Paradise Cursed – Snippet 25 – and a Free Book
As the last passenger stepped from the motor-launch to the gangway, Dayna followed behind lugging the woman’s packages. The ship felt good beneath her feet. She was grateful to leave Grand Cayman behind, but even better would be to dump all the passengers on the island and sail away without them.
You’re thinking mean thoughts, Dayna, mean, mean, mean—but she couldn’t help wondering if the captain ever sailed the Sarah Jane without passengers. Just the crew, sea and wind—Dayna knew she’d be one cloud away from heaven.
Party music drifted from the upper deck, not a live band but still the island sound of steel drums. With her smile pasted firmly in place, she handed the woman her packages.
“Don’t forget to join everyone on the party deck for Five o’clock Swizzelers!” She’d never known smiling could be so painful.
Free at last, she hurried to the cabin hoping Erin wasn’t in the head. It’d been hours since she’d had a chance to pee. Keying the lock and shoving the door all in one motion, she found the room empty. Erin’s suitcase was open on the lower bunk—hadn’t she unpacked their first night aboard?
By the time she washed her hands and came out of the head, Erin was taking clothes from their shared chest of drawers. She turned and placed them in the suitcase.
“What are you doing?” Dayna asked.
“Did you have fun going ashore today?”
“Not particularly. I’d rather have been running the launch than directing passengers to tourist traps. Where were you all day?”
“Helping the captain with… a problem.”
“Didn’t I say he had his eye on you?” Surprised to see her sister actually blush, Dayna watched her refold a pair of shorts to fit the suitcase. “Erin, what are you doing?”
“We’re leaving the ship and taking the next flight home.”
“Why? Jase Graham said something about repairs being done while we were gone. What did they find? Isn’t she seaworthy?”
“The ship is fine, but we’re not staying.”
Now she got it. Once again, Erin was bailing out of their summer vacation. The flame of heat that rose up the back of Dayna’s neck threatened to rush out her mouth in a roar of fury. She clamped her lips tight, took a breath, and mentally counted to seven before she couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Okay. You can go, but I’m staying.”
Erin looked up from her packing. “Dayna, we’re leaving. I don’t want to argue about it. Please don’t make a fuss.”
“A fuss? Don’t worry, sis, no fuss. I won’t say another word, but I’m not leaving the ship.”
She shoved past her sister and yanked open the door.
Erin’s frustrated command, “Dayna! Don’t walk—” came just before the door closed.
*
I stepped aside so Demarae could shine a penlight on Ayanna’s neck. The number seventeen impressed on her rough skin was small, perhaps three-quarters of an inch, but quite clearly intentional.
“Captain, did she have such a mark before her skin turned?” he asked. “A faded tattoo, possibly?”
“None that I saw.” The dress she’d worn that first day, when she came to apply for a job, had shown a great deal of neck and shoulders. I’d have noticed a tattoo marring the beauty of her burnished black-gold skin, no matter how faint or small.
“What does it mean?” Marisha asked.
“Fate.” Demarae spoke the word in a hushed tone, his face drawn into troubled lines as he gently turned Ayanna’s head to study the other side of her neck and her shoulders. “In its more fortunate significance, seventeen indicates strength, compassion and self-discipline.”
The shaman’s words painted an optimistic picture, I noted, while his voice held a solemn note of defeat. I commended him for holding on to that optimism. Having come upon this number before, however, I knew its darker meaning.
“Another interpretation is immortality,” he said. “If Ayanna had placed this mark upon her own body, we could assume it holds significance in her life, perhaps as a birth or name number. Or it might have appeared to her repeatedly in small ways until she claimed it for the significance of spiritual consciousness, the ability to see beyond to hidden truth.”
“Shaman!” My tone was harsher than I intended, but this was not a time for false optimism. “Since Ayanna did not lay claim to this number herself, we know it’s the Bokor’s work.”
Marisha placed her hand protectively on Demarae’s pale arm, the first overt sign I’d noticed that their relationship was more than professional. He acknowledged the gesture by patting her hand before gently removing it.
“The dark arts gain their power,” he said, “from the most combustible of human emotions. Anger, hatred, greed, lust—we like to believe love conquers all, but in truth these darker feelings might create more brute energy than an entire ship of angels could neutralize.”
“But this is only a number,” Marisha insisted. “A number cannot produce emotion. What difference can it make?”
