Death in Neverland: Book 1 in The Neverland Trilogy (The Neverland Series)

by Heather C. Myers

  “Yes, well,” Nick began, shutting the door behind him. “I suppose I just want to thank you.”

  Remy had turned back to her dishes, but she heard his footsteps on the floor slowly making his way over to her.

  “For what?” she asked.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Nick pull a face. Apparently, he was not the sentimental type in the least, causing the girl to hide an amused smile in the form of standing up and turning so she could put the dry dishes away.

  “You know,” he said.

  “In fact, I do not.” Remy managed to open the cabinet drawer with one hand while balancing her dishes in her free arm. It was a talent she had never believed she would possess let alone knew existed.

  “For the contract,” he finally said. “I admit, I did not think to make him sign something. Even though I am the captain of the ship and make all the decisions, I also know when thanks are in order. And they are. Right now. So thank you.”

  “You are welcome,” Remy said, glancing at Nick over her shoulder before rolling onto her tiptoes and reaching up to place the dishes in their proper place.

  Except she faltered because her body winced in reaction to the wince.

  Remy bit her lip from crying out and forced herself to put away the dishes, hoping that Nick had not noticed the slight hesitation in her action. When she finished, she closed the cabinet doors and let her heels drop back down to the floor. She turned, only to find Nick directly behind her, his brow eyes narrowed at her suspiciously.

  “What was that?” he asked her in a low tone.

  How had he sneaked up behind her without her hearing him? His movements were always firm and purposeful, which meant that he normally made noise.

  “What was what?” Remy asked, but she knew that playing dumb was futile. She had always been a bad liar, and judging from the way Nick was looking at her, she would bet that he would agree with her.

  Nick pressed up his brow, his hands curled into fists resting on his hips. Now Remy could tell how the shortest man aboard could be the most intimidating. Releasing his lips after having pressed them in a thin line – probably to reign in his patience, if Remy had to guess – his eyes dropped to her stomach. Under any other circumstances, Remy would have made an indignant huff and demand an apology for so blatantly looking anywhere but her eyes. However, Remy knew that Nick was not being lascivious.

  He knew.

  “Lift up your shirt,” he ordered.

  Remy swallowed but did not immediately do as he bid her to do.

  “Remy,” he said in the same voice. It was the first time she heard him call her by her name and not some tacky endearment. It caused goosebumps to spread throughout her body. “That was not a request.”

  Remy breathed in. She did not know why, but tears had accumulated in her eyes. Remy forced them at bay; she would not cry in front of Nick. Slowly, her fingers wrapped around the hem of her shirt and lifted the material up. Nick’s eyes snapped to the injury and before either of them knew what was happening, Nick reached out and placed three fingertips on the wound, caressing them. Remy sucked in her stomach, unsure if the reaction was because she felt pain or something else due to his touch. She could not feel pain, interestingly enough, but she knew she should.

  “How did it happen?” Nick asked, dropping his fingers. Remy took this to mean she could release her shirt. “When? By whom? And who helped you, and don’t say nobody because I know you’re not capable of fixing wounds.”

  Remy wanted nothing more than to retort something smart at Nick’s lack of faith in her medical abilities, but the way he was looking at her, the way he was speaking, revealed just how angry he was. For the life of her, she could explain why.

  “Tenedor.” When had her throat gone so dry? Why did she feel as though she had broken some rule? Surely he could not blame this on her? “I went for a walk outside and” –

  “Were you by yourself?”

  Remy realized she said something wrong. “It was not anybody’s fault but my own,” she insisted. “I got bored and decided to explore the tavern, but I guess I was too deep in my own thoughts and headed outside. There was a man. He kept saying how he was going to take my life and put it into him. I only asked him to tell me where the Albatross was! He said he would help!”

  “God dammit!” Nick’s sharp tone caused Remy to wince much in the same way as her wound did. “You know better! You must know better. Even you cannot be as stupid as to walk around Tenedor without some sort of escort. Did you not believe me when I said men will pillage you without second glance? You’re young and beautiful and naïve; it’s not every day they see someone like you.”

