Of Magic and Rum (Beyond a Contemporary Mythos)

Chapter 9

I’m a pirate. I’ve taken the oath, sworn my loyalty, and I’m lying straight to their faces. What would my father say if he knew? He’d probably be disappointed but not surprised. I smile at this because I miss Dad and my older brother. But a woman can do far worse for a found family.

I’ve climbed the stairs leading to the deck just as the sun sets after a nap in preparation for keeping watch on the night shift. Squid’s legs dangle from the crow’s nest, his feet bouncing to the beat of a man playing the flute below him. Mary is hanging new rope from the riggings, her hat resting on a barrel, a rare sight only when the sun’s no longer a burden. Ragnar stands near Jack at the helm, and the sight of him makes my stomach clench.

Jack Rackham. What am I to do with you?

It’s been days since we sparred, and we’ve barely exchanged a few words—pleasantries, really. When Jack’s hot, he’s raging lava, but when he’s cold, he’s as frigid as they come. Is he toying with me? Trying to get into my head? Or he’s afraid. By the Seas, I know I am. What happens when they find out? It’s not a matter of if ; it’s when because I can only keep my true self hidden for so long. But every time I think I’m ready to tell someone, fear grips me like a whirlpool. I can’t even bring myself to tell Mary, who I’ve increasingly grown to trust above all others.

Forcing my attention away from Jack, I grab a bucket and brush and drop to my knees. I may have talked Squid into emptying the shit bucket, but there’s no getting out of the tedious task of continuously scrubbing the damn deck.

“Hey, Captain,” a man says to Jack, tugging on the only thing covering his upper half, a burgundy vest. “What say you to a bit of festivities tonight, hm? It’s been days since we’ve seen a bloody boat, and we’re all getting restless.”

The man is right. Over the past few days, the crew’s growing impatience has created a choking tension in the air.

“And if I agree, what did you have in mind?” Jack asks, casually propping against the railing.

I watch his forearms flex beneath the rolled sleeves of his red tunic shirt, and a lump forms in my throat. The sight of his bare torso is permanently etched into my memory. He knew what he was doing, taking his shirt off while sparring and trying to distract me. And I can’t say it didn’t partially work. I come from a line of supernatural beings who can make their physique appear any way they wish, but Jack? He looks like that naturally —toned arms, carved abdominals, the dark scattering of hair, and confirmation that, yes, he has a trail leading into his trousers.

“Maybe some music, a bit of carousing, and, I don’t know, an extra ration each of grog?” The man elbows another crew member. “Seeing as Vane was so gracious and gave us extra.”

Ragnar rolls his eyes, and Jack chuckles, tapping his rings on the railing before raising a finger. “Know what? I’m feeling gracious myself, and the skies are clear. Why not? Ragnar, divvy up some extra rum to the crew.”

The man whoops and claps his hands together. I run the back of my sleeve over my forehead before continuing, but Mary soon looms. Her perfume, unlike any other smell on board, given it’s not brine, tar, or questionable body odor, always gives her away.

“Did you not hear the Captain, Anne?” Mary asks.

I sit back on my haunches. “I did. But the deck isn’t going to scrub itself.”

Mary snatches the scrub brush from my grasp, tosses it in the bucket, and holds out her hand. “It can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, you kick back like the rest of us. Trust me when I say you take advantage of these moments. They’re needed and fleeting.”

“If there’s anything I’ve learned, you don’t argue with Mary Read,” I respond, smiling as I take her hand and let her hoist me.

Red is tuning a lute while taking a seat near the flute player. Another man I don’t recognize throws the strap of a hurdy-gurdy over his head and plays a quick bar across the keys. Ragnar arrives several moments later, carrying a crate, the bottles clinking together when he tosses it to the deck. Several crew members eagerly move toward it, and Ragnar points his flintlock at them with a furrowed bulldog brow.

