The steps leading belowdeck creak. I jump up and cross to my hammock, shoving the book beneath my blanket.
Tide appears at the bottom of the steps.
I work to slow my breaths.
He lifts a brow. “Lunch is served. Or are you too good to eat with the rest of us scalawags?”
His words could be taken as harsh, but they come off more playful. Sarcastic. I’ve only been here a few days, but so far it hasn’t been so bad. Tide’s been friendly enough, as well as a few others. Pirates get a bad rap, but haters gonna hate and all. They’re not so bad once you get to know them.
“Now you sound like me,” Ky says in my head.
Yeah, yeah. No need to rub it in. I nod at Tide.
He salutes me, a smile longer than Long Island on his toasted face, and heads back up the stairs.
Tide is one of fifteen members of the crew. Actually seventeen if I include myself and Ebony, who’s been working with me to draw out the Mask within. So far, nothing. I’m coming to the conclusion Mask just isn’t part of my repertoire. Our sessions always end with me puking—because of seasickness—and Ebony throwing her hands up with an exaggerated, “Ugh! Why do I even bother?”
Is it any surprise we’ve never gotten along? We’re as opposite as punk rock and opera.
But Ebony and my lack of Mask are the least of my worries. Ky filled me in. The crew believes we’re on the hunt for treasure buried deep in the Seventh Reflection, in some legendary garden known as the Garden of Epoch. Because what else do pirates have to do but search for buried treasure?
Ky’s told everyone I’m a Mirror and a valuable asset to the team. But my Verity-ness? That’s the part we have to keep under wraps, just as Ky’s Void-ness remains hidden.
He wouldn’t say more, but I didn’t argue. The seriousness hardening his expression was convincing enough.
Not everyone on the crew can be trusted. Got it. The warning from Mom’s letter meanders back to me.
“Be chary of whom you place your confidence in.”
You don’t have to tell me twice. I’ve been betrayed enough I almost expect it. I reach beneath my blanket, close my fingers around Dimitri’s journal—
“Just as I suspected.”
I whirl. Look toward the stairwell.
There stands Ebony in all her scrutinizing glory. She’s wearing clothes identical to Tide’s. How did I miss it? He’s always dressed for the beach. But today he wore jeans and a button-down sweater. Should’ve known it was my deceitful half sister and her impersonating ways.
“You are so not ready to end the Void. You can’t even recognize when you’re being fooled. Or maybe you just don’t care.”
Ky shared our plans with her. I was wary to do so, but he felt confident Ebony was better off knowing than not.
Guess we’ll see.
She struts over. Grabs my elbow. “The Amulet Calling has faded. Streak is unable to fashion a façade.”
So Streak is—or was—the Amulet on board. At least we didn’t lose something more vital. As cool as façades are, I’d much rather have a Shield or Mask or Magnet by my side in an emergency.
Three Callings down, four to go.
A bout of nausea lurches. I swallow it back. I will not lose my cookies in front of Ebony.
“Time to work. I’ve come up with a new angle on your training.” The mischief lifting her cheeks does not bode well. “It’s more important now than ever we get your Mask up and running. We’re down an Amulet and the Physic on the ship is useless if someone needs immediate healing.”
She’s right. Why does she have to be right? Why, of all people, did Ebony have to be the person I need? I can’t deny her strengths. Without her, Preacher would’ve caught us. And the few times we’ve trained since, as depleted as I was afterward, I could almost feel something about to occur. Could today be the day my Mask is set free?
She drags me toward the stairs leading to the deck. “You wanted my help? You got it. Four of the seven Callings are still functional for now, but they take much more effort than before. You want to be soft, fine. Stay here and rot in your own vomit. But if you actually want to be worth something around here, you’ll stop burying your nose in a book and start acting like the Mirror you are. Matter or don’t. But worthlessness is a choice. You decide.”
I wrench away and finish the ascent on my own. As I trail her I mouth my inaudible response. Nobody calls me worthless.
Nobody.
Who does this guy think he is? Hercules?
Streak charges me from across the main deck, frizzed dreadlocks flapping against his quarterback shoulders like dozens of dried-out snakeskins. His teeth are bared in a wide grin, yellowed and crooked. The closer he moves, the stronger the stench of alcohol becomes, reminding me this guy has probably had his fair share of bar fights.
Oh. Snap.
“A month’s worth of chores on Streak!” Charley hollers through cupped hands.
Other crew members howl in response, placing bets for or against me. They’ve all paused in their daily duties to see “Captain Warren’s secret weapon” in action. My blood boils, curdles beneath my skin. It takes every ounce of self-control to ignore the guffaws of the crew. To drown out the stares and knee slaps—all at my expense.
So humiliating.
What I wouldn’t give to have Mom here, or Stormy. Someone on Team El. A little moral support could do me some good about now. I look to Ebony, who has remained silent. She eyes me. Nods. I can’t tell if she’s encouraging me or if this is some sort of sick game to her as well. This is her new angle? To have Streak use me as tackle practice—?
“Ooof!” I’m on my backside, pain slicing my tailbone and zipping up my spine. I rub the back of my whiplashed neck, grind my teeth.
Ebony frowns.
Streak lifts his arms like a champion. Yeah. As if taking down a girl half his size and weight makes him so awesome. Spare me.
Charley high-fives the few guys nearest her, smirking as those who lost the bet sulk. I’ve learned none of their names, aside from Tide.
“Some secret weapon.” Charley sniggers. “But you’re little, so that’s something. We could probably use you as ammo if we run out.” The crew roars their laughter. Satisfaction spreads across Charley’s face as she hops from her perch on a nearby barrel, struts to my side, and holds out her hand.
I ignore the offer, get up on my own. My palms brace against my knees. I’m so weak. So out of shape. My stomach churns and I clamp my teeth tight. I will not lose my lunch right here for all to see. No way. Not happening.
Ebony waggles a canteen beneath my nose. “Drink this. It will help.”
I yank it from her grasp and take a long swig. The water is slightly sweet, tasting of honey. I’m reminded of a moment last autumn. Ky handing me his canteen, the same sweet flavoring inside.
“I’d be careful who you trust,” he’d said.
So I keep hearing.
Wiping my mouth with my arm, I straighten and pass the canteen back to Ebony. Before she steps away she whispers in my ear, “You’re not focusing. Put your heart into it. All or nothing.”
Would she make up her mind? Is she here to encourage or condescend?