Hook: Dead to Rights (Captain Hook and the Pirates of Neverland Book 1)

by Melissa Snark

  "Aye, Captain!" Byron tossed the boy over his shoulder and returned to the nearest footbridge. Several members of the boarding party who'd also taken prisoners were crossing to Revenge.

  I turned to assess the condition on Ariel's main deck. The boarding party had the situation well under control. More than half the Lost Boys were disarmed and subdued, and the others would soon be also. Having satisfied my concern, I turned my attention outward and upward.

  Tinker Bell streaked past, running the starboard balustrade like a track. Glimmer trailed in her wake. If she'd come closer, I might've doffed my hat and taken a swipe at capturing her, but she stayed out of reach. I twisted around to look up at Pan, who balanced on tippy toe on the main sail rigging.

  The girl with the chestnut curls in the periwinkle nightgown floated alongside him. She was a pretty chit, but something of a doll with her unfocused gaze and blank expression. He gripped her hand, tethering her like a buoyant kite eager to fly off. A growl of pure frustration ripped from my throat, because the precarious nature of her plight was not lost on me. A fall from that height would surely kill her.

  "Pan! Face me!" I shouted so hard my throat ached. Determined to force his attention, I shook my hook, the standard under which my crew united and fought.

  Peter glanced down. A frown pinched his elf-fair features. He appeared thoroughly discombobulated. And there, I was left wondering if the king of pretenders remembered me not at all. Was that not a truly tragic thing—to be erased from history? To my way of thinking, an individual enjoyed a sort of enduring immortality so long as others spoke their name. The soul lived on in infamy. Having one's name forgotten was the worst fate imaginable.

  "Who are you?" Pan asked, and from the slackness in his face, I knew he wasn't lying. Aye, he'd expunged the memory of Captain Hook from his twisted psyche.

  The insult enraged me. My blood burned.

  "I am Captain Jayden Hook," I sneered in the grip of fervor. Bitterness twisted in my chest. I'd have loved nothing more than to put all thoughts of Peter Pan from my head forever. Why should he enjoy the luxury I never could?

  "Hook. Captain Hook?" Peter frowned and mouthed my name over and over. His head flopped over like the head of a cut blossom aged past its freshness. Seconds drained away. Peter's face twisted and turned. For a split second, his mask cracked, revealing the wicked soul that lurked beneath his facade of innocence. To blink would've been to miss it.

  I whispered encouragement, "There you go. You remember me now."

  Recognition and then hatred flared in Peter's gaze. He pointed and cried, "Captain Hook! Fiend!"

  I returned his glare, a thorn for a thorn, and brandished my hook, aimed at his heart. "I'm coming for you."

  Pan caught my gaze and curled his upper lip in a sneer of pure disdain. Salt in the wound, he stuck out his tongue. Let him. I'd rip it out by the root.

  "If you won't descend, I'll come after you." I headed for the main mast, intending to climb the ladder. I'd damn well fight him in the rigging—I feared neither heights nor falling.

  Before I reached the post, however, Peter screeched at a pitch that split hairs and frayed nerves. "Think happy thoughts! Think happy thoughts!"

  I could've been cold-stone deaf in both ears, and still I'd have heard him. Dead calm fell across Ariel; all motion ceased. A hush fell. It affected me, too. The foul faerie magic penetrated my core and turned me inside out.

  My steps faltered. My boots rooted themselves to the deck.

  "Think happy thoughts! Think happy thoughts!" Pan crowed his dominating message—drove the command into my head until it consumed me.

  Happiness... such an elusive, yet tantalizing concept, full of mystery and promise. Never had I experienced pure, unadulterated joy. I wanted it. Needed it. I reached for elation, but without anything more than an abstract understanding of what it was I strove to attain. The present offered no inspiration. At times, I enjoyed a fragile sense of contentment at best. I faced a future without optimism. Naught but a glum and dark destiny awaited me, and the most I hoped for was a quick and painless death. In desperation, I turned to the past, which held brief moments, sparks of cheer. Those lazy afternoons spent with Starkey on Blackberry Bluff... My life was devoid of intimacy and connection. Nothing, absolutely nothing, rivaled my abhorrence of Peter Pan.

  Leaden hatred anchored me to misery.

