A Land of Never After

by R. L. Davennor

He narrowed his gaze, both drinking me in and asking without words. Out with it, then.

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t—not with him looking at me like that.

  “But,” Elvira continued, “I suspect you already know exactly who she is. She has her eyes—and her mouth once you get her fired up.”

  My pulse spiked. They couldn’t mean—

  “Say it, Ced, or I’ll say it for you.”

  It soon became clear Elvira would need to do just that, for Hook and I both remained captives to the horror etched across our faces. I knew where mine came from, but his was a mystery.

  “Maynard. Wendy Maynard.”

  None but Elvira were prepared for the captain’s reaction. Hook’s knees buckled beneath him; he gasped as if stabbed, and a sob followed. He’d have collapsed on the deck if his sister hadn’t caught him.

  My voice returned at the sight of such a powerful man caught so off-guard. “Is he…”

  “He’s fine.” Elvira yanked him upright, forcing Hook to face me. “Just needs a moment to realize the truth.”

  “Truth?”

  She nodded. “It’s not every day a father meets his daughter.”

  Father?

  It was my turn to feel as though I’d been stabbed. Oh, fuck.

  VII. the hook

  “That’s not possible.”

  Hook and I spoke as one and completed the mirror image by shooting one another a glare. His eyes flashed with rage and something else, but I didn’t linger upon realizing how familiar that gleam was; I’d felt the darkness myself countless times since arriving in Neverland. Still, Elvira’s claim couldn’t be true. It wasn’t. Unwilling to hear further evidence of the falsehood, I turned to her—a cackling mess. Fury ignited within me. How was any of this funny?

  “Look at that—like father, like daughter!”

  The captain gritted his teeth. “Will you stop saying that?”

  “I’m an orphan,” I insisted. “No parents to speak of, no living relatives. Nothing. I’m no one.”

  Elvira smirked. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have this.” She held up the music box. “It’s been missing ever since the love of Ced’s life disappeared.”

  Hook remained stiff as a board while I shook my head, unwilling to believe any of it. “That doesn’t prove anything. I’m sure there are dozens like it.”

  “None that play this tune.”

  I ignored my shaking hands. “Mrs. Hughes—my caretaker—told me there used to be a maker in town, but that he’d gone out of business—”

  Elvira laughed. “That’s what they told you? Smart and elaborate.”

  “But why… Why would they lie?”

  “About the music box, I’ve no idea, but it sounds like you were told the truth about your mother being dead.”

  Mother.

  Mother.

  My hand shot out to grip the nearest thing for support; in my shock, I didn’t care that thing was Hook. He held me upright as I reeled, unable to take in Elvira’s words while she continued to speak. Though my eyes were open, flashes of what I’d previously glimpsed in dreams danced across the edges of my vision: that freckled face, those eyes.

  “She… she was a pirate.” The simple statement was all I could manage given the lump in my throat. My fingers curled around Hook’s arm, half-expecting him to pull away—certainly not respond.

  “Aye. A damn good one at that.”

  I glanced up. The mask remained, concealing whatever emotions he’d buried deep, but unlike before, Hook didn’t shy away from my gaze. He pursed his lips, scar rippling across his cheek, and for a moment I almost forgot he was a murderous, child-killing monster.

  Almost.

  I narrowed my eyes, erecting a metaphorical barrier between us. Whatever my mother might have once seen in this man was long gone, and I wouldn’t let a little shared blood erase that. I couldn’t call him Father—not yet, and maybe not ever—but Hook wasn’t right, either.

  Cedric would do for now.

  Elvira crossed her arms and huffed. “Are you two quite finished?”

  I turned to face her, but Cedric spoke first with a warning in his tone. “Elvira—”

  “What? It’s nice to see you acknowledging the truth. It makes sense and you know it—it’s why you wanted to kill Wendy rather than use her, am I right?”

  My mouth dropped open. “You bastard—”

  “The timing is far too perfect,” Elvira continued. “Scarlett passed sixteen years ago—about Wendy’s age, from the looks of her.”

