Unhooked (19 page)

I pull my hand away from Pan and give him a weak smile before I turn to the steps.
I'll explain,
I think as I start to climb toward Olivia. I'll calm her down and try to get
my
Olivia back. She was there this afternoon, if only for a moment. I have to believe she's in there still, somewhere behind the forgetting Neverland inspires. I have to believe I can remind her, because the longer I'm in this world, the more I see and experience, the less clearly I remember the world I came from. The more easily I feel pulled by Pan's temptations. And the more I understand we have to find a way back soon, or we'll never get back at all.

Once I've stepped into the room, the stairs retract with another thunderous grinding noise, leaving us stranded high above the growing commotion in the Great Hall. The boy had been right—the gates didn't hold. The last step has barely retracted back into the wall before the Captain's crew begins flooding into the Great Hall.

All of them have their blades drawn to attack. Sam is there, leading the charge. Devin wields his sword with devastating accuracy, cutting down any of Pan's boys who dare to get in his way. Even soft-eyed Owen looks more fierce than I would've ever imagined he could be as he lumbers into the fray.

“You'll never win, you know.” Olivia's voice comes from behind me.

At first I think she's talking about the battle below. At first I think that she knows a part of me is rooting for the Captain.

“I don't know why he brought you here, but he doesn't need you. And you can't have him.” Her brows draw together, and her pale green eyes meet mine, challenging. “He's mine,” she says sharply, as she grabs for my arm to force me to face her.

But she misses my arm and snags my bracelet instead. I feel the fragile string give way, and time goes slow and still, like my limbs are frozen and all I can do is watch helplessly as the blue-gray stones fall, ricocheting off the uneven floor.

It's not until I hear the first of them strike the stone beneath my feet that I can make myself move. I lunge for the beads, frantic to keep them from careening out the door and down to the Great Hall, but they roll away from me, bouncing in too many different directions all at once.

“Help me,” I plead.

But this Olivia doesn't care. This Olivia doesn't remember my mom or our world or even our friendship. This Olivia sees me only as a threat, not as someone trying to save her. She stalks over to me, the shadow of her squared shoulders casting a pall over the ground before me. And when she speaks, her voice sounds like someone else.

“I should have known what you were up to from the beginning,” she says with a hollow viciousness that makes tears burn in my eyes. She takes another step forward and kicks some of the stones out of my reach. A couple of them clatter across the floor and out the open door. “Pan is
mine
. He came for me. He saved
me
.”

“Olivia—” I say, but my voice dies when I see her standing above me. Her eyes are wild and angry, the eyes of a stranger. Not the eyes of my friend.

“I won't let you take him from me,” she says, and her voice is so cold, so unlike her that I don't doubt
this
Olivia will keep her word.

I try to collect a few more loose stones. “I don't want him,” I whisper, as much to myself as to her. And this time, it is not a lie. I pluck up the last of the beads that haven't tumbled down to the Great Hall and close my hand around them, not understanding how everything could have gone so off course so quickly.

Below, Pan's boys battle the Captain's. Pan himself is among them, fighting with a graceful economy that none of the other boys possess. Where the other boys slash with bloodthirsty violence, Pan's movements are frugal, elegant, even. It also helps that he's not bound to the ground. Flying gives him the advantage of surprise and the ability to sail over a boy and cut him from behind before his victim has a chance to turn.

Suddenly I see Owen, his plump hand holding a short sword and slashing wildly at Pan. I can see the smirking arrogance across Pan's face as he thrusts his dagger forward, pushing Owen back toward the fray. The boy's chest heaves great panting breaths, and for a moment he holds his own. Then I see the gleam in Pan's bright eyes, and I realize that he's only toying with the boy.

Pan's knees bend ever so slightly, and I know that in a moment he will be aloft, and Owen will be doomed.

“Owen!” I scream, trying to warn him.

