Hidden Island Chapter 30, part 2 of 3

Hidden Island
Chapter 30, part 2 of 3

Her fingers wandered idly down her stomach. Her sense of touch seemed extra sensitive. She was wide awake, and every nerve was firing. The heat between her legs throbbed, wanting to be touched. Willpower and denial of her desires had never been easy for Tonya. More than anything else that held back her training with Bella. Her wants were too strong, and she gave into them quickly. She turned, looking at Janie's sleeping face in the dim, blue-tinted light. She was fast asleep.

A slight shudder rippled through Tonya as soon as her fingers slipped into her wet folds. She squeezed her thighs together, enjoying the pulse. Her mind wandered back to earlier. Caine.

She'd always thought he was sexy in an older, gruff way. It was the way he carried himself. He was no-nonsense and stern but very caring in his way. There was something beautiful about a person who was capably violent but used it to protect rather than control. He'd always looked out for the whores at Mary's and never judged any of them. He was ultimately on their side, and they all knew it.

He'd been entirely off-limits, though. The idea of bedding Caine was one of those inside jokes that got bandied about the brothel, like fishermen talking about the one that got away. Most of them had made passes at him at one point or another. Sometimes, he even flirted back.

To Tonya's knowledge, none had ever sealed the deal with him. She had to admit, she was pretty proud of herself.

Her fingers wandered, stroking along her sensitive inner lips, prodding lightly at her entrance, then dragging back up to gently circle her sensitive clit. Her breathing deepened, and her hips ground into the mattress. She was trying not to move much, but it was hard. She was always an enthusiastic lover, even with herself. Her other hand squeezed her small breasts, kneading soft flesh and tugging at sensitive nipples. She wished they were bigger. She had to dress in ways that over-emphasized her body so people would notice it. Corsets. Bustles. Heels.
Makeup.

Without it all, she would never have been noticed in a place like Mary's. When she was hired, Chance told her she might consider marketing herself as a lady-boy to appeal to customers who liked that sort of thing, but she wasn't interested. It was true that when she wore the right clothes, she could pass as a teenage boy. It sometimes came in handy. She'd done that when she lived on the street to protect herself. Now that she didn't have to do that to survive anymore, she never wanted to do it again. She was a woman, dammit! She wanted to feel like a woman and be treated like a woman.

She glanced over at Janie, examining the older woman's body. She was primarily covered in blankets, but the swell of her breasts still gave her outline a sensual form. That's what Tonya wanted. Enough curves that no one would ever mistake her for anything but a woman.

Her hands had stopped moving. They were resting on her chest and between her legs. Her brows furrowed. That never happened. Usually, she had to try to stop the sexy thoughts from distracting her, not focus on them so they didn't slip away. She was still turned on in a vague, frustrated sense.

She started making small circles with her fingers again.

Will. That had been the last time she'd been entirely, satisfyingly fucked. Will and Bella. Those two were just... overwhelming. She bit her lip, remembering the feel of Will fucking her on the table. Bella discharges her excess energy through Rocky and into her. The two of them worked together, playing her body like an instrument. A small ripple ran through her, the very beginning of an orgasm. The pressure spike that let her know it was on the horizon. Her toes curled. She missed Bella so much. Now that the mirror was broken, it would be a lot harder to ignore the feelings of loneliness. She hoped Bella was alright.

She opened her mouth like she would say something to herself, but the only thing that came out was a slight, angry whine. She'd lost the thread of her sexy memories again. What was going on? Why couldn't she stay focused? She had no problem getting warmed up, but it seemed like every time she reached a certain threshold, right at the beginning of her build to orgasm, her focus just slipped away. She clenched her eyes shut and kicked her feet back and forth into the mattress in frustration.

Janie squirmed a bit, starting to roll over. Tonya reached out and stopped her, keeping her lying on her side. "Hmm?" Janie muttered, half asleep.

"Cerise said you can't sleep on your back," Tonya said gently.

"Alright," Janie muttered, rolling in the other direction onto her stomach. Her arm stretched out and lay across Tonya's chest. Janie gave her a slight squeeze and then was asleep again.

Tonya sighed in frustration. Her whole right side was now in contact with Janie. There was no chance of finishing what she'd started now. She lay there, staring at the ceiling with the light from her own eyes.

Caine swept up the last broken glass and plaster, scooping it into a bucket. Then he sat down at Bella's table, picked up his stein, and took a long pull while looking at the wall's cracks.

