CHAPTER 5
The caravan of Pack vehicles roared and thundered down the road. The magic was up full force and enchanted water engines belched so much noise, all of the windows were closed. Curran drove. In the backseat Barabas and Derek sat next to each other.
We left Julie in the Keep. She wanted to come and then she didn’t want to. We said our good-byes. She hugged me and cried, so desperate and sad that I almost cried with her. I sat with her for twenty minutes, until finally we couldn’t delay any longer. She was still crying when I walked out. I hoped this wouldn’t be my last memory of her.
Somehow I always managed to screw things up when it came to Julie.
The highway snaked its way through a flat salt marsh. Reeds and grasses swayed gently, giving us a glimpse of wet mud exposed as low tide sucked the water out of the marsh. A sign flashed by, a yellow diamond with a turtle on it, followed immediately by another sign, a triangle bordered in red. A turtle in the center of the triangle had a dark cone touching its mouth.
“What does that mean?” Barabas asked from the backseat.
“Magic turtle crossing.”
“I got that one, but what about the second one?”
“Beware the magic turtles.”
“Why?”
“They spit fire.”
Curran chuckled to himself.
The road turned. We shot onto a wooden bridge, the boards thudding a little under the pressure of the tires. Another half-mile and we rolled through the massive iron gates of the port.
“Which dock did Saiman say?” Curran asked.
I checked the paper. “Berth two. Just below the bridge.”
The ruin of the Eugene Talmadge Memorial Bridge swung into view as if on cue, its concrete supports sticking sadly out of the water, the steel cables hanging over them like a torn spider web. We passed the remnants of the bridge and Curran stopped before a pier. A large vessel waited on the water, its two black masts rising above the deck that had to be close to four hundred feet long. I knew next to nothing about ships, but even I could tell this was no merchant freighter. It looked more like a naval ship, and the enormous gun mounted on the deck in front of the bridge only made that fact more apparent.
Curran studied the ship. “That’s a Coast Guard High Endurance Cutter.”
“How do you know?”
“We bought a gun from a decommissioned vessel. That’s what’s mounted in the forward tower by the gates.”
“Do you think Saiman bought a Coast Guard cutter? How much money . . .”
“Millions,” Barabas said, his voice dry.
We stared at the cutter.
A man strode down the gangplank. Large, broad-shouldered, he wore a plain sweater and jeans. A short brown beard traced his jaw. He looked like he worked for a living.
We got out.
The man approached us. I checked his eyes and saw the familiar superiority. He was painfully aware that his world was populated with people of lesser intelligence, and his eyes told me he was regretfully resigned to slumming. Saiman.
“May I present the Rush?” Saiman said. “Once USCGC Rush, now just the Rush. Three hundred and seventy-eight feet long, forty-three feet high, displacement of three thousand two hundred and fifty tons. Two gas turbines, four enchanted water generators, maximum speed during magic twenty knots, during tech twenty-nine knots. Otobreda seventy-six-millimeter super-rapid artillery gun, three ballistas, and a number of other bells and whistles, which makes it the finest vessel in my fleet. My flagship.”
“Spared no expense?” I said.
Saiman grinned, displaying even, white teeth. “I prefer to travel safely or not at all.”
*
I stood on the deck of the Rush, smelling the salty, ocean-saturated air, and watched our supplies being loaded. The sailors on the ship at the next pier watched also. They had a crane. We had Eduardo Ortego, who picked up five-hundred-pound containers and casually tossed them onto the deck, where Mahon and Curran caught them and lowered them into the cargo hold.
The human sailors were looking a little sick. I was glad Eduardo was coming with us. Mahon had chosen the massive werebuffalo as his backup and nobody objected.
Family members and various shapeshifters swarmed over the Rush. Jim marched about, muttering things under his breath. George was showing cabins to her mother. The wind tugged on the unruly halo of her long dark curls, which she unsuccessfully tried to tame with a rubber band. Mahon’s wife, a plump, happy African American woman, followed her daughter with a proud smile on her face. George was built like her dad—taller, sturdier, broader in the shoulders than her mother—but her big smile was the same: bright and infectious. I wasn’t the smiling type, but when either of them smiled at you, it was hard not to grin back.