  An electrifying current passed through Ariel. My feet tingled under the assault of hundreds of pleasurable pricks. All of a sudden, heat surged through me, my heart raced, and I was breathing hard.

  "All your thoughts are happy," Pan chanted.

  The ship trembled. Lost Boys and pirates alike were trapped like living statues, stuck in their final positions. Despite their plugged ears, the boarding party had still fallen prey to Peter's spell... Since our last encounter, his power had grown substantially.

  Alarm blazed through me. I might be a failure at happiness, but command was the blood in my veins. Concern for the craft and crew penetrated my pathetic contemplation of bliss. My gut feeling warned that my people were in danger, but when I tried to turn around, my body refused to obey. Frustration rampaged through me. I marshalled raw willpower. Like a bull, I snorted and stomped the planks, fighting to force my heavy limbs to obey. Anger became my armor and the vigor that drove me. One stumbling step led to another. I channeled all my strength into the effort, gathering momentum.

  "You're so happy, you're lighter than air!" Pan's song assaulted my mind, the sharp sting of hailstones. He led a chorus with the others repeating every lyric, and his power grew.

  A halo of shimmering radiance enveloped the schooner. Pixie dust... it defied description. The most eloquent poet couldn't do its beauty justice. The sight of it imbued a breathless sense of wonder and emboldened the imagination. It was erratic, ephemeral, and ethereal... By daylight, it was a fizzy rainbow. Under moonlight, it glowed opalescent. It held the essence of joy, beauty beyond the stars in the sky.

  Ariel pitched and lifted skyward.

  Chapter 7

  Airships—Melodrama—BOOM

  "All hands, abandon ship!" A yell burst from my throat and I erupted into action. I seized hold of my crewmembers' shoulders and shook them. They flopped like rag dolls. I shouted at the top of my lungs, trying to drown out Pan's voice and break the enchantment, but they remained zombies.

  Fever burned through me, but a persistent thought sprang into the back of my mind—what was Starkey doing? Surely he had seen what was happening to the boarding party. Or had the thing I dreaded the most come true—had Revenge's crew also succumbed to Pan's bewitchment?

  "Come to your senses!" I tore across the deck, shoving my crew. By chance, I came upon Mr. Keats. When I barked orders full in his face, he only returned a blank stare. I slapped him... nothing.

  The ship lifted a couple feet, and the footbridges dislodged from the balustrades. The tumbled gangplanks took a few of my people with them. The startled yelps of plunging pirates split the air.

  Inspiration struck. I dragged Mr. Keats to the railing and shoved him over the side. If falling didn't wake him up, then the cold dunking would. Ariel floated a good ten feet over the ocean now. I reached out, making a blind grab, and latched onto another member of my crew. Beaver followed Mr. Keats into the Neverland Sea.

  Ariel continued her ascent. The grappling lines, those five braided hemp ropes, drew taut. The schooner tilted to her port side. Hapless children and passive pirates slid across the deck and smashed into the railing. The moorings bought us a little more time, and another half dozen of my people joined Beaver and Keats in the water. I refrained from tossing any youngsters overboard, however. Every member of my crew could swim, but I didn't know about the minors.

  Breathing hard, I spared precious seconds and surveyed Revenge. The stolen glance confirmed the worst of my fear—the crewmembers in my line of sight were living statues. I searched, but couldn't find Starkey.

  Off Ariel's port side, a green figure streak
ed through the sky. Peter Pan. My gut clenched. I hauled the sailor in my grip over the side and grabbed hold of the railing to secure my balance.

  Pan sliced the first line and the schooner rolled. In rapid succession, smaller shudders rocked the vessel as two successive ropes were severed. Crowing like a damnable rooster, Peter flew toward the fourth mooring, which was closest to me.

  A baldric holding three flintlock pistols was draped across my chest. I drew a gun and fired without taking aim. The muzzle belched sparks and sulfurous smoke.

  The shot missed.

  Peter cut the fourth line and flew for the final mooring.

  I dropped the empty weapon to the deck. Riding a reckless surge, I yanked the second pistol and took the shot.

  Missed again.

  "Blast you!" I cursed Pan.

