“If you die—through no fault of my own, of course—the probability of my survival drops rather drastically. I’m expected to risk my ship, my crew, and my finances for some tenuous promise of possible goodwill. I’m looking for the silver lining and not finding any.”

“You risk your ship, crew, and money, while we will be risking our lives,” Curran said. “And since we’re on the subject, I guarantee that if another vessel from your fleet pulls up next to out ship in the middle of the night and its crew attempts to murder us and scuttle our vessel to hide the evidence, you won’t survive.”

Saiman leaned back and laughed.

“What do you want?” I asked him.

“Friend of the Pack status,” Saiman said. “Granted prior to departure.”

Friend of the Pack would make him an ally. It guaranteed that shapeshifters would stay out of his business and protect him if one of them observed Saiman in imminent danger. It would also grant him the ability to visit the shapeshifter offices without being immediately detained.

“No,” Curran said. “I won’t give you that much access.”

“Not only that, but if you become Friend of the Pack and then sink your ship with us on board, the shapeshifters can’t come after you,” I said.

“Do you really think I would drown you, Kate?”

“In a heartbeat,” I told him. “You still owe me, Saiman.”

“And I’m trying to work with you, but you must meet me halfway.”

“No,” I said. “You won’t be getting Friend of the Pack status until we return.”

Saiman smiled. “Then we’re at an impasse.”

We looked at each other.

“What if I come with you?”

“What?” I must’ve misheard.

“I’ll join you on your wonderful adventure, Kate. That way, if our vessel does sink, I cannot be blamed, because I was on board.”

“Why would you be doing this?” Curran asked.

“I’m overdue for a trip to the Mediterranean. I have business interests there.”

“No,” I said.

The two men looked at me.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Curran said.

“Have you two gone crazy? This is a horrible idea. First, the two of you hate each other.”

“I don’t hate him.” Saiman shrugged. “It’s too strong a word.”

“If I hated him, he’d be dead,” Curran said.

They were nuts. “How long does it take to cross the Atlantic?”

Saiman frowned. “Depends on the magic waves, but generally between twelve and eighteen days.”

I turned to Curran. “We’ll be stuck together on a small boat for at least two weeks. What happens when on day two he gets bored?”

“It will be fine,” Curran said. “We can handle it. If he gets out of hand, we’ll tie him to the mast.”