Hook & Jill (The Hook & Jill Saga) (6 page)

“I wish we hadn’t quarreled, Peter.”

“Quarreled? We only said it wrong. We really agree, don’t we?”

“People can’t agree all the time, but it doesn’t change how we feel about each other.”

With all his accustomed confidence, Peter smiled at her. “I feel the same way I did that first night, when I made you mine.”

Wendy felt the blood rush to her cheeks. The way he talked!

Squinting at her, Peter cocked his head. “You look a little different, though.”

“Something about my mouth, maybe? Can you see it?” Lightly, she touched her kiss.

He laughed. “I see your mouth, it’s still there!” Her words sparked his curiosity. “Is that the beginning of a new story?”

“I hope so.” But Wendy shrugged. She didn’t really expect a different answer any longer, but she still believed. She went on with her mending. Everything
was
the same as that first night. And yet there was something new, something both terrible and wonderful hanging over her. She couldn’t identify it. Had it started with the quarrel, or just before? The changing firelight brought it near to her mind, then danced it away again. It was just a feeling.

Wendy’s spirit sought to overcome it. “Pirates are dreadful creatures, but I would so like to go to sea like Red-Handed Jill. Imagine the grandeur of the sea beneath our feet, the white wings of sails above. Only think of climbing aloft to taste the wind, casting off toward adventure!” But when Wendy saw Peter’s eager face, she regretted whetting his appetite with this flavor of the maritime. The sensation she sought to banish only stole closer.

“That’s a good idea! I’ll commandeer the
Jolly Roger
for you, Wendy! And this time we’ll win her.”

“But, Peter—”

“You weren’t here yet when we last attacked. We only killed a couple of pirates that day, but once the boys and I have slain Hook and the rest of his men, we’ll sail the Seven Seas and have nautical adventures. I despise all pirates, but it’s great fun pretending to be a pirate captain!”

Pretending
. Wendy smiled, pretending she meant it. “Valiant Peter, to dare such a thing for me.”

But the feeling crept out of the shadows, and now it was fear. Peter did not distinguish between real and make-believe. He might in truth make another attempt on the
Jolly Roger
, and the story she told tonight was one of the true ones, much too dangerous to enter.

She couldn’t warn Peter of the risk. He was a boy, he was so full of himself. Warnings would only make him more eager to prove his daring by rekindling trouble with the pirates. She didn’t understand the intensity of his feeling about them, either, why he couldn’t leave them— leave Hook— alone. Instead of the cautionary talk she usually employed, she tried a different tack.

“Peter, why do you hate the pirates so?”

“Huh! Because they
are
pirates. They don’t play by the rules.”

“Your rules? Because they’re grown up?”

“Any rules!” He scowled, his countenance black as any buccaneer’s.

“You mean because they’re free to do whatever they choose?”

Peter rallied, more earnest than she’d ever seen him. She thrilled to witness the fire blazing in his eyes. “I mean they are the only creatures on the Island I can’t find a way to tame.”

Wendy’s pulse froze. “Oh! Oh, yes. That’s why I dread them, too! You can charm practically anything, Peter, but no one can control those men.”

“Hook can. He does.” Peter’s expression was almost envious.

“And you want his power? But your attacks on him have only led to your hideous blood feud.”

Peter laughed. “Yes, I drew blood. Hook’s! I’m not like him, afraid of a little blood.”

“But you took far more than blood. You took his hand! He’ll never forgive you that. And while Hook hunts you down, all of us are in danger.”

“All the more reason for me to kill him.”

Wendy closed her eyes and heard the wind whistling down the chimney. It wasn’t easy, but she had managed thus far to guard her boys against the feud. She learned the terror of it in the moment she first hung in the air over the Neverland, in that moment when the concussion of Long Tom pounded against her chest and nearly exploded her heart— when from afar she spied Hook’s ship at anchor in the bay, and the violent gusts had taken her by the throat and rasped into her ear that the story she had created— Hook’s story— was not a dream. She had felt the cold wind hissing, hissing that Hook was here, and he was real, terribly real, after all.

She whispered. “The terrible Captain Hook.”

Wendy drew her mending closer to the fire. She had suddenly gone icy cold. Neverbay was much too near.

