Fuming, furious with herself as much as the story or the boy she stormed out on the deck, her furious eyes sweeping the deck looking for something, anything to vent her fury on. She was not a vengeful officer, she took no pleasure in violence but just then she needed a target, something or she would go mad. But none were forthcoming. Maddening. All her work through her time serving on this ship helped to keep the men in line, her display earlier further imprinted on the men the importance of their maintaining proper behavior even amidst a little impromptu celebration. Blast it. Her own competence was thwarting her and she felt her fury rise in irrational ire as her hands clenched and her nails pressed into her palms with savage intensity.

But then she was saved, blessedly saved by the voice of the captain. The ship exploded into action around her as the well-disciplined men put down their drink and set to work. She heard her orders and sent a quiet thanks on the breeze for salvation in the form of action. She called out orders, adding yet a little more purpose to the scrambling around her. Iron, she was to ready for iron. That was unexpected but she would not allow the men to shame her by slacking even in this wild change to their night.

All was going well, the men were hustling, she was finding her groove, her voice and in action her futile anger was dissipating. Then something hit her like a weighted sap to the back of her skull. She let out a screech and dropped to her knees on the deck as a lance of pain spiked through her head. She clapped her hands to her ears to try to blot out the one hundred squalling infants who were scratching their paper-thin nails across a hundred chalk boards all while and equal number of cats yowled their need to the night. It was awful and she wretched to hear it initially. Though it was not pleasant and it continued to scratch at the inside of her head she found that the continued presence of it was not nearly as intense as the initial surprise of it. She opened her eyes, hands still over her ears and stared as she saw all the formerly bustling men stopped in their tracks and all oriented towards the strange light she could just make out on the horizon. All of them, stopped in their tracks and no sound but the horrible keening that still clawed at her.

Through that unnatural stillness and silence came a new sound. The captain’s voice telling Jax to move them towards the ship. Was that a ship on the horizon? She didn’t care she didn’t want to be moving towards it. Every bone in her body protested that order. But it was the Captain, she couldn’t question the captain, could she?

She moved towards him, hand still on her ears, blocking out that sound. As she neared him she took in his expression, slightly vacant with his mouth hung open like an awestruck boy. She had never seen him so. Not the Captain, not HER captain with his easy smile and clever wit. It was not right, not natural for him to be standing there slack jawed. It was not natural. Her heart thumped double time and she felt the truth of that deep into herself. It was not natural. Her mind scrambled back over her reading, her studies of the classics and a suspicion began to grow inside her.

She found herself turning towards where the helm lay without thinking about it. She shouldn’t look, she didn’t want to see his face as slack-jawed as the Captain’s. She didn’t want to see him lost to that call but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

“Antonia!” she called as she looked to see what state Jax was in. “I need you.”

Then she heard a splash as one of the men, desperate and maddened by the keening call grew impatient at the pace the ship, which was not yet turned to the song, leapt over the edge to hasten his arrival.

“Sirens.” Nicki said to no one in particular, her eyes still seeking that maddening man, certain that the sight of him, slack-jawed would break something inside her.

Antonia was already well out the First Mate's cabin, Luc not a step behind her. As Thomas ordered her aloft, she grabbed Luc's shoulder, her fingers digging hard into the flesh as he looked up to her wide-eyed. "Get below deck," she hissed, the warning the boy heard in her voice brooking no argument at all, and he gave her none.

"Jax told me a place," he said swiftly and, though Antonia didn't understand Luc's meaning at all, the boy bolted for the stairs down and that, really, was all the rogue cared to see. She dashed to the rigging, hauling herself aloft as she made for the crow's nest.

She never made it.

Several yards above the deck, Antonia screamed in sudden agony, losing her grip as she clutched her head. White hot daggers were being nailed through her skull, small crimson rivulets slowly dribbling from her ears and her nose as she fell, only just snatching a rope with one desperate hand before she hurtled to the deck below. The rogue swung there for a moment, blinking the worst of the torturous pain away though she still wasn't sure she wouldn't heave her dinner on a hapless head below. Stunned, she managed to swing herself upward, hooking one leg and then another over the rigging, completely unaware she was bleeding - and then she heard it.

No, not the excruciating cacophony that, once its initial assault near crippled and killed her had passed, was fading to something like a manageable agony. It was Thomas' voice. Thomas' voice, countermanding his own damn order!

Merde. Heedless, Antonia swung herself to the aftcastle, scrambling to stand beside Thomas who stood, still and silent, transfixed by the false sunrise of the burning ship ahead of them. An ugly suspicion wormed its way to the light of day in her mind, dark and terrifying. The intensity, the light in Thomas' fiery copper gaze - she knew that look, and knew it very, very well. Seeing that gaze turned anywhere but to her, was a torment unlike any other. Before he could raise a hand to stop her - if he even so much as noticed her presence - the rogue snatched the looking glass from his hand, heart pounding in her throat as she unfolded its sections swiftly and lifted it to her eye.

Antonia could see them by the eerie red-orange glow of the flames still busy devouring the corpse of the Crimson Feather. They writhed and twisted in the waves like a nest of water vipers, spiny fins and talon-tipped, webbed claws occasionally breaking the surface. Dear sweet God in Heaven... Not even the bastards who manned the Feather deserved to die like this. She heard Nicolette's cry, snapping her from the horror into action. Antonia snapped the looking glass shut, rolling it into her palm as she cocked her arm back and let fly with a fist at Thomas' head.

The rogue didn't skip a beat as she leapt the banister of the aftcastle to the main deck, praying to a good and mighty God above, and all His blessed loa, that what she was doing would buy them just a little time to get the iron ready at the least. Antonia was swift and sure, running a gauntlet of the crew that had been readying the cannons, cuffing every last damn one soundly in the head or shoulders.

"GET TO!" she shouted as she sprinted down the line toward the First Mate, "You heard your captain! Snap to, and make ready the iron, you worthless dogs!"

Jax was down the rigging right behind Thomas. Good thing the contest was only going up because he could not keep with the Captain’s speed on the way down. But he did manage to find the helm and take hold of the wheel shoving Pierre to the side quickly. Pierre was more than eager to retreat feeling the tension and not wanting to be the one to take the course. Jax wanted it. His hands and body said as much. He felt the wood grain of the wheel and let his hands glide over it letting his ship know he was there and he needed her. Time to move, his fingers told the craft. Time to use the wind and set those sails. Show me woodend lovely lady he coaxed her.

But just as he was seducing his love the ship, something rang sweetness in his ears. A melody called him unlike any. He turned toward the music and let his body feel the splendid warm the ease of the call. It was for him. They were calling him. He froze as if mesmerized not painfully so but with a pleased smirk on his face.

Jax struggled, against what he couldn’t really figure, to wink to Luc and toss the cabin a secret smile. He knew where. He remembered. But he wasn’t sure he did. Wasn’t sure he was able. Some music wrapped around his soul and took a tight hold. It was loving and beautiful. Sort of. It was alluring and sexual for sure. But Jax could not help but feel as if it was like a odd carnival where you could not take your eyes off the double headed lady as she twisted her body sensually. He could not help but look out over the water toward the sweet promising call.

How he ever managed to pull his eyes away enough to move his hands on the wheel or move his drop open jaw enough to slip out the faint words, “Aye Captain.” Jax would never know. Maybe he made no sound. But he did face the wheel and follow the command. He felt blind and yet as if he could see the only thing that was important, the call, the melody of alluring love. Toward the song and the fire they would now steer.

It was worse than she thought. Not open-mouthed and slack-jawed, no Jax stood with a light in his eyes. Hunger for the singers radiating off of him in a way that made Nicki’s jaw tightened and her fists clench even as her eyes filled with hot angry tears. No, she thought, not him. He was too clever, too slippery for that. But then the Captain was caught too, so why not Jax who had always been so happy and eager to have fun? She made herself look away from him and the heartbreak he represented upon hearing the sound of shouts and slapping flesh. The sounds were clear over the agony that still thrummed in her head and demanded attention. She watched as Antonia charged towards her, her eyes ablaze with pain and fury that matched Nicki’s own and seeing it there gave Nicki further strength. They would no fall here, The Skate would sale past this trouble.

She watched the men battered by the lookout looking for evidence of success. She watched with growing hope as sense snapped back into their eyes. She watched them shake their heads as if shrugging off a fly. Most of them moved to what task they had been at before being caught in the song. All of them to a one paused just a moment later, their heads turning towards the strange light, ensnared again in seconds.

“Fuck!” Nicki shouted over the tumult. “It isn’t working!” she shouted to Antonia, her honeyed voice sharpened with fury. She knew they could not man the ship, not just the two of them. In an emergency it could be done by very few but not two. They needed more people. She looked again to Jax where he stood with his hands on the wheel, his love in his hands and his eyes off towards the Siren’s who called them to their deaths. She needed him. No, they needed him.

