Unhooked (10 page)

“What?” Confusion lights his eyes at my unexpected change in topic. His face is so close to mine that I can see the fine down at his temples and the smattering of tiny freckles tossed across his sharp nose. For a moment, he seems almost vulnerable.

I swallow hard and ignore the fluttering in my stomach. I won't be distracted. “You were talking about a girl,” I say. “You and Will, and— Wait.” I stop abruptly and scan the room. The strange blonde never left. “Where did she go?”

His mouth twitches as he backs away from me. The tension that crackled just moments before eases with every inch he puts between us. “Fiona has a way of popping in and out when you neither expect nor want her.”

“She just disappeared?” I ask, searching the room for some sign of her.

“She
is
Fey,” he drawls. “They have all manner of tricks at their disposal.”

When I meet the Captain's bemused expression, I know I've gotten distracted. Again. “The girl you were discussing,” I say, focusing on what is really important here. “Were you talking about me?”

“It's none of your concern, lass,” he says darkly. “But what I would very much like to discuss is how you came to be out of your quarters when I gave specific instructions that you remain within them.” His mouth goes tight, and his eyes narrow at me.

I don't reply. There's no sense in getting Owen in trouble.

“Ah, then. Not one for conversation? Then I think perhaps it's far past the time for you to be returning to your quarters.”

There's no way I'm going back to that coffin-size cabin without a fight, so I sit back in the worn velvet chair and cross my arms. “No, thanks.”

He blinks at me, and I can't help but wonder if anyone has ever so blatantly disobeyed him before. I steady myself for the tirade that's sure to come, but all at once, he's
laughing
. And it's not the mocking, derisive sound I've heard come out of him before. It's a real laugh, one filled with the unexpected wonder of amusement.

When he's finally caught his breath, he wipes at his eyes and then rearranges his face to the stiff, formal expression I've come to expect from him. “You never cease to surprise me, lass, but wee thing that you are, you should stay in the quarters I gave you,” he says, his voice growing more serious. “Where you'll be safe.”

“Like you care what happens to me. You locked me in a room and left me there.”

“I also risked my life, and my crew's life in turn, for you when I pulled you from the sea. That means you owe me a debt, and I don't know that I'm ready to have you leaving or dying until it's paid.” Propping his hands on the arms of the chair I'm sitting in, he brackets me with his arms. “I know you're having trouble believing much of what's happened to you, but even so, you'd do well to keep clear of the boys, lass. They may look like children, but in this world, there isn't room for innocence. In this world, there are few who can even begin to comprehend what the loss of a life means. Most would kill you one day and not remember your existence the next.”

I swallow hard. “Are you one of them?”

He doesn't answer right away. “I know well enough what it means to die, if that's what you're asking.”

It isn't really, but an urgent thumping shakes the door before I can press him any further. The Captain ignores it at first, but when the thumping sounds again, his brows slam together and he stands, his features dark with irritation. Stalking across the room, he flings open the door and glares at the boy on the other side.

“John, I asked very specifically that I not be disturbed.” His words are calm, but they carry a clear threat.

“No time, Captain. Longboats off the starboard side.” The boy's eyes are wide, and they dance with fear and, if I'm not mistaken, anticipation. “We're being attacked.”

The Captain blinks, assimilating the news in a split second. “Then what in the bloody hell are you standing here for? Get your arse out there and at the ready!”

A brilliant, almost manic grin splits the boy's face. “Aye, Captain.” And with a jaunty salute, he's gone.

“And, you”—he pins me with a glare—“I've no time to get you back to the safety of your quarters, so sit here and don't be making so much as a sound until I get back.”

He's gone before I can respond, leaving me unguarded. As the silence settles over the cabin, I try to steady my breathing. He's left me alone, and I have no intention of following his orders.

At first it was such a tiny sound that a leaf might have fallen on it and smothered it. But as it came nearer, the sound became more distinct. And more deadly. The boy fumbled for his mask. . . .

