Cassidy Jones and the Seventh Attendant (Cassidy Jones Adventures, Book Three) (27 page)

“You are cursed,” he hissed, fingers poised to defend himself.

Beyond his cape flapping in the wind, I glimpsed the Kings and their henchmen, looking down into the cargo hold. Junior smiled around a fat cigar, and it all came rushing back, why I was there and what I had to do without further delay.

I redirected my gaze to Silver Tooth and flew at him, catching his throat with an outstretched hand. We tumbled over the rail and plummeted end over end toward the lower deck, Silver Tooth’s cape thrashing around us. I glared into his bulging eyes and squeezed his throat in my death grip, while my other fist pummeled his snout. Poisonous saliva and blood spewed from it like water from a burst pipe.

Startled eyes turned upward from the lower deck. Junior’s mouth slackened, and his cigar fell from it and into the cargo hold, spinning wildly as it descended. Before anyone could move or draw weapons, Silver Tooth and I were upon them, knocking three henchmen into the opening of the hold with us. As we went down, I never lost hold of Silver Tooth’s throat.

We hit the floor and tumbled upright. Silver Tooth’s bloodied and crushed snout reformed as if by magic and curled into a snarl.

“Do not shoot.” King’s command rang through the cargo hold as I yanked my head around to the monster looming over Emery’s father, who was now a bloodied heap on the floor.

Fifteen feet tall, with a slug-like body, tusks, hoofed legs, and a golden mane running down a bulbous back—it was as if all creatures, great and small, had been thrown into a blender. This atrocity against nature was about to make a meal of Mr. Phillips.

Beady, milky eyes peered down at me between flaps of warty skin.

“Atrocity,” I growled at the slithering monster. “Why don’t you two have some fun?” Taunting it with a smile, I bid, “Enjoy,” and threw Silver Tooth at it.

Silver Tooth smacked into the creature’s round, warty gut. Atrocity whinnied and bit at him, trapping the cape between big, square teeth, and then vigorously whipped Silver Tooth back and forth like a dog playing with a toy—only Atrocity wasn’t playing.

I gripped Mr. Phillips’s collar and ran full speed up Atrocity’s back. I leapt for the deck and landed on the edge as a bullet grazed my shoulder. Mr. Phillips banged hard against the opening to the hold. Tossing him to the deck, I backhanded the shooter, Selma Heart, and sent her flying, while simultaneously planting my foot into a henchman’s stomach with a sharp kick. Selma’s gun clattered across the deck as she tumbled, taking out Sanchez and another henchman and landing smack-dab on top of Junior. He lay sprawled underneath her like flattened road kill, with his arms and legs sticking out.

I darted back to Mr. Phillips, grabbed his collar again, and flung him into the bay, then leapt up onto the rail to go in after him. Before doing so, I took one last look at King.

The crime lord ignored the chaos around him as he observed me, rubbing his chin the way my dad sometimes did when intrigued. This infuriated me, as did his cavalier attitude. Did he think he was safe—too good, too rich, too powerful to be harmed? The beast wanted to see him cowering, crying, and begging for mercy. Luckily, there was still enough of Cassidy left in charge to keep my priorities straight.

Turning my back to him, I dove into the bay.

Twenty-One

Rescue

I swam about a hundred yards from the
Enchantress
, towing Mr. Phillips behind me, when it became apparent that my body had not overcome the venom. Adrenaline and rage must have temporarily covered the symptoms.

My head dipped under the rippling icy saltwater as I kicked my legs with all my remaining might. Once again, I broke through the surface. I repositioned Mr. Phillips’s head on my shoulder and anxiously assessed him.

He looked like death itself, with an oozing head gash, bruises forming against his pallid skin, and his head lolling unconsciously against my shoulder. If it hadn’t been for his shallow breaths and his chest expanding against my arm, I would have thought he had already entered Davy Jones’s locker.

Maybe I’ll get there first
, I thought, feeling the weakness in my muscles. They contracted and felt like pitiful worms squirming under my skin. Nausea gripped my stomach, and my heart raced at a pace that couldn’t be good, even for a mutant.