  Remy was not sure whether to feel elevated at the fact that he believed her to be beautiful or outraged that he had called her stupid. She ended up going with the latter.

  “Perhaps if you had not gone off, galavanting with your three bedroom companions, I would not have reason to have wandered off,” she replied, her voice raising on its own accord.

  “So now this is my fault?” Nick asked.

  “What do you expect? I am seventeen years old, away from everything I know and am familiar with. Everyone on this ship is paired up in some way. Edward and Adele go get the supplies. Calum and Giselle fix people up, take care of people. I may not be dead – really and truly dead – but I feel lost.” Remy was breathless, but more than that, she was surprised at her outburst. It was only then that she realized that what she had said was true, and then some.

  Nick’s eyes appeared to have softened, but Remy was nearly certain the light seeping into the window was merely playing tricks on her eyes.

  “How did it happen?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  Remy swallowed once more. She was beginning to find that she really did not like to talk about this much. At all, really. But she forced herself to. “He was leading me to a woman,” she said. “A witch, a gypsy, I do not know, but he said she could transfer my life into his body, that she claimed such a feat was possible. I probably should have kept my mouth shut because he wanted me quiet and that was when…” She let her voice trail off but forced herself to go on. “He kept saying that he did not want to kill me, just wound me, shut me up.”

  “How did you get away?” His voice was still low, rough, but it was also surprisingly calm.

  It was only at this point in their conversation when Remy was not sure how to answer. Instead of doing so directly, she said, “You cannot punish her. She was only doing what I asked her. I did not want you to find out.”

  This seemed to throw Nick off because he asked, “Why?”

  “Well…” Remy shrugged her shoulders. “For one, I did not want to interrupt your night.” She refrained from mentioning his company again but the thought was there. “And I did not want you to punish me or think me stupid. Like you are right now.”

  Now Nick’s face relaxed. Of course his eyes were still intent and Remy could tell he was still upset, but the look currently occupying his face was gentle almost.

  “You need to learn to trust me,” he told her. “I’m your captain. I’m responsible for you. The fact that something happened to you on my wat6ch enrages me. I should have been there to protect you, not…” He looked at Remy as though waiting for her to tell him.

  “Adele,” she murmured. “It was Adele. But you cannot punish her.”

  “How?”

  “She said that I give off this presence.” Remy furrowed her brow. “I forget how she put it, but to the souls here, I give off a life force that draws those who have died to me. Like the man. And like Adele. She found me and saved me and dressed my wounds. But remember, I made her promise not to tell you so” –

  Nick held up his hand, stopping her from saying anything more. “Do us all a favor, and shut it, aye?” Remy frowned at him and Nick went on. “I’m not going to punish Adele, okay?”

  He took a few steps toward her until he was towering over her sitting frame and then, surprisingly, leaned down so his face was
centimeters from her face. Remy felt herself inhale sharply at his close proximity and prayed that Nick did not notice her abrupt change in demeanor. “But darling,” he said, annunciating every word carefully, slowly, “when I say stay close, you do it. And if I’m not there, you stay close to someone in the crew.”

  “I am not a child,” she said, but her voice was not as strong as she had hoped it would be.

  “No you are not,” he agreed. “But you are still on my ship, and my orders shall be obeyed whether you agree with them or not. You savvy?”

  There was that word again.

  “I will do my best to do as you bid me to,” Remy said.

  Nick closed his eyes, probably trying to reign in the frustration that was beginning to show as lines on his face. “No, that’s not the answer I’m looking for.”

  “Well, what do you expect?” Remy was not whining, but her tone was firm. “You are making sure that it is only I who have the responsibility of my welfare, but your order insists that I be under someone’s watch. If they do not do a good job at keeping an eye out on me, or forget my presence, or something of that nature, you cannot blame me, can you?” She raised a brow, but Nick did not answer. “Exactly. So. I will do my best to be under someone’s watch. Does that satisfy you?”