Glog appears from below decks, loaves of bread and cheese cradled in his arms. I fold my arms and smile, watching everyone bubbling with excitement. The band begins to play the familiar tune of Drunken Sailor , everyone joining in once the song reaches verses they know. Only slivers of yellow, orange, and a thin strip of crimson remain on the horizon, the sun fully setting and allowing the night sky to take over. Aranck, still quiet as always, takes a route around the ship’s perimeter, lighting the lanterns.

Ragnar holds a bottle out to me. “Your festivities liquid for the evening.”

“Thanks, Ragnar.” I grin at him and cheer with the bottle before popping the cork. It takes more than mortal alcohol for an ancient being to feel anything resembling a buzz, so this watered-down rum will do nothing but taste good.

Jack clanks his bottle with a group of men, all taking swigs and laughing. Jack’s smile is so radiant the moonlight seems to glint off it. When he glances at me with those caramel eyes, for the briefest of moments, the way it makes my thighs pinch together, it’s probably more than a good thing the alcohol won’t affect me.

Glog holds out a piece of bread and cheese. “Here you are.”

“Appreciate it, Glog.” I run my thumbs over the dents left where moldy bits have been removed. “You don’t play an instrument?”

“Lord, no. Get me drunk enough, though, and I may belt a bar or two.” Glog winks and tears some bread with his teeth before moving on to the next crewmember.

With food in my lap, I hop onto a barrel, letting my feet dangle and tapping my heels against the wood to the song’s beat. The minutes tick by, and I’m content perched on my makeshift seat while watching everyone. Squid climbs down from the crow’s nest long enough to receive a bread loaf from Aranck. Aranck makes several gestures with his hands, signs I’m unfamiliar with, but Squid laughs, gesturing back to him. The two quietest members of the crew communicate in silence, and for the first time, I witness Aranck smiling. Just like in the tavern, Jack only takes the occasional sip from his drink, not caring that most of his crew are halfway through their bottles.

“What ya looking at?” Mary hugs my side, her breath reeking of rum and cheese.

I eye her sidelong and stifle a cough. “Just people watching. Enjoying yourself?”

“Mm. Definitely. But if I didn’t know any better—” Mary squints one eye and pokes my nose with her forefinger. “—and I don’t—” She burps. “—you were staring at the dear ‘ol Captain.”

I am. Guilty as charged.

“I think you’ve had a lot to drink, friend.” Snickering, I flick the bottle with my fingernail.

“No one would blame you, Anne. He’s a stunner—even I can admit that.” Mary guzzles more rum. “You should ask him to grease your fire, if you know what I mean.” She nudges me, blinking her eyes awkwardly like she’s trying to wink.

“Grease my fire, huh?” I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to laugh.

“Think about it, darling.” Mary shoves off me, stumbling and laughing, before she raises her fists and walks to the band.

I chew the inside of my cheek, but when curiosity gets the better of me, I hop from the barrel and head for the helm. The navigation maps are sprawled on a table near the wheel, with a stone in every corner to keep the wind from blowing it away. I tap my finger on the location we currently sail and slowly drag it toward the Mediterranean.

“Look at you being antisocial over here by yourself,” Jack says, swinging a bottle at his side between two fingers.

“Nope. I’m content waiting for everyone else to come to me .” I hold my hand out to him, displaying that he’s done just that, and take a sip.

Jack looks at his chest and smirks. “Well, shit. It works. Here I am—” He bends forward and flashes a sinfully charming grin. “—falling for it.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. This hair is like a smoke signal.”

Jack’s gaze wavers over my hair. “I’ve noticed.” He deliberately climbs the stairs, one at a time.

My free hand grips the table’s edge, and Jack instantly notices this action. His eyes snap straight to my whitening knuckles.

“What’s your story, Bonny?” Jack tilts his head to one side and moves in closer, his voice dropping to a rumbly whisper I can feel in my toes.

This is such treacherous territory—both my disguise and my supernatural existence.

