Would she ever return home? Did she want to?
She cared about Nick greatly, along with his crew. Giselle, Edward, Calum, and even Adele. She learned more here than she had in her seventeen years of life back in Port George. She had been a child then. Now, she felt like a woman. A woman ready to confront her demons. To right her wrongs. A woman who knew she could not run away any longer.
The first thing she knew she had to do was figure out her feelings for Nick. If she ever saw him again – when she saw him again, she corrected – she would need to address it, because he did not deserve to risk his life for someone who did not love him back.
Because she did not love him.
Perhaps the books she read in her time with James were filling her head with unreachable expectations, but the feelings she felt for him were akin to those she felt for John and Michael Darling, her friend Wendy’s brothers. She felt the same way for Charlie. Perhaps she could fall in love with him, but it was not love yet, and she refused to force herself to feel a certain way just to appease someone else. Even if that someone was Nick. It was the sole reason why she had run away from home in the first place.
The books spoke of this heart fluttering feeling, where the heroine’s stomach was light and it felt as though she were literally walking on air. Every accidental touch of skin, every smile smiled solely for him, the fluttering eyelashes, the rosy pink blush when she caught him looking her way for no other reason but to look at her. The countless hours spent agonizing over what to wear, knowing she will see him at some point during the day. Finding nothing suitable but getting those butterflies in her stomach all the same simply because the anticipation was building and the excitement was flourishing.
Remy wanted that. She wanted that for herself. And it was not with Nick or Charlie or John or Michael. She was certain that person was out there, but she did not know him yet.
If you did not love Nick, why risk your life for him? her mother’s voice asked her mind, fluttering through the air in her airy tone. Why surrender your freedom for his? Why do that for someone you do not love?
Remy knew the answer to that question as well. Duty. Compassion. She cared about Nick fiercely, but after all he had done for her, she knew she needed to repay him in kind, even if he did not ask it of her. Even if he did not want her to do so.
He did not have to ask her.
Perhaps the girl she used to be, the one on that ship about to be killed, would not have realized what to do but the woman Remy was becoming, the woman Remy was now, did. And that made all the difference.
If she had been this woman before she was transported here to The Neverland, there was a good chance she would not have run away. She would have stayed with her parents and married Lord Stybolt Huntington because he was a decent man, a good man, who would most certainly care about her and secure her and her family’s future.
Looking back on it now, Remy realized she had been lucky. Her parents’ selection of Lord Huntington was a good choice in a husband. He cared about her, he had a good title, and more than all of that, he was a good man. He was older, yes, but he was still handsome for his age. He would have made a worthy husband when other girls her age were forced to marry widows or trolls.
She and Lord Huntington would not share passion, but Remy realized a type of love could have blossomed between them, if only she gave it a chance.
However, she wanted passion. She wanted fights and kissing and insanity. She wanted it all. And now that she was free without that obligation any longer, she would settle for nothing less than what she wanted and what she felt she deserved.
Her mind flashed back to the moment James reprimanded her for attempting to fight that man who had attacked her. She supposed it was rather silly of her, now that she had a moment of clarity. There was no way she could stand a chance against him. No way at all. If Magda were here, she had no doubt she would be able to take care of herself. She would not have needed James to step in and take care of it. Magda would be able to take care of herself.
“That’s it, Remy,” she murmured to herself.
She sprung up from her cot and threw her hair into a sloppy ponytail. It was the first time she did not care what she looked like. Once that was taken care of, she walked to Magda’s wardrobe and pulled out a tunic and pantaloons. Magda had plenty of these clothes in her wardrobe, and as Remy slipped them on, she realized they fit like a dream. It would appear the petite woman preferred loose clothes, and as such, they molded to Remy’s body perfectly.
When she was finished, Remy headed out the door and over to James’s quarters. She had an innate sense of confidence about her, and her nerves were giddy at the prospect of what she was about to do. Remy did not hesitate. With her fingers coiled into fists, she all but stomped toward James’s room.
And this from someone supposed to be a woman rather than a girl? her mother’s voice pointed out, and she could hear the sneer in the tone clear as day.
Remy clenched her jaw and stopped. She was certain James’s crew looked at her rather oddly, but nobody came up and questioned her. Now that she understood her importance, it was not likely anyone would think to upset her. Not when she had so much sway with James. Instead, she dug her nails into her skin as a way to remind herself that she was a woman, a grown adult, and if she wanted to be taken seriously as such, she needed to demand things in a way that came across mature. She needed to make sure James would actually listen.
She cleared her throat, cleared her mind, and then proceeded to walk across the deck of the ship to James’s cabin. Her fingers itched to throw open the door, but she bit the inside of her bottom lip in order to refrain. It was quite hard to control herself; she had no idea how her mother did it.
She felt a growing pool of respect creep up over her heart, and the pain of her mother’s absence increased tenfold.
You can’t think about that right now, Remy muttered to herself internally. It is essential you focus on the task at hand.
