Hidden Island Chapter 33, part 1 of 3

Hidden Island  
Chapter 33, part 1 of 3  
 
"You think he's still down here?" Jack asked.  
 
"I can feel him," Bella explained.  
 
They were in the ship's hold, which felt like a tomb. Everything was still, quiet, and lifeless.  
 
Bella slowly wandered down the hallway and found herself in front of the Quartermaster's hold. The bars blocked her way.  
 
"He's in there?" Jack asked.  
 
Bella nodded. "I'm honestly surprised he didn't run off into the jungle as soon as we arrived."  
 
"Maybe we can get Mister North to give us the key," Jack said, looking at the sturdy lock.  
 
"He's busy, and I'm worried," Bella said. "Something isn't right. Do you have a hairpin? Or something like that?"  
 
"When have I ever used hairpins?" Jack raised an eyebrow.  
 
Bella gave her a terse look. "Anything long, straight, and metal."  
 
Jack pursed her lips in thought. Bella smiled at how attractive she found that expression. It was exactly what she needed. She let her eyes trail down Jack's body, enjoying where the shoulder belt of her weapon harness pulled her shirt tight and emphasized the shape of her breasts. Bella's eyes travel the curve of Jack's body where she leaned against the wooden wall, her weight on one foot, throwing her hip into a pronounced curve.  
 
Jack caught Bella staring and raised an eyebrow. "Yes?" she asked.  
 
"Nothing," Bella smiled. "Just getting ready."  
 
Jack gave her a knowing look and walked away abruptly. Bella watched her butt sway as she walked. She'd always loved how Jack's trousers fit her.  
 
Jack knew she was being watched and was putting a little extra strut into her step just for Bella.  
 
Bella let her mind wander, fantasizing about Jack pressing her against the wall right there in the small hallway, kissing her, sliding her knee in between Bella's, and lifting until her thigh was pressing tight against the witch's pubic bone. She squeezed her thighs together, enjoying the mounting frustration.  
 
Jack came back a few moments later with a small leather sack. Bella recognized it as the bags that usually hung from the mast in the hold. Jack pulled a nail out of it.  
 
"Perfect," Bella smiled. "Give me one more," She pulled a grease pencil out of her bag and very carefully drew a small sigil on the heads of the nails.  
 
Then she held them by the tips between two fingers and stared at them, pouring the sexual energy she'd been gathering with her fantasies into a small ritual. "Flow," she whispered.  
 
Slowly, the metal began to feel like wax in her hand. Bella slowly twisted the pieces together and put them into the lock.  
 
She kept concentrating. It took about a minute, but finally, she exhaled and released the energy. The metal hardened again. With a bit of effort, she turned the nails in the lock.  
 
With a heavy clunk, the door opened.  
 
With some effort, Bella pulled her makeshift key out of the lock and gave Jack the now-useless chunk of metal. They'd been twisted about halfway down their length and fused into an ugly but functional key. "Well, that is a useful trick," Jack said, impressed.  
 
"It's a shaping ritual. It only works on things like glass or metal that flow when heated up. It takes a tremendous amount of energy. I wasn't sure I had enough left."  
 
"So that's why you were ogling me," Jack teased.  
 
Bella gave her a guilty shrug. "I needed every bit I could muster. I'm not very good at that one.  
 
My mother used it to make gorgeous ornaments and fixtures to sell at markets. I can only do rough shapes, and they usually aren't solid. I was afraid this would break."  
 
"Good thing Mister North keeps his lock well-oiled," Jack said, pocketing the makeshift key.  
 
They slipped into the Quartermaster's hold, ignoring the crates, chests, and stacks of haphazardly strewn papers. The door at the back of the hold was decorated with a brass compass rose and a fancy letter N.  
 
"He's in their room?" Jack asked.  
 
Bella sighed. "Apparently, yes." She tried the door. It was unlocked. As soon as it swung open, her tiny red and white monkey exploded into her arms, chittering and touching her face and hair with its hands.  
 
Bella laughed and scratched the troubled animal. "Aw, did you get shut in? How long have you been in there?"  
 
Jack rolled her eyes, amused and exasperated. "What was he doing there in the first place?"  
 