“Looks like it takes a mutant to kill a mutant,” I said, and got a mouthful of saltwater. As I choked it up, my attention turned to the rapid pop of automatic weapons behind us. None of the gunfire appeared to be directed at us.

Images of bloodshed flashed through my mind. It sounded like a war.

I shook my head to dislodge the gruesome thoughts and encouraged Mr. Phillips, in case he could hear me: “We’re almost there. Hang on.” I coughed out saltwater. “You won’t be another notch in King’s belt
.
”

Instantly regretting this last part, I glanced at Mr. Phillips’s bloodless face and knew that if I didn’t get him out of this freezing water soon, the next time Emery saw him would be at the morgue.

My legs moved like pistons. A minute later, I dragged him onto the beach of an extravagant waterfront home. I lifted him into my arms—not an easy thing to do, considering his size and the venom working its lethal magic in my body. Behind us, the distant gunfire had ceased. I didn’t even want to think about what that could mean.

My arms shook as I carried Mr. Phillips to the back patio of the mansion ten yards from the water. A security light switched on, spotlighting us as if we were on a stage, and a Doberman Pinscher barked furiously from behind French doors. A man in flannel pajamas appeared next to the dog. Eyes wide, he watched me gently place Mr. Phillips on the flagstone.

I stared into the man’s stunned face and brought my palms together in a pleading gesture, then made a phone gesture. His eyebrows knitted in confusion. I could almost read his thoughts.
What would a mummy know about telephones?

Not wanting to delay medical care a moment longer, I swung around and jetted for the water, stumbling a few times. At the water’s edge, I doubled over and heaved. I hadn’t been physically ill since my mutation.

I’m not sick
, I reminded myself, wiping my mouth.
I’m poisoned, and I need help, too
. I took a deep breath and dove into the freezing water toward the
Enchantress
. I knew it was a bad idea, but it was my quickest way to help. Emery would wait for me at the last place he had known me to be: the dock at the marina, three miles across Elliot Bay.

I can do this
. I rallied, fighting against the current, the cold, sickness, pain, and increasing disorientation. I swam underwater and forced my throbbing legs to kick while weird, semi-lucid visualizations of mutant microbes battling it out with toxic invaders went tripping through my head. Never before had I rooted for my virus to prevail.

When my lungs began to burn, I came up for air, hoping the oxygen would clear my head. I could hardly think straight. Gulping in a deep breath, I glanced at the
Enchantress
, which floated an eighth of a mile or so away. I listened for voices and heard none.

Who cares what happened to them?
I thought, and truly didn’t care at the moment. My mind was singularly focused on one objective: Survival.

With my teeth clenched in pain, I dipped underwater and swam a couple yards until I heard an engine rumble to life. It filled the water with an eerie noise that sounded like an alien communiqué. Cocking my head left, I saw King’s submarine cutting through the water at me, its nose angled downward. I swam in place, confused about what to do. King was escaping. I had to stop him.

How? Grab onto the submarine, get pulled into the depths of the sea, and drown?
I reasoned, ending the ridiculous deliberation. Even if I were healthy, I doubted I could stop a submarine.
And you’re not healthy
, I reminded myself as the submarine dove beneath me.
Keep going before you do drown
. On the tail end of this thought, I was caught in the submarine’s wake and turned round and round as if I were in the drum of a washing machine. My head and stomach felt like they were in the spin cycle. Then an explosion thundered, sending a shockwave through the water. My eardrums nearly burst.

In excruciating pain, I clamped my hands to my ears. The water illuminated, as if a light switch had been turned on, and I caught a glimpse of the source of the light above me, burning like the sun. Releasing my ringing ears, I forced my way out of the turbulence and swam toward the ball of light, bursting through the surface to find the fiery remains of the
Enchantress
. A lone tusk floated amongst the debris.

A siren wailed from the shore, and I began to swim aimlessly, having no idea where I was going, other than
away
.

King blew up the Enchantress!
My jumbled thoughts mixed with hot, salty tears and the cold salt water that slapped my face. My arms stroked, and my legs kicked for dear life.
He was getting rid of the evidence
.
They were probably all dead before he even lit the fuse.
All at once, the last of my energy reserves drained from me. I sank under the surface, unable to fight the current, the cold, the pain, the despair. I was tired of fighting, and I was just tired . . .