  “Scarlett?” I echoed. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.

  “Stop talking about her.” Cedric’s voice was hoarse as he butted in, no longer willing to look me nor Elvira in the eye. “Please.”

  Elvira ignored him. “I’ll admit your mother and I weren’t the best of friends, but I suppose she proved herself in the end.”

  “Don’t lie; you hated her.” Cedric turned on his sister, good hand twitching at his side. “Scarlett was everything you could never be.”

  “You’re right, Ced. She was perfect, even perfect for you, yet you still managed to push her away. Congratulations.” Elvira’s turn to lash out. “You know exactly why she fled and birthed your daughter without you even knowing.”

  Cedric paled. “I thought she’d perished in that storm—”

  “She ran away, and you know it. You made your choice. Scarlett made hers. It’s that simple.”

  “No.” Cedric shook his head. “She’d never leave, not after everything—”

  “Wouldn’t she?” Elvira demanded. “There comes a time when love isn’t enough. Not after your obsession came to light. Do you seriously think she wanted to subject your child to that?”

  The siblings were once again lost in their own world, and I was uncertain whether they realized I was still present. Cedric mumbled something else about it not being his fault; in response, Elvira’s voice rose to a shout.

  “Own your fucking shit, Ced. Do not place it on me.”

  He flinched as if struck, more wounded than I’d seen him through this entire conversation. Elvira glared daggers, breathing hard as she crossed her arms. I waited for one of them to break the agonizing silence.

  Whipping her head in the direction of the crew, Elvira refocused her terrifying stare. “Show’s over. Back to work.”

  The men dispersed without protest—at least to their captain and quartermaster’s faces—and though my hands were still tied, I made to follow. I hadn’t the slightest desire to be caught in the crossfire of yet another argument, and even less to remain in the depressing presence of my supposed father. If Cedric and Elvira remained distracted long enough, perhaps I could—

  “Girl.” Cedric’s domineering tone had returned, as had some semblance of control.

  I froze, biting my lip to keep from swearing; the urge had become overwhelming now that I was surrounded by pirates. “Yes?”

  “You’re coming with me.”

  It was enough to get me to turn in his direction, but I’d need further convincing to move. I shook my head slowly, meeting his icy stare. “No.”

  The vein in his forehead bulged. “That wasn’t a request.”

  Elvira was by my side in an instant, one hand coming to rest at the small of my back. Drawing a blade with the other, she sliced my bonds, kicking them aside as she sheathed the weapon. She whispered into my ear, gentle and soothing, while her free hand played with a strand of my hair. “Do as he says, darling. He won’t hurt you. But if you do run into trouble, remember the dagger I gave you.”

  I swallowed. “What good will that do? He has a gun.”

  “Trust me. He’ll listen to you.”

  Irritation made its way into my tone. “He doesn’t quite seem in the mood for talking—”

  “Oh, he is… with one exception.” Elvi
ra’s voice dropped to a whisper. “No matter what my brother offers, do not make any kind of deal with him.”

  Disgust rippled through me. “I’m not stupid.”

  “I didn’t think for one second that you were.”

  She gave me a slight push; though my mind protested, my body started forward. Rubbing my aching wrists, I followed where Cedric led, turning back to glance at Elvira for reassurance.

  She was gone.

  “Shit,” I spat, already panicking. Was I seriously about to be alone with the man who had, only moments ago, held the barrel of a loaded pistol to my head? Gods only knew what he might try behind closed doors.

  “Are you coming, or do I have to drag you?” Cedric paused at the top of the stairs leading belowdecks, shooting me a glare of disgust.

  “I have a name, you know.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them, and at the captain’s narrowed gaze, I immediately regretted the defiance.

  “What will it be then, Wendy—the easy way, or the hard way?”

