“What is she?” asked Jack, suddenly interested.
George folded his long fingers. “You talk in your sleep, you know. You spoke of a succubus who stole something from you.”
Jack’s eyes snapped open. George couldn’t mean… “She stole everything. She stole my one way out of hell. I was close to finding the relic. I was going to rewrite the world’s rules, but she condemned us all.”
“Yes. She’s feisty. But she is beautiful.”
Gods’ blood. “Is she your new wife? The succubus?”
“Rest now. You need your strength.” The Earl slunk to the door.
“An athame. Where is my athame? Druloch can heal me.”
“Let’s not be hasty.” The old creep didn’t want him to leave. He liked having Jack here as an invalid.
“What did she tell you about the relic?” shouted Jack.
George turned, a grin spreading over his face. “I found a girl for you too, you know. She’s beautiful, of noble blood, and she seemed desperate. Perfect qualities in a woman.”
The door clicked shut behind the Earl, and Jack was left with his own thoughts once again.
20
Fiona
She strained her eyes to see through the mist, and her pulse raced as she waited for something to grab Ostap. But no tentacle or clawed hand emerged from the water. Instead, the Russian dancer dropped his head into his hands, crouching as though in pain. He let out an anguished cry, nearly toppling into the ocean, and his body began to shake.
Fiona shot a look at the Guardians, who gazed on, unconcerned. Only Lir seemed worried, his shoulders rigid with tension.
With a loud grunt, Ostap straightened, gasping for air. He stared into the sea below, his right hand twitching. Death fires flashed from the masts above.
Grunting again, Ostap turned to them, pleading in Russian. He stepped back toward the ship. It seemed to take all his resolve to drag his body away from the ocean. With a final grunt, his features hardened again, and he raised his face to the dark sky. “It wasn’t me,” he whispered. Lowering his gaze to the other recruits, he strode off the plank, his chest heaving. Tears glistened in his dark eyes.
Fiona stared at the other recruits. What just happened? But the perplexed looks on their faces told her they didn’t know any more than she did.
Captain Nod clapped his hands together as though this were all par for the course. “Well done, Ostap.” He lifted a pewter cup to the sky. “You may choose your mentor.”
Ostap stared at the deck, and for a moment Fiona thought he wasn’t going to reply, until he slowly lifted his eyes to Nod’s. “I choose you,” he said softly.
Of course. Nod was clearly the best mentor here.
“Well chosen.” The Captain approached the recruits again, pausing in front of the gaunt pervert. “Berold. You’re up.”
Berold pushed himself up, and though he attempted a smile at the other recruits, it came out more as a grimace. As he walked up the plank, his spine was hunched. And when he stood on the edge, he gripped his hair in both hands. His knuckles whitened, and all of his muscles visibly tensed.
“Stop laughing at me!” he shrieked. He hugged himself, muscles twitching. “I said stop!” He swayed, dangerously close to toppling in the water.
Dread crawled over her skin. Dagon didn’t simply reach out and grab people. Instead, he seemed to warp their minds until they couldn’t think clearly anymore.
Berold tottered at the edge before forcing himself to turn away from the sea. When he returned, limbs shaking, his face was the color of sea foam. After shambling back to the deck, he lifted a finger, pointing to Valac as his mentor.
Fiona’s mind raced. She was surrounded by rapists and murderers. What if Dagon simply showed people the truth about themselves? And if that was the case—what would she see?
She shuddered, looking on as Ives underwent his trial, returning with a look of fury carved into his pretty features. Storming back to the deck, his hands trembling, Ives went silent for a few minutes before spitting out his choice of mentor: “Jacques.”
With a twinge of guilt, Fiona caught herself hoping that one of the recruits wouldn’t make it. It was either them or her. Lir had said at least one person would die. As each recruit passed the first trial, it only increased the chance that Dagon would take her.
She stared as Rohan stood at the end of the plank, nonchalantly fiddling with his skull rings. When he sauntered back from the plank, oddly unperturbed by the experience, her stomach tightened. Whatever it was that Dagon did to people’s minds, it had almost no effect on him. And that meant she was one step closer to death. It would be either Fiona or Godwin, the ginger.
With a tip of his top hat, Rohan chose Marlowe as his mentor. Marlowe grinned, awkwardly folding Rohan in a hug.
That left only one mentor: Lir.
St. Elmo’s fire flashed through the fog, and a cool sweat broke out on her forehead.