Remy stepped to the elaborately carved door that belonged to James Hook. The carvings were thorough and brusque, very masculine. She did not know much about Vikings, but she was almost positive the markings were part of his heritage. If the situation were not as pressing as it was, she would have stayed and studied them, perhaps asked him if they meant anything to him in particular. She wondered if he did them himself – before the loss of his hand, or maybe after. If so, he was very talented.
She shook her head. Stop getting distracted, she chided herself. Get it together, and knock.
So she did. Hard enough where James would hear her, and apparently where her knuckles would hurt. She winced and shook them out as each digit tingled.
“Enter.”
Remy had to roll her eyes at his command. Yes, he was a captain of the ship, and yes, he was ruler of The Other World, but did he really need to reek of arrogance? She opened the door, stepping into his quarters for the first time since she came aboard the Jolly Roger the first time. It was odd, how she had yet to visit this room before now.
Actually, ma chère, I’m quite pleased you have not entered this place until now, her mother’s voice said. You are a lady, after all, and do not have an escort. And James Hook is far too handsome to have pure intentions.
James was standing over his desk, looking down at various maps. He was planning something, but Remy did not have the slightest idea what that was and found she did not particularly care. He did not even look up at her when she walked through the doors.
“After everything that has happened, I would appreciate it if you could take the time to show me how to properly defend myself,” she said with a bright smile.
Now James did look up, and when he saw Remy, he did a double take. “What are you wearing?” he asked.
Remy looked down at her outfit. “You don’t like it?” she asked, somewhat surprised. “Actually, to be honest, I had no idea just how comfortable these clothes truly were, and if I got them in the appropriate size, they really aren’t th
at bad.” She continued to smile, even under James’s scrutiny. “You did not answer my question.”
“I’m sorry, what is it you want?” James asked. “How did this come about?”
“That man.” Remy paused, looked away. It was over and done with. The man was gone, and there was a good chance he would think twice before attempting to come anywhere near Remy again. “I want to be able to take care of myself just in case something happens and I don’t have anyone else to defend me.”
"Did Nick not teach you how to defend yourself?" James asked, raising an inquisitive brow.
Remy narrowed her eyes at it, annoyed at the fact that something as minuscule as arching an eyebrow made him look as handsome as ever. He did not need to worry about wrinkles on his face, it would seem.
"Yes," Remy said with a nod of her head. "But we went over the very basics of self-defense. I want to be able to react without thinking. I want to rely solely on myself and nobody else." She clenched her teeth together. "Do you not think me capable? Because I am."
"I believe you," he said, and he meant it. She could tell. The chip she had been carrying on her shoulder fell off and she found she could breathe again. "Where is this passion coming from? Our discussion from before?"
"I" -
"Because if you are trying to prove something to someone, I will not indulge that," he continued before she could speak. "If you are trying to prove something to yourself, you should not waste your time with unnecessary insecurities. You are more than your pretty face. You are capable. You are strong. You are incredibly important, and what's frustrating is that you don't see it. You see your value in the way others view you, and that is unacceptable. It's reckless, and those feelings might very well get you killed, depending on how you react to them. If you would like me to teach you what I know, I will. I taught Magdalena and I can teach you. But I will not indulge a child who wants to play with the big children. I will not let you start fights, especially ones you cannot finish. Do you understand me?"
Remy felt her entire face burn with shame. She knew she could not speak so she forced herself to nod her head.
"You are precious," he continued, his voice softening. "Rare. What infuriates me is that you take your life for granted. You are valuable down here to the point of danger. You still have a heartbeat. You still have breath inside of you. Do you know how many souls would kill to be in your position? Do you know what I would do to take one more breath?"
And then his mouth was on hers, and he was kissing her. His right hand gripped her face while his left snaked its way around her waist, ensuring his hook did not harm her in any way. And it felt good and right and it caused little explosions to go off in every nerve of her body. Her eyes closed and her head tilted back, allowing him full access to claim her lips. His hand dropped to her neck and he clutched it gently but firmly. Like he wanted to possess her but not harm her. For whatever reason, the thought gave Remy a thrill and she opened her mouth, as though she knew what she was doing, as though she had done this before.
And she had, once. Back when she was in London and Wendy had dared her to kiss John. She had kissed him straight on the mouth, probably traumatizing him for the rest if his life. But the feelings she was currently experiencing during this kiss was unlike anything she had ever felt before. Her whole body was attuned to the kiss, not just her lips, not just her mind.
This was what a kiss was supposed to feel like. This was what a kiss was supposed to taste like. It was beautiful and she did not want it to stop.
That was probably what scared her the most.
Eighteen
The most difficult thing about being a fairy was trying to keep their anonymity while simultaneously feeding on everyone’s belief that they were, in fact, real. Doubt, slander, and outright proclamations of certainty that were lies, caused fairies to lose their wings. Suddenly, they were humans in a world filled with souls, and the only way to resume being a fairy was to find a living, breathing human who believed in their existence and make him fall in love.
