Magic Tides (Kate Daniels: Wilmington Years #1)(44)

“You.”

“Garvey is here!” he proclaimed.

“Bring me the rest of the coins. All of them. I’ve already cut off two heads today. Don’t force me to make it three.”

He climbed to his feet and rushed off.

I went back to Aaron’s body, pulled out my knife, and cut a chunk off his robe, the one with the pocket on it. Using my knife, I nudged the coins into the pocket. I didn’t want to touch them.

The old man returned, huffing, and set a small wooden chest in front of me. I opened it. Seven more coins lying on blue velvet. I turned to the prisoners. “There are nine of you.”

“Kostya, Chandi, and Ari didn’t make it,” the younger woman said. “Aaron raged out sometimes.”

I had to get them free. No matter what it cost.

I emptied the pocket into the chest and handed it to Darin. “Take this down and put them back.”

He leaped into the water, cutting into it without a splash, and streaked to the treasure chest. Didn’t change shape. Like father, like son. Cautious.

“Will this fix it?” the angry woman demanded.

“Probably not, but it’s a good first step.”

The coins tumbled out of the small chest into the big one. The chains remained.

It would’ve been too simple.

Darin swam back and climbed up to stand next to me. “What now?”

I looked at Antonio, the little boy without a chain. “Are there any more kids like you? Without chains?”

He shook his head.

“Any other people who are here against their will?”

“Leslie.”

“Who is Leslie?”

“She is a cook,” Antonio said.

“Okay. Go get Leslie and have her bring whatever fuel she has in the kitchen. Oil, spirits, anything like that. And then you, and Leslie, and Garvey can help me gather wood. We’re going to build a bonfire, and then we’re going to pray.”



EITHER THE CRUISE ship hadn’t bothered with flame retardant upholstery, or the magic somehow canceled it out, because the tower of chairs we’d gathered into a big pile went up like candles. We’d doused them in cooking oil and kerosene from the kitchen, but we might’ve as well not bothered. They burned like tinder despite the damp.

Hopefully the ceiling wouldn’t cave in on us.

We hadn’t found any more disciples while gathering wood. I had sent Antonio to all the places where they gathered, but he found only empty chairs. The woman who’d led me down to the arch must’ve gotten everyone off the ship. As far as I was concerned, letting them leave was more mercy than they deserved. If someone remained, it was on them.

“I’m not praying to him!” Elaine clenched her fists, making the scars on her arms stand out. “He’s the reason I’m here. Ten months! Ten months I haven’t seen my baby. My husband probably thinks I’m dead. My parents…”

Solina, the younger chained-up woman, hugged her.

Of all of them, Elaine had the most fight left in her, but she was like a knife that had been sharpened too much—dangerous yet brittle. She’d almost attacked the old man. Garvey had served Aaron voluntarily. He hadn’t been a slave or taken against his will; he had witnessed everything Aaron had done, and he’d stayed because Aaron had made it worth his while. Garvey deserved everything she wanted to do to him, but Elaine didn’t deserve having to live with it.

“I know it’s hard,” I told her. “And you’re angry. You have a right to be angry. But we must get these chains off so everyone can go home. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for the kids.”

Elaine looked around at the clump of chained-up children. Her expression went slack.

“Are we good?” I asked her.

She nodded.

I pulled a small plastic bag out of one of my belt pockets and emptied the mix of herbs into the fire. Blue sparks burst from the fire, filling the air with a thick, smoky aroma. I funneled my magic into the flames, pulled a small vial of my blood out of another pocket, and dripped a few drops into the bonfire.

The flames turned crimson.

The fire pulsed with magic like a giant heart beating.

I didn’t even try to speak Gaelic. I only knew a handful of words, and I’d offend him more than anything. He’d bargained with Aaron so he’d understand me.

“Manannán mac Lir,” I said, sending another splash of magic into the fire.

“Manannán mac Lir,” the chained people intoned behind me.

“Son of the Sea.”

“Son of the Sea.”

“Lord of Emain Ablach…”

“Lord of Emain Ablach…”

“Mag Mell, and Tír Tairngire.” Some of those were technically synonymous, but no god ever wanted less titles. I kept going, echoed by a chorus.

“Over-King of Tuatha Dé Danann, Weaver of Magic Mists Féth Fíada, He who Captains the Self-Guiding Boat Sguaba Tuinne, He who Rides the Steed Aonbharr, your people seek you in their hour of need. We beg you to speak to us.”

They were his people. They might have come from different mythological origins, but all of them were people of the sea.

Nothing. Just ruby-colored flames. I hadn’t expected him to answer right away. It was a very long shot. Most deities refused to manifest, even for the briefest instant. Not only that, but this entire set-up functioned as a faith factory for him. That dumpster of gold was proof of his existence and power. He would know that I was calling to end it, and he’d be reluctant to part with it.