Once he shut down the engines, Jamys looped the strap of the waterproof bag Garcia had given him around his neck, and dived off the side of the speedboat.
Jamys took care not to resurface until he had reached the stern of the old ship. There he caught hold of the massive, rusted anchor chain and looked up at the remains of the letters that had long ago been carved into the rotted wood above his head: OLDE OR E.
He drew a dagger, clamping it between his teeth, and began to climb hand over hand up the chain. When he came within a foot of the railing, he jumped, catching hold of the edge of the upper deck and using it to pull himself up to eye level.
Women in ragged tunics stood behind each of the men standing guard, and in their hands held broken pieces of glass. Samantha and an old woman were walking across a makeshift bridge to the yacht; Christian stood with her back against the mainmast beside a fair-haired woman whose eyes were closed.
Even more astonishing, Vander’s men walked past the pair without giving any sign that they noticed them.
The woman standing beside Chris opened her eyes and looked directly at Jamys, and then disappeared from sight, along with Chris, the other women, and Samantha.
Jamys knew of a few Kyn capable of creating illusions—his mother had been one—but none so powerful they could bespell an entire ship of mortals and Kyn alike.
He released his grip on the deck, and plummeted back into the water. He could hear the front line of the fleet approaching now, and knew in a few minutes Lucan would attack. He gauged the distance he would have to swim to reach the yacht, where there were no guards, and sank beneath the waves.
* * *
Sam broke the lock on the yacht’s main cabin door, and slipped inside as quietly as she could. The stink of gasoline made her hold her breath as she scanned the darkened casino, where hundreds of patrons huddled in miserable clusters between several corpses that had been executed with head shots, probably to intimidate the rest of the hostages.
Knowing the smell of the gas and the ballroom dimensions of the cabin would make using l’attrait virtually impossible, Sam fell back on her knowledge of movies and human nature.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she called out in a firm, clear voice. “I’m with the Miami Bomb Squad. Several explosive devices have been planted all over this casino to set off the gasoline. My team and I can’t defuse them until we move you to a safe distance. I need you to be quiet and follow my instructions exactly, because if you don’t, you will set off these bombs. Stay where you are until I come to your group.”
Sam went to the nearest bunch sitting around the roulette wheel. “You, you, and you,” she said, pointing to obvious couples. “Hold hands and walk out onto the deck. Wait at the railing and don’t make a sound.” As a fat man lunged up from another group and tried to run past her, she caught him and shoved him back down. “Do that again, pal, and you’ll be the last to go.”
As she worked her way around the room, a few more jackasses tried similar tactics, which she countered easily, and one elderly man offered her a million dollars in exchange for letting him be first one off the ship.
Sam shook her head. “What happened to letting the women and children go first?”
“There aren’t any kids,” the old man told her, “and if you get a better offer from one of the women, I’ll double it.”
She took a moment to step close and shed enough scent to affect him. “You just volunteered to be the last one out of here. Also, if you do survive, you’re going to donate that million dollars to Gamblers Anonymous.”
“Last. Million. Gamblers.” He nodded and sat back down.
Once the rest of the hostages had been sent out, Sam led the old man out onto the deck and moved to a spot where the breeze would help spread her scent. The night sky and cold air chased off the lingering fatigue of day, and she was able to bring the crowd under her command in a few minutes. She sorted them into lines according to how many she thought each of the smaller boats could carry, and issued her final instructions.
“Climb one at a time down the ladders. As soon as the last person is on board, start the boat engines and drive north away from the yacht to Biscayne Bay.” She heard the sound of approaching engines and quickly finished with, “Dock your boats at the pier where the ferry picked you up, get into your cars, and go home.”
The hostages began shuffling toward the ladders as Sam ran to the starboard side of the yacht. Hundreds of small boats were closing in, each carrying warriors dressed in black and armed with rifles and swords. On the bow of the frontmost cruiser stood Lucan, his corn-silk mane tied back from his grim face, his hands empty and bare.