As uncomfortable as his gaze made her feel, she could not help but ponder at the prospect of using his interest in her to her advantage. Her mother had made it part of her daily education to read body language and gauge what a man wanted and how she could provide it for him. Obviously, her mother had hoped Remy would use this knowledge to seduce potential suitors, but she could use it now to acquire information and perhaps trust. Remy was not a perfect person; in fact, many would call her spoiled. Nick and his crew had upon her arrival. It was something Remy knew she needed to work on. However, because she had been spoiled, she knew how to get what she wanted from different people. She could adapt. All she needed was to observe said person and understand them a little deeper than the superficial characteristics they projected to the public. If she could get James to trust her just a bit, she might be able to persuade him to tell her, at the very least, why she was here in the first place.
It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was a plan nonetheless, and one she could put into action.
"That is not for me to say," Pam said, breaking Remy out of her thoughts.
Remy looked over at Pam and remembered she had asked the girl a question.
"Of course, Pam," she said, offering her a small smile. "I must apologize for my direct line of questioning. If you're feeling put on the spot, that was not my intention. I feel as though you are the only other woman's aboard the ship, and I feel a closeness to you. Perhaps we can be friends or, at least, acquaintances. I feel as though I can trust you."
From the little Remy knew of Pam, the girl kept to herself and did not like any attention of any kind. Remy still did not know if that was because she was shy or cautious, or both. Perhaps if she could befriend Pam, she might have an ally of sorts here.
"That would be a mistake," Pam told her, her voice cold, her eyes hard as stone. The look on her face surprised Remy and she took a step back. Her eyes narrowed, and she realized Pam was more than just a shy girl. "I am not sure why you believe I would tell you anything, even if Captain Hook would deign to tell me his intentions with you. We are not friends, and just because we are the same sex does not mean we will become friends. I do not like to talk to people I am not close to - I'm introverted and I would appreciate you being sensitive to that. In fact, this is the most I've spoken to anyone in a long while, and I know you don't understand what that's like, but my insides are shaking. So please. If I can assist you with the clothing or if you need anything, I am here to help. I am not here to be your friend. Are we clear?"
Remy could not help his wide her eyes grew as Pam spoke to her. She was stronger than she appeared, firm in her words and conviction. Remy could not help but feel a grudging bout of respect start to prickle inside of her. She also felt slightly guilty for pushing Pam to speak to her when Pam would rather remain silent. Remy thought she was helping Pam by breaking her out of her shell, but perhaps some shells wanted to remain solid. She could respect that as well.
“Now,” Pam said, her voice returning to its natural octave. She seemed small once more, natural. “Since you are still recovering from your injuries, James has sent me to help you dress. He wishes to dine with you for supper tonight, to discuss things.”
“What sort of things?” Remy asked before she could stop herself. At Pam’s admonishing look, Remy smiled. “Sorry, Pam. I tend to get a little enthusiastic.”
“I’ve noticed,” Pam muttered as she walked over to the wardrobe. “Would you like me to pick something out for you, or do you prefer to do it yourself?”
“I’ll do it,” Remy said, standing up. It was still a strain on her muscles to move thusly, but she forced herself to do so. She needed to move if she was ever to recover. “You might pick out something atrocious for me as a way to punish me for my lack of sensitivity and I can’t have that. Although Magdalena really does not have much of a selection of dresses here. I suppose beggars can’t be choosers.”
“Magda preferred pantaloons and tunics,” Pam said, and to Remy, it appeared as though Pam did not realize she was sharing information by choice. “It helped her move around the ship more easily.”
“Magdalena seems like an active person,” Remy ventured, pretending to sort through the clothes. She already knew Magda was only in possession of three dresses – a green one, a purple one, and a blue one – and Remy knew she was going to wear the green one. It was demure without being prudish, and it teased at her silhouette without giving everything away. It most likely would not fit her perfectly, but it would have to do. For now.
“She is,” Pam agreed. “And fast. When she practiced swords with the captain, it’s hard to take your eyes off of her, the way she flits around the deck. I swear, sometimes I really believe she can fly.”
It was then that Pam realized what she was doing, and covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes narrowed at Remy, and she turned her attention back to the clothes.
“Can we focus on the task at hand?” she insisted. “The captain detests tardiness.”
“Of course, Pam,” Remy said with a grin. “I prefer the green dress, but I defer to your good judgment.”
Remy sat in the green dress, her posture perfect. While Pam was no Beatrice, the girl did her best and pinning her hair up and tying her corset. She managed to see her reflection in a small mirror and found she did not actually look bad. Pretty, even. Not as stunning as she could look, but pretty nonetheless. She could work with pretty.
James swooped in, much more regal than the captain he was, and took his seat across the long dining table from Remy. The instant he was seated, a servant poured wine for both Remy and James, and two more served the food. Remy watched as a woman piled a porcelain plate with roast beef, potatoes, salad, and fruit. Her stomach screamed at the sight of it. She had not realized just how hungry she was until food was thrust in her face.
