents and the turkey legs and the jousting?”
I had whiplash from the change of topic. “... Yes.” We’d been seventeen when Anne had joined me at my Annual Wilderness Renaissance Camp, the only other time I’d seen this ‘girl next door meets swashbuckler’ look of hers. Where was she going with this?
“We had fun, right?” She grinned at me. “That was one of my best summers with you.”
“Really?” Camp with Anne had been amazing, but that had been a horrifically tumultuous summer. I grinned back at her despite my confusion.
“Yeah, so I thought we could recreate it this summer.” Anne wanted to recreate Camp? ...At sea? She marched on despite my confusion. “I have this place in Portugal. Everyone dresses up. I have stuff for you in a trunk. Good stuff. Not that glittery shit you got at craft stores.”
I tried to collect my thoughts. “Portugal?” I replied dumbly, distracted by the onslaught of information she’d thrust upon me. Also, that glittery shit was on clearance and I looked awesome in it, thank you very much.
“This is just one stop I needed to make on the way there,” Anne said far too breezily. “It’s to fund Portugal.”
“Yeah.” I said, then: “what do you mean, you have a place in Portugal?” Let’s start with that one.
“I will have the place in Portugal after I deliver this cargo,” she replied, a statement that clarified nothing, spoken as though she was explaining everything. “I’ll be an hour, three tops, and then we’ll be on our way.”
“I see,” I said stupidly. I did not see. A cargo delivery... that was going to return a place in Portugal as payment? I had a shitload of questions, for example- “Wait, what? I can't come with you?” Had she really said ‘three hours, tops’?
Anne took a long pause before finally speaking again. “This place isn’t really your scene. It’s rough. Just chill out here, stay below decks. We’ll be on our way by sunset.”
“Rough?” I considered her thoughtfully. “Like a dive bar?” With costumes, apparently.
She nodded vigorously. “Picture the worst place you’ve gone and add a bunch of barnacles.” Anne adjusted her sleeves. "There’s still a bottle of your disgusting lavender gin in the fridge. Drink that and I’ll be back as soon as I’ve got what we need. “It’s just a quick stop. Really. Go have a drink.”
I frowned. Did she think I was going to be upset if they only served beer and their ‘kitchen’ was a microwave? “Hey!” I yelled after her retreating figure. “My botanical infusions are not disgusting!”
“Yes, they are!” She yelled back. Anne had the palate of a preschooler.
It felt early for drinking, but the idea of a nice chunk of pot brownie had appeal.
Some time later, the chunk of fudgey magic sat on my plate, still untouched.
What kind of errand did Anne need to run in the middle of the Atlantic? Tavern Rock, she’d said. Was tavern some kind of sea slang for a place that sells tampons or a rare flavor of potato chips? Also, it seemed unlikely that there would be a convenience store in the middle of nowhere.
This tiny scrap of nothing in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean that Anne had been steadily navigating towards.
I paced while smoking, convinced that Anne was keeping something from me. While I was used to my sister being enigmatic and evasive, it was unlike her to blatantly dissemble. But after that remarkably cagey performance on the deck, I knew in my gut that she was hiding something. More and more, I was wondering how much truth there might be to some of my running jokes with Mom about exactly what Anne got up to on her long months away. After all, questions like ‘what are you wearing’ shouldn’t merit nervous eye-shifting.
I tightened the lava lava around my shoulders as I paced back and forth between various windows. I had expected things to become clearer as we neared, but Tavern Rock was even more confusing up close than it had been from a distance. Now that we’d docked, I only felt more confused.
I could make out a group of oddly dressed people on the tiny scrap of land. Scratch that - men, all dressed in a very historical manner. I took a picture on my phone, then sat down to enlarge it, studying the details closely.
My sister had started hanging out with recreators, apparently, and a group where everyone was wearing swords. And my god, the amount of leather. It was all very stiff and uncomfortable looking.
After Anne’s ‘eclectic’ comment, I’d expected something non-traditional, but this was beyond. Theoretically, this group would have fit in well at my Camp, except for the disagreeable looks on their faces. And the expertly applied layers of dirt and grime. And their long, unkempt beards. My crew didn’t go for such levels of authenticity.
Combined with Anne’s vague and alarming comments from earlier, I was very uneasy with what my sister might be walking into at this Tavern Rock place. She wasn’t good with social situations, especially not when there was a strict code to follow. Anne had put a permanent furrow between Mom’s brows over years of parties, and I had doubts that she would fare better in this environment. Whatever this environment was. I couldn’t get my location to come up on my phone or laptop.
I drummed my fingers on the brass of the porthole before wandering back into my cabin to lay back and stare up at the ceiling. If she was dealing with someone who was this into renaissance faires, I should be there to help her. Anne didn’t know anything about this world!
Something was off here, something was wrong, and I just couldn’t quite place it.
It made my spine itch.
‘Eclectic’. Middle of nowhere. ‘Rough dive bar’. Requires historical garments; Ren-Faire related. I was missing whatever information I needed to solve this equation, and my electronic devices continued to frustrate me. “All the satellites in the sky, and nothing,” I muttered to myself.
I sat up as Anne’s footsteps jarred me from my meandering thoughts.
“Wow,” I said. She had drastically changed her attire once again. I couldn't make out everything she was wearing, but the long leather coat along with several bladed weapons, tucked away in sheaths, stood out.
That she now matched her friends outside did nothing to ease my discomfort. In fact, it felt like we’d parked in front of some sort of gang house and she’d put on her colors before getting out.
“Hey,” Anne said, ever-so-casually, “so just enjoy the solitude. Stay down here. Don’t go up top. I’ll be back in a sec. Want me to shut your door?”
What? “Are you sure about this, Anne? It sounds...seedy,” I finished, looking her over again. Why did she need to wear so many weapons?
“It’s fine,” Anne insisted. “I know this place. Just a little rough around the edges.”