“My story? Typical. Boring. It’d put you to sleep.” I guzzle some more of my drink, making my best effort not to linger on Jack’s exposed chest and that scar .

Jack stands next to me now, leaning against the table. His finger brushes my trousers near my hip, and sea angels flutter in my stomach. “I may not be the smartest man in the world, but I know you’re far from boring. And I suspect there’s a bigger story to you than you’d ever share.” Jack’s hand grows bolder and skirts my thigh.

I draw in a breath through my nose and level a glare at him. “Do you want to lose that hand?”

He flashes me a wicked grin. “Threatening me, Miss Bonny? You won’t do it because you know you’ve yet to experience what these hands can do to you. Afterward, though? Once you’ve had your fill? I wouldn’t be as confident.”

There’s no stopping the laugh that pushes from my lungs, and I cover my mouth with the bottle. However, the chuckles abruptly stop when Jack’s fingers rest on my arm and he slowly lowers it. His nose brushes mine, and his expression turns pensive.

“I think, Anne—” Jack moves his hand to the back of my neck. “—I might be falling in love with you.”

He is so full of absolute shit .

I play along briefly, letting my gaze fall to his lips like I’m about to kiss him before lifting the bottle between us. “Are you quite done?”

Jack rubs his forehead and presses two fingers against his breastbone. “You wound me. Here I am confessing my feelings, and you—” When he catches me staring at him deadpan, he cuts himself off. “—that normally works on a woman.”

“Pity for them.” I edge a half smile and down more of my drink.

He shrugs, still edging close enough we share the same air. “I’ve yet to receive a complaint.”

“Complaints are usually bad for business when paying for the company.” I thin my lips, biting back a smile.

Jack’s eyes light up, and he pushes off the table to stand straight, laughing. “Level with me, Anne. Give me something. Anything about you.”

By the Seas, he’s gorgeous.

“And if I don’t?” I prop on one elbow, using my other hand to take occasional sips from my bottle.

He’s taking up my space again, arms pressed to the table on each side of my hips, and he’s grinning like a wolf on the prowl. “I’ll only try harder to pry it out of you.”

There’s no hiding the gulp making my throat bounce.

“I noticed you scanning the map. Do you know how to read one?” Jack turns me to face the table, his hips brushing my ass. One of his callused hands slips over the top of mine, and he guides my finger to several spots on the map, dragging it from one place to the other.

I’ve never imagined hand-holding to feel so intimate. “What makes you think I don’t?”

Because I do, but he doesn’t know this.

“Each captain keeps a different style of mapping. It depends on how they label travel routes versus known trade routes.” Jack continues to trace my finger along a red line.

My body naturally settles against him behind me.

“And considering you’re not pulling away—” his nose brushes my nape and his lips feather my skin “—you either don’t know how to read it or want an excuse to have my hands on you.”

And here I am, thinking about it. I’m imagining kissing him— truly kissing him. I fantasize about how my hands would feel bunched in those long chocolate locks as his callused fingers scrape sensually across my skin.

“Anne,” Mary bellows from the front of the ship.

I snap to attention, accidentally striking Jack in the head with my bottle.

“Ow,” Jack mumbles, wincing at me but smiling.

“Sorry, I?—”

“Anne fucking Bonny,” Mary yells with one hand cupped around her mouth. “And you too, Captain. Get your arses over here.”

Jack rolls his bottom lip between his teeth. “Something to know about Mary? It isn’t wise to keep her waiting.”

“Noted.” Turning around, I pause when Jack fans his palms and steps back.

“I don’t need you threatening any more of my appendages .”

After scooting past him, I tug his shirt sleeve with a gleaming smile. “You’re learning.”

“I am always studious regarding women.” Jack bows with a flourish.

Rolling my eyes, I brush past, fighting the urge to steal another glance at him.

When we reach the group, most have finished both bottles of rum and are singing and swaying to the music. Aranck watches from afar, not participating but standing guard with his arms folded. Squid still resides barefoot in the crow’s nest, bouncing to the music.

