"So what you're telling me," said Jack, very slowly and very clearly, "is 'at there's real good and real evil in this world, that the thing attacked me last night was the evil, and that you're part o' the good?"

His breakfast companions nodded, he eagerly at being understood, she with a overly patient sigh.

"I realize it might be a difficult concept to grasp, but –" the man began, sweeping fingers through his short-cropped sandy hair.

Jack shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. "Not so much's you'd think." He lifted his chin proudly. "I've fought off undead pirates and been one meself, mate, albeit for just a brief spell."

"Really?" Interest lit in his blue-gray eyes. "Are you by any chance referring to the treasure of la Isla de Muerte?"

"Why, the very same, on my honor as a pirate."

The man glanced at the girl slouched beside him, who did not seem to share his enthusiasm. "Claire, isn't that remarkable? We've heard of it, but thought it a mere myth," he said, turning back to Jack and slanting his lean torso over the edge of the table. "If you would share the tale with me so that I might transcribe it, I would be much obliged.

Always happy to spin a yarn, especially if it happened to have its roots in truth, Jack opened his mouth to begin, but the girl straightened in her seat.

"Another time," she said in a crisp voice.

The man shot her a vaguely hurt look. "The council has need of first-hand reports, especially in this region – you know that as well as I."

"I do," she replied, "but I've a feeling this one'll talk our ears off and our purses out of our pockets if we let him."

Jack held a hand over his heart with an expression of insulted dignity, though he had in fact already assessed that she carried no money (though she was bristling with weapons) and he had very little. "I'm shocked that you would think so, Mistress Claire! After you saved me life an' all, not to mention keeping me for the night. I'd never disrespect your generosity so."

She raised a skeptical brow, eyes raking him from hat to boots. "If you say so, Mister...what did you say your name was again?"

"I didn't," said Jack with an internal wince. "It's Captain Jack Sparrow, if you please." One small word – seven minuscule letters – he didn't really think it would be asking too much for people to remember it. "And you, I take it, are Claire...?"

She merely stared at him from across the table.

"Right," said Jack, recovering gallantly. He stuck his hand out. "Claire, then." Kissing the back of her palm would have been his preferred greeting, but the firmness of her handshake stalled him. Her man also had a hearty grip on him – much to Jack's surprise, as he looked like the bookish sort. Then again, James often seemed so, if you were foolish enough to stick him behind a desk.

"Aiden O'Connor." Which was less of a surprise, as he had the faintest drop of Irish to a word here and there; probably all that was left after a sturdy English school had finished with him, for he was clearly educated. The girl spoke well enough too, with no discernable accent.

Jack crossed his hands on the table in front of him. "Well then, Aiden O'Connor and milady Claire –"

"It's. Just. Claire," she muttered darkly. Jack ignored her.

"– you are the first vampire slayer I've ever come across. And you, sir, what did you say your title was?"

"I am a watcher," Aiden replied.

"So you – you slay the vampires and the beasties and whatsits." Jack's finger pivoted from Claire to Aiden as they both nodded. "And you...watch?"

Claire snickered at the face Aiden made. "Well, there is a bit more to it than that. It's my job to – to govern the slayer, to look after her well-being in addition to training her."

"Govern me?" Her voice heavy with sarcasm, Claire tapped her booted toe on his shin. "I'd like to see you try, O'Connor."

He rubbed his leg with a superior sniff, but Jack caught the way he looked at her – well-being, it appeared, was something of an understatement. Claire, however, didn't notice a thing, and even having known her for so short a time, Jack knew she wasn't likely to notice at any time in the near future.

Filing that interesting little observance away for further perusal, Jack waved the sleepy waitress over for more coffee. The twin pinpricks he'd recently acquired throbbed in protest. He fingered the bandages gingerly, fighting an urge to scratch the itchy spots beneath. He'd had some interesting marks on his neck in the past, but this one was definitely going to stick in his memory.

"What're you doin' in these waters?" he asked. "Certainly aren't local."

Claire nibbled on a scone, readjusting the wooden stake strapped to her arm beneath her sleeve. "There's more than enough activity here to keep me busy."

"In fact, we're on the lookout for a demon in this very town," Aiden added. "It's taken up residence in the body of one Tobias Nutley."

Jack's brows drew together. "Taken up residence?"

"Yes. So far as we've heard, the host was willing – he, ah, donated his body for the demon to inhabit, as a means of protection so that it might live amongst people."

He thought for a moment, weighed this concept against bones coming clean in moonlight, and decided it didn't give him much pause. "And what's this demon look like when it's not...in residence."

"Well, we aren't entirely certain – I've an engraving of the species in a book, but the drawings can't always be trusted..."

"You're only saying that because the page looked like something you would not want to meet in a dark alley," Claire retorted.

Aiden pursed his lips. "Be that as it may, we will have to face it, if we can locate it."

Jack cocked his head, looking down at his poached eggs and half-remembering something. "Wait – Nutley, you said? Not old Nuts, who used t' work with the tanner?"

"You know him?" Aiden inquired.

With a snort, Jack mussed the eggs with his fork. "Aye, and b'lieve me when I say he'd be the type for this demon-hosting rubbish." He'd rubbed salve into Giselle's bruises himself, years ago.