  Rather than put up a fight, I mumbled “Easy,” not wanting to draw attention to my quickening pulse. Cedric led me into the darkness, dodging half a dozen crew members with ease. Though they paid their captain no mind, the same couldn’t be said for me; I got everything from leers to flashes of weaponry. They might not be verbal, but I registered the threats loud and clear. It wasn’t even the worst part—the stench down here was enough to knock me over. A nauseating combination of piss, sweat, rot, and death had me holding my breath as much as possible.

  Inhaling through my mouth was no better. I could taste it, too.

  Not a moment too soon, we ducked inside what could only be the captain’s quarters. Surprisingly spacious, they were neat and orderly, though the latter wasn’t surprising given Cedric’s well-groomed appearance. I wasn’t about to complain when I could finally breathe air that didn’t reek. There were all the usual things one might expect a pirate captain to possess—charts, books, navigation tools, journals—but to the left, quite near his desk, there was something more.

  It could only be described as a shrine.

  As Cedric bolted the door, I dared a closer look. A trio of candles illuminated an array of personal belongings. From where I stood, I made out what appeared to be a folded-up chemise, an odd-looking necklace with a rather large pendant, and an ornate hand mirror among other things. At the center of it all rested a beautifully illustrated portrait. I caught only a glimpse of the woman’s features before Cedric noticed me staring.

  Darting into my field of vision, he dug the curve of his hook into my chin, forcing me to meet his furious glare. “That’s none of your concern.”

  “Is that my mother?”

  “It’s not,” he snarled. “You’re no child of mine.”

  “Then why bring me here?” I challenged, stepping further into the metal against my throat. “Why not kill me and be done with it?” My death was becoming a rather tiresome theme; though the parallels this encounter had to my first real conversation with Peter weren’t lost on me.

  Cedric set his jaw. “As tempting as that may be, Elvira brought up an excellent point. You’ve been running around with Nightstalkers—and Peter Pan.”

  “Oh, no you don’t.” I tore myself from his grip as fury surged through me. “You said it yourself: ‘I’ll find some other way.’ So fucking do it. I won’t help you catch him.”

  He bristled. “Watch your mouth!”

  “Going to start acting like my father now?” If I had to get him to admit the truth by force, so be it. “Because unless I get some answers, you can kiss the final piece of your little massacre goodbye.”

  “Is that what you think this is?” Cedric’s tone had softened, piquing my curiosity, though my fury hadn’t lessened. Lowering his hook, he brought it to his chest, absently rubbing the place where the metal met his arm. “Personal as my hunt for Peter may be, it’s about far more than sating my bloodlust or any petty desire for revenge. You heard the curse. He’s the key to breaking it.”

  I stilled; though we’d gone over it half a dozen times since our encounter with the nerisa, Peter had never once mentioned that.

  Cedric’s lips curled into an unsettling smile. “Think about it. One life—Peter’s—in exchange for all our lives. You’re dying, too. I see it in your face.”

  The captain stalked closer. Before I knew it, my back was pressed to the wall; when his arms shot out on either side of me, there truly was no escape. At the sound of his hook piercing the wood, a tight lump formed in my throat as I imagined it doing the same to my flesh. I sensed that drawing the dagger Elvira had given me would do more harm than good.

  “Do you know what else I see?” Now that he’d gained the upper hand, Cedric’s voice had taken on a psychotic edge not unlike his sister’s. He leaned in until I could feel his breath on my forehead, speaking barely above a whisper. “I see a girl just like me—she’s hiding in your eyes. There’s part of you, however desperately you may try to conceal it, that craves violence. Blood. Once you finally decide to unleash it, it may even serve you well for a time, be just enough to keep you alive… but you know as well as I do that this place is rapidly running out of targets. I’m afraid the innocents—the easy ones—have already fallen to me.”

  It took enormous effort not to picture what he described. Screams echoed in some faraway part of my skull, and it became all I could to force out my reply. “You’re a monster.”

  “And you’re the monster’s daughter.”

