THE UNTOLD STORIES OF NEVERLAND

THE COMPLETE BOX SET

K.R. THOMPSON

CONTENTS

Copyright

Neverland

Pan

1. The Chosen One

2. The Crocodile

3. The Magic of Pixies

4. My Lost Ones

5. Bedtime Stories

6. I am Pan

Hook

1. Bad Form, Indeed

2. Shanghaied

3. We Shall Have Tea

4. So Now Ye Are a Pirate

5. The First Rule

6. What’s in an Island?

7. A Bit of Fairy Dust

8. Enchanted Waters

9. The Challenge

10. The Pirate Code

11. All Good Things

12. Second Star to the Left

13. Mermaids and Neverlings

14. We Be Pirates

15. Unlikely Allies

16. A-Hunting We Will Go

17. A Familiar Star

18. The Pan

19. The Map

20. End Game

Nerida

1. A Means of Escape

2. A New Sea

3. Fallen Kings

4. The Pirate

5. Human You Shall Be

6. Banished

7. Discovery

8. The Sea Witch

9. Cursed

10. Revelation

11. The Croc and I

12. Hidden Secrets

Jack

1. Lost Memories

2. A Visit with The Hook

3. A New Mother

4. What was Lost is now Found

5. Time to Go

6. The Curse

7. I will Tell You a Secret

8. Wendy Darling, if You Please

9. A Game of Sorts

10. Broken

11. Home

12. A Special Kind of Magic

More Stories by K.R. Thompson

About the Author

Copyright © 2016 K.R. Thompson

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without written permission of the publisher. Inquiries can be made to Magic Quill Press, PO Box 614, Montcalm, WV 24757.

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical or ethnic events/traditions, locales, real people, living or dead, are used fictitiously and are a product of the author’s imagination.

“…when the first baby laughed for the first time, its laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies.”

—J.M. Barrie, Peter and Wendy

1

THE CHOSEN ONE

THE TINY PIXIE flew over the dark rooftops to the crumbling tower in the center of the town. Zipping to the top, she chose her usual spot and greeted the gargoyle perched on the edge of the roof. Taking one final look to make sure she had the best view, she plopped down on the tip of the monster’s nose and settled in to watch the boy fly from house to house.

Back and forth, from one window to the next he flew, staying at each only long enough to peer through the panes of glass…searching…

At least he was taking his task seriously, she decided, watching him raise up on his toes in an effort to gain a better look inside one darkened, upstairs room. Some guardians were lazy, but this one was not, which was just as well, she noted, as the small, shadowy figure of a child exited through the window and joined him. A few seconds later, the two flew off into the night sky. The children of humans could be a handful—the ghosts of them even more so, especially when they realized they were no longer among the living. It only made sense to appoint another child to deal with their sorrow and accompany their spirits to the other side.

The source of her attention currently gone, the pixie idly kicked into the open air. Small bits of dust sprinkled each time her feet touched the open mouth of the monster she’d been making a seat of. She glanced down, noticing his bottom teeth now sparkled like gold in the moonlight, giving him an even more ferocious look.

The poor thing looked dreadful, with long curling teeth and bulging eyes—nothing at all like her own pretty, golden self. She gave him a bright smile. Likely, that was the only kindness ever given the monster forever stuck up here on the edge of this roof, so she reached down and gave his hard cheek an affectionate pat before turning her attention back to the sprawling town below. After all, she hadn’t come to save this monster. She’d come for the boy and soon he would need her—but not nearly as much as she needed him.

He shouldn’t be gone much longer. She’d watched him for several nights now and one thing she discovered was his trips to the Underworld were generally short, albeit frequent. He’d be back soon and the search for the next soul would start anew.

True to form, only a few moments passed, and she caught sight of him before he dodged into a dark alley. A few seconds passed, and the boy appeared, alone. He turned around once, making certain there were no other souls to collect, then he zipped upward into the sky and flew off.

The pixie sighed, and gave a final farewell pat to the monster and hopped up to follow the boy. She stopped, realizing she wouldn’t ever come here again. Tonight was the last time she planned to watch the boy. The monster would be all alone after she left him, forever perched on this roof.

She bent and gave him a quick kiss on the end of his nose, then straightened and looked him squarely in the face. He gave her the same wide, leering grimace as before, his teeth bared in an unhappy snarl. Her show of affection hadn’t touched him in the least. She placed her hands on her hips, and made a face of her own, sticking her tongue out at him before she flew off after the boy.

There wasn’t any sign of him, but she wasn’t worried. Every night, she’d followed him to the exact same place. Her heart grew sad, knowing what she would find once she caught up to him. At the edge of town, far beyond the lights, sat an old house with a sagging roof and big, dirty windows.

She found him there on an upstairs balcony, curled into a small ball, crying as if his heart had been broken into tiny bits. She didn’t know why he always chose this same place every night, but she thought maybe it had something to do with his life before he became a guardian.

She landed on the thin, black metal railing directly in front of him, but he didn’t notice her. She took a deep breath, smiled as wide as her face could stretch and spoke.

“Why do you cry?” Her voice didn’t sound like that of the humans and immediately she felt a blush creep into her cheeks. Her voice chimed in musical-tones. It was the way every pixie in Neverland spoke. What if he didn’t understand her?

At the sound of her voice, he stopped crying and uncurled just enough that she made out the shapes of two mossy green eyes looking out at her through a thick thatch of brown hair. He sniffled, sat up and ran the back of his hand over his eyes, wiping away the last traces of his distress.

“Who are you?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

“I am a tinker pixie. I’m from Neverland.” And I was the only one brave enough to try to find someone to save us, she added silently.

“I didn’t ask what you are. I asked who you are,” the boy clarified, crossing his arms over his chest as he scowled. “Don’t you have a name?”

Well, at least he understood her. Still, he didn’t need to be rude. The pixie echoed his gesture and crossed her arms before matching his scowl with a fierce one of her own. “I’m a tinker pixie. Who are you?”

Her cross expression seemed to amuse him. “My name is Peter.” His grin faltered. “I cry because I want to still be a boy, not a guardian. I miss my life and I miss my home.” He turned and looked at the glass door behind him. “I can’t go back inside and look at my family. I don’t even know if they’ve missed me.”

The fairy flew to the door and peered inside. She wasn’t an expert on human habits, but it looked dark and vacant in there. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling like a thick blanket. She shivered, thinking of the big spiders that must have made them. Surely no one would choose to live in such a place.

Nevertheless, the boy reached for the knob on the door as if he wished to go inside, regardless of the creepy things bound to be there, but instead of clasping the knob, his fingers passed through the wooden knob as if he was as much a ghost as the children whose spirits he was sworn to protect. His bottom lip quivered and tears filled his eyes again. The pixie found herself sympathizing with him and two big tears rolled down her cheeks. This would never do.

“You could come with me to Neverland,” she offered. There. I’ve said it. No need in hedging around what she wanted, though she left out the important parts of why she wished him to accompany her.

“Could I be a boy again in Neverland? Could I have my family back?” he asked, a bit of hope etched in his voice.

“I don’t know if you’d be a boy again,” she admitted. “There are only pixies in Neverland, you see. And as for family, I don’t know about such things. But we shall have each other and I promise to never leave you. You won’t be lonely ever again.” She knew she sounded hopeful. She wanted more than anything for this boy to come with her—to believe in her—for there had been one small detail she’d left out. The pixies in Neverland were dying, and without someone to believe in them, Neverland would soon cease to exist.

None of the pixies wanted to come back to the human star to find someone to believe in them, so she’d come alone, hoping to find the perfect one to save them.

And she had. She was sure of it.

Just being with him here and now made her feel more alive than she ever had before. Magic can only exist when someone believes, she thought, carefully watching his face for any sign that he would come with her.

Peter looked thoughtful, then a decision flickered in his eyes and he smiled. “Let’s be off to Neverland, then. Show me the way, Tink.”

Happiness surged through the pixie. Not only had he agreed to come with her, but he’d given her a name. None of the pixies in Neverland had names. Only water sprites were lucky enough to have such things. She was special.

She pointed to the twinkling stars above them. “That’s where we are going. Second star to the right and straight on ’til morning.”

PETER CHANGED WHEN they arrived in Neverland. Before, he’d looked much like the children he accompanied to the Underworld. Now that they were here, the translucent look left his skin and a bright sparkle appeared in his eyes. He was just ahead of her as they flew low over a white-sanded beach. Curious if he was as real as he seemed, she reached out with her finger and touched the soft skin on the bottom of his foot.

The act caught him off guard and he jerked, falling from the air to the ground in an unceremonious heap.

“I’m sorry,” she chimed, once he straightened himself out and sat up. “I wanted to see if you were real.”

“Am I?” he asked. “Am I real?”

She shrugged. She didn’t know. She hadn’t gotten a very good feel of his foot before he tumbled into a crumpled mess. The matter of being real must be an important thing, because he stood and reached toward her, his palm out. “Please, let’s see if I’ve changed.”

He looked so hopeful that she found herself wishing for him. “Be real…be real…” she whispered as she gently lowered herself onto his palm. When it didn’t seem she was going to pass through it, she stilled her wings and settled her entire weight onto him. “Welcome to Neverland, Peter,” she announced before dipping into a low curtsy.

“Whoo-hoo!” he yelled, jumping happily in the air. His sudden movement caught her off guard and she fell backward, splayed between his fingers, gold dust rising in puffs around her. She managed to stand and was brushing herself off when he jumped again, sending her flying between his fingertips. Grasping his pinkie for support, she stood up a second time, and scowled at him. She knew he was happy, but that didn’t give him any reason to harm her. He didn’t seem to notice her, so she flew off his hand and hovered near his head while he kept jumping up and down.

Up and down, up and down…whatever is the matter with him? she wondered. The happy look left his face after the first few launches into the air, and now was replaced by one of desperation as he continued his strange leaping. Did all humans act like frogs? She bit her bottom lip as she thought of the different humans she had watched before deciding Peter would be the one to save them. None of the others acted in such a manner. What if she’d chosen the wrong one and this one was defective? She shook her head, unwilling to let that thought stay there. Maybe this leaping was something the guardians taught him.

Peter stopped jumping and began to cry. Alarmed, she landed on his shoulder as tears trekked down his cheek. “Why are you crying?” she asked. He didn’t answer, but only cried harder.

This isn’t good, she thought, her forehead creasing in concern. In an effort to be heard over his sobs, she hurried to his ear and grasped the soft edges of it, yelling as loudly as she could, “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, knocking her from his shoulder. A few seconds ago, she would have been livid at such a gesture, but now she was too worried. “I…can’t…fly!” he managed between hiccups.

Oh dear, she thought, hovering around him, wringing her hands. I didn’t bring him here to be sad. This will never do. She flew back and forth over his head, wondering what she should do next.

Deciding her best option was attempt to lift his spirits, she dropped directly in front of his face. “But you’re real. You wished to be a boy and that’s what you are. There’s no reason to cry. I promise it will be okay.”

It took another moment or two, but he finally quieted. He began looking at his hands, as if he wanted to make sure she was telling him the truth.

“I really am real, aren’t I?” he said, his voice full of wonder. He looked up and gave her a happy grin. She returned his smile. So what if he didn’t fly? None of the other humans she had seen could do it. As long as he was happy, that was all that mattered.

He’d come to the same conclusion. “I never flew before I was a guardian, so if I don’t fly anymore, I guess that’s okay. Besides, I have you with me now. And you promised you’d never leave me. Didn’t you, Tink?”

“Yes, I promise. As long as you believe in me, I’ll always be with you.”

2

THE CROCODILE

“YOU’RE A MEAN THING, with a nasty attitude,” Peter addressed the crocodile below them. In reply, the big, scaly beast pointed his snout upward and snapped his big jaws a few times, giving them a great look at his gaping mouth and sharp teeth, as if he wanted to make sure they knew exactly how terrible a mood he could be in should they push the issue.

The pixie nodded. He certainly was the most cross inhabitant in Neverland. The pixies and the water sprites, being some of the smallest bits of magic, came to Neverland hoping to be safe. In the human world, everything was bigger than they were and nothing was safe. Once they’d discovered Neverland, the only thing they’d found to fear was this big, green bully who insisted on trying to eat them. A few pixies and sprites had met their end by him in the beginning, but the majority of them had learned his habits and found his favorite places to lurk, then simply avoided him.

As Peter had been in Neverland for some time now, he knew all about the crocodile’s terrible attitude—but that hadn’t stopped him. Even though he couldn’t fly, the boy had taken to finding ways to taunt the monster. It had started by yelling insults at the monster while it swam, looking for food, then escalated to throwing rocks at him, and running past him to climb a tree just out of the croc’s reach.

Which was the reason they were here now, sitting up in a tree, waiting for the monster to get bored and leave so, in turn, they could leave.

Tink yawned, crossed her arms over her chest, and leaned against a bunch of leaves. This could take a while. Peter had been impulsive and hadn’t chosen the best escape route this time. In the past, he’d always picked trees that grew in a tight clump, so he could jump from one branch to the next, eventually losing the crocodile below.

The first thing she’d learned about the boy was that he had a constant thirst for adventure. He’d hunted the animals on the island, then when he bored of that challenge, he began capturing the pixies. He hadn’t hurt any of them, but the pixies hadn’t liked his games and now avoided the boy at all costs, regardless of the fact that his presence was what kept them alive. The crocodile was the only one who hadn’t tired of his games, the only one who returned the attention given to him, and was the only one who seemed worthy of the adventure Peter sought.

The boy took another look at the crocodile, who had no intention of moving, then shrugged and propped himself against the trunk of the tree.

The sun moved behind the mountains and the sky came alive with streaks of silver stars. Tink closed her eyes. They would have to wait until morning. When the crocodile left to find his breakfast, they’d be able to make an escape.

Peter began humming. It was a soft, lilting sound, which should have brought sleep. Instead, the pixie opened up her eyes and waited. Every once in a while, the boy would miss his home and the family he had lost, and when that happened, the humming would start. Nighttime brought memories. When the stars sparkled above them, the boy became melancholy.

She waited to see if any words would make their way into the song. If he only continued humming, then he wished to replay his memories alone, and wouldn’t share them with her. But if the words came, then he would reveal bits of what he missed about the life he had lost.

“Sleep tight…”

The words were bare whispers in the silence between hums. “…until the morning comes.”

There were pauses, bits of quietness, where words didn’t dare intrude. She glanced over at him. A stray beam of moonlight had made its way between the branches and played on his face during one of these bouts of silence, showing her exactly how deep in thought he was. A story was playing behind his eyes, soon enough it would find its way out.

“I can’t remember all of the words,” he said with a frustrated sigh, shaking his head, sending locks of brown hair down toward his eyes. “She sang them to me every night. Why can’t I remember them now?”

The question seemed rhetorical, and one not directed personally to her, so the pixie closed her eyes and feigned sleep, though she knew that he knew she didn’t have any intention of sleeping. The stories were important and she would listen to them always—not because she had any desire to know about what a mother was or of the adventures he’d had in another life. She would listen because they were a part of him, such an important part, he would sit for long periods of time and replay the memories in an effort to never forget them.

“Neverland makes me forget,” he grumbled. “I always knew the words before. She sang them to me the last night before I was made a guardian. I should know all of the words.”

The pixie slit one eye open to peek at him. She didn’t know if the magic here made him forget or not, though she wished it would. She didn’t mind the memories of his adventures. Some of them she found entertaining. But if he would only forget the woman with the long, dark hair who sang him to sleep—the one he called mother—it would make her life so much easier. Giving up all pretense of sleeping, Tink sat up and stretched, then scowled at him, hoping all the while that he would give up trying to remember this silly song and apologize for disturbing her.

That didn’t happen. Instead, he offered her a different memory. “Shall I tell you about my last adventure?”

As this seemed a cheerful alternative to the humming and singing, she gave him a happy nod, hugged her knees to her chin, and waited.

Peter leaned against the tree again and swinging one foot out into the open air, began his tale.

“One morning, I set off into the woods. The winter had been harsh and cold, and that morning was the first day the sun came. We’d been stuck inside for such a long time that all I wanted to do was go outside and explore. The snow sparkled like silver,” he grinned at her, adding, “as if it had been sprinkled with pixie dust.”

This story was beginning to sound much better than several others he had told her, so she lifted her chin off her knees in anticipation of what would happen next.

“Mother warned me to stay inside; she said the sky was too dark and another snow was coming. Winter hadn’t ended. I told her I wouldn’t go, but I snuck out once she went to check on my baby brother.” Peter paused here, frowning. “I’d forgot all about him. You know what babies are, don’t you, Tink?”

She shook her head no. She’d once heard that a baby’s laugh was what first created the pixies, but it had been so long ago, she thought maybe she had forgotten exactly how it went. Neverland did make you forget things, after all. Regardless, she’d always wondered what a baby was and she was happy Peter was going to tell her.

“They’re squirmy, little things with pink faces and they have tiny fingers and toes. They cry a lot and they are always hungry,” he informed her before scrunching up his nose. “And they smell, too.”

The crocodile, who was snoring contentedly at the base of the tree, seemed more likeable than these baby-creatures, Tink decided. Surely, the first pixies in Neverland had forgotten how they came to be.

“Anyway,” Peter continued, dismissing the thoughts of the baby with a wave of his hand. “Once she was out of sight, I left. I’d heard there was a cave deep in the forest that held an underground river, and on the banks of that river…”

“…a pirate captain had hidden his treasure,” Tink chimed, finishing his sentence. She’d heard of this particular adventure many times. It was one of their favorite adventures to play. Neverland had caves and caverns aplenty, and while many of them had hidden niches where the Never Sea would tide and ebb, there never was a treasure to be found—nor a pirate captain, for that matter. Still, the adventure was always worth it.

“Yes,” Peter agreed. “But this time was different. I headed north, where I’d heard the hunters talk of caves so big huge bears would make their homes in them. I thought if the bears loved those caves, maybe there was a river in them, too, and that would be where I found the treasure. I walked all morning, searching for the caves, and all the while it got colder and colder.” He crossed his arms over his bare chest and shivered, as if the memory still had enough power to affect him as he told his tale. “Then the snow came, just as Mother said it would. I kept thinking I had to be close. If I could just go a bit farther, then I would find them and I could duck inside and be safe. But the snow fell faster, and it got cold…so, so cold…”

He was shivering and hunched into a ball now, and while the temperature in the tree hadn’t dropped at all, Tink was certain she saw his breath, frosty and white.

“I couldn’t find the caves, so I turned and tried to go back, but the snow had gotten so deep, it covered my tracks. I couldn’t tell where I had been, or which way I needed to go. I knew I was lost…”

This adventure had definitely taken a turn for the worse, she decided. Something told her this wasn’t going to end well, so she stood up and flew over to him, sat on his shoulder, and gave him a comforting pat.

“I stumbled to the base of a tree. This one kind of reminds me of it,” he noted, picking a green, heart-shaped leaf from a limb beside him. “I huddled under it and waited, hoping the snow would stop and someone would come to find me. I sat there for a long time, watching the snow fall. I was so scared for a while. My body ached at first, it was so cold, but then it stopped hurting and I just sat and watched the snow coat the branches of the tree.”

He glanced up at the crisscrossing branches above them. “I remember thinking it was beautiful. A few leaves were still there, though they were brown and frosted in ice. While I watched a few of them float down with the snow. Then I remembered being so, so tired, and I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was floating near the branches.”

He stopped and shook his head. “It’s a strange thing to look at yourself, while you aren’t yourself anymore. It’s like a dream. You know, the ones where you’re dreaming and you’re caught outside of your body? Only this time, I didn’t get to wake up. My body stayed beneath the tree, under a blanket of snow and no one ever came for me.”

Tink had gone from patting his shoulder to patting his hair now, in an effort to give him some kind of comfort. It was helping, she thought. He didn’t seem too worried about remembering his last minutes of life, so she kept patting while he talked.

“Then a light came and I knew I was supposed to move toward it, but a voice stopped me and gave me a choice. It said if I would be a guardian, I could stay,” he shrugged the shoulder she wasn’t standing on. “I knew I wanted to stay and I knew I wanted the chance to live. But that wasn’t what the offer was, though I didn’t know it when I agreed. My task was to collect the spirits of children, and show them where to go. It wasn’t life I was offered. It was an existence of death. I couldn’t go home and I couldn’t be a boy anymore.”

He turned his head enough that she backed up, so he could look at her. “I’m glad you found me, Tink. You saved me. You gave me what I wanted most.”

SLEEP EVENTUALLY CAME for them and the pixie awoke the next morning just in time to see the crocodile’s tail swish back toward the sea in search of his breakfast. She yawned and sat up to rub the sleep from her eyes. Sometime during the night, she had gone from Peter’s shoulder to sleeping on his head, and now his entire forehead was covered in gold. She patted his hair, watching the small clouds of pixie dust puff into the air.

“Ah…ahhchoo!” The sneeze sent her off his head and higher up into the branches. “Sorry, Tink,” Peter called out as he sat up. Once she flew back down, he grinned at her. “That’s what you get from making a bed out of my hair.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, before pointing out toward the sea, where the crocodile could be seen, swimming toward an unsuspecting flock of sea gulls.

“Right,” Peter nodded. “Time for us to get away.” He stood up and started to climb down the tree, happily chatting away about the dream he had just woken from. “I remember her face now,” he said happily, “I thought Neverland had taken it from me for forever. I can remember her eyes and her smile…and I know the rest of the words to the song.”

Tink felt the heat creep into her cheeks and she flew down from the tree, not wanting to hear anything more about the one he called Mother. It was enough to listen about her at night, but now that it was morning, the pixie had had quite enough.

She heard him utter a quick oh in surprise, and turned just in time to see that his foot had caught a vine. In an instant, he was falling toward the ground. She flew toward him, hoping to find some way to save him. It would be a terrible thing to meet your end under a tree twice, she thought, dread filling her as she reached his hand. But just as she did, something strange happened.

Instead of crashing to the ground, the boy hovered inches from the underbrush, stopped by some unseen force. His eyes were squeezed shut, as if he had been expecting the same thing she had thought a split second earlier.

She tugged at his fingers, wanting him to open up his eyes, but not wanting to speak, lest he continue falling.

“What is this? How did this happen?” he asked, opening his eyes.

Tink shrugged. “I don’t know, but maybe you’ll want to see if you can get down before you fall the rest of the way.”

He nodded and slowly dropped until his feet touched the ground.

They both let out a sigh of relief, then looked at each other in bewilderment.

“I wonder if I can fly again,” Peter said, arching an eyebrow. “Maybe that’s what that was.” And before she could answer, he jumped in the air—and fell back down just as quickly.

“Huh,” he muttered to himself. “All I was thinking about were the words to the song. I was happy that I remembered them again.”

As she watched, his feet left the ground. “That’s it! I’m doing it!” he exclaimed, a look of pure joy covering his face. “I’m flying, Tink!” He lifted his arms out from his sides, experimenting. Within seconds, he was flitting around in the air as easily as he had when she had first saw him.

She grinned and happily flew around him as he spun in circles.

“I’m so happy I could burst!” he told her. “I can fly again—it only took a happy thought!”

3

THE MAGIC OF PIXIES

HER PLAN HADN’T WORKED. In fact, it had failed—terribly. The pixie’s skin had gone waxen and pale. Her magic was flickering out—she was dying. She writhed on the ground for a moment before her movements became sluggish and slow.

She’d been a young pixie, born since Peter’s arrival, so Tink hadn’t known her. Since Peter’s love of adventure had included chasing pixies, Tink hadn’t been around them much lately, and knew very little of the goings-on in the mountain that was their home. Still, she felt her heart break when the little one shuddered and went still.

Tink brushed tears from her cheeks as she watched Peter bend over and scoop up the body. He lifted her up to take a better look, but she disintegrated into a small pile of gold dust before he got the chance.

“What happened to her?” he asked, a look of horror on his face. “I didn’t do this. I haven’t chased or bothered any of the pixies in a very long time. I promised I wouldn’t, and I haven’t!” he told her emphatically, as if he was worried she blamed him for this.

“Pixies are made of magic. If we aren’t believed in, we die,” she said, revealing her secret. There. Now he would know the reason behind her bringing him to Neverland.

“But I believe in pixies,” he said, a frown wrinkling his brow. “Why did this happen?”

She didn’t answer him. She’d been so sure he would be the key to their survival.

“Maybe we just need more people to believe in you. Maybe I’m not enough,” he suggested.

She’d expected him to be angry that she’d kept a secret from him, but instead he was focused on trying to help them. She truly had chosen the right one to save the pixies after all.

“We could save another boy, the same way you saved me,” he said, thinking aloud. “Do you think that would work?”

She shrugged. She didn’t know, but she was willing to try. However, it would take several trips back to the human star to find someone suitable to bring back with them. In that amount of time, anything could happen.

“Let’s go now!”

She shook her head. “I should go alone. Who knows how long you’ll be able to fly?” Shortly after the discovery of Peter’s happy thought, they’d found out there was an additional item needed to fly—something only she could do.

“As long as you stay close enough to sprinkle me with pixie dust, I’ll be fine,” he argued, unwilling to stay behind. “Besides, you promised never to leave me.”

He had her there. A promise was a promise, after all. “You’ll stay very close to me, won’t you? You won’t go off on an adventure without me?” She had visions of him leaving, then losing his ability to fly and crashing into the sea to drown.

“I’ll stay right beside you,” he promised with a smile. “Shall we be off, then? It’s still early, so we’ll have plenty of time.”

She watched as he gently blew the small pile of dust from his palm. The air sparkled with gold for a few seconds, then a quick breeze stirred, and all traces of the young pixie who had once been vanished.

This trip to the human star would be risky, but it had to be made. Without someone to believe, there would be another pixie forgotten soon—another small pile of dust to vanish with the wind.

“Let’s go.”

SHE HADN’T THOUGHT about where they should go once they reached the human star, but Peter seemed to have an idea, so she let him lead the way. It wasn’t a surprise when he took her to the same town where she’d watched him as a guardian.

She sighed in relief when he didn’t fly straight back to the old house by the forest, instead taking her into the heart of the town. “Up here is the best place to watch,” she said, taking the lead. She took him to the old tower with the snarling monster perched on its roof. She gave the monster a quick nod hello, remembering his frosty goodbye the last time they parted, and opted to sit on Peter’s shoulder.

It had taken a lot longer than she had planned to get there, much longer than she remembered it taking before. The sun was setting and the sky above them was darkening quickly. There weren’t many people out. There wouldn’t be many people to choose from on this trip.

Staring at those who were out, Peter idly kicked his feet back and forth into the open air. From his expression, she gathered he wasn’t impressed with the man who had locked the bakery, or the one who was leading horses down the street to a large barn.

A slight movement from a corner shop caught her eye, and she focused on a dark piece of fabric caught in the breeze. In a moment, a man came into view. It had been the edge of his long coat she had spotted. As she watched, he locked the door to the shop and jiggled the handle for good measure, then turned and set off resolutely down the street. Something about him made her want to follow him and take a closer look.

“Let’s go and watch him,” she told Peter, tugging on a long strand of brown hair to get his attention.

“That one is too old,” he said, scowling, when he saw who she pointed to. “There aren’t any grown-ups in Neverland. We don’t need him and I don’t want him.” Peter got up and brushed off his pants, pointedly ignoring the one she wanted to watch. “I don’t see anyone here. I’m going to find a boy.” And before she could object, he flew straight down into a dark alleyway without her.

Fine, she thought, glaring at the spot where he disappeared, with her hands on her hips. I’ll still watch who I want to watch. I don’t need his help. Besides, I’m the one with the pixie dust. They can’t fly without me.

So she flew the opposite way, and caught up to the man walking down the street. She stayed a safe distance above him, so as not to be noticed, but she was still close enough to see his face.

He wasn’t a child by any means, but he wasn’t nearly as old as Peter made him out to be, she decided, taking in his clear, unlined face and bright, blue eyes. A soft breeze brushed against her, and a quick sprinkle of gold dusted his long, black hair.

As if he’d realized she watched him, he stopped, and turned around, but after seeing no one, he shrugged and continued on.

Something about him told her he was the one she needed to bring to Neverland. She wasn’t sure if it was the confident set of his shoulders, the look of kindness in his face, or something else, but the same familiar pull like the one she had felt when she had watched Peter was there. This was the one they needed to bring back to help them.

Of course, they would have to watch him for a while. There were certain factors that couldn’t be dismissed. She wanted to see where his home was and if he had a family, whatever that was. Because if he did, then she couldn’t bring him to Neverland. She still wasn’t sure what made family important, but it must be a grand thing and something one must never lose.

So now it was time to find Peter. Where had he gone, anyway? She wondered, cautiously looking down the side streets while trying to keep an eye on the man so as not to lose him.

She finally saw Peter peering in an upstairs window as he used to do when he was a guardian. Dread crept over her in a dark wave when she watched him reach for the latch that held it shut. Before, he never would have been able to open that window, but now that he was alive…now that he was real?

Panic surged through her and she flew toward him as quickly as she could. He’d stopped, taking his hand from the latch, waiting…

The transparent image of a child appeared through the glass and took his hand.

“No! You have to put him back. You aren’t a guardian anymore. You can’t take Lost Ones to Neverland,” she chimed, pushing at Peter’s shoulder to make sure he was paying attention to her.

“Why not? You did. Besides, it’s not like I’m stealing. I asked if he wanted to become a boy again and he said yes,” Peter said, then looked at the shadowy figure beside him. “Please tell her. You do want to come with us, don’t you?”

The ghost gave a resolute nod.

It’s too late to put him back, she thought desperately. With any luck, another death guardian will be here soon, looking for him. What if he finds Peter? I can’t lose him…

“We should go now,” Peter said, as if he’d read her mind. He chewed his lip thoughtfully, and leaned his head to one side as if he had heard something. “Let’s go this way,” he announced, and while she was still trying to figure out how and what to do, Peter took the boy and flew down another street.

His next action came just as much a surprise as the first when he landed in a dank, dark corner at the end of the street, and bent to examine a small form lying on the ground. He whispered something, and another small, shadowy figure took his free hand.

“If one is good, two might be better,” Peter said, giving her a quick grin. “Let’s go home, Tink!” And once again, without waiting for her, he flew up and away.

4

MY LOST ONES

THE NEWEST INHABITANTS of Neverland stood on the sandy beach, doing the same strange leaping Peter had performed on his first day.

“You must concentrate on happy thoughts,” Peter instructed the two boys, flying over their heads in demonstration. “Otherwise, you’ll never be able to fly.”

“I don’t even know what a happy thought is,” the short, round one grumbled.

“He means to think of something that makes you happy. In your case, I should think it would be food,” the taller one with the large front teeth replied.

“No happy thoughts, then. Neverland doesn’t have anything good to eat,” the short one sighed. “We’ve yet to eat anything since we got here. I’m hungry.”

Tink yawned, linked her hands behind her head, and leaned back against the stem of the flower she’d chosen to sit upon. These two were Peter’s fault and she had no intention of helping him with his new wards. He could figure it out on his own. Maybe next time he wouldn’t be so hasty to make decisions without her.

The short one jumped as high as he could, only to land solidly on his backside in the sand. The pixie laughed, filling the air with the sound of chimes.

“It’s not funny,” he glowered at her, his face going red.

Peter watched him for a second, then his laughter matched hers. “Yes it is,” he said.

Once the boy got off the ground and brushed off the sand, Peter landed in front of him. Clasping his hands behind his back, he said in a serious voice, “Maybe we are going about this all wrong. Perhaps, we should start at the beginning. Before you fly, there may be other things we need to do.”

The boys shrugged in unison, as if the idea sounded as good as anything else.

“First, what are your names?”

Two blank stares and silence answered him.

“Do you mean you don’t have names?” Peter asked, incredulous, temporarily losing the firm, authoritative voice he’d been using.

“No.”

“Not that I know of.”

“Well, then. That will be the beginning, for everyone should have a name,” Peter said, thoughtfully tapping his finger against his chin. “You,” he addressed the tall boy. “You are to be named Patch.”

A fitting name, Tink agreed, looking at the large, square patch on the boy’s shirt.

“And you,” Peter said to the short one. “You…what shall I name you?”

The short one didn’t seem to care a bit as to Peter’s decision. He was concentrating on squishing a small bug as it passed by.

“You are to be named Beetles.”

Tink shook her head. There were much better names for that one. If she had her way of it, she would have named him Round…or perhaps even Disagreeable.

It doesn’t matter, she reminded herself. They aren’t mine to worry over.

“All right, then. Now that’s taken care of, I suppose I need to show you the way to find food. Since you can’t fly, it will be a bit different, I suppose…”

“But what is your name?” the one named Patch asked, cutting him off.

Round elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Don’t interrupt. He’s taking us to find food.”

“My name,” Peter said with a low, flourishing bow, “is Peter. I am your leader.”

“You were saying about food,” Round reminded him.

“Yes, follow me and we’ll see what can be found,” she heard Peter say as the three headed into the forest, leaving her on her flower alone.

“So, is it worth it?” a voice asked the instant they disappeared.

Tink looked up to see a water sprite hovering over the edge of the surf. “Is it worth it to bring them here?” she repeated. “Are they enough to save us? Do they believe in magic?”

Tink held back a sigh. She should have known Peter’s actions wouldn’t go unnoticed for long. As he couldn’t swim; the water sprites were the only inhabitants of Neverland he hadn’t chased. Though they weren’t afraid of him, they still kept their distance. Still, she’d spotted a few of them here and there as they kept a close eye on him, but until now, none of them had said anything.

But now that he’d brought two more boys to Neverland, he’d managed to attract the attention of the sprites’ ruler herself. The queen’s blue dress curled around her body in liquid waves, as if it was made of the sea.

Thespa gave the appearance of waiting patiently, though Tink could tell it was a façade. Water sprites weren’t trustworthy.

“Yes, the Lost Ones are worth it,” she said, carelessly leaning back on the flower again. She gave an inward sigh. So much for not claiming the Lost Ones as her own. They were as much her problem as Peter’s now. Still, she decided to have a bit of fun, so she added, “They believe in pixies.”

She’d expected some kind of rebuke from the frosty water queen. After all, together the pixies and sprites had come to Neverland in an effort to escape humans and here she was bringing them to the island—and here she was not offering to help the sprites at all.

But Thespa hadn’t reacted to her insult, and seemed lost in thought. “I haven’t noticed any change. Our magic is waning and the sea is becoming colder. It freezes more every day.”

“That’s because the Lost Ones don’t go into the Never Sea,” Tink replied, waving her hand in the air as if the plight of the sprite queen was no concern of hers. “My Lost Ones know nothing of water sprites. Why should they believe in you?”

“Why, indeed,” Thespa murmured. She hovered there for another long moment, before thinking aloud. “Perhaps the solution is to bring our own Lost Ones to Neverland.” Then, without so much as a goodbye, she disappeared under the foamy surf.

Tink let out a sigh of relief. Whatever the frosty queen chose to do made no difference to her, so long as she didn’t come back and pull her into the Never Sea to drown.

As if the sprite had read her mind, Thespa popped back up only long enough to give her a warning. “Bring who you wish to the island, but those who live under it will only ever believe in the water sprites.”

Tink watched as she disappeared back below the surface, and waited just long enough to make sure she wasn’t going to reappear before rolling her eyes. She didn’t have any intention of placing any of her Lost Ones in the Never Sea. She stood up, brushed the pollen from the flower off the back of her legs, and flew toward the forest to find Peter.

After all, the Lost Ones were hers now and Peter needed to know he’d given Round the wrong name.

5

BEDTIME STORIES

PETER SAT ON THE WINDOWSILL, leaning toward the glass, his expression one of fascination and wonder.

Sitting beside him, Tink crossed her arms, and idly swung her legs over the side. She was bored. What had started as occasional trips in search of more Lost Ones had now changed into nightly excursions spent perched on windowsills listening to stories.

“I think this one is about me!” Peter exclaimed in a hushed whisper.

Tink yawned, not bothering to get up and press her ear to the glass to see if he was correct. So far, he’d believed every story was about him. Personally, she didn’t care for listening to them and more than once she’d found herself drifting off to sleep, only to be shaken awake by Peter’s excitement or Peter himself at the story’s end.

It wasn’t all bad, though. There was a reason she continued to follow Peter each time he came—one in addition to the fact that he needed her to fly. Once the story was finished, they returned to Neverland. There, Peter would tell the story to the others, and this time she would listen because once the story was finished, the Lost Ones (there were five of them now), Peter, and she would reenact the stories and a grand adventure would ensue.

The window behind them darkened as candles were blown out. This story had ended.

“Let’s find another,” Peter suggested, flying across the street to another window.

Tink stood up and stretched before following him, yawning as she flew.

This next house wasn’t nearly as well-kept as the previous one. The whole thing sagged as if it were tired of the world around it. Not paying attention to the house, but rather to the people inside, Peter sat on the windowsill, which, being rotten, immediately gave way. Chunks of wood fell to the ground below. That hadn’t bothered Peter, though. Instead of sitting, he hovered near the glass and listened intently as a woman tucked three boys into bed.

“I’ll be back,” Tink chimed. She wasn’t going to be able to stay awake for another story and she didn’t dare trust the narrow, rotten ledge to take a nap on.

Peter nodded, though she didn’t think he’d really heard her. She turned and flew off, looking for a safe place to curl up and sleep.

On one inviting balcony, she found a nice green plant with wide, soft leaves. She’d just sat down on it only to be immediately swatted at by an enormous gray housecat. Now fully awake—and angry—she zipped farther down the lane, away from the fat, inhospitable feline to a building on the corner.

Still scowling, she plopped down on a yellow knob near the roof. Instantly, the knob swayed under her weight, and a loud chime that sounded like a dozen angry pixies filled the air.

Covering her ears, she flew up and hid behind the wide sign that hung over the door.

The noise hadn’t gone unnoticed. She heard the sound of footsteps and a door being opened. Her heart beating madly, she looked down to see a man come out and stand directly beneath her. He looked first one way, and then the other, then shrugged and looked up at the yellow knob.

In the dim light from inside the door, his eyes shone, reminding Tink of the bright blue water of the Never Sea.

“Hmm, I wonder who rang the bell?” he murmured softly, looking at the knob as if it would be able to tell him what he wished to know. He stood there a second more, before returning back inside.

Something pricked Tink’s memory as the door closed. Once she was sure he wasn’t coming back out to inspect the bell again, she flew down to the window by the door and looked inside.

He was sitting at a desk in the far corner of the room, stacks of white paper sitting all around him. His head was bent forward as he studied something in front of him. His long, black hair swung forward as he tapped a finger absently on his desk.

Something was familiar about this one, she thought. As he leaned back and stretched, she remembered. He was the one she had wanted to follow the night Peter had chosen the Lost Ones.

She smiled, happy she remembered him, for once you’re in Neverland, some things become forever lost.

The man shook his head and sighed, as if he’d given up on whatever task was before him. He stood and pulled on his long coat, then took a hat from a peg on the wall and set to blowing out candles.

As the room darkened, Tink sighed. It would have been nice to watch a big longer, but she thought she might need to get back to Peter. With much luck, the story would have finished by now. She hoped two stories would be enough for him and he’d be ready to go.

She turned, and gave a quick wave to the man in the dark room, then flew back to the old house with the rotten windowsill.

Adrenaline pumped through her as she saw the window had gone dark and Peter was nowhere in sight. She tried to take a deep breath and convince herself maybe he’d flown to a different window for another story

But there weren’t any other lit windows to be seen.

As fear clutched at her, she frantically flew from one house to the next, hoping Peter had decided to search for another Lost One. After all, she reminded herself, he’d told her earlier he wanted more Neverlings in his troupe. That’s what he called them…Neverlings…

Though it was possible, something in her gut told her that wasn’t what he was doing. The atmosphere around her was foreboding, as if something terrible had happened—and was still happening even now.

She flew back to the old house and peered through the window, hoping to find some clue that would tell her why she felt this way. Through the shadows, she could see three beds lined against the wall, each holding a small form. The two farthest from the window were small bodies and were deep in sleep from what she could tell. The closest one held a boy near Peter’s size, with longish brown hair that fell around his eyes. He was asleep, but nothing in the slack, peaceful expression on his face told her anything had gone amiss in her absence.

Where are you, Peter? He wouldn’t have gone back to Neverland without her, she was sure of that. He’d never be able to make it back without her pixie dust. It was too far to go without her.

There was only place left for her to look—and every second it took to get there, she hoped it was the one place he wouldn’t be.

RELIEF COURSED THROUGH her when she spotted Peter on the balcony of the house near the forest, but it was short-lived when she saw him reach up as if he planned to push the window open.

Please, let it be locked. Even as she landed on the metal railing, she knew the house wasn’t vacant anymore. Someone was living here now. The window panes were clean, clear of dirt and cobwebs, and a single candle sent out a flickering glow.

“You’re…real,” she managed between breathless gasps. “You can’t go inside. They’ll…see…you.”

The look Peter gave her in that split second before he turned back to the window chilled her to the bone. Something most definitely had happened in the short time she’d been gone—something dreadful.

“Let’s go back,” she said, trying again. “The Lost Ones will be waiting for us.”

“I’ve always wondered what happened to my family,” he whispered, ignoring her as she tugged on his hair. “They could be waiting for me to come back.”

He pushed against the window. It didn’t budge, though it made a terrible thump.

Tink heard footsteps and jerked on his hair harder. “Someone is coming! Hide!”

This much, Peter did do. He flew off the balcony to the side of the house. After she heard the window open and close back, Tink let out a sigh of relief and dropped to his shoulder. “Now, we can go home,” she suggested. “Round will be wanting to know where we’ve been and Patch will want to know what new stories we’ve heard.”

At the mention of stories, the edge of Peter’s lip turned down in a scowl. “I’m going back to the window,” he said. “I’m not finished here.”

She watched as he left and flew back to the balcony. She knew she didn’t want to see what was going to happen next. In the scant second she’d been on the railing, she’d had just enough time to spot a little boy, tucked safely in his bed. There was no one telling a story here and no lost spirit to whisk away.

The one who had come to check on the noise was still inside. Tink could hear her wishing the little boy sweet dreams. Deciding to try to convince Peter to leave one more time, she popped her head around the side of the house and found him standing on the balcony, his hands fisted at his sides.

“She’s forgotten me,” he muttered as she landed on his shoulder. “My mother’s forgotten all about me. See her there? She doesn’t look sad that I’m not there, too. I’ve been forgotten, Tink. She doesn’t remember me at all.”

Tink chewed her lip, watching a woman with long, dark hair bend over to give the little boy a kiss before tucking his covers around him again. From the words she could hear, he was asking her to stay close by. He was frightened of what he’d heard outside.

I don’t think she is Peter’s mother, Tink thought, trying to get a better look at the woman as she brushed another kiss on the boy’s forehead, said a few reassuring words, and left. In Neverland, time had its own way of standing still so that you never truly knew how much time had passed. But here, she could tell a long time had went by from the time she’d rescued Peter from the balcony, and even longer than that was the time he’d spent as a guardian. The one he called mother could likely be in the Underworld by now, but she didn’t want to tell Peter that.

“I don’t think she’s your mother,” Tink said, shaking her head, though she didn’t tell Peter why she thought so. To know the ones he loved were gone would surely break his heart. Then, he’d never be the same. It was bad enough she didn’t know what had caused this impromptu visit. It would be worse if she told him what she really thought.

“It is her,” Peter said stubbornly before placing his palm against the window and giving it a quick shove. “And she doesn’t remember me.”

She heard a muted click from the other side as the lock popped free from the force. The window swung open.

The little boy bolted upright in the bed. His blonde hair stuck up in every direction and his eyes were wide and round as he spotted them just outside his bedroom window.

“You can’t do this!” Tink yelled in Peter’s ear and jerked two fistfuls of his hair as hard as she could. “He can’t be a Lost One—he isn’t dead!”

Peter swatted at her, as if she’d only been a pesky fly. The blow sent her hurtling back out the window and across the balcony.

The little boy had been silent to this point, but now she heard him scream. In the next second, Peter had scooped him up and flew out the window with him in his arms, stopping only long enough to tell her, “He’ll be one of us. Don’t worry, Tink, she’ll forget all about him, too.”

6

I AM PAN

THE STORY PETER told the Lost Ones wasn’t what they’d expected. That much was obvious from their astonished expressions and open mouths. This, Tink decided ruefully, had been the second story she hadn’t been there to hear. This story truly had been his own, told as a bedtime story to three little boys in an old dilapidated house with rotting windowsills. Out of all the stories they had heard on their trips back, this was the one she should never have missed.

“And so the guardian became forgotten by those who loved him. They grew up without him, leaving him to ferry the souls of the dead to the Underworld.” Peter said, giving the newest member of his troupe a scathing look as if the story had been completely his fault.

The little boy whimpered and ducked his head. Tink stood on his shoulder and patted his hair. The trip to Neverland with him had been nerve-wracking. As he wasn’t a ghost—and most definitely had no happy thoughts of leaving—Peter had had to carry him the entire way, with her flying directly overhead, sprinkling as much pixie dust on them as she possibly could.

Once they made it, things hadn’t gotten any better. The Lost Ones weren’t happy to know that their newest comrade was small—the tiniest and youngest of them all, and even worst, still had all of his memories of the life he knew before Neverland and was homesick for it.

“Can’t you take him back?” Round asked, frowning. “He’s giving my head a dreadful hurt here, see?” He winced, pointing to the center of his forehead. “He doesn’t want to be a Neverling, so it’s best to take him back. All he does is cry, anyway.”

“Maybe he’s afraid because he doesn’t know who we are,” Patch suggested. He leaned forward and put his hands on his knees to look the boy in the eye. “My name is Patch. The grumpy one over there is Beetles.”

Tink rolled her eyes. As of yet, she still hadn’t convinced anyone else of Round’s proper name. Three more voices chimed in, introducing themselves…Tootles, Scuttle, and Morbert. She sighed at the last one. The redheaded boy with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose by far had the worst moniker, but she hadn’t been able to persuade Peter any differently.

The little boy sniffled, his tears momentarily at bay. “I’m…” he began, only to be cut off by Peter.

“You are to be named Runt, as you are the smallest of my troupe,” he said in an imperious tone.

“But that’s not my name,” the little one objected.

“It is,” Peter said in a low, deadly calm voice that immediately hushed not only the little one, but the others, too. He looked at each of them in turn, Patch, Round, Tootles, Scuttle, Morbert, Runt, and lastly…her. “I was once a forgotten guardian known as Peter in a different life. Now, I am a Neverling—and my name is Peter Pan.”

ON HER WAY back to the human star, Tink flew low over the Never Sea hoping to catch a glimpse of Thespa’s mermaids as they swam in the glassy, blue water. She hadn’t believed the water queen when she announced her intention to bring her own Lost Ones to Neverland, but there they were, swimming just below the surface.

Tink scrunched her nose as she watched them. They were strange things that looked like humans only they sported fish tails instead of legs.

Fish people. Even if Thespa insists on calling them mermaids and mermen, I shall call them fish people for that’s what they are. They are nothing like my Lost Ones. Mine look much nicer than hers.

Regardless of their looks, Neverland had gotten a sudden jolt of energy when the fish people came. It had been strong enough to give the water sprites the magic they so desperately needed. Thespa had managed to ensure the safety of the water sprites, but rarely did the fish people come to the surface, so their arrival hadn’t helped the pixies at all.

It’s up to me to save us again, Tink accepted with a sigh. At least she knew exactly where she was going to go. And this time, she deliberately didn’t tell Peter where she was heading or that she was leaving at all.

Since the arrival of Runt, Peter had grown darker and angrier with each passing day. Something had changed in him when he’d heard the bedtime story of the death guardian. That terrible tale had broken the parts that made him the happy, mischievous boy she adored.

There were no more stories or adventures, and in turn, the Lost Ones were beginning to lose faith in their leader. Understandable, really, as she’d lost a bit of it herself lately. The last few times they’d gone back to the human star and brought back new recruits, the crocodile immediately thinned them out. The fact Peter hadn’t bothered to try to save them from the sharp-toothed monster hadn’t instilled confidence in the remainder of his troupe.

It will be a matter of time before they lose faith in me, too, she thought, and then my magic will die.

Then, I’ll die. We need someone who will believe in all of us.

If only Peter had listened before he began bringing the Lost Ones to Neverland. Had he been patient and watched with her for guidance to find the right ones, everything could have been different and they could be as carefree as the water sprites were now.

Instead, Tink was headed back to find the one she had chosen on the last trip—to the one who should have come to Neverland instead of the Lost Ones.

She flew down to the corner shop and instead of sitting on the bell, this time she stood on top of the sign and announced her arrival as loudly as she could, her voice sounding very much like the peal of the bell.

The man quickly came to the door and peered out, looking perplexed. Finding no one, he retreated back inside.

She sat down on the sign and prepared to wait for him, however long it should take. This time, she would follow him and make sure he was the one to save them. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again. If there was any indication there was someone he cared for in this life, or something she thought could be a family, she wouldn’t bring him with her. She’d choose someone else.

She still wasn’t sure what a family was, but after all of this, she had learned one thing—if you were lucky to have such a grand thing, it was something you should never lose.

After a few moments, she watched through the window as the man blew out the candles and put on his coat and hat. Stepping outside, he locked the door, looking up one last time at the bell, perhaps wondering if it had a mind of its own.

As the sun set, the air grew cold and brisk, and a sudden breeze threatened to take his hat. He pulled it farther down over his eyes, ducked his head, and started down the street.

Shivering, Tink followed, hoping he didn’t plan to go far. Ever since the pixies had been in Neverland, the air was warm and she wasn’t used to this abrupt change in temperature. Oblivious to the cold pixie following him, the man continued onward, first down one street, then onto the next, in no apparent hurry.

Finally, after what seemed forever, he let himself into a tiny house that seemed to have been squished between two others as an afterthought.

Chattering so hard that she was spreading pixie dust in quick puffs, Tink made a quick decision and darted inside just before the door closed.

From a much warmer perch on the top of an old cabinet, she watched as he listlessly set about lighting his lamps and preparing his supper. Finally returning to the room where Tink waited, he placed his dishes on the table and sank into his chair.

She’d expected him to eat, but he only sat there, staring at the empty chairs surrounding the table with a look of such longing and sadness it was all she could do not to fly down and pat his hair and comfort him as she did her Lost Ones.

“Day in, day out, nothing ever changes,” he whispered. “How I wish to be gone from this place. How I wish for adventure and someone to share it with.”

That settles it, Tink decided with a happy smile. He was the one. Adventure, she could surely give him. And if he wished to be gone from this cramped house, she could do that, too.

He leaned forward, crossed his arms on the table and laid his head on them, as if his thoughts were too much to bear. After he stayed like that for a few moments, she decided this might be the perfect time to make her presence known.

She flew down and landed in a great splash of gold dust, right in front of his nose, and then dipped into a deep curtsy and prepared to introduce herself. When he didn’t respond, she looked up.

His eyes were closed. He’d fallen asleep.

“My name is Tink,” she whispered, as she moved a long strand of hair from his cheek. “Tonight, dream of adventure—for soon it will find you.”

She patted his hair and gave him a smile before flying back up to the top of the cabinet. She yawned, then stretched. It was much too late to head back to Neverland and she was tired.

That looks like a most inviting place to sleep, she decided, eyeing a chipped teacup on the shelf below her.

She flew down to it and settled herself inside. It wasn’t nearly as comfortable as she had expected. The porcelain was cold and hard, so she left it and flew to the peg on the wall where the man had hung his coat and hat.

Finding the wide rim of his hat to be a much softer bed, she curled up on the thick felt, her last thoughts happy as she drifted towards sleep.

Tomorrow Neverland will change, the pixies will be safe once again—and a new adventure will find us all.

1

BAD FORM, INDEED

AN ETERNITY PASSED BEFORE BIG BEN tolled five bells. They were heavenly peals to Archibald Jameson, who began to wonder if time had somehow gotten stuck or if the gigantic clock across the square was broken. Stretching out his long legs, he stood up from the desk and scooted around the corner, taking care not to bump the towering mountain of paper at the edge. Naturally, it was the largest stack in the entire room—the work that he had yet to finish. If he was even a fraction as meticulous a man as his father—the very man who left him the shop—he would have stayed, locked the front door, and remained into the wee hours to finish the work, however long it should take.

But he was not his father, and he had no intention of pretending to be so. While he was very good at running the print shop, it wasn’t something he enjoyed. It was only what he must do to ensure his survival. Remaining any longer than necessary just wasn’t going to happen as far as Archie was concerned. His inheritance should have been a blessing since he was the youngest of four sons. Without the steady work the shop provided, he might as well have lived out on the street, begging for what scraps could be found. To him, the feel of the paper and smell of ink felt like a prison where he was trapped day in and out. His release came in daydreams. As he pondered another life or another world, the work piled up before him. He spent hours upon hours each day, dreaming of adventure, of places and people that always made those in his life seem dull in comparison. Those daydreams made his life bearable.

But even the daydreams wouldn’t hold him there once Big Ben chimed its fifth peal. He never stayed a second longer than required.

He blew out lamps and turned over the sign in the window, then pulled on his frayed, black frock. He took one last glance around, then slapped on his hat and stepped outside. Chilly air greeted him as he pulled the door shut, listening to the muted sounds of the doorbell. He turned the key in the lock and jiggled the knob.

Odd, he thought. The tinkling sounds he heard earlier sounded nothing at all like the brass bell on the frame of that door. Odd, indeed. Perhaps it was the remnants of his latest daydream, for the door had never sounded that way before. Still pondering the bell, he turned and rammed into a young boy, who let out an audible oof, as he landed on the side of the street.

“I do beg your pardon,” Archie said, offering his hand to help the boy up. The lad flashed a smile, showing a unique set of small, pearly white teeth, before he took Archie’s proffered hand and replied, “Quite alright.” Without waiting for Archie to say anything more, the boy took off, disappearing around the bend.

Hunching over against the cold wind that sent leaves dancing about his legs, Archie shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and made his way down the bricked street, no longer in the rush he was in moments before.

“Mary, I don’t see how we can afford to keep her.” The booming voice was startling. Archie glanced up at a window, which was open in spite of the chill. “Let’s see, two pounds nineteen…”

“George, dear…”

“Now, Mary, hold on a moment. I have the tally right here. Do you think we might try it for half a year on say, five five three? Only half the year, mind you. Oh, drat, I forgot to figure in colic.”

The voice of the man and his wife argued back and forth as Archibald stood, rooted in place, wondering at their strange conversation. As this was his normal route home, he walked by No. 27 every evening. He half-hoped this financial dispute might possibly involve their dog. If it did, he would be more than willing to step up and offer to solve their financial dilemma. He lived alone and the thought of the trim Newfoundland he had seen carrying in bottles of milk from the front steps bolstered his spirits.

The talk of colic, however, kept him from knocking on the front door.

“Shall we say one pound? Yes, that is what I’ll put down. But what of mumps? I’ve heard that can be quite taxing. I daresay that should be twenty shillings there. Don’t give me that look, Mary.”

It was at this point a sharp cry of an infant pierced their conversation and Archibald was quite certain that Nana the Newfoundland was most assuredly not the topic of money, colic, mumps, and their current distraught state. He shook his head, wondering about the sanity of the Darlings in No. 27 as the silhouette of a woman he presumed to be Mary shut the window and the voices muted.

Poor Nana, Archibald thought, to be stuck with people such as that.

He didn’t even want to think about the child whose fate rested on the odds of her contracting whooping-cough and so he openly wished the inhabitants of No. 27 would not be so lucky as to have any additional offspring. He voiced exactly that, and in that same instant, heard that funny peal of bells again. This time it sounded suspiciously like laughter.

He spun around, searching for the source, and saw a crone of an old woman who stepped out of No. 31. She heard his wish and didn’t agree with his rather bold assessment. Archie was sure she hadn’t laughed a day since she had been born, and moreover, he was certain that glorious day of her arrival had been at least a century earlier.

“Well,” she puffed up, looking much like a wrinkled, ancient bullfrog before she croaked, “I never!”

“Yes, madam. I should hope for precisely never as it seems the most promising period of time,” he smiled and bent, giving her an elaborate, low bow to thank her for her agreement. “For to wish them more mouths to feed, when one seems to be their undoing, would be bad form, indeed.”

The old woman gaped at him, mouth working like a fish out of water. Then, she clamped it shut in a fierce scowl, and proceeded to slam the door with as much vigor as her frail limbs could muster.

Archibald smiled to himself, silently touching the brim of his hat in mock farewell before he spun, leaving the occupants of both No. 27 and No. 31 to their own devices and ignorance. He continued his stroll down the street in much better spirits, knowing that he bested the old woman and possibly even the Darlings without their even knowing it, though he was certain his sentiments would be relayed by their observant neighbor.

Ah, well. They should have known better than to trifle with something such as a child. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless if it caused them to think of someone other than themselves.

The breeze picked up and proceeded to burst insistent, frigid puffs that threatened to dislodge his hat. He clamped one hand on top, squishing it down around his lean face as he resolutely lengthened his stride and marched on, determined to make it home before the storm set in.

He’d almost made it to the corner, to the place where he normally made the left on N. Westburl, and then a right onto 43rd, followed by a various assortment of other long deviations that would get him safely home, when a large crack of thunder shook the air. He decided that just this once he might consider taking the most direct route, albeit dangerous, foreboding, and possibly life-threatening. He stopped right on the bend of the street, uncertain for a fleeting moment, until the next jolting crack of thunder made up his mind for him. He headed straight along Market Street, which followed the length of the Thames River, hoping that the seedy individuals who lurked around the pier were as mindful of the storm as he, and would not cause him trouble on this particular evening, for even though he was quick-witted and could talk himself out of most troubles, sailors tended to be a harder breed of people. They were a sharp and cunning lot, and Archie did not know if he could outsmart anyone else that day, and didn’t wish to press his luck.

He made it past the pier, hesitating just long enough to glance at the small boats tied to the dock. There were obviously people about, and so far he had been lucky enough not to encounter any of them.

But one final ground-shaking crack and the tinkling sound of bells changed it all. The clouds overhead clashed and he ran for the shelter of a nearby tavern, barely escaping the torrent of rain.

Archie had never been in The Captain’s Keg before. He stopped just inside the door and let his eyes adjust to the dark, smoke-filled room. He realized that not only had he run into the very people he wished to avoid, but that he also had a new problem.

These men weren’t just sailors.

He was ready to run back out and take his chances of drowning in the street, when he heard the same tinkling of bells from earlier. This time, it sounded like mocking laughter.

Well. He might very well be losing his mind, but a coward he was not.

He straightened to his full height—all six feet and four inches of it—and removed his crumpled hat with a flourish, tucking it under his arm. He walked proudly down the three steps that led into the heart of the tavern—to a bar, teeming with pirates.

A couple of heads turned at his arrival and those who met his solemn, blue gaze were quick to drop their eyes back to their drinks. His spirits lifted, Archibald nodded to himself more than to anyone else in particular, a slight smile playing on his lips. He was holding his own.