“...I see.” I replied, smiling and nodding as though my sister’s pants weren’t actually on fire.
Anne asked me about my movie watching plans, but I was too distracted by the shady looking men milling about outside. “I haven’t decided.” I focused as Anne turned to leave, instinctively reaching for her hand. “Listen, is there anything you need to tell me?”
She stared at me for a long moment before shaking her head. “I’m just running an errand. Pretend I’m going out for some milk.” She darted around me to shut the curtain over my tiny window. Not suspicious at all. “I’ll be right back. You don’t need to worry so much about me.”
That’ll be the day. “Okay.” I took a deep breath. “Everything is okay, you’ll be right back, and there’s nothing you need to tell me?” Now’s your chance, Anne. You can tell me.
“Not a thing. I’ll be one hour. Three tops. Love you. Stay inside,” she added in a firm, very un-Anne tone of voice.
“Love you too,” I murmured. I felt quite uneasy about the fact that my sister was clearly lying to me.
Mom sighed and refilled her wine glass. Again.
I raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Usually, I picked the flowers and we arranged them, but she had been increasingly, uncharacteristically agitated as the days to our departure dwindled. “What do you think?” I motioned to the vase I was filling. “Should I add more pink? Or maybe some orange?”
“Yes. It’s lovely, dear,” she replied, nodding absently.
Hmmm. “I was thinking about a roast for dinner.” I grabbed a glass and helped myself to her bottle. “Maybe elephant, or ostrich? Polar bear?”
“I’m sure that would be fine-” She blinked several times before catching up. “I’m sorry, Isabelle. I’m distracted.”
“I’ve noticed,” I replied dryly. “Anne did give you the itinerary, right?” She paused, then nodded hesitantly. “But...?”
“I’m concerned,” she admitted. “Anne is gone on that boat of hers so much of the time, getting into heaven only knows what...” And now you're going with her. She didn’t have to say it out loud; I could practically read the thoughts ‘Fetu’ and ‘Cabo’ as she ran a hand over her forehead. I was surprised when she looked up at me with a smile. “She’s too much like her father. I suppose I should feel some relief that she'll have you there to keep her out of trouble.”
“Of course, Mom,” I said immediately. “I would never let anything happen to Anne.”
“I know, Isabelle.”
That was who I was, after all. Isabelle, the dependable and responsible daughter. There was no way I was going to leave my socially awkward little sister alone in a bar with a bunch of strange-looking, surly, and suspicious costumed dudes. I had dragged Anne through high school - socially and academically - kicking and screaming. I’d take her ass out of this Tavern Rock place the same way if need be.
One of the men separated from the rest, adjusting his hat as he approached my sister. He was quite good-looking (even if he had misplaced his razor), like a Middle Eastern model in this season’s pirate attire.
I did a mental run-through of my on board clothing collection while watching them talk. Fun dresses, tops and skirts, and swimwear...none of those options would fit into this group. Surely Anne had something I could borrow in her cabin? She was taller and curvier than I was, but maybe with some belting...
She had mentioned a trunk of clothes for me in the cargo hold. Clothes specifically intended for forays into Ren Faire themed events.
I peeled myself away from the window - taking note of how familiar Anne seemed to be with the tall, very attractive man she was talking to - and set off on a search.
The cargo hold was fuller than I’d ever seen it. Crates of china packed in straw, sacks of rice, spices, and salt, small caskets of trinkets - all sorts of odd things. I was running my hand over a bolt of decadently soft green cotton, wondering just what this stock of items was about when a label caught my eye. In the middle of a huge stack of barrels, casks and other containers with ‘100’ scrawled in charcoal on the outside were a few with much simpler labels. Beri. Sofia. Magnus.
Suddenly, I felt like an intruder in a section that was forbidden. Private. Intimate. Verboten. And yet - mixed into these hidden crates and boxes was an especially large trunk. Izzy.
It felt like I’d stumbled across my sister’s diary and happened to see my name on one of the pages. But I wasn’t snooping, was I? After all, she’d told me about the trunk, and it had my name on it.
I worked on the unfamiliar clasp, pushing down my trepidation.
The trunk was full of gorgeous, luxurious garments. There were bodices, petticoats, shifts, chemises, petticoats, skirts, corsets, and more petticoats. There were several exquisite outer garments as well, each done in silk and satin. I found the brocades especially eye-catching. No glittery craft store shit here. This was high quality.
Enthralling - and intimidating. These pieces looked legit, which might make them difficult if not impossible to put on alone.
Among the fascinatingly sumptuous items of clothing I spotted a vaguely familiar cream-colored silk garment, sporting accent panels of brocade done in rich gold threading. I held it up for a better look. It hadn’t had pearl trim the last time I’d seen it, and the lace edging and cuffs were new also, but I recognized it. It was one of the pieces my sister had painstakingly created for the Daydream production of School for Wives we had done some time ago. I relaxed somewhat. Anne’s work looked ‘period’ but always had modern amenities and additions; I should be able to dress myself without any issues. I’d even have pockets.
It would, however, require layers of foundation undergarments in order to fit correctly. I added the first few pieces to get into the feel of my new character and then went off to start on my hair.
“Think antiquity,” I told my reflection. An updo, of course. It would match my clothing and keep my long, thick curls off my neck and shoulders. I gave my hair a good spritz of water before working in a generous amount of coconut oil and then moisturizing creme. I admired the bounce of my curls before frowning. Figures. “A good hair day and I have to put it up,” I grumbled, moving on to figure out styling. I’d keep it simple. A bit of pomade for the edges... Then I began twisting and pinning sections until it looked like a soft, elegant, faux mohawk.
Perfect. Next, clothes.
I eyed the dressing work that lay ahead of me. Done properly, this would involve about a dozen different items. This outfit was too gorgeous to cut corners; I would do this properly.
At least, that was my plan until my phone stubbornly refused to connect to anything internet-like so I could check.