As Demarae nodded thoughtfully, I noticed his hand now seeking hers, clasping it. “You are right, my dear. Yet do we not use numbers in our prayers? Do we not place three cowries’ shells in an oricha’s offering because that number compels the saints to manifest and draws upon their qualities of kindness and compassion? Numbers are not only great significators but are also potent in their own right.”
“Which takes us right back to what Marisha asked you.” Again, my alarm hardened my voice. “What does it mean?”
With Marisha’s hand in his and his gaze locked on Ayanna’s grotesquely altered appearance, Demarae drew a breath so deep it seemed to come from the soles of his feet. He held it until my own lungs ached then blew the air out slowly through pursed lips.
“The Bokor’s use of the number seventeen suggests he seeks everlasting life and god-like power. To that end, he will absorb Ayanna’s life force into his own.”
“And where does that leave her?” I whispered, wondering suddenly how much she could hear and understand. “Alive? Dead? Deranged?”
Without speaking, Demarae turned those solemn brown eyes on me for a long frustrating moment. Then slowly he nodded just once.
*
Why wasn’t Captain Cord ordering the crew to make ready for castoff? Dayna glanced toward the upper deck. Jase Graham had said they planned to sail once everyone was aboard and the party started. Judging by the laughter floating from above, the party seemed well underway. If Erin wasn’t aware they’d be leaving so soon, maybe there was hope.
So get off your lazy butts and weigh anchor!
Having a main-deck cabin was pretty cool at times, right in the middle of everything important happening on the ship. As she hurried from the door, Dayna had only to look fore and aft to see the crew—maybe not so lazy after all—working the rigging even while Cookie and his helpers were taking snacks up to the bar. She felt a moderate wind, probably fifteen or sixteen knots, and saw a few whitecaps rolling in, three to four feet high. Good sailing conditions, and they were anchored on the leeward side of the pier, so maneuvering out of the harbor wouldn’t take long. If she could distract her sister, keep her in the cabin long enough, maybe they’d be at sea before Erin realized she’d missed her chance to escape.
Nothing distracted Erin better than arguing. She could find six-trillion ways to hammer a point home. Doing a quick one-eighty, Dayna headed back to pick up where they’d left off, but hadn’t gone ten steps when Erin emerged from their room.
Dayna stopped just short of stamping her foot in defeat. Freackin hateration!
No suitcases in hand, though, so maybe Erin had changed her mind again. Or maybe she was looking for one of the crew to help her carry the bags. Dayna ran to head her off.
“Erin, did something happen when you went ashore? You didn’t say where you were going, and I was so busy escorting passengers here and there.”
Erin simply looked at her and started walking. Dayna followed.
“What did you do ashore? I heard there were some great shops.”
“I didn’t go ashore, Dayna.”
“Of course you did. Everybody went ashore, Captain’s orders. Unless… hey, did you and Captain Cord hook up after I saw you together at breakfast? No, that would mellow you out, wouldn’t it? What, then? Did you argue, is that why you’re so ticked-off? Or… uh-oh… did you see him with someone else? Every single woman on the ship melts when he aims those blue eyes. You can’t blame him for—”
“The captain and I didn’t argue, Dayna. There’s nothing between us, nothing to argue about.”
“Then what is it? This morning you were fine. Now you’re all squirmy to leave, never mind that we can sail the Sarah Jane all summer, if we want. What the heck else do you have to do all summer? Except sit nursing your wounded heart. Why would you want to go back home, where you might run into the jerk and his new girl on any corner in town? The sea, the clean fresh air, they’re great for healing mind and heart, Erin, and—where the frack are you going?”
Erin had started down the companionway to the crew deck.
“I want to look in on Ayanna before we leave. She wasn’t feeling well earlier.”
“Oh.” It hadn’t occurred to Dayna the first mate might really be sick. With a glance at the masts and what she could see of the sails, she anxiously willed them to unfurl as she followed Erin below.
Apparently, her sister had been to Ayanna’s cabin before. She seemed to know where to go. She stopped at a door and, after only a light knock, turned the knob and went in.
Dayna caught up and stepped in behind her before realizing the room was already crowded. The captain was there and two people she’d never seen before. “What’s going on?”
No one answered, but they parted slightly to let Erin nearer the bunk.
“Oh!” Erin gasped. “What happened? She was so much better.”
Dayna pushed through to see. “Jeez! Is that Ayanna? What’s wrong with her? What have y’all done?”
Join me next week, same time, same place, for the next Paradise Cursed chapter.
Meanwhile, grab your Free Copy of Here Lies a Wicked Man, a traditional mystery, featuring Booker Krane. You can get a quick, fun preview from the video below:
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