"Do you know where he is?" Claire was busy studying her nails and looking at him through her eyelashes. It was plain she didn't trust him.

He stroked his beard thoughtfully, combing through the recollections of his last few trips. It had been quite some time since last he'd seen old mad Nuts. "No, but I'd find him faster'n you if I went looking."

Claire looked affronted, but Aiden seemed ready to welcome the help. And truth to tell, Jack was up for another manner of distraction after what had transpired last night.

"I know we've only just met, but after all..." He grinned at the girl, not bothered that she remained unmoved. "What've you got to lose, eh?"


"Elizabeth? William?"

Just as James was raising his hand to knock again, the door to the Turners' house swung open. Elizabeth propped herself against the frame, red-cheeked, her fourteen-month-old son propped on her hip.

"James," she said breathlessly, flicking a strand of hair out of her eyes with her free hand. "Oh, supper! I'd forgotten!"

Billy, momentarily preoccupied by James's arrival, opened his small mouth and started to wail again.

James took a step back. "Perhaps it would be best if we reschedule?"

"Oh no, it's perfectly all right," she said, transferring the baby to her shoulder and bouncing him a bit. "Will should be home soon, though to be honest, not soon enough." She looked past Billy's unhappy face to fix pleading brown eyes on James. "I'm desperate for some company at the moment. Please stay."

He toyed with the idea of refusal before giving it up and following her inside. She was happily married and he was...well, whatever he was with Jack, but he was still powerless against that look.

"It's just been the day that wouldn't end," Elizabeth explained once they were settled in the tiny parlor. "Estrella broke her arm, so she's recuperating with Missy Clarke. Billy's had a fussy stomach all day, and Father's in Nassau as you no doubt know, so I've been rushing around to the doctor and walking the baby around in circles and –"

"Remembering to breathe, I hope," said James. Elizabeth returned his smile, though hers was strained with exhaustion. Billy was still crying, burying his face in his mother's neck. Recalling the state in which he'd woken up, James couldn't say he blamed the child. "Here, let me try to quiet him."

With a grateful sigh, she wiped Billy's nose and handed him over. His cries grew louder at the initial separation, but he recognized James soon enough. Gradually he grew silent, reaching a chubby hand out to play with James's neckcloth, until his lids started to droop.

When James glanced up, he found Elizabeth collapsed in her chair and looking at him like he was the second coming. "I'd forgotten how much he likes you. You've as good as way with him as Jack does."

James couldn't keep his face from clouding over. Seeing his expression, Elizabeth quickly steered the conversation to a safer topic.

How it happened, he wasn't sure; they were discussing trade with Holland and he was tugging Billy's loose bootie back on. The next thing he became aware of was Elizabeth shaking his shoulder.

"James?" Half-supporting the child in his lap, she looked down at him with worry in her eyes.

He swallowed, fighting a moment of panic. "I'm fine, Elizabeth. I – did not sleep well last night."

"I hadn't noticed before, but you do look worn out," she said, gathering her son in her arms. James shook out his wrists. "And – and odd. James, are you sure that's all it is?"

He got to his feet, forcing a smile onto his lips. "Yes, quite sure. I've had a great deal of paperwork lately and I've been trying to catch up with the lot of it."

Elizabeth studied him for a moment, her eyes hardened in suspicion. "Well, if you say so," she murmured.

"Shall I assist you in the kitchen, now that Billy's sound asleep?"

To his relief, she was too appreciative of the help to press him further. Will returned a short time later, limping from having been stepped on by an irate draft horse, and they shared a pleasant meal. By the time it was over, a fierce storm was blowing in from the sea.

"It's not so bad," James hazarded, standing at the rattling window.

Elizabeth glanced up from where she was reading in her favorite chair. "Nonsense, James. It's a bloody tempest out there."

"You're welcome to stay the night," said Will, wiggling a stuffed rabbit in Billy's delighted face.

James tugged on his wig, dreading the sound of that wind. "Oh, I wouldn't impose."

"You wouldn't be imposing," she replied with a laugh.

"But you haven't got the –" He stopped himself from saying 'room,' seeing Will's head snap up. "I don't mind the walk, really," he amended hastily.

Elizabeth set her book aside and came to stand beside him. "I refuse to let you out this door, James Norrington, and that is that. We'll keep the baby in our room, because I doubt he'll sleep through the night, and you can stay in Estrella's bed. And that," she said, giving him a stern glare as he began to protest, "is that. Have I made myself clear?" Her eyes twinkled in the low lamplight.

James couldn't help but grin. "Inescapably clear, Mrs. Turner."

"Erm, a bit of help here?" Will held the baby in the air, grimacing at the small fingers tangled in his hair.


It was with him. It listened as the two young people and the infant eased his mind. That was good. He'd learn to hold onto his fears soon enough.


Miles away, she waited for Jack to return. She didn't worry, not yet, because this was not Port Royal and the commodore's bed was not here, so he would not stay long.

The storm didn't bother her either. She had ridden worse, and laughed at the danger.

But the shift in the wind – that she wondered at, and it kept her restless through the long hours of the night.