“I am going to try something else.” She shouted to Antonia. “Get something to stop their ears, caulk or wax!” She pointed to a barrel which held the un-tarred caulking material kept on deck for repairs.

She strode towards Jax where he stood by the wheel. She stood before him, hesitating. Pain was not effective, she reminded herself. It did not stick and it was that not a reluctance to hurt him that stayed her hand. She was first mate, she would do what was best for the ship, by whatever means necessary.

Whatever means.

Still she looked over her shoulders, eyes frantic to see if anyone looked her way, if any eyes would see what she was about to do. She saw only crewmen standing in place, staring towards the source of the Siren’s song. They were running out of time, she needed to act.

This was necessary, she told herself as she turned back to Jax, looking at his distant stare and hating it. He was always so present, so vital, to see him so absent was downright painful.

For the good of the ship.

She lifted her hands, framed his face with them, feeling the scruff on his cheeks scrape across her palms. She felt the coarse fall of his hair over her fingers as she stopped his ears with her palms. Then, upon seeing no change in his eyes even with the muffling of the song she leaned forward and, for the good of the ship, pressed her lips to his.

She did not keep it a simple press of flesh to flesh, that kiss. She needed something to call him back, something to distract him from whatever false promises were woven into that song. She needed something earthy and immediate to bring him back to her, to bring him back to the moment. So Nicki kissed Jax with all the promise of her honeyed tongue and as one would expect of such a mouth it was sweet and heady. She spared nothing, she kissed him with everything her own promises worked into each sweep of tongue each caressing movement of her lips.

For the good of the ship after all.

Amidst the now dancing glow of flames and the silver of a low moon, Thomas stood transfixed. Around him, he was aware of nothing. Nothing at all but the melodious elixir that poured into his ears like forbidden nectar. To his eyes, the inferno that had been the Crimson Feather, was not but a beacon of hopeful promise, silhouetting beautiful, even celestial figures of impossible brilliance.

Thomas’ mind was so drunk with the entrancing lilt of their song that he did not even perceive Antonia standing before him, and he certainly did not notice the arc of the looking-glass as it hurled towards his face. When it struck him, Thomas spun about like a puppet being twisted cruelly upon its strings. For the barest of moments his feet left the deck, and he turned almost fully from the sight of the burning Crimson Feather.

For the first time since his ears had been over-filled with the intoxicating song of the sirens, Thomas felt something other than unadulterated longing and awe. Pain shot through his cheek, shattering the heavy blanket of his trance like so much pane-glass. When he hit the deck upon week knees and heavy hands, he gasped in shock. His heart roared in his ears as blood spilled down his face from the gash on his cheek, and he could taste the metallic bitterness of the same in his mouth.

It was through that pain and surprise that realization came to him. His eyes widened as the dazzling memory of what he had witnessed just before morphed into something akin to reality, and the terrible truth of the beings he had been so enthralled upon revealed themselves to him.

Sirens! he thought in clutching horror.

He looked up, seeing the rest of the crew in a state of total fixation. Their faces were slack and distant, yet focused eerily upon the writhing nest of predators that called to them. Dismayed, he looked towards the helm. Relief and surprise came to him as he saw the First Mate clutching her hands over Jax’s ears, and her lips pressed passionately to his own.

There is hope for us yet, he thought.

The sight of Nicolette jogged his mind, and he realized that Antonia had been the one to bring him back to his senses. With a wave of nausea, Thomas forced himself to stand, and he turned about until he found Antonia. In the midst of it all, there was no time to thank her for bringing him back to reality, only to act, so he called out to her as he reached to clutch her by the wrist.

“We must get to the bow cannon!”

Antonia seemed to instantly understand, as she followed without a word. The two of them wove their way through the tangle of awestruck crewmen. Not a one moved to stop or impede their progress, and blessedly it allowed them to reach the front of the Skate in relative swiftness.

When they reached the forecastle, Thomas looked up briefly to see that they were well within firing distance of the burning skeleton of the Crimson Feather, and closing fast. All the sail that Thomas had ordered to be run out to move them swiftly away from the threat, was now carrying them headlong into the clutches of death itself. He and Antonia would have one shot, one literal shot, to bring the crew from the clutches of the Siren’s call.

Releasing Antonia’s wrist, he moved to one of the two, 12-pound bow cannon, and inspected it for readiness. In a stroke of miraculous luck, the men that had been manning the cannon had managed to load it with powder and wadding, and all that remained was to ram home the shot itself.

“Get the touch rod!” Thomas yelled to Antonia before turning to the brass-triangle that held the pyramid of cannonballs in place. He picked one up, and hefted it into the barrel of the long, brass cannon barrel. He heard it roll dully down the length of the cannon, until it came to rest upon the bed of hay and the sacks of powder.

Running to the rear of the cannon, Thomas sighted down the barrel, and could instantly see that fate had granted them another gift. The cannon was pointed directly toward the wreckage of the Feather and thus the feeding-frenzy of Sirens. All that was left to do was time the dip and swell of the Skate’s bow to gain the proper elevation, and for Antonia to strike the touch hole with the smoldering wick of the touch rod.

“Prepare to fire!” Thomas called, kneeling to squint down the cannon once more. “We’ve got one shot!”

For what seemed like an eternity, he watched as the bow of the ship bobbed up towards the starry sky above, and then down towards the orange-highlighted waves below. He allowed his mind to grasp the timing of the swells, to feel the movement of the ship, and gauge when at last he had to order Antonia to strike.

Sweat beaded upon his brow, and trickles of blood fell from his jawline. He blinked the salty spray from his eyes, and licked lips that were cracked and dry. Once again, Thomas heard his heart pounding like an ardent drum in his ears, and a trance of a different kind commanded his focus.

“Fire!”

Caulk?

Wax for their ears? Even if Antonia knew of such a supply aboard the Skate, the ship was moving far too swiftly into the ravenous siren swarm for her to reach every last crew member and -

Antonia blinked, slack-jawed when she followed Nicolette's trail to... The helmsman... No. Hell no. If anyone thought she'd follow the First Mate's lead with the entire crew? Well they'd damn well be devoured alive by sirens before that ever happened! The rogue growled with frustration as she whirled about, to see if even one of the crew had managed to finish the task she'd tried to cuff them into, to ready the iron...

Words simply did not exist, to describe the relief that buoyed her heart to the star-studded heavens above when Thomas' fingers wrapped firmly around her wrist. He was bloodied, obviously in pain - but at least he was himself again. And when he called her to the bow cannon, Antonia did not need a word of explanation as she followed his lead without hesitation, sprinting to the forecastle.

One shot. Thomas said they would have only one shot, a single desperate prayer that just might save them all. The rogue watched her captain intently as he loaded the cannon and then sighted it, Antonia taking up the touch rod. She held her breath for only seconds - no matter they seemed a small eternity - until she heard his command. Without a moment's hesitation she set the wick alight, stepping back with her hands over her ears as the cannon let loose with a deafening report.

Captain Lightfoot's aim was as true as it was fatal. The cannonball struck the dying, flaming ship at exactly the point where timber met the waterline. The first strike saw pale, slimy flesh closest to the corpse of the Crimson Feather pulped and spattered over the waves like a fountain of chum, even as a blast of fiery wood and metal shrapnel sprayed over the waters in a deadly shower of annihilation. Shrill, nerve-jangling shrieks wafted to the deck of the Skate as the knotted, writhing mass of sirens seemed undone, disentangling and sliding below the waves.

Almost immediately, the buzzing, miserable din that assaulted her bloodied ears ceased, and Antonia nearly staggered to her knees with the sudden release, falling into the Skate's railing where she steadied herself with both hands. Antonia turned to look up to Thomas, those grey eyes hiding nothing at all of the bone deep, aching weariness as she wiped away the rivulet of blood coursing from her nose with the back of her sleeve.

Behind them, the rogue heard the faintest stirrings, curses from the crew, incredulous whispers and soft exclamations of surprise. The rogue smiled at Thomas, a slow tired grin that barely upturned the corners of her lips before her gaze was pulled back over the waters, toward the Crimson Feather...

Antonia gasped, her mouth fallen open in horror.

Wicked spiny fins broke the waters and broke back down beneath the fire-painted blackness once more; sinewy, serpentine bodies glistening in the moonlight as they glided through the waves at a breathtaking speed, directly at the Skate's prow.

The memorizing song tickled him deeply. But there was magic and then there was MAGIC. Jax could not say he really felt the hands on his ears or the eyes trying to look into him. The power came when something touched his lips. Something was offered to him, given to him from the one place he dreamed of but didn’t expect. The touch of lips on his cracked the icy hold, warmed the fake alluring calls like a tub of boiling hot water on a tiny ice cube. It only took the first taste for Jax to realize what was alluring and what was not. Nicki broke the ice. Nicki heated his soul.