  My heart hammered. Being crammed into such a small space was doing nothing for my claustrophobia. I pushed lightly against Cedric, testing him, but as I’d suspected, he didn’t budge. It seemed both of us were left with no choice but to face the truth.

  “Was admitting that so hard?” I ignored the way my palms itched for the dagger at my back. “Now, perhaps you can tell me about my mo—”

  “Don’t change the subject,” he snapped. “We were discussing your place in all of this. Are you willing to sacrifice one for the good of the many? Or are you going to keep pretending as though you and I aren’t the same? If you walk away knowing everything you know now, you’re as guilty as I am.”

  My chest tightened; already it was getting harder to draw breath. “Let me go.”

  “Not until you answer me.”

  “Please step back—”

  “What will it be, Wendy?” Cedric demanded. This time he reached for me—but metal struck metal as my dagger met his hook.

  “I said, step back.”

  Before the knife got anywhere near him, he all but leaped away. Eyes widening, he fixated not on me but the point of my blade, despite us now being ten feet apart. I didn’t miss the now-rapid rising and falling of his chest nor the way his good hand clenched at his side, all too familiar with my own anxious tics.

  “Put that down.”

  “If it keeps you far away from me, I don’t think I will.” I gripped the pommel so hard my knuckles whitened, afraid he might try to snatch it from me regardless.

  Cedric’s breathing quickened even more. “I won’t say it again. Put. It. Down.”

  I studied him, gaze trailing across his panicked features. In our struggle, the neckline of his shirt had shifted, revealing the faint crisscrossing of dozens of tiny scars. He must be covered in them underneath; it explained his choice of shirt, including the sleeves. I noted the mark on his face, coupled with the fact that he himself didn’t carry a single blade.

  It dawned on me then. “You’re scared of knives.”

  “Observant,” Cedric spat.

  I didn’t surrender the dagger, but I did lower it. If he proved he could behave from now on, perhaps I’d consider sheathing it. “There. Now can we have something resembling a civilized conversation?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Of all the things I’ve been in my life, civilized is not one of the
m. But it would be… prudent for us to come to an understanding.”

  “We will—as soon as you tell me about my mother. Scarlett.” I still clung to some desperate hope that she hadn’t been as vile as the man before me, and I’d do anything I could to stall. Giving up Peter simply wasn’t an option, so I needed to find another way out of this mess that didn’t involve getting shot.

  A tall order.

  Cedric didn’t answer right away. He strode behind his desk, boots clicking against the wooden planks. Glancing at one of his many open journals, he rifled through the pages, speaking without looking at me. “Do you know who I am, Wendy? Who I really am?”

  The question felt rhetorical, so I said nothing.

  “Not many do.” He raised his gaze to meet mine. “Including most of this crew. They weren’t with me… before.”

  “Before…?”

  “The curse. My obsession. My madness. My scars—well, most of them.” He kept his tone even, still searching for a specific page. “They didn’t know Scarlett. They didn’t know Elvira at her worst—oh yes, she was much worse, once. They didn’t know my brothers. And they most certainly didn’t know my father.”

  I resisted the urge to interrupt. Surely there was a point to all this.

  With his hook, Cedric beckoned me closer. “You can read, yes?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. Read this.”

  I approached the desk with my blade still in hand; he backed away until he was near the window. Ignoring him, I pulled the journal closer, squinting so I could make out what was on the page.

  “This isn’t writing,” I protested. At best, it was a language I couldn’t decipher; at worst, a sloppily scribbled diagram.

  “Look closely.”

  The longer I stared, the more I made sense of the shapes before me. Largest was a triangle, and at each point was a cluster of lines. Another cluster rested in the center of the triangle, and still another existed separately, all on its own. When I focused closely, I realized the scribbles were sketches, just faded and worn with age. The central image was most chilling: a human skeleton stabbing a heart. It struck a chord of recognition in me. Had I seen it in one of my books? I made out the points of the triangle to be a dragon, a wolf, and a serpent respectively. Alone and isolated was a crow—or so it appeared.