Still erring on the side of caution, he scanned the length of the bar, finding three open seats. Two were between rather burly, shifty-looking blokes with tattoos. The third seat, on the end of the bar, sat beside an elderly gentleman with longish white sideburns, a round belly, and spectacles to match that sat precariously upon a rather bulbous nose. The gent on the other side was scrawny, his clothes in tatters, thin face in a scowl as he stared at a leaflet of paper before him. Even though he sat still, there was a nervous energy that pulsed off the small man. He gave Archibald the impression of a jittery, starving squirrel. Archibald decided his best chances lay between the old man and the squirrel and so he took his seat, nodding in a genial fashion to the old man, whose watery blue eyes barely gave him a passing glance. The squirrel didn’t acknowledge his presence.

“What’ll it be, mate?” the barkeep asked.

Archibald bit his lip to keep from laughing. Every drink in the tavern was the same yellowish liquid. Why the bald man standing behind the bar bothered to even ask such a mundane question was beyond him. Perhaps he was daydreaming again. He did do that a lot and at times it seemed real. “’Tis all ale, is it not?”

“Aye, but will it be single or double ye’ll be havin’?”

Archibald lifted one finger and waited for his drink.

“Ye’d have much better luck with rum, I should think,” the old man said as he stared down into his own glass, “The ale’s watered down. Not fit for a fish to drink, it isn’t.”

One dreg out of the glass, and Archibald was quite certain the gentleman was more than right. It tasted like something poured from an old boot. Not that he regularly drank from old boots, mind you. Thank heavens he hadn’t ordered twice the amount of the vile stuff. Deciding it better not to even bother asking for the rum, which was most definitely hidden beneath the counter and out of sight, he tossed a couple of coins onto the scarred wooden bar, and sat looking down into the remnants of his glass, listening to the patter of rain on the tin roof.

A strange thought came. For a bar filled with pirates, it was most unusual. It was rather quiet, an odd comment here or there, but otherwise there was nothing but silence. Surely they weren’t all sitting around listening to the rain. Archie couldn’t figure it out. But he knew one thing: these people weren’t living up to his expectations of the loud, fearless persons he always thought pirates to be.

The squirrel on his left shifted around on his stool, staring even harder at the parchment. Sweat popped out on a face that was now a color that reminded Archie of the paper in the print shop, a colorless, pasty white. Good for paper, not for squirrels.

“Well?” a low, deep voice rolled out from a dark corner and broke the silence, startling Archie. “Give us the news then, Harper.”

Ah, well now. Things may get lively yet, Archie thought, casting a quick look to the corner from where the voice rumbled. It was too dark to see the man who sat against the wall, but Archibald got a good look at the pair of worn, dark leather boots propped up on the table, and the curling wisps of cigar smoke that floated up to the rafters.

“It says a r-roy, royy…” the squirrel named Harper stuttered, the paper shaking in his hands.

“Ach! The man canna read it any more than the rest o’ us.” A complaint hurtled from one of the tattooed blokes at the opposite end of the bar.

As if he were getting more anxious, Harper tried again, his voice in a near squeak, “A royy-alll…”

Archie spied the lettering, and against his better conscience, whispered just loud enough that Harper would hear, “A royal pardon is offered to those pirates who surrender on or before the fifth of September, this year of 1718.” He waited as Harper relayed the message, then continued, “Being limited to crimes committed before the fifth of January. All other crimes, committed after such date, will be considered for a death of hanging.”

Archie sensed the old man on the other side of him shuffle about, as if he were searching for something on the insides of his pockets, but Archie’s attention was fixed on the squirrel he saved. Harper turned and gave him a toothless, yet thankful, smile and set to guzzling the contents of his glass as quickly as possible in an effort to calm his shaking nerves.

“Well, that counts us out, lads,” a dark chuckle came from the corner, “No pardon for the likes o’ us, I fear. We all be hanged.”

“Aye, but they must catch us first. I won’t be finding me neck in a noose,” a shout rang out, followed by the murmur of agreement from all the others as they lifted their glasses in salute.

Feeling rather in-tune with the pirates, Archibald picked up his glass as well and toasted the luck of the now boisterous lot, draining the last contents of his glass. Some small part of his brain noted that while the ale was vile before, it also became bitter the longer it sat. The bitterness left as soon as he noticed it, having been replaced with a rather calming sensation.

Pirates truly weren’t a bad lot, he thought sleepily, just people like everyone else. They were only misunderstood. He turned to convince the elderly gentleman on his right of exactly that, when the darkness came and took over. The last thing he heard was the old man chuckle, singing,

“Yo-ho, me mateys, yo-ho…”

“CAREFUL NOW, LADS, mind the poor lout’s head, aye? He’ll be having a dreadful headache come morning without any extra bumps ye’d be givin’ him along the way.”

The voice was familiar—rather achingly so—though Archie couldn’t quite seem to get his faculties in order to remember who the owner of the voice was. The few times he could open his eyes, nothing at all made sense. It all came and went in blurs with distorted figures he couldn’t quite make out. The darkness came and went, so in the end, he figured it better to keep his eyes shut for the time being and try to concentrate on other things, foggy and confusing as they might seem. He thought he was being dragged along the rough boards of the pier, and while that familiar voice seemed to care about the condition of his head, his legs and backside seemed to be another matter entirely of which the man cared not a whit as they bumped him along each splintering plank. Luckily, the drug slipped into his drink deadened the pain, and he only registered the faint, odd pricks and scrapes where the wood had its way with his flesh.

“He’s got hair like black candles, he does,” a crackling voice snickered by his head.

“Aye, Smee, are we taking this poor soul aboard for his long locks? Did the cap’n order you fetch him a wifey, then?” another voice chimed in, followed by raucous laughter, and a low retort from the man named Smee that Archibald couldn’t make out.

“A good bit heavier than he looks,” the first voice by his head huffed, “Slow ye down a bit, Murph. I’m losin’ me grip. Oh drat, there he goes.”

And those were the last words Archibald ever heard on the shores of bonnie England as his head hit the pier and the darkness crept over him once again.

2

SHANGHAIED

HIS HEAD FELT ready to burst into a million pieces at any given second. In a futile effort to keep it whole, Archie clamped both hands on top of his aching skull and gritted his teeth. It would help if the room didn’t feel like it was tilting this way and that. Back and forth, back and forth. Well, it served him right consorting with pirates, he thought ruefully. A most dreadful sort they were and the tavern was no better. He’d know next time to take his chances of drowning in a rain-filled street than to step foot in that particular establishment ever again, or anywhere else where the word keg was sported as part of the name. Yes, better drowned than drunk. A lesson learned the hard way, but still he learned it. That’s all that mattered, though he made a mental note not to share this knowledge with any other living soul. He’d take it to his grave with no one the wiser.

Eyes still shut against the thumping of his head, Archie rolled to one side and sat up, hands still holding a throbbing brain in his skull, lest it decide to pound its way through his eyeballs.

There was one thing of which he was certain—he hadn’t felt this terrible in his entire life. But he didn’t have time to sit and feel sorry for himself, the print shop would have to be opened soon, there was work waiting for him. He was already farther behind than he cared to admit. He could feel just as miserable there as he could here—wherever here happened to be. He loosened his hold on his head in an experimental way to make sure his brain wouldn’t escape him, then rubbed his hands against his sore eyes and slowly opened them.

“Good day.” The old man from the bar nodded from his perch on a bench in the corner of the room. He peered at Archie from behind his spectacles as he whittled on a small chunk of wood.

Well, at least there was only one old man, Archibald reasoned silently to himself. He expected to be seeing double at this point. The problem was that the room still seemed to be moving this way and that. Back and forth, back and forth—with a slight sloshing sound he attributed to his drunken brain, slogging about in his head. He must have gotten too drunk in the tavern to make it home and be sleeping the remnants of his terrible evening off somewhere. The hangover would explain the tilt of the room.

“I’m sorry I cannot wish you a good day as well, as I don’t agree with you on how well this day has begun,” Archibald noted wryly, gripping the edges of the cot in an effort to still his roiling stomach which decided to revolt at the pitch of the room. “Due to the current state of both my head and belly, I must also disagree of your earlier assessment of the ale.”

The old man shook his head. “Nay, ’twas most certainly watered down. Never had a drink in that tavern that wasn’t. Take a wee nip from that jug there near yer feet. It’ll settle yer spirits a bit. May help yer head, too.”

Archie bent over and picked up the small brown jug and pulled the cork. It didn’t take more than a single sniff to tell him what the contents were. He frowned at the old man.

“I fail to see how taking yet another drink will solve my present situation as it ’twas ale that got me into my current predicament.”

“I told ye ye’d fair better with rum, and so ye shall.” The eyes behind the spectacles glared at him as if daring him to contradict him any further.

Deciding to humor him, lest the old man have a heart seizure, Archie took one mouthful of the rum and was in the process of swallowing, when the old man added, “After all, as this ship’s doctor, I should know what I gave you.”

Instead of spewing alcohol everywhere, Archie choked, part of the alcohol burning its way down his windpipe. He hacked and wheezed, feeling sicker than before, as he realized the constant moving of the room was due to the fact that his current location was the belly of a vessel at sea.

“I’m-on-a-ship?” Archibald spat the words out between coughs before he managed to get his breath and his thoughts in order.

“Aye,” the old man said, putting his hand up to ward off the impending onslaught of questions. “The cap’n gave orders to bring any man able to read or write aboard so here ye are. Stroke of luck to have one such as ye to sit beside me as Harper stuttered about on that paper, I should think. We’d still be sitting there if ye hadn’t helped him. Though I admit, I had strong doubts ye’d finish that ale. We appreciate the toast to our livelihood, to be sure.”

No good deed will ever go unpunished, Archibald thought as he stared at the man who looked more like someone’s sweet grandfather than a dark, conniving pirate who abducted men for their ability to read.

“You will release me at once,” Archibald’s voice dropped octaves as he found his bearings and the courage to stand and tower over the old man. He knew he had at least a foot on him and more than a good forty years of youth in his favor.

“Free to go where ye will,” he shrugged, looking up to meet Archie’s cold gaze with his own, “though I doubt it be far. Ye see, we’ve been at sea two days now. As I didn’t think ye’d drink much more of the ale, I dumped the whole vial of drug in that glass. I’m afraid I gave ye quite the dose that knocked ye on yer arse. Be sure that I extend my most humble apologies. But we be far from any shore, unless ye’d be a mighty fine swimmer…” The sentence trailed off as another shrug followed the first and something dark flitted just under the surface of those watery, old eyes. For the first time, Archie wondered if maybe he’d underestimated the old pirate. There was something sinister that lurked under the façade of the slightly amused look on the man’s face as he fiddled with a knife that looked more lethal by the second. Snowy white hair, arthritic, knotty fingers, and spectacles aside, Archie was sure that the man was more than capable of slitting his throat should the need ever arise, and being as he still didn’t have his sea legs under him, he decided odds were not in his favor. Carefully, he backed to the cot and sat.

As if reading Archie’s mind, the old man nodded, “Aye, that’s right, lad, just settle ye down now. I’m thinking we might be starting out wrong. Let’s introduce ourselves proper, eh? Name is Artis Smeeson, better known to the lads aboard as Smee. I’d be ship surgeon, occasional cook, and pirate in general for whatever else need be done.” He gave a small mock bow, not bothering to stand from his comfortable seat on the bench. “At yer service, o’course. And you’d be?”

“Jameson.” Archie didn’t feel obligated to reveal his entire name. As far as he could tell, all the pirates went by a single name anyway. “Which ship am I on and who is her captain?”

“We be on the Queen Anne’s Revenge.”

The simple sentence made Archie even weaker in his knees. Thankful he was sitting down, he managed to whisper, “That means her captain is…”

“Edward Teach,” Smee said. The dark smile that painted his bearded face never reached his eyes.

Archie bent over and buried his head in his hands. Not only had he the misfortune of becoming shanghaied in a tavern, and woken up on a pirate ship while losing two days of his life, the ship he happened to be on was under the management of the most notorious pirate of the seven seas. Undoubtedly, he was the same man in the corner of the tavern that Archie had never gotten a good look at, but for two worn boots and cigar smoke. Archie was ready to crawl under the cot upon which he sat. Throughout all his daydreams, never had he imagined something like this, and most unfortunate was the part that it was reality. There wouldn’t be any waking up from it. What would become of him on a pirate ship out at sea? There was no telling. With a small smile, he realized he wouldn’t ever be going back to the print shop. That thought made him happier than anything had been able to do in a long while. He was free from the obligation of everything in his life. There wouldn’t ever be a need to daydream again. Adventure had found him.

He was sailing with Blackbeard.

“Smee, the cap’n wants you up top. They-they’ve spotted a sh-ship,” the stuttering voice of the squirrel Archie had saved called down from a dark corner in the room. Archie squinted and barely made out the form of a small set of wooden steps.

Smee sighed, scooting off the bench as he called out, “Aye, Harper. I’m on me way.” He shot another look at the man sitting on the cot. “I’ll send him down with a bite. Food might help ye see the situation in a better light, eh?”

Archie gave him a slight nod and watched as the old man made his way up the steps, then listened as he gave orders that food be given to the “poor lout down in the hold.” He rolled his eyes. He’d never been called a lout in all of his twenty-three years, but he supposed there was a first time for everything, and so he decided not to hold it against the elderly, kidnapping, old coot of a pirate. After all, being on a pirate ship—or any ship for that matter—was a first for him. While a small part of his mind still held back in trepidation as his life had been toddling along in a dull manner thus far, there was a small part of his heart that was glad for his perceived misfortune.

He decided that finding out as much as possible about the ship and her crew would be in his best interest and so he stood up, still wobbling more than he cared to admit, and inspected his surroundings more closely. He was in a small room with many kegs spread about. He bumped one and heard a slosh, and then he smelled a faint, familiar scent. After a quick count, he knew that the thirty-some odd barrels surrounding him contained rum. But other than the barrels, his cot, and Smee’s bench, the hold was sparse. It was too bad he hadn’t the mind to ask the old man for more than just the names of the ship and her captain. He was still pondering what little information he possessed, when a slight form appeared on the steps.

“Good to s-see you a-awake, s-sir,” Harper stuttered, not meeting Archie’s gaze as he thrust a small loaf of bread out in front of him.

“Yes,” Archie agreed. He, too, was pleased to be coherent. But instead of giving a flippant reply to the slight, nervous man who obviously felt responsible for his current predicament, Archie smiled and took the loaf, adding the warmest, most sincere thank you he could manage.

It must have worked, as Harper returned his smile, and settled on the bench across from him, watching as Archie tore into the loaf with more enthusiasm than he thought was possible. The fact that he was oblivious to his hunger, and also that the bread was fresh, made it the best thing he’d eaten in his entire life.

Within a few moments it was gone, followed by another swallow of rum and Archie felt his spirits somewhat restored. He turned his full attention on Harper, now intent on gleaning as much information from the man as he could.

“My name is Jameson. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Harper. Jonathan H-Harper,” the man stuttered slightly.

Archie smiled. “Well, Mr. Harper, I thank you kindly for that bread. It was wonderful.”

“Welcome, sir.” Harper replied, still watching Archie warily, though he seemed at ease and his stuttering temporarily ceased.

“Might you tell me a bit about this ship and where we might be headed?” Archie asked in such a genial manner one might have thought he inquired to the state of the weather outside.

“Oh, aye, sir. We be on the Queen Anne’s Revenge with two hundred souls aboard under the watch of Cap’n Blackbeard. We be headed toward the Americas, I’d suppose.”

“You’d suppose? You aren’t certain?”

“No, sir.” Harper shook his head, sending a thatch of brown hair down into his eyes, making him seem very young. “I’ve only been here a couple months longer than you and the cap’n doesn’t tell us much as to where we’re goin’, but I’ve heard talk among the crew that he wanted to get back towards the Americas. S-something about a Lieutenant Maynard who wants his h-head on a s-spike.”

“Well that would seem to be reason enough to leave in a hurry, I should think,” Archie mumbled. It would also account for the lack of cargo. He looked up at the squirrel of a man who stuttered again and shifted about on his seat. His face was younger than he had first thought. The perception of age came from the lines around his mouth, which was due in most part to the absence of teeth. But his eyes were as clear and brown as summer honey, and right now they regarded him with the curious caution of a child.

“So, Harper, is it?” Archie smiled as the squirrel nodded. “Might I be so bold as to ask your age and why you’re on this ship?”

“Sixteen. I’d be here for the same reason as you. But instead of drugging me like they did you, Caesar saw me looking at a paper and thought I was reading, so he swatted me with an oar as I walked by.” He pointed a finger to his mouth of missing teeth.

Poor wee bugger, Archie thought, catching glimpses of a few teeth broken close to his gums. To be abducted for your ability to read and write was bad enough but to be kidnapped by a crushing blow from an oar when you could barely eek out a few simple sentences on a decree? That was most assuredly the worst luck, especially if you had your teeth intact to begin with. He wondered what would happen to the boy in front of him if the captain realized his literary skills were rather lacking. Those few remaining teeth would be doomed for sure. Well, one could hope things wouldn’t go that far. But if any of the rumors Archie heard of the dreaded pirate Blackbeard were anywhere close to being accurate, he was an even rougher character than his crew. And his crew? Well. They weren’t a tame bunch by any means, if the kidnapping old man and the oar-wielding Caesar were any example. Yes, there was more than sufficient reason for the boy in front of him to stutter.

“This Caesar fellow sounds rather…” Archie frowned as he searched for an appropriate word. “Disturbing.”

“Aye, you could say that,” Harper’s voice dropped to a whisper so low that Archie strained to hear him. “Black Caesar’s his name. He’d be Blackbeard’s bo’sun. And he’s got a soul as black as ’is skin so his name surely fits. Take my word; you don’t want to cross ’im. He’ll gut you and hang you from the yardarm faster than a wink. Pure evil, he is.”

“I shall do my best to follow your advice,” Archie said.

“There were women.”

“I beg your pardon?” Archie focused on the squirrel again, wondering if the boy had all of his faculties in order, or if the oar took more than his teeth.

The brown eyes that looked back at him glazed over, remembering as he repeated. “Women,” his voice came out in a low hiss, “he trapped over a hundred of ’em on an island. Stole ’em off ships that were passing through. He’d go off on raids, leave ’em locked up on his island with nothing to eat. Lots of ’em starved… died. They say his island is cursed, haunted with the souls of them women. They run him off. Only thing Caesar’s ’fraid of is evil spirits. That’s the reason he joined up with the cap’n, to get away from ’em.”

“And your point is?” Archie said, mentally hop-scotching, trying to keep up with the boy.

Harper tried to give him a carefree shrug, but the tense hold of his shoulders only hunched him forward, making him look even more defenseless. “I just wanted to warn you. Caesar’s an evil man. A cursed, evil man.”

“Evil. Got it.” Archie gave him a quick, solemn-faced nod which earned him a small, toothless smile. It was then he realized he still hadn’t gleaned very much information from the boy in front of him other than that he was, indeed, only a boy, that their destination was rather vague, and that there was one pirate in particular (other than the one who drugged him) he should keep an eye on.

He didn’t get to quiz the young man any further before shouted curses rang out overhead, and feet pounded across the deck, shaking a cloud of dust down from the beams over the cot. Looking rather alarmed, Harper jumped from his perch and flew up the steps faster than Archie thought possible.

Well, no time like the present, he reasoned to himself as he stood from the cot, thankful that the teeter of his walk was due in most part to the rocking of the ship. The sun glared down at him from overhead, blinding him as he made his way up the stairs. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the scene around him. He gripped the railing on his right side, as crewmen whipped around him in a flurry of activity.

“Ship off the port bow!” Came a bellow from overhead.

Archie gripped the railing tighter as he looked up to see the man who shouted, standing on a small landing, high up on the mast, pointing at a small ship that bobbed along, a miniscule white speck on the deep blue sea.

It was at this next moment Archie found himself wondering if perhaps the print shop might not be a safer haven than where he now stood as he spotted the man described by Harper as pure evil.

“All hands to quarters! Let out the main sail!” The dark-skinned man barked orders as he stalked around the deck, a whip clutched in his hand. Faint blue lines swirled around his bare chest and arms, moving much like the ocean’s own tide. His muscles flexed while he delivered blows here and there, whip cracking on the backs of those too slow to do his bidding.

Archie stared at him, completely fixated on the man with blue tattoos. So entranced he was, in fact, that he hadn’t even realized that in return, he gained the man’s attention by standing there—until it was too late.

“Harper!”

“A-aye, s-sir?” Harper materialized out of thin air, stuttering worse than before.

“Take ’im with you and show him the ropes before I hang him from ’em!” the man snarled, sending a row of golden hoops swaying in his ears whilst giving Archie a rather disconcerting view of white teeth, which were filed to points. “Every man earns ’is keep on this ship. Off with you, before I take the skin from yer back.”

“Aye, s-sir,” Harper mumbled, jerking Archie along to the rigging on the side of the boat as Caesar’s whip cracked on another pirate, “C-come on, then. We-we have to go up top and let o-out the sails.”

Archie followed the boy to the side of the ship, to a confusing web of ropes that hung from the mast to the deck.

Well, isn’t this lovely, he thought as he sighed in despair. He was by no means enthusiastic where heights were concerned. It wasn’t so much that he feared being so high up in the air, it was just that he had never been farther up than a simple ladder could take him. Oh, who was he kidding? He hadn’t been this afraid in his entire life! A fall from such a height would mean a quick and certain death, and that was one occasion he wished to avoid. He half-wondered if his chances would be better facing the sting of Caesar’s whip.

Harper zipped up the rigging, climbing as if he were born a monkey. Archie gulped, then gripped the ropes, and started his perilous ascent. His feet slid around in the rungs and the rope bit into his hands, but still he held fast, making slow progress as he wished to be at the top and be done with whatever it was he was supposed to do to make the sail billow out into the wind.

“Ach, ye fool,” the disgruntled pirate below him complained. “Hurry it up, then! That ship’ll be gone all way to Africa afore ye crawl yer arse up there.”

Several more complaints were issued by the line of men behind him on the rope before Archie made it to the enormous beam, still holding onto the ropes for dear life. He ignored the cursing pirates beneath him and let out his breath. Yes, now it would be much better. All he had to do now was follow Harper and figure out how to let out that blasted sail.

As he watched, Archie learned that the climb up to the mast was the easiest part of the task. Harper grabbed hold of the beam, bare feet walking easily out onto a single rope stretched beneath the mast with nothing at all holding him fast. He turned and gestured for Archie to follow his lead.

He has to be joking, Archie thought as he stared at Harper in disbelief. They wanted him to walk out on a single rope with nothing to keep him from falling? It was fool’s errand. Pure insanity. The squirrel had obviously lost all of his marbles.

“Hurry ye up, ye yellow-bellied coward,” the pirate below him snarled, apparently in a hurry to join Harper for their suicidal walk along the mast.

Well, all the pirates below him were insane, too. Every one of them nuts, Archie concluded. He hadn’t joined a pirate ship. Nay, ’twas a circus.

“Your shoes.” Harper pointed to the buckled, black leather on his feet. “Take ’em off. Should’ve done took ’em off first thing. Be quick now and throw ’em down.”

“Aye, before we throw ye down!” the man below him threatened, grabbing hold of Archie’s feet and jerking off his shoes before he could object. Luckily, he had a good hold on the ropes before his feet were pulled from beneath him. Two hollow thuds sounded as his shoes landed far below him on the deck. Archie wondered if that was the same sound his skull was going to make when he landed between his shoes.

A rough hand grabbed hold of the seat of his breeches and shoved him upward, pushing him the last few inches until he found himself on the same foot rope as Harper with the pirates behind him, pushing him along, leaving him no choice but to follow the boy. He gripped the rough rope with his bare toes as he clung to the beam in front of him. He was surprised when he didn’t slip. He scooted along after Harper, ignoring the sharp twinges as the rope cut into his tender flesh of his feet. It was much easier walking on this single rope with no shoes, than it had been climbing up the rigging with the slick-soled leather on.

“Aye, that’s good then,” Harper said as they reached the center of the mast, “Now we loose the sail. Untie the reef points.”

Archie watched a full second as Harper grabbed hold of one of the leather ties that bound the sail around the mast. He was quick, and within a second, the first was untied and he moved on to the next one. Archie’s fingers found the tie in front of him and untwisted the leather. With the quick work of the pirates on either side of him, it took merely a moment until the canvas sail came free and caught in the wind.

“Hold fast.” Harper instructed, motioning to the thick, wooden yard as Archie felt the lurch of the ship as the wind hit her sails and they began their pursuit of the white speck on the sea.

“Hoist the colors,” came another order from below.

Archie looked down at the quarterdeck to the frightening sight of the captain of the Queen Anne’s Revenge, dressed in his finest. Archie watched as he turned, looking every inch a pirate king, from his fine-feathered hat to his boots. The sound of the flag being raised registered dimly in his mind as the captain turned his black gaze up to the mast.

Seconds later, Archie’s view was blocked by a black flag depicting a skeleton spearing a heart with one hand while toasting the devil with the other. But in those few seconds before, he spotted the fuses lit in the black beard that sent wisps of smoke about the captain’s head, and saw no traces of mercy in the dark eyes that met his.

Archie wondered if maybe the flag’s bones weren’t toasting the captain himself.

3

WE SHALL HAVE TEA

ARCHIBALD WAS MOST IMPRESSED with the Queen Anne’s Revenge. Within moments of climbing back down the rigging, the Dutch fluyt came into sight, bobbing along close enough that he could see the panicked faces of her crew scurrying about on her deck in vain efforts to flee.

And very well troubled they should be, Archie reasoned. It was quite sensible of them to be so. The Dutch ship was by no means small, but the Anne made her look like a small, inadequate dinghy in comparison. With three giant masts whose sails were taut in the wind, she was swooping in on the smaller ship at an impressive speed. Then, of course, there were forty guns on board, add in three times the hands on deck (and ferocious hands they were, to boot), and a captain who looked as if he had just surfaced from the depths of hell on a mission to consume the soul of the merchant ship. Yes, if those Dutchmen were in their right minds, they were terrified.

Archie stood out of the way, and tried to look as unassuming as possible as a variety of menacing pirates whipped around him. If he was lucky, they would ignore his presence and he wouldn’t be pressed into another task that would leave him weak-kneed and bereft of any more odd articles of clothing. Namely, his shoes that he still hadn’t been able to find. He hoped that he wouldn’t need them anytime soon. But if he were going to be forced to engage the enemy in combat, he preferred to have them on. It wasn’t that he minded standing on the smooth wood of the deck in his bare toes. The truth of the matter was that he felt if fate should decide he would meet his end this day, he wished to have all that he had come onto this ship with, however little it would be.

That included his shoes.

He craned his neck, trying to spot them between the various bodies that ran about. At least it didn’t appear anyone had stolen them. Nearly all the feet he saw were bare, save the captain in his booted splendor.

He spotted one shoe near the quarterdeck, and so he eased himself along until he reached it and snatched it up, feeling somewhat better. As to its mate, he gave up hope of ever finding it, and resumed his task of looking as inconspicuous as possible since he gained the attention of a couple of swarthy-looking lads while on his quest to recover that one shoe.

“Fire a warning shot off her bow, if ye please, Mr. Moreau,” the captain folded his hands behind his back, looking every part the crazed gentlemen with fuses lit in his beard as he addressed someone on deck.

“Aye, Capitan,” the man spoke with a definite French accent. His black, curl-covered head was bent over an enormous cannon as he peered across the sea, carefully gauging the distance so as not to accidentally blow a hole in the other ship.

After all, what kind of warning would they be sending if they sunk yon ship with the first blast? Archie smiled to himself as he wondered if that particular scenario ever happened.

But he didn’t get to see it occur this time, because seconds later, after he gauged his distance, the curly-headed man jumped back, yelling his order, “Fire!”

The hot linstock touched the cannon and the cannon fired, recoiling several feet back to be caught by several ropes so as to keep it from rolling across the ship and squashing those so unfortunate to be in its path. The most unfortunate of all, being Archie, who seemed to be in adventure’s way once again as in that instant he happened to spot his other shoe through the cloud of grey smoke, a few feet away near the cannon.

Forgetting his previous goal of looking invisible, he was close to his shoe, when a whip cracked the air and a deep voice bellowed, “Ye had a warning.”

Archie looked up to see Caesar, arm raised to lower the whip on him when the man who ordered the cannon’s blast stepped in Caesar’s path, catching his arm with not a second to spare.

“The man has not signed the book,” he said in a tone that dared Caesar to contradict him. “So until the capitan says otherwise, he does not get treated as part of the crew. Strike him and you shall break the code. Then you’ll face me.”

Caesar never uttered a word as he lowered his whip. He glared at the man for a moment, then turned, taking his fury to the other end of the ship where several other pirates felt his wrath.

“Here you are, mon ami.” The man smiled at him, handing him the shoe. “I am Philip Moreau, at your service.”

“Thank you, sir,” Archie said, “I am Archibald Jameson.” This man, he decided, was worthy to know his full name.

“Well, Mr. Jameson, might I suggest that you take greater care once you have joined us that you do not attract the end of Caesar’s whip. It carries a most terrible sting.”

Archie nodded. He had no intention of being Black Caesar’s whipping boy.

“Mr. Moreau.” The captain’s black eyes found his first mate. “If you are finished distributing pleasantries and footwear, would you be so kind as to join me on the quarterdeck?” He turned to look at the fluyt, which offered surrender upon the cannon’s blast; a white flag now flapped amongst her sails. “Company, we’ll be havin’ soon.”

“Y-you follow m-me.” Harper materialized at Archie’s side as Moreau left to follow his orders. “C-come on. They’ll be boardin’ her s-soon.” He led Archie away from his spot near the quarterdeck.

Luckily, this time he wasn’t required to go up and tie the sails. The news of Mr. Moreau’s assessment of his current position of guest, and not pirate, traveled through the crew and he was left alone, safely at the bottom of the mast as he watched Harper and the others scale the rigging in record time.

Archie felt the ship slow as they neared the other vessel. She was a smaller ship, with two masts and a tiny, defeated crew that stood on deck, looking extremely depressed. It was obvious she was a merchant ship from the small smattering of guns that she sported. Though there was more cargo space, there would not have been much of a defense, had they been so foolish as to decide to do battle with the Queen Anne’s Revenge. The fluyt was an oddly built ship, larger at the bottom where she held her cargo, then tapering upward to a smaller deck. The wooden figurehead of a mermaid with flowing hair and open arms was mounted on the ship’s bow, her body poised as if she had sprung from the sea to greet them.

Jolig Roger. Archie spotted the name on her bow and racked his brain for the small bits of Dutch language that lingered there. The Jolly Roger, that was it. He suppressed a smirk. Her crew looked anything but jolly as the Queen Anne’s Revenge drew alongside and grapnel hooks were thrown to her deck, catching her railings and drawing her fast.

There weren’t but a handful of sailors aboard, and though they didn’t appear the least bit happy, they also didn’t seem anxious to be boarded. At least they had sense enough not to offer any resistance.

Their captain came to the railing and waited as the ships were secured. He was a short, portly man with a balding head and a dour expression, whether from being boarded by a pirate crew or just his usual appearance, Archie wasn’t sure, though he was betting on the latter. The man came forward, scowling for all he was worth, and approached Blackbeard without an inkling of fear. He thrust his sword out toward the captain with the still-smoking beard, hilt first, giving Blackbeard complete control of his vessel and crew, without uttering a single word.

The smoldering, black eyes of the captain regarded the man for a moment before taking the gleaming handle. Then he smiled, and addressed his first mate, “Mr. Moreau, if you’d be so kind as to send for Mr. Smee. As the lads check yon bonny ship and her cargo, the good captain here and meself shall take our tea on the deck.”

Archie felt his jaw drop. Never before had Archie heard of any pirate offering a merchant captain teatime as his cargo was being confiscated. No guns fired, save for the single warning shot. No one had even so much as drawn a pistol or sword. The entire chain of events went so smoothly that Smee was pushing a small table to the center of the deck, befitting it with a pristine white cloth, cups of tea, and small biscuits.

Archie was beginning to admire Blackbeard more and more. The man looked fiercer than anything Archie had ever seen, but there was also cunning and wisdom behind those black eyes that made him believe if there were ever a pirate ship to be on, this was it. He made himself a promise in that moment. He would do everything in his power to be as much a pirate as the man who sat, with the fuses still lit in his beard, taking a dainty sip of tea with his captured prey.

He spotted Harper on his way to the Jolig Roger, and decided that he would offer his assistance. He was now more than ready to be a full member of the crew—so long as they didn’t make him climb up the rigging every five minutes. He paused just long enough to chuck his shoes behind a coil of rope so he would be able to find them again, and then ran to catch up with the squirrel, who had made it onto the deck of the Dutch ship.

“She’s carrying sugar.” A triumphant Harper grinned at him over the casks and sacks that filled the hold. “She’s plumb full of it!” His voice ended in a happy squeak and the squirrel hopped from one foot to the other, giving Archie the impression that they found gold instead of the multitude of sweet granules that surrounded them. He resisted the urge to dance around too, less perhaps it wasn’t that big a deal, but from the wide grins on the faces of the pirates around them, it seemed obvious that it was valuable cargo indeed.

“There will be no need in moving all this.” Moreau appeared, face creased in a wide smile as he took in their cache. “I will inform the capitan we will take the ship with us as we go. Take her crew aboard the Anne and put them in irons below her decks. Move lively, lads, lest they change their minds about being so hospitable in giving us their lovely sweets.”

Several pirates scurried from the hold, eager to imprison the merchant sailors while Moreau turned to Archie. “So do you wish to take your share of our plunder and join our crew under the black flag?”

“Yes.” The statement was simple, but held all the power that a single word possibly could as Archibald had never wanted anything so much in his entire life.

They left the Jolig Roger and Moreau disappeared for a moment, then came back with a large leather-bound book in his hands with a detailed picture of the Queen Anne’s Revenge embossed on its cover.

“The ledger of all souls aboard,” he explained, taking the book to the small table where the two captains sat, warily regarding one another over a small porcelain teapot. “If you would excuse the intrusion, mon capitan,” Moreau waited until the dark gaze of Blackbeard fell upon Archibald, “This good fellow wishes to become one of the crew.” He set the book and a quill with ink amongst the plate of biscuits, then backed up and gave Archie a firm shove toward the table.

“So ye want to join me crew.” Blackbeard sounded bemused. “Why should I let ye? Are ye carpenter or sailmaker, per chance?”

“No, I am a cook.” The lie slid off Archie’s tongue so easily it even surprised himself, but it was the only thing he could think of that might keep him off the rigging as a pirate.

“A cook that reads, now that’s a rare find, I should think. Thank me lucky stars, I should, as fate has smiled so sweetly on me this day.” The deep laugh that rumbled from Blackbeard in response to his own joke not only startled Archie, but also seemed to unnerve the Dutch captain whose hand shook as his teacup clattered to the saucer. “What be yer name, lad?”

“Jameson.”

“Well, Jameson, make your mark and join our merry crew.” Blackbeard shoved the book toward him.

Archie took the quill, noticing the marks happened to be a line of Xs, as if the majority of the crew couldn’t so much as sign their name. He dipped the sharp edge into the ink, and at the bottom of the page, changed his life forever.

His ears registered the strange tinkling of bells again, though his brain didn’t recognize it as he stared down at the name he had written.

A. Jameson.

Blackbeard glanced down at the book before shutting it with a quick snap that caused the Dutch captain to jump in his seat. Handing the book back to his first mate, Blackbeard smiled, a small gleam of white teeth hidden beneath his beard.

“Welcome to the Queen Anne’s Revenge.”

4

SO NOW YE ARE A PIRATE

THE WEEK THAT followed was grueling. Never had Archibald figured that the job of cooking for a few pirates would be so difficult. Simply getting the oven the correct temperature was almost impossible. Then, of course, there was the fact that he didn’t know exactly how to cook anything past the basics for a simple tea. Feeding a crew of over two hundred was by no means a piece of cake. Not that he had cake to give them, anyway. That particular item was above his skill level and would never grace his menu as long as he was cook. His crewmates were lucky to get burnt stew, which they ate for quite a few meals in a row. Naturally, this caused a few of them to mumble various curses and threats as he scooped out their rations, should he not improve his culinary skills quickly and to their liking. The fact that he was taller and looked more imposing than those dissatisfied souls seemed to be the only reason they had not made good on their threats thus far, but Archie wasn’t fool enough to think he would be able to intimidate them much longer. After all, if anyone forced him to eat the slop he had been calling food, he would have been more than irate himself. Something was going to have to happen—and soon—before he ended up being tossed over the side of the ship as fish bait.

He was in the process of stirring yet another pot of sludge—named stew—wondering if perhaps he should have lied about knowing how to make sails or build ships, when Smee came hobbling into the galley.

“Ye can’t feed the poor louts the same thing day in and day out,” he advised, “It gets ’em in an awful mood, ye see.”

Archie sighed, deciding it was time to confide his secret with someone. And if there was anyone on board that would be an acceptable ally, it was the old man who knew how to drug people. “I am not a cook,” he told Smee solemnly, giving him the full effect of the truth as he stared him straight in the eye.

“Ye don’t say!” Smee feigned shock, placing a gnarled hand over his chest as if in the beginning throes of a heart seizure.

“Yes, I do say.” Archie nodded sadly. “I haven’t a clue how to make anything more than a simple pasty for tea.”

“I don’t think ye can even make that.” Smee smacked the burnt chunk of flour named the “pasty” on the side of the table, as if expecting to dent the wooden leg. “I’m thinkin’ ye best tell the cap’n that ye aren’t cut out for cook duty.”

“So he can feed me to the fishes? I think not.” Archie folded his arms across his chest, unwilling to contemplate telling Blackbeard the truth of the matter.

“Aye, well. Ye can’t keep going on the way ye are. The crew will murder ye before the cap’n has the chance,” Smee observed, then sighed, “Suppose I best show ye a thing or two then? Else ye might be layin’ at the bottom of the sea soon.”

“I suppose I could use a bit of your help.” Archie nodded.

Smee hobbled to the pantry and looked in. “Why haven’t ye given the lads their bread ration? There be plenty in here.”

“It would seem we have a bug infestation,” Archie noted as he walked over and took a chunk of bread and showed it to the old man, pointing out the small black creatures that wriggled there.

“Ach! ’Tis naught but weevils.” Smee shook his head despairingly and picked up a plate, smacking the bread hard enough that the little beasties fell free and crawled about on the flat surface, “Any sailor knows there be nothing to fear from a weevil. A bit of extra crunchy meat you may not see mayhap, but nothing that’ll kill ye.”

Archie watched in disdain as the old man took a bite of the bread. He wrinkled up his nose. He had considered himself a pirate ever since he signed that book, but apparently he wasn’t as much of one as he thought. Of course, at the time, he didn’t realize eating bugs was a requirement.

“All right then, laddie. What say we fix ’em up something worth eatin’, eh?” Smee collected an odd variety of items from the pantry and started banging around with pots and pans.

Archie watched in amazement as the old man bustled about, demonstrating full knowledge of the galley with its cantankerous oven. He stopped long enough to hand the crock full of stew to him. “Here. Throw this overboard, aye?”

Archie turned to do as he was told, the old man’s voice carrying after him. “The pot, too. It’s ruint.”

He made his way up the steps and across the deck, chucking the pot into the sea, much to the crew’s delight.

“Maybe he’s giving up as cook,” he heard one pirate say hopefully.

“Aye, me bowels haven’t been the same since he came aboard,” another chimed in as he made his way back down to the galley.

In the few moments he was away, Smee was busy and the pot that started to bubble smelled enticing. Surprisingly so, Archie noted, for it being cooked by a man who had just eaten bug-infested bread.

“Here, cut these up.” Smee thrust an armload of potatoes at him and handed him a knife. “Make yerself useful instead o’ standin’ there gawking at me.”

By the time Archie finished chopping up vegetables, the aroma from the galley attracted the attention of several of the crew. They were, undoubtedly, curious and hungry for something other than Archie’s sludge.

“Get gone,” Smee ordered, “It will be done soon enough. Ye won’t be dyin’ of starvation if ye wait a bit longer.”

Begrudgingly, they left, though one pirate in particular gave Archie a look that chilled him to the bone as he moved to the door. Something wasn’t quite right with that one. Something crazed flitted below the surface of his eyes, something… not… sane. Archie felt the hair on the back of his neck rise up on end as the man muttered, “Finish him… can’t cook… should just finish him here and now. Better off without ’im.”

“Move if ye would, please.” Smee gave Archie his sweet, grandfatherly smile, oblivious to the pirate who muttered just outside the doorway.

A strange request to be sure, Archie thought, but he switched places with the old man more for the reason of putting distance between himself and the door than to appease Smee.

A moment later, the mutterings got louder and the pirate burst into the galley, a knife gleaming in his upraised fist. He faltered upon seeing Smee and the old man spun around, neatly planting his own knife between the man’s ribs. There was a sickening, crunching sound as Smee pulled the knife out and the blank look of the dead settled itself on the face of the would-be assailant as he fell to the floor in a heap.

Smee set to wiping his blade off on the edge of his apron, and then gasped as he saw the pot on the stove boil over.

“Curse ye for a fool, Jake Awbry,” he glowered, stepping over the corpse that had landed near the oven. “Leave it for ye to be the one to ruin a decent pot o’ soup.”

Archie stood with his mouth open, watching as Smee went back to stirring the pot as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

“Ye could go and grab one of the lads and get Jake on out of here,” Smee said in a conversational tone as if the man below him were merely drunk instead of dead. He turned and looked at Archie. “Well, go on then! It’s not like he’s going to walk himself out from under me feet, now is he!”

Fumbling, Archie made it around both cook and corpse, and had the good luck of running into Harper. Relieved that he found someone he knew, he stopped the squirrel.

“Do you think you might be able to help me a moment?”

“I know less about cooking than you, if that is possible,” Harper said in an odd moment of clear speech.

“It isn’t cooking that I need your help with.”

“I beg to differ. You couldn’t cook an egg if the chicken were to lay it in the pan for you.” Harper grinned. “You need all the help you can get.”

Of all times for the boy to become friendly, this wasn’t the time Archie hoped for. “I need bloody help moving a dead body.”

“Oh, really? Who is it?” Harper craned his neck to see around Archie. Then he spotted the dead face by Smee’s foot. “Jake Awbry. Can’t say I’m sorry ’tis him. What did you do? Kill him with your cooking?” He snickered, following Archie back into the galley.

It took several heaves, loud expletives, and odd grunting to get the dead maniac up to the deck. Luckily, no one said a word to them as they dropped his body unceremoniously in a heap by the mast and headed back below decks; Archie to the galley, and Harper disappearing to wherever he had been going to begin with.

The soup wasn’t burnt, so that made it the first meal in over a week that hadn’t been scorched beyond recognition. It was too bad Archie couldn’t take any credit for it. Smee handed him a platter with filled bowls, then took another himself laden with bug-eaten bread. “We’ll take this to the captain’s quarters first. Best we let him know about Jake so he can sell ’is effects and send the money to ’is widow.”

Archie was astounded by the complete lack of remorse. By the old man’s tone of voice, one would have assumed the pirate died peacefully in his sleep instead of being knifed to death, never mind the fact that there was a woman somewhere who didn’t yet know her dear, although insane, husband would soon be lying in the darkest corners of Davy Jones’ locker.

“Well, come on, then,” Smee urged, as if noticing the slow progress of the lad in front of him. “Soup’s no good cold, ye know.”

Cold or no, it is a definite improvement from what they had been eating, make no mistake. There was no way anyone was going to complain about the temperature of this meal, Archie thought, not bothering to change or lengthen his stride. They would get there soon enough without any help on his part.

They crossed over to the hold and climbed the steps, with Archie moving even slower than before. Smee huffed and grumbled under his breath, until the very last when he went quiet. That moment of the old man’s silence unnerved Archie even more as he heard nothing but the sounds of the ocean and creaking of the ship. After twenty-three years of life, he discovered he still hadn’t mastered the art of walking. At least not where the Queen Anne’s Revenge was concerned. Nervousness and the tilting vessel were his undoing as he stumbled, barely catching his footing before he landed headfirst in the captain’s door. Fate, however, was smiling down on him and the soup stayed mostly in the bowls with the exception of a few splashes on the wooden platter.

“Saint Brendan!” Smee scowled at Archie. “Why on earth do I bother to help ye, I’d like to know.”

Archie didn’t bother answering him, though he pondered why the old man would invoke the patron saint of whales to protect lukewarm soup. Surely his stew hadn’t been that bad. He was still frowning at the current state of events when he heard the strange tinkling sound again. He hadn’t heard it since that fateful night he stepped in the tavern. Nevertheless, there it was. The sounds of bells, laughing at him again.

He jerked around to see if Smee had heard the tinkling sound, too. It was plain from the dour expression that stretched from one fuzzy white sideburn to the other that he hadn’t, although it did appear he was considering finishing the job Jake Awbry had set out to do if Archie didn’t soon knock on the door.

“Will ye be comin’ in today, perhaps? Or do ye plan on standing guard at me door for the rest o’ the night?” Blackbeard’s voice grumbled at them from inside his quarters.

Not bothering with a polite knock, Archie gave the door a shove with his elbow, carefully balanced his platter, and entered.

Blackbeard took a deep breath and smiled, white teeth gleaming in his beard. “Smee, ye had mercy. Smelled your soup all the way through the floorboards, I did.”

“Aye.” Smee returned the smile genially, as if he regularly bestowed his good graces on the most unfortunate of the crew.

A map depicting the various stars lay unrolled on the table. Ignoring the two pirates, Archie set his platter on the far side, safely away from the paper and inspected the map, tracing various dots with his fingertips.

BLACKBEARD WATCHED THE cook, whose head was bent over the table. His long, black hair hid his face from view, but his fingers moved along as if they knew the paths of the sky by heart. There was rarely anything he missed, especially when it came to his crew. He knew each of his men well, their attributes and their downfalls. And while he was generous to a fault, there was also a reason he was known as the scourge of the seven seas. It was a title earned through sharpness and cunning, the same attributes that kept him out of the clutches of the British Navy thus far.

As he eyed his newest crew member, he was certain the man didn’t have a clue how to cook. He had known it since the first meal he had been served, when half of his men spent the night with their bums on chamber pots, the other half vomiting over the railings. It was no wonder the man in front of him made so many enemies in such a short time, but still the man showed grit in not giving up, continuing to serve the same, awful slop defiantly, day after day.

Blackbeard’s stomach gave a queasy turn at the thought of the man continuing to prepare his meals, so he asked hopefully, “Know something of the stars, do you, lad?”

“YES.” IT WAS truth this time. Simple truth. Archie had been in love with the sky for as long as he could remember. As a child, he would lay under the twinkling stars, memorizing their names, tracing the patterns of their constellations with his fingertips pointed at the sky.

“This one right here.” He pointed at one of the largest dots. “This is Regulus. There are five other stars in its group.” He traced them with his finger, showing that they made a sickle shape, a nearly perfect hook. “They are at their brightest now; but they will disappear during the autumn months and stay hidden until the following spring.”

Blackbeard nodded, more than pleased with this display of knowledge. “Well, Mr. Jameson, what say ye to being my navigator instead the ship’s cook?”

“Well,” Archie was rather taken aback by the offer and tried not to look ecstatic. “I do appreciate the offer, but the crew may have need of my culinary skills if we are to survive, I’m afraid.”

The two small sections beneath Blackbeard’s eyes—the only places not swamped by hair—became as red as two tiny poppies, as if he were attempting not to laugh outright. A slight snort escaped him as he said, “I think ye’ll have naught to worry about, lad. I’m sure we shall survive just fine without your ministrations.”

“There be a slight matter that happened in the galley a bit ago,” Smee interjected.

Ah, yes. Here it comes, Archie thought. He had just gotten a chance to break free from his prison and before he could accept, Smee was going to ruin it all.

“The matter being Jake Awbry, I would suppose?”

The man must know all that happened aboard his ship. The pirate hasn’t even been dead long enough to get cold, Archie thought, surprised.

“Aye. He came at us in a fitful rage, he did.” Smee shook his head in a knowing way. “I had me back turned for the soup and yon lad was peelin’ praties. Jake was nearly on me when the laddie sunk a knife in him. Saved my life, he did.”

If Archie was speechless before, now he was dumbstruck. That was in no way how he remembered the chain of events, though now he was certain that Smee was an Irishman, for no one else ever mentioned potatoes as praties to him before.

“Is that so, then.” Blackbeard’s gaze rested on him.

It seemed more a statement than a question, so Archie didn’t even nod his head. Admitting to being a murderer was different than admitting to be a cook. Maybe it was possible the captain didn’t know every single detail on the boat after all. There were only himself and Smee as witnesses, but he still wasn’t going to say a word unless he was asked a specific question.

“Well, then. It seems the crew should think themselves lucky that none others took the same path as Jake Awbry.” Blackbeard shrugged. “Ye start in the morning as my navigator, Mr. Jameson.”

Just like that, Archie’s days in the galley ended without a word said on his part, neither accepting nor denying a thing, for which he was extremely grateful. Nevertheless, later on, once they were safely away, Archie turned to Smee for answers.

“Why did you say I killed Jake?”

“Ye needed a roughness to ye, lad.” Smee smiled, though it didn’t reach his watery eyes. “You dealt a single, sure stroke that felled a man to his death. The men will accept ye as one of their own, no doubt. They’ll be thinkin’ twice afore they cross ye again.” He watched as Archie mulled over this latest bit of information, and some dark thought showed in his eyes. “Aye, that’s right, lad. So now ye are a pirate.”

5

THE FIRST RULE

DEATH AT SEA WAS DISCONCERTING. Archie wasn’t sure if he came to that conclusion by the body sewn mummy-style in the sail at his feet with an added two cannon balls to sink the corpse to his watery grave or by the fact that the wind picked up and smacked at the ship as if it were angry with them. The waves grew taller. It felt as if the ghosts of the deep had arrived to ferry the dead man to the underworld—and impatient ghosts they were, to boot.

“N-not to s-speak ill of the d-dead and rush old Jake’s last r-rites, but might we hurry this a-along?” Harper asked, watching the approach of the blackest clouds that Archie had ever seen.

“Aye,” Blackbeard agreed in a doleful tone, looking up at the sky as he stood up on the quarterdeck to officiate the makeshift funeral. Thankfully, there were no lit fuses in his beard this time, but rather he had befitted his long tresses with black silk ribbons. It must have been proper attire for mourning, by the captain’s way of thinking. He cleared his throat, then rumbled, “Jake Awbry was a good pirate. Quick on the rigging and always kept a weather eye from the maintop. May he find good fortune in the hereafter.” He stopped for a moment, as if to make certain that was all that he could say nice about the man, and nodded to Archie and the others who surrounded the corpse.

Well. That was short and sweet, Archie thought as he helped pick up Jake who wasn’t dead long enough to even get stiff. They hauled him to the edge of the ship, pausing just a moment to raise him high enough to clear the railing and toss him over into the waves. The ocean swallowed him as if it had just risen for the occasion. A streak of lightning crossed the sky at the exact second the body hit the water.

“Sell his effects later, aye?” Blackbeard yelled over the thunder. “Here she comes, lads. Prepare to weather the squall!”

The Jolig Roger bobbed along a short distance behind them, following the same plan of action as they reduced their sails, checked the ropes on what cannons they could reach in a short amount of time and held tight, ready to ride out the storm that bore down on them in fury. Buckets of rain smashed down, sending pirates sliding all over the slick wood. Several fell and went rolling, smacking into cannons and masts until they all were able to take cover from the storm.

It lasted moments, moving off as quickly as it had come; then the sun came back out as if nothing at all had happened out of the ordinary. The only proof that anything had occurred were the bruises on the sailors and a quickly drying deck.

The entire experience was unnerving. Archie decided to construct his own set of rules at this point, beginning with the first. Do not die at sea, pirate or no.

“Mr. Smee, if ye would like to resume the sale of the deceased’s effects before we cast off and leave this forsaken place, ye may,” the captain said, before turning to address Archie, “Mr. Jameson, once ye are finished here, chart our path to Madeira, if ye’d be so kind.”

Archie nearly passed on the auction of Jake Awbry’s meager earthly goods, which seemed to contain naught but a clay pipe and a well-used stack of playing cards. He was starting to leave and make his way to the chartroom when a fencing sword caught his attention.

“All right, ye cheap-hearted buggers.” Smee scowled, obviously not impressed with the forthright good nature of his fellow crew. “Ol’ Jake has a widow, ye know. Best ye think of that and dig deep in yer pockets. Who wants to start the bidding?”

Nonplussed at being called names, several pirates crossed their arms over their chests, unwilling to be badgered into offering the slightest bit for the small collection of goods. There wasn’t anything there worth having. The pipe was cracked, the cards were so worn that their ink was faded, and the sword was standard issue for a gentleman, but gentlemen they were not. These men preferred thicker blades, things that would not take such precision and care to hack down their enemy. None of them wanted the thin rapier.

Save Archie.

He searched about his person, coming up with the solitary coin left to his name.

“Here.” He handed it to Smee. “When I receive my share of our cargo, I shall give you more to send to the Widow Awbry.”

“Aye, take it and be merry.” Smee traded the odd lot of stuff for the coin, pleased enough with the arrangement.

Archie made his way to the maps and settled down. The storm hadn’t moved them very far off course from the island Blackbeard instructed him to find. They should be there in a few days if they didn’t run into any other squalls or strong headwinds. He informed the captain of his findings and relayed the message to the crewman who signaled the news and headings to the Jolig Roger, then made his way below decks to his bunk amongst the casks of rum to inspect his new belongings more closely.

There wasn’t a whole lot his father insisted upon, but luckily enough, fencing classes for all four of his sons was something he took seriously. He considered it an essential part of becoming a gentleman in their society, so every week for hours each evening, the four brothers would take their lessons, regardless of whether they wished to or not. All became skilled with a rapier, though the most proficient had been the youngest brother. Archibald took to his lessons with a vigor his siblings lacked. For his brothers, it was something their father required of them to gain their nobility. Nothing more.

But Archie was different.

Archie mastered his swordplay for the love of feeling the thin rapier in his hand. It was a strong, light weapon that would wear any opponent down if used properly. He practiced for hours to obtain that skill.

Now that his weapon of choice lay in his hands, he felt safe for the first time since he had woken up on the Anne. If anyone else should dare attack him, they would take their place beside Jake Awbry in the murky depths of the ocean. Smee may have given him the reputation he needed to survive, but now he had what he needed to back it up.

He grinned, his blue eyes sparkling and dancing with mirth.

Oh, yes. He was a pirate. Let them come for him now.

6

WHAT’S IN AN ISLAND?

THEY ARRIVED AT Madeira three days later, much to the crew’s delight. The joy was contagious as they made their way to the island. Blackbeard even looked pleased, a jaunty blue ribbon braided into his beard as he stood at the head of the first longboat being rowed ashore. Several boats followed behind him, with the majority of both crews, dressed in their finest and hauling quite a bit of sugar in a tug behind them.

The thirty-odd hands that kept the Jolig Roger afloat and unharmed seemed more than ecstatic as they now could get rid of the Dutch sailors who had been chained below decks. The Dutchmen were the ones who didn’t look happy, though they did seem to be relieved to be breathing fresh air again.

Madeira was a Portuguese island, and though it was a free port, it was a haven for bandits who did not raid or engage any Portuguese ships. Blackbeard knew this well, so Madeira became one of the last safe places where he and his crew could come and go at will without the British Navy at their throats, though they all knew it was a matter of time before it would come to an end. Her Majesty’s Navy had a strong dislike for all pirates, but their greatest hatred seemed reserved for Blackbeard himself, the only brigand who always managed to elude their grasp. One naval officer in particular, Lieutenant Maynard, made it his solitary goal in life to track the notorious man down, swearing to stop at nothing until he saw him hang from the end of a noose.

But for now, the worries of Her Majesty’s British Navy were the farthest things from the crew’s minds. They were free men, ready to release their prisoners, unload their cargo of sugar and take their profits, and of course cause whatever mischief their hearts desired. That in itself was enough to raise their spirits, though the majority of them looked forward to the spirits they would find in bottles—and the wenches who would bring those bottles.

“I’m gettin’ me a t-tattoo,” Harper announced as they rowed to shore in the longboat.

“Ah. Well, that is wise, I suppose.” Archie nodded. Most of the crew inked their skin. If it gave the lad the boost of self-confidence he needed to quit stuttering, Archie was all for it. “What do you have in mind? I might wish to accompany you.”

Harper looked at him through narrowed eyes, as if he were unsure whether his friend was jesting or if his words were true.

Archie rolled his eyes. “I am being quite serious.” And he was for the most part, though he had no desire whatsoever to get his own skin marked. By his logic, if he stayed with Harper for most of the time they were on this island, he may not attract as much trouble than if he stayed with any of the other more disreputable persons that shared this longboat. He looked around at the hands rowing. All seemed pleased, to be sure, and were certain to be engaging in some sort of boisterous activity soon enough, but the old man sitting in the corner worried Archie the most. Unlike the other crew who were more than happy to share what adventures they planned, Smee sat silent, looking darkly happy to see the pier come into sight.

Probably looking forward to kidnapping some other, unsuspecting poor soul, Archie thought. He wasn’t going to stick with the old man and be the one who required to haul the new, unconscious sailors aboard, especially since he knew that they needed quite a few more men to join their crew so as to be able to sail both ships.

He turned to the squirrel. “So what tattoo are you considering?”

“I’m thinking about a… a w-woman.” The stutter was worse.

Archie couldn’t hide his amusement. “Any woman in particular? What about Boggs? You know, you could always ask him about the woman on his stomach. She’s quite a grand sight.”

The pirate in question was a very large man who more or less rolled like a ball instead of walked. The woman tattooed on his prominent belly was quite large and round, much like a female version of Boggs himself, scantily clad, with bosoms that quivered whenever the man belched, which occurred frequently.

Harper’s face turned red and he closed his mouth in a tight line, refusing to say anything more on the subject of tattoos and ignored Archie, focusing instead on his rowing as they neared the dock.

Blackbeard set out toward the marketplace to secure a buyer for their cargo. He wasn’t gone for long when he returned with a thin man with birdlike features who followed behind him to inspect the sugar. The man took a pinch, rolled it between his fingers, and tasted. He nodded to Blackbeard, sealing the agreement to buy the load as he handed him a sack of coins. As he left, he yelled something to the dockhands who came running from all directions to help unload the boats.

Once the sugar was packed onto wagons, Blackbeard distributed the shares of their profit, then gave them a dark smile as he told them to “go have their fun” with a reminder to meet back in a week’s time, else the Queen Anne’s Revenge should sail without them.

Pirates scattered in every direction, though the majority headed for a long, grey building down the street. The enormous picture of a frothy, foaming tankard on the side of the tavern was visible all the way to the pier. They were going to be drunk before the hour was out.

They’ll still be in the same place until next week, Archie thought. He had no desire to repeat his previous adventure with ale, so he caught up with Harper as he made his way down the dirt-packed street.

“I’ve never been here before,” Harper admitted with an awkward smile. “I’d been to several of the smaller islands hereabouts, but never on Madeira. What shall we spend a bit of our monies on, Jameson?”