"No idea. Think we should ask the Norths?" Bella asked.  
 
"Only if you want them to ask what you were doing in their quarters behind a locked and barred door," Jack mused.  
 
"Good point," Bella agreed. They walked back out, Bella stroking her slowly calming pet. "Lock the door, please?"  
 
Jack pulled the nail key back out and locked the hold. "Now what?" she asked, catching back up to Bella.  
 
"Well, he doesn't look hurt. He's probably just hungry," Bella shrugged.  
 
"I thought you said something was wrong," Jack asked.  
 
"I could feel his anxiety and thought he was in danger," Bella explained. "Do you have anything to eat on you?"  
 
"I thought witches could talk to their familiars?" Jack asked as she opened one of her utility pouches and pulled out a wad of jerky wrapped in wax paper.  
 
"Sort of, Bella said," scratching the monkey under the chin.  
 
It's like having a well-trained pet, "I guess."  
 
Jack handed a strip to the monkey, who grabbed it greedily and shoved the treat into its mouth. "You're welcome," Jack said flatly.  
 
"He said thank you," Bella nodded sagely.  
 
"No, he did not," Jack scoffed.  
 
"Alright, I did," Bella smiled over her shoulder.  
 
Jack tried not to laugh but didn't quite manage.

"You're incorrigible."  
 
Bella grinned. "You know what they say about pets and their owners." Returning the favor, she put an extra sway in her step just for Jack as she walked up the stairs.  
 
When they reached the gangplank, the monkey wriggled out of Bella's arms and sprinted down to the sands, heading straight for the series of fires and cook pots Stewpot had set up near the shore.  
 
"Oh, this will be good," Jack laughed. "The cook might kill your monkey."  
 
Bella sighed, watching as Stewpot began shaking a spoon in the monkey's direction. "Why does everyone hate monkeys?"  
 
"Because they're dirty little thieves," Jack said with a shrug.  
 
"Yes, but they're so cute!" Bella threw up her hands in surrendered acknowledgment.  
 
"You couldn't have gone with a cat?" Jack asked.  
 
"Too cliche," Bella said. "Besides, cats make lousy pickpockets."  
 
The pair stifled laughs as Stewpot started waving his arms and yelling, threatening the monkey with his spoon. "Witch! Come get your beast!" the cook bellowed.  
 
"Wait, you picked a monkey because they're thieves?" Jack blinked, taken aback.  
 
Bella grinned wider and nodded. "Yup."  
 
"And then you named it after me?" Jack's eyes narrowed.  
 
"Uh, gotta run, things to do!" Bella laughed, waving and quickly skipping away across the sands towards the cookfires. "Just toss him something, Stew; he's been stuck in the ship since last night!"  
 
Jack let out a long sigh and shook her head slowly; then she smiled despite herself.  
 
"Wonderful," Caine deadpanned, staring down at his corpse, watching Tonya panic and shake.  
 
"You know this is your fault, right?"  
 
"Yes, yes," his glowing twin sighed, rolling his golden eyes. "You might as well say it."  
 
The pair watched from the other side of the veil; their twin souls were ejected harshly into the  
Ways Between by their unexpected death.  
 
"I told you so," Caine obliged.  
 
"Yes, you did," his golden counterpart admitted begrudgingly.  
 
"Again," Caine said flatly. "You're complete shit at learning from your mistakes, you know that?"  
 
"I'm an optimist," the other Caine shrugged. "Besides, you're the one who has to deal with the consequences, not me." He grinned happily.  
 
"You just enjoy watching me suffer," Caine grumbled.  
 
"I do not!" his double huffed. "I enjoy watching you overcome your suffering. I only want to help. The difference is important."  
 
"Right. So the important part is the suffering," Caine nodded.  
 
"No! Well, alright, yes," his spiritual twin said thoughtfully. "I don't like the way you frame it, but  
I can't deny that I wouldn't have much of a reason to exist without suffering."  
 
