Page 44 of The Redd Key (Bone Coven #1)
T oo afraid to move, I sat frozen in place long after Cole’s footsteps quieted in the tunnels. My breathing didn’t slow for what felt like hours. I really couldn’t focus on anything but overwhelming shame. The moment Cole grabbed the journal and pushed off the wall, my body pulsed in all the places he touched. I could still feel his mouth on my neck as he threatened me, and I didn’t want to admit how many times I replayed his words in my head over and over. The most unsettling thing about the interaction wasn’t that I feared what Cole would do to me, but what Griffin would say if he’d seen how flushed my face got when Cole’s knee accidentally caused friction between my thighs.
Cringing at the impending conflict with Griffin, I sat up. I needed a distraction, anything to keep me from clinging to the misguided hope of seeing Cole again. I’m sure my therapist could quickly diagnose my condition if I ever got out of here. Wasn’t that something Freud figured out? The captive often falls for the captor. This entire situation, along with the stash of artifacts, completely bewildered me. Regardless, one thing I was absolutely certain of was that I was not falling for Cole. But my body just needed to get on the same page and stop acting like Cole is a god he comes anywhere close to me.
The air in the room became clammy, and I wiped my hands on my pants as I walked over to the table. Cole must have laid out two documents on the large table: a map different from the one I found earlier and a letter written in flourishing script. The map was a closeup of Cape Cod, but some of the towns’ names differed from what I knew them to be. I scanned the edges of the parchment and found the date of 1716, and there was a marking just south of Wellfleet. I carefully picked up the sheet with written script and skimmed the contents.
In my hands was something most extraordinary. From what I could tell, it was a mock of the Letter of Marque for the Bellamy fleet, which was basically a legal warrant for piracy from the British crown. The inscription was so ornate that it was barely legible, but the signature at the bottom read “Edward Teach,” and a smile spread across my mouth. I could have cried at the history in my hands. Edward Teach was better known to the modern world as Blackbeard, the infamous pirate who began his career as a privateer and turned to piracy. He and Black Sam Bellamy apparently were even closer friends than what history tells.
In the Letter of Marque, Blackbeard listed the Whydah Gally, Anne, Fisher, and Marianne—the four ships of the Bellamy fleet. His sarcastic descriptions of these vessels made me chuckle. The written instructions were delivered in a tongue-in-cheek manner, requesting that the fleet, quite diplomatically, tell the corruption of the crown to shove it in places where one might not want things shoved. The document was a perfect replica of an official Letter of Marque that Blackbeard likely received during his time as a privateer. Still, it was clear to me that this was an absolute mockery of the “legal” form of piracy that pirates would have chastised, three centuries ago.
I forgot about the other three ships. Although the nor’easter may not have sunk all of them, the fleet was still destroyed. When Bellamy went down with the Whydah, his entire operation fell apart. That’s where the stories Bridget and Sarah have shared with me began—the legends, the folklore…the curse.
My stomach dropped as I thought about everything that had happened once I found and wore the locket. I was suddenly overcome with despair as I remembered the vision right before Lydia’s death. Strangely, my skin tingled where Cole’s breath once caressed my neck. I touched the space below my ear, where his lips lingered, trailing my fingers down to my chin, where he held me earlier. And then my chest clenched, remembering Lydia’s body laid out on the jagged obsidian. I put the letter down on the table and backed away.
Heaviness sank into my chest as I felt everything : grief, despair, pain, the absolute soul-crushing heartbreak from not only the visions but my own life as well…when the Aecor shifted in the room. I put my hands out in front of me to feel if it would resist as it had before. It didn’t.
I blew out the nearest candle. I closed my eyes for a moment, sending out a silent prayer. Opening them, I willed the candle to light, and the flame flickered to life once again.
“Yes,” I hissed eagerly. Soon after, I willed all the candles to extinguish. A mix of excitement at being able to manipulate Aecor again and the fear that it might be a one-time instance sent my stomach tumbling. I relaxed the moment pale yellow flames sparked simultaneously after I urged Fire to relight all the candles. Confidence built within me, as if a lost limb had suddenly regrown, and Aecor spread its tendrils through me. As far as I knew, nothing had changed within the magical cavern—going from ignoring my power to acknowledging the strength borne inside me. There was a shift. All delusions of twisted attraction toward Cole were immediately smothered by an overwhelming desire to get the hell out of this place.
Desperate urgency made me feral. No obvious weapons or tools were inside the trove with me, and there wasn’t a way to know how soon Cole would return. Pacing and restless, I could barely think until deliverance arrived.
“You’re still awake,” Cole said, revealing nothing as he carried the wooden tray housing a bowl, a hunk of bread, and the small cup of water. I walked to the bars, pressing myself against them, meeting him in challenge.
“Stew again?” My eyes flicked down to the bowl and back up to his. “You must be a simple man.” I exaggerated my words, in an attempt to rile him. His eyes shone, and his lip curled.
