“Nico!” I shout.
Even as I say his name, I chide myself for overreacting. It is a ghost flying at him. Nothing more substantial than—
The ghost hits him, and Nicolas inhales in a sudden gasp. His head jerks back, and all I see is the whites of his eyes. His body convulses, and his hands release the rigging.
“Nico!”
He falls. There seems to be an impossibly long moment where he is suspended in midair. A moment where it feels as if I could grab him if only I moved faster. Iammoving, but it is not fast enough, and he is already plummeting toward the deck, a half-dozen feet below.
“Nico!”
It takes every ounce of my practicality not to release my own grip on the rigging. My heart shouts that it would be the fastest way down. Let go and drop. My brain knows better, and instead, I scramble down, hand over hand, ignoring the pain in my arm, until my toes brush the deck.
I let go and drop beside Nicolas. He’s sprawled motionless on the deck. My hands fly to his neck first. His pulse beats strong. Then I bend to check his breathing, and his eyes snap open, eyes staring into mine.
“Did I swoon, crécerelle? Please tell me I did not swoon.”
I can’t bring myself to even smile at the joke. I am too busy looking at his eyes, being sure they seem focused. They do. When he tries to rise, I stop him.
“You fell from the rope,” I say. “Do not move yet. Please.”
He cocks his head. “I think I am fine.”
“Are you actually a doctor, Nico? Because if you are, you should know better. Liestill.”
His lips curve in a smile. “You called me Nico again.”
I sigh and run my hands along his neck. “Tell me if anything hurts.”
“It all hurts.”
“How hard did you hit your head?”
“I do believe I am fine, crécerelle. I have heard it said that alcohol consumption can reduce physical damage from a fall. The theory is that, if inebriated, one does not have the wits to tense before landing.”
He rolls his shoulders. “I am very sore, and I suspect I will be even more sore come morning, but I believe I can rise.”
“Carefully.”
“Oui.” He sits up and tests his arms and then his legs. “The worst injury seems to be to my pride. I do not know how I lost my grip like that.”
“You... don’t recall what happened?”
He glances up at me as he gets to his feet. “I was descending the rigging, and I slipped.”
“You did not feel anything unusual?”
“Non. Why?”
I look out over the ship’s deck, which is now empty. “It was the ghost. He charged at you. Flew into the air and ran you through. I saw your face. You looked terrified.”
“Interesting...”
“That is not the word I would use, Nicolas.”
“Nico. You know how to say it, and so I now expect it.”
“Even calling you by your first name is scandalous enough, Dr. Dupuis.”