“A toast,” James said, once the food was served and the servants had vanished. It was just the two of them, and Remy was not sure if that was such a good idea. Not after the thoughts she had had the last time she had been with the pirate captain. He raised his goblet of wine and tilted his head to her. “To your presence, and your health. Besides a few bumps and bruises, you are healing quite nicely.”
Remy lifted her glass in response. “Pam is quite skilled in a variety of subjects,” she said.
James’s lips curled up, and he nodded once, before taking a sip of the wine. Remy followed suit, keeping her eyes focused firmly on the man in front of her.
“Speaking of my presence on the ship,” Remy said once she swallowed the velvet liquid. “Why am I here?”
James choked on his drink, but his eyes danced with amusement. Instead of eating, as Remy set out to do, he leaned back in his chair and simply observed the woman before him.
“You’re direct,” he remarked. Remy was not sure how to respond to that; luckily, she had food in her mouth, so did not feel a response was warranted. She continued chewing, slowly, choosing her words carefully. More than that, she wanted the timing of her spoken words to be opportunistic as well. “I like that.”
Now, he placed a piece of meat in his mouth and chewed, all while smiling. He had a beautiful smile, she decided, and that might very well be her downfall. She always had a weakness for charm and beauty.
“Enough to tell me why I’m here?” Remy asked, trying to charm him herself.
His eyes continued to twinkle with amusement. Not, as she had hoped, with lust. “Not yet, my dear,” he told her. “But know this: you are important. The key to everything I have been working toward for a very, very long time. The fact that you are finally here is worth celebrating.”
Remy forced a smile, and washed down the food with another sip of wine. She would need to be careful not to consume too much; she needed a clear head if she was to woo the answer out of him. He looked like a challenge.
If Remy liked anything, it was a challenge.
Four
It was easy to slip past the so-called guards in charge of keeping The Black St
ar secure. They were not very bright to begin with, and there were only three of them. The governor of Port Haven either did not have many men to spare or he was overly confident in his men’s abilities. Either way, they were off with the ship before dawn, and apparently, they were heading to the island of The Alley.
The Alley looked as pitiful and as sad as Magdalena remembered. She was not familiar with the island except for the fact that new souls gathered here to get picked up from the ferryman – Nicholas Grey – and be transported to their final afterlife. Some chose to remain in The Neverland, to prolong their passing or to wait for loved ones. Most, however, wanted the transition to be as quick and as painless as possible. Magdalena never gave much thought about how she would respond to her own death; if she would be frightened or sad, regretful or relieved. She tried to put herself in a soul’s place in order to empathize with them, but she found she could not.
Neverland reeked of death, but fairies could not die. It was why their blood was able to provide life.
“What do you think, Tinker Bell?” Nicholas Grey asked in his loud, obnoxious voice, coming to stand next to her.
The sun was high in the sky, and Magda could feel the heat radiating on her fair skin. She was not worried of bronzing – fairies were immune to the sunlight – but she did not like sweating in her only pair of clothes on this ship. She wished she had thought to bring a hair tie so she could pull back her hair.
“I think if you call me that again, I will not hesitate to chop your hand off,” Magda told him, eyeing him sideways with a look that all but begged him to give her an opportunity to do so.
His own dry look in return was to be expected. “Yes, well,” he said. “How am I supposed to steer a ship with one hand?”
“I think you’ll find you can do much more than you expected with only one hand,” she told him, and the corner of her lip curled up. It was the only sort of smile she allowed him, and that was a lot for her. She was not one to pretend she was happy when she was not; she did not laugh at things she did not find funny. Currently, she was amused, and that was stretching the word.
“I take it you know from personal experience?” Nick whipped back, raising a brow.
“Something like that,” she retorted. She did have to hand it to the captain; the man could keep up with her. Not many people had that distinction or that talent, and on the rare occasion that she encountered someone who did, she made a small note in her mind to remember this person.
Nicholas Grey was also more charming than she originally believed, which was why she made sure to distance herself even more from him than she would have otherwise. In her mind, no one was born charming. They learned from a young age to employ charm in order to gain what they wanted because it was easier than fighting for it.
It also did not hurt that he was delightful to look at though she would never admit it out loud for two reasons: number one, it would only feed his ego, and from what Magda was beginning to realize about Nicholas Grey was that he had an enormous, extremely hungry ego. There was no way she wanted to indulge it any more than need be; and number two, he was completely different from all the men she usually found aesthetically appealing.
He was big and broad and loud. Even his quiet presence demanded attention, and once she gave attention, it was difficult for her to look away. Not only did he insist on attention, but once he had it, he refused to give it up so easily. His dark hair – not quite black, though perhaps a shade lighter – was short and fell into his face in complete disarray. Had he never heard of a comb before? His nose pointed out from his face, but his face was smooth and formed. It was symmetrical to the point of near-perfection, and his brown eyes weren’t quite so dark – the color reminded her of dark brown tree bark with glimmers of red thrown in, especially in the sunlight. She had never seen such a color before. His skin was tight and tan from the sun though the color did not detract from his appeal. From what she could detect, he had no tattoos, no fake teeth, no trinkets or scarves or anything quirky. He wore clothes that clung to his body and he did not seem to have qualms about wearing them over and over again.
