Page 31 of The Last Lost Girl

“Rest is what most of us need. And you’ve had it.” Cairo shrugs a scarred shoulder.

“I just had a nap!” I guffaw. I could’ve sworn Smee thought it was broken. He must have been wrong. Or else the golden salve worked some sort of magic.

I think of my sister, her… abilities, and the shadows that overtook her, then remember that magic is very real in this place and that it’s quite possible that the golden salve is so valuable because it is magical.

Warm sunlight skims the map pinned to the wall behind the pirate’s desk, so I study the landmarks noted on it. The cartographer took time to chart the depths of the waters surrounding the island. From above, the rings of the deepening sea look like the uneven edges of a bullseye aimed at the toxic boy who made himself king.

And I know that Hook considers himself the arrow.

Cairo scrubs the tub with something that smells as sour and sharp as vinegar until it gleams, and then nods his head on his way out.

“Am I Hook’s prisoner?” I blurt before he reaches the doors, wondering if I have to stay in this room.

Cairo ticks his head back like he doesn’t understand. “His prisoner?”

I look out the window and rephrase, “Can I walk around on the deck?”

At that question, he smiles. “I don’t know. Can you?”

I flex my foot as he walks outside and leaves the doors wide open in invitation. The room isn’t a prison, but the ship could be considered one. I watch two men pass by the windows facing the bow and wonder what Hook told the rest of his crew about me. Are they taking bets on how I got to Neverland?

Gingerly placing my soles on the floor, I slowly stand, surprised when my foot doesn’t hurt in the least. A laugh tears from my chest. I can’t believe it’s healed! I’ve sprained an ankle before and it took days, if not a couple of weeks for it to feel normal and for the swelling to recede and the tendons to calm. I step over the discarded bandage on the way out of the captain’s quarters.

Some of the men sit on crates playing cards on tables perched between them, laughing easily, until they see me and offer a polite nod. I wave and walk to the railing.

The sun is beginning to set, painting the dipping, swelling sea in turbulent facets of flame. The siren at the bow somehow senses me. Maybe it’s the sound of my footsteps or my scent, so different from the others she’s learned since being made part of the ship.

In my dreams last night, I set her free. After stealing a knife and with the tiniest effort, I cut her from the wood. Could it really be that simple?

I lean over to study what holds her.

She screeches and reaches out to me, then cries in agony when her body tears from her efforts. Deep teal blood drips into the sea.

“Shhh!” I hiss, moving closer. “I can’t help you if you don’t stay quiet. There are men all over this deck and if they hear you, someone will come and stop me.” I check over my shoulder furtively, making sure no one did exactly that. She understands me on some level, or maybe it’s wishful thinking on my part and she stops moving because she hurt herself so badly. Either way, she calms, wincing from the pain her writhing just caused.

Hook claimed that if she tried to tear herself away, she would die from the wounds, but what if someone helped her? Would she still die from whatever he’s done to pin her there? Would that be more humane than watching her suffer? Watching her starve?

She begins to quietly but fervently chatter, her noises staccato and abrupt. Harsh. I can’t help but wonder how beautiful her voice must have been before Hook punctured it.

As she speaks, her large, wide eyes beg me to understand. To be merciful. She looks and gestures to her sides, where the heads of long nails protrude.

Now that I know what holds her, I search her and gasp when I see how many there are. They clamp her tightly – flesh, tail, and fin. Some of the nails are driven so deeply into her body, if she tears free, she will have gaping holes.

I want to help her. I just don’t know how to go about it. I’d have to climb over the rail and find a way over to her to be able to reach her at all, which seems incredibly difficult… I inch closer as she lowers her voice, then goes eerily quiet.

That’s when I hear footsteps approach from behind and slowly trail around me.

Hook props his hip against the railing between me and the mermaid, who bares her sharp teeth at him when he tosses a breezy smile at her over his shoulder. She hisses at him until the hole in her throat whistles and wheezes. Her gills vibrate with rage as her webbed fingers spread and her claws dig into the wood.

“Don’t even think about it, Lifeguard,” Hook warns.

“Think about what?” I ask innocently.

He quirks his scarred brow. He’s tied his dark hair back and his jaw is lined with dark stubble. “What do you see when you look at her?”

“She’s in pain,” I answer honestly, staring wistfully over his shoulder at the mermaid. “She’s miserable.”

“What else?”

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