"Glad we cleared that up," Caine deadpanned. He shook his head sadly, watching Tonya's breakdown. Her form was brief to them, a black-and-white shadow of herself, like everything else in the mortal world when viewed from the Ways. She was sobbing against Caine's still and lifeless chest. Her entire body shook, and it looked like she was pleading. He couldn't hear her, but he hardly needed to. Even with the muted, grey, indistinct view of the physical world, he could tell exactly what she felt.  
 
She collapsed onto her side, no longer able to hold herself up. She gripped his lifeless hand in both of hers. Her whole body shook with wracking sobs. She was starting to hyperventilate.  
 
Caine's heart hurt for her. He knelt next to his own body, reaching out to stroke Tonya's head with a hand she couldn't see or hear but stopped. He caught a faint glow from her chest, barely visible from how she was curled on her side. He couldn't see all of it, but he recognized it immediately. It was a portion of a circle of faintly glowing sigils right against her skin, like a mystic tattoo that could only be seen from the spirit realm. He looked down at his chest. The same mark sat beneath the lattice of other mystic runes that slowly orbited him like floating chains.  
 
"You see that?" he asked his other half.  
 
The glowing figure knelt as well, looking between them. "Strange. Do you know what it is?"  
 
"No," Caine shook his head. He leaned close to his twin, shielding his eyes and squinting hard at his other half's glowing chest. There, he could faintly see the mark. It was hard to make out, but the sigils were a fainter light. "You have one, too."  
 
His twin looked down at himself. His golden brows shot up. "I didn't know that was possible."  
 
"We need answers," Caine said, suddenly very concerned. "Can you do your thing?"  
 
There was a pause, and then his twin nodded. "Yes, I couldn't have earlier today, but your activities with the young witch somehow empowered me. It was similar to earlier, but this time when she... ah... finished... I managed to keep her from draining me so much. I will be quite tired after this."  
 
"Good enough," Caine nodded. "I'll try to avoid trouble while you're sleeping."  
 
"Without me convincing you to ignore your instinctive caution, it should be easy," his twin smiled and reached for their body.  
 
Caine hated the next part. He always felt like he was falling into oblivion.  
 
Lace chewed her last bite of peach cobbler and nodded to herself, satisfied with the morning's work. Her riggers had hung ropes between many trees and used sailcloth to make tents. The swabs had gotten all the supplies off the ground and set up on logs and were working on digging a latrine trench a ways away. Morant's porters had set up a massive pavilion tent in a gap between the trees at the edge of their makeshift camp. It looked like the infirmary was established. The progress was helpful to morale. The crew was still tired and hurt, and they felt the weight of the horror and defeat from last night, but soon, they'd be able to get some rest and start repairing the ship.  
 
Mister Reeve hauled a sailor over to her, holding the more petite woman by the back of the neck, half-dragging her along. "Found a shirker," the giant man growled.  
 
Lace recognized Price, one of her riggers. She gave Reeve an incredulous, judgemental stare. "I don't know what things are like on your ship, Reeve, but we don't manhandle our crew on the Kestrel."  
 
"Maybe you should," Reeve shrugged, not letting go of the rigger. "Might keep 'em from hiding in the supplies and napping while everyone else works."  
 
"Seems like I wasn't clear. Get your paws off, my sailor," Lace said flatly.  
 
Reeve gave Price a shove. Lace caught her and stood her up straight while she rubbed her neck. Reeve crossed his arms over his massive, mottled chest. "That's why I brought her to you. She's yours. If she'd been one of mine, she'd already be building a sweatbox to spend tomorrow in."  
 
Lace ignored Reeve and turned her attention to her rigger. "What happened?"  
 
Price looked guilty and chagrined through her anger. "I had just hauled another fifty-pound coil down from the ship and was out of breath. I just meant to sit down for a minute. I was sitting on the crates, closed my eyes, and the next thing I knew, I was being dragged over here."  
 
Lace gave Reeve a flat look that spoke volumes and gave Price's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "You're exhausted."  
 
"Couldn't sleep after we landed. Nightmares," Price shrugged. "I can't get it out of my head."  
 
"You should have said something," Lace admonished her gently.  
 
"I made it through with only a few scrapes," Price said, still angry and guilty. "I can work better than most, so I should."  
 
"You're damn right," Reeve grunted.  
 