The boy's eyes look up to find who called his name, but it's a mistake to take his attention off the fight even for a second. Pan's already in the air, already over and behind him, and the same moment Owen's eyes meet mine, Pan drives his dagger deep into the boy's back.

“No!” I scream as Pan's blade finds its new sheath. Owen's eyes go wide, his face contorted in a kind of shocked agony. “No,” I whimper. But my protests are worthless. Owen—the boy who was so easily flustered by a kind word—has already crumpled to the ground, his blood a terrible flower blooming across his back.

Pan glances up at me, his eyes bright with the rage and the delight of battle, and he smiles before he gives me a jaunty salute and plunges into the battle once again.

“No,” I moan, unable to take my eyes from Owen's still body. Because I know his death was partially my fault. Maybe even entirely my fault.

But his death is only one of many. And I'm helpless to do anything but watch.

Angry tears are burning at my eyes when I hear a scratching from behind me. I turn in time to see a gloved hand grasp the edge of the window, and a moment later a head of night-black hair appears. Then dark eyes meet mine.

“Rowan?” The name comes before I can stop myself, but the moment the roundness of it curves my lips, I realize I've never called him that before.

He's as startled by my use of his name as I am, and that momentary surprise softens his sharp features. Then his grip on the sill of the window slips, and his expression is once more serious. “A little help, lass?”

There is such a look of panic on his face that I scramble over without thinking twice and, grabbing ahold of his arm, I help to pull him into the room. Olivia makes a keening sort of sound and backs away to the safety of the bed.

“What are you doing here?” I say as he pulls himself to his feet.

He rights his jacket by giving it a few sharp tugs to smooth it into place.

“I thought it was fairly clear,” he says, gesturing to the window. “I'm rescuing you.”

“Rescuing me?” I say, incredulous. He looks so earnest, so serious that I almost laugh, but then I stop myself. “You can't seriously think I'm just going to fly off with you after what you did to Olivia?”

“I don't bloody well fly,” he grinds out, taking me by the hand and starting to pull me toward the window. “And I haven't done anything to her.” He glances over at her. “She seems well enough.”

“You attacked her earlier,” I tell him. “You left her for dead at the End.”

“The End?” he says, his expression twisting in confusion. “I've done nothing but try to reach you since you flew off with
him
, lass. I've never had the pleasure of even meeting your lovely friend,” he says, extending his hand toward Olivia as though they've just been introduced. The Captain gives a roguish grin, but Olivia flinches away, her eyes wary.

“Then your crew did it,” I said. “Which amounts to the same thing. She could have died out there.”

The Captain goes very still and turns to me. “My crew has done nothing save work night and day making sail to rescue you. I've no idea what you're on about.”

“But Olivia—”

“I'm not here for Olivia,” he snaps. “I'm here for
you
.”

I blink at the resolve in his tone, speechless for a moment. And then my thoughts turn darker as I remember everything Pan told me about how the Captain survives in this world. “Why me?”

But the Captain doesn't react the way I expect.

“I—” He runs his gloved hand through his hair, mussing it so a dark lock falls over his forehead. Then he looks up at me, and his expression is bunched with confusion “You left,” he says simply, as though he's still trying to understand how or why it happened.

“Of course I left!” I back away from him again. “It's not bad enough you feed kids to sea monsters, but you let the Dark One kill that boy,” I say, my voice rising. “And then you took his life.”

I see the moment when he understands what I'm referring to. His brows draw together, and his whole expression goes serious as he stalks toward me. “It was the Dark One that took his life,” he says, grabbing my wrist and pulling me toward him with a sure tug.

I try to jerk away, but I can't escape. “I saw everything that night, Captain. I know exactly what you did. I know why you did it, and I know there was part of you that
enjoyed
it,” I say, thinking of the look of horror and rapture on his face as he had taken that glowing thread.

“You know
nothing
,” he says, jerking me closer yet, until I'm forced to tilt my head back to look up at him.

“I know enough,” I say, refusing to back down.

