Winds of Fate [Books IV-VI]

Chapter 147: Davy Jones

March 1720
Present Day
The Flying Dutchman

Davy Jones.

The name echoes in her mind, and burning silver flashes flick before her eyes. Out of breath, Eleanore staggers. Voices come from the dark. Faces surface from the ether. Laughter and tears and whispers stir in her heart. A shudder captures her and brings her to the ground.

"Jones," she gasps, brows meeting tightly, "you!"

"No, no—"

She unsheathes the rapier by her hip. "Huh?" Eleanore blinks, left with only its golden hilt. "Ah, goddamit!"

She still raises what was left of Mikey's gift up high to bludgeon her enemy with it. "You cannot fool me, bastard!"

"Eleanore!"

Bam!

The golden hilt sinks into the waxy forehead of the apparition. Eleanore gawks and steps back, for the old man in there winces... and only that. She heaves, frozen, unsure what to do. If this is Jones, he should laugh, gloat, especially now that she can remember everything.

"Woah." But those gray balls for eyes open once more and the face grimaces. "What a headache you must be for your parents."

Eleanore blinks, her cheeks prickling with embarassment, but then she stomps that away... even if this isn't an answer she is expecting at all. Now, the old ghost in the hull even looks up at the golden hilt, and carefully plucks it out of his slimy head.

She winces.

"Yes," Davy Jones says with a laugh when he sees her face, "disgusting. I know, I know."

Her lips tremble. Don't be fooled by that. Eleanore clenches her hands to fists. He's been kind to you before.

But then last night's battle comes back to her. She glances away. Jones had made her choose, had nearly killed Anton to scare her... Anton. She blinks back her tears. That's your name. Anton. And she whispers all her friends' names firmly in the stillness of her relieved mind. Eleanore closes her eyes. All of them had been in danger. All of them nearly died. Even her poor unborn daughter, Torkin had to send her somewhere safe.

No.

If anything, Jones was done deceiving her with his sweet lies. He showed his hand, and he is proud of it.

Then why will he deceive her once more?

"It appears I do not need to wake you." The bald head speaks, its waxy slime crinkling to reveal wrinkles of the old man. "The name is enough to make you remember, eh?"

"Who..." Eleanore gasps. "Who the hell are you?!"

"I told you." The old man grimaces and opens his arms, stretching the white slime even more that the shreds of decomposed wood falls. "The name is Jones."

She cocks her head to the side.

"Captain." He frowns. "Davy. Jones."