She was warmer and sweeter than any magic could ever be. Sirens had no chance with Jax against the power of Nicki. He blinked his eyes knowing she saved him. Then closed them again just wanting to feel the thrill of those lips.

His one hand left the wheel and found the small of her back. Jax knew she would pull away once she was sure the music no longer had him. Selfish of him, he knew. Small of him, he was sure, yet he let the press go on until the Dust Skate herself shook under his feet.

He pulled back and smiled to her. “I am yours.” He whispered not even knowing why.

The quake he felt from the ship was the recoil of the cannon and he looked quick to the explosion of the ship on fire. His hand flew to the wheel catching Nicki between it and him and he spun hard against the direction they were heading away from the fire, the ship and the screeching song. Come on babe he mouthed or almost said with Nicki in his arms and his lady ship under his firm grip. He eased the wheel and felt her spin away with the touch of a lover’s response. Nicki still caught in that grip and the ship turning for him was a rush of feelings no siren could ever hold.

He looked to Nicki quick, smiles in his eyes for only a minute until the urgency of the moment took a firmer hold. “Thank you.” He said as he loosen his arm . “Saved with a kiss from you will be something I dream about for nights to come.” He leaned in to kiss her again. But he stopped himself knowing she needed to get to work and save them all.

He pulled his eyes away and up to the sails. “Get the foot and the clew of the main mast tighter. Trim the sheets. We are running head down. And we are running fast.” He managed to grip his lady ship in a race with the wind in their sails away from the fires, away from the wailing cries. Not music now, they were the screams of attack.

She responded. Oh how she responded. The Drust Slate of course. She hit the waves and caught the wind just as Jax had urged. She spun away from all the fake calls and listened instead to the open sea and the pushing winds.

But those denied to not do so easily. Fed and surprised. injured and confused the vindictive sirens were not to give up and go back to the dept of their waters. Yet they were slowed. Fat from the feast and caught off guard they paused before they rose again. But rise they did. The race was on.

Jax could guide his lady love the ship. He would seek Nicki to keep his attention clear. But how could they keep the witches of the sea away?

For a second Nicki was certain the cracking rumble that followed Jax’s pronouncement was some mythic response to the declaration. He was hers. The widening of her eyes from within the cage of his arms spoke volumes. She was stunned but, strangely, not displeased by the pronouncement. But for all that, it was not the heavens ringing its approval. Such events occurred only in story and this was life, what was left of it. The crack was the cannon and the work of captain and look out. The screech that followed filled her head with blinding pain, the primal rage in those voices eclipsing even their lurid song in volume. She hung onto Jax as he moved the ship with all the skill that had won him position as helmsman.

The movement of his muscled body under her hands as he worked grounded her, gave her a place to return to after the pain of the new, discordant song. When he let her escape she ran, but not from him, simply towards her duty. She left him with a look that said nothing and everything and held nothing like regret. She echoed his orders, lending her own honey to the words as she moved towards the back of the ship, readying herself for conflict. The Dusk Skate was a fast ship, she moved like silk under Jax’s expert hand but a ship can only move so fast. Turning was not a fast affair.

“Get me powder and shot!” she called to a passing crewman whose dazed expression showed enough burgeoning clarity to be entrusted with the task. He nodded and his focus on a task seemed to grant him more control against the lingering effects of the song. So many of the crew still moved sluggishly, not even the discordant calls enough to break the last of the pull from the earlier song. She knew these men, she had fought with them and alongside them. She knew a measure of their character and it was clear that the stronger willed of the bunch were further along. But not far enough, she saw as she peered over the side into the fire-lit wake left by the skate. Slippery, writing bodies with protruding bellies and gore-spattered faces of horrible, near human features that split in half to reveal maws filled with rows upon rows of needle thin teeth. From these grotesque mouths came the song, angry, hungry despite their recent feast and as Nicki listened she heard it change back towards what it was before. Luring, swelling, lush and full of promises that the creatures had no intention of keeping, yet still the weaker-willed sailors believed.

She felt a movement at her side and the cold metal of a pistol slapped into her hand. She could see the eyes of the sailor so tasked beginning to glaze over as the song turned and the creatures gained on the skate. She risked a glance over her shoulder and saw that a great many of the sailors had slowed or fallen still in their tasks.
Still the creatures came and Nicki understood that they were going to be taken over if something didn’t change. It was just a matter of time.

She turned back to the Sirens and aimed her pistol at the great gaping maw of the lead Siren. It was not an easy shot, the ship moved under her, the prey was not still but she cleared her mind of all but her own need. Her need to survive this night, to make certain that the Skate and her crew came through intact. She needed to return Jax’s boots after all.

She didn’t hit directly, she’d wanted to blow out the back of the Siren’s skull with her shot, instead she had to live with simply removing the left side of its face in a spatter that did nothing to slow down her sisters in their pursuit.

They were closing in.

“Prepare for boarding!” she called an aimed another pistol, certain it wasn’t going to be enough, not with more than half the crew playing at being statues on the deck.

Antonia took one horrified step back from the railing, her grey-eyed gaze darting frantically to Thomas. Nicolette's gambit had worked, and the helmsman's wits were freed from the sirens' song. The rogue could feel the Skate reeling beneath her feet, turning hard and fast from the doomed, burned out corpse of the Feather.

But their enemies were legion, and the sirens were swarming to the ship far too swiftly. Even now, hooked talons ripped into the hull of the ship as the sirens hauled themselves from the sea, gaping maws snapping open and closed, rows of teeth glistening wickedly beneath cold black eyes. They would be overrun, and devoured to the very last man. And woman.

And child...

Antonia groaned softly in the back of her throat, her teeth bared as if she were still in pain. Only the desperation of the dying could have called forward that one insane flash of something like a hope, a mad prayer, however dim and impossible...

"Je t'aime, Thomas," the rogue said softly, tearing her sight from the approaching horde of abominations to a sight she adored, to those bright copper eyes she loved so dearly. "Keep them off me. Do not let them interrupt, no matter what comes from the depths."

Antonia did not wait for his response - there was simply no time. The rogue sprinted several steps from the railing, falling to her knees as she reached into her boot for the sheath she kept there. The razor edge of a stiletto flashed in her hand, its blade biting deep into the palm of the other. Antonia chanted softly as she swayed to a music only she could hear - far, far away from the screeching cacophony of sirens; a vibrant percussion in perfect time with the beat of her racing heart, slowing as she slipped further from the Skate in her mind's eye to a distant night shore. Ancient whispers fell from her full lips, sacraments taught to men at the dawn of time, an ocean away, by the powers who both loved and reviled their creations.

The rogue's eyes were open, though sightless, staring straight ahead into nothing at all as her blade worked in blood and wood, carving an ancient sigil right there on the planks of the Skate's aftcastle. Impossibly straight lines worked into a V-shape, serpentine symbols snaking about its form, glistening and moving as if they yet had a life of their own.

Which, in a very true sense, they did.

The loa of lightning and wind. Sogba and Bade... Even in her mind's eye, Antonia's mortal sight could barely perceive the faintest idea of their true forms, the jagged blinding burning edges of Sogba, the perpetual swirling vortex of Bade - and yet they heard her, small, near insignificant thing that she was willing to shed her own blood for an audience.

Antonia bowed her head, respectfully. 'Brother Sogba, Brother Bade, I come to you in the most dire of times, with the greatest need. My son, my love and my dear friends - we are all going to perish, unless you call Agau and send us far from this place.'

'We know you, little sister. And indeed you will perish, one day. All of you. Dat is de way of mortal men, to live and walk de world but for a time.' replied Sogba, his voice searing a path through her thoughts.

'I do not argue, Brother Sogba. This is true. But it is not their time. Not yet.'

'And now you tink to know de future, little sister?' The laughing voice of Bade whispered over the thoughts torched by Sogba, a cool and soothing succor.

'It will be their future, if you wish it. If you will call Brother Agau, call the Storm. I have given my blood to speak with you now. Only name it, what I can give you to save their lives. Even my own life, if you ask it.'

'You tink to call us, to make a bargain little sister?' Sogba's laughter was an inferno that rocked Antonia's body backward where she knelt, flattening her form to the ship's planks.

'I will throw myself over now, if you wish it. I will slit my throat with my own blade. Only say the words.'

Only silence greeted her oath, a silence that reigned several interminable moments, a thick and heavy stillness like a living thing that wanted to crush her beneath its gargantuan weight, and squeeze all hint of breath from her lungs. Even Antonia's iron will came close to breaking beneath its heft, her head falling back, unseeing eyes staring at the stars above as her mouth fell slack.

As if a long-forgotten puppet just found by a curious child, her entire body snapped back up instantly, still kneeling on the Skate's aftcastle when the response of the loa at last lifted that horrible weight.