“Well, I suppose our first duty would to be to find you a woman.” Archie grinned.

Harper’s face turned red all the way to his shirt collar.

“For your tattoo,” Archie added to alleviate the lad’s discomfort, though he couldn’t help laughing as he added, “I forgot to ask you where you are going to put this woman. Will it be someplace that will cause me embarrassment?”

“No,” Harper said, still smiling, though his face turned a bit sad. He pulled something from his pocket and handed it to Archie.

Archie looked down at the worn drawing in his hands. A beautiful, young girl with cascading, black curls and large almond-shaped eyes smiled out at him. The picture was creased from the numerous times it had been tucked into Harper’s pockets for safe keeping.

“This is the woman I want. Her name is Mary. I’ve known her since we were babes. I’ve loved her my whole life.” His brown eyes misted. “I was on my way to ask her to marry me when Caesar hit me with that oar and brought me on the Queen Anne’s Revenge. I guess it was luck.”

“I beg your pardon?” Archie looked at him, dumbfounded, wondering if perhaps he hadn’t meant to say, “bad luck.”

“She comes from a rich family. My family was poor, just my mum, my little brothers, and me. I didn’t have anything to offer her. She wouldn’t have married me—I know that now. But now that I’m a pirate, I’ll have a chance.” Harper was talking to himself now more than to his friend, who was silent, listening to make sense of his story. “If I keep sailing with Blackbeard and save my share from our plunder, she’ll marry me one day… I know she will.”

He turned his hopeful face toward Archie and repeated, “I know she will. She’ll have to marry me then, won’t she?” Realizing he was asking for an answer that only his Mary could give, Harper took a deep breath, and added, “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

Archie’s smile was genuine as he looked at his friend, who still held on to hope in spite of life’s injustices. “Yes, she is, Harper. She’s very beautiful.” He handed the drawing back, “So we are off to get a tattoo of young Mary then, are we?”

“Aye, I’m always fearful I shall lose this as it’s all I have of her,” Harper nodded, tucking the picture into his pocket. He held out his arm, patting the inside of his forearm as the future location for the tattoo. “Right here, this way she will always be in me arms until I hold the real Mary again.”

So the two pirates made their way down the market street in search of a tattoo shop, finding odd things here and there that caught their attention along the way, including a tailor whom Archie decided to visit once the matter of re-creating the Mary girl had been resolved.

They were nearly to the end and had yet to discover any shops that specialized in inking when a woman carting baskets of fresh bread walked by. They queried her and found that the best artist had a small booth set up in a back room of the tavern, so back they went, retracing their steps back to the very place Archie tried to avoid.

While the tavern was lit adequately, the small room where the artist made his living piercing the flesh of willing patrons was ablaze with lanterns.

A good idea to be able to see who and what he’s stabbing, I suppose, Archie thought, though he preferred not to watch as the burly man assembled his supplies in front of him and Harper bared his arm on the scarred wooden table. Still, he felt he owed the squirrel his presence and support, so he sat in the farthest corner and waited as the artist lifted his needles up to inspect their sharpness.

I do hope the man has talent, Archie thought. The possibility of getting a likeness of someone who resembled Boggs’s dream woman instead of a young, innocent Mary on Harper’s forearm was rather unsettling. Not to mention it would be most difficult to explain to Harper’s beloved if some other strange woman happened to be stuck forever on the arm that ached to hold her. That is, if the poor lad should ever be lucky enough to see his Mary again.

Nevertheless, the artist did at least appear to know what he was doing as he studied the photograph and then inspected the curved, hard muscle of Harper’s arm before he set to his slow, painstaking work.

Archie sat until his bum started to fall asleep. If time was any indication of the man’s skill, Harper would have an exact replica of the real Mary etched in his skin at the same time that he passed on of old age.

Shifting his weight from cheek to cheek alleviated some of the pins and needles prickling at his rear, though his legs were long since numbed from being curled beneath the stool upon which he sat. He was certain hours had passed since they entered the tiny cubicle. Many, many hours. He leaned back and tried to stretch as inconspicuously as possible.

Harper was watching and seemed to notice Archie getting antsy. “Might ye do me a favor, Jameson?”

“Yes.” Anything. Name it. Archie tried not to look too uneasy.

“A drink from the bar, if ye would.” Harper rooted around his pocket with his free hand for a coin.

“No bother.” Archie jumped up from his chair. “The drink is on me. I will return with it presently.”

He left the room, bouncing on the balls of his feet in an effort to restore his blood circulation, and walked into the bar, full of drunken and disorderly pirates. Chairs were being thrown about in one corner as two of his fellow crewmates were busy knocking one another over in the attempt to win the affections of one plump tavern wench. Another corner held Blackbeard with his boots propped up on a small table, seemingly giving legitimate interviews and hiring for new positions in his crew whilst Smee sat a few feet away at the bar, waiting and willing to give the illegitimate interviews and drug the ones that refused the captain’s nice offer. Either way, they were sure to have the souls they needed to sail both ships.

Archie took the long way around the room, avoiding the old man as he dodged the lively crowd and made it to the opposite end of the bar and ordered two drinks.

Naught but ale again. Archie sighed. He wasn’t sure what he hoped for, but the pale liquid that flowed from the keg wasn’t it.

But beggars could not be choosy, he thought, and as soon as the tankards were filled, he threw the money on the bar and grabbed them, heading back the way he came, neatly avoiding Smee, though he ran directly into the path of a rather elderly tavern wench, who seemed set on earning his money as she tried to lead him upstairs. Archie’s eyes widened in horror. The woman had to be as old as his own dearly departed mum, but the similarities ended there. His mother wouldn’t have ever been so bold as to grab a stranger’s privates.

Aghast, Archie yelped and backed up, drinks sloshing, as he tried to get away from the woman’s clutches.

“Ye look a mite lonely, lad.” She grinned, giving him a great view of her discolored teeth.

“No! No! I’m not! I assure you, madam.” Archie wracked his brain to find a way out. There was no way he was going anywhere near her, much less anywhere alone with the ancient wench. Inspiration struck him. “I am so sorry, my dear.” He gave her a slow, disarming smile, causing the icy blue of his eyes to sparkle. “I have a future engagement with another lass over in the back room. I just came out to get her a drink. If I had known there were more stunning specimens of femininity about, I would never had acquired her services for the evening. ’Tis assuredly the worst luck as I’ve already paid her.” He watched the woman’s eyes narrow and read her thoughts before she offered to accompany him and the phantom woman he had concocted. “I do apologize, my dear, that I am such a poor man that I can’t afford to hire you both, ’twould have been a marvelous evening with two such lovely lasses, I’m sure.”

Realizing there was no money to be made from him, the old wench gave him a curt nod and went on her way, zeroing in on her next prey that looked to be in the vicinity of where Smee sat, sipping his ale, unsuspecting of the feminine wiles that were heading his way.

More than relieved to have eluded certain tragedy, Archie rushed into the back room, where Harper looked startled at his sudden appearance.

“Your drink, sir.” Archie plopped the tankard on the edge of the table, and then sat back down on his bench, not caring if he sat there until his entire body deadened. There was no way he was going to leave that room again until they left it for good.

As luck would have it, he didn’t have to wait for any other body parts to fall asleep. A few moments later, the artist finished his work and patted the speckles of blood from Harper’s arm.

The moment of truth, Archie thought, watching his friend inspect the new Mary on his sore arm. Harper studied the ink for a moment, looking at the silhouette of his love through the blotched and bloody skin of his forearm. Then he grinned, his eyes lighting up with sheer joy.

“Look!” he exclaimed, showing his arm to Archie. “Beautiful, isn’t she!”

The woman that smiled back from the battered skin looked remarkably like the girl in the drawing. Archie uttered a quick prayer of thanks under his breath to any deity of body art who might be listening and gave Harper a warm smile. The lad paid the artist, still grinning from ear to ear.

They made it through the tavern without any more proposals of indecent nature, though they did manage to catch the attention of the old wench, who looked up from her perch on Smee’s lap. She gaped at the two pirates hurrying by.

She probably thinks I fancy lads, Archie suppressed a laugh as they stepped out into the cool, night air.

“You know, we should go back in there and get a room for the night,” Harper advised, looking at all the closed shops around them. “There might be vagabonds about.”

Archie burst out laughing so hard that tears sprung to his eyes. The hearty laughter echoed down the empty road, bouncing against the vacant buildings. Still chuckling at the dour expression on Harper’s face, he explained, “I do believe that we are the most vicious miscreants this island will ever see. We have nothing to fear, my friend. We are the vagabonds. Who would dare take on two of Blackbeard’s faithful crew?”

Harper looked less than convinced, so Archie added, “I see lights up at the end of the street. I believe we would favor better a good bed at an inn rather than a rough cot in the tavern, wouldn’t you agree?” He noted the serious expression, the lines drawn deep around Harper’s toothless mouth, so he added solemnly, “I promise to keep you safe, lad.”

Harper rolled his eyes at the promise and set off down the lane, not bothering to wait for Archie as he ran towards the welcoming lights of the two-story house. The squirrel was quick on his feet, arriving on the porch of the inn in record time. Then, he turned and waited for Jameson before he set to knocking on the door.

The woman who opened the door wore a frumpy-looking hat that fell down to her eyes. “Yah? What want?” she demanded, lips turned down in a ferocious scowl.

“A room, if you please, madam,” Archie made his way up the steps, an imposing figure backed by moonlight.

“Hmm?” The woman leaned back to look up at Archie. She peered at him from beneath the hat, obviously not impressed. She turned and looked at the little toothless man who stood near Archie, and scowled as if she didn’t care for either of them to so much as stand on her porch, much less in her establishment. “Two rooms, yah?”

“Most certainly, madam. I have no intention of sharing my bed with yon wee bugger.” Archie grinned at Harper as he dropped some coins in the woman’s open palm. She pushed back her hat and stared at the money with a wide grin, as if changing her mind about the two gentlemen who wished to rest in her abode, and opened the door wide for them to enter, and then took them upstairs to settle in.

Archie bade Madame Frumpy Hat and Harper a good night, leaving them staring at him in the hallway as he shut the door in their faces. He was tired and more than determined to get a good night’s rest in a real bed, even if he bordered on rudeness.

Kicking off his shoes and pulling off his clothes, he crawled into the bed, blissful sleep taking over the second his head hit the pillow. He slept the sleep of the dead, never moving nor hearing a thing until the next morning when the sun streamed through the window to play on his face.

He awoke refreshed and renewed, ready to explore the island and have his own adventures. He met Harper on the way down the stairs and the two left to find their breakfast, stopping just long enough to secure Archie’s room for the rest of the week.

“I think I’ll be going back to the Queen Anne’s Revenge tonight, so I won’t be needin’ a room,” Harper announced, looking down at his scabbed arm as if the tattoo was his only reason for coming to the island.

“How did you sleep?” Archie asked, wondering if the preference to sleep on the ship came from a rough night at Madame Frumpy’s or from the need to save his hard earned money.

Harper shrugged. “Slept fine, I suppose.”

Ah, he was saving up for Mary, Archie noted. He decided not to embarrass the lad and he let the subject drop. After all, who knew? Maybe one day Archie would find someone for whom he would wish to provide. Perhaps there would be a reason to save his coins one day.

But not yet. Right now, his money was burning a hole in his pocket. He was ready for some breakfast and more than ready for a trip to the tailor shop he spotted the previous day. He was in dire need of clothing. His own simple attire was ruined from being drug across the rough planks of the pier the day Smee shanghaied him. The slopchest on the ship hadn’t contained clothing he preferred to wear. The pants were baggy and ill-fitting and the canvas shirt chafed everything he had. Oh yes, he might make that tailor a rich man by the time the week was done, but by golly, he would have clothes that fit before they cast off into the unknown again.

They found a girl selling bread on the street corner and they ate. Harper left afterward, anxious to save his money and be back aboard the ship, and so Archie was left to himself as he made his way to the tailor.

Archibald never cared about his clothing before his days as a pirate, but now that he had a chance to purchase whatever he wanted, he found himself being fitted for finer clothes than he imagined.

“I have a nice blue over here.” The tailor pointed out a bolt of fabric. “’Twould make a good coat.”

Archie fingered the cloth, noting its sturdiness. “Yes, I’ll have two made of this.”

“What of the red behind it?” the man asked, sounding hopeful. “I would sell it to you at half the price of the blue, should you take some of it. It hasn’t sold well, and I need rid of it to make room for the more popular colors.”

The bolt of oiled silk was as bright as blood. Archie bit his lip as he tried to keep the look of distaste from showing on his face. It wasn’t a color he would ever pick, but then again, he was a pirate now. He thought of Blackbeard and the smoking, beribboned beard that struck terror in every man who sailed the seven seas.

One never knew when one might have need of strange attire. He smiled. “Yes, two great coats in the red as well, if you please. And I’d like lots of brass buttons on the front—large ones—if you have them.”

The tailor’s eyes widened, whether from calculating the profit he was making from buttons or from the odd request of not one, but two, splendid red coats, Archie didn’t know. The man started measuring, taking note of Archie’s height and girth, and set to planning out the young pirate’s wardrobe. Shirts of billowing white, black, and blue fabric with thick lace cuffs were ordered, along with several pairs of breeches, a half dozen silk waistcoats of various colors, and a few neckerchiefs edged in lace.

He was going to look quite the dandy, Archie realized with a smile, his order completed.

His visit finished with the tailor, Archie stopped by the next shop and purchased a new pair of shoes now that his new position of navigator allowed him to more or less stay off the rigging.

Another shop, which sold hats, caught his eye from across the street. Every man should own a respectable hat, he concluded, as he opened the door. A bell jingled as he went inside. Hats of every possible size lined the shelves, though one in particular caught his eye.

“’Allo.” The man behind the counter greeted him. “Might I be helpin’ ye?”

“Yes,” Archie said, pointing, “I’m interested in that hat on yon shelf.”

“Ah, a fine choice.” The man took the hat down and handed the black pirate’s hat to Archie for his inspection. Two great feathers, one white and the other black adorned one side. Archie settled it on his head, looking at his reflection in the mirror on the wall.

“It will do well.” He smiled, taking the hat off as he turned to pay.

“Will ye be havin’ anything else?” The man gestured to the opposite wall where wigs made of yak and human hair rested on fake, wooden heads.

Archie shook his head. His own dark locks would serve him well enough. He was a pirate after all. A newly converted, dandy of a pirate mayhap, but still a pirate, nonetheless. Besides, he doubted that Blackbeard would give him time to powder his wig before they went into battle. He grinned at the thought as he laid his coins on the counter, “No thank you. The hat will be more than enough.”

THE NEXT FEW days were paradise. Archie spent his days exploring the island, though he didn’t buy much else in the stores since he’d given the tailor most of his money. Through his strolling about, he discovered that Madeira’s main source of trade was wine. The grapes were grown on the island, the juice put into casks and then sold to the vessels that came into port. If the ship were to keep the wine in its hold for a long journey, the rocking of the boat would age it while giving it an exquisite taste, making it the best money could buy.

It was a great investment, Archie decided as he bought a cask, ordering it to be taken to the dock when he found that Blackbeard purchased a few dozen barrels to be placed in the belly of the Anne. Archie doubted that the captain would allow the wine to replace the rum, should their rations ever run out. Blackbeard might be a cutthroat pirate, but he was a savvy businessman, too. The crew wouldn’t be allowed to drink his profits.

They can keep their rum. I shall have my own wine. Archie smiled to himself, though he made certain to mark the wooden cask as his own.

He meandered down Market Street, deciding to stop in at the tailor and check on the progress of his clothing. Luck was with him and he walked out of the shop looking like a different person, smartly dressed in his dark blue coat and new breeches with several paper-wrapped parcels containing the rest of his order, tucked under his arms.

He spotted Harper running about in the middle of the street in an obvious, frantic search for something. Worrying about the lad’s strange behavior, he shouted, “Harper!”

He turned at the sound of his name, and looked at Archie twice before recognition dawned on his face, followed by instantaneous relief. “Jameson, I’ve searched the entire island for you. We have to go. We’re casting off with the tide.”

“What are you talking about?” Archie asked. “We have two days before we set sail.”

“No, the cap’n is giving orders for all hands aboard. That’s why I came looking for you. A Swiss merchant ship docked last night. Mr. Moreau found out from a tavern wench who found out from another wench who found out from one of the crew that there is a British naval ship, not two days behind it. Rumor is Lieutenant Maynard is aboard, and that he’s a-comin’ for Blackbeard.” The words came out in a rush, then Harper paused just long enough to take a breath, and continue, “I went to the inn first. The old woman gave me your things, but she wouldn’t give back any of your money, so everything is in the longboat but us.” The last word ended in a nervous squeak. Harper eyed Archie anxiously as if he realized that there was a possibility that the finely dressed man next to him might not want to return to the ship. After all, he didn’t look like a pirate anymore.

“Right then, I suppose we must be going,” Archie set off with his parcels toward the dock, infinitely happy that the tailor had such impeccable timing.

Relieved, Harper gave Archie the rest of the news, “We’ve been assigned to the Roger.”

Archie stopped in his tracks and whirled to face him. “We’ve what?”

“You are to be her navigator. I’m to be on the rigging.” Harper shrugged. “We are under the watch of Mr. Moreau as her captain, so all is well enough…” he paused, then clarified, “All is nearly well enough. Smee is aboard as surgeon along with the new cook he persuaded to join, plus a few other lads, and… Black Caesar is bo’sun.” His face scrunched up in displeasure at the last pirate’s name.

Lovely. Archie frowned as they arrived at the dock where a handful pirates were getting into the last longboat. He didn’t recall signing the book to be a hand on the Jolig Roger. If he’d had the choice, he would much rather have stayed on the Anne. At least there he wouldn’t have to worry about Caesar trying to flay the skin from his back as Philip Moreau seemed to dislike the demon of a man as much as he.

A single cask sitting on the dock caught his attention and shook him from his black thoughts. There sat his wine. “That goes with us,” he told Harper, gesturing with his chin as his arms were still full.

“Jameson, have ye done nothing but shop?” Harper complained, grunting as he rolled the cask that weighed more than he did.

He made it to the edge of the dock, where Boggs sat in the longboat. The big pirate reached over and pulled the cask onto the longboat as if it weighed nothing.

“Thank ye,” Harper thanked him, breathless, as he hopped in, turning to give Archie a hand with his new wardrobe.

“Is this all o’ us?” Boggs asked as he unwrapped the rope that secured them to the pier.

Harper shot Archie a grin, “Aye, we have our navigator. To the Jolig Roger, we row!”

7

A BIT OF FAIRY DUST

SMEE SCOWLED. “I wish ye would keep yer cursed pixie from meddlin’ about in me quarters and thievin’ all me things. Me needles are missing now, before that ’twas the buttons on me breeches. How am I supposed to sew up any blasted wounds on this ship with me needles gone, I ask ye? And with me pants around me ankles to boot. Best ye tell her to bring ’em all back ’fore I catch her and treat her as the thief she is!” He made a fist and smacked it soundly on the table in front of Archie as if in a vain effort to squash the source of his agitation, but he only managed to cause Archie’s tankard to flip off to the floor. As luck would have it, the cup was empty or Archie’s temper would easily have matched Smee’s.

The old man has surely gone mad, Archie reasoned to himself, wondering if perhaps the pirate hadn’t been sampling some of his own concoctions before administering them to the crew in his position as doctor of the ship. “I haven’t a single earthly idea of what or to whom you are referring,” Archie said calmly, looking up into the eyes that looked ready to cut down anyone deemed guilty. “Would you care to at least give me a hint?”

“The pixie that has followed ye about since the first I saw ye, though if I knew she’d be after ye the whole time I’d never have brought ye aboard to begin with,” Smee’s voice raised an octave, his face turning red. “Pixies are naught but trouble!”

“Right. They most certainly are,” Archie decided to agree, or at least give the impression he was in accord with the man, however insane he might be. “I shall tell her at once she must return those needles and buttons, else I shall banish her forever.”

“Ye tell her if she doesn’t bring ’em back, I’ll…” Smee broke off, raking his finger across his throat in a threatening motion.

As if it would be possible to slit the throat of something as small as a pixie, Archie reasoned silently. To do so, he would have to kill said pixie with one of the needles she had supposedly stolen, which would take more skill and precision than Smee possessed in his knobby, arthritic fingers. Archie sighed. “I’ll tell her. You have my word.” And he would, he decided, even if it meant talking to himself with no one listening. It wouldn’t matter, he consoled himself, his sanity couldn’t be any worse than any of the other pirates on the ship.

“Aye,” Smee said darkly before he turned and stomped off. “Ye best do that.”

Archie waited until the crabby pirate left, shutting the door to the map room much harder than necessary, before he settled his head in his hands and let out a long sigh. “Why must I always attract those whose wits have escaped them?”

The strange tinkling sound laughed at him. Archie’s head shot up, searching for the source, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. There were always small things that shifted to and fro with the rocking of the ship, so he watched each of them in turn, waiting for something to appear. Two rolled maps moved a few inches either way, trapped between his measuring instruments.

The weighted lanterns on the walls moved in time to the rhythm of the Roger, balancing the flames inside their glass sconces as they swayed to and fro, light flickering against the paneled walls.

The room was quiet following Smee’s departure, but for the tankard bumping against the table leg every few seconds. Archie bent over, picked it up, and set it down on the table.

Now there was silence but for the creaking of the ship and the waves that lapped at her sides. Archie waited a full minute, wondering if perhaps the sound was just a figment of his imagination and if he wasn’t every bit as crazy as the old man who just left. He decided to finish it then, once and for all. After all, he had just given Smee his word to warn “his pixie” against thievery and at least now there wasn’t anyone around to hear him make a fool of himself.

Archie cleared his throat. “You do realize it is not considered good manners to take what is not yours, don’t you, my dear?” He wasn’t sure why he considered this figment of his imagination female, but since it was his own personal moment of insanity, he continued, “’Tis also bad form to not show oneself when being spoken to.”

To his utter surprise, the bell sound chimed thrice more, very slow, barely audible, as if to make tones of apology. A light splash of gold-colored dust covered a small spot in the center of the table when a small blonde head peeked out from its hiding place behind the tankard.

“Well, hello there.” Archie smiled in spite of the mixture of feelings that bombarded him. Relief that he wasn’t crazy and fear that maybe he was indeed insane and having hallucinations were two of the more prominent, but the strongest was the surprise that he managed to be so convincing as to shame the pixie into showing herself.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” he promised her. Yes, the tiny figure was most assuredly female, he noted. She was a small thing, no bigger than his little finger, with wispy blonde tendrils caught up in a knot at the top of her head and large, guileless eyes that watched him with steady caution. She wore sewn leaves, fashioned into a small dress of sorts and shoes made from dandelion tufts. And she was real, he decided. Even in his wildest daydreams, he never would have been able to concoct shoes made of such delicate flower fluff.

“My name is Archibald, though you probably know that,” he said softly, so as not to spook her. She was coming out from behind the tankard, seemingly trusting enough, though her eyes stayed on him. “I must say I’ve never met a pixie before, so I’m quite pleased to meet you. Might I have the pleasure of knowing your name as well?”

The pixie folded her slender arms behind her as her face flushed. She looked down at her feet and shook her head.

Feeling terrible that he embarrassed her, as it seemed the poor pixie was nameless, Archie retraced his steps and tried a different approach, “You know, I think I may know the perfect name for such a lovely pixie as yourself. Would you like to hear it, per chance?”

Well. That got her attention. The pixie’s head popped up in anticipation of hearing what he had to say next. She gave a shy smile, daring to come a few inches closer, small golden dust puffing up from her shoes with each step she took.

He smiled back. “I think the name Bell would suit you wonderfully as your voice reminds me of the light, beautiful tones of bells. What do you think?”

The pixie eagerly nodded as her shy smile turned into a happy one.

“Well then, Miss Bell. I am most pleased to meet your acquaintance.” He gave her a small, elegant bow which seemed to please the pixie to no end. She clapped her tiny hands, an enormous smile painted on her face, then dipped into a deep curtsy of her own.

“Well now, since we are friends I do have a bit of a question for you,” Archie said, and then shook his head as many more questions popped in. “I do apologize, but I seem to have quite a few questions. The first being why would you follow someone like me about? Of course, I am most flattered.”

The pixie shrugged, making odd bell sounds as if she wasn’t sure herself or perhaps following him was the product of sheer boredom. Either way, Archie didn’t know what she meant, as the tones only sounded like music to a song that he didn’t know. There was a most definite communication gap between himself and Miss Bell.

It was possible their relationship was going to be somewhat one-sided if all he could ask her were simple yes-or-no questions solved by the shaking of her head either one way or the other, Archie thought, but still he decided to try a few queries, hoping she wouldn’t take offense. After all, with luck they might be able to sort some kind of system out.

“One of my fellow crewmates wanted me to ask and see if perchance you might know the location of his needles and buttons?”

A definite, slow nod, though the pixie didn’t look happy to admit it.

“Might you return them? The poor fellow is in a terrible state. He’s quite old, you see, and gets very high-tempered when his things go missing,” Archie urged.

She didn’t bother an answer, but rather flew to the corner of the room, sprinkles of gold dust following in her wake. She lighted on a rolled-top desk and tugged open the small drawer in the upper corner, one that Archie had never used.

She pointed in the drawer and waited as Archie came to look. There in the drawer, was a collection of buttons, needles, spools of thread, odd bits of ribbon, a small pair of scissors, a few coins, and a bent nail. The only thing the hodge-podge collection had in common was that each stolen item in that drawer was shiny.

It was apparent Miss Bell had an attraction to bright objects. Archie watched as she stared longingly into the drawer.

“You must return these things,” Archie advised her. “You can’t keep them.”

The pixie turned toward him, a questioning look on her face that asked—all of them?

“I’m afraid so. They must all be returned,” Archie said sympathetically, watching the pixie’s full bottom lip pop out in a pout. She crossed her arms over her chest for a moment, making Archie wonder if he was going to have to take the loot and redistribute it himself, though he wasn’t sure who the owners were.

Finally, she picked up one of the needles that stood as tall as she, and flew to the door, waiting for Archie to open it.

The second a crack opened in the doorway, she zipped out of it, gold dust flying everywhere. Archie waited for her to return for another item to take back.

Moments passed.

Worrying that Smee might have caught the mischievous pixie and skewered her with the needle, Archie set out to see if he might save her from whatever tragedy that may have befallen her.

Smee’s quarters were the farthest from the map room, so Archie began his trek, inspecting each spot he passed through as inconspicuously as possible, which was not an easy feat by any means.

He walked by the captain’s quarters, noting that Moreau was poring over a book at his table. All was quiet there with no sign that the pixie ventured that way. He traveled onward, navigating his way down the narrow steps and through the crew’s sleeping quarters.

There was no sleeping happening in this place. Fiddle music played happily while the majority of the crew danced around to the tune. The boards under their feet thumped, causing the entire floor to bounce.

’Twas a wonder the entire ship wasn’t bopping up and down in the water and an even greater mystery that he hadn’t heard the boisterous lot up in the map room. There wouldn’t be any need in trying to sneak around this bunch, Archie decided, so he walked through the throng of dancing pirates, dodging the drunken stomps of one man in particular who seemed to have consumed more than his single ration of rum. Archie was doing a good job of evading him and had almost gotten around him when he got jostled from behind and bumped into the pirate.

The dancing continued uninterrupted as the man kept his same clunking pace of trying to stomp holes in the floorboards. It took Archie another minute to get clear of the dance floor. Then he realized that the drunken man was none other than the one who reported his needles and buttons stolen.

At least one button was still amiss, as Smee’s breeches kept inching down only to be pulled back up every few seconds as he kept his rather ungraceful dance steps in time with the music.

On the upside of things, it didn’t look as if he murdered a pixie. With that thought in mind, Archie left through the door behind him, taking the long way back to his quarters, still looking for evidence of Miss Bell along the way, but not finding any trace of her or the stolen wares.

He was nearly back to his cabin when a dark figure blocked his path. Black Caesar loomed up in front of him, one of the very few pirates whose height was greater than his own.

“What might ye be skulkin’ about and searchin’ for, Black Caesar has been wondering? A small golden fairy, perhaps?”

The mention of Miss Bell startled Archie, and he began to worry again of the fate of his tiny friend.

“She might have stayed on Madeira when we cast off days ago,” Caesar said in a thoughtful way, gauging Archie’s reaction. “But more like she’s aboard the Anne.”

The fact that Caesar hadn’t seen the pixie returning her wares that night managed to ease Archie’s fears and gave him the extra boost of confidence to look the bo’sun in the eye as the man continued to speak.

“Just as well she never shows her face aboard this ship,” Caesar growled. “’Tis bad luck to have a woman aboard, fairy or no.”

“Well, since she isn’t here, we have nothing to worry about.” Archie hoped his tone of voice would discourage further discussion as he pushed past Caesar, shutting the door to the map room behind him with a solid thump.

He waited a full moment until he heard Caesar move off, grumbling under his breath. When silence enveloped him, he let out the breath he was holding and slumped against the door. He had the nagging suspicion that he and the bo’sun would have it out sooner rather than later. The man always seemed to watch his every move, waiting for the opportunity to find fault in his ability as navigator. After all, if something should ever happen to Moreau, then he and Black Caesar, being of equal rank, would both be eligible for the position of captain. The votes cast by the crew would determine who would take the place at the helm of the Jolig Roger should Blackbeard or Moreau not be near enough to appoint such leadership themselves. Archie didn’t know who the crew would vote for in such an instance, though he would be willing to place a bet that Caesar would find ways to ensure his place as captain, should the opportunity present itself.

Perish the thought. May Moreau have naught but a long and fruitful existence on this earth. Archie offered a silent prayer to protect the captain.

He opened the drawer of the desk and found it empty. Every last button and scrap of ribbon were gone, with no sign of the pixie anywhere to be found.

The thoughts of everyone seeming to know about her, while he himself was oblivious, was disturbing. After all, he’d been in pirate status for nearly a month now, and though he’d heard that tinkling sound a couple of times, this was the first occasion he had seen her. Though he hoped this wouldn’t be the last time, Archie wished that she would remain elusive, for the two pirates who bore her ill will would make good on their threats should she be so unfortunate as to be spotted by them ever again.

May she stay hidden, wherever she may be, he thought as he climbed into his cot, falling into a deep sleep filled with dreams of gold dust and shadows.

8

ENCHANTED WATERS

THE FOG FELL upon the Jolig Roger in the wee hours of twilight, like a mysterious blanket dropped upon a slumbering child. None of the hands on deck saw it coming. It appeared suddenly and was so thick that they couldn’t see anything past the boat’s railings, and could barely make out one another on their own deck.

The wind was dead calm with sea that was eerily still. As the waves ceased, the ship quit rocking and sat on an ocean as smooth as glass.

Philip Moreau stood on the quarterdeck of his ship, listening to the silence as a small part of his gut told him this was no ordinary fog. While the sight was picturesque, it was also unnerving. There was magic in the mix and something was going to happen soon.

His crew appeared in the same frame of mind as himself, as each of them cast nervous glances over their shoulders. There were a scant few on deck at this hour, the rest having not yet risen from their wild night of rum and fiddle music.

“We be in enchanted waters, Cap’n,” a dark voice intoned as Smee appeared beside him like a ghost. Moreau found himself resisting the urge to jump out of his skin. The doctor of the ship enjoyed his night the most of all, making him the last person Moreau expected to see before noon. Moreau never thought the old man stealthy enough to startle him—rum sloshing in his blood or no.

“’Tis only a fog, Mr. Smee.” He sighed, then added truthfully, “But I must also admit I feel something amiss. Pass the word to wake all hands, but tell them to walk softly. We must be ready for whatever comes our way.” Moreau gave his quiet order and watched as the old Irishman disappeared below the decks to rouse the others from their drunken slumber.

The Roger had yet to catch up with the Queen Anne’s Revenge. In his haste to flee the island, Blackbeard hadn’t waited for his other ship, as if he assumed Moreau would catch up to him within a few days’ time. It was an inaccurate assumption. So far there wasn’t any sign of the Anne and her frightened capitan. Moreau found himself wishing that Blackbeard had waited. Two ships to battle the unknown may not hold any greater odds, but it would have made him feel better in these quiet moments when the loudest sound to be heard was the pounding of his own heart.

Moreau had been on the sea for most of his life. He began as a lad of eight years old, hauling powder to the cannons, earning his first title of powder monkey. In the following eighteen years that he spent on various ships, he acquired many more titles, though none so grand as the one he held now. He worked hard for a long time, and was proud of his command of the Jolig Roger, but with that title came the responsibility of watching over every soul on the ship. He wondered if perhaps that was the reason for his unease. After all, he had seen many foggy mornings that bore no ill warnings and he wasn’t one to scare easily. Still, he was a man who trusted his instincts and right now he was certain that he had never felt such a feeling of foreboding from a calm sea.

Something was coming for this ship, and the deep feeling of dread that lay in his bones told him that whatever it was, it came for him.

Meanwhile, below decks, Smee was swatting sailors from their cots, informing them to be quiet and mind whatever manners they possessed, however few they may be. The groggy pirates hit the floor, cursing. The majority of the crew slept in hammocks or cots, easily within his reach to flip them out on their heads should they not rise on his command. Four pirates had the luck of having private quarters and all were awake and on their way up to the deck, with the exception of the navigator, whose quarters lay the farthest away.

Harper volunteered to go wake Jameson, and at Smee’s nod, set off toward the map room.

AWAKENED FROM HIS deep slumber by the tense silence, Archie stumbled from his quarters. He was bleary-eyed, but somehow he managed to sheath his rapier to his side without skewering himself and made his way to the door. Though he never heard the partiers across the ship, he had gotten accustomed to the creaking boards above his cot and the muffled curses of those on deck.

The silence was so unnerving that he jumped, smacking his head on the doorframe as Harper materialized out of nowhere. He was too quick-footed, Archie decided, cursing under his breath as he rubbed the sore spot on his forehead that was in the beginnings of forming a knot. He managed to glare at Harper as his eyes watered.

“’Tis a fog.” Harper hissed at him, not bothering to wait for Archie to berate him, as he started toward the deck. “Smee says it’s magic water we’re in. We’re to get up top, Moreau’s orders.”

“Well, that can’t be good,” Archie said, following Harper up the steps.

“Be quiet,” the boy whispered, looking over his back to scowl at Archie. “Do you wish to wake the dead?”

Moreau motioned Archie to join him on the quarterdeck and gave his orders to his waiting crew. “Ready the cannons.”

Archie joined his captain, watching the crew load the cannons and roll them into place. Ready for whatever the silence and fog hid from them, the crew of the Jolig Roger waited. A few torturous moments passed, and then someone began whistling.

“Find him,” Moreau hissed to Black Caesar, who nodded and stalked down the length of the ship, whip clutched in his hand.

Smee stood beside Archie, a deep scowl lining his face. “Bad luck,” the Irishman muttered so low that Archie barely heard him. “’Tis always bad luck to whistle up a wind. The man is a fool.”

Black Caesar made a complete circle, checking each man as he passed. He returned to Moreau, hands up in a shrug. He hadn’t found the one who dared to break the silence.

The nervous whistling continued and the crew became even more anxious. Moreau frowned, listening to the haunting, ghost-like whistle.

“It doesn’t come from our ship. We are not floating in this cursed fog alone.”

Archie watched different decisions pass across his captain’s face. Seconds later, one settled itself permanently. He turned to Archie, “You shall have command when I am gone, mon ami. There is another ship out there that bears the man whistling that tune. I shall take one of the boats and find her. With a bit of luck, we may board and find them surprised.”

Archie nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Moreau leaned closer, fixing him with his brown eyes, “If anything—anything—should go amiss, blow them out of the water.”

“Aye. You have my word.”

Moreau took off across the deck, gathering eight of the crew along the way. The creaking of the ropes that lowered the longboat was the only sound that mixed with the haunted whistle.

Moreau turned, giving Archie a slow, final nod as they set off. The words replayed in Archie’s head. You shall have command when I am gone.

Surely he meant to say “in my absence,” Archie thought. The captain’s words had such a sense of finality that he wondered if perhaps Moreau thought his plan ill-fated and decided to bequeath his command to his navigator in the event of his impending death.

No. To think such things is pure folly. Moreau would be back presently. My command will be a short one. Archie shook his head, clearing the strange thoughts from his mind and set to watching the men in the longboat row. A slight noise beside him caught his attention.

Harper stood at the cannon nearest to him, shifting from one foot to the other. Normally in the rigging, this was the first time Archie noticed the squirrel pressed into the duty of gauging one of the ship’s guns. While all the other cannons were gauged upward, Harper’s was pointed down at the sea.

“All is well,” Archie whispered to his friend in hopes to ease his worry and didn’t mention that his cannon seemed to be pointing in the wrong direction. In the event that there happened to be a whistling sea monster of some sort, Harper’s cannon would be in the prime position to do the most good. Archie smiled at him, and then turned his attention back to Moreau as the fog enveloped the small boat. The tension amongst the crew doubled.

“Be ready to fire.” The warning was whispered down the line of cannons. Uneasiness had every man waiting, ready to blow their charge in an instant.

A sudden wind stirred as if in response to the whistle that picked up in cadence. The quick burst of warm air cleared enough of the fog that the longboat appeared. They were just short of engaging their surprise attack on the merchant ship that floated near them. A single flag, striped in yellow and red, fluttered in the breeze, giving the only color in the bleak scene, and revealed the man who had done the whistling. Standing below the flag, stood the Spanish sailor that stirred the wind. He stopped in mid-tune.

Time passed slowly for one grueling second, as both crews stared at one another in shock. Realizing the extreme danger they were now in, Moreau managed to fire a single shot in the same instant that Archie screamed his first command.

“Fire!”

A bright crimson stain spread across the chest of the man who had done the whistling, and he fell into the sea. Moreau’s shot found its mark, but in return, the merchant sailors returned a volley of shots and peppered the longboat. No one was left standing, though from a couple of strangled cries, there was one or two who might be saved if someone could get to them. A body lay floating, face down, near the longboat. The curly, dark hair and familiar clothes marked him as one that wouldn’t be saved. Moreau was dead.

I’m captain, Archie thought numbly as the Roger’s cannons fired and set his ears to ringing. These are my men and this is my boat now.

“Your orders?” Harper yelled as the last cannon fired. Bits of wood flew around them. Their first shots hit the merchant ship.

“Fire at will!” It seemed like a good order, but then, Archie hadn’t ever commanded a ship before. As his message was relayed down the line, he watched his men as they began to load the cannons and ready for another shot, and then he turned his attention to the other ship. They managed to catch the merchant ship off guard with their first blast, but now the men scurried about on her decks in an effort to ready their own cannons and return fire.

We need to board that ship, Archie thought. If we could take another longboat, victory could be ours. Moreau’s instincts seem sound, and if I’m wise, I should follow his lead.

Another cry echoed across the water from the first longboat and sealed the decision. There were survivors that needed rescuing, too.

“Bring any man not on the cannons to the longboats,” he ordered Caesar, who hadn’t moved since Moreau had left. “We’re taking that ship.” At that, Caesar smiled and set off across the deck. Archie turned to Harper. “The ship is yours until I return, my friend.”

He received a toothless smile in return and then set off for the boats.

Two longboats settled into the water with Archie at the head of one, and Caesar at the other. “Go and rescue anyone you can,” Archie told him as they began to row away from one another in an attempt to be harder targets for the merchants. But Caesar didn’t stop by the first boat, choosing instead to disobey and head straight to the merchant ship, leaving Archie and his crew to work harder and backtrack to the longboat that still bobbed amongst the floating bodies.

“I’m glad he follows orders. I don’t know what I’d do without him.” Archie cursed under his breath as he decided to ignore the longboat that held Caesar and focus on what remained ahead of them in the water.

Six out of the nine men were dead in the ocean, floating about like bits of driftwood as they bumped against the boat, coloring the water red with the blood. One man was dead in the longboat. The last two moaned in agony beside him.

As luck would have it, Smee was one who jumped into Archie’s boat. The ship’s doctor was taking note of their wounds as another volley of cannon fire flew over their heads.

“Best let me and a few other lads row this other boat back to the Jolig Roger,” the old man said loudly to be heard over the shots, “They be dead men if they stay out here much longer and I can’t help ’em while Harper is blasting his cannons about over me head.”

Archie nodded his consent and Smee and five others got into the other longboat and started to row back as quickly as they could.

A loud groan erupted from the merchant ship, and a few waves caught at the longboat. “Hold steady, lads,” Archie said, looking at the massive ship ahead of them as it creaked and settled lower into the water. A gaping hole barely showed at the surface of the water, proving there was unseen damage below. Only one cannon had been aimed so low to have made that hit. Harper’s shot was sinking that ship.

Archie grinned. He planned on making Harper a permanent fixture on the cannons from now on, since he was giving them the upper hand in this battle.

From the clashing sounds of metal he heard, Caesar and his party had boarded and were making progress of a sort. There hadn’t been any more cannon fire from the merchant ship. Harper must have noticed it, too, as he ceased to order the crew to fire any other shots, though it was possible he had spotted his own party trying to board the ship and didn’t want to blow holes in his own people. Either way, Archie was happy the boy had the faculties to stop blasting the cannons.

It’s appreciated, Harper, I assure you, Archie thought as he sent a final look over his shoulder to the Jolig Roger. He grabbed one of the ropes on the merchant ship and began climbing. He couldn’t think of a worse outcome than to be shot by his own ship on the first day of becoming its captain.

He pulled his way to the deck and was rewarded by the sight of several merchant sailors holding their hands up in surrender. Caesar was stalked about on deck, snapping his whip on any in his path, treating the merchants much as he did his own crewmates, while his own men battled the few who refused to back down.

Archie pulled out his rapier and stuck it into the belly of one seaman who was running at him with a sword poised over his head. It made a strange sucking thlunk and jarred his hands as it sunk into the man’s body. It was an odd sensation, not the hard feeling of the thin metal as it sunk into flesh, but rather the taking of the man’s life. For many years, he practiced, but it had been exactly that. Practice. Never had he killed another. Fortunately, he didn’t get to ponder the meaning of life much longer as another merchant came screaming from above him on the quarterdeck. He jerked the rapier out of the first man and barely had enough time to slide it into the next one.

The second body fell to the ground at his feet. His hands becoming accustomed to the force that it required to pull the rapier free, he jerked and spun around, the fine point of his weapon aimed at the throat of the man behind him.

The man was holding his own rapier out, hilt first. “Go on, take it. We surrender,” the merchant captain said in halting English. When Archie didn’t move, the captain took a step back and thrust the gleaming handle at him again as if he were worried that Archie would rather skewer his neck than accept his surrender.

“Tell your men to stop fighting,” Archie said, never taking his eyes off him. He heard the clank of steel and knew the battle wasn’t over quite yet.

The captain was sweating, tiny drops of perspiration popped out on his forehead, as he shouted. Archie translated the Spanish in his head, “Stop. We are surrendering.” A few curses were mumbled from the merchants. Not all wished to give in to the pirates, but none disobeyed their captain.

“We accept your surrender,” Archie said, taking the rapier from the captain. “Now, in case you haven’t noticed, your ship is sinking, so I shall make my terms quickly. You and your crew can either join us, or we can leave you here.” As the captain’s pallor turned chalky, he added, “In a longboat, of course.”

The captain’s lips clamped tight in a thin line, as if he were thinking over his slim options. Then, he spoke, “I shall tell my men, but I will stay in the longboat. I will not join such people as you.” The pointed glare Archie received, made him feel as if he were the most depraved human in existence, which felt nice for once.

Archie grinned. He was pleased that he had been recognized as a pirate, and a good one, at that. “Spread the word, no harm befalls any who wishes to join or stay. One longboat for each party, divide them as they wish,” Archie ordered Caesar, who gave him an even better glare than the captain had. The look wasn’t as appreciated coming from a subordinate. Archie’s voice dropped octaves. “I am your captain and you will obey or suffer the wrath of your own whip.”

Caesar didn’t answer, only stalked off with his hands clenched at his side.

“Cap’n, you might have a look at her cargo.” Boggs rolled up suddenly, looking out of breath. “This ship is sinking faster, and there be more bodies to worry with than just the crew.”

“What cargo are you speaking of?” Archie set off after Boggs, who led him to a grate covering the hold. Dozens of dirty, starving faces stared up at him.

“Indians,” Archie muttered in awe. “Their cargo was Indians?”

The ship creaked and rocked further to the side, causing him to slide. Catching his footing and his wits, Archie said, “Boggs, get them out of there. They are coming with us. We aren’t leaving them to drown.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” came the reply as Boggs flipped the grate open. The Indians were hesitant at first, but then began to scramble out as the water began sloshing around their legs.

“I wish to take my effects before she sinks.” The captain of the merchant ship appeared at Archie’s elbow. “They are in my cabin, I will return in a moment.”

The man’s eyes shifted uneasily as if he were hiding the truth. At Archie’s nod, the captain set off in a near run and disappeared below the deck.

“Follow him and see what he’s up to,” Archie whispered to Boggs, and then kept his watch as the longboats filled.

Moments later, the captain reappeared, followed by a knife pressed in the small of his back. Boggs followed him, looking smug. “This ’un was going after his gold,” he said, handing Archie an ornate, wooden box.

Archie nearly dropped the thing it was so heavy. Setting it down on the deck, he flipped the lid. Hundreds of Spanish medallions sparkled in the midday sun.

“There be a barrel of silver dust down there, too.” Boggs shrugged. “I sent one o’ the lads after it. Dunno why anyone would make dust out of silver, but it’s there just the same. It be worth something, I suppose.”

It took two more longboats to carry the Indians, the barrel of silver, and the newly joined crew back to the Jolig Roger. One longboat stayed behind, holding the furious merchant captain and those of his crew who stayed loyal to him.

From the safety of his quarterdeck, Archie watched the merchant ship sink. As the last trace of the ship disappeared under the water, the enchantment was broken.

The instant the sea claimed her prize, a strong wind came to fill the sails.

9

THE CHALLENGE

THE IDEA OF keeping Indian slaves in the hold was not setting well with Harper. “But what are you going to do with them?” He asked for what seemed the millionth time.

“I don’t know.” The answer was the same each time the question was asked. Archie didn’t like the idea, either, but he was at a loss for what should be done. After all, he hadn’t been captain a full day, he didn’t have all the answers. “Feed them well, and find a way to ask if they would like to join our crew, perhaps?”

“Half of them are women and children. I doubt they’ll wish to join and I don’t know that our men will want them to. Women bring bad luck on a ship. Then there’s the old chief. He’s just,” Harper frowned, “old. He couldn’t climb the rigging if his life depended on it.”

Archie shrugged, he didn’t have an answer to this dilemma yet, or to the fact that all attempts at communication with the Indians had been fruitless. Working in the print shop for years had given him the basic knowledge of many different languages. He wasn’t fluent in them, but he could manage to get the general idea relayed to the person he was speaking to. The Indians who inhabited the hold were a complete mystery to him. Their language like nothing he had ever heard before. No matter how hard he tried, or which individual he tried to communicate with, they couldn’t understand one another. Through the new Spanish crew members, he managed to learn that the merchant ship had captured the Indians in Mexico, intending to sell them as slaves once they reached Spain. None of them had been able to understand the Indians’ language, either.

Harper watched him for a long moment, and then continued as if there hadn’t been a lull of silence, “Speaking of food and new recruits, I have something to report from my brief position held as captain. We had a slight mishap while you were gone to the merchant ship. We’ll need another cook.” He gave Archie a dour look. “The new cook got his self killed in the battle. One of the cannons came loose after it fired. The ropes broke, and the cannon went a-rollin’ and squashed him against the mast. That’s why I had them stop firing, we were trying to pull the poor bugger out. He was stuck in there like he was part of the boat.”

Archie grimaced. The image painted in his head wasn’t one he wished to keep and the thoughts of yet another funeral he had to officiate, along with the bodies of Moreau and a dozen others, was depressing at best.

He caught a scent wafting up through the floorboards that sent his stomach to grumbling. “Do you know who is in the galley? I smell something cooking.”

“Ach, yes. Boggs is cooking. He said he felt responsible for the Injuns, since he found ’em and all.” Harper shrugged as if it wasn’t any big deal.

Archie wondered why he hadn’t thought of Boggs as a cook earlier. With the man’s wide girth and the amount of belching he performed in a day’s time, it was easy to assume that he should have some inkling of how to fix basic meals. If the pleasant scent was any indication that it was true, Archie intended to give the man the position immediately as he had no intention of cooking ever again if he could get out of it.

A scream ripped through the air, surprising Archie and Harper so that they both jumped. Another scream followed the first, and the two tore out of the map room to find the source.

The voice was feminine, and as there was only one place any woman would be on the ship, they headed toward the hold. Archie tripped on the last step, and landed against the old Indian chief, who took a step back and began speaking quickly in his language as if Archie understood. When the old man realized that wasn’t working, he gestured wildly to the beams overhead.

Another scream pierced the air, followed by more frantic gesturing. The woman was on deck. Archie and Harper did an about face and scrambled back up the steps.

The deck was vacant. The men who should have been at their stations were not there. Archie spotted Black Caesar by the stack of ropes behind the mast. He was kneeling over someone. Long, tan legs were kicking at his torso in a futile attempt to escape.

“You will stop that this instant!” Archie bellowed, unsheathing his rapier on his way past the mast. He had no intention of letting such vile happenings occur under his watch. He and his crew may very well be pirates, but he would have them act civilized. That meant no rutting around in the rope piles with unwilling females.

He placed the tip of his blade at the base of Caesar’s skull. “You heard me.” Anger seeped into his words as his voice dropped octaves. “If you do not stand, I will run you through and throw you overboard for the fish.”

After a single, still moment, Caesar let go of the girl beneath him. The young woman scrambled away and cowered by the railing. Archie felt Harper move behind him, and then watched from the corner of his eye as the lad made a wide circle around them to check on her.

Instead of standing, Caesar lifted his head, as if gauging the courage of his new captain. The point of the rapier dug into the tattooed skin, and a small trickle of blood ran down the muscles between his shoulder blades and dribbled along his back.

Archie held fast. He was annoyed that Caesar was testing his will, and he hoped the idiot would run himself through and save him the trouble.

It seemed that was what Caesar had in mind. The tip pierced further. So entranced was Archie watching the trickle turn to a thick line, he almost didn’t notice Caesar shift.

A ray of sun glinted off of a steel blade at Caesar’s side, catching his attention without a second to lose. As Caesar swung his sword around, Archie met it with the rapier. The blades clashed, sending a jarring vibration down Archie’s arm.

The two locked gazes over crossed steel.

“T-the Indians are part of the p-plunder,” Harper spoke up from behind the mast. “No p-pirate is to steal any part of the l-loot until we reach port and divide our s-shares.”

If Archie could have reached Harper, he would have kissed him. He didn’t know a lot about the pirate rules, but he thought the theft of booty of over a hundred souls should be a grave offense. It seemed Caesar was taking the words into consideration as the pressure against Archie’s blade lessened for a second. Then something dark and sinister moved under the surface of Caesar’s eyes.

He struck Archie’s blade with even greater force, shoving him backward, and then advanced as Archie teetered near the top of the steps.

He wishes to kill me, Archie thought as he caught his footing and readied his stance. He caught sight of Harper over Caesar’s shoulder. He looked stunned that Caesar had no problem committing mutiny.

Well, I’m rather shocked myself, Archie thought in the last seconds before Caesar’s thick blade crossed that of his rapier again. The man is insane.

Caesar seemed to be proficient in hacking away with his cutlass, as if each thrust and clash contained every bit of force that his massive body held. Archie was having a bit of trouble matching the power being plunged at him, so he relied on his years of training and decided that wearing the pirate out would be his best option of survival.

The cutlass Caesar wielded would have been perfect for slashing through bodies in close combat, but in a swordfight, it would become heavy and use more energy, the longer the battle waged on. In this fight of one on one, the rapier would reign supreme. It was a light and precise blade, and it would be deadly, if Archie could keep the correct distance away and take enough time to wear Caesar down.

He concentrated on his footwork, taking care not to trip over ropes, as he kept a careful space between himself and the man bent on murdering him. He dodged the majority of the blows, as they were slung in the general vicinity of his middle. If he were a betting man, he would have wagered that Caesar’s plan was to slice him in half. Archie managed to place a few well-placed thrusts that got through the blocks, but they still missed their intended marks.

They fought down the length of the ship, and turned to come back up the other side. Out of the corner of his eye, Archie noted that they were attracting quite the crowd. Both pirates and Indians were watching on the quarterdeck, and many were crammed at the mouth of the steps that led below the deck. All were safely out of the way, but still curious to see what was happening.

“Mutiny.” Archie heard the word whispered from more than one as he fought his way past the onlookers. Though none had offered to come to his aid, it was nice to know that his crew was of the same mindset as himself. Once this duel was finished—and if he still lived—he planned to have a talk to his men about Caesar’s blatant insubordination, and dare any of them to make the same mistake.

Caesar is wearing down, Archie noted. His thrusts were becoming more sluggish, it was a matter of time before he would make the mistake that would win Archie the duel.

Then, it happened. Archie knew they were nearing the center of the ship, but didn’t notice the chest of golden coins until it was too late. His heel caught the wooden lid, and he fell backward, landing near the barrel of silver dust. The golden medallions clinked as they rolled around the deck, sparkling in the sun.

Archie struggled to stand. As he gripped the side of the barrel, he realized his rapier lay a few feet away, out of reach. Caesar approached, an evil smile painting his black face. His pointed white teeth sparkled as bright as the medallions.

This is it, Archie thought. The end.

As Caesar raised his blade for the final blow, Archie closed his eyes. What happened next was horrifying. Instead of feeling the cutlass sever his body and end his life, Archie found his head being forced down into the barrel of silver dust. A grip like iron was wrapped in his long black hair, making it impossible to move his head.

Archie tried to push at Caesar, but was shoved even further into the mound of silver. His face was covered now and there wasn’t any way to avoid breathing it in. It filled his nose and his mouth, choking him as it made its way down his throat.

Adrenaline pumped through his body as he fought, trying to gag and push at Caesar at the same time. The grip on his head didn’t lessen, proving Caesar still held more strength than Archie had given him credit for.

He was weakening. All of his air was gone; the blasted silver had taken its place. Just as his mind started to go numb, his ears heard a muffled thwack, followed by a loud sound, as if someone had dropped a cannon ball on the deck. His head freed, Archie slid off the barrel and onto the floorboards in a heap.

As he lay there, Archie’s eyes opened just long enough to make out Harper. The lad stood nearby, holding an oar. His eyes looked hard and angry as he spoke, his words echoed in the darkness that took over,

“No one breaks the pirate code.”

10

THE PIRATE CODE

HE AWOKE WITH his lungs on fire. The pair of dark, beautiful eyes that stared down at him didn’t lessen the pain, but it did manage to distract him long enough that the woman had sufficient time to press a cup to his lips before he could straighten his thoughts and hack up his lungs. He took a sip, sat straight up in the cot, and then proceeded to cough as if his life depended on it.

At least it wasn’t ale. Terrible events of late had involved the presence of ale, so as the rum burnt its way down his throat, he took it as a sign that he was still among the land of the living.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” The relieved voice of Harper caught his ears in the short breaths between coughs.

When Archie finished and began wheezing, the cup was held out to him again.

Why not, Archie thought, taking it and downing another dreg. In a battle of fire, he hoped the rum to win over the silver.

His insides felt raw, as if the shining dust had scraped every bit of him, from his nostrils down to his belly. He looked down into the cup. If the small bits of silver floating around in the ale were any indication, he had ingested his share of the plunder. That thought sent Caesar to his mind, and he would have sprung up from the cot if it weren’t for Harper’s steady hands pushing him back down to sit.

“Caesar’s in chains down in the hold, so there’s no need to rise yet. He’s not going anywhere.” His friend’s steady gaze was comforting. A wry smile painted Harper’s lips. “Though, you might want to know that the Indians are refusing to stay down there with him, so they’ve taken to wandering about the ship. I can’t say as I blame ’em. Even if I was dead, I wouldn’t stay near him.” The smile turned grim, and Harper settled on a wooden stool by the cot. Then, as if he decided he’d thought enough about Caesar, the expression left and he asked, “So, how are you feeling?”

“Not well.” The sounds coming out of Archie’s throat sounded raspy at best. Movement caught his eye. The young woman who first had come with the cup of rum had retreated to the corner of the room. At the sound of his voice, she looked undecided, as if she were wondering whether to offer him the cup again or to stay where she stood. Even though she was thin from being starved on the merchant ship, and her clothes hung in tatters, Archie’s first impression was that she was beautiful. Long, black hair framed a face with strong, high cheekbones and a sharp chin, and then swirled like silk to her waist. Her large, almond-shaped eyes regarded him warily, not as if she was frightened, but rather wondering what he was thinking.

“She’s stayed with you ever since I clobbered Caesar with the oar. I can’t get her to leave, she’s stubborn. Seems to think she needs to return the favor for saving her,” Harper mumbled under his breath, as if he were afraid the young woman would understand him.

The young woman turned her attention from him and scowled at Harper, giving Archie the impression that she had understood something of his words, but Harper was oblivious of her hard stare, and had turned his thoughts elsewhere. “Smee says he wants to see you in the surgery whenever you’ve a mind to come down. He says he’s too busy to come and give his report.”

Nice of him to come and check on me, Archie thought, rolling his eyes.

Harper lifted one shoulder in a shrug and grinned. “He checked on you at first and said you’d live. Then Collins was wailing that the hole in his arm had gone rotten and he’s been in the surgery ever since.”

Archie opened his mouth to speak, but the burning in his throat kept him from it. He eyed the cup in the woman’s hands. The rum wasn’t helping matters, but there wasn’t anything else to be had. His gaze landed on his barrel of wine in the corner of the room. He detested the idea that sprang into his mind next. If he were to open the cask now, the only thing he would find inside would be grape juice. The open air might ruin its chance of turning to wine and his investment would be lost, but it was possible that the liquid would soothe his throat so that he would at least be able to speak to his crew.

He picked up his empty tankard from the table beside the cot, handed it to Harper, and then motioned toward the barrel.

“Are you certain?” Harper asked, hand poised over the cork. At Archie’s solemn nod, he pulled it free and the room was filled with the fruity smell of grapes.

The taste, however, didn’t match the sweet smell. Archie forced the juice down, attempting to ignore the rotten aftertaste on his tongue, and concentrated on the soothing sensation it left down his throat.

“Much better.” His voice was still hoarse, but sounded better, even to his own ears. He glanced up at Harper, who finished securing the cork back in the barrel. “Are we still on course?”

“Aye, heading with the trade winds toward the Carolinas. If luck stays with us, we’ll catch up with the Anne yet.”

Archie nodded, and then stood up. Finding himself more stable than he expected, he said, “I suppose I shouldn’t make Mr. Smee wait any longer.”

The woman took a couple of steps toward him, as if she planned to accompany him. “No, you should stay here,” he told her, motioning to the stool where Harper sat earlier. “I will be back presently.” When she sat, he turned to Harper. “Come on, let’s go.”