It felt a little backward to clean the floor right before he made another mess, but the glass had to be picked up before anything else could be done. He wiped his mouth and pulled on his tool belt. Then he started picking at the plaster with a bricklayer's trowel. It wasn't the ideal tool for the job, but it was wide, flat, and had enough of a point that he could work it under any plaster that had lifted free. Bit by bit, chunks hit the floor until all left on the wall was the plaster that hadn't cracked or lifted.

The damage was extensive. The room did look like a bomb had hit it. This part of the building was ancient. The stones on the other side of the plaster and wooden struts were beginning to show their age, and the mortar was slowly eroding. He used his trowel to prod at the seams between the large stones, hoping they still had a while. He scraped away some grit, but the rocks themselves held firm. He smiled. Even though the old temple was just the broken bones of what it had once been, it seemed the gods weren't entirely done with this place yet.

It was strange seeing the room with its makeup off. He remembered when the alcove had housed a beautiful marble statue adorned with gold and silver, an effigy of one of the gods.

Which one of them had been in Bella's room? The Lover? The Traveler? He was sure the Gardener and the Harvester had been on the other side of the lounge. It had been too long, he didn't remember.

There was something very amusing to him about a church becoming a brothel. When he'd come back to this island, that was the thing that convinced him to stay. The poetic irony of it had cracked him up. It still did when he bothered to think about it.

He tapped his trowel on the stones. "You and me, old girl. No one remembers what we were, and it's so much better that way. We're both way more fun these days."

It looked like the struts supporting the stone had also held fine, so all that remained was to reapply a new coat of plaster. That could wait until tomorrow. He needed supplies. He yawned.

Then his brow knitted in confusion, and he spun on his heel and left Bella's alcove behind.

Mary's was dark, just before dawn. A few people might have been still awake, but none of them were in the common areas. Caine moved through the place through memory and feeling.

He couldn't see, but he didn't need to. He'd built the place twice. He'd repaired damn near every part of it.

He'd lived there for more years than he cared to think about. He knew those halls like he knew his own hands.

Down into the basement levels, into the old priest's cloisters. Now, they were the personal rooms. A single wall sconce lit the dark hall. He walked to the end of the long hall. His room. It was never locked. His door was always open.

Inside, his lantern burned dimly, casting faint shadows around the chamber. It was more of a storage shed than a bedroom. Tools and supplies lined the many shelves. A workbench was covered with half-finished projects. Next to it was a dusty shrine to the Warden. Nowhere in the room was a bed.

A faded red and gold rug hung in the middle of the floor. Caine walked to the center of it, lowered himself to the ground into a cross-legged position, and took a deep breath.

Why was he tired? What had Bella and Tonya's stupid ritual done to him? He centered himself and focused on his heartbeat. He felt himself sinking and falling until he felt weightless. He opened his eyes and stood up, leaving his physical body behind.

He looked around in the grey, colorless swirl, scanning his room. It was an old soldier's habit: check the perimeter first. Then he looked down. He could faintly see an outline of himself sitting on the ground. He looked translucent but glowed faintly.

"That took a lot out of us," his counterpart said next to him.

Caine nodded. "That's what it felt like. Let's see for ourselves."

Two versions of Caine stood in the Ways Between, staring down at the ethereal manifestation of the physical body they shared. They looked like twins if one twin was made of golden light and the other was covered in brightly glowing runic tattoos. The third, physical Caine, was unmoving and ethereal here and looked tired.

"Something is draining us," his glowing twin said. "It is slow and faint, but I can still feel it."

"Me too," Caine nodded.

"Well, that is bad. You usually don't notice things like that until you're falling over," his twin smirked.

Caine grunted and looked over his arms and chest, thinking that perhaps he could see something that had changed in the flowing scripture that traced his body here in the Ways.

"See anything different?" he asked.

His glowing twin leaned in for a closer look. "There. Yes. Center of your chest. That is new."

He looked. Sure enough, there was a small interlocking trio of circles. They glowed white rather than gold. They were subtle and looked beneath his skin rather than raised slightly above it. "What is it?"

"I do not know. It isn't something I've seen before," his twin said, curious and impressed.

"What did that little slip of a witch do to you?"

"Whatever it was, it made me yawn," Caine said flatly.

His glowing twin burst out laughing. "How human."

"Har har," Caine rolled his eyes. "What should we do about it?"

"We don't have enough information yet to do anything. In the short term, we should refill our reserves," his twin shrugged.

"I would rather not do that," Caine looked pained.

"Don't be such a child," his twin chastised. "She'll help."

"But there will be a hook in it. There always is," Caine grumbled.

