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Yes, Angus’s crew are all mortals. They’re also like Kingsley’s staff… ‘mortals who have seen some stuff.’ So, yeah. We’re going to be on this ship for over a month. Twenty to thirty days out, the same to return. Except… once we drop the unicorn off, I may teleport Paxton home so that she can get back to school.
Anthony is having a blast. He’s loving being on a ship out at sea. It’s not the sort of experience a kid from suburban California really expects to have. If we lived somewhere like, oh, Anchorage, Alaska, I’m thinking he might’ve ended up answering the call of the sea. This is, of course, assuming none of the paranormal stuff landed on my theoretical Alaska-dwelling family.
Hmm. Did me having the sudden daydream of how our life might’ve been if we’d been living in Alaska cause a parallel world to come into being where that’s true? Kinda like how I stumbled across various realities where all sorts of permutations of my life being different happened? Certainly, there are some alternate worlds where Samantha Moon experienced (or is experiencing) a completely mundane life free of any supernatural nonsense.
Bah. No. I don’t want to think about it. That dimensional stuff makes my head hurt. It’s almost as bad as untangling time travel.
Angus’s ship is a research vessel, basically a floating multi-discipline lab. He contracts it out to various groups, most of which end up searching for shipwrecks or doing work with migratory whales or sharks. His normal trips can be anywhere from four to ten months long… so this trip (for him) is going to feel like a quick sprint to the corner store and back home.
The reason it’s a downside not to be scientists is… boredom. This is not a pleasure cruise ship. There’s nothing to do but sit there and talk or stare out the window and watch the waves. ‘Ocean TV’ got old fast, for me anyway. Anthony doesn’t seem to mind. Kingsley, too, seems unbothered by the slow pace. This isn’t new for him, though. He spent years working with a fishing crew.
Tammy is obviously miserable and bored to death. To my extreme surprise, she’s not complaining. She volunteered to come with us to help keep everyone safe. It’s a little strange for me to think about how she can actually help now. I mean, she used to be a help before when her telepathic powers served the same sort of function as an FBI command center, allowing all of us to communicate as if we had radios. She never really felt like she helped, though. More like the kid in the back watching all the grownups do things. Now, she’s up front in the chaos… and it freaks me out that she likes it.
Not saying she’s a danger junkie. I think she feels validated.
Paxton is not bored. Well, she is… but she likes it. Yeah, that’s weird. I know. She said something about how time seems to crawl when we’re bored. Crawling time is good since it gives her more time to be with the unicorn before they have to say goodbye. Kiddo has been spending most of her time in the cargo room with the horned legend. They’ve got her set up on a huge ‘bed’ made of blankets and stray pillows. Pax is mostly cuddling with the creature and reading.
The ship has a modest library. Guess the crew needs something to do when they aren’t doing anything else. Most of the books there aren’t exactly the sort of thing a fourteen-year-old would be interested in… stuff like Moby Dick, and so on. Old classics. The kind of books you can clobber someone over the head with and knock them out in one hit. Yeah, they have War and Peace. I think I’d rather stare at the wall.
We’re all hanging out on the bridge with Angus today. The man is thrilled to be in the company of people who know stuff. He and Kingsley have been reminiscing about the old days. Apparently, the two of them knew at first sniff they were werewolves, the only two on the fishing boat where they met. Even back then, Angus preferred animal meat. It seems less a conscious choice to be ‘nice’ or anything like my situation, where I had to resist temptation and avoid human blood to keep Elizabeth weak. Maybe there is a third option: fresh humans, rotting humans, and nonhuman.
“Somewhere, out there, is a werewolf who’s addicted to Milk Bones,” says Tammy.
Both Kingsley and Angus stare at her like waiters in Michelin-starred restaurant where a patron just asked for ketchup on their steak. I can’t help myself and chuckle. The idea of a werewolf munching dog treats is pretty funny.
