Hook & Jill (The Hook & Jill Saga) (26 page)

* * *

Contrary to the captain’s mood, Neverbay lay becalmed. Hook felt a need to keep moving today. He ranged the deck of the
Roger
, fencing in shirtsleeves with Gentleman Starkey.

“As you see, Mr. Starkey… one must keep up one’s skills.… Swordplay with boys has made you rusty.” He aimed his final thrust. “It’s too easy.” He nailed Starkey, figuratively, to the mast, to the acclaim of the men around him. “As I know from recent experience.” He yanked the rapier free, hanging it to dangle from his claw as he tidied his throat with a handkerchief. Near to hand on his belt reposed his finest pistol, one half of a perfectly matched set.

“Yes, Sir.” Starkey touched a respectful hand to his forehead, then addressed his pupils. “Listen to your captain, mates! Wise words. Take my sword, Mr. Tootles. Now, Mr. Nibs, fetch Mr. Smee’s needle and thread.”

“Aye, aye!” With his orange kerchief bobbing, Nibs dashed down the deck. His clomping feet halted as a cry escaped the crow’s nest.

“Ahoy! Two approaching, starboard, Sir! In the air!” Swiftly, all deck hands moved to defensive positions. Returning his sword to his grip, Hook raised his gaze eagerly and squinted at the sky. No… but not boys, either. A dark form, and a light.

“Hold fire! Let them board.” He saluted the pair, and the sailors backed from the rail. The rare birds flew nearer and touched down, accompanied by an unsettling cadence. The Indians’ gazes darted around the prickly sea of swords, exchanging astonishment with the two youngest crewmen before settling on the captain, where he stood darkly inspecting them. He spied the tomahawk even as his head jerked up and his eyes widened. He cocked his ear to catch the abominable noise. The crew fell silent, fingering their weapons.

There was no mistaking it. The relentless beat of Time. And the source of the beat lay wrapped in a blanket in Rowan’s arm. Mindful of their peril, he and Lightly jumped to the deck. Hook held his sword ready and strode across the boards to tower over them.

“You have news for me.”

Rowan ventured, “News, and a messenger.” He unwrapped the bundle and held out the timepiece. Hook snarled, baring his teeth.

Everything about the thing was offensive, from the overloud ticking, to the stench, to the coating of sludge obscuring the face. Hook seized the handle with his claw, ripping it from Rowan’s grasp. His sword clattered on the deck and he flung the clock into the air, drawing his pistol. The crewmen covered their heads and backed away, their gazes locked on flying Time. The gun exploded, the young men cringed, hands over ears, too late. As the shot assaulted the senses and its echo repeated over the water, the clock burst into a hundred metal shards, pelting the deck and crunching under Hook’s enraged boots. The messengers held their elbows over their heads and stared wildly, uncertain of their own fates. Hook rounded on Rowan.

“What do you mean by this? Where is that infernal croc?”

Rowan salvaged his composure, all eyes upon him as, shaken but unblinking, he faced the captain. “We found your clock in its lair, but the beast was gone. I repay your life-service. You are warned.”

Hook studied his face suspiciously, then thrust his gaze at Lightly. “You were Wendy’s boy, the first to grow up. I advise, for her sake, that you both get back to the mountain. And tell your council I am aware of the proposed pact with Pan.” His earring swung as he turned to glower at Rowan. “
You
are warned.”

But Lightly squared his shoulders. “There’s more news, Sir. The crocodile is no longer earthbound.”

Hook looked him up and down. “Well? Explain yourself!”

“We think Peter gave it the power of flight, Sir. You’re not safe anywhere.”

Hook froze for one moment, his knuckles whitening on the stock of his gun. Then he pivoted, shouting. “Smee!”

“Aye, Captain!” Smee shoved his way through the company toward his commander’s side.

Hook’s eyes burned. His every muscle seizing, he rasped at Smee through gritted teeth, “Take the girl! Now!”

Smee never stopped moving. “Aye, Sir, right away!” He sprang to his duty, signaling two mates to follow him to the dinghy where they began its launch, working together in practiced motions.

“Triple the watch! Roll out Long Tom!” His eyes were red now, aiming at the Indians. The hook raked the air at their bellies.
“And get them off my ship!”

His men scrambled to obey as Hook whirled and shot toward his cabin, mounting the steps three at a time. Gentleman Starkey winced as the door slammed, then picked up the forgotten rapier and goggled, red-faced, after his captain, running a finger around his collar— and hoping to hell he’d given satisfaction.