The sight of him will haunt my dreams forever, Archie decided a few moments later. Smee stood in the middle of the room in a blood covered apron, holding an arm that he had just chopped off. The appendage flopped forward at the elbow, as if greeting the two newcomers to the surgery.

Archie’s stomach grumbled, threatening to push the grape juice back up. Unaware that his captain was ready to heave up the contents of his belly, Smee sat the arm down in a bucket and wiped his hands on the end of his apron, smearing even more blood about.

Archie tried not to pay attention to the arm, whose hand looked as if it were waving at him from the corner of the room, and decided to look at the previous owner of the appendage who lay moaning on a cot.

“Ach, Collins might make it. He caught a hook in his hand, put a good sized hole in it,” Smee said, working the apron around his fingernails in an attempt to clean out the dried blood.

“Just his hand? You appear to have taken his entire arm,” Archie said, pointing out the obvious culprit as it waved from its bucket.

“Putrefaction set in.” Smee sounded the part of the surgeon, though he didn’t look it, Archie decided. He wondered if the putrefaction Smee referred to was gangrene, but he didn’t ask for fear of finding out even more that he didn’t want to know.

“Harper says you have a report?”

“Aye, three men dead from the battle, not countin’ Moreau and those on the longboat. One lad missing an eye, and Collins there, an arm, though his be from the hook, not cannon or musket shot. I wanted ye to know, so that when we reach port, they receive their part according to the code.”

“Code? What code?” Archie asked, puzzled.

“The pirate code.” Smee glowered as he picked up a thin, leather bound book and thrust it at Archie. “No one breaks the pirate code.”

That’s the second time I’ve heard that in the space of a few hours, Archie thought, opening the book. Whatever this code was, it seemed the only thing the pirates respected. He read the heading. “The Articles of Blackbeard, concerning all those souls aboard the Queen Anne’s Revenge and all other ships under his watch…”

“The Articles are the code,” Harper said, looking around his shoulder at the book.

“Yes, so I gather,” Archie mumbled, staring at the book. Then he began to read aloud.

“The Articles of Blackbeard,

Concerning all those souls aboard the Queen Anne’s Revenge and all other ships under his watch.

Plunder to be split evenly amongst every man at port. The captain of each ship will receive two extra shares, and the first mate and surgeon, a share and a half. The common treasury will receive two shares, and be held in safe keeping and given in amounts as follows to those men who would lose such parts of the body—

A right arm or leg, 500 pieces of gold.

A left arm or leg, 300 pieces of gold.

An eye or a finger of the right hand, 150 pieces of gold.

Any man stealing of plunder or rations, will be branded thief and receive the lashing of twenty strokes, then marooned and given a pistol with a single shot, and left for dead…”

ARCHIE BROKE off before reading the next sentence. Mutiny to be dealt with by death, by whatever means the captain should choose.

“Delightful,” he said wryly, ignoring the blatant stare of Smee as he handed the code back to him. “Might I ask where the common treasury is located?”

“In the captain’s quarters, o’ course,” Smee grumbled. “If ye blasted fairy hasn’t stolen it all by now.”

“Ah.” Archie had forgotten about Miss Bell. If the pixie had any clue that there were bright, shiny coins about, he would have a terrible time making her bring them back, especially since he didn’t know how much the common treasury held. Thinking of the coins also brought the plunder to mind that still sat on the deck, waiting to be divided amongst the crew. If Miss Bell had pilfered any of the medallions he had last seen rolling about on the deck, he was going to have a problem on his hands, especially that he now knew what the punishment entailed for such a crime. Twenty lashes and marooning would hardly be fitting for a pixie.

Without saying another word to the irate, blood-covered man in front of him, Archie turned on his heel and left the surgery. He headed toward Moreau’s former quarters in search of the common treasury and a lock for the blasted medallions, which he hoped were still accounted for.

As he opened the door to the cabin, he realized that he had made a good choice in not changing to the captain’s quarters. In comparison to the cramped room in which he now stood, the map room looked like a spacious castle fit for a king.

Archie sighed and began shuffling through the clutter on the small desk by the cot. Harper had been on his heels since leaving the surgery. “I never figured Moreau to be so careless,” he said, peering in from the doorway.

“Most of these papers are written in Dutch, so I believe they belonged to the good Swiss captain who took his tea with Blackbeard. I suppose Moreau hadn’t gotten around to cleaning it up. Where do you suppose he put the common treasury?” Archie asked, bending over to peer under the cot. “Ah! Never mind, I think I see something here.” It took a hard tug to pull the chest out from its hiding place.

“Come in and shut the door,” he instructed Harper. He didn’t want Miss Bell around to see the contents, should it prove indeed to be what they were searching for.

As Harper shut the door, Archie clicked the catch and the lid swung free. Hundreds of coins filled the chest. “I believe we’ve found it.” Archie grinned up at Harper, who returned his own toothless smile.

“Aye, now what do we do with it?”

Archie spied a set of locks hanging on a nail behind the door, the keys hanging on another nail beside it.

Call it fate, he thought as he tried each lock, finding both in good working condition. One for the common treasury, and one for the plunder, both so solid that Archie began to relax. There would be no way any man or pixie would find their way into the chests without quite a bit of difficulty.

He locked the chest at his feet and shoved it under the cot as far as he could. He strung both keys on a cord and put it around his neck, hiding them from sight under the ruffle of his shirt.

With the other lock in hand and Harper on his heels, Archie made his way back up to the open deck.

Someone had gathered up the medallions and put them back into the chest. From the look of the full coffer, it didn’t appear anything had been stolen. Archie sighed in relief, catching an odd look from Harper. “No one would dare steal the plunder,” he said as Archie snapped the lock shut.

“Better safe than sorry,” came the mumbled reply.

“Speaking of safe, what do you plan to do with Caesar?” Harper asked, eyeing the grate over the hold that sat a short distance away.

Archie hadn’t decided, though he wasn’t going to say it. Several pairs of eyes were watching him now, waiting for the reply. They knew better than he, that an act of mutiny would mean certain death for the first mate. He’d known that Black Caesar wasn’t popular amongst most of the crew, but the look of hope that he saw in several faces caught him off-guard.

He didn’t care for the man, either. Throwing him overboard as fish bait would be a simple, easy way to rid himself of the mutinous man, but his thoughts kept rambling to the fearless pirate with the fuse-lit beard. What would Blackbeard do? Archie wondered. Surely, there was a reason he kept Black Caesar on board, though Archie had no idea what that reason was. Perhaps he should wait it out, and see what attributes his first mate possessed before he pitched him over the railing. After all, his mum once told him that patience would work through the unknown if you gave it enough time.

His eyes landed on the barrel of silver. Someone had nailed a cover over the top, either to keep the dust from floating away, or to save someone else from dying in it. Regardless, Archie was happy not to be staring at the mound of sparkling powder. Then, the epiphany struck him. The crew would expect retribution, and there was one way that would be agreeable for most parties involved. He would follow the code … part of it, anyway.

“At sunset, Caesar will receive the punishment of twenty lashes. Stealing of the plunder will not be tolerated,” Archie announced in as loud a voice as his sore throat would allow. “He will be marooned on the next island we find.” Unless we come across Blackbeard first, Archie thought. Then he can deal with him.

Archie left for the map room, without acknowledging any of his crew’s startled faces, including Harper, who stood with his mouth agape. Back in the sanctuary of his own quarters, Archie shut the door and then slumped against it. His nerves were frazzled and his throat felt as if it had hot pokers lining it. He was going to have to drink more of that awful grape juice. He straightened and made his way toward the barrel.

Archie had forgotten the woman sitting on the cot, so when she stood, it startled him enough that he jumped, so high, in fact, that he smacked the top of his head on the ceiling.

He muttered a curse as his hands went up to hold his head.

The woman laughed. It was a pretty sound, Archie noted, through the sharp throbbing of his skull. As if she had known where he had been going, she took his tankard from the table and went to the barrel. The smell of grapes filled the map room again. She brought him the tankard filled to the brim, and pointed to the chair by the desk, which held the maps, indicating that he should sit. He did as he was instructed, and took a small sip of juice, watching as she pulled the stool closer to the table.

The fire in his throat fizzled out and the pain in his head dulled. Archie took a longer look at the young woman who sat watching him. Her eyes held an amused look, and there was a small quirk that tugged at the corner of her mouth, as if she still found the situation humorous, but was trying to be polite.

“Go ahead and smile if you must,” he told her. “There hasn’t been enough cheer on this ship of late.”

As if she had understood him, a wide smile blossomed across her face, showing off pearly white teeth and lighting up her dark eyes. Archie’s breath caught. The young woman was pretty before, but her smile made her beautiful.

“What is your name?” he asked. The smile vanished and a questioning look took its place. The language barrier was back. For a moment, he had forgotten that she didn’t understand his words and was relying on his gestures. With that thought in mind, he lifted a hand to his chest and introduced himself, “My name is Archibald Jameson.” Then, deciding to make things simpler, he patted his chest. “Archie.” He watched as she mouthed his name, as if committing it to memory, and then he pointed to her and asked again, “What is your name?”

She chewed on her lip for a moment, and then the smile returned. “Ta-lu-lah.”

Well, that’s certainly a strange name, Archie thought. His eyes lit on one of the intricate designs of a flower that had been carved in the wood in the wall behind her shoulder. Then he had an idea, he put his hand to his chest. “Archibald Jameson,” he said, and then waited a pause and enunciated, “Archie.” Then he pointed to her.

At once her hand flew to her own chest as she said, “Ta-lu-lah.”

“Lily,” he said slowly as he gave her an encouraging smile.

Understanding dawned on her face as she repeated her shorter name, “Lee-lee.”

“I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, Lily,” Archie said, managing to give her a small elaborate bow from his chair, which earned him another pretty smile.

A loud knock sounded from the door. Before Archie could answer, Boggs swung his way into the room, carrying a platter of food.

“Ach, I didn’t know ye had company or I’d brought ye extra,” he said as he rolled up and settled his tray down in front of Archie. A small belch escaped, causing the tattooed woman on his stomach to quiver. “Beg pardon,” he said, as if in afterthought.

Archie fought the urge to laugh. The young woman sitting across from him was staring at Boggs with a mixture of astonishment and intrigue, as if she had never seen such a sight before. “Boggs, if you would be so kind as to escort this young woman back to her people. Make sure they all have plenty to eat.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” Boggs said, giving the young woman the lowest bow he could manage without his belly getting in the way, which wasn’t far at all, “This way, m’dear.”

“Leelee,” she answered, introducing herself with a wide grin, apparently deciding to trust Boggs.

“Oh. Boggs, you have a new station as the ship’s cook,” Archie announced as the man was nearly out the door.

“Ach, I figured as much,” came the reply as the door shut behind them, leaving Archie to himself.

Definitely one of my better decisions, Archie thought moments later, as he finished off the last of the food on the platter. Boggs will remain as cook so long as I am captain.

The sun came through the window, casting a dull light on the table. The sun would be down soon, and one of his other decisions would have to be carried out, as he had ordered Caesar to be flogged at sundown. Archie wasn’t looking forward to it, but he knew he would have to see it done if he were to keep the respect of his men.

This would be the occasion to set an example for his crew, he decided, getting up from his place at the map table. He took one of the paper-wrapped parcels from the tailor out from under the cot. Ripping the paper off, he shook out one of his red coats. The brass buttons gleamed in the dull light. To see justice served, he would need to look the part of a fearless pirate captain and this coat would give him that appearance, even though his stomach was beginning to do flip-flops.

As the sun hovered over the horizon, Archie left the map room and made his way to the quarterdeck. The deck was swamped with both crew and Indians, all come to see Caesar take his punishment. The pirates didn’t look pleased, more than likely they had wished to see the bo’sun thrown overboard and done with. The Indians looked more or less confused, with the exception of Lily, who beamed a big smile at him. He refrained from smiling back, choosing instead to keep a solemn face. After all, this was a serious occasion.

Archie spotted Beckett by the grate, peering down into the hold. He was a big, tattooed bloke, the only one on board who was a near match for Black Caesar’s height and strength—and he was also one of the few who didn’t seem to fear the man.

“Bring him up, Beckett,” Archie instructed. The man nodded, as if he had already known the task would be his. He reached down and flipped the grate back, as if it had been made of feathers instead of iron. The grate clanked as it hit the deck. “Easy, man. You don’t want to stick holes in the ship and sink us,” someone snickered by the railing. Whatever Beckett’s muffled reply was, it was met with raucous laughter.

At least they are a jovial bunch, Archie thought, clasping his hands behind his back as he waited for them to come back up.

Caesar looked less than enthused as he shuffled to stand before the quarterdeck. But by the smirk on his face, it didn’t seem that he was worried at the oncoming chain of events, though as the boatswain, he was sure to know what his punishment entailed more so than his captain as he was the one who would deal the blows under normal circumstances.

Smee arrived at Archie’s elbow. He’d taken off his surgeon’s apron for the occasion, but he was still spattered with blood, some old and some fresh, making Archie wonder if Collins was still living or missing another appendage.

“Here ye go, Beckett,” Smee tossed a curl of rope down to the lower deck, saving Archie the trouble of figuring out who would be the one to mete out Caesar’s punishment. The cat o’ nine tails looked harmless enough, a coiled rope handle with nine separate rope tails with knots tied into the ends. But wielded with force and accuracy, Archie was certain the blows from it would be a rough sentence to endure.

It made sense to choose Beckett, Archie thought, watching as the man set down the rope to strip off his shirt and stretch. The muscles in his back rippled as he tossed the shirt down and picked the rope back up. Seemingly ready enough, he looked up at Archie and waited.

“Black Caesar, you have been found guilty of thievery,” Archie intoned. “For this crime, you shall receive twenty lashes.”

“Well, get it over with, then,” Caesar replied as easily as if he had been asked if he wished sugar in his tea. He faced the mast and lifted the shackles himself, hooking the chain on a nail overhead.

Beckett shook his head and grinned, arching a brow as if asking if this were to be his cue to begin. Archie nodded. It was time to get this over with.

The first snap sent the nine knots splaying over the blue tattoos on Caesar’s back. A swish echoed in the air as the rope made contact with skin.

That’s one, Archie thought. Other than an instinctive flinch, no movement or sound came from Caesar. After a few seconds, nine lines of red appeared across his back.

One hundred and eighty, Archie calculated, his stomach turning at the thought. That’s how many stripes he will have once this is over.

Beckett snapped the ropes again, leaving another set of marks to crisscross the first.

Two. Caesar didn’t so much as flinch. Archie’s mouth set in a thin line as Beckett snapped again and again.

Three. Four. Blood started to appear from the welts. Caesar had yet to make a sound. The strong, cordlike muscles in his forearms stood out as his arms tensed, the only indication he’d felt anything at all.

Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Beads of sweat popped out on Beckett’s brow as he dealt one blow followed by another, and another. It was easy to see that he wasn’t enjoying his role as boatswain, but he didn’t dare lessen the force of each blow, lest he be accused of taking it easy on the man and be forced to take his place.

Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Caesar gripped the chain with his hands, but still stood as straight and still as he had before the beating began.

Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Black Caesar’s back was naught but a bloody pulp. Archie caught himself staring instead at the rivulets of sweat running between Beckett’s shoulder blades.

Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Near silence, but for Beckett’s heavy breathing, and the wet, slapping sounds of the rope as it met blood and raw flesh.

Archie lifted his eyes from Beckett to Caesar. The man still stood of his own accord. How, Archie had no idea, for most of his back was bloody, torn, or missing chunks of flesh. The swirling blue tattoos were gone from view. One final time the cat o’ nine tails whistled through the air.

Twenty. It was done.

Archie wanted to heave a sigh of relief, but he was captain, so he stood straight and stared ahead as Caesar lifted his chain off the hook. He would see this through to the finish. Each movement the man took was deliberate, as if Caesar were choosing how to move in order to feel less pain. He turned around and faced Archie.

“Half of your punishment has been met,” Archie told him, loud enough for all to hear. “You shall be marooned on the next island we find.”

Caesar didn’t say a word, only gave the slightest of nods and turned to go back to the hold. Smee grumbled something under his breath about his being under-appreciated and left, presumably to tend to what was left of Caesar’s back.

“Never did see one make it the full twenty lashes and still walk,” Harper spoke up behind Archie, “They’ve always passed out around ten or so and end up gettin’ dragged away.”

Archie didn’t answer him. Most of the crew were watching, as if waiting for him to speak. Some of the Indians were looking at him, though most were keeping an eye on Caesar as he retreated.

“The plunder will be divided when we reach port, as per the code,” Archie said, glaring at his crew. “Any man so foolish as to steal or despoil any of our cargo, gold or slave, will suffer the same fate as Black Caesar. I have no tolerance for idiocy.” This last statement was met with a few errant chuckles and mumbled replies before he ordered, “Back to work.”

The crew dispersed, some to the rigging, and some below deck. The Indians more or less stood where they were, unsure what they were to do or where they were to go. From the distance they stood from the hold, it was clear they had no intention of sharing space with Caesar, no matter how injured he may be. Under different circumstances, Archie would have put each able man with one of the pirates to learn the ship and work as part of the crew, but over half of the Indians were women and children. They needed a place to stay. Up in the rigging and sliding about on deck would never work for them. They needed their previous space returned.

The hold was the largest place in the ship, too large for a single man to occupy alone when there was an entire tribe that needed a place to stay. There was one solution that Archie could think of. He had to move Black Caesar from the hold and put him somewhere else, safely away from everyone. One place came to mind.

He crossed over to Lily. He met her brown eyes with his blue ones and smiled. He gestured to her and the people around them. “Stay here for now.” He motioned toward the deck. Her black hair swung around her shoulders as she nodded. Understanding showed in her face as she turned and said something to her people that Archie didn’t understand. As she spoke, all of the Indians banded together in one place. As if they were expecting to be there awhile, the children sat down on the deck and waited quietly.

“Thank you,” he told Lily, before he turned to go. “I will return soon.”

Archie went to the captain’s quarters and retrieved the common treasury, taking it back to the map room. He shoved it as far under his own cot as it would go, and looked about to make sure his deed had gone unnoticed. As it seemed it had, he left and made his way to the hold, finding Smee and Caesar as the only occupants. Neither of them looked up as he approached. Caesar sat on a stool, his head bent down. Smee stood behind him, placing strips of dry cloth on his back. The fabric immediately spotted red, causing Smee to scowl. The blood had only started to slow from the appearance of the pile of drenched rags at Smee’s feet.

“Beckett has a strong hand, that be sure,” Smee mumbled, sticking another cloth on before glancing over his spectacles at Archie. “He left no spot untouched.”

Caesar chose this moment to look up, too. No emotion showed on his face at all.

“You will be moving from here to another set of quarters. The Indians refuse to stay down here with you, and I cannot blame them a whit.” Archie frowned.

“Aye, where have ye a mind to take ’im?” Smee asked.

“Moreau’s quarters.”

Both sets of eyes widened at that, though they both nodded when the logic of it set in their minds. The captain’s quarters were small, out of the way, and currently not in use. It was the perfect place for a solitary prisoner.

Caesar slowly stood. The chains around his ankles and wrists clanked.

Archie walked up to him and stared into his black eyes. “You owe me your life. Cause me trouble in any way and I will slit your throat and throw you overboard while you sleep; make no mistake,” he threatened in a low, deadly voice. Something akin to respect passed under the surface of Caesar’s black eyes, and then left as suddenly as it had come.

“Aye.” It was simple, but it was acknowledgment and progress of a sort.

It’s a step forward so I’ll take it, Archie thought, following the two of them from the hold.

They attracted quite a bit of attention on their trek from across the ship as more than one pirate stopped what he was doing to turn and gawk at them as they walked by, though none was so brave to ask why Caesar was moving from the hold, leaving blood to spatter the lower deck with each step he took.

Once he was certain that Caesar had no way of escape, Archie left the two and made his way back up to the deck.

Lily was leaning against the railing. When she spotted him, she stood and walked toward him. Archie’s throat felt like it was ablaze. “Take them down. He is gone now,” he said hoarsely, pointing to the grate.

He watched as she walked over and looked down into the hold. Understanding what he wanted, she nodded to him and began pulling people over and pointing down into the empty space below. They started down slowly, but then began filing down faster once they realized the threat had been removed.

Content that order had been restored, Archie gave orders to stay their course and retired back to the map room, hoping that soon they would catch up with Blackbeard.

11

ALL GOOD THINGS

BLACKBEARD WATCHED THE approach of the white sails with a sense of impending doom. The British ship had caught him off guard, an uncommon occurrence insomuch as the captain was concerned. He was accustomed to being several steps ahead of any game the British Navy had up their sleeves. He thought he had left Madeira in plenty of time to elude Lieutenant Maynard. He’d even left his newly captured ship behind in an effort to get a head start, but now it seemed to be all for naught and he caught himself wishing that he had waited for the Roger and her crew.

The sloop was bearing down on them fast, pinning the Queen Anne’s Revenge between it and the rocky Carolina shore. The only route of escape would be to cross a shallow inlet nearby and head back out to the open sea. It would be a dangerous wager, no doubt. The better odds lay in turning to fight. One ship against another. Blackbeard was willing to fight, especially if it meant the end of the man who had made no qualms about his wish to place Blackbeard’s head on the end of his bowsprit and light his beard ablaze.

“We be outgunned.” Blackbeard snarled at the sight of two additional ships that came into view behind the first, British flags billowing between their sails. He didn’t know how they had caught up to him so quickly.

Maynard has the devil’s own wings to have beaten Moreau here, unless he’s sent me mate to the bottom of the sea, he thought, shouting another order, “Hard to port!”

The Anne would have to take her chances in the inlet. He knew his ship wouldn’t best three of the British Navy’s warships. Her best odds lay in the proper pirate manner—run away and live to fight another day.

He looked over the railing of the quarterdeck. Sharp-pointed rocks jutted up from the ocean bottom. They were in treacherous, shallow waters. ’Twould be a miracle indeed if they made it across the inlet and back into open water. Cannons boomed, sending their shots whistling overhead to land in the path ahead of them as if the sloop were trying to cut them off.

The sharp crack of splintering wood echoed in his ears the second before the Queen Anne’s Revenge buckled, stopping so quickly that pirates went flying in every direction from the sudden loss of momentum.

Blackbeard cursed, getting back up to his feet. His men had been thrown this way and that, some were curled over cannons, their breath knocked out them and from the splashing sounds, some had landed overboard.

The Anne moaned and tilted a bit to her side as she began to take on water.

She’s lost. The Anne is lost, Blackbeard thought, glancing over to the shoreline that stretched beside them a short distance away. The only way of escape would lie on that white-sanded beach, for his ship was taking on water and would soon lie in the bottom of the shallows, never to sail by his hand again.

“Release the longboats and abandon ship!” He shouted through the din of cannon fire, “Be quick and save yer skins, lads!”

He looked over to find that the first sloop had released their own longboats and were beginning to row toward them. Time was all that was keeping them alive, for once in range, the muskets would join with the rally of cannons.

“Row!” He ordered from his place in the stern of the first longboat. One cannon ball landed a short distance away, dispersing torrents of water everywhere and sending currents that rocked the boat nearly to its side. “Row, ye lazy swine!”

Cannons exploded the water around them, sending buckets of water to drench them. One shot hit its mark in the longboat behind them, sinking it. Gurgling cries echoed in Blackbeard’s ears as thirty souls drowned, for only a handful of his crew could swim. He couldn’t go back to save them. To do so would mean the death of them all.

Poor devils, Blackbeard grimaced, as the last cries went quiet. He pitied them now, though he knew if he or any of his remaining men were to be captured, their fate would not be so kind.

By some miracle, they reached the beach, losing only the single longboat. At Blackbeard’s order, his men split into groups and scurried away. With hope and a bit of luck, a few might manage to escape.

Blackbeard and his own handful of men headed towards a knoll, high up on a ridge. As they neared the crest, he turned back to check on the progress of Maynard and his officers. A small patch of white, far out on the horizon, caught his eye. Taking his first mate’s spyglass, he found the Jolig Roger had arrived, though the captain on her quarterdeck took him by surprise. It wasn’t the man he had left in charge.

Befitted in a bright crimson overcoat, stood the navigator, staring out to sea. Blackbeard chuckled, watching as the ship started to turn.

A shout below him announced that Maynard’s men had made it to the beach. Blackbeard handed the spyglass back to his mate and pulled a few fuses from his pocket, then lit them and stuck the ends in his beard.

“Run, run if ye can, in the true pirate way.” He smiled, thinking of the lad who had somehow become a captain. “But should fate not be in yer favor, stand and show ’em a fight they’ll ne’er forget!” And with that final thought, he turned with a pistol in one hand, a cutlass in the other, and faced them.

ARCHIE WAS OVERJOYED when Smee spotted the Anne’s familiar flag, but the feeling of elation was fleeting and left the following second.

“She’s scuttled,” Smee announced in a queer tone of voice, before looking through his spyglass again as if to make certain he wasn’t imagining things. Without another word, he handed it to Archie so he could look for himself.

Dread knotted in his belly as Archie put the glass to his eye. The Queen Anne’s Revenge was lying on her side in the inlet, sinking, with no sign of her crew on board. Three naval sloops were sitting a short distance away, as if they were coming as close as they dared in case she were to miraculously fix her hull and sail away.

Archie trained the spyglass on the longboats. There were over a half dozen of them rowing toward shore, filled with the British Navy.

A sudden blast from the sloop nearly had Archie dropping the spyglass. He handed it back to Smee, and began assessing the situation. The sloop was making maneuvers to come after them. In a few moments, the other two would follow suit. Three fast ships against the Jolig Roger were not the best of odds, especially with a new captain who hadn’t been captain—or pirate—for long.

We’ll have to flee and hope to return and look for survivors later on, Archie thought.

As if reading his mind, Smee shook his head. “There be no helpin’ them, lad. The Queen Anne’s Revenge is lost. Best we save our own skins, else we’ll be joinin’ them at the bottom of the sea.”

Having his own thoughts spoken aloud shored up his resolve. Archie gave his orders. “Loose the sails!”

The wind was in their favor and caught the sails. As they made their turn to sail away, Archie caught sight of a solitary figure up on the knoll. He wondered if it was Blackbeard watching them go.

The sloop followed them, keeping parallel to the shoreline. Luckily, they were able to stay just out of reach of her cannons for a while, but then the sloop started to catch up.

“We’ll have to head back out to sea,” Archie murmured under his breath. “They’ll catch us if we stay where we are.”

He spotted a dark patch out on the ocean where a storm had kicked up. There would be the best place of losing them, he decided. He gave his orders to lead them into the gale.

12

SECOND STAR TO THE LEFT

THE STORM HAD DONE as Archie hoped. The sloop disappeared from sight moments after they reached the rough sea, leaving the pirate ship to weather the storm alone. The waves rocked the ship and buckets of rain poured down until dusk. Then the gale moved off.

As the skies cleared and darkness fell around them, Archie prepared to plot their course. He unrolled his maps across the table, took a quick look at them, and then went up to the open deck to study the stars.

Most hands had gone below, content to indulge in yet another night of rum and fiddle music. The few left up top were silent as they looked out at the dark sea, watching should the sloop appear again.

Archie stared up at the sky and his breath caught. The sky was bright with strange silvery stars. They were beautiful, set like glistening diamonds in a velvet black sky. The only problem was that none of them was familiar to him. Archie strode every inch of the deck, back and forth, this way and that, staring up, searching for some small constellation that he might recognize.

“Regulus. Where is it?” he asked himself in awe, walking in circles, as he searched for the most familiar, brightest star he could think of. “Nothing is as it should be.”

He ran back down the steps to the map room, adrenaline coursing through his veins. His hands shook as he traced the familiar patterns on the maps, the constellations he had known from boyhood. The stars above them now and the ones charted beneath his fingers were not the same.

He flipped the maps sideways and upside down. No matter how he changed them, the stars on the paper wouldn’t align with the ones in the sky.

He sat down on the stool by the table and stared at the charts. The stars never change, his brain told him, they always stay the same. That’s why they are used by sailors to plot their journey from one destination to the next.

But the stars aren’t the same, he thought, those are different constellations. Unlike anything I’ve ever seen. And if these stars aren’t the same, then we aren’t in the same waters.

Archie wracked his brain, trying to think of any stories of other oceans where the stars hadn’t been known to the sailors. He couldn’t think of any. In every instance that he knew, the stars stayed constant.

A bright light at the doorway caught the corner of his eye and he looked up. Leaving a trail of golden dust in her wake, Miss Bell flew to the table and landed before him.

She smiled at him and dipped into a curtsy.

Archie managed a weak smile. “I do apologize, for I am not at my best.”

A worried look furrowed across the pretty pixie’s brow. Two small tinkling sounds seemed to ask, “What’s wrong?”

“I am afraid we’re lost. As I don’t know these stars, I cannot chart us a heading.” The pixie looked confused for a moment, so he added, “I do not know the way back.”

Understanding blossomed across her face and she smiled, jumping up from the table to hover above it, tiny wings whirring so quickly that he couldn’t see anything of them. She began gesturing with her hands as if she wanted him to get up from the stool.

Come on. Follow me, she seemed to say. I know the way back.

When Archie stood, the pixie flew up the steps. The young captain had to run to keep her in sight. Once upon the deck again, he found her hovering over the quarterdeck. When he reached her, she began pointing with her tiny arm up into the sky.

Archie turned to look up at the stars. There seemed to be two stars in the vicinity that Miss Bell was pointing.

“I am sorry, I don’t understand. Am I to follow these stars?”

The pixie flew in front of his face, shaking her head. No. She lifted a tiny finger in front of his nose.

“I’m to follow only one of them?”

She gave him a definite nod and a pleased smile in answer.

“Which star?” Archie asked, staring back up at the two of them. They were brighter than all of the others. The first reminded him of the North Star, and hadn’t the pixie been there to instruct him, that one would have been the one he would have chosen, more for the sake of familiarity than anything else. The other star shone as bright as the first, and seemed to pulsate, as if it were full of energy.

Miss Bell moved to fly beside his face, pointing to the second star.

“Aye, I see it now. We are to follow that star, you say?” He smiled as she nodded. “Very well, I shall chart our course.”

She appears to have been in this strange place before, which is more than I can say. It might be wise to trust her judgment, Archie thought.

A streak of golden dust lined the quarterdeck as the pixie disappeared from sight, apparently finished with her good deed and off to find her own mischief.

Beckett approached the quarterdeck. He didn’t act as if he had seen the pixie or noticed anything amiss in the sky, though he looked up to the sails. “A good wind is stirring. What be our heading, Cap’n?”

Archie took out his compass and watched the needle jump from one point to the next as if there were no true direction. His mind made up, he glanced back up at the sky one more time. The pulsing silver light seemed to be welcoming them, inviting him to follow it.

“The second star to the left and straight on ’til morning.”

HE SPENT THE better part of the night on the deck, charting the new constellations. It was painstaking work, but he kept at it. After all, once they made it back to the Carolinas, he would have an intricate map of strange, new stars that no one had ever seen before.

Part of a map, Archie decided a few hours later, putting his quill down in the inkpot. He frowned at the sky. As the night wore on, the stars had shifted as he tried to capture their location. Some hovered over the horizon and some had disappeared. The ocean had turned black with odd patches of grey, as if the clouds had fallen down into the water. Archie leaned over the railing to take a better look. Bits of silver were down there, as if the stars had moved below them, too. By the looks of the ocean, it seemed as if the Jolig Roger were sailing through the sky itself.

Archie had put Beckett at the ship’s wheel to steer toward the star they were following, and then he ordered Harper up into the crow’s nest to keep watch, should something go awry.

Giving up on his chart, he approached Beckett. “How goes it?”

“The star’s moved, though it seems we be getting closer.” Beckett shrugged, and then his hand came up to the back of his head, though his eyes never left the star as if he feared it wouldn’t be there when he looked back up, “Me neck has a terrible crick in it.”

“Here, I will take over,” Archie said, relieving Beckett of the wheel. “Go below and get some rest.”

“Aye, Cap’n.” Beckett heaved in relief, rubbing the sore muscles in his neck as he relinquished the wheel. “Give me a yell should ye be needin’ me again.”

“I shall.” Archie smiled, keeping his eyes on the star. “Off with you, Beckett.”

The ship sailed through the night, and though Archie’s neck ached, he never took his eyes off that single, pulsing, silver star. Hours went by until the star was so big that it sat in front of the ship like a giant silver orb. The light was so bright that he was having trouble keeping his eyes open.

Well, now what? Do I continue to sail us through it? He wondered.

The star pulsed. Instinct took over and Archie shut his eyes against the light. Then, the ship shuddered and lurched, making terrible crunching sounds, as if it were attempting to sail through a field of rocks.

The first thing Archie discovered when he opened his eyes, was that daylight had come. The next thing he realized, was that he was lying on the deck, with his head propped up against the railing. He lay there for a moment, taking inventory of his body. He seemed to be unharmed, so he took in the scene around him. The few hands on deck seemed to be in the same state as he. A couple were sitting up, looking befuddled, while the rest were sprawled out wherever they had last stood. Fear knotted in his gut when he remembered Harper.

Reluctantly, he tilted his head up to look up the mast, fearing the worst and expecting to find the rigging empty.

One tattooed forearm stuck out the top of the mainsail. As he watched, the arm moved, and Harper’s head popped up. A string of curses rang through the air next, and Archie relaxed.

As he let out the breath he had been holding, it coalesced in front of his mouth in a frosty, white mist.

It was cold. As in dead-of-winter, in the middle of a blizzard, cold. Shivering, he sat up. Crunching sounds behind him caught his attention next. Turning, he spotted icebergs everywhere.

“All hands on deck!” he yelled, jumping up to grab the wheel, which had been turning aimlessly to and fro. Pirates came scrambling from below deck. They were still disoriented, and the sight of the ice didn’t help matters.

“We be in the Arctic,” he heard one say. “How did that happen? Last I closed me eyes, we sailed the Carolinas.”

How, indeed, Archie thought, steering clear of one large iceberg. Miss Bell has not shown us the way back to the Carolinas. “Every man to his station,” he ordered. “Best we be ready for whatever we find.” He nodded to Harper, up in the mast, while addressing those below, “Slow us down, lads, take in the sails.”

The crushing sounds of the ice became louder and the ship groaned as it pushed through the frigid sea. Carefully, Archie navigated the ship away from the boulders and into clearer water. Once it seemed they weren’t going to hit anything else, he sighed in relief.

“Well, this were warm a minute ago, but now it be as cold as ice,” Boggs announced, kicking open the door to the stairway. In his hands, and balanced on his belly, was a wooden tray with a bowl of soup. The dark-haired woman on his stomach seemed to be trying to do her part as the tray sat precariously atop her tattooed head, bobbing back and forth on its way toward Archie. “Here ye be, Cap’n. Didn’t figure ye had time to eat, so’s I brought it up. Where on this world are we, might I ask?”

“I have not the slightest idea, Boggs,” Archie said, watching as the round pirate rolled up to the quarterdeck and set down his tray.

“It be cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey,” the cook grumbled, gooseflesh mottling his bare torso.

As if in answer to Boggs’s assessment of the weather, one of the brass fittings holding the cannonballs contracted and a single cannonball shot upward in the air. Luckily, it landed in the middle of a coil of ropes, which softened its landing.

We have to get out of here, Archie frowned. Loose cannonballs rolling about the ship would not make for a happy occasion, especially if one were to knock a hole in the deck or smack one of his crew in the head, for he needed his ship and his crew whole, even though he suspected some of them had naught but air in their heads.

Ignoring the sloshing bowl of soup at his feet, Archie concentrated on the sky ahead of them. On their starboard side, the water looked clearer and the sun was shining. It at least gave him the impression of warmth. The port side, however, looked even more dangerous than the water they were in now, with towering, sharp spikes of ice that rose up from the blackest waters he had ever seen. He turned the wheel toward starboard and held his breath, hoping that he had chosen well.

Slowly, the Roger inched toward clearer water. After what seemed an eternity, the crunching noises were replaced with the soft sounds of water splashing against the hull. The temperature warmed, as if they had moved from one season straight into another. The sudden change of winter to summer seemed to make the crew happier, though most of them were muttering under their breath about magic and enchanted waters.

Suspicious lot, Archie smirked.

A few of the Indians came up from the hold and were looking over the railings. Lily walked toward him. The wind blew her hair over her shoulders. “So where are we?” she asked. The words were still in her strange language, but he understood every word. He looked at her in astonishment.

Thinking that he hadn’t understood anything she had said, she gestured around them and lifted her hands up in a questioning shrug. “Where are we?” she repeated.

“I do not know, but it seems to be a strange place, indeed,” he answered quietly, watching as her brown eyes widened. Then he turned his attention to his crew, who had noticed something amiss with the young woman who stood on the quarterdeck.

“Drop the anchor, lads! Let’s sit here for a bit and gather our wits about us, and enjoy this warm spot we’ve found. What say you?”

“Aye!” The answer was unanimous. Being as Boggs had been spotted bringing the soup up moments before, the crew was more than ready to pitch an anchor in the water and go below for a bite to eat. The captain and his guest were forgotten and left to themselves on the quarterdeck.

“Are you all right?” Archie asked Lily gently. The girl hadn’t so much as moved since she realized that there seemed to no longer be a language barrier.

“Yes,” she said, though she didn’t sound so sure.

“Would you like something to eat?” he asked, eyeballing the cold, sloshing bowl of soup with a look of distaste. The majority of it was splattered on the deck. “Perhaps something a bit less… mobile?”

She laughed and it was music to his ears. He looked up from the soup to see her face creased in a smile. “No, thank you. I’m not hungry. Do you have any idea of where we might be? This place feels… strange.”

“I truly do not know and I must agree, strange is a most fitting word for this place,” Archie said, peering at the ocean over her shoulder to make sure the ice was still a comfortable distance away. As it appeared they were safe, he turned his gaze back to the girl in front of him. It seemed she was doing the same thing as he, for she was watching something over his own shoulder. She glanced back to him.

“What will happen to us when you reach your destination?” Her brown eyes looked at him with no sign of fear. She sought the truth, and from her direct stare, Archie was certain that she would know if he told her otherwise.

“You were taken as plunder and will be sold when we reach port.” He hated the sound of those words as soon as they left his lips. They were blunt, sharp things and though they were the truth, he detested saying them, so he added a heartfelt apology in hopes of softening the truth, “I am sorry, Lily.”

“I will wish that we never reach port, then.” Her smile caught him off guard. It was not the reaction he had expected. “I also wish to thank you for my name.”

“Ah. Well…” He shifted from foot to foot. He didn’t want to admit the reason for the shorter nickname was that he had thought the name strange and ill-fitting.

“Lily is much prettier than Jumping Water,” she said, crinkling her nose in distaste.

I agree with you, he thought. Such a name put him in the mind of dangerous waterfalls and sharp-toothed beasties that leapt up out of the water to swallow ships whole. But instead of voicing his imaginative thoughts, he gave her a warm smile. “At first, I wished to call you Tiger Lily, truth be known, for you are as beautiful as a flower and as brave as a tigress.”

Her smile widened and lit up her eyes, then her expression grew serious. “I would be pleased if you were to call me Tiger Lily. Maybe it will keep me brave when we reach your port.”

Before he could answer, he spotted Smee, who had come up to the deck with his spyglass. “Yer blasted pixie is flying about again. Best she keeps her thievin’ hands to herself, or else.” The old man made a slicing motion under his chin with one gnarled finger, as if warning he would slit Miss Bell’s throat should the opportunity once again arise.

“Where was she?” Archie asked, ignoring Smee’s scowl.

“She flew in front of me, just as I was headin’ up the steps.”

Being as the staircase led to the deck, it was easy to assume Miss Bell was somewhere close by. “Very well. I shall keep an eye out for her,” he told Smee, who harrumphed and stalked to the opposite end of the ship, spyglass in hand.

“What is a pixie?” Tiger Lily asked, “Is it something like a water spirit?”

A sudden splash of golden dust landed between them. Archie smiled and held his palm out flat. A second later, Miss Bell landed upon his fingertips and stood there, smiling at them.

“This,” Archie said, returning the smile, “is a pixie. Her name is Miss Bell.”

“Oh my,” Tiger Lily said, leaning forward to get a better look at the tiny being who stood on his hand. “I’ve never seen anything like her before. She is beautiful.”

At the compliment, Miss Bell preened at her topknot of blonde tendrils and batted her big eyes.

She’s a bit vain, Archie thought, amused. The fairy was busy showing off, walking from his wrist to his fingertips, leaving tiny puffs of golden dust on his skin with every step. Then, she stopped in midstep as if she had heard something, a look of panic crossing her face. Then, she flew off his palm, disappearing across the water.

“Well, that saves me trouble,” Smee sounded unusually happy as he placed his spyglass to his eye to look in the direction where she had vanished.

Archie and Tiger Lily walked down from the quarterdeck. Archie planned to escort her below and find them both something to eat, when Smee announced, “There be land o’er that way where yer pixie went. I see a wee bit o’ it, but it be an island, nonetheless.”

Instead of continuing below deck, Archie strode to Smee and snatched his spyglass. True enough, a small streak of vibrant green sat on the horizon. “We will make preparations to sail,” he told Smee. One look at Tiger Lily’s saddened face made him add, “But best we use caution, lest we end up at the British Navy’s mercy once again.” He handed the spyglass back. “Keep a weather eye for anyone on that island. I’ll go below and fetch the lads.”

“Aye,” the old man nodded and set back to his task.

Archie ordered the pirates to their stations and soon the anchor was hauled up and the sails loosed. As the ship came closer to the island, the water below them began to change color. The dark, inky black lightened to the clearest, sparkling shade of blue that Archie had ever seen.

“I don’t see nary a soul,” Smee grumbled, “Not even a flag, or a ship near her shore.”

“It’s one side of her, Mr. Smee. Her port may well be in another place,” Archie said, trying not to let the hope seep into his voice. While part of him dreaded finding a port, for he had no intention of letting Tiger Lily be sold as a slave, another part wished to know where they were. If it came to it, he would use his own share of the plunder to ensure her safe return.

It is possible none of us will return, he thought, looking down into the water. As they came nearer the island, the blue in the water sparkled and glistened, as if the ocean were lined with diamonds.

They sailed close enough to the shore that Archie could make out the shapes of birds in the trees without the use of the spyglass, but saw nothing that spoke of anyone inhabiting that section of the island.

This could be the place we leave Black Caesar. He frowned, thinking of the man below deck. As if reading his mind, Tiger Lily stepped closer to him, so close that her shoulder brushed against his coat.

“I hope there is no port in this place,” she murmured so low that he barely heard her.

“All will be well. There is nothing to fear,” he told her, taking her hand in his.

They were sailing by a small inlet in the shape of a semi-circle. A large, flat rock sat in the center. It was sloped on one side, with one edge that dipped toward the ocean.

Archie’s first thought was that a dolphin was lying there, sunning itself. He’d never seen such a creature before, but he had seen pictures of them. The wide tail, which was fanning the surface of the water, seemed that it could belong to such an animal, though he’d never read of one actually choosing to be out of the water.

“Look!” Harper shouted from above them in the rigging, pointing at the rock.

The tail stopped its splashing as its owner sat up. A woman with long, black hair watched them with a look of curiosity painted on her face. Her hair was lying in wet tendrils down her shoulders to her bare waist. But that was as far as she looked human, for there the tail began. Half woman, half fish, Archie thought, dumbstruck, we’ve found a mermaid!

The pirates seemed to realize that in the same instant as he, only they were more verbal with their thoughts. A clamor rose up, with half of them demanding to sail to the rock, and the other half, being the more suspicious sort, demanding to leave it immediately for the fear of bad luck.

Before Archie knew it, one of the idiots fired a cannon. It whistled through the air and missed its intended mark, landing a distance beyond the rock. A giant splash soaked the mermaid, whose face took on the look of fear a split second before she jumped back into the safety of the sea, disappearing from sight.

“Fool! No man is to fire any weapon without my order.” Archie glowered at the guilty man holding the linstock. He walked down the steps from the quarterdeck and stalked toward the pirate, unsheathing his rapier along the way. He pointed the tip at the man’s throat. “If the British Navy heard your blast and lie in wait, you will breathe no more, I will promise you that.”

The man, who was one of the newest Spaniard recruits, gulped, and stepped away, nodding.

“Any man who disobeys me, I will throw overboard without a word. Consider this your last warning.” He gave them the full effect of the cold rage burning in his blue eyes. He returned to his place on the quarterdeck, and glanced at the rock. The mermaid had come back to the surface and was watching them from a safe distance. Even though Archie knew they wished something to be done, the pirates remained silent and still, waiting for his orders. It was the first time Archie felt like a pirate captain. He smiled.

“Sail on, lads. Let us see what other mysteries this island holds.”

13

MERMAIDS AND NEVERLINGS

BOGGS PATTED THE top of his stomach as if he feared he was starting to lose some of his wide girth. “We be runnin’ low on food,” he informed Archie.

“The men be getting antsy to set foot on dry land, port or no,” Beckett chipped in as he ducked into the room, shutting the door to the map room behind him.

“My people want to know what you plan to do with us,” Tiger Lily’s voice was just as determined as the other two as she crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at him.

Archie fought the urge to beat his head against the table in frustration. Apparently, the three of them had decided an ambush was in order. There was no way that all of them had arrived in his quarters at the same time by coincidence. The only one who hadn’t made his demands known was the old man who sat in the corner, whittling on a piece of wood.

“And what of you?” Archie asked Smee, who stopped carving and peered over his spectacles. “What is it that you want?”

“Same as them,” he replied, shrugging as he went back to scattering wood chips and shavings on the floor.

A quiet sigh escaped Archie. He’d expected them to come earlier, truth be told. It had taken days to sail around the island, and no port had been found. That they had waited until the Jolig Roger came back full circle to the mermaid’s inlet was a bit of a surprise to him, and he hadn’t anticipated that they would all come at him at once. His gaze rested on Tiger Lily, whose bottom lip jutted out. Had he been a betting man, he would have placed odds that the woman had put the other three up to this ambush.

“We will disembark and search for a means to restore our rations.” He gave a pointed look to both Beckett and Boggs. “Best you tell the lads to make preparations. In the morning, we row ashore.”

The boatswain and the cook left in happier spirits, followed by Smee, who stood up, flipping the rest of his shavings to the floor. He whistled an upbeat tune as he went out the door.

The only one of the four intruders who hadn’t left, still stood in the same place as before, refusing to budge until he told her what she wanted to know.

“Lily,” he said softly. He stood to come closer. “I cannot tell you what you wish to hear. If we find anyone on the island tomorrow, the code will be followed.”

“And if we find no one?” A glimmer of a wish sparkled in her eyes.

Archie understood, for if the island was truly uninhabited, the Indian tribe could not be sold as the crew’s plunder. Still, he didn’t want to give her false hope. “If we find no one, we stock the ship as best we can, leave the island, and search for a port elsewhere.”

She nodded, not meeting his gaze. “I thought you would say that.” She hesitated then, just long enough that Archie spied the small knife hidden beneath her arm. That pause gave him the time he needed, for when she raised it up toward his throat, he blocked her, managing to trap her wrist. His momentum thrust her against the wall, pinning her with his own body. There was no threat now.

Tears welled up in Tiger Lily’s eyes as she dropped the knife. It clanked on the wooden floorboards. Archie’s brain registered a stinging sensation in the palm that still held her wrist, but he ignored it, because the largest tears he had ever seen began to roll down her cheeks.

“I am sorry,” she whispered.

Archie bent his head down and kissed her. It wasn’t a possessive kiss by any means, but rather one he hoped would convey his feelings. For above all, he wished her to know what he felt for her and he hadn’t the words to tell her just yet. After a couple of seconds, he felt pressure against his lips, and the kiss was returned.

Something was tickling down his sleeve, he broke the kiss and glanced at his hand. A bluish liquid was smeared around Tiger Lily’s wrist and was running in dribbles down his own wrist to spatter on the lace cuffs of his shirt.

It took a moment for the shock to set in. His first thought was that the strange fluid came from Tiger Lily. Then, he turned loose of her wrist and the stinging in his palm brought him to reality. Her knife had somehow scored the meaty part of his palm, and that blue color was coming from the wound, where blood should have been.

He realized then it was his blood. Stumbling backward, he began searching for his stool. He was lightheaded and knew that if he didn’t sit soon, he was going to land flat-out on his face. He squeezed his eyes shut. Perhaps if he didn’t look at it, it would go away and be plain, regular-colored blood when he opened his eyes.

He heard a ripping sound, followed by pressure against his palm. “You hold this tight. I will be right back. I’m going to get the doctor,” Tiger Lily said.

He managed a weak nod and listened to her footsteps run to the doorway. The door opened, and it became quiet.

What causes blue blood? Archie wondered, refusing to open his eyes and look at his hand. He tightened the grip on the rag Tiger Lily had given him. It squished wet between his fingers and his stomach roiled, threatening to give up its contents. The last time he had seen his blood, it was a perfectly normal red color. And it hadn’t been that long ago, he reasoned, trying to ignore the moaning of his belly. When Smee shanghaied me, I had scrapes and scratches aplenty from the pier. Nothing was out of the ordinary then. And all the paper cuts from the print shop? It was red then, too. What has happened to me that my blood has turned blue?

Footsteps returned, though he didn’t open his eyes to see who it was. If someone wanted to kill me, now would be the prime time to do it, he thought.

“Let’s see what ye have there, lad.” Smee’s voice sounded curious. He felt the rag being pulled from his hand followed by the sound of a sharp intake of breath. “Saint Brendan,” Smee muttered.

There he goes again. Invoking help from the patron saint of whales. Pray tell, what do whales have to do with anything?

“Needs stitches.” At the sound of Smee’s voice, Archie chose to open his eyes, though he kept them on the old man’s fuzzy white sideburns. “Here.” Smee thrust a bottle into his free hand. “Looks ye might need it afore I get to workin’ with me needles.”

Archie took a long drink, feeling the rum run like fire down his throat. His senses began to numb and he decided to look down and immediately wished he hadn’t.

Smee’s white head was bent over the hand lying in his lap, but it wasn’t the hand he was inspecting. He held one lethal-looking needle between his thumb and forefinger, poking it with another finger to test its sharpness. Apparently it passed the rest, as the finger disappeared into his mouth to suck off a drop of red blood, then popped back out as Smee threaded the needle and readied to sew him up.

“Take another drink, lad, then pass me the bottle,” he instructed.

Archie did as he was told, and began wincing at the thought of rum being spilled on his palm to clean the wound. It was going to burn like fire.

“What are ye making such faces about? I haven’t even started yet.” Smee scowled at him before putting the bottle to his own lips. He gulped down half the bottle, and then set it on the table, his eyes watering as he peered at Archie over his spectacles. “Now ye can cringe, lad. I be ready now.”

Deciding that not watching was in his best interest, Archie closed his eyes and tried not to pay attention at the jabs of the needle and the queer feeling as the thread passed through his flesh. A hand came from behind him to squeeze his shoulder in reassurance.

“I am sorry,” Tiger Lily said softly. “But I couldn’t think of any other way that you would let us go.”

Smee harrumphed and grumbled something under his breath. The only word that Archie caught was “women.”

A short time passed, before the old man said in a conversational tone. “Knew a man once, I did. He had a bit of silver dust like that on our deck, used to put it in his tea. Said it helped his bowels. Kept him regular, though it turned ’em an odd blue color. Since ye breathed it, looks like yer bowels be safe enough…” he broke off as he dropped the needle, muttering a curse under his breath. The tugging commenced a few seconds later, proving the needle had been located and restrung. A moist, warm breath of air blew against the new stitching as if Smee were inspecting his work before a fresh bandage was wrapped around his hand. “’Tis done, lad. Take care not to pull me stitches free. I’m off to have a drink with the lads.”

With that, Archie opened his eyes in time to see Smee walk out the door. He sighed, daring to look down. His hand was swathed in a clean bandage with no trace of strange blood to be seen.

He sighed in relief, feeling better. “If I never see another drop of my own blood, I will be a happy man for the rest of my days,” he said, looking at Tiger Lily as she came around, pulling up a stool to sit opposite him. “Remind me that I need to maroon Caesar as early as possible,” he told her solemnly.

“I won’t forget,” she smiled.

“Now,” Archie said, prepared to handle the problem at hand, so long as the young woman in front of him hadn’t rearmed herself. He took a quick look at her hands, which lay empty and folded in her lap, before he continued, “I wish to ask you why you thought it necessary to kill me to gain your freedom.”

The smile left and a frown took its place as she stared at her hands. “My people are from the mountains. We are accustomed to living on land. This new life on this ship has been hard for us, especially our old ones, though the rest of us aren’t faring well, either. When I saw the mountains on the island, I knew we could live there if you would let us go free.” The words had been coming quickly to this point, but she stopped as she looked up, gazing into his eyes. “I wouldn’t have killed you, I only planned to threaten you with the knife until you promised to let us go. If there is anyone on the island, what will become of us?”

The emotion playing in her eyes tugged at his heart. He leaned forward so that his forehead rested against hers. “I promise you that should we find anyone on that island, you have nothing to fear. Even if it takes the trade of my soul, I will always keep you safe.”

THE MORNING CAME with a mist that rose up from the water, obscuring the island, though Archie knew they were close as the mermaid’s rock was within sight. Three longboats were lowered into the water, and he took his place in the first at the stern. He ordered any man able to hunt (or fight if the need arose) into a longboat, leaving a handful on board the Jolig Roger to keep watch and fish.

Archie glanced back at the ship. In a strange moment of pity, he’d ordered Black Caesar to be tied to the mast in order for the man to get a bit of fresh air. The former boatswain stood there, shackled. His face was emotionless as he stared straight ahead at the mist in front of them.

I hope he causes no trouble while we are gone, Archie frowned. Archie’s goal was a simple one, restock the ship as best they could, pray not to encounter anyone, and leave Caesar on the island. After he had talked with Tiger Lily for the better part of the night, he hoped the island to be vacant, though he knew that wouldn’t fix all of his problems. Something would have to be done with the tribe of Indians—something that would both protect them and satisfy the crew, no small feat by any means. He didn’t have a clue how he was going to accomplish that. However, if they were lucky, they would at least be short one mutinous, evil boatswain once the trip was over and finished.

The mist lifted as they passed by the mermaid’s rock. No sign of the dark-haired beauty was anywhere to be seen. Stay gone, Archie thought, do not show up while we are here. He could imagine one of the remaining nitwits on board blasting another cannon as they bobbed along in its path.

He glanced back at the ship. It was shrouded in mist. One figure was barely visible, up in the rigging.

HARPER WATCHED AS the fog enveloped the boats and listened as the final whispering splashes from the oars ceased. Jameson and the others were gone to the island and the Roger was his to command in their absence.

He climbed down the rigging, took a deep breath, and turned to the crew. Everyone was keeping a wide berth of the man tied to the mast. Couldn’t blame them, really, as they all knew how evil Black Caesar was. Harper ran his tongue along the rough edges of his gums, the places where his front teeth had once been. He knew first hand of the bo’sun’s black heart.

Pirates were pressed against the railings, safely away and mingling with the Indians, crammed in every possible corner. As he watched, the women and children scooted back below the deck, freeing up a few spots.

“Best we do our part,” he told the crew, “If the cap’n comes back and we’ve not caught a single fish, he won’t be happy.”

Harper wasn’t sure if it was fear or respect of Jameson that put the men to action, but whatever it was, he was relieved. They had begun to ready their nets, when a soft, sultry voice began to sing.

“My love sails on the dark, black sea. While I watch from below…” the words were haunting, echoing through the mist.

The voice is beautiful. I haven’t heard anything like it since I last heard my Mary sing, Harper thought, as his hand went to touch his tattooed forearm. A soothing sensation clouded his mind as if he were being sung a lullaby.

“My love sails on the dark, black sea. While I watch from below…”

A small part of Harper’s brain registered the lack of movement on the deck, as if everyone else were as entranced as he. He felt as if his insides were made of butter, but that didn’t matter. As long as the song continued, he would stay where he stood to listen.

“As time goes by, I wait for my love. My love sails on the dark, black sea.” A light splash blended with the words and was followed by a smattering of cool droplets that sprinkled across his face.

A beautiful woman, unlike anyone Harper had ever seen, appeared, sitting on the railing. Her hair hung in wet, dark tendrils, framing a perfect, heart-shaped face. Streams of water ran down to her bare waist, as if she had just sprung from the sea, but where her legs should have been, a scaly, grey tail, much like that of a fish, curled to the deck instead.

A mermaid. But not like the evil things in the songs that I know. She’s too beautiful to be a terrible creature. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Harper’s hand fell from his forearm as the last bits of Mary left his mind. There was no one else for him in this world. None, but this one who sat before him.

The tail was starting to fade, much as if it had been a dream that hadn’t truly been there, and two slender legs took its place.

“One day he shall return, for that I will wait. My love sails on the dark, black sea…” Harper never blinked as he watched her rise and walk about on deck, taking time to look into each man’s eyes as she passed.

“Fools.” The word stuck out in the middle of the song and shook Harper out of his trance just enough that he noticed Caesar baring his pointed teeth at the woman who had walked toward him. “Have ye no sense enough not to listen to her words? She’s bewitched you all.”

“My love has returned, has returned to me…” Caesar was struggling, as if he were trying to break free of his bindings to attack the woman. From the angle in which she had stopped, Harper could see the curious expression on her face, as if she were trying to figure out what was wrong with the man before her.

Good luck with that, Harper thought as the woman began singing the song from its beginning. She stood close to Caesar, as if singing it only to him, though Harper felt the soothing effects start all over again and his thoughts were washed away.

“My love sails on the dark, black sea. While I watch from below,

As time goes by, I wait for my love. My love sails on the dark, black sea…”

Caesar’s words cut through the muddle in his mind, sounding frantic as the woman circled the mast, continuing her song. “She’ll kill us all. Wake up, you fools! Can’t you see through her?”

“One day he shall return, for that I will wait. My love sails on the dark, black sea…” The woman stroked Caesar’s muscled shoulder, tracing a scabbed welt from the flogging, and then drew her fingers along the lines of ropes that held him fast.

“My love has returned, has returned to me…”

Harper watched as the woman ripped the ropes free as if they had been only string. She sprang up from the deck and wrapped her arms and legs around Caesar’s body, as if in an effort to cover it with her own. The scream that came from the boatswain etched itself on Harper’s mind, even in its foggy state. In the next instant, the mermaid leapt from the deck with Caesar still in her clutches, and disappeared over the railing, the ending to her song echoing with the splash.

“My love has returned, has returned to me…

And now he will die in the dark, black sea.”

PIRATES AREN’T A hunting lot, Archie decided, disgustedly staring into the blank eyes of a deer. There was one other, much like the one lying at his feet with its tongue protruding, in the boat behind them. Add three squirrels and a barrel of fresh fruit, and that made up the cache of this hunt. It was pitiful. The dreaded, fearless band of pirates under his watch were complete pansies when it came to searching for food. He’d watched several of them run after game, screaming as if they held hopes that it would surrender should they manage to frighten it sufficiently. The ones smart enough to stay silent were poor shots, missing nearly everything they aimed their pistols at. And some of the game they had seen was slow, moving nearly at human speed through the forest. How they’d managed to shoot not one, but two, deer was beyond his comprehension. It must have been luck, he decided, though he knew if he said those particular words to Smee upon their return, the old man would insist that it had been a blessing from Saint Brendan, keeper of whales. Archie sighed. He was willing to ask Smee’s saint for help at this point, however pointless it might seem.