"If you're falling asleep on your feet, that's not better than most," Lace pointed out. Price nodded, too tired and angry to come up with a retort. Lace gestured to the medical tent. "Go tell Mister North what happened, then see the doc."  
 
Price nodded and walked away without looking at Reeve. He eyed her as she left, looking unsatisfied. Lace watched him and waited. Reeve grunted and turned back to Lace. "No wonder your crew got so worked over last night. Fucking soft."  
 
"Don't you have a latrine to dig?' Lace asked.  
 
Reeve snorted and walked away.  
 
His head was splitting. Everything was shades of blistering white. He breathed through his teeth, his longs shaking as they remembered how to work again.  
 
As his vision slowly focused, he saw Tonya's eyes widen in horror. She crab-walked backward away from him, frantically scooting herself backward as quickly as possible. She toppled into the empty hot spring with a yelp and a splash. Caine slowly sat up. Tonya's fingers and head rose over the lip of the spring, and her eyes peeked out at him.  
 
"You alright?" Caine asked  
 
"Fuck," Tonya whispered. "What? Fuck! What is... fuck!?" Her breath was quickening, and her face was white.  
 
"Easy," Caine said quietly, ignoring the throbbing in his head. "Breathe slow."  
 
"Zombie!" Tonya shouted, looking around for anything to defend herself with. She ducked out of sight momentarily, then stood up to her full height, brandishing a wooden bucket.  
 
Caine started laughing and immediately regretted it as pain lanced through his head. Wincing, he ran his hands over his scalp and felt the new scar. It puckered and raised from above his left ear, curving around to the center of the back of his head. His entire back and most of his left arm were slick with blood and brains still. He sighed. "I'm not a zombie."  
 
"Zombie!" Tonya shouted louder.  
 
"Tonya, zombies can't talk," Caine said with a slight shake.  
 
"Ghoul! Ghost!? I don't fucking know, something! You're dead!" Tonya shrieked, her mouth running away with what was left of her senses.  
 
"Alright, yes. I was dead," Caine rubbed his head, trying to figure out the right thing to say.  
 
"I'm, uh, not... now."  
 
Tonya's mouth hung open, and her head shook fast enough that she looked like she might be having a seizure. "What?"  
 
The door burst in, and two blond working girls practically fell over themselves as they rushed in. "What was that?" One asked as the other talked over her. "Are you alright?"  
 
They abruptly stopped talking as they took in the room. The spring was more than half empty, and everything was wet. The benches, chairs, tables, cabinets, toiletries, and towels were all strewn to the outsides of the room, and Caine was slumped and surrounded by blood.  
 
"We're fine," Caine said.  
 
"We are not fine!" Tonya snapped, her eyes wide.  
 
The girls hesitantly stepped into the room. A slender gigolo rushed in behind them and skidded to a halt, his mouth agape as he took in the scene.  
 
"What happened?"  
 
"Caine, what did you do?!" the other blond demanded.  
 
"Me," Caine blinked.  
 
"She's terrified!" the blond admonished. "Wait, why are you bloody?'  
 
Caine rubbed his head again. "I'm fine. It's fine."  
 
"That's a lot of blood," the other girl said. The gigolo didn't wait for an answer to his earlier question. He'd seen enough. He rushed back out the door, shouting for Chance and Cerise.  
 
"Dammit," Caine muttered.  
 
"Did you blow up again?" one of the blonds asked Tonya.  
 
"What?" Tonya snapped. "Why is this about me? Caine's a zombie!"  
 
"I just hit my head," Caine said.  
 
"You died!" Tonya shrieked, panicked tears starting down her face again.  
 
"He's sure active for a dead guy,' the other blond said with a shrug. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."  
 
Tonya allowed herself to be helped out of the spring and wrapped in a wet towel, never taking her eyes off Caine. He gave her a small, apologetic smile and propped himself against the wall. Cerise took only a moment to assess the room before kneeling next to Caine. "Where are you wounded?" she asked.  
 
"Probably a lot of places,' Caine shrugged. "Hard to tell exactly. Everything hurts. Mostly my head."  
 
 
 
To be continued