I
DON'T KNOW WHO'S ATTACKING the ship, but as long as they keep the Captain and his boys occupied, I don't much care. Keeping one eye on the door to make sure no one else is coming, I go to the desk. I know it's probably futile. Too many strange, unexplainable things have happened for me to really think I'll find a radio or some other clue about why I'm here, but I have to try. There has to be
something
.

I'm reaching for the first drawer of the desk, when the ship quakes so violently, I stumble to the floor. The papers once neatly stacked on the desk flutter around me, settling like scattered leaves. Many of the sheets contain notes scrawled in the same narrow, slanting script, but one sheet is a sketch of a girl with a heart-shaped face and a pert, upturned nose.

There is something familiar about her, I realize, searching my memories for some hint of who she is. For some reason, I have the uncanny feeling that I
know
her. Her doe-shaped eyes stare up from the floor, like she's been waiting there all along for me to find her.

“Olivia,” I say to myself. The word feels strange on my tongue at first, but also comfortable, like I've said it a hundred times before. “Olivia,” I say again, louder this time as I try to remember how I know that word and who the girl in the sketches might be.

I repeat the word—the name, I realize—again and again until, eventually, the fog of memory starts to lift. Until I can almost picture her rolling her eyes as she takes me by the arm and pulls me over to her group of friends. The fogginess in my head clears a bit more, and I see her better now, watching me with concern in a darkened London street.

London
. That's why the blonde on the deck—Fiona—had felt so familiar. She'd been in London too.

That can't be a coincidence.

“Oh.” My breath rushes out of me. I haven't thought about Olivia since I first woke up on this ship and got distracted by the Captain's tales of Neverland.

How is that even possible?
How could I have sat in that lonely little cabin for days and
never once
wondered whether she was kidnapped too? Whether she was in danger or whether she was even alive?

Panic inches across my skin as I realize it's not just the memory of Olivia that's hazy—it's everything. I can hardly picture my life before—I feel like it
might
be there, buried somewhere in the far reaches of my mind, but I can't remember it. I can't recall the color of my old room or the hallways where I went to school. The few images that come to me rise up through the thickness of the past, murky and indistinct, like bubbles coming to the surface of a muddy pond. And then the memories sink down again, below the surface where I can't reach them.

Maybe I hit my head when I fell out of the sky, because no matter how hard I try, I can't remember very much of what came before the Dark Ones. But when my fingers brush the cool stones at my wrist, their blue-gray color reminds me of something else. . . .

Eyes.
The color of the stones reminds me of the blue-gray of my mother's always-stormy eyes.

I close my own eyes and try to bring her face into focus, but I can't quite manage to recall her features or anything else. All I can really remember is the soft, cloudy color of her eyes and the bright red halo of her hair.

The realization makes me goes cold. If I forget about the world I've come from, I'll never get back. I sink down to the floor and pick up the sheet of paper with Olivia's face on it. I need to feel the paper solid and real in my hand. I won't let myself forget again.

If he takes the girl's life, he will be unbeatable,
Fiona had said.

She'd said “he,” not “you,” when she was talking to the Captain. Perhaps they hadn't been talking about me, after all. Maybe Olivia was the girl they'd been discussing. Which means Olivia could be here, in this world, too. And if
that's
true, if she's the girl Fiona was talking about, she's probably in danger.

“Where are you now?” I say to the picture as the ship rolls beneath me again. Struggling to stay upright, I grasp the desk, but I'm barely on my feet when I hear a sound that makes me go still.

A familiar rustling fills the air, growing steadily as its metallic hum grates against my skin. My throat goes tight as the dark shadows in the corners of the room begin to waver and lurch. They slide from the walls, like they're melting to the ground, and then they begin to slink, almost snakelike toward the center of the room, where they start to collect and swell.

Ignoring the metallic taste of fear on my tongue, I swallow down my rising panic and tuck the picture into my pocket as I run for the door.