“Still? Dammit!” As a RenFest Camp regular, my clothing was much more ‘elven archer wench’ than ‘wealthy baroness’, which was who these pieces looked like they were made for. “Trial and error it is, then,” I said, looking back and forth between the petticoat and corset. At least I had seen other people do this. Years ago...When I was high half the time.
After a mildly puzzling refresher course of the many items, I managed to get myself dressed. (Confession: I skipped the stockings, as well as doing tightlacing on the corset. So sue me.) Makeup was next. I kept it to the essentials, then examined my reflection. ‘A pretty, wealthy lady’ was my first impression, but I was having a hell of a time trying to visualize what the finished product was supposed to look like.
My kingdom for an internet connection.
“Accessories!” I exclaimed. All at once I had a paint by numbers outline for what I was missing emblazoned in my mind’s eye upon my reflection. People who dressed like this needed accessories.
Like...head coverings! I plucked out a white fascinator. It was adorned with colorful feathers and a coy piece of veiling, and worked wonderfully with my clothes. Paint by numbers. Gloves. A reticule - provisioned for bear. Perfume. Jewelry, of course.
Then I took a long, hard look in the mirror. “Wow,” I breathed. Anne really had done a superb job on these pieces. They were absolutely fucking opulent. Between that and the hair, I barely even recognized myself.
By the time I felt ready to emerge, the sun was already low in the sky - I must have slept in even later than I had realized.
I was dressed. I was feeling in character.
I was wholly unprepared for the tavern.
The ships were weird.
I paused on the deck, taking in the tiny island. Everything felt off, but the ships were especially weird. I hated that I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
Across the dilapidated wooden strip that served as a dock was the tavern - now with what appeared to be a pair of guards standing at the door. I’d felt their eyes lock on me as soon as I’d come up. That was fine, I told myself. I was just taking in the view. I wasn’t suspicious at all.
“Where the hell are we,” I murmured to myself. A bird perched on a scrawny tree cawed in reply. I ran through theories before finally settling upon this place being either an oddly authentic theme park in the middle of the ocean or some eccentric billionaire’s medieval maritime fantasy. Either one of those could explain everything around me. Including the boats.
Also, there were probably drugs involved. I resigned myself to learning about my sister’s career as a drug runner and made my way across the uneven surface, taking careful steps as I planned my entrance. Hopefully I would look ‘unhurried’ as opposed to ‘stalling’. I clearly belonged here, I reminded myself; you wouldn't catch uninvited randoms out in the middle of the ocean dressed for cosplay. So: polite greeting; exchange small talk as needed; find Anne.
Avoiding eye contact, I held my head haughtily as I narrowed down my opening greeting options. ‘Fine day to you’? ‘Good evening, gentlemen’? ‘Fair winds and following seas?’
The assessing, exceptionally unfriendly glare from the lankier of the bearded, pirate looking goons was so intense that I stopped in my tracks for a moment. Nope, I reminded myself, everything was fine, I’m just heading in for a drink. Totally not interesting. Nothing to see here.
Then I was sabotaged by a random rock, the kind that trips innocent and unsuspecting young women.
Great, Izzy. Very graceful. You’re doing wonderfully.
The less vicious looking guard - a tall, portly man, skin reddened by sun and alcohol - sprang forward, barely catching my elbow before I went down.
“Begging all your pardons, m’lady,” he slurred, backing away from me once I was fully upright. I nodded at him in gratitude. I had no idea where that fucking rock had come from. I couldn’t see anything over this skirt!
Suddenly, I remembered my camp girlfriend Neha, who talked in detail about the sweeping circles she had to make with her feet to walk in the extra-long, voluminous skirts she preferred for her character. It was why she always looked as if she was gliding.
“My thanks,” I managed, catching my breath. Then my stomach lurched. My god, this man smelled awful. It was easy to imagine that he hadn’t been sober or bathed in weeks.
The man ambled back towards his position, and I paused, gathering myself. Behind this door was the answer to all the riddles.
The lanky, tattooed guard continued to stare at me through hostile, narrowed eyes. One might even say that his eyes were beady. He took a deep sniff in my direction - twice - and the beginning of a salacious smile began to spread across his unwashed features. I glared back. I didn’t particularly care for his aroma.
“Nando, the door!” My rescuer exclaimed impatiently in an accent I couldn’t even begin to place. “Don’t you know about gentle folks? Look at her, she can’t be opening her own doors--”
After an angry sounding grumble, Nando wrenched the door open. Every cell in my body clenched as I walked past him, taking a deep breath as I stepped into the dimly lit tavern.
All conversation ceased; only the ocean outside continued its cacophony.
My senses were instantly assailed with the utter fullness and sudden quiet within the place.
Flickering candles.
Sweaty, unwashed skin.
Flies, buzzing over food scraps in wooden and metal bowls.
The breeze blowing through the open windows was the only air conditioning.
Makeshift furniture.
Bullet holes.
My spine itched again, and I fought the urge to scratch at the back of my neck. Be careful. There were also two guards posted on the inside of the door. The inside guards had a quick, whispered exchange with the outside guards. I couldn’t understand the language they were speaking, but I knew the conversation was about me.
Alas - as everyone in the space had fallen silent and turned to stare at me upon my entrance, there was no chance of blending, not that that would have made much difference.
Including my sister, I was one of three women in a room full of men. The other was one of the bartenders, a woman with deep brown skin whose aura screamed ‘get me the fuck out of here’.
Also? I’d definitely missed the dress code for this event. Everyone else was dressed in colorful fabric and/or dark leather.
“Well, well, well, Annie, what have you done?” asked Anne’s hot pirate friend. His voice rang throughout the small structure, breaking the silence. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
At this point, Anne - who had been fairly cozied up next to him - leapt up from her seat and started rudely shoving her way through the men between us.
