Breaking through the surface, he gasped for air. All the color had drained from Thomas’s face, and his breath came in short gasps. He cupped his nephew’s cheek in his large hand. “Yer not going down with this ship. Ye understand me, boy?”
Thomas nodded, his lip trembling. “Hurry.”
Drake dove into the cold water again and gripped the vise on either side. He tugged, air escaping his lips with the effort. The fucking thing didn’t budge. He needed more leverage. Breaking through, his chest heaved for air while he scanned the area for something to pry the wretched weight off Thomas, and every second, the water level rose.
Spotting a sturdy iron spear for hauling in shark, Drake splashed across the hull to retrieve it. The shadows around them grew as more water fed on the Sea Dog like a hungry scavenger. He hurried back to Thomas. The boy had to tip his chin up to keep the ocean at bay and struggle for air.
“That’s it, Thomas.”
The ship groaned and lurched, opening another hole near the stern. Water gushed in. Fuck. They were running out of time. Drake dropped the spear and grabbed Thomas under his arms. Using all his strength, Drake pulled, cursing Flynn for demanding they reach the shore tonight, and God for trapping this child.
But none of it mattered. He couldn’t pull Thomas free.
“I’m sorry, Uncle.” His nephew coughed, spitting out seawater from his lips. “I thought I could plug the hole.” He gasped for air. “Leave me. You have to get off the ship.”
Drake’s vision wavered, his eyes burning with tears as his decision was made. “I’m not leaving you.”
He kissed the top of Thomas’s head and closed his eyes.
The boy sputtered, water garbling his words. “Will we see the angels, Uncle Drake?”
“Aye,” he whispered as the ocean swallowed them.
Drake opened his eyes, breaking through the haze of memory. He’d never seen an angel that night. After the burning pain of water filling his lungs, he’d welcomed the blessed darkness and surrendered to the peace.
He’d never expected to wake up along the bank of the Savannah River, coughing seawater from his lungs. It wasn’t until he stumbled into town that he’d understood what had happened.
His sip from the Holy Grail had granted him eternal life. But unlike his crewmates, Drake raged at his fate. He had endless days to carry the burden of Thomas’s death, to dream of his angelic face, to see the terror in his eyes as he realized that his young life was being snuffed out.
Guilt festered in Drake’s heart, leading him to attempt to end the torture, but nothing stopped the torment. He couldn’t end his wretched life. His physical wounds healed almost instantly, but his soul remained tainted with pain and regret. Unable to die, he worked. Day and night at first. Sleeping brought nightmares, so he did all he could to stay awake, driving his exhausted body to hammer more nails and sand more wood until it became soft and buttery under his callused hands.
This year things had started changing. The crew found a new purpose while reviving their piracy, this time for the good of their country. In the process, three of his crewmates had also discovered love, and strong women were now part of their crew. For the first time since the original Sea Dog surrendered to the Atlantic Ocean, Drake had managed to sleep through the night, without the constant torment of nightmares.
Until Heather mentioned Thomas.
Drake stepped out of the shower and towel-dried his hair, his head spinning. He’d shut her down before she shared any of the details about the ghost she’d seen on Oatland Island. Had Thomas told her about the night the Sea Dog sank?
And if someone was after him, then why?
He couldn’t die, but…Heather could.
Fuck.
Chapter Six
David narrowed his eyes at the sails in the distance. He hadn’t visited Savannah since the fiasco in the Bonaventure Cemetery, since his nephew, a few generations removed, died in his arms. He chomped his gum a little faster, reminding himself that he wasn’t here for the backstabbing pirate crew.
This trip was about keeping Heather safe.
His cell vibrated in his pocket. “This is Bale.”
“Ah, David, how chipper you sound.”
He rolled his eyes at King’s sarcasm. “Yeah, I’m effervescent. You have a lead for me?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. You were right. There is a new coven in Savannah.” He cleared his throat and continued. “One of our informants reported a recent recruitment offer. The leader claims she has the power to command the spirits of the dead.”
David frowned. “A necromancer?”
“Not exactly.” Papers shuffled on the other end of the line. “Here it is. She’s not raising dead bodies. She’s commanding the spirits, bending them to her will.”
“To do her bidding?” David rubbed his forehead. “That’s impossible. How?”
“I don’t know.” King sighed. “I offered our informant the standard reward package for additional information. I guess we’ll have to wait and see what she can find out.”
“Let me know if you hear anything.” David ended the call and cursed under his breath. Communicating with spirits was generally accepted, with some mediums being better than others, but “commanding” them was new. The question was how. He’d never stumbled across a relic that offered that kind of power, but that didn’t mean it didn’t exist.
Either way, if this woman truly could bend spirits to her will, American citizens could be in danger, and the situation had become a threat that Department 13 would need to stop. He turned away from the river, heading back to the safe-house apartment. He had some research to do.
…
After seeing her final client out, Heather grabbed her laptop and opened Skull & Crossbones. A message from Queenie was already waiting.
PirateQueen817: Working late. Should be online by 8pm.
Heather sighed,