'Dis is no small ting you ask, little sister. We know where you go, de direction your ship takes. Black waters dere, deep and terrible. Dere might come a time dey curse your name, saving dem from death now, to deliver dem to what waits. But what comes, will come. De lives of dese men and dat woman, and your bebe - dat will cost you dear,' came Sogbo's words, staccato and sharp as a blade.

'I expect nothing less. Take what you will.'

'You will pay den, little sister?' Bade's voice surrounded her, lifted her and moved through her, and Antonia could have wept for the promised grace she heard in its whispers.

'I will. To the last.'

'Yes, you will little sister. One day, we collect your payment - but dat day is not yet come. Make ready den. Agau approaches... ' The voices of both loa twined serpent-like in her mind's eye as a third voice approached from the horizon, swift and terrible in its unspeakable beauty.

The skies overhead opened up with a roar of primeval fury. Great forks of lightning struck all about the Skate, unleashed from the black roiling clouds that consumed stars and moon alike, licking at the sirens still in the sea, incinerating them in a blinding flash of steam and light. Great living gusts filled her sails, tempest-tossed waves and wind lifting the Skate away from the decimated Crimson Feather as blinding sheets of rain descended on the heads of all. Antonia slumped to the deck, her eyes rolled back into her head, mouth open and slack as the stiletto slipped from her hand to the waiting planks.

Thomas’ elation at the success of the cannon shot was fleeting, and his joy turned quickly to sour dismay in his mouth. While they had managed to break the spell of the Siren’s momentarily, they had also called the full fury of the beasts to the Dusk Skate.

Watching with silent and growing dread, Thomas’ jaw set as the slimy gray bodies of the Sirens flashed through the fire-lit waters. The creatures moved with preternatural speed; apex predators on the path of their prey. Almost thoughtlessly, Thomas’s hands reached up to the brace of pistols held in the bandolier across his chest. He drew them both, and cocked back the hammers of each in smooth succession. Even as the Sirens closed upon the hull of the ship, Thomas knew in his heart of hearts that this would be the most harrowing battle of his life.

The report of a pistol shot, quickly accompanied by the call ”Prepare for boarding!” caught Thomas’ attention, and he looked back. His eyes alit upon Antonia, and he watched as her grey eyes looked to him, and her quiet words met his ears.

He did not understand what she intended to do, but he trusted his love, and he needed no more bidding—even if time had allowed for such. Thomas knew he would give his life to protect Antonia regardless of the circumstances. The Sirens that were boarding his ship would face the full measure of his wrath, of that he vowed.

With his silent conviction, Thomas turned his back to where Antonia now knelt, his copper eyes scanning the deck. Around him, the grotesque gray forms of the Sirens were writhing over the ship’s railing, and he watched as they tore into the paralyzed crewmen. Distantly, Thomas perceived that the Siren’s still held their ethereal sway over many of the pirates, and he mouthed a silent prayer of thanks that somehow—be it his strength of will, or some other unknown force—was keeping his mind warded from the deadly trance.

A slick, scuttling sound to his left made him spin on his heels, and he caught sight of a Siren raise to strike at Antonia like a viper, its gaping maw bright with rows of fangs. Thomas stepped forward in a flash, and brought his first pistol to bear. He fired into the creature’s neck, and with a sickening screech that drown out even the roar of the gun, gore exploded from where the ball impacted. Thomas did not wait to see the Siren fall, as amidst the billow of black powder smoke, he caught another glimpse of advancing grey flesh.

Dropping his expended pistol, Thomas raised his other weapon. His second shot roared, and he was rewarded with yet another sharp, animalistic squeal of pain. The aim however was not as true as the first, and through the cloud of smoke, a flash of claws struck at Thomas’ right shoulder and chest. Like hot knives, the claws tore into his flesh, and spun him about.

Landing hard upon his knees, Thomas rolled, and brought his free hand to the small of his back to draw his dagger. The Siren was upon him instantly, landing another strike with its right hand across his ribs. Grunting at the searing pain, Thomas watched as his assailant raised its left arm, preparing for another blow.

Seeing his opportunity, Thomas stabbed upward with his dagger, and buried the sharp blade to its hilt within the Siren’s exposed armpit. Like an injured snake, the Siren immediately bucked itself off of the dagger, and began writhing and flopping in death throes upon the deck.

Borne up with a torrent of adrenaline, Thomas found himself on his feet. The first two of the dispatched Sirens were forgotten as he looked to ensure that Antonia was still safe. To his great relief, the rogue still knelt, apparently unharmed. In that bare moment Thomas saw that Antonia was lost to the world, as her eyes were distant, almost cloudy in the low light. She seemed transfixed in an all-encompassing dream, and in spite of all that was happening around him, Thomas shivered.

Miraculously, Thomas felt the approach of yet another of the Sirens, and he tore his focus from Antonia just in time to avoid its snapping jaws. Pirouetting away, Thomas spun the emptied pistol that he still clutched, gripping it like a bludgeon as he had done in the brawl just nights before. He brought the brass-capped pistol butt down hard onto the Sirens head, and he was rewarded with a sickening crunch of bone. His other hand came up to deliver a slash with the dagger, when he became paralyzed with gut-wrenching agony.

His eyes flitted downwards to look in horror as another Siren set its fangs into the side of his abdomen. With the breath stripped of his lungs, Thomas’ mouth opened in a silent scream, and his body shook. From where its head was, the Siren looked up at Thomas with black, maleficent eyes. Around the folds of its slimy mouth, rivulets of crimson blood trickled, staining its grey skin, and pooling into the valleys of its face.

Time seemed to slow in the clutches of the beast. Quaking with shock, Thomas looked up. As if viewing the scene from above himself, Thomas gaze fell to his embattled ship. He saw Nicolette not far off, valiantly throwing herself into the wave of Sirens. He saw Jax at the helm, piloting the Dusk Skate while all the while keeping the foul creatures at bay. Lastly, he found Antonia, still kneeling, still wrapped in the strange folds of her trance.

By God, she is so beautiful, he thought. I have failed her. I have failed them all.

The Siren that held Thomas in its mouth withdrew its fangs, and began moving its head for another bite. As it released him, Thomas began to fall, his legs lacking any strength to hold him. Descending downwards, Thomas reached upward in a last defiant effort. His left hand gripped at the back of the Siren’s neck, and he clasped it with all the force that remained in his fingers. Continuing to fall, the other hand that still clutched the dagger came upward, and with every last vestige of force, Thomas drew the sharp blade across the throat of the Siren.

When at last his back struck the deck, darkness was already ebbing into his vision. He heard only absently the gurgling scream of the Siren whose throat he had slit, and the sounds of the carnage around him dimmed to only a dull din. With eyes affixed distantly into the stars above, Thomas’ last sensation before the black completely overtook him was that of flashes of blinding light, the crack of thunder, the cold caress of falling rain, and the infernal tug of tempest wind.

She was gone, the honey that touched her lips, the eyes that took his words wide open and not repulsed by his claim, left his arms. Nicki was off to do her duty, her job. Jax was proud of that, strangely enough. He set his eyes on the bow of the ship and coaxed speed and direction with his hands on the wheel. “Come on, girl. Don't you fret on the kisses here.” He whispered to his Lady Ship. “You know she loves you too, just as I do. Just as the Captain does. We are yours now show us how you care for us.”

The screams on the waves picked and rolled just like the sea. As soon as the song tried to tickle his ears again he licked his lips. The taste of her honey still lingered on them he was sure. Her left over sweetness was more powerful that a sting in his ear. He shook his head to cast off the song and it turned again to screams. He held tight to the wheel. He held tight to that taste.

Jax looked at the sails as they fluttered. Why were they not being tended to? With a stern face he looked down to the deck and saw men mesmerised by the song. Shocked he yelled but they did not hear him at all. He pulled the wheel quick making up for the slack in the sails and moving the booms as quick as the ship would turn. He was on his own here. He and the Dust Skate would have to dance to fill their sails.

Well, dance she would. He swung the bow and twisted the stern until the wind filled the slacking sails. As he judged his turns he saw the sea monster climb on board and devourer those who stood in frozen amazement that too late turned to horror. The sight was gruesome. Jax licked his lips to taste her honey. It was his defense. It was her protection.

When he saw the Captain go down he screamed from his post, “To his side! Antonia!” He was not sure his yell could be heard above the screams of men and sirens and the crack of thunder.

Thunder? As quick as he shouted the sea and air had changed. In panic Jax felt sure the change was from the evil sea cows that fed on the crew and boarded his lovely ship. He fought to resist the pull, sure it was not done for their benefit. But in only a minute he felt the ship accept the new wind in her sail and Jax realized it would not be a fight he would win. They would head with the storm. They would run with the sky. He hoped his wondrous moon was guiding all of them. He prayed the wind was sent to aid. Years ago Jax had learn when to fight the forces of the sea and when to bend to their will and way. This was him leaning way over to fill the sails and ride the sudden huge waves. Run, over the waves, over the sea. Jax was letting the ship gian wind and speed.