The deck under my feet was moving. The moment I shifted my balance to compensate, the ship tried to make a break for it. Last time I’d taken a ship was almost three years ago. Clearly, this wasn’t at all like riding a bicycle.
Andrea, on the other hand, seemed no worse for wear. She leaned on the rail on my right, smiling. Raphael stood next to her. Where Andrea was short and blond, Raphael was tall, lean, and dark, with a wave of nearly black hair falling to his shoulders. He was also smoking hot. Some men had that indescribable quality, a kind of masculine sensual air. They looked at you and you knew having sex with them would be a memorable experience. Raphael didn’t just have the air; he was his own seductive tornado. He was also one of the deadliest knife fighters I’ve encountered. Raphael loved Andrea more than fish loved the sea. She loved him back and flashed her guns when single women strayed too close.
Barabas stood on the other side of me, looking like he would hurl any minute. “Does it always move this much?”
“It gets worse,” Raphael told him.
“You’ll get used to it,” Andrea promised.
A woman came down the pier, heading for the ship. She walked with an easy, lazy grace that spoke of strength and perfect balance, despite the dangerously tall heels of her black leather boots. Shapeshifter walk. Always a dead giveaway.
Black jeans hugged her hips, and a rust-red blouse with a jean jacket over it showed off her curves. Her hair, worked into a mane of dark tight spirals, moved as she walked, underscoring her smooth stride. She turned and I saw her face. She was striking: a heart-shaped face, skin the color of coffee, with smart dark eyes and a full, sensual mouth.
Eduardo picked up the next container and saw the woman. His face fell. “Hi, Keira.”
Ha! So that was what Jim’s sister looked like.
Keira winked at Eduardo. “Hello, delicious.”
All of the blood drained from Eduardo’s face. The container whistled through the air, cleared the deck, and plunged into the water on the other side.
Keira laughed, a low contralto chuckle, and kept going.
“Oops,” Eduardo called out.
“What the hell?” Curran growled.
“I’m sorry, that one was lighter.”
“You threw it, you fish it out.”
If that container was the one with my herbal supplies and weapons, I’d be really put out.
Keira walked up the plank. “Hey, Barabas.” She offered me her hand. “Keira. Jim’s sister.”
“Kate. Jim’s friend.” I shook her hand. Good grip.
“Hi, Raphael. And you must be Andrea. From the Order, right?” Keira asked.
“Yes,” Andrea said.
“Good to meet you.”
“What’s the deal with you and Eduardo?” Barabas asked.
Keira grinned. “It’s a funny story. When Eduardo first came to the city, he decided our laws didn’t apply to him and he failed to come and say hi. Jim sent me to fetch him. I might have hunted him a little. For fun.”
“Hunted?” Barabas asked.
“Mm-hm.” She smiled, a slow lazy parting of lips. “I also might have implied that I find buffalo scrumptious.”
A Pack Jeep pulled up to the pier. The doors opened and the Jeep disgorged Doolittle and two of his assistants. The Pack medic surveyed the ship, nodded, plucked a bag from the back of the Jeep, and headed up the plank. The assistants followed him, carrying bags and cases.
Ummm. “What’s going on?”
“No idea.” Barabas pondered Doolittle. “Whatever it is, it’s not my fault.”
“Hello.” Doolittle climbed aboard. “Please direct me toward the cabins.”
“Why do you need the cabins? Are you coming with us?”
He drew himself to his full height. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
“When was this decided?” Curran hadn’t said anything about it to me. Nor had Doolittle mentioned it when I came to see him.
“It was decided this morning. The cabins, milady?”
Hmmm. Maybe Curran in his typical fashion didn’t tell me. I pointed at the stairs. “Straight down.”
“This way.” Doolittle went down the stairs. The assistants followed.
Barabas leaned over the side and vomited into the wind.
“You do realize we’re not even out to sea?” Saiman asked from behind us.
Barabas flipped him off without looking.
Saiman shook his head.