Kelley Armstrong - Haunted

Before you could say "bar brawl" the place erupted. I hopped onto the bar for a better view, using knock-back spells to stave off any stray bodies that flew my way.

As much as I prefer playing over spectating, there's something to be said for sitting back and enjoying a good brawl. Especially if Kris was doing the brawling. Diving, ducking, fists flying, bottles smashing, wood splintering, he plowed through the room, grinning like a kid in his first schoolyard dustup, grinning through every blow-delivered or received.

The fight petered out as most brawls do, the instigators sneaking away or being dragged off by friends, everyone else crashing from that first adrenaline explosion, unable to remember what dragged them into it in the first place. Kristof emerged from the fray. He sauntered toward me, hair rumpled, shirt torn, a wide "damn, that was fun" grin on his face. When I smiled back, he picked up his pace, then swooped me off the bar and onto a stool. As he pulled another intact stool from the debris, a tankard was slapped onto the bar and we both jumped.

There stood a plump, dark-haired woman a few years older than me, squeezed into a barmaid costume several sizes too small, her breasts barely contained by her tight bodice. She smiled and held out a second tankard and a dusty bottle of rum.

"House tradition," she said. "Victor gets the last bottle left unbroken."

Kris murmured his thanks as she opened it.

"Not bad fighting," she said. "For a sorcerer."

Since Kris hadn't cast any spells, there was only one way she could know he was a sorcerer.

"Blessed be, sister," I said.

Her grin broadened, revealing a missing canine. "Haven't heard that in a while. They still use that up there?"

I shook my head. "Only the humans."

"Well, blessed be, sister." She patted my hand. "Been a long time since I saw a witch, too." She glanced at Kristof. "So that's all over, then? The feud?"

"Between witches and sorcerers? Nah. They're just as arrogant and nasty as they ever were." I smiled at Kristof. "But sometimes you can make an exception."

She poured our drinks.

I looked around the tavern. "Have you… been here long?"

She let out a long whoop of a laugh. "You mean, what the hell am I doing in a shit-hole like this?"

"I wasn't going to say it."

She leaned over the bar, lowering her voice. "You wanna know why I'm here, hon? Take a look around. See the male-to-female ratio? This place is Alaska without the snow." She capped the bottle. "So are you folks visiting? Or passing through?"

"Passing through. We were hoping to visit someone over on Roatan, but…" I glanced around. Most patrons had either scurried off into the night or were still finding a place to sit, free of broken glass and splintered chairs. No one was paying any attention to us. "Seems we've run into a problem renting a ship. I don't suppose you know any way we could rent-or 'borrow'-one."

"Borrowing's your best bet." She lowered her voice and set about wiping the counter. "Not easy, but there's one possibility. The Trinity Bull . Owned by Pierre, the half-demon with the wandering hands. He keeps it in a bay west of here, down the coast a bit. Secluded spot. Usually only one guard-a new guy."

We thanked her and she slipped away to tidy the bar, conjuring up a fresh stock of rum and making the broken bottles vanish.

As anxious as we were to get that ship, we couldn't seem to be in too much of a hurry to leave. So we hung around for a half-hour before slipping out. We headed down to the wharf, this time giving a wide berth to the triple-parked galleons at the main dock, and instead slinking through the empty huts lining the beach to the west. We cut through a stand of tropical forest. On the other side, we found the bay the barmaid had mentioned. In it was a boat, not much bigger than Kristof's houseboat. Didn't look much like a galleon. More like a yacht… with a Jolly Roger flag on the mast, I sharpened my sight and read the name on the side. The Trinity Bull .

The bay was a pretty place to dock your boat, if you didn't mind the security risk. As I scanned the deck, I bit back a laugh. There was indeed only a single guard, a slight red-haired man sitting on a chair on the deck, his feet propped on the rail, a bottle at his side.

"Easy pickings," I murmured to Kristof.

We advanced on the boat, sticking to the shadows. When we drew close enough to see the deck without Aspicio-boosted vision, we both stopped short. The guard was talking. I saw no sign of another person. Kristof motioned for me to listen.

"… weeks in this fucking town and I'm still guarding this fucking ship," the guard was saying." 'Sorry, Danny-boy, them's the rules, Danny-boy.' He let out a snarl. "Next son-of-a-bitch who calls me that…"

The rant fell to a mutter. There was no one else on the ship, just one very bored, very angry, slightly drunk guard. So much for any hope of a sword fight.

Danny-boy leaned back in his chair, tipping the front legs off the deck, and closed his eyes. Kristof and I crept along the shore, keeping out of the guard's sight in case he opened his eyes. I considered blinding him, but if he did open his eyes, he'd panic and know something was wrong.

We reached the dock. The slap of the waves against the boat's hull covered our footsteps as we trod across the wooden boards. We made it all the way up the gangplank and the guard didn't so much as twitch.

"Asleep?" I mouthed to Kristof.

He waggled his hand, giving it fifty/fifty odds. Then he motioned for me to circle around and approach the guard from the rear. I had taken one step in that direction when the guard let out a soft sigh.

"Are you guys almost on deck?" he said, eyes still closed. "Take much longer and I really will fall asleep."

Kristof charged, sword raised. The guard sprang to his feet and feinted out of Kris's path. I swung behind the cabin before he saw me. As Kristof wheeled, the guard yanked his cutlass from his belt. He parried Kris's first thrust, but missed the second and danced out of the way seconds before being slashed.

The two men sparred for a minute. Kristof was obviously the better swordsman, but the smaller man had an easy agility that kept him out of sword's reach. Finally, when the guard's back was to me, I slid from my hiding place and pressed the tip of my cutlass between his shoulder blades.

"Take another step and I'll skewer you like a shish kebab," I said. "Won't hurt, but it could be damned uncomfortable."

He glanced over his shoulder, gave me a slow onceover, and smiled.

"Always was a sucker for a girl who can take care of herself," he said. "Let me guess, you two want this boat."

"Yes," Kristof said. "And either you let us or-"

"Take it."

When Kris hesitated, the man shrugged.

"What the fuck do I care? It's not mine. If you take the boat, I can take my leave of this dump, and believe me, I don't mind having the excuse. Don't mind seeing Pierre and his bunch lose this barge, either. Serves them right. Fucking pirates. Not nearly as much fun as you'd think."

"So you'll just leave…?" I said.

"Sure. But I will ask for one favor, though. Give me twenty minutes before you cut 'er loose. Once you set sail, someone in town will see, and I want a good head start before Pierre and his buccaneers come after me."

Kris looked at me. I shrugged. We set the guard loose. True to his word, he loped off down the shore and disappeared into a patch of jungle. While Kris checked out the boat, I stood watch, making sure Danny-boy didn't circle back to town to warn the pirates.

"We good?" I asked Kristof when he returned to the deck.

"Very good. It's a modified cabin cruiser. No motor, of course, but she'll run fine on wind and spell-power. Dad bought me one just like it when I went to Harvard."