The goddess Danu’s expression was inscrutable, so Caleb listened intently as she spoke.

“You are an interesting one, Caleb Ledger. Like many from your world, you are split and unsure of your path between the dark and the light.”

I’m doing my best to make my way, he thought, and his words rippled out into the ether. Haven’t my actions to date shown which path I am on?

Danu’s lips curled up in the hint of a smile before she answered him.

“You have helped others escape the Myrkur’s clutches. Now you are on the run. As your griffin friend said, in so many words: What shall you do when you no longer need to run?”

Caleb found himself unable to speak.

The goddess moved her hand, and a part of his character sheet winked into existence before him.

Name: Caleb Ledger Level: Nine Class: TBD / Wizard Base

“What you decide to do next in Jaladri will change this. Irrevocably. It is up to you to decide if your past becomes your future."

With that, the screen and Danu’s luminescent form vanished.

Caleb continued to fall through the blackness, his speed accelerating. Black gave way to faint blue, then sky blue, then deep azure.

Suddenly, more of Caleb’s senses began to tickle his consciousness.

He heard the cry of seabirds as they soared overhead. Scents of cinnamon and cloves emanating from the bottle of his favorite eau de cologne as he splashed it across his body. The rich tobacco smoke from a Cuban cigar danced on his palate and in his nose.

A crack as a sail filled with fresh tropical breezes. The caress of a woman’s lips as they moved from the base of his neck and started to spiral lower and lower. The snap of ice and the glug of liquid as he poured Glenfiddich from a bottle and into an old-school whiskey tumbler.

An insistent rap-rap-rap came from the door.

“Capitán,” came the call. “Capitán!”

Caleb came to and abruptly sat up.

Out of reflex, he swung his legs over the side of the king-sized bed. Then he blinked as he took in the expanse of blond hardwood and white leather that made up his quarters. The purple-gold light of evening shone through the cabin’s polished brass portholes.

Another impatient rap at the door.

“Capitán,” said the voice, “Señor Ugalde, él está esperando.”

Alejandro Ugalde? Here, already? A chill ran down his spine. What happened to the time?

The possible answers jumped out at him as he looked around.

An empty bottle of scotch sat on the gilded nightstand next to the bed. So did a round glass tray. A razor blade and several blurry lines of snow-white powder lay atop its mirrored surface.

He heard a mumble and a snore come from behind him. Caleb turned to see the shapely curves of a sleeping woman, still asleep in the bed. He caught a glimpse of buttery-smooth shoulders, brightly painted nails, and high cheekbones as she turned over and burrowed deeper into the sheets.

“Más tarde,” she murmured. “Despiértame más tarde.”

He got out of bed and hurriedly pulled on the pair of boxer briefs and shorts lying on the floor next to the bed. They looked clean enough. Better yet, they didn’t smell of sex.

“Tell Señor Ugalde that I’ll be right there,” he called.

“Sí, Capitán,” came the reply.

Caleb found a cream-colored Bermuda shirt decorated with swooshes meant to mimic palm fronds. He slipped his feet into a pair of canvas deck shoes and then went into the bathroom. At ninety feet long, the Second Chance didn’t have a Roman tub like a billionaire’s superyacht, but it did sport a walk-in bathroom with marble countertops and a spacious glass shower stall.

He got rid of the excess liquid that threatened to make his back teeth float, flushed, and then went to check out his reflection in the mirror. Same shock of blond hair with matching chin beard. Same ropy, whitish scar slashing down from his temple against tanned skin.

His dark eyes were more than a little bloodshot. A quick fishing expedition in the medicine cabinet, and he dosed his eyes with some redness reliever drops. He followed that up with a splash of rum-scented cologne and quick swish of mouthwash.

Okay, that’s the best I can do on short notice, he thought. Now it’s showtime. Performance of your life. Make it count.

Caleb made his way out into the main cabin. Two of Ugalde’s goons remained at the corners of the room, their suits bulked out by muscle and scarcely concealed firearms. Their boss half-sat, half-sprawled on the far couch.

Ugalde wore a brilliant white set of shirt-and-shorts that could’ve graced a tennis match. But all the outfit did was highlight his rail-thin body, pipe-cleaner arms, and a ruddy, pockmarked face. A long, droopy mustache perched atop the man’s upper lip like a greasy falcon.

“Caleb Ledger!” Ugalde said, beckoning him over. His hands and feet drummed agitatedly, but a broad smile blossomed on the man’s face. “Qué onda carnal? Cómo estás?”

“I’m doing fine, mi compa. What do I owe this surprise visit to?”