Magdalena was thirteen years old when her wings were plucked from her. In its stead were two nasty scars that ran up and down her back, revealing that fairies were real while taking away the beauty that made up her physical appearance. Fairies usually wore sleeveless dresses that revealed their shoulders and arms. The hem was short in order to help with their movement, revealing their legs. If wings were plucked, their attire was completely called into question.
Magda, like all fairies, was ashamed of her scars. It was not her fault; this happened completely at random, and nobody knew why. But it happened nonetheless, and the consequences were dire. Should something as tragic as the loss of wings happen to a fairy, they were shunned from their world unless they found a way to reclaim their wings.
The feat was not impossible, and the shunning was not deliberate. Wings were necessary to be part of a fairy’s world – it was how they traveled, how they communicated, how they defined themselves. It was what set them apart from humans, or any other soul in The Neverland. Without wings, a fairy was lost.
Magdalena only had a younger sister, Cheree, and her mother. The instant Magda lost her wings, her mother healed her wounds as best as she could. Once Magda was stable, she set out to find someone to help. At the time, Magda yearned for her mother to find someone, anyone, who would be able to reattach her wings. Anything to be able to be her version of normal again. Cheree cried the whole time, and while Magdalena understood her younger sister’s fear, she could not help but be bitter about it.
Be strong for me, Magda had thought to herself as she waited in her bed. She was forced to position herself on her stomach, as her mother’s homemade balm would seep into her skin and help ease the pain. Be strong for me the same way I would have been strong for you.
Her mother returned with tears and no prospects. That was the moment Magda sealed her heart away. She would not cry when she left her family. They were doing enough crying for her anyway. Instead, her mind started thinking about how she was to survive, not a fairy anymore, but not a soul either.
Rumors swirled that those who lost their wings made a good living selling their blood and bodies for a price. Just because fairies lost their wings did not mean they lost their fairy blood, and that was something desired even more than money and pleasure. Fairy blood had the power to render a soul alive once more. It was something that was so desired by the occupants of The Neverland that many immediately dismissed it as impossible. A select few knew the truth, however, and there was a market for everything in The Neverland. A fairy found selling her blood was immediately shunned from their village, regardless if she lost her wings or not. It was sacrilege, similar to prostitution, but much worse because sex could be found anywhere with anyone while fairy blood was so rare it was thought to be a legend.
Fairies who lost their wings and still sold blood were isolated. There was a good chance they would never reclaim their wings since their lust for money and power overshadowed the potential love for another. These particular types of fairies tended to love themselves more than they could ever love anyone else, and it was made obvious by their chosen profession.
What those fairies did not know was the shame it caused their family, and those left behind. They were all but shunned as well, believing that something in a fairy’s genetic makeup predisposed her to a life of selling blood and isolation. Magdalena’s mother’s closest friend had a daughter that sold fairy blood – hers and other fairies who had no wings and no prospects.
Magda could not believe the girl had turned out to be Elizabeth –
Nick’s Lizzie.
Magda bristled at the thought and tightened her hold onto herself. She refused to think of the relationship the two shared – if relationship was even the most appropriate word – and, in turn, decided to focus on how she ended up where she ended up. She did not think she could forgive her mother, even though looking back, Magda understood it now.
Three weeks after Magdalena officially
lost her wings, her mother told Magda to dress warmly and assist her with picking strawberries. At the time, Magdalena had not thought to question her mother and she was looking for any excuse to get out of the house and do something that she did not pick up on the inconsistencies of the day. Things like Cheree’s hug lingering a little too long, the fact that Cheree would be staying home when she was more apt at picking than Magda was strictly because Cheree had much better patience, the fact that strawberries grew in fields always touched by a hint of sunlight, even at night, which meant there was no point in dressing warmly at all. These things and a flurry of others were lost on Magda as she followed her mother out the door, a hand-woven basket over her forearm, empty and ready for the juicy red fruit to fill it up.
Her mother led her to the nearby strawberry fields. She smiled at her daughter and watched as Magda filled her basket. Magda did not understand why her mother’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears. Perhaps she was emotional over her friend’s daughter and the scandal Lizzie had caused. Certainly her mother knew Magda would never let anything like that happen to herself or her family. Her pride was too strong to turn into a sangria whore.
Magda flushed at the mere thought. It was a dirty word, a bad word punished by a good lecture or even a spanking. It was the only phrase all but banned in the village. She remembered her friend Milly dared her to go to the sunflower garden and whisper it in the petals three times. Magda did, and she felt awful for the entire week.
Blood whore. Sangria whore. A fairy who sold her blood to whoever wished to purchase it willingly.
It sickened her stomach.
Magda did not like to think about it. Instead, she went over to her mother who offered to take the basket from her.
“Let’s head to the docks,” her mother said, and then slipped her arm through Magda’s. “I love this sweater on you, Magda. It brings out the color of your eyes. Like the bottom of the ocean.”
“Thank you,” Magda said, because she was not sure how to respond. Her mother was acting strangely, and she had no idea as to why.
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