Shadows & Surrender: A Snarky Urban Fantasy Detective Series (The Jezebel Files Book 3) by Deborah Wilde

Author:Deborah Wilde [Wilde, Deborah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Te Da Media
Published: 2020-06-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

“Get on the boat, Ash.”

“But we’ve come all this way for our blessing.” I couldn’t turn around now. Chariot could not be allowed to get their hands on another piece of the scroll, and I couldn’t walk away from the best lead on finding my dad that I’d ever had. I threw him a thumbs-up. “Back soon, babycakes.”

The dagger disappeared again as soon as I hit the beach. I was magicless, but I wasn’t weaponless. I had my brain. Jezebels were chosen because we were the best Seekers. Magic and strength were handy tools in our toolbox, but deprived of that, it came down to our wits.

I could do this.

Behind the beach, about fifty feet from shore, was a dense press of palm trees jutting out crookedly from the ground and blocking any view of the rest of the island.

Shading my eyes with one hand, I scanned the island for any tell-tale elevation where a house might be located. There was a rise off to my right.

I headed into the jungle. The thick canopy kept it dim and cool under the trees.

Other than birds and some creepy crawlies, the dirt path up the hill appeared deserted, but the back of my neck prickled. I was being watched but, for some reason, not apprehended. Yet.

I’d been walking briskly for a few minutes, when there was a loud snuffling and crashing of dry branches to my left. I pressed back behind a tree in time to witness three wild pigs barrel past. One of them stumbled, close to where I’d been walking.

A volley of arrows shot out of a hidden hole to embed in the tree across from me. I pressed a hand to my racing heart. Another couple of steps and I would have been the one to set off that tripwire.

To badly misquote Shakespeare, “Whether ’tis nobler to suffer the slings and arrows of a boobytrapped jungle, or wave my arms and call out the guards?”

I put two fingers in my mouth and whistled. “I demand an audience with Caligula Jones.” When nothing happened, I called out again. “Tell Paulie Peterson that he’s got a visitor.”

Three square-jawed men built like tanks melted out of the trees. Each man was armed with a sub-machine gun slung across his chest.

“How do you know that name?” The one whose forehead was more of a twelve-head stepped forward.

“Take me to him and find out.” I tried not to stare but he also had this vast swath of unibrow and I couldn’t help mentally fitting him for a Flintstone loincloth.

“Mr. Jones doesn’t like tourists.” He unslung his gun.

“Wait! Kill me and Paul—Caligula will be very displeased. We all know what happens when he’s displeased, right, gentlemen?”

They exchanged an uneasy glance and I felt a stirring of unease. Geez, Uncle Paulie. How far off the deep end had you gone? If I’d believed his behavior was as extreme as their reactions suggested, I’d never have left Arkady on the boat. “On second thought,” I said, “I could just leave, never to return.

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