Slowly Jax curled his lips into his mouth craving again the taste that would reassure him, letting his tongue remember her. Wind and rain in his face, hands on the wheel and the sweetness of honey made hope rise inside him.

They came and they kept on coming. She had hoped that having consumed the crew of the Feather and faced with the bite of the Skate that they would reconsider. But she hadn’t counted on their being so many. More of them than she could have imagined poured from the sea and began to attack the skate, each one a gaping mawed horror with just enough human in its features to be all the more monstrous. Some of the men they attacked came back to themselves enough to try to defend themselves, others smiled as they were eaten, so lost to the song were they.

She cut and slashed and was cut and slashed in turn. She felt throbbing agony in her shoulder where one had bitten through the thick embroidery on her coat and into flesh. The wound would go necrotic if she didn’t see to it soon. She could all but feel the filth in that creature’s mouth seeping into her blood with every pulse beat. If she lived through this night she’d worry about it. She moved down the deck, sweeping it clean with all the skill she had to bring to bear, tricks from the Navy, tricks from Yan, things learned in countless fights as a pirate. The Sirens for all their ferocity and fury were not very good when faced with a creature who fought back. She supposed that in their evolution that they did not frequently have to face food that protested being eaten. They were dangerous, for certain and their numbers made them formidable, but she had faith that they would see this through. If she could just kill enough to make this morsel not worth the nibble.

She heard Jax’s scream and turned first to him and then as his words sank in she turned to watch as the Captain fell to the Deck seconds before Antonia did. She moved, letting the crewmen who she’d been defending go to the fate they smilingly accepted. There was something more important to defend than a weak-willed sailor or two. There was the Captain, her captain.

Between one step and the next it seemed, the storm hit in full force. The winds that had been fighting Jax and the waves that battered the hull suddenly increased, as if they had been released by Antonia’s fall. Nicki didn’t know why she thought that, but something about the connection made sense deep in her gut. Antonia was at the heart of the storm. It made her journey to the Captain’s side more harrowing but it also made the progress of the creatures just as hairy. They were not used to solid surfaces, and the storm that would have rocked and soothed them in their watery depths was no friend to them on the alien surface of the Dusk Skate. She heard splashing as some of the creatures, sated and done with prey that was too much effort fled to digest what they had already consumed. Some but not all.

Nicki screamed and dove forward, her sword slashing out to intercept the cruelly hooked claws that were reaching for the Captain, intending to drag a snack down into the depths to ride out the storm with. She hit with full force and felt the impact as her blade sank deep into the bone of the creatures arm. It screamed and wailed and pulled back its arm, dragging her blade with it. Nicki cursed and stumbled as the thing hissed at her before turning and undulating towards the rail, her sword still in its flesh. But the danger wasn’t over and she was unarmed and there was still one more creature who crouched over the insensate Antonia a cruel light in its eyes as a black, forked tongue flicked out to lick at razor teeth encrusted with bits of sailors, the flesh red and dripping still.

“This is my ship and your feast is over.” She screamed at the thing, not even certain it would understand the words but certain it would understand her tone, her body language as she stood over the captain. She was wounded and unarmed and still would not back down. This was her ship, this was her Captain and his lady. This creature was done feasting. She did not let herself fret over the growing stain of blood on the Captain’s abdomen. She would not think of what those filthy teeth would have done to his gut. That was a worry for later.

The thing narrowed its eyes and it crouched over Antonia, its black tongue snaking out and slowly licking along the woman’s delicate, vulnerable throat. Nicki’s lip twisted in a snarl, her eyes never leaving the creature, all her sense seemed hyper aware of any impending movement. Around them the storm raged on, battering the ship, screaming in fury around them. More than once Nicki thought she heard voices in the wind, lilting, rolling voices with an accent that reminded her of the Lookout’s. She never caught the words but she felt them in her bones. The air between her and the creature crackled with tension until finally the pressure was too much. She wasn’t certain who moved first, she or the siren but she dove just as the creature lunged. Its head dipped towards the unconscious woman and somehow Nicki found Antonia’s dropped dagger in her hand, the hilt strangely warm despite the coldness of the raging storm. She screamed and thrust and the impact of the dagger into Siren flesh sounded like a clap of thunder and a surge of something flowed into the monster’s flesh. There was a flash of light and both Nicki and the siren were blasted backward, Nicki skidding across the deck and the Siren flying over the side.

She blinked, after-burn from something blinding her. She could hear satisfied laughter in the wind down and felt something’s attention on her. Something she didn’t like but didn’t feel overly malicious. She groaned and rose and called to those who could hear. For now she was captain, then she would be Doctor, then she would be sore.

“Get the wounded below decks, lower the sails and batten the hatches. We need to ride this storm out and take stock when it is over!”

She didn’t know how many were lost, she didn’t know how many were functioning but if they didn’t get to work they would all be lost. She heard muttering, worldly muttering from the crew and there was some comfort in that. She dragged herself over to the Captain, catching the arm of a Sailor who was stumbling past.

“Take him into his cabin, then bring in Antonia.”

She let herself turn, let herself see the figure at the helm and sagged in relief. Jax was well, seemingly unharmed. She would be able to return his boots after all.

The whole world cracked open in her skull, consumed in a sheet of blinding light and searing heat in an instant of hot agony. She had no sense of the siren that wanted to devour her, nor the First Mate who saved her neck, but the fork of lightning that blasted both apart enervated every last cell in the rogue's body. Small sparks dancing across her skin like golden swamp lights for a moment before coalescing over her chest, and sinking within.

Antonia's back arced wildly, her whole body lifted feet from the deck where she lay. Her eyes opened wide as she gulped in an enormous, tortured breath into lungs suddenly opened once more, her heart pounding painfully behind her ribs. And just as quickly, she flopped to her side, gasping and helpless for a long moment, groans of pain lost in the crash of surf, the howling winds and the deafening blows of thunder.

'No no no, little sister. You cannot leave dis world... Not yet. Not while dere's still a debt to pay... ' Brother Sogba's voice laughed a wicked inferno through her head as Antonia desperately tried to pry open her eyes. She felt hands on her then, hands on her arms and shoulders, about her waist and legs. They weren't hurtful hands, not cruel or unkind but Antonia fought them anyway, weakly batting at them in protest, writhing feebly.

"Put me down... Stop. Put me down! Arrêtez! Thomas? Luc? Where... Where are they?" Antonia thrashed a bit more, feeling the grip on one calf loosen with a curse, and the heel of her boot hit the deck.

"Please sir, set her down! I'll help her... S'il vous plaît! The ones with Captain Lightfoot, they could use help, getting him to his cabin." That small voice she heard, calmed her like precious little else could in that moment, knowing Luc was fine, he was alive and well - but the words... Thomas? Help Thomas to his cabin?

She felt herself lowered to the deck, torrential rains and wind whipping around her and through her as she rolled to her stomach. The rogue pulled her knees beneath her as she unfolded her aching body to a wobbly standing position, finding just enough strength in her arms to pull Luc close, and hug him as tightly to her as she could.

And Luc returned that hug about Antonia's waist with a fierce love. He had heard the voices within his hiding spot in the hawse hole, where Jax had told him all cabin boys through the ages had ever run, and where Tante 'Tonia ordered him to go below deck. No, not the painful voices of the hideous silver-grey sea snake women, nor even the heartrending voices of the drying crew members, or Mademoiselle the First Mate, or Captain Lightfoot or even Jax.

No, he heard them, the bringers of the storm in his head. They talked to his Tante 'Tonia, though her voice was far too faint for him to make out much more than the familiar cadence and cant. And then there were screams, the human ones, and then the not-so-human ones, and still he remained obedient to the orders given, as he knew Captain Lightfoot would wish him to be.

Until, he heard the one voice again. Like an endlessly whirling wheel of the winds, a whisper and a howl, a voice still somehow substantial and ephemeral all at once, and flowing through his thoughts and his small body as if he were as well. 'Go to her, little broder. To your Antonia. She is tired, and Broder Sogba burn her bad - she cannot hear me. You tell her breade on him, and Broder Bade fill him. You tell her dis... '

Luc did not understand in the least what that voice told him to do. But he felt something lift him from the hawse hole, animate him up the stairs and hold him steady on a stormy deck that should have tossed his slight body to and fro like a rag doll. And that strength let him wrap his arm about her waist, Antonia's arm about his surprisingly steady slender shoulders as they staggered after the men carrying Thomas.

The rogue whined deep in her throat at the sight of the men with Thomas, staggered, nearly stumbled to her knees again - and would have, if Luc hadn't somehow managed to keep her upright. Antonia turned toward the First Mate as they passed, seeing her own gaze turned toward the helm, to Jax, and saw the light of relief flood those beautiful blue eyes. She could not begrudge the woman this happiness, no matter how she ached for her own. And Antonia did not look away from the golden angel of a woman until after they passed from the storm, into the relative calm of the aftcastle, to the officer's quarters.

