Hook & Jill (The Hook & Jill Saga) (34 page)

“Well gentlemen? What accident of fortune brings you back to us today?”

Diplomatically, Lightly raised his hand in Indian salutation. “Sir. We bring word from the People. Rowan and I just delivered the message from the council to Pan. He’ll have to fight you on his own, without our help.”

Hook scrutinized him, interpreting the mourning paint. “And? Something else, I think?”

Lightly paused, reassessing the formidable face. “A family matter. I felt that Wendy— Jill— should know what we’ve discovered about Peter.” With curious gazes, Nibs and Tom watched their brother and their captain. Their captain tossed his head, and the feathers on his hat quivered with impatience.

“I should think she knows him rather well enough by now.”

The young man stood resolute. “I believe
you
know him well enough. But she might never guess the full truth.”

Hook raised an eyebrow. “I see.… Yes, I will allow it, as she has expressed a desire to speak to you. The lady shall join us presently.”

Drawing himself up to his tallest, Lightly said, “And Sir. Something I would like to say to you.” He looked into the piercing eyes of a former nightmare. “I owe my happiness to my mother. But I owe my life to you.” He turned his head to include his brothers and his partner. “All of us do.”

Regarding Lightly with tightening eyes, Hook dropped his voice. “Shades of black.” It seemed all Pan’s brood could distinguish them now. He assumed a wintry smile, tasting it again. “Sweet revenge.”

The door to the captain’s quarters opened and the lady pirate stepped onto the companionway. She moved discreetly, with only a whisper of skirts, but even so, an immediate hush fell and Hook swung around, his earring a golden arc. The sailors’ elbows jostled their shipmates and all heads pivoted, even that of Cecco in the crow’s nest, who should have kept on watch but imprudently forsook the horizon and his duty to train his spyglass on the Beauty instead.

The crew of the
Roger
had anticipated her emergence. Seeing her now, they no longer begrudged the wait. With jewels at her throat and her hair shining, her weapons at her side and a dress of royal blue, she stood on the top step, regal, one hand on the rail, and returned the stares. She knew these men.

Her sons recognized her still. They straightened, their chests swelling with pride. Lightly, Nibs, and Tom adjusted to her as they had adjusted to their own grown-up selves. Rowan studied her, and identified the capable woman he first glimpsed at his people’s camp. Ship’s company smiled and inhaled a collective breath; this vision was a captain’s share of treasure, indeed. Every man was certain of the punishment the master would exact if they acted on their thoughts. Every man was certain this lady was worth it. Then they remembered the triumphant laughter ringing out in the middle of the night, and forgetting caution, one and all turned their heads on their craning necks to witness the captain’s reaction.

They almost missed it. He was in motion, his rolling gait catching up to the stairs, the plumes on his magnificent hat rippling in his haste. His eyes bore the glitter his men had witnessed time and again before boarding to plunder a rich prize of a ship. Hook’s posture was supreme, his jaw jutted, and he barely smiled. He placed one foot on the stair and thrust his hand out, reaching to escort her. As she descended to the deck she smiled on him, and it was his answering smile— the one with a kiss that hung waiting— that finally gave evidence of his emotion. Clearly, he believed this woman to be his soul.

It was when she accepted his support that the inside of her right hand became visible, blood-red, stained, and in contrast to her beauty, a blot, like the mark that marred the captain’s own perfection. Barbaric, it appeared incongruous with her loveliness— a hint of the mysteries she cloaked.

Jill looked up at Hook. Her clear voice touched all his men, though her words embraced him alone. “Captain. Sir. I thank you for the jewels.”

“You honor me, Madam, by wearing them. You honor me also by your choice of color. I thank
you
.” His smile and something else matched her own.… “Forget-me-not blue.” Their identical eyes exulted.

Her expression shifted subtly then, as she settled her red hand on her gun. “And we both carry our pistols. Two halves of a perfectly matched set.”

Hook bowed. “Not unlike ourselves.” He moved to turn toward the assembled sailors. But Jill was a consummate storyteller; she knew her audience. She touched his shoulder and drew him back, and he fell into her kiss. The silence broke into cheers, and only afterward did she allow him to turn his back to her to address his jocular and expectant crew. Then, in habit born of instinct, she surveyed the surroundings for signs of peril while he stepped forward.