Ignoring the stares, I kept my head high, walking carefully. Please, god, don't let me trip again. Luckily, the small crowd of men parted for me, their demeanor almost deferential as they made the (ample) space for my clothing to pass and then some. I was grateful for their good manners; this place was clearly not designed with such wide and ostentatious garb in mind.
Anne was not sporting the facial expression of someone who was happy to see their sister when she reached me. Aware of our unduly interested onlookers, I plastered an innocuous smile on my face before whispering, “is everything okay?”
Hot Pirate spoke up again. “Who’s your friend, Annie?” He asked with a grin, rubbing a hand along his scruffy jaw.
We ignored him.
“What are you doing?” Anne hissed. “You said you’d stay on the ship!”
‘Yeah, but these dudes are all dressed like buccaneers’? ‘You looked like a newborn lamb bouncing into a den full of predators’? I licked my lips, trying to think of a response that wouldn’t insult everyone gathered in this surprisingly acoustic wooden shack analogue. Behind us, conversations started up again.
“You said she always travels alone,” barked one of the men.
“Annie is always full of surprises,” Hot Pirate replied.
“You shouldn’t be here. You were supposed to stay on the ship.” Anne had gone pale.
“I couldn’t leave you alone here,” I murmured, waving a hand in front of my face in an attempt to fend off the fetid aroma. I wondered if anyone other than Anne and myself had bathed recently. The smell of my sister’s cheap drugstore shampoo was practically an aromatic ambrosia in these conditions.
Around us, the men continued to talk. About my sister. “I like this surprise,” said one. “Think she’s got any more girls on that ship?”
I did not like the chuckles that followed that. “What’s going on?” I asked as quietly as possible.
“Shit,” Anne whispered with feeling. “This is not good.”
“I hear men aren’t allowed on that precious ship of hers,” someone drawled.
He’d heard right. I slipped that interesting little nugget into a mental drawer for later while I continued trying to sort out my environs.
Candles and lanterns, with real fire? And all these crates and sacks around? One wrong move and this place would go up like a beach bonfire. The proprietor had to be breaking some fire codes, I decided eventually, even if it did lend a certain amount of credibility to the place. If we were even in a place that had fire codes. I’d never managed to get internet access.
“They’ve seen you,” Anne said finally, her voice ringing with defeat and disappointment. “You’ll have to stay.”
I was trying to discern the reason for her displeasure when Hot Pirate spoke up again. “Is this what you’ve been up to? A patroness? Someone’s finally turned you into a legitimate captain?” He shook his head at my sister. “My dear lady, you could have had me at half the expense,” he added to me.
I had missed all of the memos about exactly what sort of improv game everyone was playing here, but I felt confident that I’d be able to catch up. Fake it till you make it. ‘Yes, and’, Izzy.
“Well?” I gave the handsome, mouthy pirate an openly assessing look. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend, Anne?”
“I suppose I’ll have to,” Anne muttered. She sounded like she would have preferred a violent, lengthy bout of food poisoning. I studied Anne, hoping to glean some information while the gears turned in her head.
“Gentlemen,” Anne began, her voice carrying through the space, “as luck would have it my esteemed patroness wanted to meet you all. This is the Lady Isabelle.” Lady Isabelle, Esteemed Patroness? Maybe she wasn’t as angry as I thought. I bit back a grin; I didn’t think ‘Lady Isabelle’ went in for sentimental smiles and cooing. “She is traveling with me and more than happy to provide a few rounds of drinks for you fine fellows. The lady is under my protection. She’ll be staying with me.” With that Anne grabbed me by the arm, bustling us both through the crowd before I could pause to gawk at the coins she had tossed on the bartop. Actual coins?
“What is going on here?” I demanded once we reached her ‘table’, a length of raw wood over a couple of crates. “This feels...unsavory as fuck.” To put it mildly. Still, I couldn’t help but note that Anne seemed oddly comfortable in this dive bar. Not that it mattered. This place felt like trouble waiting to boil and I didn’t need details about the flavor to know I wanted nothing to do with it. “We should leave, Anne.”
“Of course we should leave,” she replied, exasperated. “This place is a hole. But I haven’t finished my business here and now I have to figure out how to do that with you here. Here. Sit.”
I stared at the barrel Anne had pointed me to and grimaced. I’d made a huge mistake wearing such a light color. I shuddered to think of what the filth would do to the silk. Maybe it’s just dust, I told myself. Carefully, leaning down as much as my corset would allow, I ran a white gloved fingertip across its surface. Ewww. “Maid’s day off?” I asked dryly, examining the shades of ick on my glove. “Do I have to sit? I’ll ruin my clothes!” I’ll admit, I whined a bit. But my god, this place was GROSS.
Anne glared at me. “Have a seat, Lady Isabelle.” I rolled my eyes, then settled into a bit of a hover over the ‘seat’, trying not to think about what diseases I was likely contracting.
I’d never been so grateful to be fully vaccinated.
Across the room, someone hawked and spat on the floor. I side-eyed the offending spitter in disbelief and disgust; no one else reacted at all. Beneath the table, I put a dab of perfume on my glove, then moved said glove near my face. It helped filter out the horror somewhat.
My sister leaned over to whisper into my ear. “These clothes, this air of wealth, this is your shield,” Anne continued seriously. “Do anything to break the image of wealth and nobility and we are screwed. And I mean dead.”
Before I could get clarification about exactly what ‘dead’ meant in this context, her loudmouthed friend turned to me with a wide smile. “My lady, please call me Marco.” He didn’t seem to smell as bad as the rest of the men in the room. I worried that my nose was just adjusting.
He reached out for my hand, and after a pause I gave it to him, hoping he wouldn’t commit the same slobber atrocities I was used to in such circumstances. At least I’d be wearing gloves this time.
Marco did the obligatory hand kiss in a very gentlemanly manner, no drooling or wrist groping.
