Drake smirked. Bob. He should’ve known.
The one-eyed pirate had been the cook on the Sea Dog and drank from the Holy Grail with the rest of the crew. These days he owned Bob’s Seafood, a popular restaurant with the locals. “I’ll have to thank him later.”
“I’m glad I found you.”
Something about the spark in her eyes seemed…familiar. He shoved the thought aside, unwilling to examine it any closer. A stark memory of that night in the cemetery filled his head. He hadn’t put himself between her and the barrel of a gun through a conscious decision or a heroic urge.
It had been instinct.
And he had no fucking clue why. The endless passing of decades might be catching up with him, stealing his sanity.
He scanned the darkened street. “Where is this danger you wanted to warn me about?”
“You won’t be able to see it coming. Not with your eyes.”
He frowned, looking her way again. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means the danger won’t be from a gun.”
He chuckled and put his toolbox in the truck beside the ladder. “Do you always talk in riddles?”
“This isn’t a joke.” She crossed her arms, lifting her chin. “I warned you that this would sound impossible. No matter how it sounds, it’s still real.”
“How can you be so sure?” he asked.
“I came here to pass on a warning. If you don’t believe me, that’s your business. I have no way to prove it to you.” She dropped her hands to her sides. “Never mind. I did what I could. What you choose to do with the information is up to you.”
She was no shrinking violet, he would give her that. He hadn’t meant to offend her, not really. He’d spent over two hundred years on his own. The few women he’d enjoyed an evening with didn’t usually involve much conversation. He was rusty. Aw hell, if he was honest, he’d never been good at chatting with women. Not since Lucy.
Fuck. The last thing he needed was to dredge up memories of the love he’d left behind in England lifetimes ago.
“Wait.” He cleared his throat. “Maybe you should start at the beginning.”
She shifted her stance. “The Oatland Island preserve hired me to calm a spiritual disturbance tonight, and while I finished up, a ghost of a young boy showed up.” Her gaze went distant as she shook her head. “I don’t usually see them, but he was clear.”
Her lips were still moving, even though Drake could no longer make out her words. Shrieks deafened him, piercing his senses like daggers. He winced, unable to catch his breath as he covered his ears. It did nothing to muffle the high-pitched screech.
Heather came forward, concern lining her eyes. Her mouth kept moving, but the wailing inside his ears drowned out her voice. He grunted, grinding his teeth and stumbling backward until he landed against the tailgate of his truck. Grasping the side with one hand, he struggled to stay upright as the sound threatened to crack his skull. He pressed his other hand over his ear. There was no silencing the assault.
Then just as suddenly as it came on, it was gone. Drake collapsed to his knees, breaking out in a sweat, his hands trembling. His head throbbed, residual pain lancing through his temples like an icepick. What the fuck was that?
Heather knelt beside him. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” His voice came out hoarse, his throat raw. Had he been screaming?
She took his hand to steady him as he got to his feet. The simple touch warmed him from the inside out, like a balm for his soul. He stared into her ethereal eyes, somehow both lost and found. He stroked his thumb over the smooth skin of her knuckles and realized his hands were shaking.
He released her and whispered, “I need to get to the Sea Dog.”
Chapter Two
For the life of her, Heather couldn’t figure out why Drake insisted she take him to a replica of a pirate ship instead of a hospital. The original Sea Dog sank just outside the mouth of the Savannah River in 1795. A few years ago the Spanish galleon was rebuilt, complete with huge black sails, and now it sat docked along River Street.
The ghost boy had shown her a sailing ship, too, old like this one…although the one in her vision had more sails. Maybe there was a connection? More likely she was reading far too much into the glimpse she’d seen.
Her steering wheel vibrated as they got closer to the water. The historic road had never been paved, and the old cobblestones forced drivers to slow down. In hindsight, keeping the area in its original state probably helped with the traffic in the area. Most locals parked on the streets above and walked down to save their vehicles.
She glanced his way as they neared the dock. “Are you sure about this? The boat may not even be open.”
Maybe Drake knew the owner.
“I built the damned thing,” he grunted, still massaging his temple.
Until she understood what brought this big strong carpenter to his knees, she wouldn’t press him too hard to see a doctor. What if it had been an attack from the witches the boy had warned her about?
Rumors had been circulating among the local metaphysical community about a coven dipping their toes into black magic. Heather hadn’t wanted to believe it. Nine times out of ten the gossip was just that, talk.
However, after her encounter with the boy who begged her to protect Drake, it was tough not to see the earlier incident as an attack on him. She’d experienced enough unexplainable events, through both her mediumship work and assisting Agent David Bale and Department 13 to protect Americans from paranormal threats, to recognize that this dimension carried both the sinister