* * *

Jewel chimed in impatience, but kept her promise. She arched over the treetops like a shooting star, eager to snatch these last growing boys from the Wendy. Time for them to go! Her orders were explicit: only boys. He had been in uncertain temper this morning. She wouldn’t dare help the Wendy escape.

Wendy waved them off, carefully not telling them to be careful. Blinking tears away, she sent kisses flying along with them, then tossed her care for them after the kisses. She would never have to fear for Curly, Michael, or John again. When the boys had sailed too far to call back, she breathed easily, until she began to consider the next move and the most cunning way to tell Pan the situation. It would have to become his own idea.…

She turned to slip down the tree trunk, then stopped, surprised. Her hand flew to her pistol, but her expression had no time to change and her hand no chance to draw. As the fairy’s trail faded to memory, Wendy crumpled to the forest floor, dazed by a brutal blow.

* * *

She could see his shadow on the wall, twisting together with her own.

Wendy lay on the bed, her arms behind her, his arms around her. Her breath came shallowly. She felt the tickle of his beautiful hair at her cheek. She ached. His shadow was whispering in her ear, satisfied at last, his anger assuaged.

“We’re alone. Alone together now. Your boys are all gone, aren’t they? Nothing more to distract you.” Warmly, he pressed against her back, cradling her. His scent surrounded her, like his arms. The razor-sharp blade began to toy with her hair. Her eyes rolled toward it, but she didn’t dare turn her head. Nor did her shadow.

“You belong here, with me. I swear that I’ll go right on protecting you.”

She willed her body to lie still. Only her lips moved. “You don’t have to do this. I won’t fly away.”

“I’ll have to make sure of that.”

Singing softly, the metal withdrew from her hair. She felt the bed resettle itself as he rolled off of it. He pulled her shoulder, shifting her to lie on her back, on her hands. Then he mocked her, his eyes laughing. “I spent all morning working out how to get you to take this.” He held the bottle up, toasting her. “Then I remembered how much you like kisses.”

The room spun around her. He took a long swig and set the bottle down. With one knee on the bed he bent over her, his lips pressed together. Resting on his elbows, he held her face between his arms. She wrenched her head to one side, grimacing, but his pursued. Her legs began to flail, and he stretched out to lean his whole weight upon her. He shoved her face upward and then his fingers forced her lips apart and his mouth pressed down hard over hers.

The fluid flowed into her and trickled warm down her face and neck, moistening the scar at her throat. She spluttered and choked, pushing it out with her tongue. He bit her tongue and lifted his face, his lips wet.

Amused, he shook his head. “You’ll never grow strong like Jill Red-Hand if you don’t take your medicine, my Wendy. Once more!” And she turned her face away from him, only to watch with her eyes wild as his shadow reached for the bottle and filled its mouth and then he forced himself down on her and did it all over again, imposing his will on her, and his body, and his liquid, and she swallowed and gagged, her stomach retching.

He raised himself off her then. He stood, spat the dregs from his mouth, and wiped the moisture from his lips on his naked arm. “But it’s only water, isn’t it? Nothing to harm you, or heal you. Just make-believe.”

Wendy twisted her head to the pillows to dry her face. They smelled like him. She struggled to sit up. Her head hurt. Bitterly, she swallowed again. The tone of her voice matched the taste in her mouth. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He sat on the bed and leaned toward her. “The question is, what did you think
you
were doing? When you were with him last night? I can’t have you flying off like that again.”

“I wanted to talk to you, you wouldn’t allow it. You didn’t have to hit me!”

“You know I’ll never hurt you again, Wendy. I’m your family. Your only family, now.”

“I wasn’t leaving you.”

“Yes, I made sure you stayed. But it doesn’t matter anymore.” He stood, and gestured grandly. “I have been cleaning. There’s not a speck of dust left.”

“Dust?”

“You won’t be flying anywhere from now on.” He snatched the bottle and flung it away. He was still smiling as it hit and splintered. “That was your cure.” He watched the horror transforming her face. “And you should know, it isn’t safe outside any longer. The croc has lost its tick, and it’s smelling around for anything that stinks like a pirate. You’ll have to stay in here. Even the air isn’t safe for you now!”

She had to whisper it. “Peter… what have you done?”

“It’s the magic of fairy dust, Wendy! The last of it.
You
can’t fly anymore, but my ally the crocodile can! He’ll hunt my enemy down and slay him for me, while I stay home and keep you safe.”

