Page 140 of The Worst of Them

When he spoke to Jack, his tone was grave. “Do you feel haunted?”

Jack’s jaw flexed. “This is Jonah’s doing?”

“We’re being haunted?” Cecily asked. She scanned the empty deck, half-expecting to find ghosts, but there was nothing but odd sunlight and soft, reeking breezes.

Copson stepped between them, crossing the deck toward the mainmast. He set his hand against the wood and peered up at the sails. “I’d say it’s most certainly got something to do with him.”

She saw it then—the canvas was dripping. In fact, the entire mainmast was soaked, and barnacles had grown along the bottom where the timber met the deck. Copson scrubbed his boot over the board, dislodging the tiny creatures.

“Jonah’s serpent is dead,” Copson said, “but he’s got other ways to condemn us.”

Cecily lifted her hands. The blood was still there, clinging to her skin like an accusation. Torturer. Murderer. Monster. She shook her head, tempted to scrub her hands until her skin peeled away.

“What do we do?” the first mate asked. A muscle flexed in his jaw.

“We run,” Copson said with a low, mirthless laugh. “If he’s going to all this trouble, I’m sure he intends to be the next nightmare we meet.”

“Run from Jonah,” Jack repeated incredulously. “We could hand over Fiero and be done with this.”

Copson’s rueful smile offered no comfort. “Have you not been watching? Jonah only wants death. If we face him, he’ll kill us all. Until he gets the opportunity, he’s going to haunt us, probably hoping we’ll sit here and weep over our deepest regrets instead of saving ourselves.”

“There’s no outrunning Jonah,” Cecily said. “Stede said…” His name knifed through her middle, and wet warmth swept over her hands as though fresh blood poured over them.

She looked down. Her throat closed around a retch as she found her fingers soaked in dark blood. Trembling, she flipped them over but only found more blood, and she thought of a wine bottle, glass shattering, the look in Stede’s eyes before he⁠—

She forced her hands to her side and drew in a long, deep breath before she could be sick.

It wasn’t real. Never real.

This would continue, so she steeled herself. Regrets would haunt them all. They’d already been haunted all morning—blood for Cecily, secrets for Jack, and who knew what else? Whatever Jonah had in store for them would surely make this ship a living hell.

“We’ll do it,” Copson said. “Jack, wake the crew. Rush them, threaten them—do what you must to get them moving. They’ll be haunted too, and it’s imperative you don’t let them wallow.”

With a sharp exhale, Jack headed for the lower decks, his steps heavy. It was futile, and they knew that. Stede had claimed Jonah could cross great distances in mere days, so it was only a matter of time before he arrived, no matter how fast the Fortuna Royale could sail. And if Jonah could control the sea and weather around them⁠—

Her breath seized as she remembered standing on a moonlit beach in Tortuga, arguing over treasure with their friends.

“Jack!” She hurried after him, grabbing his arm before he reached the steps. Fresh scarlet was still smeared over her hand, and she dropped it quickly, wiping it against her pants and thinking, Not real. Never real. But it was so hard to believe.

“Hester’s tide stones,” she said. “They’re real, aren’t they?”

At first, he seemed confused. But when the memory dawned on him, he swore. “Get them,” he bade her. “Take them to the captain while I wake the crew.”

She pushed past him down the steps, headed for the private cabins near the back of the ship. Jack followed on her heels, but before she could get too far, he grabbed her hand to stop her.

He looked at her intently, his gaze boring into hers. “There’s no blood on your hands,” he said earnestly.

Her heart panged, hearing it for what it was—forgiveness. He didn’t have to offer it, nor had she asked for it. Though the woman he’d contended with the night before had been some consciousness other than her own, she still carried the shame.

With the rest of the crew asleep, they were practically alone here, and she wished they had more time to discuss all the things left unsaid. Hurts, apologies, their future…

Well, their future if they survived.

For now, she only nodded and replied, “I love you. For all you are.” Because surely his own guilt from the night before had not left him. She could see it in the way he gazed at her, and she knew it would burrow into his mind as surely as the blood coated her hands.

Not real, but real enough to hurt.

He stepped closer and raised her fingers to his mouth, pressing a warm kiss to her knuckles where the blood was thickest. His lips came away clean, proving to her that it was only the haunting. Too soon, he let go and turned for the crew’s quarters. His voice rose, barking a command for them to wake.