Aiden didn't like performing magic. As a boy, he had wanted to be a cobbler. Then his father had broken the news about the family tradition, and he'd understood that he would have to do a lot of things he didn't like very much. The scholarly aspect of various magics appealed to him – he was fond of debating abstract concepts, and he could spend hours perusing the Council's libraries. But the prospect of actually working spells always rattled his nerves. There was nothing abstract about it then; theory was replaced by dangerous forces no man could ever fully understand, beings hovering at the edges of his consciousness, a thousand nasty consequences if his concentration slipped or he'd worked something out badly.
He did it because he took his calling very seriously, for all that it had come upon him unawares. A watcher who was lazy or hid behind his books was likely to get himself or his slayer killed. He was determined not to go down in the records as a failure. More importantly, he simply would not let Claire meet a bad end because of his mistakes. It was his duty to protect the line, of course, but in the three years they'd spent traveling together, this had come to mean very little. Slaying was in her blood, so much a part of her that it was impossible to separate the concept of 'Claire' and 'slayer' in his mind; yet if she had suddenly decided to abandon her post and settle in Edinburgh to raise sheep, he would have bought a tartan and followed her without a second thought.
So he brushed it off when she mocked his diligence, although it did hurt. Sharing his real motivation was not even an option. She had nothing but contempt for romance. All it got you, she claimed, was babies and a tether. He was certain that this came mostly from a slayer's right and natural shunning of personal relationships. On the other hand, there were things she refused to tell him about the first fourteen years of her life, before she had begun her training, two years before he'd taken over for her previous watcher. If there was pain lingering from childhood, as he suspected, he would be cruel for bringing it to her mind.
He looked down at the man on the bed, lost in his unnatural sleep. They were kindred hearts after a fashion, because the love he bore Sparrow had to likewise be kept silent. Still, at least he and the pirate could take comfort in each other –
Which they will no longer have the chance to do if you don't go about your business, O'Connor, he told himself sternly. Pining for a woman who was incapable of looking at him as anything other than a business partner would not help matters.
The herbs were already burning, their sickly-sweet aroma permeating the room. He shook his head to clear the haze from it. He had to say the incantation before he could let the mild trance take him over. The Latin was a blurry mess on the page, but he managed to get through it without any mishaps. Gratefully he slid the book closed and laid it aside. Closing his eyes, he reached out to take the commodore's hand.
Claire was unnerved by the depths in Sparrow's dark eyes. He looked like ice about to crack, and she didn't want to be around for the explosion.
She watched him with most of her attention and thought about the other two only in passing. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with the hands of a laborer but the dignified carriage of a master craftsman. If there was time, she wanted to take a look at his finished weapons. He seemed like a sturdy fellow, and he certainly wasn't pleased with mystical troubles in his house. There was a temper lurking beneath his control, however, and the sense that he was not so long out of youth as he wanted people to think.
The woman had a clever face and the airborne chin of society. Claire got the impression that the two of them would either quarrel like she-cats or get on splendidly. She didn't plan on sticking around long enough to find out which it would be. They seemed like decent enough people, but decent people were not her primary concern.
She had no idea what the bewitched commodore was like, though anyone had to have their feet planted solidly on the ground if they dealt with Jack Sparrow on a regular basis. He was exhausting enough in conversation; she couldn't even imagine what it would be like to bed him.
Frankly, she was glad to be free of that sort of complication in her life. Love was clearly more trouble than it was worth, even for those average folk who didn't tend to die before they hit twenty-five.
O'Connor hated it when she spoke so casually of her own mortality. For all the horrors he had seen, he was still odd about some things. He was a creature of habit, and she supposed he wasn't looking forward to the day when he'd have to learn all the quirks and habits of a new slayer.
The silence was making the Turners uncomfortable, Will more so than Elizabeth, although it didn't bother Claire, and Sparrow might as well have been a fly on the wall for all the attention he paid the rest.
"So," said Will, clearing his throat, "how has...business gone of late, Jack?"
"Yes," said Elizabeth, sounding relieved that her husband had stumbled upon a topic of conversation, "we haven't exactly had the chance to catch up."
He didn't take his eyes from the closed door as he spoke. "Good enough."
Elizabeth and Will exchanged frustrated looks before turning to Claire. Oh, bugger, she thought with an internal wince.
Again, it was Will who made the first blundering attempt at breaking the ice. "Claire – lovely name, we've thought of naming a daughter Claire – how long have you been, ah, slaying?"
"Five years," she replied in a flat tone she hoped would discourage any further questioning. She could hear Aiden's soft voice start to chant in the next room.
"Do you do a great deal of traveling?" Elizabeth asked, leaning forward, her sharp eyes intent. "What sorts of places have you seen?"
"Oh," said Claire, "we've been...around. Throughout Europe, mostly," she added, a bit flattered by the interest lighting the other woman's face. "And India, some ports in that region..." She fluttered her fingertips in the vague shapes of islands and continents. O'Connor was the one who plotted their courses; she was terrible at geography. Before she could embarrass herself further, a loud cry and a thunderous boom issued from beyond the door.
