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They say sailors are an odd bunch. These guys take all the supernatural stuff in stride. Suppose they’d have to, considering they know Angus is a werewolf. I guess having mortal helpers makes it easier to exist as a were. Kingsley’s got people who help contain him when the darkness inside takes over. He might go off on a rampage when the moon is full, though it’s more likely he’d start ripping up a graveyard looking for a not-so-freshly buried corpse.
Angus? He probably smashes into a supermarket and raids the meat aisle.
In the downtime between shadow attacks, my sleep deprived brain takes on weird projects, like trying to figure out if Angus’s affinity for strictly animal meat is something that just sorta happened or if it’s a product of years and years of forced conditioning he did to himself. I also get a bit silly when I think about Kingsley’s need to consume rotting corpses. Like, was there ever a group of old timey werewolves who tried to sabotage the whole embalming industry? Has he ever mistakenly bit into an embalmed body and spent the next hour constantly spitting out chemicals?
Ugh. So gross and morbid, but also somehow funny.
Yes, I am punchy from lack of sleep.
***
Day eighteen. We’re almost there.
Everyone, except Paxton, has gathered on the bridge because Maple announced she can ‘feel’ Thelmora.
“Problem is, I can’t see it.” Maple, presently standing on the bridge console, sets her fists against her hips. “I am not from there.”
I have no idea where she got her tiny pirate hat. It’s adorable, but I’m not going to say that out loud. Adult faeries either love being thought of as cute or hate it. There’s no way to tell other than roll the dice and call them cute, then hope you haven’t offended them.
“Can ye navigate?” asks Angus.
“Not too well.” Maple taps her toe against the steel cabinet of the weather radar. “I might be able to feel it when magic gets weaker, means we are going away from it. Better to ask the unicorn. I do that now.”
The little faerie zooms out of the bridge.
“How hard can it be to find a continent?” asks Tammy.
“Don’t you mean island?” Anthony raises an eyebrow.
Tammy folds her arms. “It’s supposed to be huge. Much bigger than an island.”
“How big does an island have to get before it’s considered a continent?” asks Anthony, his tone suggesting he’s not being too serious.
“I dunno.” Tammy flaps her arms. “Maybe there’s a specific size? Like a minimum number of miles across?”
A bright flash from behind causes my heart to leap into my throat. When no subsequent explosion accompanies the flash, I relax. Good. Nothing blew up. Curious, I duck out the side door from the bridge to the deck to investigate what made that light.
The unicorn is outside atop the deck. Maple’s sitting on her forehead wrapped around the horn, seemingly having a conversation with her. As far as I can tell, it’s a one-sided conversation, though the faerie reacts as if the unicorn is speaking back to her despite her not making any sounds whatsoever.
Paxton’s standing there as well, in a simple pink dress and barefoot. Her teeth are chattering and she looks about ready to turn into an ice cube. I start toward her, about to shoo her inside to grab warmer clothing… when I realize we did not bring cold weather gear.
Yeah, rushing into a project like this has problems.
Paxton gives me a ‘what’ look. And yeah, she does appear to have been crying recently. Doesn’t look too extreme, though. I’m sure she merely understands we are almost there, and that it’s almost time for her to say goodbye to her unicorn friend.
Unable to teleport home to fetch her jacket, I’m about to see if the crew has something she can borrow when Maple notices Paxton shivering. The faerie queen flicks one hand at her as if she’s throwing her car keys at a valet. There’s an ‘oh, here’ mood to it.
Pax stops shivering, her expression going from sad to bewildered to content. “Did you just make it warm?”
“No. I make you warm.” Maple grins. “First trick faeries learn.”
I can see why, since faeries tend to wear these little gossamer dresses or tunics. Going through winter in such clothing would definitely suck if they didn’t have some sort of magic to keep warm with.
The unicorn points her horn at about the two-o’clock position relative to how the boat is going.
“Got it,” I say.
Don’t need to be able to speak ‘unicorn’ to interpret such an obvious gesture. I hurry back to the bridge and point the same way. “We need to go in that direction.”