“Ship’s company! I would have you recognize yet another new shipmate. Your mistress, and my lady.” His hook cut an elegant gesture in the air, and his lip curled just enough. Even the new men didn’t miss the velvet threat in his voice. “And she will be respected as such.” He turned to present her. “Red-Handed Jill.”

The men snatched off their hats to wave them, they whistled and hollered. Their captain faced them all with both dignity and elation, experiencing for the first time in his legendary career the triumph of unity aboard his ship, his own
Jolly Roger
. These were his men, and they were ready to celebrate, stamping and shouting out their glee; but in the next moment they stuttered to silence, the expressions on their faces transforming from jubilance to horror. Nibs, Tom, and Lightly lowered their jaws in disbelief. Nothing in Wendy’s stories had prepared them for this. Rowan’s stolid frame went rigid. Mr. Smee, watching within the doorway to the cabin, marooned his grin there and lurched forward along the companionway, gripping the rail at last to hurtle his bulk down the stairs.

All eyes had turned toward Jill again, for behind the captain’s back, her face hardened to an icy satisfaction. Only her eyes flamed as she bared her teeth and yanked her pistol from her sash. Her pirate lover with his quick reflexes swiveled around, and his visage transformed from victory to astonished rage as he realized that the pistol with which he had gifted this lady now hung suspended in her scarlet hand— and pointed at his head.

Louder and more ominous than the stomp of Smee’s boots on the boards, the click of the hammer resounded through the waiting ship. And in the space of a heartbeat, before any man could stop her, Jill squeezed the trigger and fired. And as her captain fell away, she tossed her gun into her left hand, seized its companion from his own belt, and fired that, too.

In two blasting concussions, Red-Handed Jill had proven to the astounded company assembled there on the deck of her own fearsome pirate ship that her legend was true, as well. She was a crack shot, and she left terror in her wake.

* * *

With a vague realization that she had somehow learned to be careful, Jewel concealed herself among the root walls of the hideout. It was an unsettling feeling, matching the others she traded in her heart today.

In increasing distress, she watched Peter dig the two green apples from his pouch and position them on the table. He grasped the sword hilt, raised the blade to his face, straight up, and turned his back to the fruit, marching three paces as if preparing for a duel. Whirling back to the table, he impaled one of the apples. He grabbed it and twisted the sword, sliding the apple up and down the blade, watching as the tender insides oozed to the floor. Jewel could smell the tang of the juice. When Peter withdrew the blade, the sticky drippings ran down it, coating it with a film of fairy sleeping draught. He flicked the seeds off, laughing as they flew through the air. One hit the wall and stuck not far above the fairy. Her forehead furrowed while panic shoved every other feeling out of her heart. But she no longer feared discovery; she had taken care so he couldn’t see her. Rather, a bigger struggle grew within her small space of a heart, a conflict it had no room to contain, and Jewel was in agony.

Peter had smeared the potion generously. Jewel knew that too much of this sleeping draught would make a fairy sleep forever. And she had never witnessed its effect on people. What might it do to a man? Her man!

The boy dropped the savaged apple and thrust the sword in his belt. He whipped his dagger free, plunged it in the other apple, and did the same to it. As Peter tucked the knife into its sheath, his sly smile spread across his lips, and Jewel’s worries compounded with his words.

“If I can’t use fairy dust, I’ll use fairy medicine. Oh, the cleverness of me!”

* * *

Red-Handed Jill held the pistol at arm’s length. Dirty gray smoke rose from its muzzle to twist its way into nothingness. The eyes of all aboard the
Roger
followed it upward as the echo of her shots resounded in staccato over the deck and across the water, diminishing until only the snap of whipping flags could be heard. It became the whipping of a monstrous tail beating the air, and a hiss of agony from an open throat.

Captain James Hook stretched out flat on the boards, rolling away from the beast. He abandoned his hat and its jaunty feathering to be crushed by the brutal weight that slammed onto the deck, at the spot he had fallen as he dodged the shots— his Jill’s redeeming shots. The ship shook with the blow, the animal grunted forcefully, and Jill stumbled forward to keep her balance. Now the tail of the crocodile slammed against the gunwale. The open jaws waved, lashing out with raking teeth toward Jill and the scent of her lover. Blood streamed from the sockets of its two empty eyes.