If we never find another port, we’re doomed, he thought. We’ll starve. I hope Harper and the others had better luck fishing, else our stomachs will be empty before we leave sight of this island. His gaze rested on the Jolig Roger, a short distance away. He concentrated on the sides of the ship, looking for any sign that the skeleton crew he’d left aboard was indeed doing their part in trying to obtain fish. No nets were to be seen.

He scowled. Laziness would not be tolerated under his watch. If he found they had done nothing but lounge around on the deck, while he had to go trouncing around after the rest of the non-hunting dingbat crew, they were going to pay—dearly. He squinted up at the railings, but didn’t see anyone. He raised his eyes to the rigging, but found it empty, too. That was strange. Though he had left Harper in charge, he still expected to find the lad up by the mast, watching for their return. So far as he could see, there was no one near and he didn’t hear anything but the sounds of the ocean as they came alongside the ship.

With fear roiling through his gut, he grabbed the rope and climbed up to the silent deck. The sight that greeted him made him feel worse. He was staring into the barrel of a musket. The fact that Harper was the one holding it was the only thing that made the situation better.

Archie lifted his hand and pushed the barrel away from his face. The lad’s hands shook. “What has happened?”

“A mermaid happened.” Harper’s dry tone implied he had better control of himself than his hands had led him to believe, so Archie took a quick look around. He found that the pirates had banded together in the middle of the ship. They were crouched, back to back, and were armed to the teeth with muskets, pistols, and cutlasses pointed in every direction.

“Only one mermaid?” They looked ready for an army of the fishy creatures.

“It only took one.” Harper turned and pointed to the empty mast with a circle of loose ropes around its base.

“Where is Caesar?” Archie felt foolish asking the question, since it appeared he was no longer on the boat.

“She took ’im. Came aboard and bewitched us all… all but Caesar.” Harper frowned as he said the words, then added, “She seemed taken with him. Next thing I knew, overboard they went.”

“I suppose that saves us the trouble of marooning him.” Archie shrugged and turned to watch the others that had gone with him, pull up their kills. He pulled an apple out of his coat pocket and offered it to the young woman standing nearby.

“Fruit?” Tiger Lily asked. “I thought you were going to hunt.”

“It’s coming up.” Archie’s tone sounded defensive, even to his own ears.

One dark eyebrow arched upward and she left him to peer over the railing. When she turned back, Archie caught the sarcasm in her eyes, before it made its way to her lips. “Three longboats of men to catch two deer and a handful of squirrels. One of my people could do as much in an hour. You were gone all day.” She brushed past him and made her way below the deck, not impressed enough with their trip to shore to ask if they had seen anyone.

“Not the grateful sort, is she?” Harper said, watching Tiger Lily’s retreating back. “You did well, Jameson. Two deer. The men haven’t ever hunted so well.”

Archie sighed. He should have known his crew’s specialty was plunder and theft, not the honest trade of hunting. Had he thought it through beforehand, he would have taken some of the Indian men with them and left more of the crew on board to deal with the mermaid, but now wasn’t the time to second-guess his decision. It was time to sail away from this place.

“Take up the anchor and loose the sails.”

THE WATER HAD BEEN clear of ice for the first bit, but soon the sea was full of peril. Sharp peaks of icebergs rose up around them, threatening to destroy the Jolig Roger’s hull should they come too close. For hours, Archie stayed at the helm, guiding the ship. When night came, he managed to steer them back into warmer waters. The island was no longer in sight, and he felt confident they were on their way home. He relinquished his place at the wheel to Beckett, with instructions to keep their heading and went below for some much-needed rest.

The next thing he knew, daylight was spilling through the round window above his cot and Harper’s excited voice reached his ears through the floorboards, “Land, ho!”

Fully awake, Archie pulled his clothes on and shoved his feet into his boots, and ran up the steps to the deck. The sun was bright, with not a trace of a cloud in the sky. He put his hand to his brow to shield his eyes, and looked up at Harper in the rigging.

The lad pointed ahead, where a small patch of vibrant green showed on the horizon.

“Looks familiar,” Smee grumbled at him, as he came up to the quarterdeck. The old man thrust his spyglass at him and glowered. “Beckett’s brought us back to the same blasted island.”

“I kept the heading, sure and true,” Beckett answered, crossing his muscled arms over his chest.

Archie took in Beckett’s bloodshot eyes. It was clear the man had stayed up the entire night and spoke the truth, so Archie stayed silent as he lifted the spyglass and looked out at the island, hoping that Smee was mistaken.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t. The same shore greeted his eyes, as well as the well-known mermaid’s rock.

“The heading was kept? You are certain?” He handed the spyglass back and looked in Beckett’s tired eyes.

“Aye.” The answer was given without hesitation, and said with such a sense of finality that Archie was certain the man hadn’t lied.

A dark shadow flew across the ship, as if something had blocked out the sun. Looking up, Archie expected to see a stray cloud, what caught his eye instead, was a boy sitting on the beam of the mainmast. He wore a green cap with a long, red feather and a tunic made of green leaves. The boy looked at Archie in a suspicious manner before he said in a curious voice, “Who are you?”

It took Archie a second to grasp that the boy wasn’t a figment of his imagination, but was truly there. “I am Archibald Jameson, captain of the ship upon which you are sitting. “Who, may I ask, are you?”

“I,” the boy began, before jumping to his feet to walk along the narrow beam of the mast, “am Peter.” And with those last two words, he did something that amazed Archie. He jumped from the beam and landed before him on the quarterdeck, giving him a neat bow.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Peter.” Archie returned the bow. “Might I ask how you have managed to find your way upon the mast of my ship and where are you from?”

“Oh, that’s easy.” The boy grinned, showing a set of small pearly white teeth. “I flew.”

“You flew?”

“Mm-hmm,” he said, as if bored, and then gestured in an offhanded sort of way to the island a distance away. “I’m a Neverling, of course.”

“A Neverling,” Archie repeated, more for the sake of trying to let his brain absorb the reality of the boy in front of him than anything else. “Where are your parents? On the island?”

The boy’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Parents are grown-ups. There aren’t any grown-ups on Neverland.”

“None? Why not?”

“Because when you’re on Neverland, you never grow up.”

The statement had Archie imagining the island was inhabited by pygmies, though he doubted that was the case. He didn’t get to ask about pygmies or anything else, because someone else’s thoughts interrupted.

“Poppycock,” Smee grumbled under his breath, “Everyone grows old.” Archie hadn’t heard the old man arrive on the quarterdeck, but he had been rather preoccupied with the arrival of Peter.

“So, there are no adults on Neverland?” Archie asked, ignoring the glowering old man beside him.

“No.” Peter looked at him suspiciously. “No grown-ups have ever come to Neverland before. I’m the only one who knows the way. How did you find it?”

This is going to sound ridiculous, but then again, I am talking to a flying boy, Archie thought. “A pixie showed us the way.”

“A golden pixie? About this tall?” Peter made a space between his forefinger and thumb.

“Precisely. She was here until the day we arrived, and then she flew away, looking frightened.”

“She’ll be punished for showing you the way here.” Peter stomped his foot and set his hands on his hips, looking down at the deck with a frown on his young face. “She probably heard the blue pixies coming for her.”

Archie felt somewhat guilty about the matter, so he said nothing, and folded his hands in front of him, and watched Peter. The boy must have thought he was waiting for more information, so he continued, “The gold pixies are called Tinkers and there aren’t many of them. They keep the seasons in order on Neverland. The blue ones are called Royals. They are pushy. They tell the others what to do.”

The scowl that followed led Archie to believe that Peter didn’t think much of the blue pixies. Then, to his surprise, the boy lifted up into the air.

He truly does fly. Archie hadn’t believed it until now, but there the boy was, flitting about the sails like a bird.

“How do you fly?” Archie hadn’t intended to ask the question aloud. Questions kept crowding his mind at an alarming rate, one following another, before he’d had the time to ponder the previous one through.

“With pixie dust,” Peter called down as he began flying in more of a haphazard manner. He darted back and forth jerkily before landing back on the deck. He glowered at Archie. “If you hadn’t gotten Tink in trouble, she’d still be here and I could fly better.”

“I do apologize. I did not wish her harm.” Archie felt guilty, though he didn’t know what to do about it. The apology seemed sufficient for Peter because a bright smile lit up his young face.

“That’s all right, that means I’ll have an adventure. I’ll rescue her,” he announced and shot up into the air so quickly that it caused Archie to stumble backward into Smee, who muttered a variety of Irish curses. They watched the boy fly toward the island, much like a bird with a broken wing. After a few moments, he disappeared behind the dark, green mountains.

“Well, that was interesting,” Archie commented, setting Smee on another rant of wild cursing. Ignoring the man behind him who was becoming angrier with each passing second, Archie lifted his voice to be heard over the din, “Reverse our heading, Mr. Beckett. Once again, we shall attempt to leave this place.”

As the ship began to turn, Archie looked back at the island—a mysterious place inhabited by a strange, flying boy and pixies. While part of him wished to find an island with a port, a greater part wondered what other mysteries lay hidden, waiting to be discovered there.

14

WE BE PIRATES

HE SHOULD NEVER HAVE TAKEN the long way to the map room. Archie’s decision to go down the steps and across the length of the ship that took him through the crew’s quarters had proved disastrous. In his defense, he hadn’t known that his crew would be celebrating their fourth attempt to leave the island. At least, that’s what he supposed they were celebrating, though it could well have been something else, such as it being a Tuesday or the fact that Beckett had successfully tattooed an image of an apple on his right bicep. It took precious little to cause a celebration where his crew was concerned.

Archie had seen Boggs dancing, his tattooed woman swaying and jiggling as if in the throes of a seizure, while the rest of his body heaved up and down with the fiddle music. It was a sight that would forever scar his mind. Giving himself a mental shake, Archie tried to forget the wobbling mound of flesh inked into the shape of the portly, half-naked woman as the floorboards of the ship creaked and groaned with each dancing move Boggs initiated. Archie sighed. It was useless. The memory was carved into his brain for eternity.

He went into the map room and shut the door. He filled up his tankard and planted himself behind the table, ready to down yet another vile glass of grape juice. His throat had healed somewhat, but tended to become sore whenever night came. Thus far, the only thing he had found to soothe it was the juice.

He lifted it to his lips, preparing to wince at the rotten taste and discovered something—pleasant. The taste that rolled across his tongue was smooth and sweet.

How on earth did that happen? He peered down into his tankard incredulously. It hadn’t been that long since he had bought it on Madeira. A few weeks? A month? It was impossible that the contents of that barrel had changed to wine so quickly. Yet, somehow, it had. And it wasn’t just plain wine, either. It was the best he had ever tasted.

He was eyeing his barrel of newly discovered wine when a soft tap at the door caught his attention. He glanced up, wondering who was on the other side. His crew tended to knock so hard, he often wondered why the door hadn’t flown off the hinges, but this person seemed hesitant.

“Come in.”

Tiger Lily opened the door and stepped inside, offering him a warm smile. “Hello.”

He returned her smile and stepped closer, taking her hand in his. “Good evening. How are you?” He lifted her hand to his lips. He had noticed that she had stayed below deck with the others the past few days. He had thought perhaps she was angry with him, and so he hadn’t sought her out. He was pleased to see her now, though he wondered what brought her to him so late in the evening—in his quarters, alone.

“I wanted to speak to you.”

Ah. Here it comes. There is a reason for this visit and it isn’t for the pleasure of my company. Archie felt the strain at the sides of his mouth as he forced a smile and pulled out a stool for her. As she sat, Archie settled himself on the chair opposite her. “How can I be of service?” he asked.

“I have a proposition for you.”

Curiosity struck and Archie’s brows lifted. “You have my complete attention.”

“The food is gone. Tomorrow you will have to go to the island and hunt again.”

That’s not news, Archie thought. Boggs had resorted to boiling the same deer bones over and over again. The last three meals had been broth. Everything else was gone. The fruit, the squirrels—everything. His stomach grumbled. “If we are at the island again in the morning, yes, we will hunt.”

“The island will be there, just as it has been the past three mornings.” She’d said it as a statement of fact—as if she expected the sliver of vibrant green to be there once the first rays of sun streaked the sky.

Archie stifled the urge to sigh. It was true. Each time they departed, he gave orders for a different heading and each morning, the result was the same. The island was always there to greet them once daylight came. “What do you propose?” He expected her to offer the aid of the tribe to go and hunt.

“Let us go. In exchange, my people will hunt and bring your ship what you need. Your men can’t feed us all. We’ll starve.” Her dark eyes implored him. Archie knew she was right. The amount that they had brought back from their last escapade hadn’t been sufficient for a single day with so many mouths to feed, let alone four days. His crew hadn’t begun to complain as yet. Doubling their rum ration had done wonders in that regard, but the Indians hadn’t fared as well. The majority of them stayed in the hold despite the fact that the threat of Black Caesar was gone, but the few who wandered up to the deck for fresh air looked gaunt, their eyes sunk into their sockets. If something wasn’t done soon, it was going to get worse. Another small part of his brain reminded him of a promise he had made to her, not so long ago. I will always keep you safe. That pledge made up his mind for him.

“Very well. If the island is there come morning, your people will go free. You have my word.”

Surprise lit up her face first, followed by a smile wider than he had ever seen. She didn’t say a word as she jumped up from the stool and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He patted her back. “Do not tell the others until morning—until we see the island,” he said into the warm silk of her hair that brushed his face. The last thing he wanted was a mutinous crew, out to slit his throat as he slept.

WITHOUT HIS USUAL spill of cursing, Smee thrust his spyglass at Archie, then crossed his arms over his chest and waited as the captain put it up to his eye. The same sliver of green was there to greet them. It didn’t surprise Archie in the least. He handed the glass back, his eyes landing on Tiger Lily by the railing. From the dejected looks of the few Indians on deck, she had kept her word and hadn’t told a soul of his promise to her.

She gave him a slight smile, and then turned to look back out across the span of ocean toward the island.

Neverland. Perhaps that was why it was given such a name—the land you could never seem to leave. Archie watched his crew for one thoughtful moment. None of them looked enthused at seeing the island again. Their shoulders slumped and their heads hung low.

“All right, lads. Today providence shall smile sweetly upon us,” he announced.

A few muttered groans met his ears next. “I hate hunting. I didn’t sign up to go chasin’ wild animals,” he heard someone say. A quick retort followed from another pirate, “They be too fast to catch.” More comments filled the air, leading Archie to believe that perhaps convincing the crew to turn loose of the Indians would be easier than he thought.

“The Indians have offered to hunt for us whenever our food runs low in exchange for their freedom,” he announced loudly, to be heard over the din. As he said the last word, complete silence greeted him. Perhaps this is a good thing, he thought, taking in the rather shocked expressions on the faces of the Indians and the pensive ones on that of his crew.

“For as long as we are here?” Harper was the first to speak. “They will hunt enough to provide for us all?”

Taking one quick look at Tiger Lily, who gave a small, resolute nod, he answered, “Yes, enough for us all.”

“What happens when we leave this blasted island? If we let them go free, our booty will be gone,” Beckett said, scrubbing his beard-stubbled chin in thought.

“We be stuck here,” Smee announced in an ominous tone. “It be magic waters we sail in, lads. We won’t be leavin’ this place. Best we have someone to hunt for us.”

“So we vote,” a voice chimed in near the base of the mast. Boggs patted his stomach thoughtfully.

Yes, and I know how you’ll be casting your decision, Archie thought, amused. Holding his breath and hoping that the others were in the same mindset as their cook, he said, “Yes, we vote. All in favor of having the Indians hunt for us, so long as we are near this island?”

A mumbled aye echoed across the ship, spoken by most of the crew. They didn’t sound happy, nor did they look it. Archie smiled. “Any opposed?”

A few unintelligible grumbles met his ears, but none so loud to be considered a vote to counter that of the others. It seemed the majority of the crew were thinking with their stomachs as opposed to their pockets.

“Very well, they shall have their freedom. Ready the boats.”

The pirates moved slowly as they lowered the boats. From their expressions, most of them were wondering if agreeing to release the Indians had been a good thing to do. The Indians, however, looked the happiest that Archie had ever seen them. A few of the men were helping the pirates, the jovial grins on their faces at complete odds with the dour ones that moved at a snail’s pace. Tiger Lily had disappeared the second he proclaimed them free. Now she was helping the old chief to the deck, with the obvious intention of insuring that he was one of the first rowed to the island.

Once the chief was settled in the long boat, she ran back toward the hold, shooting Archie a grateful, happy smile along the way. Archie watched her complete her circuit several more times, with another elderly or disabled person in tow until they all were in the longboats.

Turning command of the Jolig Roger to Harper, Archie jumped into the last boat with Tiger Lily, intent on finishing the details of their transaction before they reached shore.

“We will split everything we find with you. Evenly,” she offered, “I will meet you every two days and bring you your share.”

It sounded like a good treaty to Archie, so he agreed, and let some of Tiger Lily’s excitement rub off on him. He smiled. It would be good to be free of the responsibility of caring for so many. There were at least fifty souls he would no longer have to keep watch over. With the tribe off his ship, he would have only the pirates to contend with.

“I will miss you,” he said quietly, so only her ears would hear him.

Her hand came over to hold his. “Every two days I promise I will be on the shore waiting for you to come.”

He gripped her fingers. He knew that the days between he would still search the white-sanded beach for any sign that she was near. “Every day that comes, I will watch for you.”

The boat was passing by the mermaid’s rock. Archie glanced back to the ship. He’d left most of the crew on board, taking only enough men to row the boats. He hoped the mermaid wouldn’t return in his absence. He should have stayed on board, but the thought of not seeing Tiger Lily safely to the island was more than he could bear, so he sat there and held her hand tightly in his until the tide washed them close to shore.

“WHAT WE GOING to do when they don’t come back?” Boggs asked, his hands on his hips. “We let ’em go, just like that, and expect ’em to do as they say?” He shook his head, staring into the thick underbrush where the Indians disappeared moments before. “We won’t be seein’ ’em again. Mark me words.”

“We wait,” Archie told him, sitting down on the trunk of a fallen tree to demonstrate that he planned to do precisely that. “Tiger Lily gave her word that they would return in two hours.”

“Women,” Boggs grumbled, sitting on the opposite end of the tree. It groaned, and the end Archie sat on lifted in the air.

Archie grinned. “All is well, Boggs. Have a bit of faith. If they do not return, we shall go hunting—for them.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Boggs sighed, “Between you an’ me, Cap’n, I hope them Injuns be honest folk. I’m not as young as I used to be. Can’t go runnin’ after…”

A scream echoed up the shoreline, cutting him off. Boggs jumped up from the stump, causing Archie’s end to splat into the ground. Bones jarred and body aching, Archie stood, catching the last glimpse of Boggs running down the sandy beach, a pistol in each hand.

He’s moving faster than I ever would have guessed possible, Archie thought, shooting a fast glance back to the boats on the beach. The pirates had dispersed when they had landed, most of them wandering through the forest in search of food. The handful he spotted were making their way toward him, weapons drawn. Assured that back-up was coming, Archie began his sprint in the sand, following Boggs’s rotund figure.

He tailed his cook all the way down the stretch of shore, until he edged around a small inlet. Another scream followed the first. It sounded—young. Archie’s first thought was of Peter, for the men who had accompanied him to shore had rough voices from years of life on the sea. The youngest among his crew was Harper, but even his voice didn’t hold such a youthful sound.

Boggs turned a corner and disappeared.

“Wait!” Archie yelled, picking up his pace. Though he wished Peter no harm, he also had no desire to lose his cook. Good cooks were hard to come by. He had no intention of serving his men both leadership and their meals. He rounded the bend and bumped into Boggs, who held his pistols before his tattooed belly, cocked and ready.

An enormous crocodile was in the process of hunting his next meal, from what Archie could gather. A smallish, brown animal that looked like a strange, malformed bear cub was trying to escape and didn’t seem to be having the slightest luck. A high edge of dirt, that was impossible to climb, rose behind the bear. It was trapped. The crocodile’s long tail was swishing back and forth, demolishing the cattails at the water’s edge as it advanced on the cub in slow, deliberate steps, as if taunting the smaller animal.

Surely that cub wasn’t the one screaming. Archie hoped the croc hadn’t already eaten Peter as its main course. He was ready to tap Boggs on the shoulder and tell him to retreat a safer distance from that thrashing tail, when the scream came again—from that strange bear.

In an effort to climb the wall, two chubby hands scrambled in the dirt, searching for handholds and a fur cap slid off, revealing a boy’s frightened face.

“Kill the croc,” Archie hissed in Boggs’s ear. “Hurry and shoot it, man, before it eats him.”

“Aye.” The word hadn’t made it out of his mouth, before Boggs shot both pistols.

One shot went wide, puffing into the dirt wall above the croc, to the left of the boy. The other found its way into the top of the croc’s snout, not a killing wound by any means, but enough that the animal stopped its pursuit, wriggling and twisting as it retreated back into the water. It turned to stare up at Archie, as if it knew that he had been the one responsible for the blood coating its scales. It opened its mouth wide, giving Archie a disconcerting view of rows of gleaming white teeth, then it gurgled a low, hissing snarl, and disappeared beneath the surf.

The fur-clad boy stopped clawing the dirt and glanced behind him. Once he realized the crocodile had gone, he slid back to the bottom of the embankment and sat where he landed, looking puzzled as he scratched his mussed, brown head before flopping the bear skin back on top of it.

He hasn’t seen us yet, which is amusing as there are quite a few of us up here. Archie watched the boy stare at the water as if he were wondering why he hadn’t been eaten.

Archie opened his mouth to call down to him, when someone else beat him to it.

“Hey Beetles, you might wanna get out of there,” a voice called from the other side of the inlet. “There’s a pile of big people over there watching you.”

“Ahhh!” The bear boy yelled in fright, jumping to his feet and tackling the dirt wall with renewed vigor. He made it halfway up, when another boy appeared at the top and dropped to his knees, reaching an arm down in an effort to pull the younger lad up. The one doing the pulling was a tall, skinny boy—clad much the same as his chubby friend below—only this one had a fur cap with two long, floppy ears that danced around his head each time he jerked his friend’s hand.

I believe he’s wearing rabbit ears, Archie decided. They will both land down there to be eaten if they don’t soon hurry up.

“Come on, lads. Let’s give ’em a hand up,” he instructed his men as he set off around the wide semi-circle of the cove.

“Does this mean they be our prisoners?” Boggs voiced popped up behind him, sounding hopeful, as they ducked around tree branches.

“No, Boggs. We don’t need any more extra mouths to feed. We just released the Indians for that reason, you know.”

“Hmph,” came the unhappy reply, followed by silence.

Well, if that’s all he’s going to say, it isn’t bad at all, Archie thought, looking across at the two boys Boggs wished to capture. They still hadn’t made any progress, though they were becoming more frantic in their pulling.

“Hurry up, Beetles. They’re coming for us,” the tall boy urged, jerking the other boy’s arm hard enough that his round torso bounced, back and forth against the dirt. He didn’t gain any progress upward. Archie winced, the boy’s arm would be sore for days at this rate, not to mention his belly.

“We mean you no harm,” he said, slowing the last few steps to make sure they heard his approach. “We only want to help you get your friend up safely. No man should suffer a fate at the jaws of a crocodile.”

The tall boy stopped pulling, indecision playing across his face as if he were deciding whether to trust Archie, or to drop his friend and save his own skin. “You know, if you hadn’t decided to show off and go hunting that crocodile all alone, they wouldn’t have caught us,” Archie heard the boy hiss over the ledge, “Now Peter will be angry.”

Archie chose to pretend he hadn’t heard anything as he knelt down to grasp Beetles’s free arm. It took both of them pulling to get the hefty boy over the edge. Once free of danger, he shrugged them both off and rolled a safe distance away from Archie, before getting to his feet. He rubbed his arm and watched Archie with the same distrusting look that Archie guessed had been aimed at the crocodile moments before.

“There aren’t any grown-ups on Neverland.”

“So I’ve heard,” Archie said dryly, “Yet, we appear to be here, nonetheless.”

“You’d better thank him, Beetles,” the tall boy said, nudging him in the shoulder. “You’d have been eaten already if they hadn’t stopped Tic-Tock.” He stopped and looked contemplative for a few seconds. “How did you stop him? He eats whoever he wants.”

“I shot him,” Boggs spoke up from behind Archie.

Archie moved over to let the cook walk through. Boggs stood as proudly as his short, round frame would allow. His head held high, looking down at the two boys before them. “I am the dread pirate Percy Boggs,” he informed them in an imperious tone, thrusting out his round belly as he put his hands on his hips. “But don’t call me Percy.”

Archie bit back a smile, watching as the boys took in the tattooed woman with wide eyes.

“He’s painted a woman on his belly—wonder why he did that?”

“I dunno, but I bet she’s stuck on there for good.”

Deciding now was the time to interrupt, in case Boggs were to demonstrate his dancing moves next and scar their young minds, Archie said, “I am Captain Jameson, of the pirate ship, the Jolig Roger. Might I have the pleasure of your acquaintances?”

“Oh, sure. I’m Patch, and that is Beetles.” The rabbit ears that hung down the boy’s head swayed as he nodded his head and gestured to his friend.

“I am pleased to meet you.” Archie gave them a low, elaborate bow, which seemed to please them both to no end. As he straightened, two wide smiles were given in return. “Now to satisfy my curiosity, I simply must ask, why is the crocodile named Tic-Tock?”

“Oh, that’s because he sounds like a clock.” Patch shrugged.

“I beg your pardon?” Archie was certain he had misunderstood.

“He sounds like a clock.” It was Beetles who repeated the words, and then added, “You know, tic-tock, tic-tock. It’s because he swallowed Peter’s clock.”

Archie was finding the story intriguing, however improbable it seemed. “And how did that happen?”

“Peter always brings things back from the grown-up land. One time he brought a clock, just to see if it would work on Neverland. Tic-Tock and Peter have never gotten along. One is always trying to get the other,” Patch explained. “One day, the croc saw Peter coming back from the grown-up world. Peter was busy looking at his clock and didn’t realize he was flying so low. Then the croc jumped out of the water and snapped his jaws just inches away from him. It didn’t get Peter, but it startled him enough that he dropped the clock right into Tic-Tock’s mouth. The croc swallowed it. Now if you get too close to him, you can hear it ticking, so we named him Tic-Tock.”

“A ticking crocodile,” Archie heard Boggs say, “that be a new one. How long ago did he swallow that clock?”

Both Patch and Beetles shrugged, as if neither knew the answer and didn’t care to know it.

“Well, I was wonderin’ how it stayed wound, is all,” Boggs mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest, clearly not believing the story that had been told.

“How do you ‘wound’ a clock?” Beetles asked.

“Well, you twist the knob in the back…” Archie stopped at the blank expressions on their faces. “You do know what a clock looks like, don’t you?”

The boys shook their heads. “How are we supposed to know what it looks like when it got eaten before we saw it?” Patch asked, flipping his rabbit ears over his shoulders to get a better look at Archie.

“You are telling me you have never seen a clock. Never?” He asked again, just to be sure.

Two definite no’s, as the boys shook their heads.

“Might I ask where you are from?”

“Neverland.” The answer was immediate, leaving Archie no choice but to query further.

“But where were you born before Peter brought you here? Where are your parents?” The questions were piling up in his head faster than he could spit them out now. “And why was Beetles down there with a crocodile?”

“You sure are asking strange questions.” Patch wrinkled his nose, looking more rabbit than boy with the gesture. “What’s born and parents?”

“I went down there to kill Tic-Tock,” Beetles said, crossing his arms over his chest, looking much like a smaller, untattooed version of Boggs, “I wanted to show Peter that I wasn’t afraid of him.”

“You should have been afraid,” Patch frowned, “You like to show off too much.”

“I do not,” Beetles mumbled.

“Yes, you do,” Patch argued. “Besides, Peter isn’t even around to show off for!”

Archie rolled his eyes and fought the urge to pull his hair out, while the two continued to bicker back and forth.

“Go back to the shore and wait for Tiger Lily. I’ll be there presently,” he told Boggs, “Best we be there, when she returns.”

“If she returns,” Boggs grumbled. Archie wondered if he and the cook would end up quarreling like the two boys a few feet away, but the pirate turned and started back around the inlet, collecting his crewmates along the way.

The boys were oblivious to everything but their disagreement, which had escalated to the point of the two of them rolling around on the ground in a ball of arms, legs, and fur. As he watched the two scuffle, Archie debated just letting them fight it out as he returned with his men. They weren’t showing any signs of slowing down.

Archie cleared his throat in hopes that they’d notice. They didn’t. The fighting now included various pieces of brown and grey fur being ripped off and thrown into the air. Archie sidestepped the long-eared rabbit hat that came hurtling toward him. At the rate they were going, it wasn’t going to stop any time soon and he had a young woman coming to bring supplies. The thought of Tiger Lily made up his mind rather quickly.

“Please do tell Peter I send my regards,” he called out over the scuffle.

At the sound of his voice, the two stopped just long enough to answer in unison. “Okay.” Then, they went back to their fight and Archie left them to it.

His timing was perfect. When he rounded the corner and the boats came into view, so did Tiger Lily and six men from her tribe.

I’m glad she wasn’t joking when she boasted of her people’s skill, Archie thought, grinning. Several deer and one enormous black bear lay at the edge of the trees. His men had started carrying the deer carcasses to the boats.

Archie spotted Boggs looking the bear over with an authoritative air, as he walked around the beast, taking it in. Noticing Archie approach, he stopped his inspection and looked up with a wide grin. “We be set, Cap’n.”

“Is there enough here?” He already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it confirmed by his ship’s cook. Tiger Lily stood nearby, also waiting for Boggs’s reply.

“Oh aye, Cap’n. We’ll eat like kings,” came the easy reply as Boggs left the bear and made his way to Tiger Lily. He took her hand and bent over to kiss it. “My dear, ye be a wonderful woman. The sun itself canna’ hold a light to yer beauty. You have eyes the color of old sherry and hair as dark as me Great-Aunt Maddie’s.”

Archie had never heard such a grand speech from any of the pirates. He wondered if perhaps Boggs might be working himself up to a marriage proposal. Worried that the pirate might start pointing out other fine qualities not fit to be heard, Archie cut in, “That’s enough, Boggs. Best you keep an eye on your bear. ’Twould be a shame if the crocodile would come by and rob you of it while your attention was held elsewhere.”

Boggs released Tiger Lily’s hand and spun around, as if expecting the giant croc to burst through the trees at any given moment. The young woman forgotten, Boggs took off in the direction of the strongest man on shore. “I need yer help, Beckett. We need to get that bear on the ship.”

“I apologize.” Archie smiled at Tiger Lily. “I believe he was trying to say thank you, and it got a little out of hand.”

A wide grin blossomed over her face, lighting up her eyes. “That’s all right. I was enjoying it.”

“You were?”

“Oh, yes. It’s not every day I’m given such strange compliments. I am glad he liked the bear.”

Said bear was being toted to a boat by three men, plus Beckett, who seemed to be shouldering the majority of the weight. They made it to the boat, and heaved the animal in, then looked at the boat with pride, as if they had captured the beast themselves.

Archie rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to Tiger Lily. “Have your people found shelter for the night? Is there anything you need?”

“They have started toward the mountains. It feels like home here, so we are going to be fine.” She stepped closer and reached out, tracing the line of his cheek. “You have done what I needed. I cannot ask you for anything more.”

He captured her hand in his and placed a kiss in her palm. “If you need anything at all, you need only ask. If it is in my power to give, it will be yours.”

She moved her hand away and took that last step that brought her body close to his. A soft breeze blew her hair toward him, framing her face in a soft outline of shining silk as she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. When the kiss broke, he rested his forehead to hers. “Each day that passes, I will watch for you. And every day I do not see your face, an eternity shall pass.”

ARCHIE HAD NEVER heard any of his crew giggle as a side effect of their rum ration. He’d seen them drunk more times than he could count, so wasted the majority of them couldn’t stand, and those few who could, teetered about on deck like the ship was in the worst of seas, only to end up falling head over heels, sprawled out on the planking. Two unlucky pirates had gone over the railings as a result of not being able to discern where the ship ended and the sea began.

It was after those two unceremonious deaths that Archie started his own code, adding his rules to the end of Blackbeard’s in the book.

No man to drink spirits or be drunk whilst on the main deck.

It had worked thus far. Pirates might be a thieving, unruly lot, but they tended to follow the rules laid before them, especially when it held the power to affect their share of plunder. So when Archie heard the high-pitched giggle so close to the quarterdeck, he was a bit surprised. At first, he thought that his rule had been disobeyed, since the sound came so loud and clear.

As it happened, the sound came from below, though not far. I am not sure it is a good sound, Archie decided, taking in Smee’s jovial face. The doctor sat on the steps leading up to the deck, giggling like a school girl.

“I say, man. What, pray tell, do you have in that cup?” Archie asked, crinkling his nose as the stench assaulted his senses. The smell was terrible. A rotten, fruity smell. At first, he thought his wine had been discovered, but this was far, far worse than his grape juice had ever been. Besides, the smell of his wine had changed as quickly as the taste and filled his quarters with a sweet smell any time he uncorked the barrel.

“Hee-hee,” was the only answer given to his question. Smee’s red cheeks were a bright contrast to his white sideburns, glowing like stubbled, rosy red apples.

Getting nowhere with the ship’s doctor, Archie edged around him, and made his way down the stairs. The smell worsened with each step he took. He reached in his pocket for his handkerchief and pressed it to his nose as he reached the hold.

Boggs stood with a crusty-looking paddle in hand, looking pensive, as he stared down into an open barrel. He seemed oblivious to the stench that surrounded him as he stuck the paddle down and thwacked it on the insides of the barrel. The contents made squishing sounds as he stirred and the reek became worse to the point that Archie began gagging through the handkerchief.

“Whatever it is you are doing, I will beg you to stop,” Archie managed between breathless gasps.

“Oh, aye, Cap’n. Sorry to upset your sensitivies, I am,” Boggs answered, looking up from the barrel. “It’s just that I be trying to figure out how it turned so quick, ye see.”

“What’s turned?”

“Some of the fruit the lads brought aboard. Ye see, we be runnin’ low on rum, Cap’n, and with no port to be found, I figured to make a bit of wine. Nothing much, mind ye, only a bit of an experiment, ye might say, being as your barrel turned so well in such a short time.”

Attention piqued, Archie made his way to Boggs’s experiment to have a better look. A crusty, brown mash with yellow streaks lay squished against the sides of the barrel.

“What fruit was this, did you say?” Archie asked.

“Not sure, Cap’n. Looked to be something between an apple and a pear. The lads be callin’ it ‘neverfruit.’ Was sweet enough, I gave one a try before I put the others in there and mashed ’em up.”

“You’re making wine out of a strange fruit that you’ve never seen before,” Archie said, a tone of incredulity seeping into his words.

“Mmph,” Boggs replied, shrugging his shoulders, as if it weren’t an issue to be bothered with. Then, he added as if in afterthought, “I’ve had worse. Smee said he would be the first to try it, so as not to poison the lads.”

Well, Smee’s sudden sense of nobility makes it all better then, Archie thought, shaking his head in despair. He’d seen Smee drunk, but never gleefully so. “I’m thinking it may be a bit strong, even for the likes of our good doctor.”

“Aye, I be thinking we might water it down a bit,” Boggs said in a thoughtful manner, “But don’t tell the lads, Cap’n. I have no want to be thrown overboard for diluting their spirits.”

“Your secret is safe with me, Boggs. You have nothing to fear,” Archie said, turning to make his way back up to deck. He stopped at the steps, eyeing Smee. “You shouldn’t give him anymore unless it is watered down. Whatever the name of your concoction, I believe he’s had more of it than he can handle.”

“I haven’t a clue what I be callin’ it yet, other than frightfully stout. Ye have me word, Cap’n. Mr. Smee will no’ be havin’ any more of it ’til I get it right.” Boggs’s voice sounded like an echo. Archie glanced over his shoulder. The man had his head shoved down in the barrel, inspecting his creation.

He will be as smashed as Smee, Archie thought, shaking his head. As if his thoughts had been read, another high-pitched giggle came from the steps.

Edging around Smee, Archie made his way up top and found another surprise sitting atop the mast. Peter sat, dangling his feet back and forth, looking bored.

“I was just getting ready to call for you,” Harper materialized at Archie’s side, looking troubled. “He flew over the ship and landed right next to me on the rigging.”

“Hello, Peter,” Archie called out. “How are you today?”

“As well as ever, I’d say.” A wide grin spread across the boy’s face as he got to his feet and walked down the length of the beam. He did so as easily as Harper, as if he’d spent time on the narrow mast, though Archie knew that wasn’t the case. The reason for the nonchalant way of balancing on the board was lack of fear. After all, when one could fly, there would be no fear of falling.

Peter demonstrated Archie’s thoughts by hopping off the end of the beam and dropping to the deck, so slowly that it seemed he was walking down instead of flying or falling. As he neared, Archie made out a familiar being perched on Peter’s shoulder.

“Why, Miss Bell, I am pleased to see you again.” Archie smiled at the golden pixie. The smile melted away when he realized that she looked different from the last time he had seen her. Her color had dulled and one wing hung at an odd angle. “What has happened to her?” he asked Peter.

“The royal pixies punished her, as I told you they would, but I saved her.”

“Oh, no. I am very sorry, my dear.” Archie didn’t think the apology sufficed, though the pixie gave him a warm smile and made light, bell tones as if saying everything was fine and all was forgiven.

“Will she heal?” he asked Peter.

“Oh, yes. She’ll be flying and back to usual by tomorrow. Every wound heals quickly on Neverland, so she’ll be good as new,” Peter answered, staring at something behind Archie. “Why do you have a boy here? Did he come with you from the grown-up star?”

“Who…” Archie began, as he turned to see what had caught the boy’s attention.

Harper stood by the steps, his arms crossed over his chest. His face looked inquisitive, in spite of his rigid stance. Archie guessed that he was as curious of Peter as Peter was of him, though he was attempting not to show it.

“Peter, this is Harper. He is one of my crew, and, yes, he did come with us.”

“Is he a boy? He looks like one. He doesn’t look like you,” Peter said in a conversational tone.

“I am a man,” Harper announced, cutting Archie off before he could speak. The curious look had left the lad’s face, replaced with a fierce one that glowered at Peter. “I am a pirate, and a part of this ship’s crew. I am not a boy.”

“I think he is right. He just looks like a boy, but he speaks like a grown-up,” Peter told Archie, “He has wrinkles around his mouth. It means he’s old.”

Archie fought to keep from smiling. Those wrinkles were a product of having no front teeth. “Yes, I suppose he is older than you might have thought,” he conceded. He heard Harper curse under his breath.

“That’s too bad,” Peter said, “The Lost Boys would have been happy to have another boy join them.”

“The Lost Boys? Who are they?”

“They are the ones that I brought from the grown-up star, but there aren’t many of them left. Tic-Tock has eaten a lot of them.” Peter scowled. The expression was echoed on the face of Miss Bell.

“Would Beetles and Patch be two of your troupe?” Archie asked.

“Yes,” Peter said, jumping up to sit on a water barrel. Looking bored, he searched his pocket and came out with a small, wooden flute. He put it to his lips and gave it an experimental puff.

Archie grimaced. From the scratching, shrill tones, it was obvious the boy didn’t have a clue how to play. “One of my men saved Beetles from the croc, just as he was about to be eaten,” Archie said, hoping to get the boy to talk instead of blow on his flute.

The diversion worked. Peter’s head flew up at the mention of the crocodile and a hard expression came over his face. “No one told me about that. Nothing happens on Neverland that I don’t know about.”

“Well, it happened just the same, and I assure you that I am not lying. I was there. I saw it with my own eyes,” Archie said.

“I told them not to go near Tic-Tock, but Beetles never listens. It was probably him,” Peter said darkly as he stood up. In the next second, he was flying to the island without so much as a goodbye to anyone on the ship.

“Well, that was odd,” Archie said, watching the boy disappear over the trees.

“I think he’s a death guardian,” Harper said, catching Archie’s full attention.

“I beg your pardon?”

“That boy—Peter. I think he’s a death guardian,” he repeated. At Archie’s silence, he continued, “Me mum used to tell us bedtime stories. In one of her tales, there was an elfin guardian with pointed ears. You did notice that Peter has pointed ears, didn’t you?”

Archie nodded. The boy didn’t look like an elf, in Archie’s opinion, but there was a bit of a point to his ears. He waited for Harper to continue his tale.

“Well, the death guardians were in charge of ferrying souls to the underworld. There was one Mum was fond of telling us, of a guardian who became lonely. His name was Pan. He was given charge of the children who died, and told to keep them safe as their souls crossed over. At first, Pan did as the gods bade and ferried the children to the underworld. But as time went on and years went by, he grew restless—and lonely. He began taking the children to a special place, a place only he knew, so that they would always keep him company—so he wouldn’t be alone.” Harper’s eyes had taken on a far-away look, as if he were hearing his mother’s words as they replayed in his mind. He looked more like the boy that Peter had mistaken him for. As Archie watched, the look left and the Harper he knew, returned. “Do you think it is possible that the story is true, Jameson?”

Once, Archie had heard that all stories had a basis in truth. Whether or not that was true, he didn’t know. The odds of a bedtime story having roots in their reality was a bit of a stretch for him, but then, so was a flying boy. “I do not know, Harper. I truly do not.”

“Well, I think he is Pan, or something like him,” Harper said. “After all, stranger things have happened. I need something to make sense.”

Archie nodded his agreement. To believe in a fairytale might seem folly, but they were captured in a world where anything seemed to be possible. Perhaps believing was the answer.

15

UNLIKELY ALLIES

ARCHIE HAD NOT EXPECTED to see one of Peter’s Lost Boys on his first trip to meet Tiger Lily. The boy did not look pleased to be there as he helped the Indians tote baskets of supplies to the shoreline.

“Good day, Beetles. I confess, your presence is a bit of surprise. I thought only to find Tiger Lily and a few of her people here this morning,” Archie said, giving the short, round boy a polite smile.

“Mmph,” the boy grumbled as he set down a basket full of strange-looking fruit, his bear cap falling forward to his eyes. He pushed it back with one hand, and turned to look at Archie. “She said if I was to see you, I was to tell you she’s on her way,” and with that, Beetles set off, heading back into the woods, presumably for another trip of supplies, though Archie thought he might be trying to escape further conversation.

“Nice of him to help,” Harper grinned, “Even if he didn’t seem too happy about it.”

“Yes, nice indeed,” Archie replied, watching as Tiger Lily appeared from beneath the canopy of trees.

“Did you see a boy come through here?” she asked without preamble. “About this tall?” She held out her palm at chest height.

“Aye, and about this wide.” Harper held out his hands a good distance from his own waist, indicating Beetles’s chubby frame.

“Well, where did he go? He was supposed to come back and help us carry the rest of your supplies to the boats.”

“He went that way.” Harper pointed to a group of trees in the opposite direction.

“That figures,” she muttered.

She looks pretty when she’s angry, Archie thought, watching a warm flush creep into Tiger Lily’s high cheekbones. Her long, black hair was pulled back in a tight plait that ran down her back. Archie’s fingers itched to loosen it and feel her silky tresses between his fingertips. Being as she looked ready to throttle anyone who came near, he held his place and decided to be content to take her beauty in from a safe distance, though he promised himself that as soon as the murderous look left her face, she would be his. Vaguely, he registered that Harper was yammering on about something or other, but his eyes stayed on Tiger Lily. He felt Harper brush past him and heard the lad’s footsteps going in the direction he had last seen Beetles.

“What are you thinking?” The angry look had left Tiger Lily’s face, replaced with one that seemed to be a cross between confusion and amusement.

“That you are beautiful.” They weren’t the most poetic words he had ever spoken. Had he given it more thought, he would have taken care to sound more eloquent. But in that second, the truth came free, and he didn’t care how it sounded. Silence met his words, so he chose that moment to walk over and press his lips to hers. His hand brushed the tail of her braid, and his fingers had their way with it, traveling up her back, unraveling the soft waves inch by inch until his hand reached the base of her neck. Soon, every bit of the braid was free.

He slid his hand under her hair, feeling the trapped warmth between it and her skin as he cupped her neck and pulled her nearer, deepening the kiss. His other arm came around her waist to hold her close as she lifted her arms, wrapping them around his neck.

A feeling of warmth, unlike anything he had ever felt, rolled out in a wave. It was as if the sun had decided to move into his soul and was warming him from the inside out. There was no one else on this island but him and the woman in his arms.

Just the two of them—and one pesky voice clearing itself near his shoulder. He ignored it as the perpetrator continued, as if he were dredging up every bit of noise his throat held in an effort to become louder. The throat clearing stopped after a couple of seconds, followed by a sigh.

“I beg your pardon, but might you know where Beetles has gone?” The young voice was asking politely enough, but Archie still wanted to choke the owner, regardless of the manners his mother had ingrained in him since childhood.

“I do not.” Archie gritted his teeth as he turned, expecting to see Patch or Peter hovering beside him. Instead, his eyes dropped to find a smaller boy, this one covered in grey-furred clothes, with what looked like a raccoon hat perched upon his small blonde head. “Who, may I ask, are you?”

“Runt.” The boy looked up at him with clear, blue eyes. He was much younger than either of the boys Archie had seen earlier.

He can’t be more than six or seven years old, Archie thought, looking down into small, trusting face. “Your name is Runt?” The name didn’t seem one that a parent would bestow upon a child. But then, Beetles and Patch didn’t quite seem like given names, either.

“Yes,” the boy answered, nonplussed, before he repeated his question. “Do you know where Beetles is?”

“He is coming.” Harper materialized out of the underbrush.

“Peter would have been upset if he didn’t do what he was told,” Runt said in a matter-of-fact voice. “He told him he’d have to help the grown-ups since he went after Tic-Tock.”

So nice of Peter to be using us as punishment. The smile that etched Archie’s face was a wry one. “Might I ask why he chose us?”

The little boy shrugged. “’Cause you’re big, I guess.”

“As good a reason as any, I suppose,” Archie noted, but Runt’s attention had left him and gone to Tiger Lily.

“My mama had pretty, long hair like hers,” the boy said as if to no one in particular. “I really miss my mama.”

“I told you to stay and help them.” Peter was berating Beetles as they both appeared from the underbrush. It was the first time that Archie had seen the flying boy walk.

“I did. I thought they were finished,” Beetles grumbled.

Peter looked down at the boy and scowled before glancing back up to Archie.

“You are the one I wanted to see,” he announced, hopping off the ground to hover beside Archie.

Archie had the impression that Peter had done so in order to look him squarely in the eye. He doesn’t like to look up to anyone, Archie thought, watching as the boy lifted an extra inch into the air to look down at him.

“Why, might I ask, am I the one you were searching for?” he asked.

“I want to join forces with you. You and your grown-ups, and the Lost Boys, and me. Tic-Tock has never been afraid of anything until your man stopped him. If he keeps eating my men, there will be no Lost Boys on Neverland. Then, he’ll start eating yours. I think he could eat your ship if he wanted to.”

Even though Archie doubted the croc had the ability to sink the Roger, the thought wasn’t a pleasant one. “What precisely do you propose?”

“That your men and mine hunt Tic-Tock together with your pistol things that Beetles and Patch told me about.”

“Ah.” Archie nodded. He’d wondered how long it would take for the boys to tell their leader all they had learned. The thought of them being around the pistols made him queasy. With the imagination that the children had shown and their lack of knowledge of nearly everything—coupled with his crew’s complete lack of caution—such an escapade could spell complete disaster. “Before I commit to such a hunt, I wish to know more about this crocodile,” he told Peter, giving the boy the full look of seriousness that lay in his blue eyes. “I will not put my men—or yours—in harm’s way before I know all there is to know about our quarry.”

“What’s a quarry?” He heard Beetles hiss to Runt, who gave him a helpless shrug in reply.

“He means Tic-Tock,” Peter told them, flying up to sit on a tree branch a few inches higher up. He settled down, pushing an errant limb out of his way, “Tic-Tock has been in Neverland for forever. Every time we see him, he seems to get bigger. He eats everything and everyone. He’s ate lots of the Lost Boys and the mermaids are afraid of him. I think he eats them, too, though they’ve never said anything to me about him. I just know that they are always gone whenever he shows up.”

“Is there a certain place he likes best?” Harper asked, then turned to give Archie a serious look of his own. “I’m asking because I’d rather watch for the croc, than the mermaids.”

Peter had listened to the question, and now looked pensive, his small brows furrowed as he mulled over the information that he knew. After a few seconds, he answered. “There is a cove on the other side of Neverland that leads to the caves. I’ve never seen a mermaid there, though the water would be right for them and there are plenty of flat rocks around those caves where they could bathe in the sun. I’ve wondered sometimes why I haven’t ever seen them there, but I just figured that maybe they liked this side of Neverland better.” He shrugged. “Maybe Tic-Tock likes to be around the caves.”

“That sounds like the place we should lay anchor,” Archie mused. Their encounter with the crocodile had not proved to be as daunting as that of the mermaid, so it did not come as a surprise when Harper nodded.

Peter must have thought that Archie had agreed to join forces, for the boy jumped up from the branch and stood upon it and crowed. This strange commotion must have been a good thing, for Beetles and Runt began to cheer.

Archie traded a surprised look with Harper. Somehow, without their knowledge or Archie’s consent, his fearless pirate crew had managed to join forces with a group of children.

16

A-HUNTING WE WILL GO

HARPER WAS SCOWLING so hard that Archie wondered if his face was going to freeze in that expression. “I don’t like it,” he repeated. The scene seemed vaguely familiar to Archie, as the lad had voiced his opinion is much the same way when they had brought the Indians aboard the Jolig Roger and settled them in the hold as slaves. He is even in the same place as before, Archie noted. Propped with his bum against the map table and his arms crossed over his chest, with a brown thatch of hair falling into his eyes, Harper looked more like an unruly teen than a pirate who had commanded the ship on more than one occasion.

Archie wondered if the reason for his noticing that Harper looked younger than normal was the fact that Peter had tried once again to recruit him for his own troupe before they left the island the previous evening. The invitation had been rather bold and callous, making Archie wonder if perhaps he shouldn’t be trying to recruit Peter as a pirate.

“You’ll get old and die if you stay with them,” the boy had told Harper in a cold, unfeeling tone, much as if his demise would be imminent the second he stepped back on the deck.

Much to Archie’s delight, Harper had answered Peter in true pirate fashion, telling the boy in no uncertain terms, “Shove it, and leave me be, else I’ll slit your throat where ye stand. Then we’ll see who lives longer, aye?”

Archie suppressed a smile at the memory, for now his young friend was looking murderous once again at the prospect of having to spend additional time with Peter and his troupe of young boys as their forces joined to hunt down the crocodile. Truth be told, Archie could probably have found a way of getting out of the agreement, but after discovering from Tiger Lily that the caves Peter had mentioned were just below the mountains where her people had started to build their village, he began to worry. The thought of the enormous croc being so close to her was unsettling. Better to be done with the beast, once and for all.

So that evening, he had given his orders to leave the inlet and head east. It had taken some maneuvering to get the ship into the narrow mouth of the cove, but once they cleared the rocks, the water cleared from black to the clearest blue waters that Archie had ever seen, free of icebergs and the sharp jutting rocks that seemed to fill all of the other water. It was easy to see why the croc would prefer this part of the island. The cove widened and soon the Jolig Roger sat on a still sea as clear and smooth as glass.

They had let down anchor and waited, the few hands on deck watching through the night for any sign that Tic-Tock was indeed present. The night had shown no sign of the massive beast and morning came, bringing only Harper to the map room to voice his opinions on the matter.

“You can’t trust him, there’s something not right when you look in his eyes,” Harper said, a faraway look in his own, as if he were remembering. “If you aren’t careful, he’ll feed you to the croc himself. I think he would do it just to have a bit of fun.”

“Well, we’ll have to be careful then, won’t we?” Archie replied, a slight smirk popping up to quirk around his mouth as Harper shot him another dark look. “I’m leaving the ship under your command whilst we are gone. With luck, you won’t have to deal with Peter and, hopefully, no mermaid shall show her beautiful face while we are away.”

“That would be too much to wish for,” Harper replied dryly.

“I am leaving half the crew under your watch. Cannons will be more useful against the croc than pistols,” Archie instructed. “You have as much of a chance of hunting him here as we have around the caves. So if you see him, blow him out of the water.”

“Aye, Cap’n.” The lad’s shoulders slumped in resignation.

“All will be fine, Harper. You have no need to worry. I have no intention of losing you to Peter’s troupe,” Archie grinned, watching the fire light back up in Harper’s eyes.

Harper had opened his mouth, no doubt to give a sarcastic retort of some sort, when the pounding of feet overhead cut him off, and a cloud of dust came down from the ceiling.

The first thing Archie spotted when he arrived on deck was pirates running in every direction. Ignoring them, Archie searched for the one he had left in charge through the night. Beckett stood on the quarterdeck, with a face gone pale under the dark stubble of his beard.

“Out there, Cap’n.” He pointed a few yards out, ahead of the ship. “I don’t know what it is, but it be big.”

A dark shape moved through the water, a stark contrast of black in crystal blue water. As Beckett had stated, whatever it was, was indeed large—and moved faster than seemed possible, sluicing through the water like a hot knife in butter.

A single, white seagull had been perched on the mast. As the men scaled the rigging for a better look, it flew off and swooped down toward the deck. Upon seeing even more pirates, it changed its mind, swerving over the railing just before it would have smacked into it. The bird flew low over the water for the first couple of seconds, then altered its course and began to ascend higher in the air, en route toward the mouth of the nearest cave.

It had gotten a good distance above the swells when a giant crocodile launched itself out of the water. Jaws open, the seagull flew between the rows of teeth before it disappeared and the jaws snapped together with an audible crunch. The body of the croc smacked the surface of the sea and sent up a giant splash that disturbed the calm water and sent waves to slap at the sides of the ship.

“Tic-Tock,” Archie’s voice was a hoarse whisper that sounded cracked. “He’s here.”

As if the crocodile had eaten the bird only because it had come from the ship, it dove back below the surface of the water and swam toward them.

“All hands to quarters! Prepare to fire the cannons!” Archie managed to find his voice long enough to shout his orders. Time seemed to slow down on the deck as he listened to his orders being shouted from one man to the next, as he watched his men move slow as the dark figure in the water came toward them at a speed so fast it seemed unreal.

No ship in the world has ever been sunk by a crocodile, his brain told him. Then a small part of it whispered—but no ship has ever been to Neverland, either. Instinctively, he gripped the railing on the quarterdeck and kept watching.

The blur disappeared at the side of the Roger just before she quaked and the sounds of splintering wood filled the air. Had Archie not seen the croc hit them, he would have sworn they had hit an iceberg. Several of his men had lost their footing and were sprawled on the deck. Had he not kept his handhold, he would have joined them. He glanced over the side of the ship where he had last seen the crocodile.

A few of the boards looked as if they had buckled under the blow, but the hull was still intact and the monster was nowhere to be seen. The sounds of splashing on the opposite side of the ship caught his attention. One of his men had been thrown over the rail.

“Man overboard!” The cry went up and blended into another yelled at the same instant as his crew took their positions. “Cannons ready, Cap’n!”

Archie scrambled to the opposite side of the ship just in time to see his lost crewman open his mouth to scream. In that same second, Tic-Tock emerged from his place under the ship and snagged him, dragging him below the surface before he had even enough time to make so much as a squeak.

“Fire at will!” Archie ordered, watching as the pirate’s hand traveled through the water just ahead of the dark shadow beneath the surface, as if a last plea for help. Its owner was most certainly dead in the mouth of the crocodile that was just now within reach of the cannons.

The loud blasts were deafening as the cannon balls splashed all around the croc. One blast hit its mark, and an earsplitting scream rent the air just before a giant, scaly tail sprayed water as it flipped in a giant arc before disappearing back under the surface.

Then, the water colored red.

“We got him,” Archie said numbly, as the cannons continued to fire. Even after he gave his order to cease, a couple still fired, as if wanting to make certain the beastie was dead and at the bottom of the sea.

A few moments later the sea calmed; the only indication anything had happened was that now the surface was painted with blood.

“Well.” Archie had forgotten about Harper, who had stayed at his side during the whole incident. “I suppose you have less to worry about now,” Archie told him. “We have finished hunting the crocodile.”

“I doubt that I stop worrying.” Archie followed Harper’s glance across the railing, where a flying boy appeared, hovering above the red water.

HARPER WATCHED AS Peter flew to the ship and circled the mast. Before he could blink, the ruffian had taken his little pig-sticker of a knife from his side and sunk it into the top of the sail, and slit it midway down, and then flew through it as proud as if he had just killed the croc instead of a helpless sheet of canvas.

“Hope you plan to make him stitch it up,” he grumbled to Jameson, who stood with his hands folded behind his back, looking up at the mast with no emotion whatsoever playing upon his face. The man stood as still as a statue for several seconds, making Harper wonder if perhaps he hadn’t frozen in place as he stared at the boy walking along the beam.

“Cap’n,” he hissed, trying to shake Jameson out of his trance.

A single hand flattened, palm-out, behind the captain’s back as if ordering silence. Harper rolled his eyes and waited. No way was he going to be the one mending that sail, especially since there had been no call for such an action. Death guardian or no, the scoundrel would have to answer for his deeds. Harper crossed his arms over his chest and waited, muttering low curses under his breath.

“Go below and wait for me.” The order came whispered so quiet-like that Harper thought at first he had imagined it. He didn’t move, thinking that maybe he hadn’t heard him correctly, but then Jameson turned and fixed him with his cold, blue eyes.

“Go below,” he repeated.

“Aye,” Harper grumbled and walked toward the steps, glancing up at the mast just long enough to realize that Peter was fixing him with an odd stare, one that sent a cold chill up his spine and made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. There was no doubt in his mind that the boy known as Peter was also the death guardian from his mum’s bedtime stories. Whatever he seemed to be—a boy he was not.

As everyone else was still above from the excitement of the crocodile, he found only one man below the deck.

Boggs was propped up against a wall, clearly hammered from his latest batch of alcohol, that he had dubbed “never-right.”

“Ah, Harper. Good of ye to join me.” He lifted his tankard up in welcome. “Have a cup, will ye?”

“No, I prefer to have my wits about me, thank you.”

Harper couldn’t help smiling at the jovial cook who grinned at him and shrugged. “’Tis your loss, lad.” The grin left a moment later, followed by a serious expression and a rather loud belch that sent the tattooed woman to quivering upon his belly. “I uncovered a wisdom just last night. I’ll share it only with ye,” Boggs said in what Harper guessed to be a conspiratorial whisper, though it was loud enough that likely every soul on board would hear this important secret.