Caleb walked over and took a seat on the couch across from the man. His movements were casual, but inside his head, alarms had begun blaring. Ugalde was known as Príncipe Nieve – Prince Snow – in this part of the Caribbean, but his style was as hands-off as it could be. For him to show up early, unannounced, and on board the Second Chance was out of character.

Unless something was up.

“What do you owe?” Ugalde snorted. “Why, you owe me twelve hundred kilos of Culiacán's best powder.”

“I was on schedule for the rendezvous.” Caleb said. “I’m not about to skip a port with a load this big. I know what it means, what it represents.”

It represents more than $250 million. It represents the biggest theft of merchandise from one set of international drug traffickers by another. It represents the matador waving the red cape before a bull. The matador’s name is Ugalde. And who’s the bull? The entire Sinaloa Cartel.

“It’s right here on board,” Caleb continued. “Your men can check, your men can move it now, if you want.”

“I don’t need your permission!” Ugalde shouted, loud enough for the cords to stand out in his neck. The drumming of his hands and feet intensified. “What I need is your loyalty!”

“You have it, jefe! You have it!” Caleb said quickly. “I don’t know why you came out so early from Val Verde, but you should have told me you were on the way.”

“Val Verde is crawling with snakes. Crawling!” He made as if to spit. “This deal doesn’t have just a rival cartel’s fingerprints on it. It’s got federales mixed in too. And I can prove it.”

Ugalde motioned to one of the goons. The man stepped out onto the deck. He grabbed a huge gunnysack, and unceremoniously dumped it into the room.

A groan came from inside.

The man pulled out a knife and slashed open the bag. He yanked out a woman, who shrieked in pain as he lifted her up by her long brown hair. He gave her a shove so that she stood unsteadily to one side.

The woman’s features were delicate, as if they’d been molded out of porcelain. Save for a bruise that blossomed over one eye. Her expression was torn between fear and despair. Her jeans and dark blue jacket were new.

The jacket had been emblazoned with a single line of words in bright yellow: DEA AGENT.

“So?” Caleb asked. “This woman didn’t stow away on my ship. I know nothing about her.”

“There are people in San Zalay who say otherwise.” Ugalde’s hands stopped in their constant tremor for a moment. He gestured to the second of his overdressed, over-muscled men. “Your pistol. Take the safety off, then toss it to our brave and loyal Capitán.”

Without hesitation, the man pulled his firearm from a chest holster. He adjusted it and then tossed it over. Startled, Caleb almost dropped the gun before carefully steadying it in his hand.

“Jesus,” he exclaimed. “This thing could’ve gone off, Alejandro!”

“You are right, my friend. That was too risky. Now, since you are so worried about risks, I need you to eliminate another one for me. Shoot that worthless federales.”

With those words, Caleb looked over to the woman. Her eyes were frozen in fear.

Finally, he shrugged.

“As you wish, jefe.”

Caleb raised the gun and squeezed the trigger.

A loud bam!

Something socked him hard in his midsection.

He gasped for air as his ribs burned.

Caleb’s eyes flew open.

A trickle of early morning sunlight shone through the great cabin’s wooden door. His nose filled with the scents of coconut oil, sea spray, and perspiration once more. He looked down to see a long spiral of a unicorn’s horn just above his chest. It withdrew as he sat up.

“You were having a nightmare,” Tavia explained, as she took a step back. Her eyes regarded him with new curiosity, as if she were trying to make a judgement call. “I was trying to use my magic to calm you. To do that, I had to bring my horn over your body. Then, all of a sudden, you tried to sit up.”

“Ow,” Caleb said, as he rubbed a sore spot. “And I sat up right into your horn. I’m just lucky I didn’t give myself a bad cut. You’ve got quite the weapon there, Tavia.”

“It’s all right,” she said. Tavia gave him a surprisingly intense gaze. “I would never intentionally hurt you. No matter what you did.”

“That’s...that’s good to know,” he replied. He coughed into his hand and changed the subject. “I take it that we made it through the night without Delacroix circling back to blow us out of the water.”

“I would take that bet. Shaw’s lent his eagle eyes to the lookouts on deck. The Stone Angel is nowhere to be seen.”

“Well, then we’re out of the woods, problem-wise.”

“I’m not sure about that.” Tavia tossed her golden mane as she gestured towards the cabin door with her horn. “Sienna wished to speak to you immediately. She says that we’ve got a host of problems that need solving right now. One big one, in particular.”

Caleb sighed. He rubbed his eyes, removing the sleep sand that had gathered there. Then he swung his legs over the side of the bed to slip his boots on.

But deep down, he dearly wished that he had a bottle of Glenfiddich to turn to right now.

“All right,” he said, as stood up. “Send her in.”