Page 22 of Devour the Dark

“Don’t Darling me,” she says. “You need me and the shadow.”

Wendy glances at her descendant with a new air of admiration. “Asha, Winnie and I will go around to the next street to try to hedge him in.”

Pan doesn’t argue, so apparently the Darlings hold the power now. I can’t say I’m surprised. I am impressed, however. Good form, ladies. Good form indeed.

“And Hook—” Pan says.

“I’m not leaving him to you,” I tell him, risking my neck and my head. “I’m going after him. He’s my monster now.”

Something changes in Pan’s expression. It’s almost imperceptible. A flicker of surprise.

“Do what you will then, Hook.” Pan holds his arm out, gesturing me forward. “Don’t let me hold you back.”

Up until now, Roc hasn’t hurt me. Every time he’s come close, he’s shifted back.

I hope now isn’t the first where he proves me wrong.

We all dispersethrough the city streets. I turn down the nearest alley, following the sound of destruction two blocks up. A woman comes barreling out of a tavern carrying a chicken and a bag. She nearly slams right into me. “Get out of the way!” she yells and the chicken shrieks in her arms.

Up the next block, behind a row of trade shops, a door bursts open and three young men scramble out shouting at one another in a language of sharp constants and rolling Rs.

I continue forward, cautious.

Glass breaks somewhere inside the next building and in front of me, a man leaps out an open window. His knee gives out and he hits the cobblestone on his side before scrambling onto all fours and charging past me.

I peer in the open window. It’s a woodworking shop with several pieces of large machinery where spindles are turned and boards sanded. A shadow darts past the window. A table is knocked over.

I go to the back door and try the latch, but it’s locked from the inside.

At the weathered windowsill, I prop my good hand on it and pop my head into the dim. “Roc,” I call evenly, quietly so as not to alarm him.

The shadow again. A chair teeters on its back legs before slamming back to the floor.

“Roc. It’s me. It’s…James.”

His dark, shadowy form flies past me through the window, jumps off the next building before flying to the next intersection.

“Roc!”

I race after him.

He darts to the left, back toward the sea.

“Roc. Stop!”

More screams. I reach the intersection, and several fleeing citizens slam into me, spinning me around. My hook catches in a woman’s blouse, and she comes to a yanking stop. She looks at my hook, then at me, and screams bloody fucking murder in my face.

“If you’ll hold still…”

She keeps screaming, her round cheeks flush with adrenaline.

“Miss, please—” She slaps me. Continues screaming.

I manage to disentangle myself and once free, she darts off like a scared doe.

“Christ,” I mutter, my cheek stinging, and hurry after Roc.

The street flows downhill, bordered on one side by a warehouse and the other by stone and timber apartments. At the bottom of the hill, now free of the harbor, the sea laps against the sandy shore. Several large rocky outcroppings border the alcove, creating a private beach for the row of apartments above.

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