One way to pass the time—and there’s a lot of it to pass—is to talk. I find myself sharing some stories about my crazy paranormal life with Angus. There’s an idea for a reality show, right? ‘My Crazy Paranormal Life.’ It would be like The Kardashians meets The Addams Family.
It’s almost time for dinner, and it occurs to me Paxton isn’t here.
Not a shock, really. I know where she should be. Still, I feel the need to go check on her. Wanting to call her to the galley to eat something is a convenient excuse to play overprotective mom. At the earliest non-rude break in conversation, I slip out of the bridge and go below decks. It surprised me how quickly I got used to navigating the vessel. Day one, I felt lost constantly… so bad I almost resorted to micro teleports to find my way through the maze of corridors.
By the way, Angus was right. Except for the main central passage that connects to the gangway door, every other corridor in this boat is way too narrow for the unicorn. She could probably walk into them… but turning would be impossible, as would taking a corner or squeezing through the tiny doors. It’s a miracle Kingsley and Angus can get around this vessel in some places.
Heh. That’s probably another reason Angus has mortal crew: they are skinny and can get to places he can’t.
I head down the stairs to the third deck, the one that sits right above the waterline. This is the deck with the gangway door, which I am told is completely watertight when closed. Leaving that thing open at sea is bad. Even mildly rough seas would begin to lap up and wash into the corridor. I’m not too worried about sinking. If that happens, I am teleporting everyone I can get my hands on out of here. The unicorn should be able to teleport herself at least out of the ship. She can tread water for a few minutes until I return after dropping everyone else off on land somewhere.
This is, of course, assuming her fraying magical presence doesn’t interfere with my ability to teleport. Both Maple and Tammy have cautioned me not to try doing that again until the unicorn is off the ship. The weaker (and more desperate) the unicorn becomes, the more unpredictable any use of magic around her could be. My attempt to teleport home could result in anything from me exploding into particles to me cloning myself—and any possibility in between.
Magic is apparently not scientific. Gee, go figure. There’s no proportional scale to how extreme a catastrophe might occur. It’s totally random.
So, yeah. Not going to risk it unless there’s a serious emergency.
I make my way to the cargo room and peek in.
Paxton’s wrapped in a blanket, sitting against the unicorn’s side. She’s engrossed in a book. The unicorn’s head is down, curled to the side as if she’s napping. The scene reminds me of some Hallmark movie where a ranch girl is taking care of her sick horse. I’m also feeling a heavy mood of sadness on her. She doesn’t want to be separated from the unicorn. It’s like we’re being forced to re-home a beloved family dog and she doesn’t want to let go.
Kiddo’s also not the biggest fan of being on a boat. The constant motion bothers her, which is why she’s spending most of her time sitting on the floor or lying down.
Almost hate to interrupt this moment. Food is important, though.
Right as I start to walk into the room, an intense feeling of urgency comes out of nowhere. It’s exactly the sort of ‘oh crap’ feeling I’d been dreading ever since we left the marina. Ugh. It took them long enough.
Without a second thought, I back away from the cargo hold and follow my urge. It leads me deeper into the ship, past the cargo areas, and right to the engineering room. Uh oh. That’s not good. I disregard the ‘crew only’ warning on the door and go in.
It’s loud in here. Diesel engines a little bigger than a full-sized passenger van are not quiet devices. This ship has two of them, each one powering a separate ‘screw’ as Angus called it. They take up the middle of the room with a narrow steel mesh walkway between them. Both walls are covered in various pipes, gauges, valves, and so forth. It looks so complicated, I don’t want to even be in here at all in case I bump something. Surprisingly, there aren’t any crew in here. Oh, right. Technology and electronics exist. Ships no longer need human crewmen down in the engine room to ‘step on the gas’ when the captain upstairs on the bridge wants to go faster. All the controls are on the bridge and they all work just fine.
The reason for my sudden feeling of anxiety is all over the walls.
