Page 86 of Cursebreaker

Titus steps up to stand by Owen’s side, his sword drawn. “Go,” he says to Lewis and me. “Find the Helm. We’ll hold them off.”

I twirl my cutlasses. “And let you have all the fun?”

Titus’s grin is sharper than any blade. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

“This won’t take long,” Rook drawls as the jolly boat comes into view, revealing twelve pirates, limbs thin from starvation, faces gaunt. But as they draw near, illuminated by a beam of silver radiance, my heart drops into my stomach.

Red eyes. Shadows seeping from their flesh.

“We weren’t followed,” I say, my mouth dry. “They were already here.”

The captain stands at the head of the jolly boat, his unnaturally pale skin like melted wax stretched over his skeletal face. He smiles, his teeth razor-sharp, gleaming in the moonlight.

“You mean to tell me,” Rook says slowly, “that’s the crew of the Tidesinger? They would have to be—”

“Hundreds of years old,” Owen confirms. “Sylks must have possessed their corpses centuries ago.”

“Um,” Diana chimes in. She points her blade at the piles of skulls and bones littering the bank closer to the shipwreck. “I don’t think we’re the first ones to find the Tidesinger.”

“What do we do?” Lewis asks, surveying the cavern—looking for a vantage point, if I know him.

The pirates don’t bother waiting until they’ve reached the shore to disembark. They wade toward us, hip deep in the dark water of the cavern, swords flashing, red eyes gleaming.

“The sooner we find the Helm, the better,” Owen says. “Lew, you and Aster—”

He ducks just as the first pirate storms onto the beach, swinging his sword at Owen’s head in a wild arc. Owen whirls, and a shard of glass zips through the air and slices the pirate’s throat.

The pirate’s head dangles by a few rotted strands of muscle, but he smiles, black blood gushing past his lips.

Owen’s right—we need to find the Helm. But before I can retreat, I’m circled by two pirates, the stench of decay nearly knocking me off my feet. We’re outnumbered twelve to six. Under normal circumstances, I’d like our odds. But these pirates aren’t human. And we’re severely lacking in Elysian Iron.

The first pirate lashes out at me, but I dodge, using his momentum against him. As he lurches forward, I drop my cutlass, drawing my dagger instead, and drive it into his back.

The Sylk shrieks as it’s expelled from its host, and the pirate’s corpse crumbles to dust before it even hits the ground.

I twirl my dagger, the dark iron blade glinting in the starlight, rippling with iridescent shades of purple, blue, and green.

My opponent’s eyes widen and the Sylk hisses. “Abomination!”

The pirate charges me, but I evade, lashing out with the dagger. He dodges, and I’m forced to opt for the cutlass in my left hand as he unleashes a barrage of strikes.

Out of the corner of my eye, something rustles the tarp on our jolly boat. At first, I think it might be the cat, Rooster, having stowed away, but a pair of blond pigtails peek out from underneath the black sheet, and my heart stops beating altogether. Elsie.

The distraction costs me. I misstep, stumbling, landing hard on my back. My dagger goes flying. The pirate is on me in seconds. I raise my cutlass in time to block a strike that would have split my head in two. I grit my teeth, pushing back on his blade, but the Sylk doesn’t seem bound by the weakness of the corpse. He laughs, the sound hollow and twisted and inhuman, his putrid breath roiling my stomach. The sword bears down on me, the sharp edge of the blade slicing my cheek, drawing blood—

The pressure relents, gone in an instant. Some unseen force yanks the pirate backward, into the shallow water, and drags him under the surface.

I sit up, scrambling to grab hold of my dagger, trying to gather my bearings when I spot a ripple in the water—a flash of green, iridescent scales.

A girl, her long black hair cascading to her waist, rises halfway out of the water. She cocks her head at me, her irises glowing white.

I almost can’t believe what I’m seeing as I watch her wipe black blood from her mouth.

“He won’t be dead for long,” she says, eerily calm. “You must hurry.”

I gawk at her, my chest heaving. “Thank you,” I manage to say.

She smiles, her expression placid. “My pleasure.” She holds out her arm then, and a black winged dagger materializes on the surface of her shimmering skin. “Umiko,” she says by way of introduction.