Hook & Jill

by Andrea Jones

  Wendy dropped her skirt to reach for the feather, drawing it across her cheek with bittersweet pleasure. She looked toward the bookcase waiting by the door, then paced to it and back, and back once again to stand in front of it. Lifting the glass cover, she ran her hand along the leather ridges until an opening showed her fingers where to shelve the volume. She slipped it in, her fingertips assuring it was set all the way back, intact and in line with the others, as if it had never gone adventuring. Then, betraying its secret, she laid the feather along the shelf in front of it. The glass caught the candlelight as she replaced the door, and her reflection fell across the books. Just a silhouette, a shade of a storyteller, anonymous over her tales. Quite naturally, the darkest one of all came to mind, and his counterpart. She knew the ending, now, and she looked at her black self and, once again, smiled darkly.

  Now that the familiar was set aside, she turned to examine the unfamiliar. The slippers were soft and delicate. Not much use. Wendy laughed and cast them away. She’d have boots made soon, of a much tougher material— smirking, she shifted her gaze toward the doorway— the hide of an enemy.

  Next she handled the hair brush, tortoise-shell. Hours ago, Mr. Smee combed her hair with his fingers, and Wendy had shied from them. Yet as the man unbraided and smoothed it, his hands proved as tender as his features were rough, and he tamed her tangles, to a degree. But she hadn’t seen a brush since Long Ago, and never one as fine as this. It fit into her hand. She ran it through her hair, once, to try it, then over and over until it didn’t catch any longer and her hair lay sleek and shining in the lantern light, spilling over her shoulder. Her head tilted, her eyes closed as she repeated the motions. The brush and the bo’sun reintroduced her to a ritual. She had forgotten, living with boys, the pleasure of brushing her hair.

  Then the gowns. The gowns were exquisite. Simple, fine. She had only to choose a color. She found it right away and held it up, her back to the others. Its sheen invited her to touch it. She hugged it to her body, one hand on her breast, the other making free with the fabric, coarse texture under deceptive luster. Taffeta, sturdy but gleaming. She danced it to the bed, laid it out, and shed her doeskin girdle.

  “An admirable choice.”

  Wendy whipped around, her tension rebounding at once. His hand came out of the darkness, becoming solid as he lit the candles. His robe fell open to reveal his skin, golden in the growing light, marred only by his leather strap. Hook was sitting behind his desk, one knee up, one foot resting on the edge.

  She drew breath, unnerved. “I should have known you were here.”

  “You would have known, had I wished you to know.” He lit all the candles before he spoke again. His beard, his face, were black and bright, a charcoal sketch, and his golden earring pierced the night. His mouth was grim. “You have not been completely alone, after all.”

  For the first time she noticed his boots standing ready by the bunk, and her pulse surged within her. Their presence reinforced the fact she had finally come to accept: Hook was real. Searching for distraction, delaying the inevitable, she allowed something else to catch her eye, on the shelf of the bed. She picked it up and approached the desk, skirting his boots. The contents of the crystal vial glowed in the candlelight, as brilliant as the leather was black.

  Wendy met his stare without shame. “I stole it, but the magic didn’t work.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “Stealing from me?” He clicked his tongue. “No honor among thieves.” Then he smiled, satisfied. “So you are truly ensnared in my net. Had you wished to leave me, you would have flown.” His eyes reflected the candles, watching her.

  She set the crystal down and scraped it forward over the desktop, past the ugly gash. “Then you know what fairy dust can do! And you allowed it?”

  He gathered his long legs and sat up. “I allow it, I insist upon it. It is the only way for you. But we are no longer talking terms of an agreement. Like the other members of my crew, you are free,” his smile was sardonic, “as a bird.”

  “But I thought… I described you as the tyrant of the Jolly Roger.”

  “So I am. And like all pirate captains, the authority I wield is given me, not by law, but by my men.” He stood and stepped around the desk to look down at her. “They, like you, have chosen me over other masters. And whatever power you and I hold over one another we have placed in each other’s… hands.” He reached for hers and held it fast.