Mary punches Jack’s arm. “You fuck her yet?”

I choke on my spit and wipe the back of my hand over my mouth.

“Such a delicate flower you are, Mary.” Jack pinches Mary’s cheek. “And no, because someone yelled at us to come over here. Didn’t they?”

Mary snorts and laughs. “Oh, shit. I cock-blocked ya, didn’t I?”

Jack says nothing and only offers her a sardonic grin.

“No, you didn’t. Any amount of extra time would’ve made no difference whatsoever.” I flick my hand in the air.

There’s no convincing, not even myself, of this statement.

Jack closes the gap between us, intrigue and mirth dancing in his gaze. “Do you have any idea what challenge you’ve started?”

I move an inch closer and crane my neck back to look him in the eye. “If it’s anything like your swordplay, it should be over quick.”

Jack’s lips form a slow, broad smile.

Mary and several of the men hoot with laughter. Jack and I are still staring each other down as Red pats Jack on the chest while Mary jostles me. If ever I can be thankful mortal alcohol does nothing to my inhibitions, it’s right now, in this moment. But I also can’t blame Jack’s leering gazes or words on inebriation either, because he’s only had maybe two or three sips of grog. The realization makes a flutter form in my chest.

“Where in Ireland are you from, Anne?” Glog asks, still munching on cheese. “That’s the accent, right? Irish?”

Jack crosses his arms and fiddles with his rings, waiting for me to answer.

Without looking away from Jack, I answer, “Near Cork.”

“Cork.” Glog snaps his fingers. “I should’ve known that.”

Red suddenly passes out, slumping onto the deck with his ass in the air. Aranck pushes past everyone and helps him up, pouring something from a small bottle into Red’s mouth before aiding him below deck.

“What did he give him?” I ask Glog.

Glog shrugs and tosses a piece of bread, catching it in his mouth. “Not sure. Aranck seems to have cures for anything that ails you. The man could’ve been a surgeon without all the screwy schooling, I swear it.”

“Anne,” Mary whines, holding her hand out to me. “Dance with me.”

“You sure you’re in a good enough state for that?” I ask, chuckling at her swaying on her heels.

“Unlike most of these oafs, I can hold my liquor.” Mary snaps her hand back and eyes me warily. “Peculiar, why you’re not more sloshed.” She snatches my bottle before I can resist and shakes it. “The whole bloody thing is almost gone, and you’re not so much as glassy-eyed.”

I can feel Jack’s curious gaze from nearby heating my cheeks.

“High tolerance, I guess.” Yanking the bottle back, I shove it in a pocket and open my arms. “You mentioned dancing?”

Mary and I dance a drunken waltz, and surprisingly, I only have to hold her upright three times. She attempts to dip me, and I have to press my hand to the deck to keep from landing on my back when she fumbles with my arms. And after several moments have passed, she stalks off without warning, mumbling something about needing sleep. Jack has been watching me the entire time, walking a circle around us from afar. He switches from running his fingers through his beard to clasping his hands behind his back, but the determination in his eyes is plain: he’s bent on figuring me out.

Yawning, I stretch my arms above my head. “I should probably head to bed, too. Seems like the party is dying anyway.”

Several men have fallen asleep on deck, propped against each other or on crates, the empty bottles held limply in their hands.

“I’ll remind you,” Jack starts, standing in front of me with hooded lids. “My hammock is far more comfortable, especially with me in it.”

I pinch my lips together to rein in my smile and pat his chest. “Goodnight, Jack.”

He grabs my hand and presses a chaste kiss to my knuckles. “Goodnight— Annie .”

The nickname sends my heart racing, and I reluctantly slip my hand from his, backing away until I feel the railing touch my fingertips. I’m clutching my blouse as I sprint for the stairs, pressing my back against the wall when I’m secluded below decks.

This is going too far. I have to tell them. And soon. But—how?