  “I suppose I have no other choice but to accept it,” Nick retorted.

  “You are correct.” She felt herself release the breath she had been holding when Nick stood upright once more. “Is there anything else you wish to ask of my while you are here?”

  “Yes, actually, there is.” Nick had the tip on his index finger caressing the point of his chin. Remy had been around Nick long enough to know that he was thinking of something, something rather deeply. “Answer me this: are you hurt?”

  Remy blinked. Was he kidding?

  She turned her head in order to get a good look at the pirate captain, but whatever she had hoped to find in those brown eyes were tucked away, hidden from her. Was he really concerned about her, or did he feel it was simply part of his duty to ask her?

  And then, something else crossed her mind, and she realized that it explained why Nick was behaving so unlike himself.

  “You do not hold yourself responsible for my injury, do you?” she asked, her shock tainting her tone.

  “I am your captain,” Nick said finally, avoiding Remy’s eyes. “Anything that happens to my crew is my responsibility.” For whatever reason, it was at that moment when he looked at her. “You know nothing of this world, Remy” There it was again, her name on those lips. There it was again, the shiver sliding down her spine. “You are young and naïve. You do not know of the consequences that follow certain actions, and you do not understand directly how this world works. I should have sacrificed one night of… I should have kept an eye out for you, you know. Of course I blame myself.”

  “But you warned me,” Remy pointed out. “You warned me that these people did things such as this. I did not take your warning seriously, and I paid the price. No. This is my fault.”

  Remy stopped herself from continuing only because she realized that she and Nick were having an actual discussion without any form of argument. In fact, the conversation seemed almost reassuring, as though Nick was in some way trying to ensure Remy’s safety and taking the blame when he knew he had not, and Remy was trying to tell him otherwise. She had never expected anything of the sort to transpire between she and Nick.

  “I suppose we shall just have to agree to disagree then.” Nick looked at her and was that a look of hesitation on his face, as though he did not expect her to go along with his plan.

  Did he really think of her as that stubborn?

  Remy pressed her lips together. Well, she was making it all that easy for him, was she? Perhaps she could be a bit more complacent…

  “All right.”

  He seemed surprised at her easy agreement which made Remy feel all the more badly for acting like such a… child.

  She could admit it. When she first got here, she was selfish and stubborn and terrified. While she still experienced the latter, she hoped the first two traits would slowly begin to diminish over time. Certainly she wanted nothing more than to go home, especially after her near brush with death, but she realized that there were worse places she could be than with Nick and his crew on the Black Star. She was lucky to have a captain like him, lucky that he had saved her life, lucky that the crew was maybe not warmly welcoming (except for Giselle, of course) but they did not blatantly exclude her or comment on how they wished she was not here (except for Adele, most of the time). She could behave better, she realized. She wanted to behave better.

  Edward walked in the galley at that moment. His blue eyes looked between Remy and Nick before they finally rested on his captain. The look on the quartermaster’s face caused Remy to blush, but she could not explain as to why that was.

  “We’re nearing Port Haven,” Edward said. “About a half an hour away. Watson’s still in Calum’s hammock, asleep. I figured you’d want to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Nick nodded once. “Good man.” He began to follow Edward out, but stopped when he reached the doorway. He glanced back at Remy. “Well, darling. Are you coming? I have a funny feeling you will like Port Haven much better than Tenedor.”

  Remy felt herself smile and stand. She followed Nick out. He was probably right.

  Chapter 17

  “Sir.” The flowery low voice James had grown accustomed to during his time as ruler of The Underworld interrupted his daily reading and caused the man – because despite his long time down here, he was still technically a man, alive – to stop in the middle of a very compelling part in the story. “Captain Pan is here to see you upon your request.” She appeared at that moment, in his usual trousers and tunic, her trusted cutlass hanging on her side.