Luc stopped short as the crew members carried their captain carefully into his room, to lay him on his bed before speaking to Antonia. Somehow he was sure, that this charge was not a thing meant for the ears of others. "Brother Bade," he said softly as his face turned up from her side, searching for his aunt's shadowed above him. "Brother Bade told me to tell you, to breathe on him. That if you did, Brother Bade would... Fill him? I don't understand... "

Antonia blinked slowly, tearing her gaze from the door to Thomas' cabin, where the men were only just leaving. She leaned down to kiss Luc's forehead softly. The rogue was still shaking, still exhausted and terrified for Thomas, though she hid it all behind the thinnest of masks for the boy's sake alone. "Luc... Thank you... The First Mate will have bandages, medicines... Go on. Bring her now... Please..." Antonia knew very well that Nicolette would be here any moment, that she wouldn't need any encouragement from Luc to hurry at all and certainly not a list of needful items to see to her own profession.

But no matter the storm water that saturated her thick locks of black hair that ran rivulets still down her face and neck - Antonia did not want the boy to see her broken, or the tears she knew she could not stop from falling.

Luc was a good boy, and did as he was told, disappearing to find Nicolette in an instant. And the moment he was gone, Antonia slipped into Thomas' quarters. Closing the door behind her, she dashed across the cabin, collapsing to her knees beside the bed they had shared only a single night before. Loving, shaking fingers gently traced the cold lines of his battered face, the bruise from a fist from the Boar still dark, the long cut on his cheek where she struck him with fist and eyepiece fresh and crimson - and she wept.

Her vision swam with tears as she tried to exam that angry bite at his side. Almost as wide as a shark's it seemed, and still bleeding dark and viscous fluids, blood mixed with some vile substance she knew instinctively she did not have the ability to right on her own. Antonia choked on her own sobs as she swiftly made to unbuckle the his pistol holsters, his belt and dagger sheaths before tearing open his ruined wet shirt, using it as best she could to gently, so carefully wipe the running blood from torn flesh.

'Breathe'

The rogue stopped in mid-stroke, looking back up to Thomas' too-still face. Slowly she leaned forward, took the deepest breath she could, tears be damned, and blew so softly across his cheek, across lips and nose until she had not the least breath left in her.

And yet, he moved not at all. Not a flicker of an eyelash. Not a twitch, or a twinge. Nothing at all...

Antonia fell back to her knees, her head dropped to her chest, defeated. She had nothing left, not an ounce of strength left to her and the rogue fell forward, her head resting against the bed's edge as she buried her face in the sheets. Something strange tugged at her hair, tickled at her temple, and her fingers reached for the side of her head.

The rogue whimpered with anguish when she saw what she pulled free.

Her Amazon lily. Her precious morning gift from Thomas. Somehow that lily had stayed plaited in her hair all this time, even sad and wilted and crushed as it had become. Antonia reached for the long, cold fingers of Thomas' hand and lay against the bed once more, placing his palm over her head, through her hair as she rested against the mattress. The fingers of one hand curled against her chest, wrapped about the lily's stem, while the other lovingly stroked the cool skin of Thomas' hand where it lay.

Nicki wasted only a second to gaze at Jax just where he should be at the helm. She relished the sight of him, his thick thighs tensed, his broad shoulders fighting with the wheel, keeping them on course thought the storm screamed around them. Soon enough he would need to come below and let the Dusk have her head, but for now he was steering them deeper she presumed, to where it would be safer. Just a moment and then no more. She turned, striding across the deck, eyes sweeping for those who needed her only to see that everyone had heeded her words and gotten below. Or been washed overboard, she thought ruefully. It was done, no matter the end. She shrugged off her ruined coat and let it fall to the deck to be washed to the sea, an offering for an angry ocean. Just as she shrugged out of her coat, she shrugged out of her borrowed title of Captain. Now she was needed more as a Doctor so that they might all have their Captain back. Her Captain, Thomas. She said the name in her mind softly, reverently with a softness that few would credit her. She heard a voice calling to her over the roar of the angry wind and spotted a skinny body bent against the wind calling to her. The boy.

She wasted no time in getting to him, gripping his skinny arm and pulling him along with her.

“Yes, yes, I know. The captain needs me. Come, you have two hands, you can be of help.” Her honey was shouted over the winds loud enough that the words were not stolen and the boy nodded his ascent. She pulled him with her and stepped into her cabin and began to thrust things at him, heedless of the rain slanting in. She knew her books were up high and nothing else in the cabin was worth her worry. When his arms were full as were her own she herded him out, ignoring his wide eyes and the way they followed her and made the short journey to the Captain’s cabin. Her shirt was soaked through, torn and plastered to her form. Her golden curls tight to her head, tendrils running like roots across her cheeks and along her neck, bedraggled suited her though. For all that, she looked considerably less wretched than Antonia who lay with her head on the bed beside a far too still captain, a lily in their hand, her expression speaking of the world about to end.

Fuck that, Nicki thought.

“This isn’t a funeral.” She barked. “He isn’t dead, not on my watch. Move please.”

Without waiting for her order to be complied with, she strode into the cabin, deposited her burdens on a nearby surface and moved Antonia aside with a gentle application of force. Nicki wasn’t unkind though and left Antonia near the bed, but up by the head giving Nicki plenty of room to do her work. Hands touched the rough throat of the captain, feeling no pulse behind the unshaven skin. She saw no breath making his throat rise. The wound was troublesome but secondary to this whole dead bit the captain was pulling just then. It could wait.

She said nothing but simply straddled the captain, one thigh on either side of his slim hips. Her face was a furious, determined mask as she put one fist, then the other in the center of his chest and pressed down, swearing under her breath.

“You will not die this day Thomas Lightfoot. I won’t let you. Death can fuck itself, you are not done here yet.”

She repeated the compressions a few times, each one accompanied by a variety threats and admonitions that spoke loudly of deep affection never before given voice. Then she leaned forward, fingers hooking his chin, opening that still, expressive mouth and pressed her lips to his, breathing into him, forcing air, hopes and expectations into his lungs.

“Come back to me Thomas, come back to us all.” She said pulling back, her honeyed voice rich with command before she bent to breathe for him again.

Thomas opened his eyes to a gleaming Caribbean sun, an azure sky, and the calm rush of waves pressing against the shore. He felt himself lying upon a beach, the warm grains of wet sand molding to his back and scratching at his hair. With his matchless copper eyes, he looked about, utterly confused.

His mind was clouded, and he could not recall how he had come to be here upon the beach. A feeling lingered, a dull ache in his stomach and shoulders, as well as a distinct sense of grief. None of these sensations made sense to Thomas however, and he had not the slightest inkling as to why he felt as he did.

Sitting up, Thomas propped his torso off the sand with his arms outstretched like buttresses behind him. Looking down, he noticed he was dressed in a brilliantly white linen shirt, and a pair of comfortable and simple cotton pants. His feet were bare, and he wriggled his toes at himself as he set about contemplating how he had come to be in this place.

“Well, by the eyes of Judas himself, look what the tide washed up.”

Thomas started at the sound of the gruff voice that came from behind him. Instantly he sprang to his feet, and spun about. His arms rose in a stance of defense, and he set his feet wide apart in preparation for an attack. Just as quickly as he had readied himself however, when Thomas’ eyes fell upon the source of the voice, his face immediately slackened with surprise, and his arms dropped to his sides.

“Blast your eyes,” Thomas muttered in shock. “How in the all the hells are you here?”

The infamous pirate known only as Lightfoot laughed heartily. “How am I here? Ha! I should be asking you that you inglorious whelp. You appear on my island and spit out musings about how I’m here? I tell you, nothing ever changes. Always ‘me, me, me’ with the youth today.”

Dumbfounded, Thomas could only continue to stare slack-jawed at his long deceased mentor and adopted father. The man appeared as Thomas had known him in his prime, with an aged, but regal face trimmed in a full blond beard that was just beginning to turn a light gray. The deep-set, calculating eyes were also there, seemingly evaluating every part of Thomas as he stared. Lightfoot was dressed in his usual blue coat, a brown buttoned shirt open to below his chest, dark breeches, and a pair of tall naval boots. Slung over the man’s shoulder was a brace of pistols, just as Thomas wore them, and a scabbard with a large cutlass hanging at his left hip.

Lightfoot took Thomas’ moment of stunned silence to step forward and envelope him a bear hug that took the wind from his lungs.

“I’m only teasing you, Thomas. By all the rum in Tortuga, it does my heart well to see you.”

Thomas could only stand limp in the man’s strong embrace, before at last he was able to regain enough composure to reach up and pat Lightfoot’s back. At that, Lightfoot relinquished his grip and stepped back a pace before slapping Thomas firmly upon both shoulders.