“Do you?” he growls. “You knew, then, that the boy was dying, aye? That he'd been sliced clean through the gut. That when the infection hit—as it would have—his would not have been an easy death?” His mouth goes tight, and the expression on his face is like flint, his features so sharp and hard, ready for the strike that will make a spark. “And I suppose you knew as well that, had I not accepted what the Dark One offered, the boy's death would have been for nothing?”

“You expect me to believe that excuse?” I ask, searching his face for something to give away the lie in his words.

“I don't rightly care what you believe, lass.” He releases me then and backs away, putting enough space between us that I can almost breathe again. “I know the truth,” he says darkly.

“And what is the truth?” I challenge, but he doesn't answer. “Why would the Dark Ones offer you anything? Unless . . .”

My mouth falls open. How stupid I've been not to see what was staring me right in the face this whole time. “No . . .”

His eyes narrow at me. “Unless what, lass?”

“Unless you're with them,” I whisper. “Or unless the Dark Ones are with you.”

Though his brows rise slightly, as if he's surprised by my words, his expression doesn't otherwise change.

“Unless you're the one who sent them to London in the first place.” I think of the blonde on his ship, the one who was also in London, and the air in the room feels thin, dangerous. “Is that why you've come back for me now?”

“You think
I'm
the reason you landed in this world?” the Captain asks, all humor gone from his voice.

“I ended up on your ship. I saw you working with those monsters,” I say, putting the pieces together. “And I saw Fiona in London, before I saw her on your ship.”

“You think
I
brought you here?” The Captain doesn't give me time to respond. He's already answering, his voice growing louder with each point he makes. “You're not exactly what I look for in my crew,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me. “You're pretty enough, to be sure, but not exactly handy in battle, aye? Every time I turn around, you're needing rescuing, and here I am again, risking myself and mine to save your ungrateful behind only to have you throw
this
accusation at my feet.”

Olivia, who has been watching the entire exchange, whimpers behind me, and I understand why. With his white-hot scar and wicked dagger, the Captain can cut a terrifying figure when he wants to. And right now, he definitely wants to.

But I won't be intimidated. “No one ever asked you to save me,” I say as I take a step toward him. I glare up at him, my temper spiking.

His mouth is so near that if I just lifted a bit onto my toes—

“No. No one bloody well did,” he says, stepping away suddenly. He runs his hand through his hair again, disheveling it even more.

I've never seen the Captain so rumpled, so undone. It makes him seem that much more human—and that much more dangerous.

He turns back to me, his expression grim, mocking. “I suppose you believe your new protector will be taking over the task of saving you now.”

“I don't need him to save me,” I snap.

“Well, that's a relief, since I doubt he'll be doing anything of the sort.” The Captain pins me with his eyes. “You see, lass, if you want to know who it is that commanded the Dark Ones to bring you to this world, you'd do better to look to Pan than to me.”

“Pan?” I ask, thinking of what he's told me about his mother, the Queen. “He has more reason than anyone to hate the Dark Ones.”

“Does he?” The Captain smiles, but it's not a pleasant expression. More a baring of his teeth than anything else. “All lies, Gwendolyn, tied up in a package of pretty words. I did warn you of that.”

“And I'm just supposed to believe
you
?” I charge, feeling suddenly unsettled and less sure of anything than I was just moments ago.

“I've never lied to you about who or what I am, lass.”

I huff out a hollow laugh. “You left out enough.”

“I've never promised to ply you with pretty words.” His grim mouth tightens. “But it's not a lie when I tell you Pan brought you here because he intends to use you. And it's not a lie when I tell you he'll not allow either you or your friend to return to the world you came from. Especially not you, Gwendolyn.”

“Why not?” I ask, suddenly unsettled by how quiet his words have become. How his eyes are clouded with something that seems like regret.

His expression goes tight. “There's more to all of this than I've time to be explaining to you right now. Come with me, and I'll tell you all.” He doesn't demand this time. He simply holds out his hand again, an offering. “It's past time for us to be going.”