“It’s in the pixie dust,” Boggs confided, pointing a finger to a can with holes poked in the top. “The secret to my never-right. It was r-r-right here all along.”

Arching an eyebrow, Harper took a quick glance down into the can and was surprised to see the golden pixie that Jameson referred to as Miss Bell, sitting on the rusty bottom. Noticing the shadow over her prison, she looked up, scowled at him, and smacked the side of the can with one hand in anger, sending tiny puffs of golden dust up through the holes that caused Harper to sneeze.

“Whatever have you done, man?” Harper asked, wiping his eyes with one hand as he carefully set the can back down on the table. “Jameson will not be happy with you. He’ll skewer you with his sword when he learns you’ve captured his pixie.” He paused, then added, “How exactly did you do that? I’ve seen her fly. She’s frightfully fast.”

“Well, truth be told, ’twas an accident of shworts,” Boggs drawled. “She flew into me cup.”

“You jest.”

“No! No, I wouldn’t pull yer leg on such a thing.”

Oddly enough, Harper believed him. He had never met a pirate who had the ability to lie whilst being drunk and rarely did ever one stretch the truth when it came to the status of their liquor. If a pixie had just happened to fly into that cup, then so be it. “So what is this secret of yours?” he asked.

“That gold dust fixes the never-right. Here, take a nip out of me cup.” The tankard was thrust at him. There wasn’t much left in it, only the dregs in the bottom. Refusing to drink anything that had been at Boggs’s lips, he bent his head to the open cup and smelled, instead. A surprisingly sweet odor greeted him.

“It appears you are onto something, Boggs,” Harper said, handing the tankard back. “But I still say you’d better release yon fairy before the captain gets word that you’ve been using her like a salt shaker.”

“Ach, I will. One shake fixed me whole barrel. I’ll turn her free soon,” Boggs said in a very unconvincing sort of way.

Harper let the subject drop. He wasn’t the captain of the ship. Jameson could deal with Boggs, Peter, and the ruined sail however he saw fit.

Boggs drained the last drops in his cup and bent over to set it down. A large lump rolled on his round belly and he grimaced.

“Are you all right?” Harper asked, “How long have you had yon bulge?”

“This?” Boggs asked, rubbing his wide torso with both hands in an authoritative way. “This belly has been here longer than ye have been alive, lad.”

“No, you’ve got a place right where her bosoms are…”

“Ah. Ye mean me belly pop.”

“Belly pop?”

“Aye, one day it just sorta popped out there. It no hurts unless I squish it hard. Mostly just causes gas,” Boggs replied, then added with a sly wink. “It fills Nessie out pretty well, don’t ye think?”

Harper sighed. Having a strange bulge in the exact place of a tattooed woman’s bosoms was an odd coincidence to be sure, but being proud of it was another matter entirely. Instinctively, he covered the tattoo of Mary on his forearm and said a silent prayer in hopes that no strange bulges would mar her perfect image.

Boggs was doing some reminiscing of his own. “Ah, Nessie.” Though Harper had not asked for any further explanation of origin or history of his tattooed woman, he continued, “The beautiful Natasha de la Costa, daughter of Juan Marco Velasco, Duke of Cardona. The greatest dancer me eyes have ever seen—and me one true love.”

His attention captured, Harper leaned forward to hear more of the tale.

“I was a younger lad when I first lay me eyes on her, but no quite as young as you. I was also a bit… smaller,” this followed by a light pat on his belly and a memory that appeared in Boggs’s eyes, which seemed to sober him up. “I just arrived at a Spanish port and was looking for the nearest tavern. I seen one up at the end of the street and was fixin’ to head there when I heard a scream that stopped me in me tracks. It was then that I turned and seen her. She was standing in the middle of the market spillin’ out the longest stream of curses that I ever did hear. The sun was a-glowin’ on her hair and lighting on her face. Looked like a beautiful, angry angel, she did.” Boggs sighed, forgetting that his audience was waiting for the rest of the story.

“Well?” Harper demanded, “Why did she scream? What did you do? And how did you know she was cursing? You don’t speak Spanish.”

“Ach, some words are the same, no matter the language,” Boggs waved a hand dismissively, repeating a few rude words that made Harper blush.

“All right.” Harper was ready to concede the small point if Boggs would continue his tale. “What about the rest?”

“Well, dressed in white, she was. All ready for her wedding day.” At this point, Boggs must have felt the need to replenish his tankard of ‘never-right.’ Harper watched the man stagger to the keg and refill his cup. Such things to recall could be painful, Harper thought, so much that a drink might help numb the pain, so he waited as patiently as he could.

Once Boggs had flopped back in his seat and downed three-quarters of his drink in one long gulp, Harper tried to coax a bit more of his story out of him. “Well, man? You can’t leave me hanging.”

“Well, Nessie—that was my pet name for her—she was fighting. Scratching and cursing as a man pulled her along. So’s I rushed in and clocked him. Knocked him right on his arse, I did. Then I grabbed her hand and we ran away.” Boggs’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “Didn’t know the bugger was her own father and he was a-takin’ her to marry her future husband. A Count Viscount-somethin’-or-the-other. ’Twas an arranged marriage, ye see.”

Harper gasped. He would never have imagined the rotund cook in his younger years would ever have done something so dashing and debonair. As he sat there open-mouthed and silent for a moment, Boggs stared down into his cup.

After a long moment, Harper asked, “What happened?”

“I found a priest and married her meself.” And with that, Boggs downed the last of his cup and teetered back to the keg for more, leaving Harper speechless. Harper glanced down at the tattoo of Mary on his forearm. Her beautiful smile greeted him as it had so many times before, and so he waited for Boggs to return to tell him the end—and wished to be home with his Mary.

ARCHIE WATCHED PETER strut along the beam as if he owned the ship, only stopping to stare at Harper with a strange expression. Feeling the need to protect his young friend, he had sent Harper below. As the lad left, Archie became the sole focus of Peter’s attention, which was fine, as far as he was concerned.

“We were supposed to hunt Tic-Tock together,” the boy said, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that reminded Archie of a spoiled young child that had not gotten his way.

“He is dead. It is over and done. That’s all that matters,” Archie replied. He gave a mock shrug, as if killing crocodiles were as easy as swatting at pesky flies. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to get a rise out the boy, but seeing the dark scowl gave him a small bit of satisfaction.

“There is the matter of our sail that needs to be addressed,” Archie told him. “For one who has just had his greatest adversary slaughtered for him, you do not show your appreciation well by disgracing my ship. I would have your apology and have it made right.”

Peter looked at him darkly. “I would have gotten Tic-Tock without any help from you.”

“Proving such ingratitude with such an action is not the way of a gentleman. It is dishonorable,” the cold tones in Archie’s voice matched the ice in his eyes. “It is bad form, and bad form I do not tolerate.”

“I am not a gentleman!” Fury was etched in each word, cutting each syllable Peter spoke.

“Then, I am sorry. You will not be welcome upon my ship. Not until you can conduct yourself as such.”

Stamping his foot, Peter glowered at Archie, his face flushing red as he took off, flying back toward the island.

Archie shook his head as he watched, then turned his attention back to his crew, every member of which had been silent through the exchange. “Well, get back to it, lads! It appears we have a sail to mend.”

A few mumbled curses later, Archie made his way below deck to find Harper. What he found instead, was Boggs, shaking a tin can of golden dust over a barrel.

“What is that?” As soon as the words left his mouth, familiar bell tones sounded frantically. Snatching the can from Boggs, he ripped off the punctured lid to find Miss Bell sprawled haphazardly in the bottom, looking rather cross and not nearly as bright as usual. When she noticed the lid was free, she immediately flew out and hovered near Archie’s ear, blasting bell tones into his eardrum that sounded extremely accusatory.

“What have you done, Boggs?” Archie fought to keep the neutral calm in his voice, though he feared he was losing it.

“Didn’t mean no harm, Cap’n. I was just fixing my barrel.”

The man was swaying like a tree in the wind. Though he was making an apparent effort to stand straight and still, he was failing miserably. “Pixie dust fixes it,” he enunciated each syllable, as if trying not to sound drunk.

“Did Miss Bell offer you her services in any way?”

“Er—not exactly.”

“Well, then. That means you are stealing and as such, you must recompense her for what you have taken.” Archie glanced over at Miss Bell, whose face had taken a beatific expression. “Will that do?”

A small, resolute nod answered.

“My apologies.” Boggs sighed. “What will ye have?”

The pixie flew over and inspected Boggs. She made a full circuit around him, then drifted near his round belly, pointing at a brass button on his breeches.

“Oh, no. Not that ye don’t. Me breeches won’t stay up wi’ out it.” Boggs backed up an involuntary step.

“Boggs,” Archie warned, “Off with it.”

With something between a whimper and a sigh, Boggs took a knife from his side and popped the button off. It bounced one time on the floor before it was caught by the pixie. Gathering it close to her, she beamed a huge smile at Archie.

“Are we even, my dear?”

Another nod, and she had flown up the steps and away.

Perhaps she will learn something from this lesson the next time she thinks of stealing from Smee, Archie thought, watching Boggs try to keep his breeches up while keeping his tankard in his hand. And while pirates tended to be a thieving lot every time the opportunity presented itself, he would teach them to be a honorable, thieving lot—even if it killed him.

Harper had gone unnoticed until now. He found the lad propped up against the wall, his forearm before him, staring at the dark beauty whose image was inked in his skin. From the faraway look in his eyes, Archie didn’t think he had paid any attention to the goings on of the past few minutes.

“Are you well?” Archie asked.

The vacant look left as Harper answered, “Aye. Has yon ruffian left, then?”

“Yes, Peter is gone.”

“And the sail?”

“Still needs mending.”

“I’m not fixing it,” Harper said, sounding rather sullen.

“Yes, I am quite aware of that, but you might be pleased to know that I believe I may have made our flying friend a slight bit angry.”

“Oh?” Harper brightened considerably as he stood, “That pleases me to no end, Jameson. The only other thing that would make me happier would be if you said we were leaving this forsaken place and heading home.”

“Be prepared for your happiness, Harper, for we are most certainly going to try.”

17

A FAMILIAR STAR

THE DECISION WAS an easy one to make. Once again, Archie gave orders to leave Neverland as they had so many times before. The only part that held him back and made him hope that the island would be there once again in the morning, was the thought that he hadn’t told Tiger Lily of their plans to go. He hadn’t told her goodbye, and it crushed his spirit as he began plotting their way through the icebergs. He was more than ready to leave this strange place with its strange, flying boy. What he wasn’t ready to leave was his heart and the one who held it. Still, he stayed at the ship’s wheel, guiding them through the maze of ice that he had charted. Each spike that rose from the dark water had been plotted on a map, though now he didn’t need it. They had attempted escape so many times that he knew the way around them by heart. He only wished there was a way to chart the stars so that he could find his way back to Tiger Lily should this venture prove successful and they find themselves in their own world when the sun lit the morning sky. The stars always seemed to evade him. Constellations shifted of their own accord, just as he was about to set pen to paper, as if they knew of his desire to log their exact location and moved to prove his maps wrong.

I will know the way back, should I ever find the way home, he thought, glancing up into a sky filled with diamond-bright stars. The map he had charted that long night before their arrival was tucked away in a drawer in his quarters. With luck, the stars in his own world had not changed and he would come back to Neverland—he would come back to her.

But for now, he was captain of this ship and keeper of all the souls aboard, so his priority was to get them back into waters they knew. His crew had been rather undemanding thus far, but he knew, as pirates, they wouldn’t stay that way much longer. They had already become restless. Harper had been the only one to request going back as yet, but he knew the others would not be far behind him. They would be wanting a port, a way to spend their plunder, and the knowledge that there would be more adventure to be had—in a world they understood.

The night wore on and the water became clearer. Below him, he heard the sounds of music and thumping. For now, his crew was celebrating their departure again. One loud thump and a muffled splash met his ears, followed by the distinct voice of Boggs yelling out a string of curses that silenced all other sounds for a moment.

His barrel of pixie-dusted spirits has been tipped over, Archie thought, a smile lighting his face as he realized the reason for Boggs’s tirade. They can work it out amongst themselves, he decided, listening as angry shouting ensued, followed by several crashes and thumps.

“Fight it out, lads, fight it out,” he murmured, looking out across a calm sea. Ignoring the melee beneath him, his thoughts returned to the beautiful Indian woman on the island and the last kiss he had shared with her. “I will be back for you, I promise,” he vowed, promising himself as much as her. He couldn’t imagine living a life without Tiger Lily.

I’m in love with her. I truly am. The sudden, happy truth warmed him from the inside out, much as Tiger Lily’s kiss had done.

Then, the Jolig Roger lurched as if something was pushing it up into the air from below. The entire ship lifted several feet out of the water, bringing Tic-Tock front and center into Archie’s brain. “Even he could not do this,” Archie exclaimed as the Roger rose even further out of the water. He turned loose of the wheel and ran to the railing, to look down at the side of the ship. Several feet of wet planks with barnacles came into view, gleaming in the moonlight. A jolt of fear seized Archie and he gripped the railing so hard his knuckles turned white.

Without any warning, whatever had been pushing them up disappeared and the ship slammed back into the water, flipping Archie over the edge.

Saved only by his grip on the railing, he dangled in the open air, his breath knocked out of him. Finally, he gathered his wits and his breath. Just as he opened his mouth to call out for help, he saw one star above the ship that looked familiar. One solitary, shining diamond, sitting amongst thousands of others, reminded him of home. As he watched, it flickered like a dying candle flame, and went out. He had the vague impression that he had just witnessed the way home, and now it was gone.

“Easy now, Cap’n. I’ve got ye.” Beckett’s hands gripped Archie’s wrists and a second later, Archie was once again safe on the deck of the ship.

“There be something big in these waters,” Beckett whispered as he turned loose of Archie. “What be so big to lift the ship out of the water and ye never see it?”

Archie didn’t answer, only shook his head. Sailors were adamant believers in stories. Since his arrival, he had heard of monstrous creatures in the oceans, such as squid that could wrap their tentacles around the largest of ships and drag them to the bottom of the sea, enormous scaly monsters with three or more heads that could breathe fire and set the ocean aflame. Archie didn’t believe that their sudden ascent was due to a creature below them, but rather that—for some unknown reason—the ship had decided to try to go home, back to its star. A magic of some kind had brought them here. It would take magic to take them back.

“Beckett, take the wheel and keep our heading.” Without waiting for an answer, Archie left and went in search of Boggs.

He found the cook sitting by his empty barrel, looking cross.

“I have questions for you, Boggs.”

“I didn’t blacken Dougherty’s eyes, nor threaten to gut Bowen, regardless o’ what they be saying, though they both be deserving of it for dumping me never-right.” Boggs glowered at Archie, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I have no doubt you are correct, but that is not what I wished to ask.” Archie pulled up a chair and sat down across from him. “Boggs, I need to ask how you captured Miss Bell.”

“Oh.” Boggs uncrossed his arms, becoming instantly friendlier. “She just flew into me cup, Cap’n.”

“Just like that. Just flew into your cup.”

“Aye, though it happened accident-like. Trying to fix my never-right, I was, and took too big a gulp. The ship sorta took to spinnin’ and I was tryin’ to keep me feet under me, weavin’ this way and that, when I seen a streak of gold flying right at me. I lost me footing then and smacked right into her and into me cup she went.” Boggs lifted his tankard for Archie’s inspection, as if there would be golden streaks inside the cup as proof that Miss Bell had landed there.

“Why didn’t she fly back out?”

Boggs’s meaty hand clapped over the top of the tankard, covering it. “That’s why. I knew Mr. Smee has a healthy hate for the little golden pixie as stolen his needles and buttons, so’s I didn’t want her to escape.” His dark brows furrowed in confusion. “Why are ye asking me these questions, Cap’n? Has she stolen from ye, too?”

“No, she’s not stolen anything from me.” Archie shook his head. “But I think she may be the answer to leaving the island. She was with us when we came here, I believe we may need her to return home.”

“Well then, seems we need to find us another pixie,” Boggs observed dryly. “You made me turn her loose, ye know.”

“If we are at the island again come morning, I plan on doing exactly that.”

HARPER WASN’T HAPPY TO see the vibrant green of Neverland. His perch up in the mast didn’t help matters as he got to see even more of it than the blokes on the deck. He frowned, staring out across the water. There it was, large as life. The tall mountains that reached toward the sky, their tips covered in fog were the most prominent feature of the island, surrounded by a thick forest, then white sanded beaches and the inlet with the mermaid’s rock. They were back at the same cursed island. Again.

He sighed, before calling down, “We’re back. Land ho.” As if they didn’t know that and needed him to say it, he frowned. The hands below began making preparations to sail to the other side of the island, to the somewhat safer cove that seemed void of mermaids. He blew out a slow breath, and leaned his forehead against the web of ropes, watching his crewmates. They moved slowly. They weren’t any happier to be back here than he was. For an undiscovered land, it was lacking in plunder and profitable adventure. Unless they were going to pillage Peter’s unknown fortress and rob him of his green tights, there was nothing to be had on this island of any worth—at least that he knew of.

So now we go hunting pixies, he thought, waiting for a few others to join him on the mast. I pray we find them and Jameson’s plan works.

His thoughts ran to Mary as they released the sail and he felt the wind catch. He had been gone so long, had she waited for him? He hoped with every fiber in his being that she had. One day soon, I’ll be back, he promised her, remembering the last smile she had given him. Then, he made himself the same promise. It would be soon.

If pixies were the answer to going home, he would catch an army of them as soon as he set foot on that white-sanded beach.

He made certain that Jameson knew of his wishes to go ashore, since he tended to be the one left in charge of the Jolig Roger when they anchored for supplies. There hadn’t been any problem with the request, Jameson had turned to Beckett and placed the ship under his watch.

So now they were on their way. Three longboats rowed to shore, filled with pirates bent on capturing pixies. “I hear there be blue ones, too. Wonder if they be more powerful than the gold ones?” he heard Boggs mumble under his breath. Harper fought the urge to laugh as he rowed in sync with the others. He was certain the cook had other plans for catching a blue pixie—one that did not entail going home, but rather involved a barrel of strong spirits and a tin can with holes in the top.

“All right, lads. We meet here at sundown,” Jameson said, as they pulled the boats onto the beach. “Catch what you can.”

“Aye.” Harper’s voice blended in with the others as they set off in search of pixies.

AS LUCK WOULD HAVE IT, Archie ran into Tiger Lily as soon as the crew dispersed. He had forgotten that this was the day to replenish their supplies. Being as they still had plenty, he hadn’t thought of her presence on the beach and had planned on heading to the mountains in search of her.

He turned toward the forest and plowed into her, toppling them both over, though he had just enough time to try to land with his arms braced in an effort not to squash her beneath him. It didn’t work, and he landed with his body on hers, his face buried in a pool of warm, silky hair.

Her hands were against his chest, though they didn’t seem there to push him away. His heart sped up under her touch.

He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to breathe, but he raised his head up just enough to look into her eyes. What he found there surprised him.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to leave again.” Her voice was strong and accusing, but her eyes were what caught him. They looked hurt.

“I promise that I was coming back to you.” He shifted his weight off her and onto his elbows. “I would find my way back, whatever it took.”

“It still would have been nice to know you were going, instead of standing here watching the ship leave again.” Her hands came from his chest to return in a hard shove that knocked him backward and against the trunk of a tree, knocking the breath out of him.

“S-sorry,” he wheezed, trying to capture his breath. “I w-would have come b-back because I’m in l-love with you.”

Before he recovered, she had jumped up from the ground, ran to him, and covered his mouth in a kiss. He was beginning to think that all had been forgiven when a low, angry voice startled him. Tiger Lily jumped at the sound and the kiss broke.

“No one leaves Neverland.” As Tiger Lily moved back, Archie caught sight of Peter. The boy was hovering a few feet away, his fists clenched at his sides. “No one ever leaves.”

“Well, we shall be leaving,” Archie informed him in a matter-of-fact way, “Soon.” Of course, that doesn’t mean we won’t be right back here again the next morning, he added mentally. He didn’t dare give the boy the satisfaction of knowing they were stuck there unless they managed to capture pixies and somehow fly the ship back home to their own star.

Peter’s face turned red and something dark and sinister seemed to appear in his eyes. Then, he flew off without another word.

“I don’t believe he liked the sound of that, but it is the truth.”

“I don’t like it either, but I understand,” Tiger Lily said, nodding at the place where Peter had been. “I think his Lost Boys are giving him trouble since your ship arrived.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“The littlest one, Runt, has been coming to our village. He stays near me most of the time. He misses his mother. From what he tells me, Peter goes back to ‘the grown-up star’ and gets anything the boys need that can’t be found on this island. Runt told me that he wants his mother and told Peter so. He thinks Peter is angry with him because he remembers his mother and none of the others do.”

“I see where that could cause Peter some problems,” Archie nodded. He didn’t think Peter would enjoy giving up his position as leader and role model of his troupe if he were forced to bring parents to Neverland. “I wonder why he doesn’t want us to leave?”

“Perhaps he is afraid that they will want to go home if they see that you can do it,” Tiger Lily replied, “And if they go, Peter would be all alone.”

“That makes as much sense as anything else.” Archie sighed. “I only hope he doesn’t take his anger out on the sails again. The men weren’t happy about his last visit. If he tries anything like that again, they’ll be ready to fight.”

HARPER DUCKED UNDER AN OUTSTRETCHED BRANCH. A few hours had gone by and so far he had had no luck whatsoever in finding a pixie. Blue, gold, or even polka-dotted, for that matter. He was getting more frustrated with each moment that passed. No one else had any luck either, from what he could tell. He had bumped into a dozen or more of his crewmates, and none of them had seen so much as a sprinkle of fairy dust.

I believe Peter was lying when he said there were blue pixies on this cursed island, he thought as he edged around a briar patch. There is probably only one pixie, and that is Miss Bell. He let out a string of curses when one briar caught his forearm and raked along its inner flesh. His tattoo of Mary now had a line of tiny dots crossing her as droplets of blood welled up from the scratch.

That, naturally, set off an even more elaborate string of cursing. A few moments later, feeling somewhat better that the briar patch had been sufficiently cursed, he calmed down and began searching again. “If I were a pixie, where would I go?” he wondered. He didn’t know much about the tiny fairies, other than Miss Bell’s attraction to shiny objects. In a forest of green, he didn’t see anything there that would capture her attention. Trees and rocks. That was all that was around him. Perhaps, he should work his way back to the ocean. The water sparkled if the sun hit it just right, maybe that would be shiny enough for her liking.

His stomach grumbled, informing him that he had forgotten to put anything to eat in his pockets for this excursion. His empty belly had him turning around to head back to the boats. With luck, he might find some kind of foodstuffs there, especially if he had the fortune of crossing paths with any of the Indians. If not, he would suffer and wait until sundown.

All thoughts of hunting for pixies left his mind as he trudged back toward shore, so it came as a surprise when one zipped under his nose and flew in the direction that he was heading. It happened so quickly, that he froze for a couple of seconds before reality sank in.

“I’ve found a pixie!” he yelled as loudly as he could, running after the trail of golden dust that seemed to be heading toward his own destination. He hoped the others were close by to help capture her, for now that he caught sight of her, he realized that he hadn’t planned on how he was going to catch her.

She is so fast, what if I can’t keep up? His lungs were on fire as he ran after her, barely jumping in time to avoid tripping over an exposed root. Just when he thought she was out of reach, the pixie slowed and turned, as if making sure that he was following.

That’s odd, he thought, using his last burst of energy to try to close the gap between them. Then, she veered to the right. He nearly lost his footing trying to make the curve, but he stayed with her.

I’ve caught up, he thought, as she zipped through a patch of leaves on a low branch ahead of him.

I’m nearly there.

ARCHIE HEARD HARPER’S shout and jumped up, running toward the sound of his voice. He had only called out once, so when Archie reached a grove of trees, he stopped, unsure of which way to go.

“That way.” Tiger Lily’s slender arm came from behind him, pointing to the left. “I’m certain of it.”

He took off again with Tiger Lily close behind him, and was rewarded with the brief sight of Harper ducking into the shadows of the trees ahead.

A few seconds later, he was at the exact spot where Harper had disappeared. The branches above them were arched, giving them a clear view of Harper, who stood facing them—a few yards ahead.

“Did you catch it?” Archie asked, noticing that Harper’s face held a rather surprised expression. “Did you catch a pixie?”

Harper opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He took one step toward Archie and fell. A ray of sun came through the trees, glinting off the silver-gilded hilt of a small knife that had been sunk into his back.

Peter stood in the place where Harper had been a second earlier. He fixed Archie with the darkest look that Archie had ever seen, leaving no doubt that Peter was indeed the death guardian that Harper had warned him of.

“No one leaves Neverland.” The words came out low and lethal, echoing against the trees before he flew past them and disappeared.

Dark, red blood pooled around Harper’s body. He had landed with one arm outstretched. Mary smiled up at Archie from her place on his forearm. The smile first brought his tears.

Then the anger came.

18

THE PAN

ARCHIE STARED AT the sail-wrapped body lying before him on the deck. It felt surreal. He kept expecting to see Harper up in the mast, letting out sails or pulling them in. He never imagined that he would see his friend bound in one, lying at his feet, and waiting for a funeral. Tiger Lily had offered to give Harper the honor of burial in her people’s way, but Archie had refused. He would not leave the lad forever on an island that he had wished to escape. While he might not be able to take Harper’s body back to his beloved Mary, he would do his best to give him the tribute he deserved as a pirate.

Smee stood beside him, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Archie wondered if he was thinking of his recently finished job of inspecting Harper’s wound and preparing his body for burial. Archie was certain the inspection was more of a cause of curiosity than anything else, for the lad was dead and stitching him up would not bring him back.

“A clean kill. Upward thrust into the kidney,” Smee had muttered, looking at the wound in Harper’s back, then at the small knife whose blade was crusted in dark blood. “Killed before, the boy has. Best ye take care that he doesn’t do it again.”

“If anyone dies, it will be Peter,” Archie retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Peter is no more a child than I am. He will pay for what he has done.” The feeling of rage was washed away by waves of nausea as he watched Smee put stitches in the lad’s eyes, mouth, and nose, and then laid a shining copper coin on each sewn eyelid. “Is that necessary?”

“Be quiet and let me work. Ye want the lad delivered safe to the other side, aye?”

Though he had heard of paying the ferryman, Archie hadn’t been sure why having every orifice on one’s head sewed shut would ensure their safe delivery to the otherworld, but he had done as Smee said and waited for him to finish. At the last, he crossed the lad’s tattooed forearm over his chest, then placed the other arm over for good measure. “So as he can keep the lass close to ’is heart,” Smee said gruffly, wiping at his watering eyes. As Archie watched the old man stare at the lad’s neatly wrapped body, he knew that Smee had done the best that he knew by Harper. Now it was his turn.

The wind had caught the sails, pulling them farther from Neverland. Beckett was at the wheel, navigating around the icebergs. “Hope yon wee bugger flies over here to tell us we can’t leave again. Feed him to the fishes, I would, for what he did to Harper,” he grumbled.

Several others chipped in with various threats and suggestions of what they would like to do to the deviant who killed their fellow crewmate.

He had a family here and didn’t know it. Every man aboard was willing to fight for him. Archie gazed across the clear sea, free of icebergs and out of sight of Neverland.

“This is the spot.” He nodded to Beckett and gave his orders to release the anchor.

Once the ship had stilled, he took a deep breath, willing his own spirit to quiet. The effect was catching, as silence enveloped the ship and those who wore hats, took them off in a motion of respect for the dead.

Archie had officiated over more funerals than he cared to admit in his brief time as captain, but he had never spoken for one who had been a close friend. He allowed himself a long moment to reflect on the memories he had, from the first day he had met the young man who reminded him of a stuttering squirrel to the fearless one, bent on catching a pixie to return home. Archie smiled as a sudden realization came to him, Harper had never stuttered again once he had whacked Caesar with that oar. That act had given the lad courage.

May I have the same strength, Archie thought, stepping up to address his crew. It was time.

“Today we lay to rest a fellow crewman into the briny deep. Jonathan Harper was quick and sure-footed on the rigging and swift to lend a hand to any man in need.” Archie stopped, glancing down at Harper’s still form. “I am proud to call him the truest friend that I have ever known. I was with him the day he had the image of his true love inked upon his arm and I know of his plans to save every coin that he could in hopes to someday marry his love.” Archie felt the ice etch into his words as he spoke. The coldness seeped into his voice. “That will never happen now and she may never know of the love he held for her in his heart.”

He walked over to a small sea chest that held all of Harper’s belongings. He bent over and flipped the lid open. Hundreds of bright coins filled the chest to the brim, glinting in the afternoon sun, and on the top of the pile of riches, sat a worn and creased picture of a beautiful young woman.

“Harper will never make it back to her,” Archie said quietly, though he knew they all heard every word. A moment passed as he chose his next words, for he knew as soon as he uttered them, they would change the course of not only his own life but those of all aboard. “For that I will have revenge. Peter will pay for his crime. Who is with me?”

The answer that met his ears was deafening as the silence disappeared and a hundred pirates yelled their reply, “Aye!”

A wry smile came to Archie’s lips. His crew looked like a murderous lot, indeed. Teeth bared and rage in their eyes, most of them waving a cutlass or a pistol in the air in addition to their verbal response.

“Aye,” Archie repeated. The word felt strange upon his lips, but seemed to fit the occasion. He gestured to the sea chest. “The man who brings me the flying boy known as Peter, will have Harper’s gold as his reward.”

Several appreciative murmurs met his ears, though most seemed content enough to hunt Peter down without the added bonus of treasure. Then, Beckett spoke up behind him. “Will ye be wanting him brought to you alive, Cap’n?”

Archie turned to Beckett, fixing him with his cold eyes. “You can bring him to me in any manner you wish.”

Beckett grinned at him. “Aye, dead it is, then.”

A few moments later, over a dozen men had lifted Harper’s body to the railing, some having only enough room to squeeze in one arm to help the others that crowded in beside them. As Archie watched, they eased him over and the white-wrapped body disappeared into a frothy sea. The only trace of Harper now lay in a sea chest with a crinkled photograph. Archie bent over and picked up the picture and tucked it into his own pocket. If, per chance, one of his men brought Peter to him alive, he wished to have some small part of Harper with him to exact his revenge.

THEY SPENT EVERY day on the island searching. As if Peter knew they searched for him, he flew in front of them, taunted them, and then would disappear.

Two men had been shot as their crewmates had been aiming their pistols at Peter and missed him. As luck would have it, neither man’s wound was life-threatening, though it didn’t improve the mood of any of the pirates. Unable to catch the one they wanted, they began capturing the Lost Boys instead.

Archie drummed his fingers on the map table while eyeing the boy sitting across from him. Patch, the boy with the rabbit ear cap, was regarding him with wary caution.

An impasse, Archie fought the urge to smile. So far, the boy had only answered his questions with queries of his own.

“Will you tell me where Peter is?” Archie asked yet again, certain that he had asked this same question a dozen times.

“Will you tell me why you want him?”

Archie rolled his eyes and repeated the same answer. “Because he killed one of my men.”

“Mmph,” the boy shrugged and continued to stare at him.

The door opened and Beckett appeared. “Beg pardon, sir, but we got two more. Where do you want them?”

“In the hold with the others,” Archie replied, and Beckett left, shutting the door behind him. Archie caught himself doing a mental headcount. There were six boys down there, plus the stubborn one before him. Perhaps, he was going about this all wrong. So far, he had been asking questions, maybe he should be letting some of his information out, instead.

“Patch, I wish to tell you of my plans,” he began as he tipped his chair backwards on two legs, leaning back to the wall to prop his booted feet on the table. “You see, my men and I wish to leave this island and Peter doesn’t want us to go, so I need to talk to him and explain the situation.” It was a lie, a large one. Ever since Harper’s funeral, leaving the island had been the last thing on their minds. A few had even made the comment that they had seen pixies, but none of them had made any moves to capture them. Even Boggs had refrained from making another batch of his never-right in hopes of capturing a flying boy instead. And as far as explaining went, Archie’s only explanation would be to Peter, and it would come at the fine point of his rapier. He struggled to keep the neutral expression on his face as Patch shifted on his chair.

“I don’t know where Peter is,” the boy admitted. “None of us do.”

“Then where do you meet him? Surely you have a certain place that you can find him,” Archie insisted. His men had been searching Neverland for days and kept finding hidden coves and new inlets around the beach each day, as well as niches in trees that were large enough for them to crawl into and explore, and they hadn’t even gotten to the caverns in the north. For an island, it was large and mysterious.

“No, we just wait. He always finds us. We don’t find him.”

Deciding this line of questioning was useless, Archie excused himself and left the boy sitting at the table and went up to the deck to get a breath of fresh air. The evening sun had cooled, and the boats were coming in from the island. Frowning, he noticed several empty seats in the first boat.

“There be six o’ our men missing,” Boggs announced as soon as the boat was tied to the ship. “No idea where they be. Never heard any shots, be like they just disappeared.”

“Lovely,” Archie grumbled, staring across the railing to the island that seemed more cursed with every second that passed. “No sign of them anywhere. You are certain?” He reached over the railing to give Boggs a hand up and over the railing.

“Aye, they are gone,” Boggs grunted, heaving his round torso over the side of the ship and doing a quick, sideways two-step to keep his footing. Then he added, in what Archie guessed to be his most dire and disastrous tone, “They be vanished.”

As if in answer to Boggs’s statement a lone voice yelled out from the island, “Ahoy!” It was just loud enough that it startled Boggs into tripping. He landed on the deck with a loud thump. Archie twisted around to look back out to the island, avoiding Boggs, who seemed to be sprawled in every conceivable direction. Noticing the spyglass tucked in Boggs’s belt, he bent and snagged it, then jumped out of the way, pressing the glass to his eye.

On the white-sanded beach, stood one of the “vanished” pirates, waving his hands in the air in an attempt to be noticed.

“Boggs, take the boat back out and get him. It’s Dougherty.”

“Ach, leave it to Dougherty to be the one I gotta go save,” Boggs mumbled irritably as he crawled back over the railing. “I should’ve blacked more than his eyes.”

Five more bodies followed Boggs to help row and Archie watched as they set back out to shore. Once the missing pirate had been collected, they rowed back. Archie set to helping pull each man up. He noticed that Dougherty was the last to come up and that the man didn’t seem anxious to be on the ship again.

A man with pinched features and a generally mousey look, Archie couldn’t decide whether it was Ben Dougherty’s usual appearance, or if the strange expression upon his face was a product of fear. It also didn’t help that the bruises around his eyes had gone to the greenish stage of healing, giving him the look of a man gone seasick.

The man stood before him, looking squeamish. His eyes darted everywhere but to Archie’s face.

“Well, man, let’s have it. Where have you been and what has happened?” Archie demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“The boy Peter caught meself and five more, then tied us up. He sent me free to give you a message,” Dougherty’s voice came out in a near squeak. “He says he wants his men free, else he starts killing ours, one by one.”

“Oh, will he now?” Archie’s voice dropped octaves and came out in a whisper.

“A-aye,” Dougherty stammered. “He w-wants ’em back by nightfall.”

Archie glanced up into the evening sky. The sun sat on the horizon. Within a couple of hours, night would come—and with it, more dead sailors, unless he worked quickly.

“Did he say where to bring them, or am I just to shuffle them off on the beach anywhere I choose?”

“He said to bring them to the place where you saw him last. Said you would know where that was.”

Archie knew very well the place he had seen the flying boy. It was the place where Peter had murdered Harper in cold blood. The look on Archie’s face must have been a sight, for not only did Dougherty look away, but so did Boggs.

“We will do as he asks,” Archie muttered, though he didn’t say all that he wished to say. We will do as he asks—for now. Once I have my men back, he will pay for what he has done.

IT WAS NEARLY DUSK when they arrived in the dark canopy of trees. Expecting to find Peter hovering in the same place as before, Archie had come armed to the teeth with a troupe of his men behind him. Pistols and cutlasses were aimed in every direction, but what they found was their men, bound against a tree.

“These ropes be familiar,” Beckett announced, hurrying over to untie the men at the tree.

“Yes, I believe they are ours, though I hadn’t realized they were missing,” Archie said, taking in the lumps on each pirate’s head. Three out of the five were still unconscious, slumped against one another. The two who were somewhat lucid were talking nonsense about cannons.

Seeing no threat anywhere around them, Archie took to untying the ropes.

“He’s on the sh-ship,” one man managed, leaning his head back against the tree in an effort to focus on Archie’s face. “The boy is on the ship.”

“With… the… cannons,” the other added as Archie turned to look back in the vicinity of the ship. He knew that he wouldn’t see anything, due to the dense foliage of the forest, but the urge to turn to look was too great. “He said to tell you he would know if you didn’t do as you were told.”

“What do you want us to do with these boys, Cap’n?” Boggs asked, the line of Lost Boys behind peering around his round frame to see what was happening.

“We have our men, we will release his.” Archie nodded, waiting as Boggs untied the ropes around each boy’s wrists and set them free. As soon as the ropes fell, they scattered, disappearing into the forest. Only Patch stayed just long enough to mumble a quick thank you, then he vanished behind the others.

“We might oughta kept ’em for safe-keeping,” Boggs grumbled.

“No, he kept his part of the bargain. We will keep ours.”

The entire trek back to the longboat, Archie worried about the safety of the ship. In his haste, he had taken the majority of the crew with him to the island, leaving a skeleton crew aboard the Jolig Roger. It had been a foolish, ill-thought plan to take so many with him. With the ease that Peter had shown in taking a half dozen of his men, Archie had no doubt that he could best the few, unsuspecting souls he had left on deck.

Let them all be safely on board and whole, he hoped, taking his spyglass out to look at the ship, which, thankfully, was still afloat where he had left it.

Beckett’s tattooed body was the first thing that caught Archie’s eye. Flanked by the last rays of sunlight, he stood tall and imposing on the quarterdeck, looking every bit ready for any fight that would come his way. Archie’s worry disappeared as they rowed back to the ship.

“Is all well? Did you catch yon flying fiend?” Beckett asked, reaching over to give Archie a hand onto the ship.

“All is well enough. We never saw him. How is everything here? Anything new to report?”

“Nay. All quiet here.”

Archie nodded. “Keep your watch. If anything should happen, let me know. I will be below.”

He hadn’t intended to do it, but he began walking each inch of the ship. Something told him that Peter had been on the ship, even though no one had seen him. He wouldn’t have given an idle threat, his mind reasoned logically. Had we not released his men, he would have found a way to make us. He’s been here. I can feel it in my bones.

Step by step, he searched each deck and each room, finding nothing amiss until he came to his own quarters. A wave of anxiety rolled over him as he opened the door and found the contents of his map table lying on the floor.

Paper was strewn over every inch of the room. Maps had been pitched here and there and more than a few of his charting instruments had been flung in every direction. Most disconcerting was the small knife that had been sunk into the wooden surface of his table, as if it had been put there as a signature. That knife said more than if Peter had been there himself to announce his presence. It was a small blade, nearly a twin to the one he had used to kill Harper.

Archie felt his breath catch. No one on deck had heard anything. Beckett had been watching, but he hadn’t seen even the slightest sign of Peter.

His name isn’t Peter; it’s Pan. Harper’s voice popped up in his mind, reminding him of his friend’s story of the death guardian. Archie began picking up his maps and started putting his quarters back together again. All the while, Harper’s voice kept echoing in his head. His name is Pan.

A WEEK PASSED by with no sign of Peter. The search commenced every morning, though in an attempt to keep the focus on Peter, Archie had given his orders that no Lost Boy was to be captured. Each evening, his men came back empty-handed.

Then, it happened. As Archie walked along the beach to meet Tiger Lily, a single boy appeared, as if he had been waiting for him. But it wasn’t Peter.

“Hello, Runt,” he greeted the youngest of the Lost Boys. “How are you?”

“Not good,” the boy replied. His small face was scrunched up in an expression that looked like he was ready to cry.

“What is the matter?” Archie asked. He was more than ready to offer assistance to the smallest of Peter’s troupe, especially since the boy stayed with Tiger Lily most of the time and held his own special place in her heart.

“I’m supposed to give you this,” he said, thrusting out a rolled up sheet of paper that had been somewhat creased by his small hands. As Archie took it, two large tears escaped and rolled down Runt’s cheeks.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure everything will be all right,” he tried to reassure the boy as his own heart dropped at the sight of the familiar scroll with his own handwriting.

“It won’t.” Runt shook his head, sending more tears free to track down his face. “It won’t be all right ever again.”

Trying not to concentrate on the distraught boy in front of him, Archie focused on unrolling the paper. His hands shook as he realized that he held his map of the stars—the same one that he had charted on that fateful night before their arrival. The map that had been tucked away in his desk because he had valued it above all the others. It was the one that he had planned to use to bring him back to Neverland one day, the one that would bring him back to Tiger Lily. In his tidying of the map room, he hadn’t noticed its absence—had not realized that Peter had stolen it.

Archie looked up from the map to Runt’s tear-streaked face. The boy was staring at the back of the map. Perplexed, Archie flipped the map over, and found the reason for Runt’s intense gaze.

There, on the back of his map, was another map, drawn in the shape of Neverland.

Runt’s next words sent chills down Archie’s spine.

“Peter said to tell you that the X is where you will find Tiger Lily.”

19

THE MAP

SMEE GLARED AT the back of the map as if the parchment contained the secrets to the greatest evil on earth instead of a crude drawing of the island. “What, in the name of Saint Brendan, does he expect ye to do with this?”

Archie sighed. The odds of his figuring out Peter’s strange map were about as good as discovering the reasons behind Smee’s obsession with the patron saint of whales. Both mysteries would probably remain unsolved. Still, he answered as best he could. “I believe he expects me to follow it in some fashion.”

“Are you going to follow it?”

“If it leads me to Tiger Lily—yes.”

“Mmph.”

“Yes, that’s my assessment of the situation as well,” Archie said before taking the parchment from Smee’s hands and giving it another inspection. Though crude, the map depicted the correct shape of Neverland as far as he could tell, each inlet and cove that they had visited were recognizable. There were also a few shown that Archie had never seen.

“Was the boy certain that she had been taken?” The look on Smee’s face told Archie that the old man did not believe Runt’s story.

“Yes, he was certain. But to be sure, I checked with her people. They haven’t seen her in over a day and have been doing their own searching. They haven’t found any trace of her, which worries me. They can track anyone. There is no other explanation. Peter has her.”

“Well, what are ye going to do? It says clear as can be at the bottom o’ the page that ye haven’t much time to be dawdlin’ about.” Smee leaned forward and placed a gnarled forefinger at the place he spoke of. Though it wasn’t quite as clear as Smee made it out to be, the words You have two days were printed in a childlike scrawl, along with two more at the bottom. Come alone.

Two days until what? Archie wondered. Would Peter kill Tiger Lily as quickly and easily as he had Harper? And if so, why? She had never done anything to him that Archie knew of. The only conclusion that Archie could come up with was that Peter had taken her out of amusement, because he knew of Archie’s feelings for her.

At that thought, Archie wanted nothing more than to rush to her aid, to follow the cursed map wherever it led him in hopes that it would lead him straight to her side, but his previous escapade with his men and the Lost Boys as prisoners made him wary. Now he wished to think every angle through as thoroughly as possible. As for coming alone, he didn’t plan on taking any of his crew with him, but if they happened to just show up in an effort to win Harper’s gold, he wasn’t going to stop them.

He traced his fingers over the map, much the way he had when charting the stars that lay on the other side of the paper. One thing worried him more than anything else. His map was torn. While Peter’s map of Neverland was complete, the paper on either side of his drawing had been ripped free, as if Peter had wished his drawing to be the only focus of his map.

“The X is where you will find Tiger Lily.” Runt’s words ran through his head, so he repeated them aloud in hopes that Smee would make some sense of them.

“That is all that he said?” Smee asked, scooting his bench closer. Once settled, he adjusted his spectacles on the end of his nose and took on a scholarly appearance as he studied the map on the table. “I see no Xs,” he muttered under his breath. “The lad be a poor map maker, that be sure.”

Archie didn’t bother stating his agreement, but rather sat and stared at the drawing, wishing the phantom x would appear. Silence enveloped them. Several long moments later, Archie jumped and pointed at the map. “There it is.”

The sudden commotion made Smee fall back, nearly off his stool. He placed one gnarled hand over his chest and glared at Archie. “Do not do that again. Ye nearly gave me a heart seizure.”

“It’s here, hidden in the trees at the bottom of this mountain.” Archie was standing now, fingertips trembling as he pointed to the drawing of a grove of trees not far from the Indians’ village. Hidden between two of the branches, near the trunk of one tree was a small, barely discernible X.

“I hate to be the one who tells you this, lad, but there be no way he left her so close to her own people,” Smee said darkly, “Not alive.”

Archie hated hearing the words spoken aloud, but the truth was that he had thought them, too. “It could be a trick. He’s tricked us before. He seems to have a great fondness for games.”

“Aye, I s’pose so.” Smee scratched his bearded face. “Hope, we will, that he is only making sport of us again.”

Yes, hope we shall. Archie looked down at the map again. He didn’t believe Peter would kill Tiger Lily, to do so would take away his fun. Still, his heart hurt at the thought of not being able to protect her.

Let her be unharmed, he sent up a silent plea, hoping that in the first rays of the morning sky, he would find her safe.

BY THE TIME DAWN BROKE, Archie’s nerves were a frazzled mess. The thought of finding her hurt—or worse—gave him the worst sense of dread that he had ever felt in his entire life.

The row to shore that normally took a half hour at most, stretched on for so long that he wondered if they would ever reach Neverland.

As he set foot on the white-sanded beach, a new problem arose.

“Best ye let us come with ye, Cap’n,” Boggs said, patting the pistols strapped to his sides. Then, he nodded to the other five pirates who had helped row the boat. Each of them gave him a grave nod, agreeing with Boggs. “Ye never know what ye might find and then ye will be needing us.”

Come alone. The words echoed in Archie’s head, over and over. He had the funny feeling that if he did not follow the instructions exactly, that Peter would somehow know and then Tiger Lily’s fate would be sealed.

“No, stay with the boat,” Archie decided, shaking his head. “If I do not return within the hour, come and look for us.”

“Aye.” Boggs sighed, flopping back down on the seat of the boat. He landed so hard that the wood made an audible crunch as the boat squashed down into the sand.

Archie smiled in spite of himself. Should everything work out all right, it would take quite a bit of time to extract the boat from the shoreline.

After nodding a quick farewell to a disgruntled Boggs, Archie set off into the shadow of the trees. It did not take long to find the spot that had been marked on the map. Archie’s heart sped up as he neared the place. His palm slick with sweat, he placed his hand on the hilt of his rapier, expecting to find the worst. Instead, he found nothing.

There was no sign of Tiger Lily. Letting out a few low curses, Archie stalked around the circlet of trees several times over before he stopped and pulled the map out from his coat.

The parchment crackled as he unrolled it and lifted it up for a closer inspection. He squinted at Peter’s drawing, trying to take in each branch and limb that had been scrawled there. The sun streaked through an opening in the trees and lit up the back of the map, sending his own written details to shine through the back. Various stars mottled the drawing, making Peter’s workmanship even worse than it had been before.

Frowning, he stepped under the shadow of a giant tree to avoid the sun’s glare. If the map had been drawn true to form, he was standing under the tree where Tiger Lily should be. The X was hidden between two branches, high up in the tree. With a sinking feeling, Archie looked up, hoping that Peter hadn’t placed her above him in the giant oak.

A flash of white caught his eye in a forked branch. It was a piece of parchment, not unlike the one he held in his hands.

“A fine place to leave me a note,” Archie grumbled, looking at the slip of paper that seemed impossible to reach. The tree was old, half-dead, with splintering branches that popped out like dried-out tentacles. It would be treacherous to attempt to climb it.

Several ideas jumbled through his head, one after another, each crowding out the one before it.

If I had a pistol about me, I could shoot the limb holding it. Maybe the wood is rotten enough that it would break. No, the branch is too thick for that.

He tapped the hilt of his rapier with his fingertips. No way to throw it at the branch and hope to knock it free. With the luck he had had of late, he would either get his blade caught in the tree branch or skewer the paper—both instances that he would wish to avoid.

Letting out a sigh of frustration, he looked at the trunk of the tree. It was enormous, but the bark was rough and uneven. It might be possible to climb it, but Archie was betting that it wasn’t going to be pleasant. He laid his map down on the ground and walked around the base of the tree, searching for the best spot to climb.

“I detest heights,” he cursed. Finding what he thought to be the best spot, he sat down and took off his shoes. Perhaps, climbing the tree would be like the ropes of the rigging and be easier without them.

Barefoot and heart thumping, he stood up and began to climb. After a few seconds, he realized that it wasn’t as hard as he thought it was going to be, so he calmed and began focusing only on reaching the branch that held the paper.

He didn’t realize that the branch just below it was rotten—until it was too late.

With a loud snap it broke and sent him falling back to the earth. He landed solidly on his back. The force of the fall left him gasping for air. He watched in a surreal way as the slip of paper came free and floated in slow motion, landing upon his heaving chest.

“Bloody hell,” he managed to croak as he snatched the paper off and sat up. His heart had been hammering before, but now it was ready to beat its way out of his body. He sat for a long second, forcing himself to take a single, long breath—then he opened the folded paper.

It was another map, much like the one that lay crumpled beneath him, only this one was different.

He means to send me on a wild goose chase, Archie thought, incredulous, as he looked at the section of paper that had been ripped from his own map. Once again, Peter had charted his own rendering of Neverland, and on the opposite side of the island near the coast, sat another blasted X.

“At least it looks easier to reach,” Archie grumbled, slapping his shoes back on. He gathered up his maps, stood, and made the trek back to the longboat.

“YE THINK PERHAPS we should have brought Beckett along with us this time?” Boggs asked as they rowed along on their way to the next spot.

“Why ever for?” Archie answered with a question of his own.

“Because he be a sure shot with that musket of his. He could take out the wee bugger that keeps sendin’ us in circles and we would have Miss Lily back safe and sound-like.”

“A fine time to tell me that Beckett is a good shot, Boggs,” Archie said. “It would have made hunting a lot easier had I known this sooner.”

“Didn’t think about it until the Indians done offered to do it for us.” Boggs shrugged.

Archie rolled his eyes. Out of all the pirates accompanying him, the one who might prove the most useful was standing guard on the deck of the Jolig Roger.

“Beckett’s not used to moving targets, anyway,” Smee muttered beside him, giving Boggs his usual grumpy stare.

“Aye, that may be, but I’m sure he’d like to try,” Boggs replied, nonplussed.

Water sloshed over the side of the boat, covering Smee’s feet. He harrumphed and crossed his arms, not impressed with Boggs or the trip to shore.

Archie had thought having the ship’s surgeon along a good idea in case Peter popped up with any other surprise that would leave him out of sorts or missing air. Now, as he looked at the crabby old man, Archie wished to trade him for Beckett, but there was no way to do so without turning around and rowing all the way back to the ship.

The sun was resting just over the horizon. It was too late to go back now. There was nothing to do but press onward; one day remained to find her.

He opened his map and laid it out on the flat of his lap. From the placement of the X, whatever he was supposed to find was ahead.

Fate smiled down upon him a few moments later as he spied a fluttering piece of paper held down by a rock, lying close enough to the water that it was within his grasp without ever leaving the boat. He leaned over and snatched it.

“Well, where we be headed next?” Boggs asked in an airy tone, as if he regularly rowed his captain anywhere he wished to go and that their current trip was naught but a joy ride.

Archie ignored him, concentrating on the piece of map. As if he planned on being difficult, Peter had placed the X in a cove to the north of the island, in a place that the Jolig Roger would be unable to sail. To get there, would take a smaller boat. He had nearly told Boggs that they would be heading north, when he spied the childish scrawl at the bottom of the page. There wouldn’t be any help on the next excursion, from Boggs, Beckett, or anyone for that matter.

Come alone—or she dies.

“BEST YE WAIT ’TIL MORN. There be no way one man can row in these waters in the dark, ye’d end up smashed against the rocks,” Beckett advised as the ship neared the cove. It was well past midnight. “The water’s not near as calm as the other spots we’ve laid anchor.”

Archie nodded his agreement. He knew Beckett was right, even though his heart wanted him to go right then. The Jolig Roger was rocking back and forth with each swell. A smaller boat would be crushed, along with the fool who would attempt to row it. A fat lot of good being dead would do to rescue her.

He sighed. “I will leave at first light. Keep a watch out, Beckett. If anything should go amiss, call for me.”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

He trudged back to the map room, hoping to find some rest. Sleep eluded him. He spent the wee hours of morning, tossing and turning on his cot, wishing for day to break.

At some point, exhaustion seeped in and he found himself waking to a frantic beat on the door.

“Cap’n,” Beckett’s voice came through the wood as clear as if he were already in the room. He burst through the door a second later, too impatient to wait for a reply.

“What is it? Have we run aground?” Archie flipped his legs over the cot and jumped up, expecting the worst. “What is it?” he repeated.

“The tide has risen o’er the night and the water be calmer this morn,” Beckett said in a matter-of-fact way.

“That’s it?”

“Aye, I thought you might want the report afore ye go.”

“You came here to tell me the tide has risen?”

“Aye, but none so much that it should give ye any trouble getting into the cove. If anything, it might make it a wee bit easier to get around some of those sharp rocks that come up from the sea bottom.” Beckett paused. “Are ye certain none of us can go with ye?”

Ah, there’s the reason for coming. “None can come, but I thank you for your concern, Beckett. If I were to not follow Peter’s exact instructions, I fear the worst will happen to her.”

“Well,” Beckett frowned, “it be easier to show him the blade of a cutlass or the tip of a pistol and be done with these games.”

“If it were only that easy.” Archie slid on his shoes. “It seems Peter knows our plans before we do and as he is the only one who knows where Tiger Lily is, I would need him alive.”

A cloud of dust fell from the beams overhead, followed by the sound of pounding feet.

“Something is happening.” Beckett’s eyebrows raised for a split second, before he turned and rushed up to the deck with Archie on his heels.

The first thing that met Archie’s ears was the shouted curses that seemed to come from every direction. He caught a glimpse of green before it disappeared behind the sails. A volley of pistol shots rang through the air, peppering the canvas.

“Cease fire!” Archie yelled, looking up at the canvas that now resembled a piece of limp Swiss cheese. The sail was ruined. He hurried to the opposite side of the ship, expecting to see some trace of Peter, but he had disappeared.

“There! There he is.” Archie wasn’t sure who had shouted the words, but everyone’s attention had moved toward the cove, where the flying boy had turned, as if expecting Archie to follow. Then, he vanished behind the rocks.

BECKETT HELD HIS tongue as he helped lower the small rowboat, but once he was certain that his captain had rowed far enough to be out of earshot, he let out a string of curses that shocked the rest of the crew into silence—no small feat as the majority of them had quite the colorful vocabulary all their own.

“Curse this blasted island and every body upon it!” He finished his rampage and grasped the railing to the ship so hard that his knuckles turned white. The polished wood beneath his fingers creaked under the pressure, threatening to splinter as he watched the small rowboat disappear behind a tall column of rock.

“He be gone now, out of sight,” Smee said, spyglass to his eye. “He should have taken some of us with him.” He retracted the spyglass and placed it in his pocket, giving Beckett a cold look, as if the situation were his fault. “I don’t like it. This is fool’s errand.”

“Ye aren’t the only one who doesn’t like it, but he gave his orders. I won’t disobey ’em.”

“Ach! The lad isn’t thinking straight, only thing in that brain of his now is her. Mark me words, no good will come of it.”

“He is captain, and he gave his orders,” Beckett said, letting go of his grip on the railing and turning his back to the island. Silently, he agreed with Smee and wanted nothing more than to release another boat, fill it with men, and wreak havoc on the one who had been causing them so much strife, but he would obey his orders. Keep the ship and the men safe. He looked up at the sail, tattered strips of canvas fluttered in the wind. Deciding that he had best do the part of keeping the ship safe, he opened his mouth to give orders to replace the sail, when the ship lurched and he found himself lying flat on his back, looking up at the sky.

His first thought was that the ship had run aground on rocks, but that thought was chased away by the recollection that they were anchored, safely away from any of the jutting boulders near the cove. He jumped to his feet and scrambled to the railing.

Something had hit them.

And it sat beside the ship, glaring at Beckett with two dark, intelligent, hate-filled eyes.

“Ready the cannons!” Beckett shouted, watching as the dark form turned and began swimming toward the cove, fast for a crocodile with naught but a stub for a tail.

“Cannons ready,” the reply echoed back up the line of the ship.

“He’s near the rocks.” Smee had arrived at his side and was looking through his spyglass again. “Close to where I saw the cap’n last.”

“No way to fire without trapping the cap’n in that inlet,” Beckett muttered, taking the glass from Smee to see for himself. Sure enough, the crocodile was taking the exact path the captain had taken, as if it were hunting for the man itself.

“What be your orders?” One man yelled from the other end of the ship, linstock in hand, ready to touch to his cannon’s fuse.

“Half of you stay with the cannons, but don’t fire unless he returns.” Beckett nodded to them. A wry grin painted his beard-stubbled face. “The rest of you buggers, release the boats and follow me. We are going to hunt us a croc.”

THE MUSCLES IN Archie’s arms were aching by the time he pulled the rowboat up on the shore. Even though the waters had calmed, he still had been tossed dangerously close to the rocks more times than he cared to admit. Had he tried his rescue attempt any earlier, he wouldn’t have made it.

He took one long, deep breath before he took out Peter’s latest drawing. If the map were true to form, his next clue to Tiger Lily’s whereabouts would be waiting for him a short walk away. Unwilling to waste any more time, he folded the map and thrust it back into his pocket and set off across the beach.

The next slip of paper was stuck on a stick at the mouth of a cavern, waving in the breeze like a small, white flag of surrender. Carefully, he unfolded it, finding yet another map. Trying to squelch the feeling of hope, he knelt to the ground and placed each of Peter’s drawings end to end. Every piece of his map was now accounted for. Unless Peter had managed to filch another map without his knowledge, this last drawing would lead him to Tiger Lily. Folding up all of the other tattered pieces of parchment, he stuck them back in his pocket and concentrated on Peter’s latest work.

A twisting, turning trail began at the mouth of the cavern, where he now stood and led into it. Archie grinned. He was close.

20

END GAME

IT STARTED OUT DIMLY LIT, which was the reason he hadn’t thought to construct a torch of some kind. At least that was what Archie was busy telling himself, though he knew the true reason was that he had been in a rush and hadn’t thought this last bit of his journey through.

I’m close now, I know I am. I can feel it. If only the light will hold out. Archie squinted at the drawing before he turned another corner. The squiggles on the map seemed accurate, with each turn leading him farther into the cavern. The air became cold and stale and darkened with each step he took.

Two twisting turns later, it was pure blackness. Archie put one hand out to steady himself and found the damp, cold rock of the cavern wall. His heart began pounding. There wasn’t any way to see anything. Not what lay ahead, much less the map. At this rate, he would have to turn back and find a source to light his way. He didn’t want to do that. While he thought he had enough time left to find her, something in his gut was telling him that he didn’t and that time was running out.