  Her cheeks warmed. She knew it now, just as she had known in the moments before she gave him her hidden kiss. Another waiting time was at an end. “Our time alone is done. Show me what I have placed in your hands.”

  Pulling her closer, he searched deep in her eyes. After solemn study, he dropped her hand and swept past her, his robe sending a draft that guttered the candle flame and rushed against her bare arms. He plucked the dress from the bed and crossed to throw it on the couch. When he had shed his robe, it followed the dress, sprawling on top of it. Hook turned to her, the glorious conqueror she had made him, shining in the flaming light. “No more delays, then. Come to me.”

  She caught her breath. “Aye… Captain.” And with her insides in tatters again, she moved to his side and gave herself up to his will.

  “Look at me.” She did. She looked to his handsome face, stern now as he shook his head. “All of me.”

  She obeyed him, her blood beating against her skin. But before confronting the harness, she concentrated on his tattoo, the black flag. He followed her gaze. “You know my story. Blackbeard was not eloquent, but as a young man I found his arguments persuasive.”

  She remembered his history. The details were becoming clearer now. “You impressed your own mark upon him before the end. But Roger was a perfect choice for you. He has been your closest friend.”

  Hook placed his hand on her upper arm, considering. “He will look well on you.”

  “Me?”

  His eyes barely narrowed. “Once aboard my ship, it is all, or nothing.”

  “I want nothing less than all.” And she touched his mark, and stroked it. Then she slid her hand to his leather strap, following it across his chest. She braced her back and fixed her grip on the clip, but he stopped her with his own.

  “My hook will tear just once tonight.” He slipped his arm behind her shoulders. “My fairy has taught me the charm.” She looked at him, puzzled, then felt his hook dragging at the back of her dress. It sank, cleaving the uncleavable fairy gauze with only a whisper. He yanked the remnants off her shoulders and left them to shiver in shreds to the floor. Hooking her hair, he pulled it forward to lie on her breast. His lip twitched; his eyes swept over her. “Yes, you are my mermaid.” And before she could feel anything, he kissed her into carelessness.

  Until he recaptured her hand, and directed it to the clasp. His whiskers scraped her ear as he whispered, “Know me, now!” She gazed into his dark blue eyes and next moment found she had opened the clip. His chest swelling with a slow intake of breath, he shrugged his brace away, to drop on the floor with a sullen beat. She looked down at the hook, inert at their feet. She sensed Hook himself lost nothing by its absence, and her heart was pounding. He raised his empty wrist and caressed her shoulder. Shuddering, she felt the ship pitch, but when his arm circled round again, she lifted her eyes to behold it. He watched her face. And then he smiled.

  Her face was set, but she didn’t flinch. As panic coiled in the pit of her stomach, she took it all in, the rude ending of his arm, his ragged flesh, the scars tearing every direction— and his pain. She winced, and her arm jerked as her own wrist flared with flame, white hot. Searing.

  Far sooner than the torture he had endured, hers was over. The tension eased, and the coil of her belly relaxed. She raised her hand. Gingerly, she placed it under his arm and forced herself to look until she ceased to feel the shock and his interrupted limb became her own. With her fingertips, she touched his scars. Tough and tender.

  Her head tilted as her gaze traced its way up. There, beginning just
above the cut, was another tattoo. His mermaid wrapped her tail around his arm. In her hand she held a sickle. Her tresses floated about her shoulders and clung to her breast.

  “She is the mermaid of your story.” The name came to her. “Your Beauty?”

  “I gave you my word. You will hear the tale and know her better in morning light.” His eyes were changing, subtly, to violet. “But before the light, we must pass through the Darkness. I swore I would have revenge, that I would tear the enemy who took my hand. Before I can honor my promise to you, I must honor that vow to myself.”

  “And I promised you. I will accept the consequences.” But she was shaking.

  “And then you will be released. But I also swear…” He held up his wrist, placed her hand on the mermaid, and covered it with his own. “She is you.”

