Hook & Jill Page 5

  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.

  Slowly, Hook shook his head. He was learning.

  * * *

  During the course of his observation, Hook absorbed every nuance. His time was well invested. On the whole, the girl favorably impressed him. She assumed an air of tolerance for all parties, yet Hook would swear that in guarded moments he’d seen her strike at the tiny moving light. He tapped the sickle of his claw against his boot leather, considering. Judging from all he had witnessed, the Wendy was ripe for his harvest. All according to plan, he now knew his enemy.

  He could almost taste her.

  Pluck. And abandon. Exactly the traits he required of her. He nodded to himself. Exactly the things he would do to her.

  As the last brilliance of afternoon sparkled on the Lagoon, Pan, in his self-important manner, straddled the big rock, hoisting his boys out of the brine one by one and slinging them onto it, where they stretched out to dry. A handsome eagle feather was twined into his dirty hair. Her treasure, plundered. Never had Hook been more disgusted by that boy.

  Forming his final impressions, Hook observed as the Wendy stood still, apart from Pan, seeming to engage the fairy in banter. But as soon as Tinker Bell ventured within range, the girl blew at her, creating a gale that wafted the sprite several yards out to sea. Afterward the girl was wise enough to dive off the rock and disappear— until her streaming head and shoulders emerged from the sea, directly in front of Hook’s lair.

  She was near enough for him to hear the gasp as she sucked first air. Her hair floated on the water, rippling in its eddy. She swam, and her arms sent water churning to bounce against the ledge not far from his feet. The Wendy clutched and hauled herself onto the very shelf of rock on which he had lain with wet, gaudy trinkets, savoring the salt on their skins.

  His arm jerked. He held his breath. He could have touched her.

  Do nothing rash. Keep to the plan.

  He lowered the hook.

  Her breath came in bursts as she rested. Her hair and her gown clung to her body while, for a few moments, she lay luxuriating, like a mermaid. Upon sitting up, she tossed her head, bent, and gathered the hair into her hands, one fluid motion. She wrung the water from her hair and the droplets plunked on the rock surface, spattering it. A sudden rivulet snaked toward Hook’s boot. As he drew himself deeper into shadow, his shirt whispered against the wall.

  Just a whisper, but she heard it.

  Immediately, she pivoted to discover the beast that stalked her. For one instant, as her eyes challenged the darkness, her features were revealed to him.

  Taken aback, he stiffened, his brow creasing in incredulity.

  He recognized her face. It belonged to him, and he to it. Her face had been carved from his dreams.

  Everything connected. He knew who she was.… Wendy.

  A laugh thrilled the air, and Wendy spun around. A mermaid beckoned to her, just feet away. The lovely tail waved, lazily, tauntingly. Wendy leapt to her feet, her mouth opening in awe. The mermaid raised up, an array of round, rich jewels shining on her breast, and she let loose a song of piercing beauty. As she fell back to stroke the water, her melody pulled Wendy with her, enticing the girl to return to the sea, and even her wake was succulent. Enraptured, Wendy rose lightly on her toes, and with one twist of her shoulders, floated up.

  Hook didn’t move. He stood staring at the glistening drops falling from her gown as she pursued his lady of the deep from the medium of the air. For the first time, he resisted the lure of the siren song.

  He hadn’t even heard it.

  * * *

  By twilight, the treacherous tide of Mermaids’ Lagoon was rising, its waves ceaselessly concealing and revealing its secrets. As intended, all elements of this infamous place had come into play that late afternoon. Those who could escape the tide had done so.

  One remained, changed forever.

  At the shadowed entrance to a womb of rock, a seaman waited for a dinghy. The sea rose, whispering as it came, pulsing in and out of the cave, swirling over and then laying bare his boots. He watched, but didn’t see.

  All those dark thoughts, broken segments… She would join them together. With a tale. An intriguing tale.

  He looked up, and far out to sea. The wind made free with his hair and toyed with the golden earring. He stood firm.

  Now he had his bearings. Captain James Hook observed the new stars and fixed his course.

  Wendy was his storyteller. And so much more.

  Chapter 7

  Taming the Beast

  The course of Time being so erratic, Wendy couldn’t be sure, but by her uncertain reckoning, weeks had passed since the Lagoon adventure, and still Tinker Bell was prone to twinkling fits of hysterics. The memory was fresh for Tink, who was drenched before it was over, and although it was no one’s fault but her own, she chose to blame the Wendy. Even Peter hadn’t curbed her vitriol, and Peter could tame almost anything.

  Wendy had been mesmerized, deep under the spell of the mermaid, but some instinct had guarded her. She took to the air first in her pursuit of the creature, instead of diving into the maid’s own element. Her sudden flight alerted Peter to the situation, and he kicked off the rock to her rescue. Tinker Bell, still vigilant, streaked after, fearing for Peter’s affection, hoping for the Wendy’s demise.

  Entranced by the song, Wendy flew nearer, lower, trying to capture the sound before it sank into the sea. She was so close as it submerged, she felt it must be near the surf
ace still. Just as she pitched to dive, Peter blazed in front of her, breaking the flow of sound. Abruptly, she halted to watch in bewilderment as Peter plunged in to warn the mermaid away. Tinker Bell was so determined to ward off competition that she plunked right after him, spraying a tiny jet of spume as she immersed herself in the merworld. Thereafter, the haunting song ceased altogether, and laughter broke the surface in a cloud of effervescence.

  Tink was too airy to swim. She bubbled back up and floated, a soggy bit of flotsam. As she spluttered, glowing particles of her fairy dust ebbed away, and the sight of it frightened her. She panicked, her wings waterlogged and beating against the sea, unable to attain flight nor make her way through the water.

  Only moments passed this way, for as soon as Wendy came to her senses, she awoke to Tink’s dilemma. She reached down and formed her hands into a raft. In spite of the fairy’s ill will, Wendy found the grace to respect her proud nature. She allowed Tink to climb on deck by herself, dragging aboard a single shred of dignity— whereupon Tinker Bell aimed and spit.

  Dignity remained tattered yet and frequent hair pulling was the order of the day, so Peter cocked an arrow and pretended to shoot Tinker Bell down, while Tink reversed herself and escaped up the tree shaft to the world above. A hollow tinkling echoed in the chute, and Wendy awarded her hero a smile, grateful to him for both recent rescues and her belief in him confirmed again. She was relieved, and now at liberty to discuss the idea of the day.

  Any good idea that wandered into the hideout became Peter’s in the end, by right of domination, and Peter decreed that today should be a hunting day. Living among the trees, one lived among the beasts. It followed naturally that one would hunt the beasts from the trees. The logic was Peter’s own, and because it was his, it belonged also to the Lost Boys. But it didn’t really matter whose logic it was to begin with, anyway. Everything became Peter’s.