Chapter 6

Pearls from the Lagoon

It was a cold place if you were a pirate’s prisoner. It was a basking place if you were a mermaid. If you were a boy, it was perfect. Hook determined that all elements of this place would come into play this late afternoon.

Mermaids’ Lagoon was a deep curve set into a cliff, with craggy shoreline and spraying waves. A rock shelf lined part of the coast, high enough to provide dry footing— until sunset. When daylight deserted the lagoon, no safe step remained. The mountains on either side of the cliff face were covered in moss, saturated and slippery. Here and there lay basking rocks, the biggest of which was a distance from the shore, in the deepest waters.

That was the notorious Marooners’ Rock, dreaded islet employed by ruthless sea captains in need of an executioner. Rusted shackles bored into the rock, staining it in streaks, the only evidence of victims abandoned there as tide went in and boats went out.

Only those long familiar with the Lagoon knew its secrets. The mermaids knew them, of course. Pan did. So, also, did Captain James Hook.

Mermaids were curious creatures. One couldn’t count on their cooperation, but one couldn’t discount it, either. Rarely did their scaly-backed hands release the condemned from the rock. They remained unmoved by human passion, however much they inspired it. Pan was friendly with them, but the most involvement ordinary people could expect was a splash and a glimpse of scales disappearing into the depths.

Yet a glimpse of a mermaid, like her song, was tantalizing. Hook was not immune. Unknown to Pan, he had insinuated himself into the good graces of one or two of the maids. His persistence and his inestimable charm won success there. No female on whom he turned that charm had yet resisted it, tail or no. In addition, the mergirls coveted jewelry— they wore little else— and a pirate as successful as Hook had swag to spare. These ladies of the deep weren’t what he’d call companionable, but they would do, in a pinch. He’d been known to carry home a pearly comb after an afternoon’s bask. Today he would profit again from those stimulating hours, watching, and listening.

Hook now stood leaning into the wind, one foot planted on the prow of the
Roger
’s dinghy. He cast a sharp look about the area as the craft thrust itself into the Lagoon. Bill Jukes lunged back and forth, shirt meeting tattooed skin in damp patches as he plied oars to part the waters. Surges of wind tugged at Hook’s hat, inviting its feathers to fly free, but Hook imposed his will on it, removing the hat and taking it and its plumage captive under his coat on the bench. The wind retaliated by flinging pungent wafts of seaweed and kicking up the current. Hook stood firm.

At the ripened moment, Hook called over his shoulder to ship oars. He scanned the shoreline, rolled his boots to the thigh, then sprang over the gunwale into the shallows. Commanding Jukes to vanish until dusk, he headed toward shore. The wind died down but Hook’s blood quickened as he discerned exotic eyes watching his progress. He splashed his way with assurance through the rock pools as Jukes hauled on the oars. Slowly, the boat withdrew.

His senses heightened, Hook paused at the end of the rock shelf where it overlooked an inlet. A series of small caves riddled the wall at his back. Here he removed an object from his breeches pocket. He lowered himself down near the water’s edge, resting arms on thighs. Working his fingers with delicacy, he hung a golden chain upon his hook, and metal slid on metal with a barely audible, singing rasp, until it dangled from the steepest angle of the curve. The sound was exquisite.

They heard it.

He lay down on the sun-drenched rock, the hook suspended over the edge. Warmth spread throughout his long body. The round, rich gems in their settings swung, glinting with sunlight. He waited.

* * *

Assured of secrecy by a few very pleasurable exchanges, Hook had removed himself to one of the dark fissures behind him. He was near enough to observe Marooners’ Rock and yet deep enough to conceal his deeper purpose. Satisfied he was hidden, he made himself comfortable and waited again, passing the time extricating seaweed from his hook and drying his mustache. To the dampness of his attire he paid no heed.

At last his mergirl’s signal slapped the water’s surface. Reminiscing about the past hour’s delights, Hook regarded her intriguing tail until it slipped out of his sight. Only then did he raise his gaze to the human creatures forsaking the element of air to enter that of water. They touched down on the rock, bathed in sunshine. Hook envied the ease with which those children moved about the Island. The deeds he could perform if he could fly, if he could sail the sky as he sailed the sea, master of the air. Perhaps he’d spy out insight into that mystery, as well.