  The third pistol cracked, spewing a flash of brimstone. Three times in a row, the bullet failed to find its mark. A shout tore from my throat, and I may well have stomped out my frustration. Any other time—any other time—I was an excellent marksman. But when it mattered, I couldn't hit the broadside of a ship.

  Peter cut the remaining grappling line, and Ariel resumed her ascent, once again rising heavenward.

  I shoved the remaining pistol into my belt and tossed two more of Revenge's crew into the sea. The exertion had begun to take its toll. My muscles burned, and I labored for breath. Despite my determined effort, about half the raiding party remained on board. Soon, we'd be too high for anyone to make a safe jump. Once the ship soared into the clouds, Pan would certainly compel anyone who was left to leap to their deaths. I needed to think of something and fast.

  Starkey, where are you? Damn it, I need you.

  In the grip of powerful frustration, I whirled and immediately slammed to a halt. Tinker Bell hovered before me in her full five-and-a-half-inch glory. Panting hard, I stared at her... she gawked at me. We gaped at each other, but upon doing so we were every bit as fascinated as a mongoose and a cobra.

  Tink's succulent lips rounded into a pretty O, revealing the pinkness of her tongue just past the part. Golden-blonde tresses fell to her shoulders in a cascade, and she wore a light blue frock too tight and too short to contain her ample curves. Blimey, but she was a peach... a ripe, succulent peach just begging for a full bite. Tooth and tongue. My mouth watered for her sweetness.

  "Get off the ship, Hook, before it's too late." Tinker Bell joined her hands together, pleading for me to obey.

  "Not without my crew."

  "Please, Peter will kill you."

  "That would be nothing new. I've made a bargain with the Grim Reaper. I'll bow willingly before her scythe, but only after Pan has died by my hand."

  Tinker Bell rolled her eyes. "Oh, Hook, always so dramatic."

  Intent on murder, I tilted my head back. Pan perched in the rigging—the rooster on his roost—where I expected him to be. The passive girl was still with him.

  Peter smirked and loosened his grip so he supported her with two fingers. He crooked his hand and mouthed, "Come here now or I'll let her go."

  My heart surged and thudded against my chest. Icy fear gripped me. Hefting my hook, I advanced a stride toward the main mast. "I'll eviscerate you gullet to groin!"

  Tinker Bell darted into my path. "Hook, what about your crew?"

  "They'll be safe once Pan's dead. Step aside, love. I don't wish to harm you." Abruptly, a chilling sense of wrongness crashed over me again. My skin crawled. None of the day's events made even a lick of sense. Not Pan's Machiavellian scheming or Tinker Bell's sudden interest in dissuading me from my most driving goal. If anyone should grasp the futility of trying to talk me out of revenge, it was Tinker Bell.

  "You don't understand. Pan's different."

  Different how? It begged the question. Under less pressing circumstances, I'd have been delighted to indulge Tink's games, but now I had neither the time nor the inclination. My crew, the children, and the girl needed saving.

  Pan had to be slain.

  "Step aside." This time, I didn't wait for her refusal. I lunged, wrapped my hand around Tinker Bell's waist, and swung her aside. The faerie queen was a featherweight.

  On reaching the main mast, I climbed the ladder hand over hook. While I ascended, Peter Pan retreated higher with the impassive girl in tow. His uncharacteristic retreat baffled and irritated me from the get-go. Pan was many things, but not craven. I wondered if this was the "difference" Tinker Bell had mentioned.

  The higher Ariel ascended, the harder the wind whipped. The ocean receded to a slate-blue field far below. I could only guess at our altitude, but it must've been at least a hundred feet by the time I reached the top.

  Standing on the platform, I drew my cutlass. A duel in the rigging would require strength and dexterity, and I was already weary. Concern for the girl made me cautious. Taunting Pan into approaching me was the best bet, but would he fall for it?

  "Fight me, Peter. Or are you too fearful?"

  "I'm not afraid of you, Hook! The opposite! You and your pathetic obsession... you're not worth the effort." Pan kicked off the mast and floated between the shrouds, still holding the girl's hand. He brandished his enchanted knife, the same blade he'd used to sever the grappling lines.

