Page 30 of Lost Girl

I don’t utter a word, trailing behind her in complete silence as I take in yet another change in the scenery.

A lush garden. It’s a gorgeous sight, breathtaking even. The flowers appear larger and more vivid than the ones back home, all the more fragrant, too, but again—my mind could simply be perceiving them as such.

Wendy.I can still hear that chilling whisper in my head.

Shivering through a hailstorm of goosepimples, I breathe through the renewed sense of panic that roils deep in belly, inhaling the potent scent of salt water along with it, and keep trudging on behind my immortal captor. But the further we trail without knowledge of where I’m going beckons fear to the forefront of it all.

Calm, Wendy, keep calm,I remind myself, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth.

Eventually, we make it to what appears to be the end of the garden. The wrought iron gates that lead out to the beach are wide open, a dock laid out near the shore.

And along its expanse sits this grand ship, one I’ve only ever seen in story books.

“What is this?” I question, the pulse in my neck banging against my skin.

While majestic in its own right, it’s also dreary, scary, a torn ebony flag with a skull and crossbones waving proudly from one of the masts.

“What does it look like?” Tinksley retorts, hauling me up the steps of the dock.

“A pirate ship?” A rhetorical question in a sense, because that’s clearly what this is, but she answers me regardless.

“Ding, ding, ding—we have a winner.”

“Is this Hook’s sh—”

Tinksley spins around in a nanosecond, teeth bared ever so slightly. “That’s Captain Hook to you, little Wendy. Be mindful of how you choose to address him.”

“I’m sorry”—gulp—“I just thought that since Peter—”

Her grip on my forearm tightens, eyes doing that flashing thing that scares the living shit out of me. “Don’t. Speak. His goddamned name to me.”

I swallow all the more deeper, stomach cinching together like a sodden towel. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” She smiles, and it’s nothing short of deranged. “You sure will be when your lungs start begging for air.”

I’m yanked forward again, all the way up the ramp of the ship and onto the deck as the meaning of her words dawns on me. My eyes bulge. “Wait, what?”

“See that plank over there?” She pulls me to her side like a ragdoll, pointing at a long wooden plank that extends off the deck.

Looming over the dark waters illuminated by nothing other than the full moon.

She’s going to make you walk the plank.

Instant terror seizes me at the thought. There’s no stopping it, no controlling it. My heart rate spikes impossibly more, bile shooting up my throat. “No, please, no,” I plead, shuffling backward in a feeble attempt to break free from her hold.

But I’m pulled back to her side as she nods. “Oh, yes. You’re walking it, Wendylocks.”

“But you need me alive.” I yank back a second time. “You want answers remember?”

“Answers you’ve refused to give every time I’ve asked,” she snaps, making quick work of winding both arms behind my back. “My patience has reached its end and the Captain is growing tired of my constant inquisition.”

“I’ll do whatever you want, Tinksley, pleas—” My simpering plea’s cut short as she maneuvers and tugs what feels like rope around my wrists. “Please don’t do this.”

“And, yet, I have to. Who knows, once you make it to the other side, your precious little Peter might be waiting for you, and then you can live happily ever after.” There’s a bitterness to her tone, one I don’t think was meant intentionally.

Or maybe it is?

After all, he robbed her of so much. He may not have physically made her what she is, but he played a huge role in it.

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