Page 22 of Freeing Hook

It feels like the moment after you almost caused a tragic accident, yet were subverted by something equally as coincidental. Like almost stepping into the street and being distracted by a flittering sparrow, only to realize had you not delayed to marvel at it, the carriage rounding the corner would have trampled you.

My legs tremble violently, and I have to sink onto the nearest crate, cradling my face in my palms as I shake.

“Cap’n, she’s over here!” someone cries. I don’t bother to lift my head and look at his face. It doesn’t really matter who found me. It’s not as if I ever left.

Astor comes barreling over, though I actually do look at him. He’s heaving. It’s only when he lays eyes on me that his shoulders sag in relief. His sharp eyes rake over me. “You’re wet,” is all he says.

For a moment, I’m confused. Peter caught me before I hit the water, but as I glance down, sure enough, the hem of my trousers is soaked. I didn’t realize how close I’d been to the water swallowing me. “They’re too long, and the deck is soaked. Maybe if you actually found me some trousers that fit.”

Astor glares at me, suspicion all over his face. But he doesn’t contradict me. “You could have called out. Unless I’m mistaken, you’re not deaf. Surely you heard the crew shouting for you.”

I stare up at Astor and give him the blankest expression I can muster. “You tracked me down all the way to Neverland. I figured it would be no trouble to find me on your own ship.”

Astor presses his lips together. “You’re shaking.”

It’s warm, even at night, so I can’t blame it on the cold. “I’m told addicts do that sometimes,” I say.

Addicts. The word hurts coming out of my throat. But it’s no use trying to deny what I am. Not when I sense the lover’s touch of Peter’s sachet of faerie dust at my hip, hidden between my rolled trouser waistband and my belly.

If Astor was considering punishing me, he must decide better of it, because he opens his mouth, then immediately clamps it down. When he finally speaks, his voice is all business. Before he walks away, I think I hear him murmur, “I’ll get someone to hem your pants.”

CHAPTER 9

WENDY

There’s a guard outside the door to the bunker.

To be honest, I don’t even remember wandering here. It’s ridiculous, given I have Peter’s stash of faerie dust tucked into my waistband. I don’t need what’s in the bunker. But I’ve been roaming around the deck, my fingers fidgeting at the cord tying the pouch. Just a daily dose, I’ve been telling myself. I can handle that.

In truth, I wandered down here to escape the scolding voice in my head telling me I should throw the faerie dust overboard. Or perhaps I just wanted a reminder that if I do throw it into the sea, more will still be down here in the bunker waiting for me. That I won’t have to abandon it forever.

The bald, burly man waiting for me at the doorway flashes me a metallic grin and says, “Cap’s up the stairs and on the right if you’re looking for his attentions.”

My face colors, and I shake my head violently. “No, I’m not looking for him. I was just with him…”

The burly man only grins wider, and I exhale forcefully, scampering up the stairs and to the right as he told me.

On the way, I take note of the strange nature of the ship. When I first glimpsed theIaso, I thought it was made entirelyof shadow, but now that I’m inside it, I realize it’s only cloaked in shadows. At least, it was when we left Neverland. Now that I think about it, I hadn’t noticed the shadows when Peter backed me up against the hull. Astor must have some way of keeping them contained. I peer at my feet. The floorboards and walls are made of wood, probably oak, if I had to guess.

That morsel of knowledge reminds me with a pang of John. He went through a ship phase as a child, which I suppose is only natural for those who grow up in a port town. He used to tell me all about them, begging me to sketch diagrams with him and help him gather materials for his miniature boat models.

Oak is hesitant to rot, I remember. My chest stings as I think of John, of the worry that must be nagging at his protective soul right now. John’s always considered it his responsibility to protect me.

And now I’m gone.

I’m not sure what the captain wants from me, but I have the sneaking suspicion that by the time he returns me to Neverland, I won’t be the same girl I was when I left.

Will Peter still want me then?

I shake my head, dispelling the thought. Of course he will. I’d let my despair at being given over to Astor undermine my trust in Peter. But he’s been watching over me, hasn’t he? When I needed him, when I was falling, it was Peter’s arms that caught me. Irritation with myself prickles at my ribcage—I should have asked him what his plan was in handing me over to Astor instead of letting my passion for my Mate overtake my senses as he kissed me up against the hull of the ship.

Warmth spreads its fingers between the divot of my shoulder blades at the memory.

Still, Peter’s proven that whatever his intentions are, it was never to leave me to the captain’s devices. For now, that’s enough for me to trust that he knows what he’s doing.

I let my fingers trail the treated wood as I wander the hallway, following the faint echo of voices. When I reach the door at the end of the hall, I find there’s a natural knot in the wood that’s left a crack larger than most of the slats. When I press my face to it, I get a decent glimpse inside, if not a bit shadowed at the peripherals.

Inside looks to be some sort of council chamber. At least, that’s the impression I get from the massive round table at the center of the room. Parchment dangles over the edges, likely a map of the world based on the islands I glimpse scattered at its corners. Several of the crew stand around the table, Captain Astor in the center.

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