Jane Davey’s Locket by Eve Langlais Page 0,6

copy of Yellowbeard, which Dad claimed was a knock-off of his life story. A favorite of mine. I glanced at the bunk bed and vetoed it for reading.

Going up on deck seemed a better plan. I was on a cruise ship, after all.

Leaving my room, I marked the door with magic so I’d find it again. It took a few wrong turns before I made it to a door leading outside, just in time to see the shore receding—close enough still that I could jump and swim.

Do I really want to be on board a ship with a bunch of single men looking to get laid?

A grown, modern woman knew how to say no. Or then again, I could partake of any offerings, no strings attached, and save the Earth by conserving batteries.

The choice was mine.

The salty tang of ocean air teased my skin with familiarity. How long since I’d sailed?

Too long.

To my surprise, I found myself relaxing in the ocean air, the hum of the ship different than my father’s schooner with all its fancy sails. Maybe when we returned, I’d look into getting the Janey out of dry dock. The boat my father had gotten me deserved better than to be grounded.

A voice broke my reverie, deep and growly. “Watch where you’re going.”

“Piss off.” Spoken in an accented voice. A peek over the rail showed a fellow with long, braided locks, a battered hat, and a tailed coat sauntering off, leaving a big guy with a dark crown to resume leaning over the railing. A reminder of the other passengers on board.

As if sensing my stare, the fellow turned around and looked up at me. He started to smile. Not interested, I turned away and moved to the far side of the deck when I felt the tug.

Ping. A pluck that strummed a spot over my heart. I glanced at my chest. Nothing there, yet I could have sworn that something had poked me.

Magic. And it wanted me to go somewhere.

As if I’d obey. My lips pressed tight. Being contrary by nature, I moved in the opposite direction and claimed the lounge chair farthest from the others—not that many were out here yet.

I tucked into my book, sinking into the familiar relaxation of a favorite read while at sea. When things got too noisy, I changed locations and heard a familiar voice shout, “Jerk!”

I recognized that flowered muumuu. “Grandma, please don’t tell me you’re harassing this gentleman.”

Her lips pursed. “I am not harassing Shax,” she huffed. “Merely indicating that I’m unavailable for meals since we are traveling together.”

My brows arched as I punctured her lie. “Since when are you hooking up with me for food? You told me, and I repeat, ‘I love you Janey Waney, but you need to make some friends and loosen up. Because I will be, and I can’t have you cramping my style.’”

“That’s something a whore would say.” Grandma lifted her nose and sniffed.

I found her excuses intriguing. Just who was this fellow with his silvered, dark hair and square jaw? I eyed him and his short horns. “Your name…” I tapped my lip. “Sounds familiar.”

“Nope. Not one bit. Let’s go check out shuffle head.” Grandma grabbed me by the arm and dragged me away before the demon could reply.

As if I’d let the old witch off that easy. “He’s cute. You going to have dinner with him?”

“Most certainly not.”

The vehemence brought out the naughty in me. “Just going to skip right to the drinks and his bed. Efficient. I like it.”

Grandma began to choke hard enough that I worried for her health and pounded her on the back.

Once she’d recovered, she squeaked, “I can’t believe you just said that to me.”

“Me either.” I wrinkled my nose. “There’s something in the air, I swear. It’s making me a little crazy.”

“You’ll be fine. Why not go find a drink. Get some food.”

“Nope. I’m not getting drunk. I’m going to hang out in the room. Catch up on some reading.”

“Great plan.” Grandma practically shoved me in her haste to get away. I might have been offended, except I preferred to avoid the craziness she was sure to embroil me in.

I never made it to my room, managing to find a quiet spot on a deck no one seemed to have discovered. I nestled into an abandoned pile of rope, feeling quite at home with the salty air filling my lungs. The story sucked me in, back to a time when swashbuckling was accepted, and the