“A simple man , who enjoys simple pleasures,” and the liquidity of his voice melted any resignation I built up over the last few hours. Holding the tray in one hand, he jerked the cell door open, and I lunged toward him so that only the threshold was between our bodies. Remembering to breathe, I considered somehow knocking him out and running away. Now was the time…throw the tray of hot stew into his eyes, and—
His eyes were heated now, hotter than the dinner he was serving me. I swallowed hard. He took a step forward, and I…took a step back farther into the cell. My intention to run vacated me in that single heartbeat.
Cole raised an eyebrow when I didn’t take the tray from him. I wasn’t paying attention, still stuck on how pleasures rolled off his tongue. He stepped closer to me, but I couldn’t move this time. The tray almost pressed into my chest, and I finally took it from him. He turned and walked out of the cell.
“Thank you,” I said quietly. I wasn’t sure what else to do, but something needed to be said. He half-turned and shut the cell door behind him. Without looking at me, he added, “Do not thank me.” The harshness of his tone stole whatever appetite I had. His footsteps died away as my head cleared.
It was becoming increasingly difficult for me to cope with the overwhelming disorientation. When Cole was near—when I could smell him, see the way he looked at me, even with his steel cold gaze—it felt as if everything in my life had intentionally led me to that moment. Being enveloped in his presence and drawn into his orbit made me want him nearby. None of it made sense. We barely interacted since I arrived in Redd Hills, and most of which occurred while he kept me confined in this enclave.
Alternately, with alarming ease, I was able to rationalize all of it; if he wanted to hurt or kill me, he would have done it already. I had been down here for long enough, however long that might have been. Irrationally concluding that anyone who would collect the rare treasure he hoarded down here was not the type of person who would kidnap and murder people. However, he never actually denied that the kidnapping was motivated by a desire to acquire my collection of rarities.
An appropriate panic crept up my neck at the thought. Finally, a rational response. Once he got what he wanted, who was to say Cole wouldn’t hurt or kill me? Maybe he was keeping me here because he thought I had a secondary location housing even more artifacts? Perhaps, he thought he could get the names and locations of my connections out of me? I could never be sure. As his scent dissipated, the reality of my situation sank in, and urgency peaked. I needed to get out , now.
Aecor bloomed inside of me as power coursed through my veins. Straining to hear anything besides the echoing drips, I walked up to the cell door and studied the stone walls and the various paths that vanished into the darkness. I would need light. Psyching myself up for what could be a foolish act, I drank the water and grabbed the nearest candle. The wax pillar felt warm in my hand, and I used its flame to inspect the iron door’s lock. But there wasn’t one.
“What–?” My heart plummeted. The cell door was just a door. No latch, no lock…just hinges and lockless handle.
Ice replaced my blood as shame overtook my entire being. I could have left this room any time I wished? That can’t be right. I cannot be that fucking stupid or complacent. Tears of anger stung my eyes. All these days, I chose to stay put, and the devastation of my situation set in. Choosing to be a victim was a far worse fate than any I could imagine. Shame drowned me – here I was, basically batting my eyelashes and getting butterflies in my stomach any time I thought of my captor. Disgust pooled in the pit of my stomach. I was going to make an appointment with my therapist immediately .
Fortunately, brewing rage and self loathing shoved any trace of fear out of my mind as I opened the door and stepped into the carved corridor. The stone walls were widely spaced, and the ceiling soared so high that it disappeared into the darkness. Multiple offshoots of tunnels branched off in different directions. With a deep breath, I willed Air to reveal the path to the ocean breeze.
Immediately, the invisible force charged. The path second to my left. That’s the way I needed to go. Its air felt different than the others, with the gentleness of lavender rather than the sharp scent of mint. Both are fresh smells, but one is subtly more serene. The path narrowed once I entered the mouth of the tunnel. Candlelight bounced off the uneven surfaces, causing shadows to scatter all around and making me shoot cautious looks over my shoulder. In my head, every flash in the darkness was Cole silently stalking me.
Stumbling on the uneven gravel and sand, my knees and elbows were definitely scraped up by the time the tunnel began to slightly incline. I was sweating from the gradual grading of the path. Ahead of me, the candlelight was consumed by pure darkness. My heart raced as the shadows took over, and although the flame still lived, it emitted no light beyond a few inches.
Panic brewed as the darkness closed in around me like a living being. My breathing came in short pants, and my hair clung to my forehead as a sob escaped my lips. The sound was consumed by the black walls as if it hungered for my anguish. I pushed forward, nearly blinded. Gradually, the stony ground transformed into sand, crunching underfoot with what I hoped were broken shells and not the shards of bones I started to imagine.
With the faint crash of waves and lapping of water, my eyes widened, yet I still couldn’t see an inch in front of me. Shuffling noises made me whirl around and jab the candle into the darkness. But I saw nothing. I stood frozen and strained my ears, able to hear only the ocean now. Quickly, I followed the sound, and the tunnel widened as I felt blindly around with my free hand. Suddenly, starlight broke through the darkness.
As I slipped on the wet stone at the tunnel’s entrance, I tumbled through a curtain of evergreen branches and onto a beach. My eyes rapidly blinked as they adjusted to the shimmering sky and the lavender moonlight that bathed the world around me. After a brief moment, I realized this was Bailey’s Cove. I skirted around one of the stone giants, out into the openness. A sob escaped me the instant I spotted them.