Outside the Captain's quarters, I'm assaulted by the sights and sounds of the chaos of battle. Two long rowboats have pulled up alongside the ship, and from them, boys are still climbing up onto the main deck. These boys are easy to distinguish from the Captain's, though—they're dirty and dressed in an assortment of ragged clothes and shaggy furs that remind me of Fiona's.

Boys—the Captain's and these new ones—are
everywhere
, and each is fighting with a vicious skill that takes my breath away. I don't know what to do, exactly. My mind races as I take in the chaos, and I think maybe if I can get to one of those boats, I could try to get away.

But I'm barely down the steps that lead to the main deck before two large boys corner me against the bulwark of the ship. Their faces are painted with what looks like dark flaking mud, so the only features I can make out are the whites of their flat, emotionless eyes. One of the boys is missing the lower half of his arm. There's no blood, though. It just looks like the skin where his arm ends has gone black and the bottom half of it has simply cracked off.

Because I'm still trying to make sense of what I'm seeing, I don't notice another boy dressed in ragged furs moving toward me. In an instant, he has me locked tightly against his rank-smelling body, and his strong forearm is pressing against my neck to hold me in place.

“Captain!” The nearby voice is familiar, but I can't put a name to the sandy-haired boy it belongs to. “They've got the girl!”

Across the ship, I spot the Captain. He is, perhaps, the most vicious of all, his face twisted in rage as his dual blades slash at whatever—and whomever—is in his way. He turns at the boy's call and, when he sees what's happened, he stops dead in his tracks.

“William, Wren, Arthur!” He plunges back into the fight, his blade cutting deep into the boy who had been about to attack him. The small body jerks and then falls, bleeding its life out onto the deck, but the Captain merely steps over it. “Get her!”

As the Captain's boys turn toward the two who have me cornered, I writhe and kick against the ironlike hold of the boy who has me, but I can't free myself.

The three boys the Captain sent—Will and two I don't recognize—circle the two attackers. Their small white teeth are bared, and their sharp blades are poised and ready to strike. In any other situation, three-to-two might not have been a fair fight, but the two larger boys fight dirty.

In the blink of an eye, my captors attack the Captain's boys. Their blades sing with the violence of the battle, and it's not long before they are beating my rescuers back. With a vicious lunge, one of my attackers paints a bright crimson slash across the chest of the smallest of the Captain's crew.

The ribbon of scarlet creeps across his shirt as the boy crumples to the deck, his eyes wide with shock. But the fallen boy's astonishment is more than just from the pain of his wound—it's like he's suddenly come to understand that his swordplay has
always
been more than just a game of pretend.

The Captain's other boy watches the dark stain spread beneath his friend's body as Will continues to beat back my attackers. But when the fallen boy goes still, the living boy's features harden—a subtle shift that narrows his eyes and curls his lips in a murderous sneer. With an earsplitting shriek, he lunges once again into the fray to help Will, his wrath focused less on freeing me than on destroying the boy who's killed his friend.

His attack is so brutally unexpected that his small dagger easily finds its mark. With a vicious thrust, he forces the blade deep into the belly of the one who killed his friend. Then, his eyes burning with fury, he turns to help Will finish off my other captor.

The one who has me seems to understand that his friend probably won't win against two of the Captain's crew, and he begins to back away from the fight. Little by little, he drags me along the deck. Toward the longboats.

I struggle violently to get away from him, pulling with all my strength at his filth-covered sleeve and kicking at his legs. But he's pressing his arm so tightly against my throat, I can barely breathe. Already my vision is starting to go dark around the edges, and my lungs are screaming for oxygen.

Then, just as I think I can't stay conscious for one moment longer, the boy's body goes rigid. All at once, he releases me from his hold.

Gasping for air, I stumble to my knees, and when I turn to look up, I see what's caused him to release me—he's been stabbed. The tip of a dark blade protrudes from his belly. Around it, blood blooms. His shaking hands grab at the blade, like he's trying to push it back through, but it's too late. His body gives a violent jerk as someone else pulls at the blade, and blood gurgles from his mouth as his knees give out and he falls to the deck.