Page 12 of Of Magic and Rum
“Ehi ragazzo,” a deeply tanned man with stringy black hair yells at me, elbowing the man beside him in the ribs, both laughing. I can’t be sure what he says, but the accent is unmistakable—Italian.
Obliging him, I tilt my chin over one shoulder, letting him know I’m paying attention.
“You missed a spot,” the other man exclaims, a yellow bandana wrapped around his tar-covered head, a leather patch over one eye that he lifts as he and the Sicilian man start cackling and swatting each other.
A sea of frustration boils in my veins, but I sink to my knees and drag the bucket over. The sun has turned into a hazy halo, The sun has become a hazy halo, its heat scorching my skin through my clothes and making me lightheaded. I drag the brush back and forth across the wood panels lethargically, wondering if my actions are doing anything but pushing water into the cracks.
A fogged bottle with amber liquid appears in front of me, the imposing form of the quartermaster showing next, blocking the sun and providing blissful shade for a breath. “Your ration. Make it last, boy.”
Vigorously nodding, I take the bottle into my hands like a prized relic that might wither in my palms if not held with the utmost care. Plucking the cork from the top, I take several swigs. Energy comes back to me with each drop of liquid coating my throat. I can easily down the entire bottle with how thirsty I’ve become, but I force myself to stop and store the bottle in my pocket for safekeeping.
Keeping my head low, I continue scrubbing the deck with more force behind the strokes now. Once done, I rise, letting out a breath from the strain that, despite my ethereal blood, is still a harsh reality. Sea mist from a wave crashing against the ship’s hull coats my cheek, and I gasp, turning my back on as many of the crew as I can, working my sleeve furiously over my face to dry it. And this is why I’ve been keeping my headdown.
Once satisfied that the scales aren’t showing, I tentatively glance to see if anyone is staring at me. I catch a glimpse of Jack casually resting on the mast on the other side of the deck and can swear he’s been staring at me, but I dash away to not draw attention to myself. Finding a vacant corner of the ship, a feat in itself with how many people are on board, I press my back to the nearest hard surface. Seagulls fly overhead; their squawks, usually not so melodic, are harmonious to my ears now. With a breathy sigh, I shut my eyes and take another small sip of rum.
“Hello there,boy,” a woman’s voice sounds—a deeper register than mine, but still fluttery smooth.
I pop my eyes open, and she’s closer than I thought. Four steps and the toes of her boots will be brushing mine. She’s several inches taller than me, with wavy chestnut hair below her bustline. Frills of black and deep red skirts wrap around her legs,a black belt with holsters for her flintlock and cutlass resting at her hips. A black half-corset slinks around her ribs, and a billowy white blouse covers her chest and arms. Her wide-brimmed hat shades most of her face but gives her squared jawline harsh shadowed edges. And the smirk playing on her thin pink lips blazes like a bonfire.
When I don’t answer, she dips her head to look closer at my face, and I turn away like a fool. “Are you hard of hearing, boy?”
“No. No, ma’am.” I press my fingers against the surface behind me. “I heard you fine.”
The woman lifts her chin and slides closer. “Then do I not merit your respect? Normally, when someone says hello, you greet them back.”
It’s hard to tell if thepiratessis toying with me or—serious.
She’s so close now that I can make out her thick eyebrows and eyes the color of the seas we sail.
“Hel—hello, ma’am.” Against my better judgment, I still haven’t looked at her dead on.
“Please.” Rum weighs heavily on her breath, and perfume overlapping with sweat and brine hits my nostrils. “I’m not your captain. No need to stand on pleasantries, darling. Name’s Mary. Yours?” She presses a forearm near my head.
Ash coats my throat, and I fight everything in me so as not to make my voice shake. “An—drew.”
“Well,Andrew.” Mary trails a finger down my shirt sleeve. “You are one of the most handsome lads I’ve seen on this ship.”
This can’t be good. This is so not fucking good.
Her lips are on mine before I can process another thought. Mary’s eyes are closed, but mine stay open and wide. I stare at her and wonder how, in the Seven Seas, I came to be here inthisposition. My body freezes along with my lips, which have quickly become two dead sardines—unmoving and limp. Mary’s mouth moves against mine, her tongue brushing the seam of my mouth.She tastes like rum and smoke, nothing sweet like I imaginedmylips tasting.
When she realizes I’m not reciprocating, she pulls away with a frown but keeps our faces close, our noses brushing. “Iknewyou were a woman.”
“What?” I blurt out.
Mary slaps a hand over my mouth and looks around. “Would you keep it down?”
“Sorry,” I mumble against her palm.
She lowers her hand and steps back with her hands firmly on each hip. “There a reason you’re hiding it? If you’re on The Revenge, you know by now that Rackham doesn’t care what you have between your legs.”
“I—I didn’t know that. I’m new to this—” I flick my wrist at nothing in particular. “—ordeal.”
That devilish smirk dances on Mary’s lips again. “Stowing away on a ship or piracy?”
“Both?” A strand of my hair falls from the confines of the hat, and I quickly lift a hand to hide it.
“Here.” Mary reaches for the tendril and tucks it out of sight with a delicate touch I wasn’t expecting.