“Tell me, my boy, how have you been eh? It’s been years. I’ll get us some kill-devil, and you can twist my ear with every last detail.”

Lightfoot withdrew a large masonry jug from out of nowhere, and set quickly down upon the sand beside where Thomas stood. Looking up, Lightfoot patted the sand, indicating Thomas should take a seat.

“Am I dead? Is this heaven?” Thomas said, still standing.

“Heaven, he says!” Lightfoot set into another guffaw of laughter, rocking back and forth upon his buttocks as his barrel chest heaved with the action. Taking the cork from the bottle, Lightfoot ceased his mirth long enough to take a healthy pull from the liquid inside. Reaching up with his free hand, Lightfoot clasped Thomas by the wrist, and pulled him roughly to the ground next to him.

Caught off guard, Thomas landed with a ‘whumpf.’ Pulling himself upward from the ground, and swatting sand from his whiskers, Thomas made an effort to begin railing against the older man, but Lightfoot stopped him.

“You’re not dead, and this certainly isn’t heaven.” Lightfoot said. “Though I am flattered that you’d think either of us would be capable of making it past the pearly gates. Especially me.” The stately pirate shrugged, his deep brown eyes searching for an appropriate answer for Thomas. As the man shrugged, Thomas caught a glimpse of tattooed flesh beneath the folds of Lightfoot’s shirts. The sight prompted a quick smile as the familiar aspect brought forth fond memories of the elder pirate.

“I suppose this is perdition,” Lightfoot said, not noticing Thomas’ smile, “or perhaps just someplace for God to keep me until he truly decides where I should spend eternity.” Lightfoot’s eyes looked sideways to Thomas. “You’re just here visiting, of that much I am sure. You don’t have that cloak of death wrapped about you.”

Lightfoot swung the jug of kill-devil to Thomas, and bade him to drink. “Take a swig of that and get to talking, my boy. Who knows how long we have here, and I want to hear it all.” The man looked to Thomas with a smile that hid the bottoms of his eyes behind tan, rounded cheeks, and folds of crow’s feet.

For a moment, Thomas merely looked to the man who had raised him. Being here with the man seemed so natural and effortless, that despite his initial shock, Thomas felt as if he had merely left the man drinking at the Black Boar just the other night, instead of watching him die on some far-flung island. It was a strange yet comforting familiarity, and though Thomas felt he should be more perturbed at his circumstances, he could not bring himself to do so.

Instead, Thomas took the offered liquor, and drank deeply. Coughing slightly at the strength, Thomas returned the jug to Lightfoot, and immediately set into telling the man of everything that had transpired since he had passed.

For the next several hours the two men spoke, laughed, and drank. Thomas regaled Lightfoot with his adventures, of his loves, of his crew, and of the Dusk Skate. Mostly Lightfoot merely listened, occasionally asking for more detail, or simply laughing with his young friend. By the time the sun above had settled towards the horizon, and the jug of kill-devil was all but empty, Thomas at last found himself at the happenings of the Crimson Feather, and the Siren attack.

Realization came to Thomas like a shot to the chest, and he looked to Lightfoot in awe. “That’s how I came to be here, the Siren attack. I was injured, and the last thing I remember was slitting one of the foul beast’s throat. By God’s bones…” Thomas looked down to his bare feet, his mind reeling.

Lightfoot looked to Thomas with a knowing expression. “Well, my boy, with that it looks like our time here is at an end. I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to have seen you. You have truly become the man I knew you would be. I’m proud of you, Thomas.”

Thomas gave Lightfoot a quizzical stare. “What do you mean my time here is at an end? How am I to…”

Without warning, Lightfoot lunged forward and shoved Thomas hard in the chest.

“What in the hell…” Thomas said, falling backward onto the sand. He had no time to continue his question, as Lightfoot was instantly upon him. The man shoved him over and over, driving Thomas’ chest downward, and pressing his back into the sand.

Helpless, Thomas watched as Lightfoot raised a hand high over his head, and affixed him with a friendly, almost sad gaze. “Goodbye, my boy. Until we meet again.”

With that, Lightfoot brought his balled fist down hard once more onto Thomas’ chest. The island immediately vanished in a starburst of white light.

Thomas’ eyes shot open, the copper rimmed irises focusing quickly upon the beautiful features of Nicolette as she pressed her lips to his, and filled his lungs with her breath. With his eyes still wide with surprise, Thomas brought his hands up to clutch the sides of the First Mate’s head. In one swift motion, Thomas pushed Nicolette away from his mouth, and set himself up.

Gasping, he let go of Nicolette’s face, and used his hands instead to help keep him setting upright. For several long moments he looked at Nicolette, unsure of what exactly had transpired. He noticed that she was straddling him, and that she was soaked to the bone. He also became keenly aware that his chest hurt like hell, and that Antonia knelt just beside him.

Still in a state of shock, Thomas looked down to his stomach through his tattered shirt. The flesh there was red and swollen where the Siren’s teeth had slashed his skin, but miraculously the cuts had healed completely.

Glancing between the angelic faces of both Antonia and Nicolette, the joy and wonder of being alive flooded into him, and in that instant he couldn’t hold his tongue.

“I’m not sure what all happened,” Thomas said with a sideways grin, his chest still heaving with deep breaths. “But this is quite possibly the most erotic moment that I have ever had the pleasure to find myself in.”

Jax stood against the wind and rain, hands on the wheel, and eyes trying to look through the deluge of water that whipped around. Times he could not tell the sea from the sky. It was clear as much as he could ease the ship he loved she would have to follow the ways of the storm. They should lower the sails and snug the booms. Jax squinted down to the deck to yell those orders only to see the bodies of men and sirens as they washed from the deck in slow rolls one way and then the other. He saw no one.

He leaned toward the spinning center of the wheel and he kissed the wood quickly. “Stay true Queen Dusk. Follow the storm and I will return in calmer wind.” He let his hands slide over the curve of the wooden wheel until he finally removed each finger. She was on her own. He stood back and watched the spin.

Jax jumped down from his perch and ran to the main sail. Quick as he could he lowered the cloth. Fighting it against the wind that wished to take hold he managed to get it down and somewhat tied to the boom.

He looked again for anyone. What he saw made his heart stop. It was a coat that he knew. A coat that had held the arms that covered his ears. A coat that had once kissed him. Saved him. Nicki!? It flew along the deck right in front of him in a dramatic ghost like way. It’s arms flung around empty. Her coat. Where was she? He reached for it as if he was grabbing at her but the wind whipped her away with a fierce tug, threw the coat all about and then spread it wide open as it flew out to the raging sea.

Jax stood still against the water again. He spun around and ran to her cabin. The door was open and water filled the room surging in and then receding out again. But she wasn’t there. He closed the door. He was heavier, all the sudden, the soaked feeling chilling him through his bones. With great effort trudged to the Captains quarters. He stumbled against the beating rain.

At last he made it to the door. He took hold of the latch but hesitated in opening it. What if no one was there? He took a wet full breath letting the rain drip down into him. He opened the door.

In a flood of relief he fell to his exhausted knees when he saw Nicki’s head dipping down and bouncing back up and Antonia and Luc by the bedside. “Thank the moon,” He coughed water spilling down his drenched hair splashing in pools at his knees. He looked to Nikci and even wet and thinner, clothes pressed against her ,hair matted and blown she was beautiful. He was about to say more but the Captain moved quicker and Jax could see his face clearly. He couldn't quite understand anything but he saw Nicki on top of the Captain with a satisfied grin and the word erotic ran clear.

Antonia had watched Nicolette's doings with a nauseating mixture of horror and ambivalence and unease, finding herself unceremoniously shoved aside so the First Mate could straddle Thomas there on his bed. She pounded his chest, pressed her lips over his and heaved her breath into him. And all the while, just beneath her curses and shouts, that unbearably lovely voice declared a deep and abiding tenderness that stung Antonia to the heart, whether she would or not. It was Luc's slender arms about her shoulders that held the rogue still as she leaned against the bed, relegated as she to mere witness of these bizarre goings on while the Skate rocked beneath them all in the arms of a living storm.

The rogue had all but crushed the stem of her Amazon lily in clenched, shaking fingers, dropping it entirely as she sprang to her knees from Luc's embrace as Thomas sat up swiftly in his bed, breathing, grinning...

... Speaking...

"Quel idiot," Antonia growled with a choked sob of a laugh as she set herself up over the edge of the bed, gently but swiftly wrapping her arms about Thomas' shoulders and pulling him close, right where he sat. Her kiss was swift but passionate, filled equal parts with tears of relief and joy-filled laughter. And as she pulled back to look into that living copper gaze, Antonia pressed the palm of one hand to Thomas' forehead, pushing away playfully as she rolled her own eyes. "'Most erotic?' Est-ce vrai? Hmph! You'd best claim you've been struck with amnesia, and that last night has completely escaped your recall... "

With a laugh the rogue whirled to the First Mate where she still straddled Thomas, laying her hands over Nicolette's wet shoulders, peering earnestly into that matchless golden face. "Merci, Mademoiselle Beauchamp. You are as brilliant," she said softly, sincerely, bending to lovingly kiss Nicolette's incomparable silken cheek.

