Monstrum by Ann Christopher Page B

and slacks, and the effect is of an officer in some branch of the military that I can’t put my finger on.
    The overall effect is striking.
    â€œBria Hunter?” Frowning, he turns to glance over his shoulder at the boy. “This is the one you told me about when you came to the bridge to give me a report, yes? The señorita who was going to rescue all her friends with no help from us?”
    â€œThat’s the one,” the boy confirms.
    I don’t dare look at him. He’s still got that trace of amusement in his voice, and my hot cheeks are in imminent danger of blushing, which I will absolutely not allow.
    Luckily, Captain Romero turns back to me and grins, which is a breathtaking sight, I must say.
    â€œYou didn’t tell me that she was so beautiful as well as brave,” the captain chides. “For this one, I am more than happy to make an exception to the tradition about not allowing females on my ship.”
    This makes me think of the glaring eyes painted on the ship’s hull, no doubt to keep evil spirits away. I’m about to tell him that I don’t believe in sailors’ superstitions when he winks at me and continues.
    â€œAnd these eyes!” he exclaims. “What color do you call these eyes?”
    â€œUmm,” I say, trying hard not to be dazzled by this attention. And so much for not blushing. Normally, I’m not big on flowery compliments, but I still find myself swiping a hand through my bird’s nest of hair, which feels like spring-loaded wire at this point, and trying to tame it. “Hazel?”
    â€œ
Hazel?
No! These eyes are the color of the finest baroque Tahitian pearls!”
    I give him a blank look.
    â€œBlack pearls! Your eyes are the beautiful gray of the most exquisite black pearls, Bria Hunter, and never say otherwise.”
    â€œThank you,” I mumble, ready to wrap this introduction up because my blush has now gone beyond my cheeks and is threatening to incinerate my entire head. “You have a great accent. Are you from Mexico?” I ask, thinking of Espi’s family roots.
    â€œMexico? No, no. I am from España. Spain, home of the greatest explorers the world has ever known. Cortés, de Soto, Pizarro, de León—all from Spain. I was born in the great port city of Cádiz.”
    â€œRight,” I say, now feeling distinctly overwhelmed. “Well, it’s so nice to meet—”
    â€œAnd you!” Captain Romero has already moved on, turning me loose to exclaim over Maggie. The loss of his attention is like being center stage at a packed Carnegie Hall one minute, and living in a cardboard box under a bridge the next. “Look at this glorious Titian hair! What is your name, Señorita?”
    I’m watching Maggie as she stutters and tries to recall whether she has a name or not when Gray snorts and elbows me in the ribs.
    â€œHey!” I complain, wincing. “What was that for?”
    He eyes me sourly. “Don’t get a big head,” he whispers.
    â€œAs if,” I scoff.
    â€œI don’t like that guy,” Gray says, staring after the captain, who has by now gotten to the last people in line, Mike and Espi. He hands her a linen handkerchief from his pocket and murmurs softly as she bows her head and cries. “He rubs me the wrong way.”
    â€œYeah,” Carter agrees, frowning. “He’s a little . . . off.”
    â€œThat’s ridiculous,” I say, feeling as though I have to defend the captain after his lavish compliments. Even though there’s something elusive about him that also puts me on my guard. “But for him and his ship, we’d all be swimming with the fishes right now, and you know it.”
    â€œAnd I don’t like the dude over there, either.” Gray tips his head discreetly in the boy’s direction, but I still don’t dare glance that way. “Why is he staring at us?”
    I shrug irritably.