The hideout slid out of focus, Wendy’s ears stopped up. Her stomach contracted again and her eyes burned. But she wouldn’t allow herself to collapse on the bed again; she had to stand. She tried to keep the panic out of her voice. “Then you can untie me now, untie me.”

Peter pulled out his dagger and scooted toward her. She calmed her stomach, concentrating on summoning a smile. It came to her, shivering. Dizzily, she turned her back to him. He sawed at the bonds on her wrists until she reminded him, “You can’t cut fairy fabric like that. You’ll have to undo the knots. Hurry, it’s hurting me.” While he worked. she caught glimpses of his pleasant face over her shoulder. Her own face felt like ice.

When the strip of gauze came free, she drew it from his fingers, hand over hand. “I’ll put this where it belongs. Will you light the nightlight? It’s part of the medicine ritual, you know.” She draped the crumpled swath over her shoulders, catching from the corner of her eye her own shadow mimicking her motions on the wall.

Grinning, he darted to the fire. “You don’t need to disguise Hook’s present with that gauze any longer. The gun makes a nice trophy, doesn’t it? But I’ll put it away soon. Can’t have you using it.”

He crouched to light a twig. Looking above him, she scanned the mantel, her stomach convulsing again. Pistol and pouches, the book and the feather. But the Wendy wasn’t sitting up there yet. When Peter turned again, she was tidying the bed.

He rotated once as he flew to the table, as if to flaunt the power of which he had robbed her. Disregarding the gesture, Wendy crept close to him, watching with all her old affection as he lit the shell, and pressing her fists to her belly. She made sure to stroke his fingers with her own as she took the light from his hands and settled on the bed. “Peter, sit here.” She set it on the table and pulled him down next to her. “Listen.” He folded his legs, ready to hear her story.

“You are clever, so clever. You were right, I do appreciate medicine.” She smiled, teasing. “I’ll be making you take yours, next.”

He grimaced happily and wrinkled his nose. “Too bad I broke the bottle!”

She looped the swath of gauze forward and over his head, to lie at the back of his neck. She cocked her head. “I’ll just have to be clever, too, and think up a way for you to take it.” She drew him toward her, and his shadow complied as well. Her smile was genuine now, as she guided him down her path. “So, you see, I can’t give it to you yet.” Looking down, she played with the sash, crossing it in front of him. “You’ll have to wait until the time is right.” Her eyes were bright and her throat acid. Pulling the ends, she coaxed the cross of the sash toward his neck, laughing. “You made
me
wait, didn’t you? I waited and waited for the time to be right.” Her insides churned.

A foot shuffled at the top of the tree chute. Peter swung toward the sound, and Wendy sped into action. She launched her body against Peter’s, shoving him back until his head hit the bed post with a crack. Yanking the sash tight, she crossed it around the back of the post and tied it off under his chin. He choked, his hands at his throat first, then grabbing at her, his fingernails scraping her arms as she snatched the dagger from his belt and lay back. She rolled off the bed, spun to the hearth, and seized her gun.

She was standing, arms together, legs apart, aiming at the chute when— boots first and swords drawn— into the hideout rushed Nibs the Knife and Tom Tootles.

Wendy lowered her pistol, breathing a sigh of relief. She wore a wonderful smile.

“Thank goodness.… Pirates!”

And she trusted them to plunder the place while she climbed clumsily to the wood, to find relief for her stomach as well.

She hoped they would rob him of everything.

Even his shadow.

Chapter 23

Workings of a Damaged Man

Hook prowled his cabin, his features wild, his angry tread silenced by the carpets. He’d have Starkey’s back in shreds if the new sailors botched it. They’d sworn their oaths, rather sooner than most, and signed the articles, but that didn’t mean those two boys wouldn’t make mistakes. It was a man’s job. But Pan, hiding in his pit and hoarding his plunder, prevented men from entering his front door. Hook snarled. Hindering men was the point of Pan’s existence.

The sea was dead calm, waiting for Wendy. Not a hint of wind stirred his ship. The men on deck were watchful, but mum. Sunlight jabbed itself into the cabin windows, darting in watery patterns where it bounced off the sea onto the ceiling. Points of light on the desk caught his eye. Impatiently, he brushed the fairy’s glitter into a mound, to be recaptured on Smee’s return. Hook had spilled it trying to fly again, but didn’t bother with the effort of gathering it up. He held absolute control over the creature; he could make her give him more without ever turning its power against her. In any case, the trial had been a failure. He needed
her
here, belonging to him, to make the magic work.