“Marco, Lady Isabelle.” Anne dragged herself through the introductions as though they were covered in shards of glass. “Isabelle, Marco.”
“Nice to meet you, Marco,” I replied automatically, shifting. I was still trying to find a way to comfortably perch on the edge of this thing while touching as little of it as possible. God, I was going to need a long, hot, deep-cleansing shower after this.
“Pleasure is all mine.” Marco grinned at me again. He was charming and handsome; I smiled back out of reflex. “Drinks, ladies?” He asked.
I still did not want a drink, but everyone was far too fixated on our little table to deviate from the standard: this was a bar, and the standard was drinking. “Sure,” I said brightly. “Is there a menu?”
Anne and Marco laughed for some reason, then he made his way to the bar. “What do you mean, ‘dead’?” I hissed into Anne’s ear.
“Just keep your head down,” she replied, her eyes dark and troubled. “Say nothing. If I could have done this before you got aboard I would have. But there were complications.”
I hadn’t been this confused since my high school girlfriend had tried to explain rankings in her video game guild system. “When we get out of here we are going to have a very, very long talk.”
Anne nodded tersely. “Agreed.”
I stared at her, dumbfounded; I’d expected more pushback. Internally, I groaned as Marco returned with a half-full bottle of dark, unlabeled liquid, several mismatched glasses, and began to pour. The last thing I wanted was to dull my senses right now. I felt the overt stares of the leather clad bar patrons as I gave the drink in front of me a cautious sniff. Oh. Rum. It smelled strong.
I could drink a little dark rum, I thought, giving it a careful sip. It burned much more than I expected and I coughed slightly. My sister threw me a dirty look and I rolled my eyes, shifting on my ‘seat’ before taking another small drink. The men around us were still staring. What the fuck was so interesting?
“Cheers,” I said loudly, raising my glass to our onlookers with an overly merry high society smile. Toasting was the least they could do after accepting Anne’s drinks (coins, seriously?) and then staring at us like absolute grinches the entire time. They exchanged a few perplexed looks before begrudgingly raising their mugs and I drained my glass before daintily placing it upside on the ‘table’. I was almost tempted to burp at them as a finale. Almost.
Marco refilled my glass, and I noticed that my sister hadn’t touched her rum. Curiouser and curiouser. I had never known my sister to turn down a drink.
“I know, I know, Annie,” Marco said with a shockingly condescending sigh. “You don’t drink on duty.”
“Don’t call me Annie,” she growled again. Marco smirked in reply.
Around us, conversations had started up again. Far more hushed than I would have expected from this crowd. Glass in hand, I scanned the room, finally settling my attention on the man and woman behind the ‘bar’, a piece of ‘furniture’ that looked like it was made of scavenged planks. The bartenders gazed back at me, their faces full of thoughts I could not make out.
I hadn’t seen either of them pour a drink, this place didn’t look like it had so much as a microwave, and obviously, no one was cleaning up around here. There was no way in hell this was just a tavern. I watched as the woman pulled a folded piece of fabric from her apron and began to work it with a needle and thread, adding yet another piece to this vast puzzle.
When one worked in a place like this, in the middle of nowhere, how did one manage? Like, did they commute from another nearby island? Or did they have quarters here, like cruise ship employees? Maybe they had berths in a back room? What about groceries? Were we in a place where the use of burlap sacks as fabric was de rigueur, or were they wearing themed uniforms?
And...what was the theme of this place exactly? Was the entire place like this room? Was there any electricity? I shuddered to think of what the bathrooms looked like.
God, where the fuck were we?
I felt like if I could just find my location on GPS I would be loads better. Oddly, not a single other person had a phone in their hand. This place was nothing if not dedicated to authenticity. I peered down in my lap, hoping that my phone had finally decided to get its shit together. No such luck.
“My Lady?” I looked up to see Marco proffering his hand. “Perhaps a short walk down to the water while we wait?” I raised an eyebrow at him. Was he seriously hitting on me? “I would enjoy a woman’s presence after months of nothing but these salty and fermented sailors.” He was hitting on me, something that said sailors found entirely too amusing and worthy of blue commentary. Sailors. Maybe they all worked on a cargo ship?
I glanced at Anne, but her face was stone. “I’m quite content in my current location, thank you,” I replied, settling more firmly onto my disgusting ‘seat’.
“Annie, convince her otherwise,” Marco said, his hand still presumptuously outreached. Seriously?
“Call me Annie one more time and I’m cutting off a finger,” she snapped. That was a fairly dramatic threat, I thought, surprised at her vehemence. Under the table, I scrolled through apps, searching for anything with enough signal to respond while my table mates sat in silence. There was nothing for it; I’d have to restart my phone and hope that jogged something loose.
“How’s Mr. Hard To Let Go?” Marco asked, and I looked up at his taunting tone. Anne scowled and ignored him. “Come on, Annie. It was a long time ago.”
“I swear to god, Marco--” Anne sprang up, drawing one of the blades she wore.
“Jesus, Anne--” What the fuck, I started to say, but that was when everyone else in the room withdrew their guns, clicking them in a terrifyingly business like manner. I swallowed, forcing myself to try and stay calm. Or at least look calm. I was definitely completely losing my cool inside.
Marco sighed. “Ah, Annie.” He sounded genuinely mournful. “That rat bastard thief was concerned you might let your temper run away with you.”
At that moment, my phone finished restarting, a fact it announced by playing a boisterous double ding. I froze.
“All this for one little lady?” Anne retorted sassily.
Marco shrugged. “No one wants another Kings Bay.”
The sultry sounds of a cartoon unicorn singing ‘good morning to you’ ala Marilyn Monroe’s ‘happy birthday’ to JFK burst from my phone. On a loop. Uncleared notification reminders.
