Page 11 of A Lady’s Guide to Witchcraft

Chapter Six

Whatever small and strange intimate moment had snuck between them shattered.

The feeling that something invisible bound them remained—but now it thrummed darkly in the spaces between their bodies, with a hint of menace. There was a hardness in his face, and to the shift in the energy in the cabin. Even the sound of the waves at the hull was more forceful, as if it too wanted mysteries solved, secrets shared.

But whatever Ethan wanted, she would not be able to provide.

Because what he wanted was her sister.

This situation was not new. Oh, the trappings of it were different: an Iron Crow, a ship, a secret. But in the end, she was not her sister.

She was not beautiful like a siren, and she did not sing like an angel. More often than not she had dirt on her hands. And she liked it that way.

And she loved her sister. She had made peace with living in the shadows a long time ago and, in fact, preferred it. It was soft and cool and quiet. She knew Petal envied that the way other people envied her beauty.

But this time, oh, this time, Briar wished, just a little, to be unforgettable. To lodge herself under Ethan’s skin. Like a thorn, if nothing else.

He loomed behind her, voice rough as it touched her ear. “Did you just sigh?”

“N…no?”

“Am I boring you?” he asked, hard as flint. One spark and the whole ship would burn. A dare. A promise.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t scared. Of course she was. But she’d never tell him that. He already held all the advantages. And she’d never tell him she wished she was more than she was, sometimes. Just sometimes.

Nor would she mention the gold fork she had managed to slide into her stays, lodged carefully between her breasts.

“Move.”

She moved. What other choice did she have? Better to be out in the open than trapped in a cabin. And the thought of fighting him and winning was laughable. He was twice her size, and if her hip decided to give out, she’d be sprawled on the ground at his feet. No, thank you.

He marched her back out into the windy darkness of the deck, sailors turning to watch them as they passed. There were dozens of them, from countries all over the world. She saw tattoos, charms of holed stones such as visitors hunted the beaches for, rowanberries strung around the rails. White sigils were painted on barrels and the wooden boards under her feet. Feathers strung with crystals dangled from hooks. Magic thrummed next to muskets and cannons and the promise of a bloody death. It was lovely, in its own way. She wondered what that said about her.

And then it didn’t matter anymore. Whatever story she’d been weaving inside her own head to convince herself that she wasn’t in mortal peril unraveled.

The threads loosened, the loom snapped.

It made no difference if she was struggling between acting scared and acting brave and not knowing which was more likely to save her sister. It was too late for that. She knew it in her bones. Her trembling, anxious bones.

The warning twisted through every sailor on deck, the way they looked at her, but more in the way they watched the Dragon. With deference, respect, fear. There would be no help from any of them, not even Anais, who claimed to like her. And she still didn’t know why she was here, what taking Petal to this ship would have accomplished, were it really Petal here keeping her balance on the rolling deck and not Briar. Was it just because she was beautiful? Was that why they wanted to steal her sister away?

Like hell.

“Where is the moon charm?” Ethan asked.

A moon charm? Had Petal stolen a piece of magic? To what purpose? And from whom? The Dragon? That seemed mad, even for Briar’s impulsive sister. “I…don’t have it.”

Ethan turned with the kind of lethal grace only gained by knowing you could keep your feet even as the waves pitched you about. He crowded her, walking her backward until she hit the mast. “Don’t you?”

“N-no.” She swallowed, inching to the side.

“Ah, ah.” He blocked her with his body, slowly, inexorably. He reached around, pressing himself against her until her hands were wrapped around the mast, rope tightening around her wrists. Her breath stuttered in her chest. She pulled but already knew it was useless. “Am I going to have to search you, Miss Foxglove?”

Briar did not know what to say to that. No? Yes, please? Somebody help me?

Her swan stayed firmly behind her ribcage, waiting. It would be safer there than out where it might be captured. Did Iron Crows steal a witch’s familiar the way the Order of the Iron Nail did as punishment for the practice of baneful magics?

And despite those fears, her body strained toward him. Unacceptable. Her body was not in charge—she also had a brain in her head.