  The rush of emotion overpowered her. She reached for him and took his face between her hands. “You must take her now, before—” But he shook his head, cutting her off, just as she wanted him to do, and he pressed his broken wrist upon her lips. Then he let it fall, so that he touched her only with the black velvet of his voice and the purple fire of his eyes.

  “Let me bring you death, and life.”

  She had stopped breathing already. “I will.”

  And he swept her away in his mutilated embrace, and laid her down in his bed. The sea rocked them as he lay down beside her. Her legs wrapped around him and clung to him, she stroked his face, dragged her fingers through his hair. He rolled with the waves and pressed her beneath him, his damaged wrist delving under her back to raise the gift she so willingly gave to him. And when at last he took his lips from hers, his eyes burned red and his teeth were set and he unsheathed his weapon to satisfy his passion and fulfill the vow he had sworn so long ago when he hissed into the Darkness at his unseen enemy. As a pirate on his prey, with a single savage thrust that forced the breath screaming from her body, he tore her.

  And then, as a man to his woman, he made love to her, passionately.

  Chapter 25

  Rites and Rituals

  A long way away, the river twisted behind the braves, a living shadow. Even farther away, they could see the flickering orange of light thrown upward by outcasts’ fire. Seeming not so far were the silver stars, shedding their blessings on the mountain while the breeze swept over it. Rowan and Lightly had climbed to the pinnacle and sat looking down like gods on the passion below. But they were not above it.

  Lightly was still adjusting. “So Nibs and Tootles are pirates! And the Twins are the Men of the clearing, arranged by Captain Hook.”

  “Lightly, I believe he has arranged more than we know. He discovered that you and I became friends the very day it happened.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “He had a man watching us at the camp, the one who captured me. And although I didn’t answer the captain’s questions, he could read my eyes. He was very interested in the Golden Boy’s companions.”

  “You were lucky to get out of there alive.”

  “I do not think it was luck. I think the captain spared my life, knowing you would one day come away with me.”

  “Before we knew it?”

  “So it would seem.”

  “He knew who I was when he saw me. The first of Wendy’s boys to grow up. But why would he want to find places for Peter’s band? He wanted to kill us before. Wendy worked hard to keep us all safe from him.”

  Rowan shook his head. “The man is deep. He must have his reasons.”

  “You think he changed his course because of Wendy?”

  “It would work in his favor. He wants her.”

  Lightly shifted uncomfortably on the rock. “Wendy knew we were growing. She worried about us breaking Peter’s law. I saw it in her face every time we lost a tooth. And look at us now, almost men! It must be because we’re away from Peter, as if we’re making up for lost time. I’m sure none of the brothers we saw today will fit down the hideout’s chute by tomorrow.” He stretched his long legs. “Wendy must miss us.”

  Rowan watched Lightly in the cool starlight. “When we bring the council’s message to Peter tomorrow, we will know for certain if the captain’s men took Wendy. We will also learn whether your remaining brothers are safe.”

  “If the pirates captured Wendy, Peter will be determined to battle, with only John, Michael and Curly to help him. They’re no match for that crew. Knowing Peter, he’ll challenge Hook to a duel, but he’ll bring his boys along. You’re right, they aren’t safe.”

  “Lightly. You aren’t understanding what I said.”

  Uneasy, Lightly tried to absorb his friend’s words. Rowan’s carved face was uncompromising.

  Rowan said, “The captain arranged to take you and your brothers away from home. Not to harm you, but in order to save you.”

  “To save us?”

  “After listening to my mother today, I am certain. Wanting to be sure I spoke truth, I didn’t tell of my suspicions before.”

  Lightly shivered in the wind. “Suspicions.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Like me, you never questioned the ways of your tribe until now.”

  Lightly sat still as he thought, and then he spoke slowly. “But why would Hook want to save us, and from what?” He knew the answer. He wanted to be wrong.

  “Why? As he told us today, for Wendy’s sake. From what?” Rowan straightened and turned away. “I do not wish to speak ill of your family.”

  Lightly looked over the end of the mountain, over the end of his childhood. His feet dangled in the air. “I already know. I just don’t want to believe.”

  “No, Lightly. You want to continue to believe.”