“Shit,” I mumbled. Everyone was going to think I was some kind of narc. I shoved the phone into my reticule, which I then enveloped into a fold of fabric that I clamped between my thighs for extra soundproofing. Expecting all eyes to be firmly fixed on me when I finally dared to look up again, I prepared to apologize for interrupting them and maybe offer to buy drinks.
I wondered if this place accepted credit cards.
Instead, everyone was looking around the room with varying degrees of confusion as the muffled unicorn sang on. A few sported expressions akin to fright. I shut my mouth and scratched at my itchy spine, praying for my phone to finally go silent.
As the fourth and final loop began, Anne suddenly plunged her sword into our ‘table’. Startled, I jumped up, narrowly avoiding the candle as everything flew every which way. I did not avoid the spill of dark rum.
I turned to my sister just in time to see her fire a freaking gun in the direction of the female bartender, who dropped her sewing and stared back at Anne in fright as shattered pieces of glass sprayed around her. I clapped a hand over my mouth. “...not be made a fool of and I will not be intimidated,” Anne yelled. At least, I think that’s what she said. Since she’d just discharged a firearm mere feet from my head, I might not have quite made it out.
My head was full, and not just from the ringing in my ears. There was no way-- Yes, Izzy. There was no way in hell that Anne thought that poor woman had been the source of that sound. She was taking attention off of me. Everyone was staring at Anne and the woman behind the bar. Except for Marco, who gave me a long, knowing look and handed over the purse I’d dropped before turning his attention to the scene unfolding in front of us.
“Leave!” Anne screamed at the bartender, who fled as quickly as her legs could carry her. “Get that thieving rat bastard out here now or I’m walking.” Exhibiting sudden violence when there were over a dozen guns pointed in your direction seemed like a bad idea to me, but what the fuck did I know? This was clearly a very different type of crowd than the ones I was familiar with.
I felt sick.
“He’s almost finished,” Marco said. His eyes flicked at me briefly before indicating a back area. I frowned at his look. Suddenly he was concerned about my delicate sensibilities?
...Oh. Mixed in with the echoes of Anne’s gunshots were some very particular, very intimate sounds. The sounds of a man enjoying himself, and a woman who was...on the receiving end of things. And here I was worried I was going to catch something from the goddamn seating.
My theme park theory was seeming less and less likely.
“Nut or get off her, Rat!” Anne shouted. “St. Kitts would love this gold.” She held up the metal box she carried, emphasizing its weight.
-
Did I hear more coins?
-
The man in the back started going at it harder.
Don’t throw up, I counseled myself. You can drag all of the information out of Anne once we get the fuck out of here.
Anne reached down and yanked her sword from the remnants of the ‘table’. “I’m out. Tell that thieving rat bastard to contact me if he ever gets his dick back in his pants.”
Rat Bastard Thief? That couldn’t possibly be his real name, could it?
When my sister made a familiar gesture indicating our imminent departure, I gathered myself for the exit I was so longing to make. How we were going to leave with all of the guns aimed in our direction was another thing. Above my pay level, I decided, focusing on breathing and not falling over.
Around us, the unwashed masses remained alert, pistols pointed, and I was strongly considering taking up prayer.
Marco moved to block Anne and I bristled, especially when he leaned down to speak to her quietly. Between their whispers, the ringing in my ears, and the sound of the ocean, I couldn’t make out anything they were saying. I could, however, tell from their body language that this was an animated conversation.
How did one get dark rum out of silk, I wondered, eyeing a spot on my skirt. Cold water? Vinegar? How was I getting out of here? Who was in that back room? Lemon juice? Baking soda?
When they were finally done, Marco headed in the direction of the sex noises; Anne turned back and gestured for me to sit. After a brief pause, I did so, reticule straps secured on my wrist. As I tried to catch her attention - desperately hoping for a nonverbal update - I discovered that all of the marauders in the tavern had moved to place their guns on the table.
Wait, what? I took a cautious look around at the men, then at my sister, reviewing the events of the last several minutes. Marco had said these men were here because of Anne’s temper. Later, Anne had pulled out her sword, and then the guns came out...Anne sat down, the guns went down. Guns that had been aimed entirely at her.
Everyone here considered Anne to be the threat.
Anne, who I had dragged to dress fittings in middle school. Anne, who had only passed junior English because I had baked cupcakes as study incentives.
Anne, who had just fired a real live gun as a distraction.
I took a deep breath through the section of perfumed glove, subtly patting my pocket with my other hand. I had no idea what the hell my sister had gotten me into, but we would need an insane amount of luck to escape unscathed. The element of surprise could only help, right? I hoped.
From the rear of the ‘building’ Marco emerged alongside a tall Mediterranean man with broad shoulders and a sturdy build. He swaggered in while closing his pants, looking around like he owned the place. Maybe he did, come to think of it. He stood there stroking his dark beard as he took in the room, and the already thick tension ratcheted up several notches. Not the least of these was Anne, who was positively radiating enmity.
The person known as ‘Rat Bastard Thief’, I surmised. He stopped alongside Marco and in front of Anne, leaning against the ‘bar’, and the wood creaked under his considerable weight. He gestured impatiently and the male bartender quickly pulled out a real, solid looking chair and handed him a drink. I wondered if he’d washed his hands after his escapades in the back.
Suddenly I imagined our mom here and now, utterly appalled by absolutely everything about this place and its denizens. “Mr. Rat Bastard Thief - may I call you Rat?” she would ask politely. “It’s far too realistic,” she'd say, pointing her manicured nails at Tavern Rock’s numerous aesthetic failings. Then she would drag Anne into one of these filthy corners and give her a stern talking to about her unladylike behavior and the company she had been keeping.
Swallowing nervous laughter at the image, I closed my eyes, collecting myself. Totally cool. No big deal. I was totally not going to vomit all over the place from nerves.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Bitch Captain Of The Seven Seas herself.” My mouth dropped open when I realized he was talking to my sister. “And a new friend,” he added, giving me a look as though he was trying to figure out what flavor of ice cream I might be.