"As you are resourceful." The rogue moved to gently press her lips to Nicolette's marred cheek, as tenderly and earnestly as its mate.

"You are a blessing to us all." She kissed the First Mate's still-damp forehead lovingly before her full lips dipped to the curve of Nicolette's ear. Her warm whisper was for the golden, angelic woman alone, and full to the brim with the rogue's Cajun spice.

"But I do so wish, mon ami, that you would refrain from wrapping yourself about my one and only love at every given chance. Now, the first time? A misunderstanding, mais bien sûr. Twice? Ah, I suppose it was... The necessities of your surgeon medicine? So be it! But if there should be a third... ?" The rogue pulled back from Nicolette to gaze serenely into that angelic face, her hands still laid lightly over the woman's shoulders. Antonia's grey eyes widened with unspoken mirth above her lovely, feral smile, dark brows arched meaningfully as the edge of one thumbnail slid lightly over the First Mate's graceful throat.

"So!" Antonia tapped Nicolette impishly on the tip of her nose with one finger, laughing softly as she stood to her full height. She wrapped the fingers of one hand steadily about the First Mate's forearm, and helped her from Thomas' lap and bed as kindly as Nicolette herself had been to the rogue only moments before - and just as insistent. "All is well! Let's be up then, shall we? Come now, up you go! Up up!"

She turned to the helmsman, transfixed it seemed by the sight of the golden angel Nicolette in all her dripping glory. "Jax? Yes you, standing there drenched and incredulous - come in, come sit if you like. It would not surprise me if this storm was having its way up above, is it not?"

The rogue settled back on the edge of Thomas' bed as Luc leaned his head against her knee. Antonia lay her hand over those drenched, ebony curls, her fingers running lovingly through his hair. She could feel the exhaustion in the boy, radiating like shimmering heat from his slender form. With a soft sigh, she turned to look to Thomas, her grey eyes taking in the whole of his body, traveling to his chest and abdomen - and widening in surprise when she saw what was left of the siren's bite. But for some swelling and redness, the whole of that mortal, poison-riddled wound was... It was healed. Antonia bit her lip happily as she looked up to Thomas' face, incredulous fingertips oh-so-gently tracing the outline, wondering if this would be yet another scar to one day colorfully commemorate with a tattoo artist's inks.

Nicolette did not like being touched without permission. She held herself stiffly most times to avoid such unsolicited and unwelcome contact. So the Rogue’s kisses, though well intended were not in any way welcome. Perhaps it was the shock of the Captain sitting up, speaking his absurdities. Perhaps it was the unexplained miracle of his healed flesh. But she had sat there, stunned in the wake of the captain’s hands pushing her face away from him, blinking at him as he said what he said her tongue not finding it’s sharp edge in time.

That was why the Rogue got her hands on Nicki and why the Rogue had the chance to whisper her sweet little threats in Nicki’s ear. Those little bits of sweet poison, delivered lightly stabbed into Nicki like nails hammered home even as the Rogue traced her promise across Nicki’s flesh. Nicki’s eyes narrowed, her mouth tightened and she let herself be removed from the Captain’s lap. As she stood she caught at the Rogue’s elbow and looked down at her from her slight advantage in height. Her entire bearing was that of a self-assured aristocrat, one who knows her place and was born and raised to be exactly where she was. It was something that as no affection for all that it was a part of her she left to slumber. For now it was ascendant.

“I will say this only once and I will forgive you your threats only this once, Mademoiselle because I imagine you are distraught and shocked otherwise you would not presume to order me about. I will do as I must and you will not interfere.”

Nicki stepped just a little closer to the woman where she sat on the edge of the bed, keeping her hands to herself, her manner stiff, confident but not aggressive. A strange flash of light, forked and flickering danced across her iris as she spoke to the woman.

“He was my Captain before he was your lover, mark that. It is not my affection that puts him at risk. Once did not begin with me, twice was in the line of duty and if there is a third time, it will be for good reason. Or would you rather I leave you to the funeral celebration you were in the midst of? He breathes now, not because you wept for him.”

She turned to the Captain, her face tight, but there was a light of relief in her eyes as she bowed stiffly.

“I have duties to attend to, Sir.” She said. “I would examine you later if I might be so permitted, to make certain you are truly as healed as you appear to be.”

She looked to poor Jax where he stood, looking out of place in the room filled with tension and politely delivered threats. He was as wet as she, his shirt plastered to that dangerous anatomy of his. Upon seeing it she felt all anger and resentment at the presumptuous Rogue fall away. She looked at him, her eyes scanning his beautiful body. She cleared her throat and nodded at him, casually even though her heart was pounding in her veins for a great many reasons.

“I have your boots, Monsieur Jax, in my cabin. Perhaps you would care to retrieve them with me?”

Jax struggled to stand from the puddle on the floor. No one noticed much because everyone’s eyes, including his, were on the beautiful sea witches both of them. Jax could not hear the words, but he saw the gestures of kindness and flickers of meaningful eyes. He didn’t have to be any sort of expert in body language or human contact to feel the tension. Jax felt his heart sink. They were fighting over the Captain? He couldn’t say for sure. And the kisses? Is that what he saw? Nicki uses them on everyone not just him. They must just be part of her bag of healing, like a bandage, or special piece of dried herb. She can pull them out and slap those lovely lips on any wound and make it better. He knew that, but still the idea stung him.

How could he have believed he was anything special? She had his boots and so much more.

But she was turning to leave and asking him to follow. “Excuse me, First Mate, Sir.” He managed to call above the crackle of thick tension. He took a few steps to the door and stood in front of it. “If I have permission to speak freely,” He smiled realizing he would with permission or not. “There is a storm out there besting the band to hell. Our lovely lady ship is riding it out and she would be very distraught to see you out on the deck. You might shift her concentration as she would try to protect you, one of her favorite pieces on board.” With hardly a missed beat he pulled the extra blanket from the bottom of the Captain’s bed and without touching her shoulder very much at all, fighting hard to keep that distance, he spread the quilt out over Nicki’s wet shoulders.

“I am sure the Captain would be more than willing to break out his secret good stash to celebrate his return from the afterlife.” He grinned to Nicki without looking back to the Captain.

Jax gestured to the chair by the Captain’s desk. She should sit, take a drink, dry herself and wait for the storm to settle. “We are right in the center of the storm but it came quick and will most likely die the same way. Wait it out.” He gently put his hand on her elbow still offering the chair.

Jax stood still. He would follow if she left. But….

“Please.”

She was furious, she wanted to be elsewhere. To be away from the accusing rogue and the Captain who held part of her heart, all of her loyalty and still wanted more than she could give. She wanted to rush through the howling storm letting its wrath feed on hers until she was beyond reason and caution. She wanted to be swept up into the emotions she could not let rule her. She wanted to drag Jax along with her and do something she was certain she would regret but could blame on the storm. Something she ached for and was terrified to want as badly as she did.

But Jax stopped her, not with his beautiful body, the sight of which seemed to always stop her. No he stopped her with something she had not expected to find with him. Reason and then kindness. She hadn’t realized she was cold until he swung the blanket around her shoulders. The sudden cessation of cold on her wet clothing made her shudder in relief. She looked up at him, making her eyes pull from his own wet clothing that lined his chest so deliciously to his face, suddenly conscious of how bedraggled and numb she was. She pushed her hair back from her face, the back of her graceful hand running along her ruined cheek on its way down. Heading out into the storm was stupid. Even furious she could not deny that.

“You are right.” She said. “We will wait it out.”

Were they alone she knew she would lift the blanket and ask him in. He was as wet as she, but she held her tongue, they were not alone and she would not let her guard down, even in such a small way with someone who had threatened her life. She would not dismiss the threat. But he was cold and she was not going to find her way back to reason if he kept standing about in wet clothing that clung to him.

“Perhaps the Captain can spare you a change of clothes.” She said, her honeyed voice tired and defeated. “As your Doctor I cannot let you stand around in wet clothing. You will catch ill and then where would we be?” She ached to touch him, to cup his unshaven chin, to run her thumb along his grinning mouth and let him see how grateful she was that he was unharmed. But she did not.

She did not look at the Captain because beside him stood his lady, she of the blade drawn across throats. Nicki was so tired, so done in, forgetting that in the battle the Captain wasn’t the only one wounded. But her body knew and as the cold began to dissipate and the numbness lifted she sagged and scowled at the growing ache in her shoulder from where the rancid mouth of the Siren had taken hold. Accompanying the ache and the spread of warmth was a spread of wet and dark across the blanket where it pressed against her shoulder.