  “Yes.… It’s hard to let go.” It was just as difficult to speak. “I loved Peter.”

  “It is disappointing. An occasion for great sorrow.”

  Lightly watched the wind swirling the fringe on his leggings. “Even Wendy couldn’t help him. Hook saved her, too. She tried so hard to love Peter, and he almost slit her throat.”

  “She is also a brave.”

  “She believed in him and nearly died of it. Just like me. When I couldn’t help growing up, he left me to the crocodile.”

  “I have not doubted it. You were a sacrifice to the Spirit of Time. But you had to discover it for yourself.”

  “I was an offering, to keep him from growing older.”

  “Like those little teeth in the bowl on his altar.”

  “Rowan, if Hook hadn’t spared you, you couldn’t have rescued me.”

  “And we repaid the life-service to him. I see now.” Rowan lifted his chin. “It is not an obligation. It is an honor.”

  Lightly’s nod was brief, as if it hurt. “Peter’s boys and I lived in fear of Captain Hook our whole lives. Now he’s the reason we live at all.”

  “The captain has granted you a future. Peter is the past.”

  “He is just a boy, and he always will be.”

  Rowan lent his strength. “But you are a man. You will endure this, and be stronger.”

  Lightly drew a deep breath. “Yes.” They were silent. The stars blurred. Lightly ran his arm over his eyes. He gathered in his legs and set his feet squarely on the rock of the mountain. “I have lost Peter, and I will mourn him. But I mourn for more than that.” He blinked before meeting Rowan’s eyes again. “You asked me when we first met. Where my other brothers went— the older Lost Boys.”

  Rowan waited.

  “…Now I know.”

  Rowan’s arm firmly surrounded his companion’s shoulders. “Tell me about them.”

  * * *

  Tom Tootles and Nibs the Knife outdistanced Mr. Smee and his lantern in the dark woods, despite his longer stride. He had informed them that they acted well today and that the captain was satisfied. Now Nibs was trying to keep his mind on business. “Our training paid off. I could see Mr. Starkey was relieved.”

  “Good thing the captain sent us for Wendy when he did. Getting down the chute was easy, but we sure h
ad a hard time of it getting back up.” The new britches squeezed Tom tighter today than the old ones had done.

  “She was happy to see us!” Nibs rubbed his hand over the prickly stubble on his chin.

  Tom made an effort to follow the conversation at the same time he followed the pulsing beats of sound. “She was shaken up, though. But the captain cured her of whatever Pan did to keep her. As if she could be kept!”

  “No more than we could be.” Nibs tripped on a tree root and had to slow his steps. He dusted the dirt off his hands, looked up to locate the orange glow above the trees, and tightened his kerchief. “She tried to get the captain to release us, can you imagine?”

  Tom smelled the smoke of the bonfire. “I can imagine her doing anything, since she trussed Pan and held us at gunpoint! She’s proved her valor. I say she’s a match for him, all right.”

  “For Pan?” Nibs scented the smoke too, and he wasn’t thinking clearly at all.

  “Get your head on straight! For Captain Jas. Hook, as engraved on the brass plate we polish every day.” The throbbing drums reverberated within their chests. They were getting closer.

  “I knew it when we saw Wendy’s face on the Roger’s figurehead, Tom. They’re mates.” Something in their words made the blood hammer in their ears and their necks hot, in spite of their open collars.

  The place was easy to find. They stumbled into it, halting abruptly. Several of the young braves had brought their drums and flutes, and they sat in a bunch around one of the logs, pounding and piping out the rhythm of their hearts, free of restraint in this place of red smoke. The women spread the blankets within the circle, stoking more than one kind of fire there.

  Mr. Smee caught up to his charges and placed a restraining hand on Nibs’ shoulder. “Hold up, mates. Mr. Starkey can teach you many skills, but listen to me when it comes to the ladies. Doesn’t do to look too eager.” And in his hurry he pushed past Nibs and Tom, leaving them waiting on the edge of the clearing. They stood fidgeting, listening to a parrot squawk in the trees where once upon a time they had played hide-and-seek.