  “Ah yes,” he replied in his native Old Norse, his blue eyes flashing on the only person he completely trusted – Magdalena. “That would be the only way he entered The Underworld, isn’t it?” He smiled, knowing the answer. No soul – unless otherwise designated – could not enter either The Paradise or The Underworld. Unless, of course, personally requested by the ruler themselves.

  Magdalena nodded her head, every lock of her wheat-colored hair pulled into place by a black ribbon. James knew she favored the ponytail because hair in her face was a distraction and bothersome. At least, that was what she continuously told him so he made sure she was provided with an infinite amount of ribbon in order to hold the hair back from her face.

  “He is in the day lounge and already he has annoyed Buckley,” Magdalena said in her usual flat tone. She had taken to Old Norse quite quickly when he first began teaching her. He wanted her to be able to communicate with him without anyone none the wiser about the topics they chose to discuss. It was all they spoke because no one understood it. Apparently, it was a dead language, save for scholars with nothing better to do than to learn it. Which was fine with James since it provided him a language he could use that nobody could understand.

  “Yes,” James said, making no move yet to stand. “I have heard he’s quite particular about his tea.”

  Magdalena rolled her amber eyes – now a chocolate-liquid color – and crossed her arms over chest. “I don’t know why you insist on dealing with this man,” she said, slowly arching her left brow. It was a common look for Magdalena and James could not help but be amused by it. Of course, such emotion did not flash across his features, though he conceded that his eyes perhaps sparkled a bit more. “He’s the absolute worst, and even more annoying is that he thinks he’s the best thing that’s happened to The Underworld corsets were implemented for women in order to disfigure them.”

  James gave her a pointed look as he slipped his mark into the book he had been reading before closing it, setting it on the small, round table sitting adjacent to the couch he was lounging in, and standing up. He towered over Magdalena, who could not be more than five foot two, five foot thr
ee at the absolute most.

  “Your veiled attempt at criticizing corsets is duly noted,” he said in his usual cold, unemotional voice. “Trust me Magdalena. WE deal with Captain Pan for a very specific reason. And we deal with him now more than ever because of another, though more important, reason. We need him, whether our pride allows us to admit it or not.”

  “We need no one,” Magdalena muttered in a voice that was easily discernable to the ruler of The Other World like he normally did when Magdalena felt the need to rant about something or other kept his mouth shut.

  James proceeded to walk out of his grand library and into the long hallway. Magdalena was right behind him, following his footsteps until they reached the parlor, where any of James’s guests were housed. Rarely did he ever have guests so the room itself looked to be brand new rather than used. There was a stiffness about it, despite the comfortable chairs, the welcoming layout. Even when James opted to play one of the many grand pianos littered throughout his home that was placed in the parlor, the coldness remained. However, James rarely went out of his way to make anyone feel comfortable or welcome, so his own piano playing was something he did solely for himself.

  “Captain,” Aleksamder greeted in English once he walked into the parlor.

  Captain Pan stood up after setting down his teacup. “I’m glad you are here, James,” he said, apparently not noticing the flash of ice mirrored in James’s eyes at the informal use of his first name by someone undeserving. “The tea you serve is dreadful.”

  “So I’ve heard.” James took his usual chair – rich in solid blue fabric with a high back and dark wood arm rests – which was shaped like a throne a king might sit in. “Do you have any idea as to why I might have called you in today?”

  James’s eyes focused on the man in front of him. He noticed Captain Pan dressed up for this visit, though it was quite common for the captain to dabble in finery despite his low position. Today, he wore a royal purple – the color of royalty – each piece of clothing ironed and pressed so it looked perfect. Obviously the outfit was custom; James did not know many men outside of the royals who would wear such a bawdy color. Captain Isaac’s brown hair was slicked back and his blue eyes looked sharp and determined. After James asked his question, he caught the captain rubbing his lips together before answering causing James’s own lips to twitch.