He slid one foot in front of the other in an effort to make progress. One step down, he thought, trying to still his beating heart.

“Take deep breaths, take deep breaths,” he chanted as he took another step into the unknown. This step held more peril than the one before as the floor dipped. Then, he lost his footing and landed on his arse. This set off a loud tirade of curses that bounced against the walls and echoed back and forth. Words that his dearly departed mum would have washed his mouth out for, were now blasting his own eardrums before they made their way down the length of the cavern, likely to a trapped Tiger Lily whom he would never find.

“Saint Brendan,” he hissed a moment later, hoping that those words would follow those earlier and mark the cursing as Smee, just in case his beloved had indeed heard his rather colorful vocabulary.

He sat there on the cold, stone floor for another few seconds, listening as the last of the echoes quieted. He was torn as to whether he should stand up and try to continue his trek in the dark, or turn back and run as quickly as he could to the entrance to find light. There wasn’t a choice to be made, really, he would have to go back.

With a heart that felt like lead, he stood up and began to turn. Then, the most unexpected thing happened. Miss Bell arrived, as if out of thin air. Her beautiful, golden light illuminated the darkness just enough that Archie could see a bit of his surroundings—and the unhappy look on the pixie’s face.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you, my dear,” Archie exclaimed, his spirits rising. He chose not to query his small friend on what troubled her, but asked her assistance instead. “I need your help, Miss Bell. Can you light the way for me?”

The tiny pixie didn’t answer with her usual bell tones, but gave him a small, barely discernable nod, as if she did not want to help him, but would do it, since he had asked her nicely. She turned, and began to fly forward, turning her head to see if he was following.

He stayed close behind her, taking care to step in the path left by the fading golden dust left in her wake. She wasn’t as bright as usual, which left Archie to wonder if perhaps Boggs hadn’t been using her as an ingredient in his never-right again. He made a silent promise to find the biggest, brightest button on the entire ship as payment for her help once this escapade was over and done. He held the map up in front of him, hoping to catch the next turn that he needed to make before they missed it. To his surprise, Miss Bell turned a quick right, moving in the direction that he was getting ready to point out. It was as if she already knew where he wished to go.

Puzzled, he stayed silent and kept the map before him, in case she missed the next twist or turn, but she didn’t. Several moments passed as they traveled deeper into the cavern, with nothing but the faint echo of his footsteps as proof that anyone was there at all.

What if I am too late? He wondered. It seemed that the pixie lighting his way was getting slower with each passing second. How does she know the way? She hasn’t missed a single turn.

The sound of running water mixed in with the echo of his footsteps caught his ears. “Please, we have to hurry,” he implored the pixie who was now barely moving in front of him. At the sound of his voice, she stopped and hovered where she was. “Please…” He stopped when he saw the impossibly fat tears running down her cheeks. Without so much as a single tone, she flew back in the direction they had come from, and disappeared.

I will find out what is wrong when this is finished, Archie promised himself, thanking his lucky stars that Miss Bell hadn’t left him in complete darkness. The tunnel they had been following along had widened, and somewhere ahead of him—there was light.

He ran, slipping and sliding on the slick, rock floor. He rammed halfway into the wall, making another turn. He vaguely registered the pain that shot through the muscle of his shoulder, but pushed it from his mind and concentrated on the sound of the water. It was loud, but the sound seemed to ebb every few seconds, as if it were mimicking the ocean’s tide.

You have two days.

The tide is rising, Cap’n. Beckett’s voice echoed in his head. Coupled with Peter’s warning, it pushed Archie faster. He had to find her soon. He glanced down at the paper crushed in his fist just long enough to discern one final turn before the X. It was up ahead, just around this last straight stretch. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, flung himself around the final bend, and found himself falling end over end.

He landed in an unceremonious heap, several feet below where had last stood. Body aching from his tumble, he sat up slowly. Finding nothing broken, he took in the scene around him.

He was in a giant room of sorts, with slick, wet walls that vaulted upward to an open ceiling that showed a bright, blue sky. The sound of the ocean ebbing in and out had been an astute deduction, for mere inches away from his outstretched legs was the water coming in from a large opening in one wall, filling the room with more water with each surge.

In the center of the room, tied to a jagged rock, was Tiger Lily. The water had risen to her waist, but she was alive and staring at him with an expression of profound relief. Archie shot to his feet and began searching for the quickest way to her.

The water was riddled with rocks, making the most direct route impassible. With the way that the water was beginning to churn, he knew he couldn’t swim to her for the certainty of being bashed against the rocks.

One flat rock ran the length around the room, serving much as a ledge, above the water. On the other side of the cavern, the rock jutted out and ended, mere feet from the stone where Tiger Lily was tied.

“Are you all right?” Archie called out.

She nodded. It was then that he realized the reason for her silence. A rag had been tied around her mouth and was cutting off her voice. She managed to give a strangled sound in response.

“Worry not, my love, I am coming!” With that, he ran toward her.

In his hurry, he slid on the slick ledge and barely caught his footing. Knowing if he landed in the water, all would be lost, he forced himself to concentrate and slow his pace. He began again.

The ledge was deceptive. Though it looked straight and level, there was just enough of a tilt to it that an unsuspecting person could fall. Add in the slick green algae, and the odds of plunging into the dark water increased.

“Slow down, slow down,” he chanted to himself, watching the water that threatened to flow onto the ledge. He glanced up to make sure the tide hadn’t taken her under. It hadn’t, though it had risen several inches.

You have two days.

I will make it in time, Archie promised himself, I have made it in time. I only have to set her free and escape this cursed cavern.

“Mmph,” Tiger Lily’s strangled cry and a frantic splash, snapped him back into frantic mode. He had almost started to run toward her, when he realized she was trying to warn him.

Peter hovered before him with an impish, sly grin on his face. “You are very good at reading my maps, Archie.”

Archie gritted his teeth, “You may call me either Captain, or Captain Jameson. You have no right to call me by name.”

“Why?” Peter asked, glancing over his shoulder at Tiger Lily, “I’ve heard her. She calls you Archie. She has called for you often the last day or so. I’ve sat at the top and listened to her cry.” He looked up at the opening in the ceiling. “I didn’t think you would make it before the tide came in,” he admitted, then fixed Archie with a cold, dark stare that Archie had never before seen on the face of a child. “I hoped you wouldn’t.”

“My name is my own and only those I call friend have the honor of using it. Let her go. I’ve played your game and I won. I followed every map, obeyed every rule,” Archie said, feeling the coldness creep into his voice. “Let her go or I shall kill you.”

“No.” The dark look hadn’t left Peter’s face. If anything, it had intensified. “You haven’t won, because I’m not done playing.” He took the knife from his side. The sun glinted off the blade. “I challenge you to a duel, Archie.”

“And if I don’t accept?”

“She’ll die—as will you.”

Archie looked over at Tiger Lily. The water was rising and there was no other way to get around Peter. If fight he must, he would have to do it soon.

He unsheathed his rapier, the thin blade made a tinny metallic echo as it came free. He poised the blade before him and gave a small bow for the sake of formality. “I will accept, on the terms that you fight as a gentleman and that this is the last of your games.”

“I agree to your terms,” Peter nodded. “And I have my own. If you win, she goes free. If I win, you never try to leave Neverland again.”

There was no choice to be made. The only thing that mattered was Tiger Lily. “Agreed.”

The first strike came the instant the word left Archie’s lips, sending up a crackling spark as metal met metal. The force behind it caught Archie off guard and he took a step back, before countering with a strike of his own, which Peter deflected. The boy moved quickly, delivering blow for blow.

Peter had a definite advantage as his feet never hit the ground. He flew to and fro, effortlessly dodging each of Archie’s thrusts. Archie, on the other hand, was slipping and sliding on the ledge.

“Bad form,” Archie managed after one staggering blow that he nearly missed.

“What’s bad form?” Peter paused, his knife poised.

“Having bad form is my way of implying that you do not fight as a gentleman. You are flying, which is putting me at grave disadvantage. A gentleman would make certain that his fight is fought fairly.”

Peter’s face went scarlet with anger before he said in a calm voice. “Then I won’t fly.”

Archie hadn’t expected this, so when the boy landed on the slick rock before him, he was surprised. He smiled and gave an elaborate, deep bow. “And that, Peter, is what I would call ‘good form.’”

Peter’s reply was to send another stinging blow against his rapier that made his arm numb. Archie countered with his own, happily noticing that Peter was now sliding about as much as he. The duel was now fair—or more in his favor now that the young ruffian wasn’t flitting about in the air.

They fought the length of the ledge, with Archie advancing on Peter, one blow at a time. The boy countered each thrust. It seemed Archie wouldn’t be wearing him down anytime soon, so he concentrated on trying to push Peter back, trick him into taking one fatal misstep that would either make him fall or land him in the water.

The clang of the rapier against the knife echoed back and forth against the rock walls. It sounded as if war was being waged by an army, instead of two souls locked in a single, deadly duel. Archie registered that the ledge had left the wall and they were now on the section that jutted out into the water. There was at least an inch of water on this new section of rock. The sounds of sloshing mixed in with the echoes as they fought.

I must hurry, there isn’t much time left. The tide will soon cover her. Archie began fighting with renewed vigor, which seemed to catch Peter by surprise. The boy stumbled once, and retreated a few quick steps, as if to regroup. Archie closed the gap between them and poised his rapier for a quick thrust at Peter’s heart.

Instead of blocking the movement, as Archie had expected him to do, he spun around, took a step off the end of the ledge—and flew.

Archie’s rapier had found its mark, but not in the boy who was now flying high above. The jarring sensation of the rapier sinking into flesh felt surreal at first. But now, as he looked into Tiger Lily’s wide, shocked eyes—he was horrified.

His heart felt as if it was the one that had been pierced. “No, no, no,” he whispered as he pulled his blade from her chest. As it came free, she slumped forward against the rope that held her fast. The hilt of his rapier made a dull clang as he dropped it to the ledge and leaned across to take the rag away from her mouth. Realizing that he needed his rapier to cut her free, he snatched it back up and cut through the ropes, before throwing it back down again.

“No, no… no…” he whispered again as he knelt, cradling her body to his, feeling the last bits of his heart die as she took one shuddering breath—and went still. He laid her down on the ledge, watching as the water brought her hair up to float around her face in dark, silky tendrils. She looked like a sleeping princess, but the narrow hole in her chest belied that she would ever wake again. Overcome by emotion, he bent and brushed a kiss to her lips. For the first time, it wasn’t returned. She was gone—and the fault was his.

The sound of a blade scraping against rock cut through the muddle in his mind. Instinctively, he reached behind him for his rapier. When his hand found nothing but water and slick stone, he remembered the forgotten, flying boy, and turned.

Holding Archie’s rapier, Peter hovered just above the water’s surface, poised as if he had fought with such a weapon before.

Fury roiled over Archie as he stood and grabbed his blade. He ignored the sting of pain as the metal bit into his flesh. He gripped it tighter in his hand, bending the metal down. “You will pay for all that you have done, even if it takes my death to make it so,” the words seeped out in a low whisper.

Peter’s eyes went wide at first. Then, a dark look passed over them, giving him the appearance of being much older than the boy he seemed to be. “No, it won’t take your death. Not yet. I find myself enjoying this far too much.” With a quick, forceful jerk, the blade was ripped from Archie’s hand, slicing through the tender flesh between his fingers as it came free. Then, before Archie had the chance to move, Peter swished the blade through the air, straight at his still uplifted hand.

Time slowed as Archie watched a ray of sun catch the silver blade, causing a sparkle to run from the hilt and travel toward the tip. In the instant the gleam touched the tip, the blade found his hand, severed it, and sent it flying through the air.

Blood poured from Archie’s wrist, trapping his attention as it oozed from a stump and covered the lace cuff a gory, dark blue. This isn’t happening, he thought, taking an unsure step back, watching as the blue blood ran down to his elbow and began dripping into the water in an increasing stream.

A laugh caught his attention, and his eyes left the empty place where his hand had been, so where it now was, in Peter’s grasp. The boy looked jubilant, as if he had done some grand thing.

“My blade, if you please,” Archie said coldly, trying to ignore the fact that his vision was now clouding and his body was weakening with each passing second. He stumbled forward and lifted up his uninjured arm to retrieve his rapier, daring Peter to take that hand, too.

Peter lifted an eyebrow, as if he was thinking of doing exactly that, but then he pitched the blade down, and flew off, disappearing through the opening in the ceiling. He hadn’t thrown the rapier to Archie, but to the ledge, where the water had risen so much that it splashed near Tiger Lily’s body.

Archie turned back and staggered toward her. The current was moving the hilt of the rapier back and forth. He was having difficulty focusing on it. His vision kept darkening each time the water surged.

He slipped as he bent over to pick it up and found himself on his knees by Tiger Lily. Instead of finding the rapier, his hand felt the cold silk of her hair that floated in the water. His vision cleared only well enough to watch his rapier wash over the ledge with the next surge in the tide. As it disappeared under a blanket of hazy, white foam, his vision left and the darkness closed in. He felt warm.

It’s over now, Archie thought. The pain left as the water covered his face. A single thought passed through his mind as his hand found hers.

I will die with the one I love.

RUNT STOOD ON the deck of the ship. He had been there when they brought his body on board. He’d caught a glimpse of the captain’s face. It was white and pasty and had the look of the dead.

How will I join this crew if Captain Archie is dead? Runt watched, horrified, as they carted the captain’s body below.

The sullen-looking, old man they had called the doctor looked even grouchier than the one other time Runt had seen him. He brushed by Runt as if he hadn’t noticed his presence and followed the others down the steps.

It was quiet for the rest of the day. He stayed on the deck, wanting to help in some way, but didn’t know how to go about it. The ship was a strange thing with hundreds of ropes stretching up to the huge pieces of canvas that billowed in the wind.

“Come up here, boy,” a large man with rippling tattoos said from the deck above him. “I will teach ye how to sail the ship.”

He did as the man asked and climbed the steps to the upper deck. “I am Beckett,” the man introduced himself. “What be yer name, lad?”

“Runt.” It came out in a nervous squeak, making Runt feel even more self-conscious as he stood in front of the hulking man before him.

“Well now, Runt. If ye wish to be a pirate, ye must know all there is to know about the ship, aye?” the man named Beckett said, giving Runt’s shoulder a quick squeeze, before motioning to the big, round wheel in front of him. “What say ye take the wheel and bring us out to sea, eh?”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” Runt said, taking the spokes of the wheel in his hands.

A chilling scream rent the air, sending gooseflesh along Runt’s arms. He gripped the wheel and looked up at Beckett with wide eyes.

Beckett was looking toward the steps, where the scream had seemed to come from. “Nay, lad, I am not the cap’n of the Jolig Roger. I only be watching over her ’til her true cap’n is fit to handle her again.”

Runt had been looking at Beckett’s tense face, when he noticed something just over his shoulder. With a sense of dread, he whispered only loudly enough for Beckett to hear, “He’s here. Peter is here.”

Beckett whirled around as the gravity of his words hit him, and began barking orders to every man in sight. Runt cowered next to the wheel, hoping to escape Peter’s notice.

“Ye stay close to me,” Beckett said, as he stepped in front of Runt, blocking his view.

Runt hid behind Beckett’s legs, hoping that Peter hadn’t caught sight of him. He didn’t want to be one of the Lost Boys anymore, but he wasn’t feeling brave in this particular moment, either. He had been brave when Peter took Tiger Lily away. He had stood up to him and told Peter to leave her alone, but it hadn’t worked. He had been too small to do any good. Now, he wanted to be invisible, but he still wanted to watch, so he peeked around Beckett’s legs, just in time to see Peter fly past, so close that Runt could have reached out and touched him. He was carrying a long, pointed knife—one that looked like the one Runt had seen before at Captain Archie’s side.

“He forgot this,” Peter announced, throwing the long knife at the big pole in the middle of the ship. It made a loud thwack as it sunk in, the shiny handle moving back and forth.

Without another word, he flew upward, disappearing into the clouds. Several long moments passed as they watched for any sign that he would return.

“I guess he came and did what he meant to do,” Beckett’s words sounded hard, but he shrugged as he turned and offered Runt a hand up from his hiding place. “Let’s make ye a pirate, lad. I feel we be needin’ all the help we can get.”

IMAGES CAME AND went in a jumble, mixing and twisting so that nothing made sense. Archie wanted the darkness back—wanted the peace that it brought. The colors came in blurs, though the blue always seemed dominant, the cursed blue that always reminded him of blood. Some flesh colors reminded him of the faces of his crew or of the mermaid he spotted at their arrival. Several times over, he thought he was staring into the face of Smee, but then the blue would take over and the pain would come alive.

Each time, he wished for darkness. He wished for death—but it wouldn’t come.

“Come on, lad. Ye have tried to give up for three days now, but yer spirit be too strong. Best ye open yer eyes and deal with it, eh?” Smee’s voice broke through the darkness and shattered it. “If ye do, I promise the pain will go away sooner.”

Archie’s eyes opened a slit as he tried to focus. Smee’s white sideburns came into view first, followed by his bulbous nose, and his spectacles. Two shrewd, watery blue eyes were looking at him.

“Ah, there ye be,” Smee said in a conversational tone, as if his captain had been misplaced instead of at the brink of death. “If ye would like to sit up, I’ll get ye a drink. I’d imagine ye need one,” he turned, presumably to pick up a tankard of rum. Then, Archie heard him mumble, “I know I do.”

Archie sat up, body aching and throbbing, though the worst of the pain was coming from his left arm that had been tucked under the covers. That brought his memories back and he remembered his last thought. “How is it that I am not dead? Or is it that I am dead and stuck in this cursed place for all eternity?” His voice was raspy as he took the offered tankard from Smee. He took a long drink, noticing that the old man had taken pity on him and filled it with wine.

Smee sighed, settling down on the bench across from him, his own tankard clasped in his hands. “Ye aren’t dead, lad, though I thought ye to be when we found ye floating in the water. Lucky for ye, Beckett wanted to go hunt a croc, else ye would have been dead, sure enough. Ye lost a hand and more blood than I ever saw from a single man, but ye must have a purpose to stay alive, ’cause ye are still here.”

Archie slipped his wounded arm out of the covers. The sight of the wrapped stub was a shock, even though he had expected it to be there. The worse part was that the air above it ached, as if his hand were still there, only invisible and hurt.

“They say those who lose a hand or a foot will have its ghost to haunt them, unless it is buried proper-like,” Smee said, as if he had read Archie’s mind.

“That will be difficult to do, as the last I saw, it was in Peter’s possession.” Archie grimaced, taking another gulp of wine.

“Eh, no, he doesn’t have it,” Smee said, fidgeting on his stool. Catching Archie’s cold stare, he continued, “He flew around the sails a bit yesterday, so as to make sure we was watchin’. Then he flew a ways out, and waited for the croc. When the big beastie came to the surface, the boy threw it to ’im. Yer hand got eaten, lad. Won’t be any burying it, I’m afraid.”

“Lovely.”

The two sat in silence for the next few moments until they had both drained their cups. “Beckett has a report to give ye, whenever ye want to hear it. Ye also have a new man that wishes to join the crew. If ye want me to send ’em down, I will,” Smee said, standing.

“Send them.”

Smee waited, and when it became apparent that Archie had nothing more to say, he left, shutting the door to the map room. No one ever shuts that door quietly. It must be worse than he lets on, Archie thought, swinging his legs over the side of the cot.

Without thinking, he placed his left arm down to grip the side of the cot. His wrapped stump thunked against the wooden rail, sending currents of pain that radiated all the way to his elbow.

Archie gritted his teeth until the pain subsided. Then he stood, struggled into his breeches and coat, then fumbled with the fastening on his belt. At last clothed with the help of his single hand, he sat down in the chair behind the map table to wait.

He had expected Beckett to arrive first, but a moment later Smee came back into the map room, carrying a small wooden box. “I haven’t told Beckett to come yet. There be somethin’ I wanted to give ye.” He sat the box down on the table, and flipped open the lid.

“This belonged to Blackbeard. He bought it on Madeira, but forgot to take it with him. I found it at the tavern when he left. I suppose he meant to use it, should he ever lose a hand. I doubt we ever see Blackbeard again, and ye are the captain of this ship. It’s yers, if ye want it.”

Lying on a pad of black velvet, was a gleaming silver hook.

Archie didn’t realize Smee had left again until the door closed behind him. As he lifted up the hook, the light caught the thick, white scar on his palm. A memory of Tiger Lily raced through his mind. A bargain for her people’s safety, a cut to his hand, and a chaste kiss, rushed through him, sending tears to his eyes.

She was gone, and it was his fault. One solitary tear trekked down his cheek. He fixed the gleaming hook onto the stub, ignoring the stabs of pain that radiated in his wrist as he clamped down the leather strap. He would take this gift that Blackbeard had left—and in doing so, he would vow his revenge. If the death guardian wished someone to battle until the end of time, he would be there to do it. He would not rest, nor ever leave Neverland, until Peter had paid for what he had done. He glanced down at his scar. He would have it to remind him of Tiger Lily. He took Harper’s drawing of Mary out of his coat pocket. It was ragged now, water-stained, and ruined, but he could still make out her beautiful face.

He undid the fastenings. Curling the picture around his stub, he replaced the hook, trapping the image of Mary between his skin and the leather. He tightened the strap, hearing the paper crinkle as it became part of him.

Now, on each hand, he would have a reminder of what had been taken from him. Feeling the last bits of his heart harden, he stood. Without waiting for anyone to appear, he made his way to the deck.

The first thing that caught his eye in the dwindling daylight, was his rapier, stuck fast in the mast. Without a word, he jerked it free, and slid it back into the sheath at his side. Then, he stalked to the quarterdeck, watching as his crew moved to stay out of his way.

“You have a report?” he asked Beckett, who looked rather shocked to see him.

“Aye, Cap’n,” Beckett managed, then took a breath as if collecting his thoughts. He continued, “The lads came back from hunting a short while ago. The Indians refuse to hunt for us anymore. They found the girl’s body and they aren’t sure who to blame. They be makin’ noises that anyone who comes to their village is an enemy.”

“Leave them be. We will provide for our own. No man is to approach them, we will honor their wishes,” Archie said. It was the least he could do for Tiger Lily’s people. If they wished to be left alone, he would make it so, even if it meant several disastrous trips before his men learned to hunt. “Smee said there is a man wishing to join our crew, send him up.”

“Aye, Cap’n. He is right here.” Beckett motioned to a teenage lad that had been waiting by the railing. He had been silent and Archie hadn’t seen him until this moment. “I’ve been teaching him the ship. He’s nimble and quick on the ropes. The only man I’ve seen any better with the mast was Harper.”

At his friend’s name, Archie’s eyes narrowed. A breeze came, ruffling the boy’s blond hair. He squinted at him, giving Archie the vague impression that he had seen this boy somewhere before. “Are you one of Peter’s men?” he asked without preamble, mentally ticking off each of the young boys in Peter’s troupe that he had met.

“I used to be, but I’m not anymore.”

“What is your name?”

“Runt.”

Archie had opened his mouth to say that such a thing was impossible, but no words came out. The anxious expression on the lad’s face was an exact replica of the one he had seen on the young boy’s face as Runt handed him the first of Peter’s maps. In a matter of days, he had somehow gained a decade of age.

“It happened after the first day. He fell asleep a young boy, and woke up as he is now,” Beckett explained, “The island’s spell wore off when he left. He’s as old as he should be, from my way of thinking.”

“Won’t Peter be missing you?” Archie asked. “If one of my men were to disappear, I would search until I found him.”

Runt shook his head, “No, I told Beetles to tell him that I was leaving. Besides, he’s gone after Wendy now.” At Archie’s questioning glance, he continued, “He told me that since he took away Tiger Lily, he would bring me someone new. He found someone named Wendy in the grown-up place. He was going to bring her here to be our mother.” The lad frowned, as if he found the thought not to his liking, “I don’t want to be a Lost Boy ever again. I wish to be a pirate.”

“Will you tell me all that you know of Peter and his whereabouts?” Archie asked, “To become one of my crew, you must tell me all you know.”

“I will tell you.” Runt nodded. “Every single word of it.”

Archie motioned to Beckett. “Bring the book. Let the lad make his mark. He will join our crew.”

“Aye, Cap’n. While I go, is there a heading ye wish for us to sail? The sun is nearly set.” Beckett turned to head toward the stairs.

“No, we won’t be leaving. We will wait here for Peter’s return, however long it should take.”

Beckett nodded and left, returning moments later with the leather bound book.

“Make your mark and join our crew.” Archie pointed to the empty space under the last scrawled name.

“Aye.”

Pirate words sounded odd coming from him, Archie thought, fighting to suppress a smile. “Welcome to the crew of the Jolig Roger, Runt.”

The words that came out of the lad’s mouth next, chased away every hint of a smile and darkened his heart even further. “Thank you, Captain Archie.”

“No, that is not my name.” A fresh wave of darkness washed over his heart as he fixed his newest crew member with his cold, blue eyes. “The one you knew by that name died in the cavern with the one he loved. There is nothing and no one left for me in this life.” He lifted his left arm, letting the last rays of dying light catch the silver on his new hand. “Now—and forevermore—I will be known as Captain Hook.”

1

A MEANS OF ESCAPE

THESPA, QUEEN OF the water sprites, and ruler of all the Never Sea, returned to the human world with a profound sense of dread. As the leader of the watery half of Neverland, not much worried her.

At least, it hadn’t until the humans began forgetting about magic and the sprites began dying.

This trip back to the human world wasn’t one she had made out of choice—necessity brought her here. She’d come to find someone to believe in her, possibly several someones, depending upon how successful her quest proved to be. Then, she’d bring them back with her as a sort of insurance so she’d never have to come to this wretched place again.

Fish won’t do, she decided, staring at the wide-set eyes of one particularly ugly pufferfish. She stood on a wide piece of coral, deep beneath the waves of this warm human ocean, and looked around. More unintelligent fish, crabs, and other sea creatures milled about, none looking particularly pleased or excited to see her. The only ones who showed any interest in her at all were the ones who stopped just long enough to see if she was a small, sparkly bit of food.

This could take forever. Her wings dipped down in dejection. I wonder how long it took the pixie to find that flying Peter-boy?

One of the golden pixies, Tink, had been the first to bring someone to Neverland. When that proved successful, she’d brought a handful more. Her Lost Ones, the pixie had named them. They were, Tink explained, the ones the human world wouldn’t miss.

Thespa crinkled her nose in disgust. As a creature of the sea, she didn’t care for humans. Though they resembled water sprites and had legs to walk about on, they lacked a graceful set of wings that could take them through both water and air. And they most certainly didn’t have any magic. Humans were meant to be above the sea, not below it. Still, the idea of taking someone or something to Neverland that wouldn’t be missed did appeal to Thespa. She sighed, wondering again how long it took Tink to find her Lost Ones.

She started to fly from her perch and try a new place when something stopped her. Literally.

Thespa looked down and scowled, kicking the errant strand of seaweed that had twisted itself around her foot. The bit of green plant gave way at her vicious kick, but left a long green streak of slime down the length of her leg as a parting gift. This, of course, did absolutely nothing to improve her mood.

She was so aggravated that something extremely important had escaped her notice—the gaping jaws of an eel headed directly at her. Her anger disappeared in a fleeting second, but it was too late to move.

Then, a hand wrapped around her an instant before the monster’s teeth snapped.

Nonplussed at missing its small, sparkly appetizer, the eel swam off in search of another easy, unsuspecting meal.

Once the hand opened, Thespa let out an uneasy breath and looked up into a pair of wide, silver eyes, framed by long locks of blond hair.

At first, she thought she’d been saved by a human, but then she spotted his long tail and realized he was as much a creature of the sea as she—and he was exactly who she’d been searching for.

NERIDA WATCHED ODESSA swim toward the surface. The light from above sparkled on the scales of her sister’s tail, bringing out the bright blue hues, making her look magical. Her red hair streamed back, catching in the currents as she ascended closer to the water’s end.

A giant shadow loomed above, evidence of a passing ship filled with humans. Nerida shuddered. Interacting with humans was forbidden—as was anything in the outer world—but the two mermaids had come to test fate, rules or not.

The braver sister, Odessa had suggested this visit with the out-worlders. There was an ancient myth that if any mermaid could make a sailor fall in love with her, he would be hers forever and a powerful spell would cast that would bind him to her for all time. Odessa wanted to prove it true.

Not many were brave enough to test this fable—and those who survived hadn’t succeeded in producing anything but lust from the humans. In fact, nearly all of the merfolk stayed safely below the shadows of the ships for fear of being caught in their great nets, but Odessa had never shown fear of anything. This time was different, though. It wasn’t an adventure Odessa sought—it was escape.

As the firstborn daughter of Muir, the northern sea king, Odessa was betrothed to Cassius, the firstborn son of Taron, the king of the southern seas. The two sea kings wished more than anything for their kingdoms to be united someday, but neither wished to bow to the rule of the other. So the two concocted the plan of marriage and a single kingdom that would only occur upon both of their deaths, which was unlikely to be anytime soon as merpeople typically lived very long lives. Still, Odessa hated the idea of her future marriage and her one wish was to be free of the sea kings’ plan.

Nerida grimaced at the thought of anyone having to be married to Cassius. It would be a terrible fate for her adventuresome sister. His name meant hollow and it fit him. She had met him several times and had found him to be the most self-centered, egotistical, and generally annoying creature she had ever come across—and she had had the misfortune of knowing a few sharks who held more than their fair share of arrogance.

“If I can bind a human to me, I shall prove myself worthy of someone better than Cassius,” Odessa declared before starting for the surface. “No mermaid has ever made a human fall in love with her. That would be the greatest power our people would ever see. It would change everything. Don’t you see, Nerida? Our two kingdoms could become one without my having to marry anyone. They would think me powerful enough to do as I wished.”

Honestly, Nerida didn’t see how it was going to change anything. Still, she bit her tongue and let her sister think the answer to all of the problems below the surface of the ocean lived in the adventure that floated on top of it.

Near the surface, Odessa stopped and turned, giving Nerida an enormous, bright smile. She was close enough to the top of the sea that the sun shone down on her red hair, making it sparkle as brilliantly as the rubies they had once discovered in the shipwrecks scattered across the ocean floor.

Don’t go. The words never made it past Nerida’s lips as her sister broke the surface of the water a short distance from the ship.

Please come back…

A lump rose in her throat as she watched Odessa rise out of the water. A stray beam of sunlight caught on her, causing the blue scales covering her chest and stomach to glimmer. At the base of her throat, a shell necklace swayed back and forth, in time with the waves. Then, Odessa rose higher out of the water, leaving only her tail below the surface.

Dread settled like a weight, heavy in Nerida’s stomach as her sister began to sing. “My love sails on the dark, black sea…”

The first few words echoed in the water around her, eerie and magical.

Nerida relaxed as her sister’s melodic words soothed the dread away. If anyone can make a human fall in love, it will be her. I wonder where she learned this song? Odessa was infamous for swimming near the coastlines, much to their father’s chagrin. More than once, she had come back with strange tales of women singing on the beaches as they stared out at the sea, mourning their lost ones. Perhaps this was one of their songs.

“My love sails on the dark, black sea while I watch from below.”

Nerida shook her head and smiled. No, this was a song of Odessa’s making, unless she had twisted a few of her own words into the lyrics to make it her own.

She listened as the sounds from the ship quieted. It was truly happening, she could feel the difference in the water. Odessa had bewitched them. Still grinning, Nerida darted upward.

Then, the spell broke without warning.

Shouts from the ship drowned out the words of Odessa’s song. Before Nerida could form a coherent thought, the mesh of a heavy net cut through the water, blossoming like the tentacles of an attacking octopus. The dreaded form sped toward her, dragged downward by the weighted edges.

But she wasn’t the humans’ target.

Her blood froze as she realized the descending net wasn’t empty. Her sister’s panicked struggles were barely visible against the rope. The net was pulled back just as it reached her, the coarse ropes scratching her arms and catching at her hair. Odessa’s chilling scream drowned out all sounds of the ship above. The weight of the net had thrust her sister back under the water just long enough that Nerida saw her terrified face.

Nerida swam for the net, hoping to find some way of saving her. Odessa managed to put her arm through the web of ropes, reaching for her. Just as Nerida touched her fingertips, the net was pulled free of the water.

Her sister’s shrill screams echoed for what seemed like an eternity. Then, her cries cut off as the ship groaned back to life. The sounds of muted laughter filled Nerida’s ears as the humans celebrated their unexpected catch.

She pushed back the screams that threatened to tear from her own throat as the shadow of the ship moved once more. They were leaving.

And Odessa was gone.

MONTHS HAD PASSED since Odessa’s disappearance. While the pain of her loss hadn’t lessened for Nerida, it had only grown for her father.

Though hundreds of years old, Muir was as strong as mermen a fraction his age. The lines on his face were the only things that belied how old he really was, and right now those lines were deepening. One would never guess this was the same jovial merman who once had taught his daughters to romp through the tall grass of the ocean floor without fear. That merman had vanished the instant Nerida told her father of Odessa’s fateful encounter. She realized his sense of safety shattered at that moment, leaving the mighty king terrified of the humans.

It didn’t help that four other mermaids had gone missing after Odessa. Since then, the number of ships on the water had grown—and so had Muir’s fear.

“Something must be done about the humans,” Muir thundered as he thrust his golden staff downward, the end piercing the shale floor of the throne room. The sound echoed against the walls and the room fell quiet. Hushed whispers replaced the echo a moment later, as her people wondered what exactly the sea king had in mind. The fact that Taron, the sea king of the southern seas, sat a short distance away, with a face as grim as her father’s, made Nerida wonder if perhaps the two mermen hadn’t decided to use this meeting to plan for a war on the human race. She watched as her father’s mighty red tail flipped in agitation and a frown spread across his ancient, wrinkled face.

“The humans are a deplorable race, unfit to sail upon our waters,” he continued with a growl.

She fidgeted in her seat, while her father recounted the last known facts of the missing mermaids to Taron. She rubbed the shell hanging on her necklace—Odessa’s necklace. Nerida had found it days later, drifting in the foam near the place where her sister had been taken. Each time a mermaid died, her body became one with the sea, disintegrating into foam that would ride on upon the waves. That necklace floated amongst what was left of Odessa—proof she was forever gone. Proof that humans were capable of evil, dark things.

But she wasn’t so sure those other four mermaids had found the same fate as her sister. It was possible they had come across a testy shark who had caught a fancy for the flesh of a mermaid. It had happened before, and it could happen again.

Nerida said as much and was rewarded with two scowls. One from her father, one from Taron.

“No, it was the humans,” Muir growled, striking the floor with the staff again. Shale splintered away, tiny bits of yellow and green shards floated with the current. At the rate he was going, the castle floors would soon be reduced to nothing but rubble.

“The ocean is no longer safe for us,” Taron agreed, his long white beard bobbing up and down in the water. “However, we have no need to fear. There is no need for us to fight them. My son has found the solution to our plight, Muir. Both of our kingdoms will be safe. We’ll never have any fear of humans again.”

Nerida looked across the room, where the buff, blond merman lounged near the door as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He caught her glance and blew her a kiss. Nerida gritted her teeth, wanting nothing more than to wipe the leering grin off the sea prince’s face. Unless Cassius had managed to manufacture some sort of poison that would kill humans the instant they placed their boats upon the sea, he was lying.

Nerida rolled her eyes at the misplaced trust of the old sea king. Cassius wasn’t smart enough to swim away from electric eels, much less solve the problems of two sea kingdoms. It was a pity that he’d been born first, instead of Annalise, his sister. That shy, young mermaid hung back in the recesses of the throne room, her wide, intelligent green eyes taking everything in.

“So how exactly are you going to solve this dilemma with the humans?” Nerida asked.

Cassius rose out of his chair and started toward the throne slowly, and Nerida swore he enjoyed knowing all eyes were on him. As if fully aware of Nerida’s wish to be rid of him, he stopped directly in front of her.

“It’s simple, really,” he said with a shrug. “We merely go to a place where there are no humans.”

Muir bristled, his face going red. “Go to a place where there are no humans, you say? They are everywhere, you fool! We will never escape them in this world.”

Finally, someone is making sense. Nerida fought to keep the grin off her face.

“Muir, please,” Taron said quickly, as if to appease him, “Let the boy explain.”

Muir grunted, finally nodding. “Go on, then.”

“The way to escape the humans is to leave this world,” Cassius said. He paused, giving the words time to sink in before continuing, “I came upon a water sprite who promised to show us the way should we decide to leave this place.”

“Water sprites are tricksters. What makes you so sure it told you the truth?” Muir wasn’t nearly as agitated now that an idea had been presented, and while Nerida could sense he wasn’t ready to believe Cassius, he wasn’t ready to dismiss his suggestion, either.

“I saved her, just as she was about to be eaten by an eel,” Cassius’ brows furrowed and his eyes glazed over, as if he were only now contemplating how foolish an act that had been. Eels had worse attitudes than sharks. He shook his head, then continued, “She owes me her life. She will show us the way, if we choose to go.”

Nerida wanted to ask him the particulars of how and why he had saved the water sprite. It was difficult to imagine Cassius doing anything that didn’t benefit himself.

Her father seemed to be of the same mindset. “Why did you risk your life to save it?”

“I don’t know.” From the perplexed expression on Cassius’ face, it was clear he didn’t.

Momentary lack of judgment, Nerida thought, tucking a floating strand of black hair behind her ear. It’s probably the only time he’s ever thought of someone other than himself.

Still, she wanted proof. “So where is this sprite?”

Cassius’ silver gaze locked onto her and he smirked, making Nerida wish for nothing more than to wipe that expression right off his face. “I’ll be right back.”

She watched him disappear through the pearl columns of the throne room, appearing seconds later with a water sprite. The tiny being was clad in thin, blue strips of fabric that twisted around her body. The ends of her dress floated against the current as if the ocean held no power over her, even though she wasn’t any bigger than Nerida’s little finger. The sprite paused at the door, then followed behind Cassius, shining dust glinting like bits of silver in her wake.

Nerida had never dealt with water sprites before. In fact, this was the first one she had seen so close. They weren’t common creatures, and whenever she did manage to see one, it was only a blur, leaving a flash of sparkling dust as the only evidence it hadn’t been a figment of her imagination.

The sprite became impatient and zipped around Cassius to stop directly in front of the throne, a spray of silver dust glittering in the water around her. Her face held no emotion as she looked from Taron to Muir, then her solemn gaze landed on Nerida.

Nerida had expected to see some expression of fear on the sprite’s small face. After all, she was standing in the presence of the two mightiest rulers of the sea. But she she didn’t see any sign of fear. She saw something different. Something dark—and cunning.

“Well?” Impatience was getting the best of Muir, who was obviously not impressed with the sprite. His giant tail flipped again, crashing against the steps below the throne.

The water sprite’s attention left Nerida and she calmly looked back at Muir. Tiny chime-like sounds echoed as she opened her mouth to speak. “I know the way to another world,” she paused as her words bounced hauntingly against the coral walls of the throne room. “A world without humans.”

After her words quieted, silence enveloped the room for a long moment. Taron was focused on Muir, his expression hopeful. Nerida looked at her father. He stared at the water sprite with such intensity, it was as if he were trying to read her mind to see if her words were true.

“Why should we believe you?” Nerida broke the silence, asking the question that loomed in her father’s eyes.

As she spoke, Muir nodded in agreement. “Why, indeed?”

The sprite shrugged, as if she didn’t care whether they believed her or not, then brushed her white, wispy hair away from her eyes before crossing her arms imperiously over her chest. The chimes sounded again as she answered, “I am Thespa, Guardian of the Never Sea. I have no reason to lie, but believe what you will.” One arm uncrossed as she pointed at Cassius. “That one saved my life and I owe him a favor.” A look of intense displeasure crossed her tiny features, as if she was now thinking perhaps death had been a better option.

Her expression convinced Muir more than her words. His grip on the throne’s armrests lessened, his knuckles returning to their normal color. He leaned back against the throne and regarded the sprite with a thoughtful look. “And for this favor you will take us all to this Never Sea…this place where we can live with no fear of humans?”

Thespa gave him a curt nod. “There are no humans on the Never Sea.”

Something in Nerida’s gut told her the sprite wasn’t being entirely truthful. “No humans at all on the surface?” she asked again. “What about on land? Every ocean has land and surely this Never Sea has bits of it, places where the water shallows and the ground rises out of the sea? Places where trees and grass grow?”

“There are humans on Neverland,” Thespa shrugged, as if it was a trivial matter.

“You weren’t going to tell us about them, were you?”

“Whether you go or stay, makes no difference to me,” the sprite said darkly. “I am here to repay a favor. Whether you take it—or not—my debt is paid.”

“We will go.” At first Nerida had thought it had been Cassius or Taron who had spoken—but neither had said a word. “We will go to this Never Sea,” Muir repeated.

The shock of his words stunned Nerida for a second. “Father, we need to think this through. Don’t agree to this—not yet. What if there is more she hasn’t told us?”

“There is a sea with no humans. That is all I need to know,” Muir said, his face hard. He turned his attention to Thespa. “Where is the way to this Never Sea?”

“In two days, I will return and take you there. Make sure all who wish to leave are in this room or they shall be left behind.” Without waiting for anyone to answer, Thespa turned and flew away in a blur, leaving a sparkling burst of silver dust as the only evidence she had been there.

NERIDA SPENT EVERY second of the following day trying to convince her father to break his deal with the water sprite, but Muir’s decision had already been made.

Word travelled quickly, and before the first day was done, the castle was crowded with merfolk from both the northern and southern kingdoms who were more than ready to leave the familiarity of the ocean they knew, for one they knew nothing about. In fact, Nerida had yet to find a single one who had chosen to stay. With every second that passed, more filled the castle, waiting for Thespa to reappear and lead them to the Never Sea.

As the last morning came, she gave up hope of convincing Muir and tried to change the minds of others. Only one had paid attention to what she had to say—Callidora. Callie was her younger sister, and while she had listened to Nerida, she chose to stay close to Muir in the end. As their mother had died when Callie was born, Muir was the only parent she knew and rarely did she stray from his side. She would go to this new sea, too, though she had her doubts.

It will be only me left if I stay here, Nerida thought, tears filling her eyes at the thought of loneliness she knew she would feel. Granted, if she traveled a great distance to either the eastern or western kingdoms she could find other merpeople, but it wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t be home without her father and sister. She swam outside the gleaming walls of the castle, watching as the last few of her people entered.

Within a few minutes, Thespa would arrive and everything would change. Odds were, it wouldn’t be for the better. There could be worse things than humans waiting for them in that new sea and then it would be too late.

Six small specks of vibrant blue approached the castle from above, streaks of silver dust trailing behind them. Thespa had arrived and brought help with her.

Nerida watched as the six sprites entered the castle. The time had come. She waited, certain everyone she watched go in would come out soon and follow the sprites to this new ocean, but the only ones who came back out were the six sprites.

Perhaps Father changed his mind. Hope swelled in Nerida’s heart as she swam toward the giant pearl columns on either side of the castle’s entrance. Silver dust clouded everything around her and covered her body from the top of her head to the tip of her tail. She could barely see the giant doorway through the thick, glittering water. She struggled to get inside—to get away from the six sprites who were furiously covering every inch of the castle with silver dust.

No longer able to see anything in front of her, Nerida reached for the doorway. The tips of her fingers found the arch and she gripped it, pulling herself toward it.

The water around her quaked and sand mixed with the dust. The archway lurched, as if the entire castle had come free from the ocean floor. Nerida lost her grip. Unsure of where she was, she shifted to the left, hoping she was still near the doorway. She swam forward as fast as she could, completely blinded by sand and silver dust, when a sudden, sharp pain exploded in the back of her head as she made contact with something hard and smooth.

As the pain left and a warm sensation filled her mind, a hand gripped hers, pulling her forward, away from the shimmering sand. The first thing that registered after the pain was the odd sensation of coldness seeping around her. She felt the water around her move swiftly, as if the ocean had taken a mind of its own and created an icy whirlpool, trapping her in its center. Darkness surrounded her, and she struggled against it.

“Be still, child.” Recognizing the voice of her father and realizing the hand gripping hers was his, she relaxed and let him pull her further into oblivion.

2

A NEW SEA

THE NEVER SEA was as Thespa had promised, free from danger of humans. In fact, the only conflict that took place was when the two kings discovered Muir’s castle had been transported and grounded safely at the base of the main island and Taron’s had not. But this was soon settled when the two realized there wasn’t enough ocean to worry about splitting between the two of them. Upon several explorations, the merpeople discovered if they swam away from the castle all day until night fell, the next morning, they would find themselves back where they had started the previous day. It was as if the bottom of the ocean was an endless circle that couldn’t be escaped. Both sea kings were happy with this arrangement, for now it was easier to keep up with their people and there wasn’t any threat of the unknown.

Nerida, on the other hand, was frustrated and told them of her fears of being trapped in this strange new place, but the two kings ignored her and took up residence in the one castle. They divided everything among each other equally and began their rule together of the Never Sea.

Time passed strangely in the new ocean, and Nerida didn’t know whether they had been in the Never Sea for a space of days, weeks, or even years. Thespa had visited once after their arrival in the Never Sea, and that visit was to enforce a single law—the merfolk were forbidden to take on the shapes of the humans. Never were they to walk upon land as they had been known to do in the old world.

As both kings still harbored reservations about going near the surface, humans or not, they readily agreed to her solitary term. But the odd rule had struck Nerida as peculiar, and so each day she set out, hoping to discover the reason why Thespa wanted to keep them safely below the surface.

The sun sparkled through the water one morning as she swam close to the island. Warm air brushed her face as she broke the surface, making her realize how cold the water was around her. A white-sanded beach and tall green trees loomed in front of her. She swam a little closer, feeling her tail touch the rough, sandy bottom of the ocean floor as she ventured into the shallows. The inlet she had chosen to search was wide. A large boulder sat in the center, one end touching the sandy bottom of the inlet, the other arching out of the sea toward the sun. It looked inviting…and so warm. She fought the urge to pull herself onto it and enjoy the warmth it offered.

Later, she promised herself. Once she discovered what secrets the island held, she could bask in the sun’s rays without fear. But not now.

Her attention left the rock as a sharp cry came from the outcropping of trees. A rotund, brown, fur-covered being rolled into view, followed by another, which was also furred but stood taller and was thinner.

What manner of creatures were these? Her mouth opening in astonishment. Perhaps there was a good reason for her people to stay below the surface if such strange animals ran on the island’s beaches. A sudden gust of wind picked up, blowing the fur off the shorter one’s head, revealing a human face.

A human boy. Well, Thespa did say there were humans on the island.

The two were laughing now and Nerida found herself drawing closer to them, her curiosity piqued.

She was a short distance away when the taller one caught sight of her. He nodded, sending two long ear things to swing about his head. “Peter said the Blue Ones were bringing fish people to the sea,” she heard him tell the round one. “It must be true. I see one over there.”

His companion spun around surprisingly fast for one so large and the two boys watched her with the same looks of wonder she felt looking at them. She hadn’t swam any closer since she had been noticed and stayed silent, watching them.

The tall one had noticed. “You can come closer to us, we won’t hurt you,” he called out. “I promise.”

“What if she hurts us?” she heard the shorter one hiss. “Best not make promises you can’t keep.”

“Hush, Beetles. She looks afraid,” the tall one’s elbow found the other’s ribs, causing him to grunt. “I promise we won’t hurt you. You have my word.”

Curiosity was getting the better of Nerida, so she slowly came closer. “Who are you? What are you?” she asked.

“I’m Patch,” the tall one announced. “And this is Beetles. We are Neverlings.”

“Neverlings?” She had never heard of such a term before. “What is a Neverling?”

“It’s someone who lives on Neverland,” the one named Beetles answered in an imperious tone as he put his hands on his hips.

“Are there many Neverlings on this island?”

“No, not many of us now.” A scowl stretched across Beetles’ plump face. “The crocodile keeps eating us.”

“Then, it seems we have a common enemy, though I’ve yet to see a crocodile since we arrived.” Nerida said with a nod.

“There’s only one and he tends to stay in the narrow inlet to the west. The water is warmer there. If I might ask, who are you and what are you?” Patch asked.

“My name is Nerida, daughter of Muir, the sea king. I’m a mermaid.”

“Could you come closer? I’ve never seen a mermaid before,” Patch asked politely.

“Certainly.” Nerida let the tide sweep her closer to shore. She stopped just short of the beach and dug her hands into the coarse white sand, then flipped her silver tail into full view.

“Wow,” whistled Beetles. “You really are a fish person.”

“Mermaid,” corrected Patch, placing another solid whack on Beetles’ ribs, which caused the shorter boy to gasp, then retaliate.

Nerida smiled and waited until the two stopped their scuffling and stilled. She needed more information about this strange island. “Where are your parents?” At their two blank stares, she tried again. “Are there any grown humans on the island?”

Patch shook his head. “No, no grown-ups are allowed in Neverland.”

“That’s right. Pan’s orders,” Beetles piped up.

“Who is Pan?”

“His name is Peter Pan,” Patch explained. “He’s the one in charge of all of Neverland. No one comes or leaves unless Peter lets them.”

“Is he a grown up?” Nerida asked, adopting their term for full grown humans.

“Oh no, he’s a boy like us!” Beetles exclaimed, putting his hands on either side of his ample girth as if in an effort to show her the correct size for a human boy.

“No, not like us. He’s a flying boy,” Patches said, his hand up in the air, mimicking a bird soaring through the air. “The rest of us can’t fly, though it hasn’t been for lack of trying.”

A flying boy is certainly strange. Another thought crossed Nerida’s mind. “What happens when you grow up? Do you have to leave Neverland?”

Two identical, hard expressions answered her question before she heard their words. “No one grows up on Neverland—and no one ever leaves.”

“Oh.” It seemed an inadequate response, but she wasn’t really sure what to say to them as they both seemed to resent the idea of growing up.

“Just wait, you’ll see,” Patch nodded his head, knowingly. He pointed to the sky. “There’s Pan now.”

Nerida looked up to see a boy clad in strange, leaf-like clothing, soaring high in the air above them. A small child clung to his hand as if he were frightened to be so far up in the air. The two zipped over Nerida’s head and disappeared into the forest. A tiny yellow pixie followed, sprinkling Nerida with gold dust as she passed over.

“He’s brought another Neverling to join our troupe,” Patch said.

“That one is too small,” Beetles complained. “He won’t be big enough to take care of himself. You wait and see.”

“Pan chose him, so he must be big enough,” Patch argued.

A strange bird-like caw came from the place where the flying boys had disappeared. “That’s Pan crowing,” Patch grinned. “He’s calling for us. Time to go.”

“Time for us to babysit, you mean,” Beetles grumbled. He scowled and pulled the ears of his fur hat down low on his face before stomping into the woods behind Patch.

The water around Nerida sparkled with the yellow pixie’s dust. She cupped a handful of water and lifted it up. The sunlight caught it, and the gold dust glittered. While this new sea seemed safer than the one they had left, Nerida found herself holding onto caution. Thespa hadn’t mentioned pixies or the fact that the humans here could fly.

She watched until the two boys disappeared into the dark shadows of the forest, then she turned and swam back out of the inlet to the rock she had passed on the way in. She shivered. The water was so much stranger than what she was used to. In some places sharp spikes of ice rose up and jutted out of the water into the open air, then, merely feet away, the water would be warmer. The warmest water was near the castle, yet another reason the merpeople didn’t mind staying far below the surface.

But she wasn’t ready to head back quite yet, so Nerida decided now was the time to try her luck on the inviting surface of that large boulder. There, she could sun herself and collect her thoughts—and possibly decide whether or not she actually liked this new sea, not that she had any choice in the matter if she didn’t. As far as she could tell, the trip to the Never Sea was a one-way, irreversible decision, and all of them were stuck here, whether they liked it or not. So far, she was the only one who hadn’t decided if this was such a grand place to be. Everyone else had accepted their fate.

The rock warmed her palms the instant she touched it. She pulled herself up on the edge that met the water and quickly scooted higher. She laid back on the smooth, hot surface, soaking in every bit of warmth the stone and the sun had to offer. Her skin was drying quickly and she felt a sudden burst of pain in her tail that subsided as quickly as it came. Worried she had somehow found a sharp spot on her new perch, she looked down, expecting to see a few scales coating the rock.

But all of her scales were all there, though they had gone translucent, giving her a clear view of the two human legs below the surface of her tail. Her tail—that was no longer in the water. She gasped, fear roiling through her.

“Tink told me the fish people were forbidden to come out of the sea,” a voice said in a curious tone from above her on the rock. “It looks like she was wrong.”

Startled, Nerida jumped back into the cold safety of the water as an amused laugh met her ears. The instant she felt the sea wash over her, she turned to look up.

There, on the tip of the boulder, sat the same flying boy she had seen moments earlier. His laugh echoed in the water around her.

“You can come back up. I promise not to tell anyone your secret,” he said. His smile was disarming, even through the distorted surface of the water. “Besides, I’d like to know more about what is under Neverland. Sure, I can fly, but none of us can swim.”

I would like to know more about Neverland, Nerida acknowledged, cautiously swimming back up to the base of the rock. He may have the answers to all of my questions.

The boy nodded approvingly as she let only her head and shoulders out of the water. Some knowledge flitted under his eyes, something that made her realize he was much older than he appeared—and she found herself wondering if he was as human as she first believed. While his face looked human, his ears had a tiny bit of a point to them that reminded her of the sprites. Did he have magic, too?

“I am Peter Pan,” he said with a shrug, as if her inspection of him hadn’t bothered him in the least. “Who are you?”

“Nerida.”

“You’re the first of the fish people we have seen. Are there many more of you?”

“A few,” she answered cautiously. Something in her gut told her he was not to be trusted. Now, it was time for a question of her own. “How many humans are on Neverland?”

“A few,” he said, repeating her own words. Then, he grimaced, his mouth turning down in a dark scowl. “Though there would be more if Tic-Tock would stop eating them.”

“Tic-Tock? What’s a Tic-Tock?”

“He’s the biggest crocodile you’ll ever see—and the meanest one, too,” Peter said. “He’s always eating someone.”

Ah, the crocodile again. Nerida watched the boy’s expression darken further as if thinking about the beast put him in a terrible mood.

“Does he come this way often?” she asked. Since it seemed the humans would be leaving her people alone, it seemed wise to ask about the next threat.

“Only when he’s hungry, which is always.”

A sharp cry came from the place where Peter had flown with the boy. “Beetles is probably picking on the newest member of my troupe,” Peter announced, hopping off the rock. “I’d better check on the runt and make sure that’s all that’s happening. I’ll see ya.”

“Okay,” Nerida managed to say before the strange boy flew away and disappeared into the forest. She sighed as she looked at the rock, debating on whether to crawl up on it again, or go below and report her findings to her father.

When she had left that morning, her father and Taron were happily inspecting the beautiful colors of a coral garden that was steadily wrapping itself around the outer walls of the castle. To hear them speak of it, the Never Sea was the best thing that had ever happened in the existence of the merfolk. As far as she knew, they’d never gone far enough out to even see the spikes of ice that rose the farther out you swam, or feel the chill of the cold water that lay nearer the surface. They didn’t know what she knew. Deciding her duty lay in telling them all she had learned, she dove back into the sea and swam back to the castle.

While Taron was gone, her father was more or less in the same place she had left him, a wide smile on his wrinkled face as he looked at a variety of yellow and white flowers that had sprouted near the columns of the palace’s entrance.

“Look at them,” he said, once he spotted her coming toward him. “Aren’t they grand?”

“Yes, they’re beautiful.” And they truly were. Bits of blue streaked through the green in their leaves and the faces of the flowers were delicately shaped like tiny bells. Everything near the castle was beautiful, she realized. The sand all around it was pristine and white—as if it had never been touched before their arrival. The flowers and even the fish that swam by were vibrant and full of life.

“This sea is paradise,” Muir murmured. “The best thing that has ever happened to our people.”

A stab of fear turned in Nerida’s stomach when she realized what he was saying. It was perfect here—too perfect—and that perfection was causing a false sense of security. It was time to let her father know not everything was as it seemed. “Father, there are humans above on the island. There is even one that flies.” She waited for some kind of reaction, for some small part of the mighty sea king to come alive in his dark, green eyes, but the merman simply kept inspecting the pretty foliage.

Nerida cleared her throat. “I said there are flying humans above us on that island,” she repeated. The tone of her voice made Muir pause, but he didn’t bother looking at her.

“Thespa said there were humans on the island,” he replied, fiddling with a patch of tall sea grass. “Whether they fly or not makes no difference. They are above and we are below.”

Nerida had the insane urge to beat her head against the hard columns of the castle in an effort to get his attention. Instead, she took a deep breath and continued, “There is also a crocodile that swims these waters—one so large even the humans fear him.”

Well, that got a little more of a reaction. Muir stopped rearranging blades of blue grass to look at her. “Did you see this crocodile?”

“No, they say he stays to the inlet in the west.”

“Then he is near the surface and we will stay safe where we are. No harm will come to us here. Thespa won’t allow it.”

“So now we’re depending on Thespa for our safety? You yourself said sprites are tricksters, and now you trust her? She hasn’t been back since we arrived. How would she know anything is wrong?” Muir only ignored her, which fueled Nerida’s anger. “I can’t believe this! You’ve grown soft over a bunch of…of…flowers!”

She ripped a bunch of the thick yellow flowers from their stalks and threw them. They floated with the current, tiny bubbles passing around their petals.

In the old sea, her father’s temper would have flared to life and matched her own. Here, he ignored her and simply turned his attention to a different clump of flowers—one that hadn’t been torn up by his daughter’s anger.

Unable to stay a second more, Nerida swam toward the surface.

THE FIRST THING that registered when she returned to the castle was her sister’s screams. Callie’s voice echoed over and over in Nerida’s head. “He’s dead! He’s dead! Father is gone.”

It was unreal, watching the image of her father float up toward the surface. Had she not seen his staff on the ocean floor, she wouldn’t have believed it was true. The burst of thick bubbles, shaped in the image of Muir on the white sand didn’t lie. His body had turned to foam and was slowly mixing back into the sea. Within moments, there would be no evidence the mighty merman had ever existed, but for the memory of him in his daughters’ minds and in those of his people.

“What happened?” Nerida managed to ask, reaching to pick up the gold staff her father always kept at his side.

“A crocodile came,” Callie said in a shocked whisper. “He came from above. He was so fast…” Her big, blue eyes glazed over as she remembered. “He was swimming right for me, but I managed to dodge inside. Then, I heard Father yell…” her voice broke. “I came back out, but it was too late. He’s gone.”

Too late. He hadn’t listened to her and now it was too late. Nerida pulled her sister in a tight hug as Callie sobbed. She patted her long, blonde hair and watched during those few precious moments as the last bits of foam floated to the surface. He truly was gone.

Callie’s long locks drifted with the current, covering the etched staff in Nerida’s hand. The gold shimmered beneath the hair. At least Taron came to the Never Sea, she thought. There would still be a king—someone to lead and rule.