Everything went black.

My eyes fluttered open to murky water and a stream of air bubbles buffeting my face, colliding with my eyelashes. Muted sounds of engines and sirens raged above me. I realized with confusion that I was sinking. Clamping my lips to trap my remaining oxygen supply, I dimly remembered where I was and what had happened. I felt the evidence all over my body. Every part of me ached and trembled, and I was so very, very cold.

Above me, I watched the shadowy bottoms of boats glide over the surface. Slowly, I crawled up, feeling as if in a dream world, and broke through. Reality overloaded my senses. Sirens, motors, voices on loudspeakers, boats, smoke, waves, engine exhaust—it was all too much.

I took a haggard breath of air and sank back under the water, where it was quiet, and swam without direction. As far as I knew, I was headed out to sea, but in my current state of mind I didn’t give a rip. My will to live was rapidly dissolving.

I hurt
. My eyes closed. My feet and arms moved sluggishly.
Body, mind, and soul—all hurt
. I wanted my old life back.

So let go
, a voice—my voice—urged
. Stop swimming, stop fighting
.
Let the venom do its job. No more lies, no more fear, no more anything
.

This is the venom and cold talking
, a more reasonable thought retorted.
Remember the movie in fourth grade? The one where the man with hypothermia gave up, lay down in the snow, shut his eyes, and died? Open your eyes!

Can’t
, I whimpered.
I’m sick of swimming, of thinking. Can’t think anymore. I’m lost. I need help
.

Cassidy, where are you?
I heard Emery whisper.

My eyes sprung open, expecting to see him, but there was only water. Miles and miles of water.

Cassidy
. . .

I spun around toward the voice. Still, only water.

Where are you?

You’re in my head, Emery
, I thought.
No, you’re not in my head. It’s only my imagination, but don’t worry. I’m coming back.

Forcing my arms and legs to move, I swam toward Emery’s voice.

Come on, Cassidy . . .

His voice felt closer. I fought harder.

It’s been hours . . .

Piers and the outline of land appeared dimly ahead. I kicked and stroked with everything left in me.

Where are you?

Cold air struck my face as I wrestled my way up.

“Here,” I gasped, arms flailing. “I’m here.”

A slap of water knocked me back under, and I took a fateful breath, filling my lungs with surf. I couldn’t get my arms to move, and panicked as the surface moved farther away. Arms slipped around my waist, and I felt myself being tugged upward.

My face reunited with air, but I couldn’t take a breath. I choked out seawater and thrashed in desperation for oxygen.

“Easy, or we’ll both drown,” Emery commanded, his hot breath against my ear, arms tightening around me.

Willing my limbs to still, I sank into his chest.

“You’re safe, Cassidy,” were the last words I heard before passing out.

~~~

“Cassidy, I need you to help me.”

Emery’s voice brought me back to consciousness. I rolled my head to the side and pried my eyes open to see his face, pale as a sheet and strained with exhaustion. His hand clung to the rung of a ladder.

“Emery, you need to get out of the water,” I said, pushing the words out through a throat that felt shriveled.

“Can you climb the ladder?” he asked.

I bobbed my head, grabbed a rung, and climbed slowly with Emery’s help. At the top, I crawled onto the dock and curled into a ball. I closed my eyes for what felt like a split second. When I opened them, Emery was carrying me.

“Your dad’s safe,” I breathed, shivering against him. “I saved him. He’s a good guy.”

Emery nodded. His teeth chattered. The world went dark again.

~~~

“Cassidy.” There was an incessant patting against my cheek. “Cassidy.”

My eyelids pulled apart to find a concerned face hovering over mine. Dim light created a stark contrast of milky skin, black hair with water dripping from the ends, and dark eyebrows slanted over piercing black eyes, which brimmed with worry. Emery’s lips were tinged purple, as if he had been out in the cold.

“You’re so handsome,” I mumbled groggily, “and wet.” I brought my hand to his hair in confusion, then let it flop to his knit shirt. “But your clothes are dry.”