“‘Bitch’?” I was speaking before I even realized it. “Did he just call you--?” Anne shot me a look: bigger problems, Izzy.
The man grinned at me, taking another swig of his drink. “My apologies, fair lady. But your captain and I have long neglected our pleasantries.” I gazed back at him warily; his smile made me uneasy.
The man turned back to my sister, and I caught Marco’s eye.
“Rat?” I mouthed at Marco, who nodded.
Marco stepped over the various shattered bits on the floor to hand me another glass of rum. I nodded, grateful for the distraction. Besides, my nerves needed something to stop them twanging, and it probably wasn’t great for me to openly challenge the leader of this strange pirate gang.
Rat scoffed, looking at Anne imperiously. “I told you I would not do a deal for coins alone.” Coins, again. “Do you have my special request?” He sank back into his chair as Anne nodded curtly, tapping the bag beside her. “Prove it.”
With careful, deliberate movements, Anne pulled out a piece of something from her bag and placed it on the crate between them. I squinted. Was...was that part of a Starcake?
He reached for the cream and cake tidbit with a shocking amount of avarice blooming in his eyes. I mean, she had pulled it out of a burlap sack for fucks sake, and here he was reaching for it like this was an exclusive event. Rat swallowed it, then stared at the bag longingly, licking his lips. The part of me that wasn’t deeply perplexed desperately longed to offer him some hand sanitizer before he touched or sampled anything else.
“How much do you want?” It was like he had taken a bump of powder and, now satisfied with the quality, was prepared to move forward with whatever deal was planned. Other than the clothing, this felt exactly like a cartel deal in a movie.
Captain Anne, Historical Day Sailing Tours. Ask about our Crimes in International Waters options!
“Charlie specified that you and he have already discussed items and amounts. I have gold to supplement if the cargo is sufficiently valuable,” Anne said, suddenly the queen of negotiations. I marveled as I took in the stranger in front of me (while simultaneously working to keep my mouth from hanging open in shock). Coins, gold, cargo - industry codewords, most likely. Well, that was good. I wouldn’t have to testify about any details--
“I am also open to buying up more than just what Charlie asked for. It appears you’ve got an abundance on your hands and I’d be willing to buy some of it outright if the quality holds,” Anne said confidently. She looked like a beautiful badass. She reminded me of Mom, I realized. If we switched out the unwashed buccaneers for smarmy catering reps and exchanged the shack for an office it’d be exactly the same.
I wondered how Anne was planning to resolve things here. When surrounded by flies with numerous options for lures, Vivienne St. Germaine was a firm believer in first offering honey. But she also certainly wasn't above flicking a few flakes of Carolina Reaper in to make a point. Anne, however, had never been big on honey and its uses.
She’d probably try fire first.
I took another sip, hoping the alcohol would calm the giggles that were threatening to erupt.
Rat took another drink, then tapped his fingers along the box. “Show me what’s in the box.”
“I will not take live cargo,” Anne said tersely, meeting his eyes.
I sputtered into my rum. “LIVE cargo?” I knew they weren’t talking about chickens or goats or any other kind of livestock.
“It pays better,” Rat replied sagely. I turned to stare at Anne in horror but she was pointedly not looking in my direction. The pirate leader turned back to my sister. “No live cargo. Charlie has no need for that,” he continued. “Besides, we all know the sea bitch travels alone. At least she did,” Rat added, giving me yet another calculating look. A shiver ran through me as his men turned to look at me too.
My fingers curled around the objects in my pocket I shifted my tiny purse.
Marco smiled, holding that damned bottle in front of me like some kind of peace offering. “Fair Lady, we would all love to know what goes on on that ship of hers,” he declared, sitting to refill my glass.
“Oh, yes,” Rat drawled, leaning back. “Do tell us a story,” he said, and laughter swept through the men.
“Well...” My mouth went dry as I attempted to reboot myself back into some semblance of a normal, functioning human and I stalled, taking a sip of rum. A hell of a time to develop performance anxiety, Izzy. But what did they want to hear about? Maybe I should talk about my plans for dinner? I wondered if any of them would be interested in hearing about my lamb chop recipe. I was going to try a new garlic butter--
My sister interrupted before I was forced to respond. “This box is bursting with gold and you want a bedtime story?” She sneered.
“I’d love to hear about your bed, Annie,” Marco said with an obnoxious grin.
“That’s it!” My sister shouted, pinning his hand to the table and producing a dagger in an attempt to make good on her earlier promise.
I stared in horror, speechless. What the hell was she thinking? I couldn’t imagine anything good would come out of Anne maiming Marco.
“Annie!” he yelled, reaching for her. Rat grabbed Marco and the sound of clicking guns filled the tavern yet again.
Great. This is just wonderful.
“Enough!” Rat roared. “I will not have this turn into another Kings Bay!” With that, everyone sheathed their weapons and sat. A shiver ran over me, and I turned to stare at Anne; she was staring at Rat. “Now, let’s see that gold,” he said. A grim-faced Anne opened the box, and I gaped as the contents were revealed.
The box was full of silver and gold coins, along with a smattering of various precious gemstones. I bit back any further reactions, keeping my perfumed glove over the lower half of my face. Lady Isabelle, Esteemed Patroness, would not be amazed at such a display.
Rat motioned. “And the other?” Bursting with curiosity as Anne opened the indicated bag, I sank back once the contents were revealed. I would have bet my favorite pair of shoes that it was full of motherfucking Starcakes. Rat licked his lips, not at all bothered by the fact that they were not only unwrapped but half-squashed. I shuddered.
“We have a deal?” Anne asked curtly.
He nodded, sucking back his longing as Anne closed the bag. “We have a deal.” They drank on it, then Rat yelled “Start loading her up!” The man behind the bar rose at once, and after some delay so did a couple of the pirates. Anne moved to join them. I stiffened as Rat lunged, grabbing at my sister. He was surprisingly agile for a man of his size. “Not just yet, girly.” My hands clenched into fists at my side; only the warning in Marco’s eyes kept me from intervening.
