Page 113 of Traitor Witch

I don't have my picks with me, but even I can tell that's mage-tech. The transmutation circles etched into the metal glowing with power. I'm betting it will set off an alarm if I so much as touch it.

The last thing I want to do is alert Val when Opal's doing such a good job of keeping him distracted.

That leaves only one other route in. All I have to do is decide if my curiosity is worth the aftereffects.

Klaus's outrage flashes in my mind.

I have to know what these pirates are up to.

The moon is out. I have enough power.

Why am I still hesitating?

Taking a deep breath, I call on the Mother's magic and say a tiny prayer.

"Lady Moon, grant me the power of shadow."

Stepping into the spirit plane is quite literally the most disorienting thing that can ever happen to a witch. Fading from the material realm and into the realm of the dead feels like your whole body is being squished between two panes of glass.

Combined with the sheer amount of moonlight I have to channel to keep it up, it's almost impossible.

This is the gift of the Goddess that all of her Shadows are given after their vows. It's what we're named for. The legendary ability to strike literally from the shadows of the realm of the dead.

But it's also the gift I like the least.

The way you perceive the world becomes distorted on the spirit plane. There were no other Shadows in Coveton to mentor me, so I have no idea if there's a secret trick to the magic.

As a teenager, my continued failure frustrated me. AllGlenna could come up with when I asked for her help was focusing on the destination in the material plane and trying to get the whole experience over with as quickly as possible.

It's not ideal. But it works.

I stride through the door as soon as I've crossed over, reforming on the other side.

If going into the spirit plane is uncomfortable, becoming real again is downright nauseating.

I suck in lungfuls of air, trying to keep myself from retching.

When it passes, I'm in another stairwell.

I hastily descend, finally emerging into the cavernous space which is the hold.

Barrels and crates are everywhere.

Hundreds of them.

Searching them all would be impossible, especially when the pirates might notice me missing at any moment. Luckily, I don't have to. The manifest is hanging from a nail in the post in front of me.

I grab the clipboard full of papers and flick through.

The most recent pages are dedicated to beer, rum, and spirits. Alcohol dominates the list of cargo, followed by silks, skins, medicine, perfumes, and spices. Beside each one is the ship it was 'liberated' from, or the port where it was—legally?—purchased.

Then there's an entry simply labelled 'E.G.'.

No explanation. Nothing more.

Nothing to say where they came from.

But there's over a dozen barrels listed here.