Jill backed from the swinging snout, shoving Hook’s burning pistol into her sash and drawing her dagger. It felt small in her hand, and she bent and parried, her eyes darting over the hide, searching for the strategic point to stab. But Smee finally stumbled to the bottom of the steps, and he reached out with both hands to snatch Jill off her feet, dragging her up the stairs and out of harm’s way. Clutching her knife and her pistol, she stared wildly toward her captain. On reaching the top step she strained against Smee, who, sure of the captain’s wishes, only gathered her more securely in his arms.

Hook sprang to his feet and he drew his sword singing from its sheath. The crocodile rose up and swung its head in his direction, smelling its irresistible prey, tempted even in its pain. It lunged at him. Hook’s eyes blazed red. Fixing them on the monster, he gripped his weapon in his one good hand with its sparkling jewels. Loosing a long wordless yell, he hoisted his blade and slashed it at last across the throat of the crocodile. He allowed the force of his motion to spin him around, his coat flaring about him, and he directed the bloody point forward to plunge it with all his weight into the heart of his surging enemy.

Skewered upon the blade, the crocodile belched and lurched again. Hook’s face contorted while he planted his feet wide and leaned, his hand edging close to the hideous teeth as in its lust, the croc drove the rapier deeper into its body. The animal lunged once more, then stopped. The thrashing subsided and it collapsed, its jaws snapping closed one last time, condemned to silence for all eternity.

Hook relaxed his stance and straightened, inhaled, then with a gratified smile, dragged his blade from the carcass. In savage sensuality, he lingered over it, deriving pleasure from the yielding of his enemy’s flesh. When it was free, he raised his sword and looked up and down its length. Then he stared at the beast.

Mr. Smee released Jill from his hold. Hook swung around and, breathing again, raised reddened eyes to meet her earnest gaze. Slowly, their faces smoothed and their expressions cleared. Hook hung his rapier on his claw, lifted his hand, and with a graceful flourish, saluted her. And amid the uproar that erupted from the throats of their shipmates, relief sank into their perfectly matched hearts. Together, Hook and Jill had killed the beast— the beast that had stalked them.

Over the bobbing sea of congratulatory heads, they nodded to one another, once. And they read each other’s thought.

One left.

Chapter 27

Duel on Deck

Of all the emotions battling through her heart today, Jewel had only one left. The problem was she felt it for two people. And very awkwardly, she was feeling it for both of them at the same time. Her master, and her boy. She acknowledged it; she needed to love them both. But her heart hadn’t burst apart yet. It was expanding. It hurt.

Peter had kicked the lion hide to the floor. Now, while Jewel spied from the cavern wall, he snatched the pelt and bundled it up. He slipped behind the tree chute, and Jewel’s jaw dropped in surprise as he pried the back of the hollow trunk open to reveal an unsuspected cupboard. Peter stuffed the hide into it, and before shutting the door, he pulled out a knife. Watching shrewdly now, Jewel supposed this hiding place was where her master’s rapier had been stowed for so long.

The boy grasped the knife in one hand and a hank of his hair in the other. He sawed at the hair, cutting until it was roughly the length he kept it before. It was untidy, but it was Peter. Straddling a pile of golden clippings and mutilated apples, he shook his head, satisfied with the feel of it. At last he was ready. Peter drew back his fist, then flung the knife. It spun through the air, striking the wall with a thump and a shower of dirt. Jewel shuddered as the knife quivered, the point inches above the opening of her niche. Peter stared at it, puffing out his chest. Setting his face in a grim smile, he swiveled and swept up the chute, a golden, green-eyed fury, the sword at his side scraping wood as he went.

Jewel flickered out of the tangled roots. With a spate of music, she shivered her shoulders, then reached out to catch the cascade of fairy dust. Trying to calm her anxious breathing, she hesitated before blowing on the powder. Within moments she controlled herself and sent the warning to her master. As she blew, her wrinkled wings illuminated, and the hedonistic heat began to pump through her veins. Her eyelids wanted to close to indulge in its rapture, but she couldn’t stop to luxuriate. She had to move. But first she clapped her hands together, trapping the dust. None must be found here in Peter’s lair. She blinked and forced herself into action, her aching heart fluttering as madly as her wings. Hoping Time would be with her, she launched herself toward the entrance.