Page 58 of Of Magic and Rum
“If you’re going to talk shit, at least make sure we can understand you.” Mary’s lips press into a white slash.
I’ve always admired Mary’s loyalty, but not knowing what Ragnar said is preferable with my current volatile state.
Ragnar circles his mouth with a hand. “I said, this is why you don’t let strangers know who you care about or, in other words, who andwhatyour weaknesses are.”
And I’m right. I was far better offnotknowing.
Turning on my heel, I get into Ragnar’s face. “The water man has some sort of magical intuition because I can assure you, we both were fucking statues.”
A long, deep sigh pushes from Ragnar’s chest. “With all respect, Jack, you two have this way about you that I don’t think either of you realize.Kærlighedssyg.”
If he thinks this is a passing infatuation, so help me, God.
Various colorful words and retorts flutter at the forefront of my brain, but instead, I poke a stern finger against Ragnar’s sternum. “I’m not doing this with you right now, mate. But rest assured, I won’t be forgetting it.”
Ragnar’s right eyelid has always drooped more than his left, and when a frown deepens his features, it gives the illusion he’s been punched there. And I can’t say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind. But Ragnar is never one to talk out of his ass. It pisses me off to know he’ll undoubtedly get to hear the words “you’re right” from me—the asshole.
“Hey, Jack,” Mary beckons, standing on a riverbank and tilting her head from side to side.
After Ragnar and I share a look of silent understanding, I move to Mary’s side and stare at the entrancing waters.
“Anything look strange to you?” She nudges her head at the river, encouraging me to look closer.
When I don’t see anything, I eye her sidelong and she points to the water. After a few more beats, it dawns on me.
“We’re walkinguphill,” I start, combing the bit of hair below my lip with a single finger.
Mary folds her arms, waiting for me to draw a conclusion. “Uh-huh.”
“And the stream—it too flowsupward.” I wave my hand through the air, my cheek twitching at the revelation. “That’s not right.”
Mary squats near the river. “No, it isn’t. It’s almost as if?—”
“It’s hiding something,” Ragnar finishes, his gaze traveling the water’s length where the mouth opening appears to disappear intonothing.
There could be acid, man-eating piranhas, or the river might turn my hand to stone, and yet I still feel the compulsion to stick my finger in it. Aside from the pleasant coolness given the dank island heat, nothing happens.
A putrid brown glob plops onto my boot, and I frown at it. “Read, I thought you stopped chewing tobacco?” Grimacing, I stand and shake my foot. When the spit doesn’t come off, I dunk my boot in the river.
“I did,” Mary responds, her expression blank.
Something scurries through the trees behind us, a brief high-pitched cackle follows it, and fades away. Scents of shit and sulfur waft, and I glue my heels to the ground.
“Don’t anyone—” I begin, but Mary steps forward. A roped trap catches her ankle, pulling her skyward toward the tree’s canopy. Unsheathing my sword, I slash the rope, cutting it clean and sending her flying to the dirt on her back. “Move,” I finish, glaring at our surroundings.
More laughter echoes—dozens of voices, if not more. Numerous pebbles launch from the bushes, pelting Ragnar’s face and bouncing off my back. Given the weak force they were thrown, it’s mostly minorly uncomfortable.
Ragnar runs a hand over his cheek. “What the hell is this?”
Mary coughs, still lying on the ground, holding her stomach and groaning. “Whoever it is—” he sits up on her elbows, glowering at the surrounding brush “—I’m going to strangle them to their last breath,” she shouts.
A tiny creature, no taller than my knees, scampers from a bush, moving so quickly I can scarcely make it out before it’s hiding in another plant. My eyes may deceive me, but I saw a forked tail. Maybe even—horns?
“That looked like—” Mary hurries to her feet and points where the creature fled. “—was that a—” She inches forward but stops, tossing a wide-eyed expression. “Are we dead, Jack? Arewe in Hell? I mean, it wouldn’t surprise me, but you’d think I’d remember?—"
I raise a hand to silence her rambling. “We’re very much alive.”
“It can’t be the only one. I heard more.” Ragnar unsheathes his sword and sidesteps near the bush.