He was beautiful. An interesting definition of beautiful, a little left of center, but beautiful nonetheless.
“So you just dock your ship and collect your souls?” Magda asked, crossing her arms over her chest and forcing her eyes to look away. She needed to look at anything other than Nick, in case he was smarter than he appeared and could read her body language – or worse, her eyes – and decipher what she had been thinking. And that was the last thing she wanted.
“What’s it to you?” Nick asked, giving her a sideways look, his hand hanging from a rung of the wheel. He stood at the helm so casually, as though he belonged there, as though he was born to stand at the wheel of a ship.
And maybe he was. Maybe that was why he had been selected for the job of ferryman.
“Curious is all,” Magda answered honestly. “That, and I’m just trying to make conversation.”
“Bull,” Nick said, and it was clear he did not believe her in the slightest. Which was odd, since James was not able to detect Magda’s deceit as quickly or as easily as Nick seemed to be able to. “You don’t seem to be the sort who makes conversation if you don’t have anything to say. You especially won’t choose to make conversation with someone you don’t like. Don’t play me for a fool, Tink. Do me a favor, do yourself a favor, and don’t lie to me. I’ll know.”
"Fine." Magdalena rolled her shoulders back and kept her eyes focused squarely on the man in front of her. If he wanted direct honesty, she had no problem giving it to him. In fact, she might even enjoy it. "I want to know how the process works because I'm genuinely curious. I like explanations. I like learning about what I can't explain. It makes me appreciate things more."
Nick looked at her, giving her a long, cool stare. Magda met his state and did not fidget underneath it. She was not sure if his intention was to make her feel some level of discomfort, but if it was, it certainly did not work. His lips curled down when he realized she was not going to budge and he looked away, sighing through his nose.
"I can't explain it," he told her, and his tone softened with its honesty. Magda could not help but notice that it was not as loud or as obnoxious as it normally was. In fact, there was a good chance Magda actually found the sound of his voice pleasant when he spoke this way - not that she would ever admit it, of course. "It just happens. They follow my ship, and I don't even have to ask."
Magda thought about that for a moment. "Is it because you're alive?" she asked.
Nick shot her another look. "You certainly know a lot, don't you, Tink?" he asked.
She wanted to lecture him about the name, but she knew he was only trying to change the subject. If he riled her up to the point of distraction, he could easily turn their conversation somewhere else. Luckily, Magda caught onto his game quickly and allowed him the satisfaction of calling her that dreadful name in exchange for more information. Instead, she tilted her head and continued to look up at him, waiting for some kind of response. She did not give him a face or any attitude; she simply gazed at him with patience. By the way his brow pushed together slightly, she knew her lack of response surprised him, which played into her plan perfectly.
“I see you underestimated me as well,” she said with a smile, genuine in nature. Her eyebrow raised in a challenge, but not an aggressive challenge.
Nick grinned in return, and for a moment, the two smiled at each other. As though they were companions. As though they were friends and not forced into an unfortunate situation neither of them had any control over.
“Touché,” he said with a nod of his head. He looked at her with those sharp eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. Magdalena could not help but be drawn to the muscles that sprung up when he flexed his arm. “Can I ask how you knew? That I was a Breather, I mean?”
Magda paused for a moment, then reached out and placed her hand on his chest. She was surprised at her boldness, surprised
she even touched him in the first place. He, too, seemed just as startled, but he did not back away, and for that, she was grateful. It would have been embarrassing should he have dropped her hand, pushed her away, especially since she was vulnerable.
Her hand was on his chest, and she could feel it right there. His heart beat.
“I can hear it,” she told him, picking her eyes up so they could lock with his.
He was not as tall as James was, she realized. But that did not matter all that much. He was still pleasant to look at. He still towered over her.
“I can feel it.”
She pressed her palm more firmly into his skin. She had made sure to slide it underneath his dirty tunic so there was nothing inhibiting her from feeling it. She had never felt a heart beat before – except for her own. It was calm and steady though it did jump once or twice after she touched him. His skin was surprisingly soft, warm even, and comfortable. Magda would not admit it out loud, but she let her hand linger far longer than was necessary so she could commit the feeling to memory, just in case she would never feel it again.
A heartbeat in The Neverland that was not her own. A miracle.
“Captain!”
The redhead broke Magda out of her thoughts and she dropped her hand as though his flesh was made of fire and he had burned her. Her face turned an unattractive shade of red and she took a step back from him, and then, after second thought, took another step back. It was almost as though she did not trust herself around him. And perhaps she did not.
Thank God for redheads, Magda thought to herself, and turned her eyes to Nick’s crew. She still did not know who they were and why they served Nick. She still did not know how this entire process of ferrying souls to The Crossroads worked, and she felt that if she could get a good understanding of that, then perhaps she could decipher James’s plan with Remy.
From the corner of her eye, Magda saw a smirk on Nick’s face – not because of the interruption, but no doubt due to her reaction to the interruption. She hated Nick more than she thought she could.
The Neverland Trilogy Box Set Page 28