He observed.

Ah, a bonus. A streak of light resolved itself into Pan’s fairy. Tinker Bell had accompanied him. Hook didn’t have to watch long to see that this creature was a liability to Pan. A vulnerable spot. Hook’s half-smile slid to his lips. May the Powers bless all females, marine, fairy, or human. So useful.

It started simply enough. ‘The Wendy’ tested the temperature of the water. She scooped back her tangled hair and poised herself on the edge of the rock, considering her toes. Then Pan dove in and mermaids bubbled up all around him, inviting him to play games. As expected.

Stripping to various stages of undress, the other boys waited, anxious but respectful, until the Wendy withdrew her toes and pronounced the water safe. With a lot of noise, they jumped in and frolicked about in a tiresome manner. Their antics bored Hook.

As a breeze rippled her skirt, the girl watched after the boys, warning off rogue mermaids with voice and shooing gestures that showed little success. Occasionally calling to the children, she assured herself of their safety. Especially the two new lads. Who were they? They looked as if they had at one time attended school, an observation one would never make about the other boys. There was something prim about the bigger one, and they wore nightshirts.

The Wendy, Hook noted, raising one eyebrow, was clad in night attire, as well. So Pan had snatched her from her bed! Time had clearly paid a visit; the gown was too short… among other insufficiencies. Add a jewel or two and she’d be well on the way to becoming a mermaid herself. Hook’s lip twitched.

The captain’s eye was distracted from the subject of his musing by the fairy, who continually bobbed above Pan’s head, rushing any mergirl who came too close. Hook would have swatted the little nuisance in short order, but Pan bounced up and down unconcerned in the waves between heads, tails and Tinker Bell. The Wendy, more ladylike in her methods than the fairy, sat on the rock kicking up sprays of water at the maids— although she wasn’t above letting fly a smallish stone.

Hook didn’t miss the sentry posted on the far arm of the cove. At irregular intervals, Pan appointed a different boy to relieve the one on watch. The Wendy’s work, of course. Be wary of pirates. Be wary, indeed. Hook wore a satisfied sneer, invisible to her sentinels.

As oblivious to female admiration as he was to his foe, Pan swam over to slither up the rock where he shook himself, like the dog he was, spraying the girl. She suffered him with humor, maintaining an even keel. The fairy, on the other hand, buzzed around the pair in a temper. She berated Pan and every so often seized the opportunity to pinch the Wendy or yank her hair— most especially when the girl and Pan were intimately associated, as when the girl drew fruits from her basket to dangle over his lips, or lingered over a stubborn strand of seaweed caught round his waist. The Wendy dodged her persecutor, and when, on occasion, the boy noticed the fairy’s hostility, he might pick the creature out of the air and cast her away. Mostly he didn’t notice.

Nor did Pan demonstrate awareness of a more interesting circumstance. Hook perceived that he was witness to a dance: the Wendy stepped close to Pan, the fairy countered, and Pan backed from both. The steps were repeated time and again, neither lady winning advantage because Pan, his hair bright in fairy nimbus and his chin stained with juice, never completed the dance. Foolish boy, Hook smirked. He doesn’t know.

Of a sudden, Hook’s attention deviated to an eagle above the Lagoon, wheeling toward the cliff top. He watched the eagle for a second or two, and as he returned his focus to the Wendy, she spied it, as well. Gazing skyward, she deserted her companions and, running the length of the rock, flung out her arms and leapt into the air, soaring up and up, speeding after the bird.

The eagle exhibited no hurry to complete its circle. Catching up to it, the girl hung at a respectful distance, just behind and below the regal tail. She flew as naturally as the bird, for all the world as if she owned the air. Growing ever more eager to execute his design, Hook gazed at the creatures. The two flew in tandem, wings spread wide, gliding free over the affairs below. Indulging in the timeless image, Hook renewed his determination, easing himself back into patience.

The Wendy-bird swooped down, snatching at the air, and rounded to form her own circle, drifting to perch at the cliff’s top. Hook squinted up at her. Poised on the edge, with the relentless sea winds tugging at her nightdress, she thrust up a fist clutching what could only be a feather. Her clear voice rang among the rocks as she cried to the children to see, waving her treasure in triumph.