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I didn’t want to go below, but disagreeing wasn’t exactly a thing someone did with Alcántara, so I just nodded and headed down the rickety stairs in search of a small bunk where I could nap.
It became instantly clear why Alcántara bore the discomfort of brightness on deck instead of sitting below deck. The stench down there was intense enough to make my eyes tear, and the rattling of the engine was so loud, it filled me, shoving all other thoughts from my brain.
But he was right. If I intended to be at the top of my game, I needed my sleep. I curled onto a thin mattress, preferring the chill to the lone musty blanket, and miraculously passed out.
Abrupt silence woke me. I sat up, realizing the fishermen had cut the power, leaving only the sound of waves slapping against the hull. It was a blessed relief to my ears, which still hummed from the engine’s lengthy assault.
I went above to find the men approaching Alcántara. They didn’t meet his eyes. Their accents were beyond thick, and they spoke in gruff monosyllables unintelligible to me. “Aff ere, ay ya?”
Alcántara nodded and stood, and I deduced they’d said something approximating Off here, yes huh?
I looked around, wondering where we were. It was gray nothingness, with only the hint of a darker gray shadow on the horizon—land, in the distance.
The vampire read my mind. “We’ll row from here. We cannot risk being seen or heard. ”
The men lowered a ratty old dinghy into the water. I’d thought the water was calm, but the small craft bobbed and tossed wildly, and I gritted my teeth, inhaling through my nose. I’d never been seasick, and I hoped this wouldn’t be the moment for that to change.
“Come, Acari. ” Alcántara’s tone was sharp, brooking no hesitation.
I had no choice but to follow him, clambering down a rope ladder into the boat. He took the oars, and I sat facing him. His hood hung low over his face, and, looking at him, I felt as if I were in a Greek myth, with Alcántara rowing me to Hades across the River Styx.
As we approached shore, I was glad we’d traveled when the sun was highest in the sky. I made out the silhouette of a creepy stone building on a hill. It was stark and stout, but smaller than I’d pictured.
“So that’s the monastery?”
He shook his head. “We’d not dare to roam so close. The monastery is on the far side of the island. That is the charnel house. ”
I gave him a blank look—it wasn’t often I encountered a word I didn’t know.
“Where human remains are stored,” he said.
“Oh. ” I grimaced, studying it. And I’d thought our standing stones were creepy.
I glanced back at Alcántara and caught him watching me. He was pulling the oars in a strong, steady rhythm, and it was the little things like that that reminded me of his power. He gave me a smile as if he knew my thoughts—though it didn’t take a mind reader. He’d had hundreds of years in which to realize how appealing he was as a male specimen.
He looked back up the hill. Clouds were blowing in from the east, casting dramatic, moving shadows over the stone building. “It was commonplace for monks to keep a charnel house,” he explained. “Such things were used to remind them of their mortality. ”
“Or to remind them of their power,” I said.
Alcántara gave me a thoughtful look. “Perhaps. ”
We landed on the island. Their island. And honestly, it wasn’t so different from our island. We pulled ashore on a tiny sliver of shoreline that I imagined wasn’t even exposed during high tide.
I began to clamber out of the boat, but Alcántara was a surprising gentleman and stayed me with his hand, hopping from the boat and pulling it onto the sand so I wouldn’t get wet. He handed me down.
A low cave was barely detectable along the rock face, and spotting it, I said, “Very Batman. ”
Alcántara gave me a blank look.
“Never mind. ” I was nervous now, more than I wanted to admit. It didn’t escape my notice that he’d held on to my hand a little longer than necessary.
We didn’t have to wait long before Alcántara’s inside man arrived. We dragged the boat into the cave, flipped it bottom up on a rock, turned around, and there he was.
When Alcántara told me he had a spy on the inside, I hadn’t expected this. This guy was young, not much older than a Trainee. He was loose and broad shouldered, as if he’d played pro ball and was now considering a career as a bartender. The guy’s real name didn’t suit him one bit, and in my head I’d instantly dubbed him Buddy.
The two exchanged greetings, and I was surprised to hear his accent was American. Though why wouldn’t it be? So many of our Trainees were from the United States—they had to end up somewhere.
Buddy gave me a once-over, his eyes lingering in a way that made me want to punch him. “This little thing is going to find him?”
