As Cameron took the mug, she noted the burn mark on Sancha’s wrist that was identical to the ones they all bore—a strange Celtic cross ribbon, with a circle in the center that held a skull and crossbones.
Inclining her head to the mark, Cameron scowled at it. “Might I inquire about the source of that?”
Sancha pulled her sleeve back to expose more of the mark. “Sure you want to know?”
They all seemed to hold their breath in expectation of her answer.
But Cameron wanted to understand this new place she seemed fated to call home. “Aye.”
Sancha pulled the dark wig from her head, showing that her hair beneath was snow white. The color most wore wigs or heavily powdered their hair to achieve. Cameron had never seen a human being with hair that pale before. Especially not a young person, nor one whose skin and eyes were so dark. Sancha couldn’t be more than three-and-twenty, or five-and-twenty at most.
She tossed the wig down on her own bunk before she drained her mug and spoke again. “That be the Deadman’s Cross we bear.”
“Pardon?”
“We are the dead, Miss Jack. And the damned. Every jack and molly here.” She fell against her bunk and let her insanely long legs fly up. “It’s why all who sail on this ship are known as Deadmen. The Deadman’s Cross be the mark of our bondage to a beast they say is the son of the devil himself.”
“The captain?” It would make sense, given his name.
Sancha laughed. “Nay, love. The real and true Lucifer, who sits on a fiery throne in hell and rains down his wrath on those poor souls he’s taken in.”
Cameron glanced at each woman in the room. Belle, Valynda, Janice, and Sancha. “I’m not sure I follow.”
Belle answered in her own lyrical accent. “You know about me Valynda there, and how she died her death. Sancha and I lived less than auspicious lives. Unlike poor Valynda, we earned our damnation with both fists, brawling every step of the way to our deaths. As did the rest of the men on this ship. Hell-bound from crib to grave we all were.”
“But each of us committed at least one decent act that brought us to the attention of a…” Sancha screwed her face up as she reached for more rum. “How would you describe the beast?” she asked Belle.
“The devil is the beast,” Belle said blankly. “And the beast is the devil.”
Cameron cocked her head at the casual way Belle spoke, trying to make sense of it all. “Captain Bane or the other?”
Belle let out a low, evil laugh. “The other.” She reached for Sancha’s rum to drink it. “This one gives our fair dark captain a run for his money when it comes to his evil aura and badassery.”
“Thorn be this beastie’s name, though.” Valynda picked up the tale. “As Sancha noted, they say he’s the son of Satan himself. For true. As in Lucifer’s very spawn. And it’s a story I believe. He has the air of it. And the power to pull souls from hell itself—which would make sense if he is the son of Old Scratch. ’Tis how some of us have come to be here. The Deadman mark is what allows us to stay on this side of things and not be sucked back to whatever dark realm he pulled us from. It’s a binding spell that holds us on this side of the barrier.”
Sancha lifted her cup. “And to keep other creatures from returning us to whatever dimension we came out of until either Thorn wills it or we earn back our freedom.”
“Aye, and he has the power to remove the Deadman’s mark at will should we do something wrong and fall from his favor.” Belle took a swig from the bottle. “It’s the bargain Thorn made with the lot of us. We serve his needs. Police his demons back to their respective cages. And should we survive our trials and battle, we’ll earn our salvation and be returned to the land of the living as full mortal beings.”
Cameron suppressed the chill that ran down her spine at the very thought of what they described. “If you fail?”
A shadow darkened Sancha’s gaze. “We’re cast back to the demons that were torturing us when he saved us.”
“That hardly seems fair.”
Belle scoffed at Cameron’s puerility. “Fair’s got nothing to do with our sorry lot. Never did. Never will.”
Sancha nodded. “Truth be to that.” They clanked mugs.
Cameron paused to consider everything they’d told her. Which made her wonder one particular thing … “So how many demons does it take to redeem yourselves, anyway?”
“Depends on the severity of the deed what got us damned and our remorse for it. Each has his or her own path to follow.” Sancha pulled back her sleeve to show her emblem to Cameron. “The mark lightens as we get closer to earning our freedom. When it’s gone completely, so are we.”
“How do you mean?”
Sancha reached for her drink. “We’re set free and given a chance to screw up anew.”
“Even Valynda?”