"She does owe you right now," his twin suggested. "Call in the favor."

"I was enjoying having a bit of leverage over her for a change," Caine sighed. "Fine. Might as well get it over with."

"While you're there, talk to her about a curse-breaking service. That might be the most straightforward solution. In the meantime, I'll see what I can figure out about what is happening to us."

"Thanks, Greyson," Caine said. The two shook hands, then briefly superimposed as they sat down back into the translucent form of their human body. A moment later, Caine opened his eyes and returned to his bedroom.

Grindylows were crawling up the Kestrel's sides, cresting the railings toward the midship, flanking the defenders. At the Helm, Captain Vex cursed. They were running out of time.

"Danica, Coleman, get us free!"

"Aye, captain!" came the answering calls. Coleman and Danica North led their gaff hook-wielding swabs toward the prow, but the fighting was too thick. There wouldn't be any safe way to employ their hooks and shove them from the black ship. For every Grindylow the crew managed to kill, another fell from above or slimed its way up the side.

"Reeve, I need the prow!" Danica shouted.

"Get me a few more decent fighters, and I'll give you the damn prow," Reeve snarled back.

The big man was a bloody mess. His sharp white teeth were nearly the only part of him that wasn't smeared red. Fully half the dead grindylows scattered across the deck had been his kills.

"Stand by!" Danica shouted. Reeve slashed his serrated hook across another pale body, sending it tumbling off the prow and into the water.

"Any suggestions?" Danica asked her husband.

"How about that, Asura? They're supposed to be good fighters," Coleman shrugged.

"I'll go," Danica said. Coleman nodded and turned back to his hookmen. "Form up! I want a spear line!"

Danica dashed toward the aft. "Where's Quinn?" she shouted up to the Helm.

"Check my cabin!" the Captain called down.

"We need fighters to hold the prow!" she called, then headed inside.

"Dammit," Captain Vex said through gritted teeth. Her crew was demanding, professional sailors, but they weren't soldiers. "Colin, ye have the Helm. Just keep us off the reef."

Colin nodded. He looked pale and wan. Exertion was taking its toll on his concussed skull, but he was digging deep. Most men would have vomited from vertigo and nausea by now. By the time he managed to say, "Aye, Captain," she was already rushing down the stairs.

Danica came out of her room with Quinn on her heels. "Thanks," Danica said, getting out of the green man's way. Quinn gave her a nod and then sprinted across the deck. The rain made it slick, but Quinn matched Lace for grace. Danica and Captain Vex were slower and more careful. They reached the line of gaff hook swabs that Coleman had put into a loose spear line. They were clustered around the main mast. Standing next to Coleman was Mister Lynch.

He gave the Captain a grave nod. "The fighting is too thick. I don't want to hit your crew,' the tall man said without preamble.

"You're right where I need you, Mister Lynch. You and I are going to keep our flanks clear,"

Captain Vex said, drawing one of her pistols. "Mister and Missus North, get my ship free."

"Aye," they said in unison.

"Swabs to the prow!" Coleman barked. "Look for an opening!"

"Do not engage the boarders!" Danica yelled. "The riggers will keep them off us; our job is to shove them off that damned ship!" They split their swabs into two groups again and headed toward the fight.

Quinn had hit the fighting like a hurricane. He had Lace's maneuverability, Reeve's strength, and lifetimes of training and experience. The nearly mindless grindylows were like chaff before the wind. In his wake were severed tentacles and tongues and flopping grindylows refusing to admit they were dead. Still, these foes were uncanny. It took Quinn a few cuts to realize they didn't feel pain, and he took a stray barbed tongue to the chest for his error. He seemed insulted by the wound. A cold, proud, zealous anger filled him.

"They've got something inside their necks!" Lace called out. "That's where they can feel pain!"

After that, Quinn stopped bothering cutting at limbs.

"It's about damn time," Reeve laughed. He looked over his shoulder at the advancing swabs and grinned. "Let's clear the deck!"

The big man grabbed a grindylow who had snagged one of the riggers and hauled its head back by the hair. Then he slammed his hook down point first into its gaping jaws. The thing thrashed and shrieked. Reeve pushed further with his hook until the end came below the thing's sternum. It finally went limp, letting go of the battered rigger, who scrambled backward to get clear.

Reeve stepped and swung his hook, with the impaled grindylow still on it, and slammed another one of the pale creatures over the edge of the railing. It managed to catch itself with its tentacles. "Webber!" Reeve barked. "Cut them free!"

