Madame Celeste Gearhart's Arc

Chapter 18 of 24

Celeste watched the captain vanish down the water path toward her crew. The totem sat quiet on the bench now, its coiled vial pulsing slow. But quiet was not the same as safe. The two Barons she had dragged back obeyed only because the sap forced them. Force wore thin. She had felt it wear thin already, back when the skull-face lunged for her throat. When the pirates came in numbers, she would need every spirit inside to fight without a leash yanking their necks. A slave army breaks the moment the master looks away. She unstopped the totem's resin flower and called the two Barons out into the open air of the cottage. Green light poured from the flower and took its skull-faced shape. The hooded figure rose, bone beads clacking, eyes burning. Beside it swelled the purple flame of the other. Baron Shadowveil turned its burning eyes on her cane, on her monocle, on the geared totem at her feet. "You call us out to cage us again," Shadowveil scraped. "We will not carry your war." Celeste did not raise the totem. She set it down instead, flower pointed at the floor. "No cage. Look around this room." She swept her cane toward the shelf of jarred bugs, the potions, the carved lesser totems watching from their perch. "Pirates come to take all of it. They will melt you down for scrap silver. I have fought them alone for weeks." The purple flame narrowed its white eyes. "Their grudge is with the witch, not with us." "Their grudge becomes yours the moment they own this totem." Celeste leaned on her cane and met the burning gaze. "I am not asking you to serve. I am offering you their crew. Fight for me and take your fill of the dead I cannot reach. When the pirates fall, you feed." Shadowveil drifted closer. The bone beads swung. "A witch bargains where she once commanded." "A witch learns." She held out one dark hand. "Your word, Baron. Not the sap's grip. Your own." The skull-face studied her open palm for a long moment. Then it clasped her wrist. Cold shot up her arm like river water. "We accept," Shadowveil said. "For blood, not for chains." The purple flame dipped its feathered cloak in agreement. Celeste guided them back into the resin flower. This time they went willingly, curling in without a scream. The vial glowed steady. She stoppered it and set her hand flat on the totem's carved chest. Under her palm, for the first time, the two proud spirits sat still by choice. She had bent them without breaking them. But a bargain sealed in blood carried a price she had not yet been asked to pay. And down the water, the captain was already gathering her fleet to strike.