The four of them collided in their haste to get through the narrow doorway. Having the greatest momentum, Jack managed to be the first inside, but Claire hurtled past him when she caught sight of the interior.
Her watcher was collapsed on the floor, the armchair on its side nearby. She fell to her knees and pulled his head onto her lap. He was breathing, but his eyes were closed and his skin had a grayish tint.
She pressed one hand to her mouth to stem the sudden need to vomit. Biting her knuckles hard enough to bring tears to her eyes, she glared when Will got too close.
"Don't crowd him!" she snapped. No matter how many deep breaths she took, her heart refused to slow down, and she still felt like all the air was being squeezed from her lungs.
She touched Aiden's cheek gently, lacing the fingers of her other hand through his. "Wake up," she said thickly. "Wake up, damn you!" He still didn't move, and she felt a piercing pain in her throat as she cried, "Aiden!"
His eyes snapped open and he gasped, then coughed. Will and Elizabeth heaved audible sighs of relief. Jack, meanwhile, glanced up from where he was perched on the bed, tracing lines on Norrington's palm. "It didn't work. Nothing changed."
Claire felt her eyes would burn out of her skull with the blaze of the look she gave him.
"Ah, Claire?" Aiden propped himself up on one elbow, smiling weakly at her. "You're crushing my hand."
She looked down, saw the white-edged strength of her grip, and how his skin turned an angry red when she released him. "Sorry," she whispered, alarmed to find her hands trembling. What the hell was wrong with her?
Aiden studied her face, his eyes narrowed with concern. "Are you all right?"
She almost laughed aloud. Here he'd practically died in the middle of a spell, and he was asking after her welfare.
On second thought...that wasn't funny at all.
She slipped away just as it was returning, slipped out in time to see the watcher still falling. Knowing she could not be seen in this world even if she wished it, she planted herself in a corner of the room. It was possible they'd be able to feel her if she got too close, though they would dismiss it as a mere chill. In addition, she could pretend the wall offered some kind of support. It was tiring being away from the ship for this long.
Her heart leapt at the sight of Jack, but of course he took no notice. His eyes slid past the supine watcher to land on James. The disappointment on his face was painful to witness, as was the tenderness with which he touched the sleeping man's hand.
The slayer's fear caught her attention. The girl was desperate with it, frightened by its strength, confused about its source. Her relief when she managed to rouse him was a wave of warmth breaking across the room. Such power, and yet she had no notion of what she felt. It was a pitiable state of affairs for them both, because he looked upon her with the same love she was trying so hard to deny. Humans were odd creatures indeed.
"What happened?" Catching the blacksmith's scent of embers, she made a face.
Aiden raised a hand to his pale face, rubbing a day's growth of beard. He looked like he'd seen much worse than a ghost. "I was...forcibly expelled, you might say."
"By what?" Jack pressed him, eyes alight. "From where? Was James with you?"
Claire shot him a venomous glower – best keep your anger in check with that one, little girl – as Aiden leaned over to cough some more. Elizabeth came close, fetching a glass of water from the bedside table. She was agitated; didn't like to be unsure of her footing or out of her element. Straightening, she paused to narrow her eyes at not quite the right spot. Close, though – it wasn't surprising that she would remember the last time they'd met. In any case, she shrugged and turned, handing Aiden the drink.
"Thank you," he said after drinking deeply. Jack had fallen silent, although his foot was jiggling impatiently. Claire was sitting with her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around her legs, making quite a point of not touching the man beside her.
"It's –" Aiden took a deep breath, apprehensive. "It's more complicated than I'd suspected."
Jack opened his mouth again. Will trod on his foot. Normally she would have been outraged, but privately she agreed with the lad.
"I couldn't reach the commodore," Aiden continued. "Something is in possession of his soul, or his mind if you prefer, and guarding him very closely."
"Something?" Elizabeth said skeptically.
Claire gnawed on her bottom lip. "Something I'd know?"
He met her eyes squarely. "Remember Nevis?"
"You aren't serious." All the color haf drained from her face.
"I know Nevis – a stone's throw from St. Kitts. What's it got t' do with anything?" Jack demanded.
"It was two years ago. There was something similar going on when we visited. A woman had been taken by a particular breed of demon that must leech all its captive's strength to live, as well as become corporeal. The woman died after four days and the thing came into being."
"And you what, exactly – sat around and watched?" Responding to the quickly sinking hope in the room, Elizabeth spoke harshly.
"Hardly," said Claire in a cold voice. "We tried to reach her without harming her. It didn't work."
"And what happened when the – the demon rose?" Will worked the word in his mouth carefully, disliking its taste.
Aiden and Claire exchanged a look. "An earthquake happened," he said.
"Tidal wave swept it out to sea and killed it," Claire added. Her jaw tightened. "I couldn't."
Elizabeth cleared her throat. "Well, that's a start, then. What have we got to do to get James free of this thing?"
For a long moment, neither spoke. Aiden would not raise his eyes from the floor. Jack had gone back to his studious observation of James's inert face.
Finally Claire rose smoothly to her feet, visibly composed herself, and said, "We have to kill him."