  I got my first clear view of Pan since this whole thing had started. Tinker Bell had been telling the truth. The eternal boy looked different somehow, although exactly what had altered eluded me. I scowled, trying to sort it out. Insight came to me in an epiphany. As long as I'd known Peter Pan, he'd appeared to be a beautiful boy of eight or nine. Now, I placed him at ten years old. He'd grown longer in the limbs, and his face had lost that cherubic shine. The change confounded me.

  An astonished outburst escaped me in a great gust. "You've aged!"

  "Liar! You're a filthy, dastardly, dishonest pirate!" Pan aimed the point of his knife at my throat and waved his other arm in a thoughtless gesture, causing the poor girl to shake. Worry pricked me. What if Peter forgot he was the only thing keeping her aloft?

  "Slander! I'm imminently clean. You're a blundering fool." I wanted to engage him further, to attempt to provoke him into revealing more, but the girl took priority. Less than fifty feet separated us; it may as well have been miles. I cast a fast glance around, surveying my options. The flintlock pistol only fired one shot, which I'd already used. Even if I'd brought additional firearms, I couldn't have risked hitting the girl.

  "If you want to fight, then come to me! Or are you too chicken?" Pan sneered with a poorly contrived cunning. Clearly, his clever ploy was meant to lure me into the perilous rigging. Perhaps if he understood I had already decided to do just that, he would've come up with a better gibe.

  "You're the damn rooster." I snagged a shroud with my hook and cut the base of the line from where it attached to the platform. Then, I returned the cutlass to its sheath and grasped the dangling rope. It required a couple precious seconds to gauge distances and angles.

  I kicked off, swinging out in a wide arc.

  Far below, thunder boomed, a racket so deafening it obliterated the thoughts in my head. Revenge fired her starboard battery, spewing fire and smoke. The cannonballs passed harmlessly beneath the schooner and crashed into the ocean. Revenge had only discharged a few of her starboard guns, but it was enough. The roar should've shattered Pan's hypnotic hold on his victims.

  Ariel plummeted. I more imagined than actually heard the startled cries that erupted from the children and my crew when the deck dropped out from beneath their feet.

  Peter Pan, of course, defied gravity. The line in my hands slackened when the mast dropped, leaving me in freefall.

  Excellent timing, Mr. Starkey.

  Chapter 8

  Falling—Blackout—Small Victories

  The passage of time slowed to a crawl, just as it always did when events went to bedlam all at once. Ariel was a few hundred feet high. The schooner plunged seaward at the rate of molasses, a sticky and inevitable advance. It blazed like a shooting star: a brilli
ant pixie-dust aura engulfed the ship from her rigging to her keel, including the glowing rope in my grip. I suspected faerie magic was what slowed her descent—and mine. Regardless, the lapse granted precious seconds to ponder my options, weighing possible choices and consequences.

  Falling was a lot like flying, except for the part where it ended abruptly. I clung to the glowing rope, and continued to swing in a wide arc. My plan was to hold on until the last possible second. Better to go with the flow than to risk getting tangled—and possibly hanged—in the rigging.

  Revenge discharged another artillery round, this time off her port side, away from Ariel. The schooner struck the ocean with a great splash.

  The line in my hands snapped. I let go and turned like an arrow into the flight. Everything sped up and flashed past, fragments in a blur. Ariel's balustrade rushed straight at me, filling my vision. I was falling too fast to avoid the collision so I threw out my arms to shield myself. Better broken bones than a cracked skull or snapped spine. I twisted, trying to alter my trajectory, but no such luck.

  Blackness.

  I came to consciousness slowly, floating through a formless void. My whole body ached, but especially my shoulder. It hurt to breathe. I groaned, and a flurry of bubbles streamed from my mouth, which at least answered the question of where I was—underwater. I had no idea how long I'd been submerged, breathing water and drifting without the faintest idea of what was up or down. Fortunately, I'm an experienced diver. I've spent years of my life beneath the waves, so I understood the ocean—its mysterious movements and consuming passion.

  By an act of will, I ceased struggling and surrendered, floating with my limbs relaxed and senses open. In a receptive state, I could perceive the telltale hints which pointed toward the surface. The weight of my hook dragged my arm down while my body's natural buoyancy pushed in the opposite direction. Sunshine filtered through the water, informing my sense of direction. I gathered myself, executed a smooth flip, and swam toward the light.