“I will cut your arm off,” Anne said, her voice low and steady. To my surprise he let her go, taking a step back.
“You owe me an apology for Kings Bay,” Rat announced loudly.
“You made your own mistakes there,” Anne replied, looking up into his eyes fearlessly. “I owe you nothing.”
“I lost my ship.”
“You kept what mattered.”
“All these fine gentlemen here lost ships as well. In fact, everyone lost their ship. Everyone except you,” he said in that overly casual manner that movie villains do before revealing some nefarious plan. “That’s led us all to become mighty curious as to how those soldiers found us.” Eyes fixed on Anne, he sat down, leaning back in his chair.
My eyes drifted to my sister, mighty curious myself. Here we were in what felt for all the world like a life or death situation and I was following the gossip. At least I would be entertained in my last moments.
“Life is full of mystery, isn’t it?” Anne shifted her weight from one foot to another, then met my eyes. “Lady Isabelle, it’s time to leave.”
Maybe this time was the charm. Channeling an aura of non-threateningness, I put a polite smile on my face as I gathered my voluminous skirts and stood, but Rat’s goons did not seem inclined to allow us to pass.
My kingdom for my taser.
And different clothing. This costume left everything to be desired in the agility department.
“No.” Rat shook his head, smiling darkly. “No, I don’t think so. I’m owed an apology.”
“The Bitch Captain of the Seven Seas doesn’t apologize.” My breath caught in my throat as Anne’s hand tightened around the hilt of her sword.
“I’m not an unreasonable man. I can offer an alternative. No need for any apologies. Words are cheap,” he said, making a grand flourish. “I’ll just take your ship.”
I knew there would be a nefarious plan. The Try Your Luck was my sister’s fucking baby. He’d have a better chance getting her to part with a vital organ.
“Like hell you will,” Anne sneered at him. It was the first time I’d ever witnessed a sneer so deeply heartfelt that it seemed violent.
He nodded, trying another tact. Wise. “Perhaps a partnership? Now that you take passengers we could sail together.” Had he touched her face?
“No.” I glanced at Marco as he spoke up out of nowhere. “No men on her ship.”
“You heard him.” Anne pushed him back with her finger.
“Have it your way,” Rat said with an overly nonchalant shrug. I held my breath. “What’ll it be? Your ship?” He paused, then smirked. “An hour with you?” He turned, shooting me a terrifyingly perverted smile that made my blood run cold. “I am not picky, I would take an hour with your fare.” He was behind me before I knew what was happening, attempting to grope me through my layers.
My soul caught fire; this bastard putting his filthy hands on me was the absolute last fucking straw. “Get off of me!” I screamed. Boiling with rage, I aimed my elbow for his spinal cord by way of his solar plexus, twisting away from him as he doubled over, wheezing. Anne moved in front of me protectively as his henchmen ratcheted up their menacing expressions and body language. My heart was racing.
“Do not touch her, you thieving rat bastard.” My sister’s voice was intimidatingly steady, and once again, everyone was focused on her. Making this the perfect time to deploy my surprise. ‘Lady Isabelle’ had had enough, and it was time for us to leave. I pulled out my pepper spray, an extra stingy variety with UV marking. I started with Rat.
He froze, screaming bloody murder, and I immediately shared the pain with his friends as they began to advance on us. They all fell to the floor screaming and writhing in pain - a bit much, I thought detachedly, it wasn’t like I’d shot them - but then Rat started screaming at me, quickly joined by the others.
With all of the screaming and watery eyes, it took a while for me to realize that they were calling me a witch, and not the other, more obvious epithet. A chill went through me. Bitch? Typical for disgruntled men. Witch, though? That was downright weird, and decidedly more terrifying. Exactly what part of the world had we sailed to?
“Witch!” Rat screamed out, and then Anne was there with a fearsome looking knife pressed against Rat’s throat. Time froze, and I stopped breathing.
“Back down,” she growled at him. A droplet of blood ran down from her blade to his shirt, red and glistening.
Please back down, I begged him silently, and not just for myself. Please. I made eye contact with him, and he sneered at me. His eyes were defiant as he opened his mouth.
Oh, no.
“Thou shalt not abide -” His words were swallowed as Anne drew the blade across his skin, releasing his life in a bright, thick spray that colored the room like something out of a nightmare.
I’m wearing his blood, I realized dully.
“Get your back to the wall, Izzy!” Anne shouted, and I stumbled to obey, ducking down as I did so.
I kept my pepper spray aimed at any comers, shocked to see my sister drawing out a pair of guns and firing, taking down several of her enemies at once. (I’m not positive, but I’m fairly certain that she threw someone through a window.) Marco was heading in my direction and nearly got an eyeful of my spray until he clocked some dude, yelling for me to get down. I took that as a fair sign that he was there as a friend and not an attacker, so I returned my attention to the others. In the melee, Rat’s chair had gotten broken, adding a sturdy looking chair leg to my personal armory. Luckily, they were already plenty wary of my spicy canister of spray, and having Marco at my side, blade drawn in my defense, didn’t exactly make me an easier target. Especially after I hit one of the bolder ones across the face with the chair leg.
“Come on,” Marco grabbed my arm and pulled me behind the bar. He tucked me down with the others who were hiding back there, and then stood up to exchange some words with Anne that I couldn’t quite make out.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I noticed that the guns were slow. Other than Anne, they were reloading in between each and every shot. My hand closed over something small and hard, and I looked down to see that I was holding an emerald; Anne’s lockbox had gone flying, spilling wealth across the floorboards. Crouching behind the makeshift bar surrounded by gemstones and gold coins only added to the surrealness of the experience.
All at once, everything went quiet. Except for the echoes of gunfire ringing in my ears.
