When Whitley winds up on the top of a pirate hit-list thanks to her con-artist father, she must hide her identity and board another pirate ship, trusting in one shape-shifting pirate named Bluff to help her escape. Too bad you can never, ever, trust...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Bluff
Sweat pours from my face as I dig a hole beneath the trees, hoping if I go far enough I'll find water. I don't actually know how deep that will require. While also knowing if I dig too far, I'll likely come to salt contaminated water. Not drinkable. I've never exactly been stranded on an island like this before so it's all theory to me. I'm just hoping it works.
The only other time I found myself on a small island, I was much closer to larger land, with an entire crew (our ship had run aground) and was able to get a message to another ship via a siren. I'm not exactly on friendly terms with sirens at the moment, nor do I trust them. I don't know what their role is in all of this, but they've implied they too find value in Whitley, so I there is zero percent chance I'd call them. I don't even want them to know where I am. Which makes getting off this island much trickier How do I get a message somewhere without also signaling the wrong people?
The dirt turns to mud as I dig and I can feel victory just on the edge of the thin stone I'm using as a shovel. I just hope it's fresh, not salty.
Wind wisps through my hair gently—a familiar feeling that makes me pause. I listen. Leaves rustle around me. Waves crash in the distance.
Bluff. The wind whispers into my ear.
"What?" I ask harshly. Not in the mood for siren games today.
Tsk tsk. Salty are we? halfway between a wisp and a solid voice now. I thought you'd be happy to hear from me.
I swallow and clench my jaw. "You thought wrong. How are you even here? We're in the middle of an island."
"Just small enough for me to reach you." Her form is still mostly transparent, but I can see her hair flowing like it's under water, her coloring like a rainbow glistening in the sun. That's as solid as she can get, I'm sure, this far from the sea. She can't touch us here—that much is a comfort to me.
"Wonderful." I wonder about the storm then. If sirens can reach me, this far into the island, why was a storm raging here as well? It means my theory of being close enough to the sea is correct. The other option isn't a good one.
I sit up straighter, my heart pounding harder. I long to run to back to the beach to make sure Whitley is safe, but I don't want to expose my fear to my mother. Not yet. Maybe I can still get information from her.
"Are you here to help?" I ask her.
"What kind of help would you like, dear son?"
I roll my eyes. "Don't call me that."
"What? Son? Is it not true?"
"If you cared about me in the slightest, I wouldn't mind. Don't pretend you do."
"I care for your survival. And it's not looking great at the moment, is it?"
"You care for my survival so you can continue to gain from my existence. It's not exactly the same thing. And I'm doing just fine."
"Perhaps. But to answer your question I am indeed sending help. But I am not here for you. I am here for something more valuable."
My stomach sinks. Hands are shaking.
"You can't get to her here." I say more to comfort myself than for her.
"Sweet naive boy." I close my eyes, icy fear filling my veins. "All I need is for her to enter the water alone. Humans are so easy to tempt."
My head whips towards the beach as she laughs. No. No, no. no.
I don't wait another moment. I sprint towards the beach I last saw Whitley.