Lace rushed in, bringing her cane knife down on the railing. In a few quick chops, she'd severed the tentacles. By the time she was done, Reeve had bashed another grindylow over the edge. It managed to catch the railing with its hand. Lace took its fingers.

The prow was theirs again. Every time a pale body fell to the deck rigger, blades mobbed it.

The ones who tried to climb up the sides found Lace waiting for them. The ones who managed to get to their feet had to deal with Reeve and Quinn.

The swabs filed in, clustering at the center of the prow, pushing their hooks up to the hull of the black ship that the Kestrel's bow was still inside.

"Heave!" Coleman called, coordinating the swabs to push together. Timbers cracked instead of bracing. The black ship was rotten.

Danica swore. Without purchase, this would never work. A chunk of rotten hull fell off the black ship and crashed off the Kestrel's railing before spinning down into the churning waters. "Try the keel!" she called. The hookmen repositioned.

All around them, the fight raged. Lace and the riggers ducked underneath the gaff hooks as they rushed to dogpile every new grindylow that fell off the black ship. Quinn and Reeve each took a side and held it, keeping the pale borders from targeting the hookmen. Behind them, gunshots echoed.

"Heave!" Coleman called. The swabs pushed again. The black ship's keel held. The Kestrel rocked back, shoving its bow free of the black boat for a moment, but they reached the end of the length of their hooks, and the ships slid back together again. The Kestrel's bowsprit was in too deep. It was much longer than the swab's gaff hooks were.

"What the hell do we do? Cut the bowsprit free?" Coleman snapped.

"That would take forever," Danica grimaced. "Captain, this isn't working!" she called behind her. "We're lodged too tight!"

"Captain, permission for last resort!" Will's voice came from behind them. Danica looked over her shoulder, wondering what was going on now.

Lynch and Captain Vex were alternating firing and reloading. With them was a small squad of armored soldiers. Where the hell had they come from?

The midship was littered with flopping grindylows with bullet holes in them, and the soldiers were keeping Lynch and the Captain safe from any that survived being shot.

As if the whole scene wasn't already surreal enough, Will and Jack carried a large, lidded cookpot held closed with twine. Jack passed hers to Will and joined the firing line. The retort of her slug thrower was even louder than Lynch's long rifle.

The Captain looked up from reloading and gave Will a quick nod. "Whatever you're going to do, do it. Now is the time." Will rushed forward, a cookpot under each arm.

When he reached the prow, Danica gave him a raised eyebrow. "Now we're fighting them with pots and pans?"

"Full of dynamite," Will grinned.

"Fuck me," Lace said, her head pivoting from the hand she had just finished chopping at.

"Hope you know what you're doing."

"You're doing," Will corrected.

"What?" Lace shook her head in protest. "I don't want anything to do with your fucking dynamite."

Danica interjected. "Ok, spit out the plan, now."

"We need to light these and drop them off the back deck of the grindylow ship," Will explained.

"Why?" Lace asked incredulously. She chopped another tentacle that had slithered up to grab the edge of the deck.

"Won't that... blast the ship towards us?" Coleman asked.

"Yes," Will said. "Just trust me, alright."

"We don't want that stuff anywhere near us anyway," Coleman said. "Blasting the ship away from us would mean dropping them right before the Kestrel."

"Why not just use them to sink it?" Danica asked.

"That ship's full of hull breaches. If it were going to sink, it would have done it by now."

"You know, I was thinking the same thing," Coleman muttered. "So what's behind it?"

"Something that's holding it up," Will said. Dawning understanding passed over the North's faces. They glanced at each other and nodded.

"How do we help?" Danica asked.

"Just hold the line," Will said.

"Tossing those off that ship's back deck means being on board! Making it across the whole damn thing!. Then getting back here," Danica said.

"Yeah. We need someone fast and light on their feet. A daredevil," Will said. "Two someone, ideally."

"Oh, fuck me," Lace said again. "I drag your drunk ass back to the ship, and this is how you repay me?"

"Be mad later. You're the best person for the job," Danica snapped. "Who's the other person, Will?"

"Me," Will said.

"How are you planning to fight off the grindylow and carry the bombs?" Coleman asked.

"I will go as well," Quinn said, not taking his eyes off his butcher's work as another pale creature died on his blade.

"That works," Will said.

"How will you get onto that ship's deck?" Danica asked.

"I thought we'd swing down," Will said.

Lace cursed in her native tongue. "You just think of everything, don't you?"

"Less talking, more fighting!" Reeve growled. "Break time's over!" He gestured with his bloody hook, the remnants of a grindylow still stuck on it.



To be continued