She heard Callie gasp and pull back from her. The look of horror that passed over her delicate face sent a chill down Nerida’s spine colder than any ice she had felt in the Never Sea. She twisted around, worried the scaly monster had returned—that the croc was headed for them. What she saw instead, was a million times worse.

Cassius swam toward them—holding his father’s staff. His words matched Callie’s, “The crocodile came. My father is gone.” He twisted Taron’s staff in his hands, the expression on his face was unsure at first.

Then a small, dark smile painted his lips.

3

FALLEN KINGS

NERIDA SOAKED UP the heat from the boulder like a sea sponge taking in water. The stone cooled under her touch, leaving her no choice but to pull her body farther up onto the rock in search of warmer spots. Finding one such place, she sprawled out, but took care to leave her tail in the water so as not to break Thespa’s rule again.

Since her father’s death, she had spent nearly all of her days near the surface. Staying away from the castle kept her away from remembering what had been lost. It also kept her a safe distance from what she knew was coming.

Cassius had lost no time announcing his intention of becoming the next sea king. There were no other royal princes to stop him. As Taron’s eldest, he would rightfully rule half the kingdom. But he hadn’t stopped there. As both kings were dead, he wanted the old law back in place. He wished to join the kingdoms and wanted to rule as the only king. And to do that, he needed her.

She shook her head, unwilling to let the thought of marrying Cassius stay in her head a second longer.

Nerida turned and gazed at the island. Her people had been known to bask on the warm sand in the old ocean. Now it was forbidden. Feeling the hot sand beneath her would certainly feel heavenly. The coldness seeped into her very being as if it wished to be part of her, settling into her bones. While she knew the water was warmer on the ocean bottom near the castle, it wasn’t enough to keep her down there with Cassius. She’d rather brave the cold water.

She twisted one long, black tendril of frozen hair around her finger and felt the crunch of ice. She sat up and gave her head a quick shake. Frozen crystals flew from her hair and made little pinging sounds as they struck the stone behind her. She frowned. Her rock wasn’t going to stay warm much longer at this rate.

I could walk on the shore and feel that warm sand. No one would have to know. Thespa wouldn’t find out. I’m the only one around, she thought, giving her tail an experimental flip out of the water. No one will ever know. Everyone is at Cassius’ coronation today. There’s no one to see me.

Nerida gave her tail one more strong flip, arching it completely out of the water and into the air. She felt a sharp stab of pain, then felt it tingle, as if thousands of tiny electric currents were zinging along each gray scale. She had walked on the shore of the old sea a few times, but never was there any pain. She watched as the tip of the fin changed, becoming translucent. Two slender legs flickered beneath the surface.

So entranced was she by the toes forming on those feet, that she nearly missed the ship that appeared on the horizon beyond them.

With a strong swish, her newly found legs splashed back into the water. She ignored the familiar feel of her tail as it returned, washing away all evidence of her feet and her previous thoughts of escaping onto the warm sand.

Frozen in a mixed state of shock and wonder, Nerida sat and watched the billowing white sails for a moment. She heard a loud boom, followed by a sharp whistling sound. An enormous splash sent a wave crashing over her. It shook her out of her trace just enough that she dove into the safety of the deep, dark water surrounding the rock.

Her heart beat wildly as she listened to the groans of wood as the vessel came nearer. She had never seen any ship in the waters surrounding the island—nor a single sign that any had ever been there. Back home, she could always find some mark that the humans traveled the surface above her. Their possessions—even their bodies—littered the ocean floor.

Cautiously, she swam up to investigate. She stopped at the side of the rock, just before breaking the surface, and listened.

“No one is to fire any weapon without my order,” she heard someone say in a menacing tone. The answering replies were muffled. She couldn’t hear what the words were, but from the cadence, it seemed the voices were submitting to that order.

Feeling somewhat safe, she broke the surface and stared up at the big ship, keeping carefully by the large rock, should she need to dive under it again. The wooden figurehead on the vessel’s bow looked much like a mermaid. Nerida bit her lip to keep from laughing at the irony. They had just made the threatening motion of shooting one of those large metal balls at her, yet chose her image to adorn their vessel.

Strange, incomprehensible creatures, these humans were. She often wondered why her people had been given the ability to become human-like in the absence of the sea. Two frail, human legs were an unexplainable mystery.

The owner of one such pair of legs had come to the front of the ship, as if he had known she was watching them—and he wasn’t one of Peter’s troupe.

The vibrant red of his coat stood out in contrast to his long, black hair, which caught in the breeze. He stared directly at her. She returned his stare, lifting just the tiniest bit out of the water to prove that she had no fear of him. A slight smile caught at his lips and he gave her a nod, as if he approved of this gesture before turning away and snapping more orders.

All at once, Nerida found herself being dragged under the water. Her first thought was to the crocodile. She nearly screamed out before realizing it was a hand pulling her down, not the sharp teeth of a monster.

“Why weren’t you at the coronation?” The words struck Nerida as odd, being as there were much more interesting things happening above them on the surface than placing a small golden crown on the head of an arrogant merman.

Just to be sure Cassius had noticed the ship, Nerida pointed an index finger over her head toward the dark shape, looming above them. “Did you see them up there? I’ve never seen a ship here before.”

Cassius glowered at her, as if what she was telling him was the most mundane thing to ever reach his ears, then turned his attention to the new silver staff in his hands. It was twisted like a rope all along its shaft, as if two separate staffs had been melded into one, then the end split into three sharp points. Nerida bit her lip, recognizing the familiar wavy etch of her father’s staff in one of the twists near Cassius’ hand. “What happens up there does not concern me,” he replied.

Nerida fought the urge to roll her eyes. For being the newly appointed king of the ocean, Cassius was acting as if the surface of the sea was a completely different world. “It should concern you. It is part of your kingdom, and they are up there floating on it.” Sarcasm was dripping from her words, but she couldn’t help it.

“The only thing that worries me is why my promised bride thought it necessary to humiliate me in front of everyone in the palace. You were supposed to be at my side.” A hurt look passed over his silver eyes. It didn’t stay there long.

Nerida knew the ice that surrounded them in the water was warmer than the frigid indifference that appeared in those eyes. And just as she had learned to evade those icy spikes in the sea, she would have to find a way to escape him, too.

“I made no promise to be your bride,” she answered, fists tightening at her sides.

A quick flash of anger passed over his face. “It makes no difference what you wish,” he shrugged and swam closer. He gave her a smile, which was meant to be disarming, but Nerida caught the muscle twitching in his jaw. Fury was still very much alive and hidden just below the surface. “Our fathers wished to unite our kingdoms. Together they ruled—and together we shall rule. I as king, and you as my queen.”

“We shall rule evenly as our fathers ruled, but I won’t marry you.”

All pretense of being charming vanished. Cassius sneered, the expression twisting his perfect, chiseled features as it showed his true nature. Nerida began backing up as he advanced, his new trident pointed at her. Trying to put distance between herself and the staff’s sharp points, she swam backward and smacked solidly into the rock. It stunned her just long enough she couldn’t dodge him as he trapped her throat between two of the staff’s spikes. She struggled and tried to push against them, but he held her easily, pinned between himself and the rock.

“You seem to believe you have a choice in what you will do, so I’ll tell you this only once…” he leaned toward her, whispering into her hair. “…you don’t. You see, Thespa gave me the power to rule over the merpeople, much the same way as the flying boy rules those on the island. You will not cross me, Nerida. Whatever I desire, I will have—and you will never stop me.”

His free hand reached up and caressed her cheek, then his fingertips wandered to her lips. Then he leaned in and crushed his mouth to hers. She shoved against his chest, trying to move him away, but he was as solid as the rock behind her. Her struggles seemed to amuse him enough that he stopped kissing her and backed away enough to laugh.

“This is only the beginning, Nerida. If you choose to marry me willingly, I might decide to make your life a little easier.” The laugh stopped and the cold look came back into his eyes. “And if you do not…” He removed the staff from her neck. “…you will live in fear of what I will do to you.”

Nerida fought the urge to swim away from him as fast as she could. That would show weakness, so she stayed where she was and watched him go. He shot her another lazy smile over his shoulder. “Your choice, Nerida. It’s up to you.”

THESPA WASN’T THE only one second-guessing the decision to give the new king of her Lost Ones a token of the water sprites’ power.

“Are you certain he can be trusted to use it wisely?” Bridgette asked, a frown creasing her brow. “From all I’ve seen so far, that one seems to have no respect for anything or anyone around him.”

It had been Thespa’s idea to give Cassius the trident. She’d infused it with the magic of water sprites, hoping that every time he touched it, he would remember who had given it to him, and with those thoughts he would continue to believe in her.

The concept had been brilliant when she had originally thought of it. Water sprites as a race weren’t generally friendly beings. They preferred their solitude and only barely tolerated each other. Giving the new sea king a sign of power that would remind him of her—without her physical presence being required—had seemed the perfect idea at the time. He and his people would believe in them without the sprites having to be seen.

The power she’d placed in the shining silver staff had been an afterthought—a way of keeping up with him. Each time he used the trident, she would feel the pull of power and know what he was doing. It was yet another method to keep up to date with things without having to actually be around other creatures.

“You may have given him too much power.” Her second-in-command seemed to be reading her mind today. Bridgette was wringing her hands—a sure sign of distress.

“If he deems himself unworthy, I can take that power away just as easily,” Thespa retorted hotly.

Understanding that she herself could be just as easily replaced for doubting her queen’s decision, Bridgette only nodded, the white tendrils of her hair bobbing in time with the ocean’s current.

A dark shadow passed over them and Thespa glanced up, expecting to see the long, scaly form of the crocodile swimming above them on the surface. There wasn’t anything she feared in Neverland, save the thought of her magic dying, but the crocodile always managed to keep her wary.

Thespa was certain, given half a chance, the big, green bully would happily eat them all and not give it another thought. The fact that he’d managed to eat both sea kings on the same day hadn’t been coincidence. Part of the deal with the merman who had saved her was to let him rule his own kind once they arrived at the Never Sea. To do this, both of the sea kings had to go and Thespa had only barely managed to lure the crocodile that far below for a short time. That he hadn’t eaten more of her Lost Ones than the sea kings was a stroke of sheer luck.

But the crocodile wasn’t what waited on the surface right now.

The creaking groans of wood echoed through the water as a ship passed overhead. She heard the muffled voices of humans—quite a few of them, if her ears weren’t lying.

“The pixies have brought more of their Lost Ones to Neverland,” Thespa muttered, gritting her teeth.

“But I thought you warned the one who stays with the flying boy? Surely she knows the Never Sea is ours?”

“I did warn her.” A streak of gold flew low over the sea. A pixie, possibly the exact one who hadn’t listened to her. A dip in the sea might teach her a thing or two, Thespa decided.

“Then what shall we do?”

Thespa pointed to the unassuming pixie above. “We teach her a lesson. Next time, she will heed my warnings. Make no mistake.”

ONCE CASSIUS WAS GONE, Nerida spent her time listening to the strange sounds and voices from the ship, feeling safer in its shadow than she did in the castle that was by all rights her own. So as the humans began to sail around the island, she swam beneath them and picked up bits of information from their conversations.

A lot of it she didn’t understand, but she did discover that they thought themselves to be lost and were searching for more of their own kind. What a surprise will be in store for you once you learn there are only children waiting for you on the island, she thought, smiling. There were quite a few humans above her and she found herself wondering how many of them were, as the boy named Patch called them, grown-ups.

As she listened, a familiar voice spoke clearer than all of the rest. This was the one she had seen before, she was sure of it. Cautiously, she broke the surface of the water, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

He stood near the railing, and had he been looking down at the sea, he would have surely seen Nerida. But his attention was locked on someone else—a beautiful, bronze-skinned woman with flowing, black hair. The breeze caught the fringe along the edges of the woman’s dress and hundreds of small strands danced in the wind, making her seem ethereal, as if she was some magical creature.

Whoever she was, her attention was just as focused on the man in the red coat. The way they stared at one another, it was as if no one else on the ship existed.

They love one another, Nerida realized. So this is what love looks like.

“Whatever this island holds, whether there be a port or not, I promise to always keep you safe,” she heard the man say.

The woman nodded, her eyes filled with tears.

She doesn’t have anything to fear, Nerida thought. There isn’t anything but children on the island.

Still, the two above her whispered promises to one another and after a few more moments, they left their place at the railing and, unknowingly, left Nerida alone to listen to the muted sounds of music coming from the belly of the ship.

The sun was beginning to set and the water darkened, making the shadow she had been travelling with blend with the sea. She would have to go back to the castle. While she wasn’t afraid of the darkness, she was afraid of the crocodile she had yet to see. Plus, she needed to check on Callie—her sister was all she had left.

She sighed and moved away from the ship and began swimming back down into the depths.

Two bright streaks of silver zipped over her head and disappeared into the darkness.

“It must have been the water sprites,” she said to herself. They were the only things in the sea that moved so quickly.

A bright flash of gold fluttering toward the bottom of the ocean caught her eye. It moved like a wounded fish with sudden bursts of flurrying movement interspersed with bouts of stillness. Whatever it was, it seemed to be struggling to go to the surface, but was losing the battle.

This is like no fish I’ve ever seen. Nerida swam toward the floundering bit of yellow that was sprinkling golden dust in the water around it like…a pixie. That realization had her swimming faster to the tiny being who had ceased its struggle and was now plummeting toward the ocean floor. Pixies don’t swim; water sprites do. She’s drowning!

Nerida swam more quickly than she ever had and managed to catch the pixie in her palm just before the creature dropped to the sand. As she watched, the last bits of air bubbles escaped from the pixie’s nose and she stared up at her rescuer, the life draining from her eyes.

Unwilling to give up, Nerida turned and darted to the surface as fast as she could, her muscles aching. If only those water sprites had seen her. They had been so close before they flew over. They would have been quick enough to help me. After what seemed forever, she broke the surface and thrust her hand out of the water in an attempt to save the tiny being.

The small weight in her hand didn’t move at first, but then the pixie turned her head to look at her. Her big blue eyes blinked one time, then closed. She wasn’t breathing, or making any movement to cough the water out of her mouth in the way Nerida once saw a human do.

What do I do now? Nerida wondered. She looked up and noticed she was close to the shore. Maybe she needs to be away from the water. Maybe that will help.

Even as she began moving toward the sandy beach, the tiny pixie in her hand shuddered and went still. It only took a glance to realize there wasn’t any need to go any farther. The once-glowing skin of the pixie went opaque and pearl-like, then she began disintegrating, falling into herself like a fragile shell crushed by some unseen force.

Seconds later, Nerida held nothing but a handful of shimmering, gold dust that glinted in the moonlight. Tears filled her eyes as she stared at the remains of the tiny being who had just died, literally at her fingertips. She didn’t know where she had come from or why she was in the sea, but she felt a profound sense of loss just the same.

“What is a fitting goodbye for a pixie?” Nerida asked herself aloud. Had she been a mermaid, what remained of her would have already joined the sea, foam mixing with the water on the surface. Somehow blowing the golden dust into the tide didn’t seem like the right thing to do as this one wasn’t a creature of the sea. Perhaps blowing her dust into the wind upon the island would be a better choice. But that was something she couldn’t do without walking on land. Breaking the rules was something she wasn’t quite ready to do again just yet.

Nerida sighed, wishing the Peter boy would fly over and notice her there in the dark water. She would even settle for Patch with the rabbit hat, or the round one, if they would manage to help her with this dilemma.

But there was only her, alone.

The round seashell from her necklace floated on the water, bobbing softly up and down on the waves. It had been a gift to Odessa from their mother. It had been designed in a way to be opened and clasped back together again to keep something safely inside.

“What is in it?” Odessa had asked as their mother fastened it behind her neck.

“Nothing yet. You see, it is made to hold something special. Once closed, it shouldn’t be opened again, or the clasp will break.” The necklace secure, her mother smiled. “It is up to you to decide what secret it will keep, Odessa.”

Nerida wasn’t sure the remains of the pixie were exactly secret, but it would be a special resting place until she could find someone or some way to get the little pile of golden dust ashore. She glanced up at the dark sky and made up her mind, fumbling the shell with her free hand until she felt it loosen and open. Then, she carefully poured the dust in the shell, and closed it.

A bright flash of gold swirled along the lines of the necklace and traveled to the small crease where Nerida had opened it. Within the next second, she felt a small, hot heat in her palm as the necklace fused shut.

There may not be any opening it now, she thought, frowning, unhappy with the fact that she might well have to either break the shell later to get the dust out—or bury it, necklace and all.

Something moved farther out in the sea. Something big and dark. I’ll figure it out later. Right now I have to get below where it is safe.

And with that, she carefully let the shell rest against her flesh. It was cool now, though it still held a light, golden glow. Giving one last look to the place where she had noticed something in the water, she dove back under and made her way back home.

4

THE PIRATE

SHE SPENT DAYS within the walls of the castle, trying to restore some sense of balance to her people. She sat upon her father’s throne and listened to their fears and their wishes, while Cassius sat opposite her on Taron’s throne, not even bothering to look the least bit concerned with anything that was said.

“You could at least pretend to be interested in them,” Nerida muttered under her breath, knowing he heard every word. “You rule half of this kingdom, after all.” Rule was too strong a word, she knew. He only wanted the title of king, not the responsibilities that came with it.

“Whenever they say something interesting, then I’ll listen. So far, all that I’ve heard is ‘worry about the crocodile,’ and that isn’t important as he hasn’t come this far below since last time.” He twirled his staff in his hands, eyes never leaving the bright silver.

Last time. Nerida shook her head, fighting back the words that threatened to come out of her mouth. Last time, that crocodile had taken two kings and left dozens of others unharmed. Thespa had arrived and declared Cassius king of the Never Sea soon thereafter, which made it more glaringly obvious to her. Their arrival in the Never Sea had been carefully planned by the water sprite and the cunning merman sitting across from her—but what she couldn’t figure out was why? She knew why Cassius wished to rule, but why did Thespa bring them to this strange, new sea?

“There isn’t anything to worry about with the crocodile,” he said. “If he bothers us, I’ll take care of him.”

I wish the crocodile would take care of you.

Nerida’s thought must have showed on her face, because he stopped twirling his staff long enough to fix her with his cold, silver eyes. “Whether you like it or not, the kingdom is mine and you will be at my side as my obedient wife. I have decided the wedding will commence in two days. Make whatever preparations you wish. In two days, our kingdoms will unite.” He paused, and a sly smile crossed his face. “It will happen, Nerida, make no mistake.” He rose from his throne and approached Callidora, who had just entered. A look of profound fear washed over Callie’s face as he drew his thumb over her chin. “As queen, you must remember to think of the welfare of your subjects. After all, I’d hate to see something terrible happen to those you love. You do love your people, don’t you, Nerida?” With a laugh, he turned and left.

“Are you all right?” she asked Callie once he was gone. She received a quick nod from her wide-eyed sister before Callie swam to her side. “He’s powerful, Nerida. Too powerful. I’ve heard stories of what he can do now that he has the trident. No one dares to cross him,” she whispered.

“You must tell me everything you know about Cassius’ staff,” she told Callie once she was certain the merman had gone. “If we have any chance of surviving this…” If I have any chance of surviving this, she added silently, “we must find out everything we can.”

Callie nodded. “When Thespa gave him the trident, the first thing Cassius did was shatter the statue of our father in the gardens.”

Nerida’s breath caught. The enormous stone statue of Muir had somehow been transported with the castle when they had arrived. It was larger than life, easily ten times the size of the sea king himself, and once sat at the entrance to the castle. After they reached the Never Sea, it had somehow settled in the gardens, a short distance away.

“How?” she managed. “How did he shatter it?” The statue had been chiseled from solid rock and, as far as she knew, was indestructible.

“He pointed his trident at it and a bright flash of silver light came from the tips at the end and went straight into the statue. The water became unbearably hot for a moment, then the statue exploded. There isn’t anything left of it now but small chunks of stone.”

Callie paused, then added, “There’s more. Lillette was telling me her brother saw him kill a humpback whale. He doesn’t know why he did it, but he did say that it looked like Cassius enjoyed watching it die.”

Tears filled Nerida’s eyes. The giant whales were protectors of her people against the humans. In the old sea, whenever a ship would pass above, the whales would sing songs that would warn them of the harm on the surface. The gentle giants had never offered to harm them in any way.

“We have to find a way to stop him, Callie. We have to find a way to take the trident from him.”

“But how? He never leaves it and no one else will help us. They are all too afraid of what he would do to them if they tried.”

“I don’t know,” Nerida admitted. “But we’ll have to find someone to help us…soon.”

CASSIUS’ YOUNGER SISTER stared at her, wide-eyed. “But he is the sea king. Thespa gave him the trident. I can’t take it away from him!”

“Annalise, you have to help us. You have to try. You’re his sister. He trusts you,” Nerida said, offering her a smile, all the while hoping that the young redheaded mermaid who reminded her so much of Odessa would prove to be as adventurous as her own sister once had been.

Annalise chewed on her bottom lip, worry filling her green eyes. “He never leaves the trident. He always keeps it close,” she stated, repeating the same words that Callie had said earlier. She looked thoughtful for a moment, then started to speak, “The only time he lays it down—” She froze and whatever words she had meant to say never made it past her lips.

“What? When does he lay the trident down?” Nerida asked, reaching over to take the girl anxiously by the arms. She was ready to give her a quick shake in hopes that she could loosen up whatever words she could out of her when she saw a look of pure terror etch itself on the girl’s face. Her eyes were locked on something just over Nerida’s shoulder.

“Never,” a voice hissed. “The answer is that I never lay the trident down, Nerida.”

Annalise’s gaze left Cassius’ and moved to lock on to Nerida’s. She shrugged out of Nerida’s grip and backed away until her back hit the side of the castle’s wall. Her voice quavered, threatening to break. “He never lays it down, Nerida.”

NERIDA EXPECTED SOME kind of retribution from cornering his sister, but Cassius had claimed to find it amusing and laughed as he left. Once he was gone, she tried begging Annalise for help again, but the mermaid whispered a hoarse, “I can’t help you, I’m sorry,” before she hurried back inside the safety of the castle’s walls.

Callie had been right. There wouldn’t be any help coming from any of her people. They were all too afraid of what Cassius could do to them. If Annalise wouldn’t help her, none of them would.

Now she was faced with the same fate as her sister, the only thought that played in her mind was the same as Odessa’s had been. If Cassius could control everything in the sea, maybe the secret to defeating him was to seek assistance from those not in it. The human she had spotted on the ship—the one in command of the others—would be the one to ask for help. If she was successful, she would gain the aid of an entire ship’s worth of humans and it might be enough to turn the odds in her favor.

If not, she could always try her sister’s idea of enchanting them. Maybe that would give her people enough faith in her to stand up next to her and fight. Either way, it was an idea, and one she had no choice but to try. She was running out of time—and options.

She swam toward the surface. It didn’t take long to find the dark shadow of the ship, close to where she had been sunning herself on the rock. A few other shadows dotted the water above her, making their way toward the island. She swam up until she was just beneath them.

Smaller boats, she realized, as she made out a few faces through the water. Some of the humans were heading to land. There were men, women, and children on these boats. Most of them reminded her of the woman she’d seen on the ship. Dark skin, hair, and eyes and all wore similar, fringed clothing—and all of them looked happy to be off the ship.

It was just as well, Nerida decided. She might have better luck now that there were fewer humans aboard.

She swam toward the ship. Once she reached its side, she broke the surface of the water and took a cautious look around. An eerie fog had completely enveloped the boats now.

“Best we do our part,” she heard someone say from the ship. “If the cap’n comes back and we’ve not caught a single fish, he won’t be happy.”

Nerida’s spirit dropped. The one she hoped to see wasn’t up there. The voice in command sounded nothing like the one she had heard before. She nearly turned to dive back below, when a soft, golden glow caught her attention. Her necklace, which still held the pixie’s remains, dipped in time with the waves. As she watched it, it pulsed against her skin and she felt immediately more certain of herself. Maybe, just maybe, instead of convincing one of them to help her, it would be easier to enchant them instead.

She took a deep breath and then began to sing the same words her sister had used. “My love sails on the dark, black sea. While I watch from below…”

The sounds from the ship quieted, as if she had indeed placed the beginnings of a spell upon them.

She dove back below the surface and sank a short distance down, then turned, and swam as quickly as she could. There was no going back.

She leapt from the sea, immediately feeling the brush of warm air as her body left the water. Even through the mist she could make out the wide, wooden railing around the top of the ship. She had given herself enough of a jump that she managed to reach out and grasp it and pull herself up.

Settling on the railing, she held back a gasp as the familiar, sudden pain zipped along her tail. She flipped it out against the floorboards, and continued her song, lest the humans became disenchanted with the small delay of her arrival.

“As time goes by, I wait for my love. My love sails on the dark, black sea…”

As the last bits of water ran down her body, she felt her body change. The scales left her body. She looked down to see them disappear from her chest first, then they left her stomach. Her eyes flickered down to her tail, which had gone translucent, two slender legs taking its place. She clenched her tail’s muscles and watched as the legs drew up closer to her.

“One day he shall return, for that I will wait. My love sails on the dark, black sea…”

She chose this moment to look at the faces of those around her. There were still quite a few humans on this ship and they all were staring at her, unblinking, with wide-eyed stares. She’d done it! She’d enchanted them! She gripped the railing and put a bit of weight on her new legs.

The pain that shot up them was excruciating and nearly made her fall, but she concentrated and kept her footing. It wouldn’t do to have come this far and fail. Carefully, she took one step…and then another, all the while the sharp, stabbing pain shot up from the bottom of her feet and up her legs.

This is what comes from taking the shape of humans, she thought, then steeled herself against it, choosing to concentrate on the faces of the humans and on the task at hand. She stopped at each one, peering into their blank faces, gazing into their vacant eyes. Which would be strong enough to help her defeat Cassius and take back her kingdom? The one who had been referred to as cap’n had been her obvious first choice, but since he was not here, surely one of these others would do.

“One day he shall return, for that I will wait. My love sails on the dark, black sea…”

“Fools.” The word caught her off-guard and broke her enchantment just enough that she could see the beginnings of awareness show in the eyes of one human, a young one with missing front teeth. “Have ye no sense enough not to listen to her words? She’s bewitched you all!”

A dark man with swirling blue waves etched on his skin was bound to a pole in the center of the ship. He was huge, every bit as big as Cassius himself, with muscles rippling from the cords popping out of his neck, down his wide arms, then to his bare waist. He struggled against the rope, causing a row of golden rings in his ear to make tiny tinkling sounds as they bounced against each other. He caught her looking at him and bared his teeth, showing her their sharp points. None of the others that I’ve seen have teeth like this, Nerida thought, catching herself wanting to lean over and inspect them further. From the looks of things, he’d deliberately sharpened them into points.

She stopped when she felt the atmosphere shift. The enchantment was wearing off, no doubt the result of one man who had not fallen prey to her song. She began singing the song from the start, and immediately felt the soft fall in the air as it once again became heavy with magic.

The man at the pole grew frantic and struggled against the ropes that bound him to it. What had he done that they had tied him up so? She noticed now that all of the others were a good distance from him even before she had bewitched them, as if they had feared him. Slowly, she walked toward him, cautiously watching the others as she passed among them, lest the spell break at any moment. The pain in her feet and legs had not subsided at all. So far, she had managed to ignore it, but she wouldn’t be able to do so for much longer. She wasn’t meant to walk as a human here, and her body was wasting no time telling her as much.

“She’ll kill us all! Wake up, ye fools! Can’t ye see through her?” The captive man looked from one man to the next, searching for someone to shake free of her magic—for someone to help him.

“One day he shall return, for that I will wait. My love sails on the dark, black sea…” Nerida reached out and slowly traced a finger down the man’s muscled shoulder. He twitched under her touch. A scabbed welt running toward his back caught her attention. She walked around the pole and found the man’s back to be a medley of crisscrossed cuts and welts, running against the blue swirls that were painted into his skin. Someone had punished this man severely. She circled to gaze into his face, wondering what crime he had committed to be inflicted with such wounds.

She saw fear in his eyes, but there was something dark in them, too. Something that reminded her of Cassius. Perhaps he was the one she needed to defeat the sea king. After all, he had been strong enough to survive punishment and evade her enchantment. She ran her fingers along the ropes holding him fast.

“My love has returned, has returned to me…” Through his struggling, one of the knots had started to unravel. Nerida loosened it the rest of the way. The ropes fell free and an instant later, the man pushed away from the pole and started toward the nearest pirate, hand outstretched to take a weapon from the man’s side. She jumped, catching him around the waist. Frustrated, he yelled, the sound cut through her enchantment like a sharp blade.

The men around her began shaking their heads in an effort to shake her magic free from their minds. Then the pirate wrenched against her, trying to loosen her hold around him, but she held fast. Luckily, the momentum from his struggles propelled them both to the railing. It was now or never. Willing every bit of power she had left, she propelled them both over the side of the ship, hoping the man held tightly in her arms would survive the fall.

Just before she felt the water take them, she finished her song, giving the humans a small warning, should they decide to follow.

“My love has returned, has returned to me. And now he will die in the deep, black sea.”

The chilly water swept over them and immediately pulled them deeper into a swift current that whisked them a safe distance below. Nerida felt her tail return the second she was submerged, the pain fading like a nightmare. She tightened her grip on the man still fighting in her arms and rode the current, only flipping her tail a bit here and there to steer them around the piercing towers of ice that rose around them.

The man wasn’t struggling against her nearly as much as she had expected a moment later. In fact, now he wasn’t moving at all.

What if I killed him? There wouldn’t be any help coming from him if he was dead. His head rolled against her shoulder and she saw a few bubbles escape from his nose. He was still alive, though he might not be for much longer if she didn’t get him above the water so he could breathe.

She broke away from the current and headed toward the surface, twisting in a way that the man’s head would go above the water. She flattened her hand against his broad chest and felt the steady beat of his heart. Once his head left her view, she heard him cough and splutter, then take a deep breath, but still he didn’t fight against her as she thought he would. For one recently stolen from his people, he seemed relaxed, content to be pulled by a mermaid through the water, away from his ship and those he knew.

Maybe he wished to leave them. Perhaps convincing him to help me will be an easy task.

She spotted a jutting stone facing and knew she was getting close to her destination. This was one of the few areas of her plan she had actually thought through. During her explorations of the surface, she had happened upon a cavern. This was where she would explain her situation to him, in complete, hidden privacy, far away from the eyes of humans and merfolk.

She rose above the surface just long enough to give him a single instruction. “Take a breath.” She pulled him under and swam through the mouth of the tunnel. The man tensed in her arms.

“I promise I have no wish to harm you,” she told him, her words echoing against the rock surrounding them. She didn’t know how much he understood as she pulled them deeper into the cave, but he seemed to comprehend her meaning and relaxed enough that she managed to drag him the last distance of the passage. The second they cleared the rock, she surfaced, and pushed the man farther up, out of the water, so he could breathe again.

As they reached the shallows, she felt the scrape of the cavern floor against her tail, and everything changed. Once his feet brushed the bottom he wrenched out of her grasp, and flailed the last few yards through the water to the shore. He somehow managed to find a jagged shard of stone along the way and the instant his feet met dry land, he spun and turned on her, teeth bared, his new weapon poised above his head.

“Wait!” she managed, her tail quickly propelling her backward a short distance. “My promise is true. I have no wish to harm you. I came to seek your help.”

He had started toward her, but stopped when she spoke. Though he still gripped the rock and held it in a way that showed he could kill her if he managed to get close enough, his eyes narrowed, as if he had decided to hear her out.

She took a deep breath and continued. “I am Nerida, daughter of the sea king, Muir. I need help getting my kingdom back.” Here, she stopped, uncertain what exactly she wished to ask of this ferocious man with the pointed teeth. She frowned. To her surprise, he frowned, echoing her expression as his lips pressed together and his sharp teeth disappeared from view.

Finding it easier to think when he wasn’t threatening to rip her apart, she took another breath and started again, this time from the beginning. She quickly gave him the story of their arrival in the Never Sea, the deal made with the water sprite, the untimely death of the two sea kings, and ended with her plight and impending marriage to Cassius, which, she explained, was her reason for seeking aid amongst humans.

A loud laugh echoed against the walls of the cavern. At first, she thought the man in front of her was the one who had thought her situation amusing, but one look at his face proved the laughter hadn’t come from him. He looked as shocked as she felt. The one responsible, however, was high above them, gaily swinging his legs from a perch at an opening in the ceiling Nerida hadn’t noticed before.

“Peter,” she said. Her voice had taken on a reprimanding tone, though she hadn’t meant for it to. Like a spoiled child, he responded, his face turning down into a childish scowl, before he dropped from his perch and flew around them a few times.

“You’re asking grown-ups for help? My, aren’t we desperate,” he chided as he dipped closer to her. He pointed to the man and frowned, his own expression looking a good bit like theirs. “Where did you find him, anyway? There aren’t any grown-ups on Neverland.” His face changed, and grew darker, as if something evil lurked just under the surface. “There are never any grown-ups on Neverland.”

“There are quite a few now. You just don’t know about them,” Nerida said, finding her voice. “You should go and see for yourself.”

Peter gave her another dark look and, without another word, zipped back up to the top of the cavern and disappeared from sight, presumably to check out the newest inhabitants of Neverland.

The eyes of the man in front of her were wide as he stared at the top of the cavern. Nerida supposed it wasn’t every day a human saw both a mermaid and a flying boy. She chewed on her bottom lip and waited until he looked back down at her.

“What would a sea witch be needin’ of Black Caesar?” he asked. “Ye have the power to enchant a ship full of pirates, yet ye take the one who didn’t fall to yer magic. There be plenty of young lads aboard who would have done whatever ye asked.”

“I needed the help of someone who is strong enough to help me defeat Cassius. You were strong enough to not be swayed by my magic, perhaps you’ll be strong enough to withstand him, too.”

“And if I have no inclination to help ye?”

Nerida shrugged. “Then, I leave you to find your way back out. It’s quite a swim.” She held her breath, hoping she had managed to strike a chord with him. From the look on his face, it appeared she had.

“So if I help ye and we win against this Cassius, will ye let me go free? Do ye give yer word?”

“Yes. If you help me, I promise you’ll go free.”

His eyes narrowed for a moment as his gaze left her and took in his surroundings. He looked upward, to the place Peter had disappeared, then he shook his head. It was a quick motion that sent the small, golden rings at his ear tinkling. The sound reminded Nerida of the chiming voices of the water sprites.

A decision flashed in his eyes as the man bared his teeth. “I am the pirate Black Caesar.” He gave her a dark glare. “I help no one. The only promise I make is to kill whoever finds me next.”

5

HUMAN YOU SHALL BE

THE NECKLACE PULSED against Nerida’s skin as she made her way back toward the cavern, reminding her of the promise she’d made to the pixie whose remains were still inside. She needed to keep that promise and say a proper goodbye to the tiny being. Now would be as good a time as ever. The human in the cavern could wait a few moments longer. Setting the pixie’s dust free on the island shouldn’t take long. She doubted the man in the cavern had changed his mind to help her, regardless of the time she’d given him to think her offer over.

Nerida swam to the surface and cautiously popped her head out of the water and took a quick look around. She had hoped someone would be nearby—someone she could entrust to take the pixie’s remains to shore so that she wouldn’t have to break the rules again.

There wasn’t a human to be seen. Not a Neverling, not a pirate, and not Peter Pan. She would have to do it herself and hope she wouldn’t get caught.

She let the tide pull her to the shore, and when it ebbed back to the sea, she planted her hands firmly in the sand to anchor herself, and waited for the tingling magic to take her tail away.

Seconds after the water left her skin, the human legs appeared. Nerida took a deep breath and stood. She wobbled for the first few steps as she tried to gain her footing, but finally looked around. The tree line was a short distance away and it looked like the perfect place to leave the pixie’s dust.

Sharp jabs of pain shot up from the bottom of her feet with every step, but she ignored them and hurried on. The longer she stayed out of the water, the greater her chances were of being found. Once she stepped into the shade of the first tree, she felt safer. She sank down to her knees, happy to be rid of the pain of walking, and pulled the necklace up and over her head.

The shell pulsed in her palm. She lifted it up, eye level, and looked at the thin line of sparkling gold that ran down the center, wondering if it was going to be as easy to open as it had been before. She traced the line with her thumb and pressed her nail into the center. When it didn’t, she gritted her teeth and pressed harder.

Just when she thought she would have to give up and beat the shell against a rock, it opened and the small glittering pile of pixie dust filled her hand again.

She gazed at it for one long moment, wondering who the tiny being had been, where she had come from, if she had been missed, and what her name had been. Then, she closed her eyes and blew softly across her palm.

The air glittered gold, then a breeze brushed past Nerida and carried the sparkling dust away, further into the forest. She waited until the last sparkle of gold left her sight, then turned her attention back to the seashell in her hand. She squeezed the two open edges back together, but it popped back open, unwilling to shut again. It was broken. Tears filled her eyes as she pulled the strand back over her head. At least she could still wear it, even if it wouldn’t hold something special again. Rubbing a hand against her eyes, Nerida stood up and turned to head back to the sea.

“You could come with me,” a familiar voice said, catching her off-guard. “We could have an adventure. It would be so much fun, don’t you agree?”

Her heart threatening to hammer out of her chest, Nerida placed one hand over it, and took a deep breath, trying to calm down. Another voice answered the first, proof she hadn’t been seen. This voice was quieter, more feminine, and she couldn’t make out many of the words.

“We could do all sorts of things. I could teach you how to fly,” the last word told Nerida exactly who the first voice belonged to.

But who was Peter talking to? Curiosity piqued, Nerida carefully took a few more steps and peered through the thick branches of a nearby bush.

The first thing she saw was the young girl with dark, tanned skin. She was small, no bigger than the two boys of Peter’s troupe that Nerida had met on the beach before. The girl’s face was turned upward, a happy smile on her face as she watched something above her. The fringe on her dress fluttered softly in the wind, reminding Nerida of the woman she had seen on the ship and those she’d seen leaving on the boats. This girl had to be one of the ones that had left the ship. Apparently, it hadn’t taken Peter long to discover the newest inhabitants of Neverland.

Nerida followed the girl’s gaze and found Peter flying a short distance above her, demonstrating a small flip in the air. “It’s easy to fly, see? But none of my troupe can do it. None of their happy thoughts are happy enough, it seems. You’re different, though. I think it might work with you.”

The girl shook her head, then dropped her eyes to the bundle of sticks in her arms. “I can’t come with you, Peter. They sent me to gather wood. If I don’t bring it back, my people will come looking for me.”

Peter’s bottom lip jutted out in a scowl. The pout only lasted a second, then it left and he gave the girl a bright smile. “That’s all right, I have some things I need to do anyway. Maybe next time, Tiger Lily?” He dropped down and landed softly in front of her.

The girl returned his smile, a deep blush coloring her cheeks. “Yes, maybe next time I will come with you,” she paused, then added, “but my name isn’t Tiger Lily.”

“Oh yes it is,” Peter said with a quick nod. “You see, I name all of my Neverlings and you will be my Tiger Lily. I think it’s quite fitting.”

Nerida backed slowly away from the bush and the strange conversation. At any second, Peter could decide to leave the girl to her work and discover her eavesdropping. If there was one human who didn’t need to know a mermaid was walking about on land, it was Peter. She didn’t know why, but something told her he would gladly tell Thespa if he found out.

Once she was out of the shadow of the forest, she ran across the hot sand and jumped back into the sea, her tail returning the instant the water rushed over her toes.

Thousands of bubbles spiraled toward the surface and the instant they cleared, Nerida stared into the wide green eyes of Cassius’ sister.

“You’ve broken Thespa’s rule,” Annalise managed in a shocked voice.

“Yes, but you must not tell anyone!” Nerida begged. Thoughts began zipping around in her head. If Cassius found out what she had done, he would come after her.

My only promise is to kill the one who finds me next, the man in the cavern’s voice reminded her. An idea came to her.

“You’re right, Annalise,” she said, hanging her head in shame. “I’ve broken the rule and Cassius should be told. I’d like to show him why I did it, though. There is a cavern here, the opening is just below us. Could you go and tell him to meet me here?”

“I was going to promise not to tell anyone,” Annalise said, shaking her head in disbelief. “You know he’ll punish you, right? I don’t know what he’ll do to you, but it won’t be good. My brother has a terrible temper.”

“I know. But please just go and tell him what I told you.”

Annalise frowned, but answered with a small nod before leaving to swim toward the castle, her long red hair streaming behind her.

Nerida’s heart raced as she made her way to the cavern. It was a strange plan, but if it worked, then everything would change and she wouldn’t have to worry about Cassius’ temper ever again.

SHE THOUGHT OF waiting for Cassius to arrive and go into the cavern first, but then decided against it. If he found her outside, waiting, he might be suspicious and not go inside. Besides, she still had a few moments and she wanted to check on the human. She took a breath, and went in, carefully keeping her head just below the surface as she looked around. Finding nothing, she swam into the shallows and slowly lifted her head out of the water.

The cavern was empty.

Where was he—the pirate named Black Caesar? There was no sign of him. The only promise I make is to kill the one who finds me next. His words echoed again in her head. He’d traced a finger across his own throat, a gleam of some dark satisfaction appearing in his eyes with the gesture. He hadn’t seemed at all worried to take the life of another. If anything, he seemed to have been looking forward to it.

A small mound of sand piled near one wall at the back of the cavern caught her eye. She was certain that hadn’t been there before and it was too far away to get a good look at it. Maybe there was a hollow place behind it and he was lying in wait.

There was only one way to find out.

Hoping the man was still in the cavern, she pulled herself free of the water and felt the immediate stabs of searing, hot pain as she stood on her feet again, followed by the cool brush of air whisking against her body as the scales left her belly and chest.

She ran toward the back of the cavern. Cassius could appear at any second.

Please be here, she wished as she reached the small mound.

But he wasn’t.

Her eyes traced the footprints scattered on the sandy knoll. They began where she stood and disappeared on the opposite side, where a very small niche in the rock began.

Now, she realized why he’d decided not to help her. As he watched Peter at the top of the cavern, he’d discovered a way of escape. After she’d gone, the man had built the sand up in order to find a way to climb the wall. Smears of blood showed dark against the stone, evidence that his ascent hadn’t been any easy one, but the streaks at the top and the lack of a body at the bottom proved he had made it out alive.

“Now who will help me?” she murmured.

“Who indeed,” a dark voice sneered from behind her.

Nerida’s heart dropped, then rose back up and threatened to hammer its way out of her chest as she turned.

Cassius was as far out of the sea as she had ever seen him. But unlike her, he stayed in just enough to maintain his form, thrusting his staff into the sand to keep the tide from pulling him back into deeper water.

“There is little I’ve asked of you,” he told her, his voice as cold as ice. “Only two things really—marry me and keep Thespa’s one rule of staying below the island. I can see with my own eyes you’ve broken the rule and something tells me you haven’t changed your mind about being my bride.”

Nerida didn’t bother answering. While his words seemed calm, if cold, the muscles in his jaw were tight and those that ran along his neck were corded and tense. That tight tension traveled along his shoulder, all the way to his whitened knuckles, clenching the trident—the one thing giving him power over her.

Perhaps, she could still find a way out of this. If only she could get close enough to the trident…

“I’ve been thinking,” she began softly, slowly walking toward him. “Perhaps marriage to you is exactly what I need.”

The pain in her legs was excruciating now. Each slow step felt as if a thousand sharp knives were slashing at her flesh, but she didn’t hurry. She would rather sit on the beach, forever human, than continue walking toward him.

This isn’t only about you, she reminded herself. The fate of everyone below rests on me.

She was at the edge of the surf now, inches away from him. As she looked down at him, his eyes narrowed. She was stunned as the tide ebbed, he pulled himself out of the water, and stepped toward her.

If he felt any of the pain from changing, his face didn’t show it. He stood inches higher than her and she realized the reason for him changing to a human form—it was the only way he could still look down on her.

Inside, she was seething with anger, but she managed to bottle it up and turned her face up, giving him a sweet smile. She reached out a finger and traced it down his jaw.

“You were saying something about what you need,” he said gruffly.

“Yes, the kingdoms must unite. We must rule as one,” she answered him demurely, her finger continuing its trek down his neck to his shoulder. If I can only get the staff from him…

As her fingers brushed the hand holding the trident, Cassius took a step closer, closing the gap between them. He reached up and gripped her face with his free hand. He studied it for a minute, then a sinister smile twisted his lips.

“I don’t believe you, Nerida. You see, the truth always shines in your eyes, whether you wish it to or not. You are right about one thing, though. You do need something.” In one massive thrust, he flung her backward. “You need to remember the power I hold. I believe I’ll leave you here awhile. Perhaps with time, you’ll change your mind. Besides, you seem to care more for the humans than you do your own people—so human you shall be.”

He lowered the tips of the trident toward her and a bright silver light struck the ground around her. Hard rock rose from the sand in long, thin bars and crossed over her head, trapping her within.

“I’ll come back once I think you’ve had enough time to remember your place in this world,” he smirked. He turned and walked back into the sea, leaving her imprisoned—and alone.

The solid cage was unmovable. For the first moments after he left, Nerida spent every bit of energy she could muster to shove against the rock, but the only things she managed to get were bruises from the stone and scrapes on her back from the coarse sand. There wasn’t enough room to do anything but lie there, so that is what she did, her fury growing with every second.

First, she screamed out of anger, then she screamed in hopes of being heard. Once, she thought she spotted the dark green of Peter’s shirt as he flew over the opening of the cavern, but if he’d heard her, he made no move to see what she wanted.

Anger was now replaced with fear. What if Cassius had left her here to die?

THE SUN SET twice before the dolphins found her and even then, she was sure they had happened upon her by accident. Her voice had long disappeared after the first day from bouts of screaming and crying.

She hadn’t made any movements to attract them either, which made the dolphins’ appearance even stranger. Her skin had gone brittle and was sloughing off in long strips like a water snake shedding its skin. What bits that remained were pebbled up in blistering welts. Any movement whatsoever made her wish death would come for her soon.

The first splash from the dolphins’ tails stung as it met her raw flesh. She gasped and the second splash netted her a glorious mouthful of water and managed to completely drench her. Instantly, her body cooled and she felt life begin to seep back into her.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Her voice sounded as rough and hard as the rock surrounding her, but she didn’t care.

The two dolphins stopped long enough to click their reply to her, then resumed their splashing until her legs and feet disappeared and her tail returned. The pain subsided.

They continued to soak her with splashes until she sat in a small puddle. It was just enough water to keep her as a mermaid. She sighed in relief as her body stopped dying and began to heal.

Taking a break from their rescue efforts, the dolphins turned around and watched, happily clicking and bobbing in the water, obviously pleased with their work.

“Please don’t leave me,” Nerida begged them. “Please stay.”

She wouldn’t make it without them, she realized. Who knew when Cassius would come back or even if he would return. It seemed likely at this point he really had left her here to die. Annalise was the only other one to know about this cavern, and she had already made it clear that she would never defy her brother.

None of her people would venture this far to see what had become of her, and none of the ones on the island would come to her aid—at least—none that she knew of. Peter wasn’t interested in what was happening down here and the man she had left in this cavern had escaped and had no intention of returning.

So that left her with these two beautiful dolphins, who still sent her a splash every few moments, as if they completely understood her plight.

The tide swept in and a sudden silver flash caught her attention. There, at the water’s edge, stood a water sprite, looking at her with a thoughtful expression.

She doesn’t look at all surprised to see a caged mermaid, Nerida thought. And she didn’t look really look angry either, considering the blatant disobedience of Thespa’s rule.

“Could you help me?” Nerida asked. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. And at this point, I have nothing to lose.

The sprite crossed her arms and scowled at her. “If you stayed below, you wouldn’t need help. Besides,” she chimed, then paused to nod toward the dolphins. “Thespa sent them to find you. I’m just making sure they did as they were told.”

“She knew Cassius did this to me?”

“Thespa knows everything that happens within the Never Sea, especially when the trident is used,” the sprite replied airily, then she frowned and kicked idly at the foaming surf beneath her feet as if she wasn’t happy about something.

“She’s gone to tell him he must use his power wisely, or else she’ll take it from him.” The frown on the sprite’s face deepened as she muttered in a voice so low Nerida barely heard her. “She chose poorly, whether she wants to admit it or not. That merman is one she never should have bargained with. The only one he believes in is himself. He’ll be the death of us all.”

The skin around Nerida’s mouth ached as her lips stretched into a wry smile. It was nice to know she wasn’t the only one who held the same opinion of the new sea king.

“Please, could you free me?” she tried again.

“No, I can’t help what doesn’t touch the Never Sea.” The sprite shook her head. “You shouldn’t have left it. I can’t help you.” And without so much as a goodbye, the grumpy water sprite flew back into the water and disappeared.

At least the dolphins stayed, Nerida thought, as they splashed at her again. And Thespa knows I’m here. Not all is lost. There’s still hope.

SHE’D FALLEN ASLEEP some time afterward and was awakened by the sense of someone watching her. Without thinking, she jumped, which resulted in smacking her forehead against the rock bars above her.

Gritting her teeth, she rubbed the back of her hand over her head and twisted so that she could see who was there.

She expected to see Cassius come to free her, or perhaps even Thespa. Instead, a surprise met her eyes.

“Callie, what are you doing here?” she asked, scrambling to reach her hand through the bars.

Her sister let the tide carry her as far on the shore as she could, while keeping enough of her body in the water that she wouldn’t change. She reached toward Nerida and grasped her hand tightly in her own.

“I had to come and tell you that it’s going to be okay now,” Callie said with a smile. While her words said one thing, her blue eyes told Nerida something entirely different. A deep sadness lingered there, as if something had occurred that had forever changed her.

“Callie, what’s happened?”

The grip on her fingers tightened, but Callie’s voice didn’t change. The same forced cheerfulness was ever-present. “Cassius is coming tomorrow to free you.”

“Thespa must have told him to release me. I bet he loved that,” Nerida replied, rolling her eyes.

“I haven’t seen anything of Thespa. Why would she care what he does?” Callie said, her eyes narrowing just a little, as if she was worried maybe Nerida wasn’t thinking straight. She shook her head then, as if to put her own mind back on task, and took a deep breath. “In exchange for uniting the kingdoms, you’ll go free, Nerida.”

“I’m not marrying him.”

Callie’s voice was a hushed whisper, so quiet that Nerida thought maybe she’d imagined her say, “I know you aren’t—I am.”

“No, Callie, you can’t! He’s a monster. You can’t marry him!” Nerida begged, gripping her hand with every ounce of strength she had left. “Please promise me you won’t. It isn’t worth it. We’ll find another way.”

“There isn’t any other way.” Callie shook her head sadly. “You can’t stay here, Nerida. You’ll die. I was so afraid that you might have already died. If Annalise hadn’t told me where you were, I’d never have found you. I can’t lose you, Nerida. You’re the only family I have left.” Tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. “This is something I have to do. This is what will protect us all.”

She turned loose of her hand and slid back into the sea, while Nerida kept begging her not to go, pleading for her to change her mind.

“You’ve always taken care of me. Now, I can do something for you,” Callie smiled. “I love you, Nerida.”

6

BANISHED

THE SEA KING arrived in all his glory the next day. The satisfied smirk on his face told Nerida that Callie had gone through with their bargain. She’d married him and the kingdom was his. With a twitch of his staff, the rock bars around her fell away, as if they’d only been made of the rubbery tentacles of a jellyfish.

She half-rolled, half-crawled to the water and immediately submersed herself, feeling the silky brush of the water as it welcomed her back where she belonged.

Cassius had followed her below the surface, and once she opened her eyes from soaking up the bliss of the water, he spoke.

“A deal is a deal. You’re free to go,” he told her conversationally, as if he’d just happened to see her there, blissfully drinking in the cool, perfect water.

She wasn’t fooled, though. There was still a dark glint in his eyes, as if though now that he’d fulfilled his part of the bargain, he could do whatever he wanted.

“You are forever banished from the castle,” he told her, a sly smile curving his lips. “Never will you swim inside its halls, nor will you ever sit upon the throne.”

“You can’t do that,” she objected. “Callie is my sister. I have to see her and you can’t stop me.”

“No, you won’t and yes, I will stop you,” he said darkly. “If you ever speak to her again, I’ll do to her what I’ve done to you. How strong do you think sweet, fragile Callie would be, trapped away from the sea? How long would she last there?” He gestured toward the surface, to the place where Nerida had been. The two dolphins were frolicking in the surf. They’d stayed with her the whole time, faithfully spraying her with water. They were the reason she was still alive—and somehow Cassius knew it.

“Hmm,” he said thoughtfully, tapping his chin with his index finger, “that reminds me. I have two loose ends to tie up.” He pointed his trident to the dolphins and a bright flash of silver sizzled through the water.

“Nooo!” Nerida screamed.

“Just in case Callidora needs to be put in check once in a while,” Cassius mused. “I can’t have a couple of rogue dolphins help her out of whatever trouble she gets herself into, now can I? Punishment is punishment, after all.” He laughed as two forms sank to the sandy bottom of the sea. Gone were the graceful dolphins who had saved her, replaced with two dark stingrays.

Nerida buried her head in her hands and sobbed, letting the undercurrent pull her to the bottom. Every time she thought it couldn’t get worse—it did. Picking up on her sorrow, the two stingrays brushed against her and offered her comfort.

THESPA WAS LIVID. Not only had the arrogant merman deliberately ignored her explicit instructions not to harm the innocents in the sea and transformed her two dolphins into stingrays, he’d also managed to cause so much unrest in his own kingdom by banishing one mermaid that Thespa’s own people were the ones paying the consequences. The trident was draining the magic from the sprites and not giving anything back to them.

She’d given Cassius warning, and now fought the urge to march directly into his castle, snatch the trident away from him and use it to change him into something slimy and offensive.

That would take some work, though, she decided. Not the act of taking it away, but finding a suitable form to transform him into. She ticked off all the various animals and plant life in her head that would be a worthy punishment.

She didn’t want to give him the form of anything that would have power. She knew that for certain. The last thing she needed was to end up eaten by a shark, or be zapped by an electric eel. Granted, his personality would meld in wonderfully with those two. No, he needed something smaller…something lowlier that would remind him that she was stronger than he would ever be.

A bug, maybe? No, that wasn’t quite right. What of a bullfrog, perhaps? No, of course she couldn’t change him into a bullfrog. After all, he was a prince. She’d heard stories of other worlds concerning frogs and princes. With her luck, he’d find someone to kiss him and then she’d be back where she was now. Besides, the frogs didn’t need the bad reputation he’d end up giving them.

It was entirely too bad she couldn’t change him into a toothless, female crocodile, she mused. The giant bully could use a friend. Maybe then Tic-Tock would be less disagreeable and the merman would learn his lesson.

Thespa sighed. All this pondering had left her drained. She’d gone from being angry and aggravated to being exhausted in a matter of minutes.

The sprites needed their magic to return—and soon—before they began dying. Her Lost Ones had to believe in her again and for that to happen, she needed to find the right one to put in charge of them..

7

DISCOVERY

ONE OF THE things Nerida discovered soon after being banished was how the water warmed in a couple of the narrow inlets during the afternoon. For a few precious hours each day, the water reminded her of the old ocean, so every day when the sun rose high in the sky, she made it a point to swim in one of the smaller inlets.

It was on one of these afternoons that she spotted the flying boy when he appeared, struggling to get across the water a short distance away.

As she watched, Peter finally managed to disappear over a sandy rise on the beach. He’d been carrying someone—someone larger than he was. The tiny golden pixie who was his constant companion had been flying over them, showering the two with a bright cloud of pixie dust the entire way. No doubt she was the one responsible for Peter successfully making it across the inlet, otherwise he would have landed in the water with her.

“Who is he carrying?” Nerida wondered.

As if they’d decided to answer that question for her, the two rays bumped against her and flitted toward an outcropping of rocks and disappeared from sight.

She followed them and found the water flowed into another dark, underwater cavern that reminded her of the one she’d left the pirate in—the one where she had been trapped for days to die. Instinctively, she pulled back, not wanting the memory of those days flooding her mind.

Sensing she no longer with them, the two rays turned back and settled on a boulder near her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, offering them a sad smile. “I can’t go in there. Whatever Peter is doing will have to stay his secret. I’m not brave enough to follow you any further inside.”

They understood and left, leading her back out into the open water.

Once she cleared the rock, Nerida popped her head above the water. She spotted Peter again and this time his arms were empty. From the loud crowing noises he made, he seemed pleased about something as he flitted across the water and into a copse of green trees on the opposite beach.

THE ONE GRAND thing Nerida discovered was an isle that sat a short distance away from the main island. While the top side of the tiny spit of land was as lush and green as the island, there weren’t any humans on it—and the even better discovery had laid in what was beneath it. Just a small swim from the surface was an opening to a cavern that ran beneath the isle. It was the perfect place to call home. No one bothered her there, and due to the shallow water and rocks surrounding the isle, she rarely saw the pirate ship. So when she did spot it moving a short distance away the day following her strange sighting of Peter, it got her attention.

It moved slowly, carefully making its way past the isle. It came close enough to the shore that she could see the intense expression on the face of the man guiding the ship’s wheel. It would have been much easier to have gone the other way. Wherever they were heading must be important to brave the shallows in the coming darkness, she realized.

And they hadn’t noticed her, which, in her opinion, was good as she was only a short distance away. She sat on the beach, the water rising halfway up her tail and watched them, while they stayed oblivious to her presence.

The man with the long, black hair looked the most anxious of all the faces she could make out. The one she heard the others call cap’n. He paced back and forth on the top floor of the ship behind the man at the wheel, pieces of paper clutched in his hands. The way he stared at them, she was certain those tiny slips of white must be telling them to come this way.

But what could be so important to risk dodging amongst the rocks?

Her curiosity piqued, she slid quietly into the water and trailed after the ship as it made its way around the top of the island to the mouth of the cove. The place where she’d last seen Peter.

A few men climbed up the ropes and rolled up the sails. Nerida stayed a safe distance away until she heard the anchor swish as it fell heavily to the bottom of the sea. The ship slowed, then stopped. Carefully, she swam a bit closer and listened to the voices above her.

“Ye should wait until morning, Cap’n. That inlet be too narrow to enter now. With the tide down, ye’d be smashed to bits,” she heard the one at the wheel say.

She caught a good look at the anguish on the one man’s face as he turned and gripped the railing, staring out at the inlet. “I have two days. Morning may be too late.”

“Aye,” the other man conceded, “but the water’s not near as calm as the other places we’ve laid anchor. Ye’ll be no good to her dead.”

There was a long, tense moment of silence, before she heard the captain agree. “I will leave at first light.” He gave a few other commands and left, his footsteps echoing on the wooden boards.

After he was gone for a few moments, the rest of those she could see finished tying ropes and settling the ship to rights for the night.

Whatever the reason was for their journey into these waters, she wouldn’t find out until morning came, she decided, as she turned to leave. But once the sun’s first rays streaked across the sky, she would find out all she wanted to know.

THE SPLASH OF water and the groan of wood woke Nerida from her place on the anchor. The chilly curve of metal hadn’t been a comfortable place to sleep, but she’d been afraid that she would miss something from the ship if she went back to her isle.

The voices overhead were unhappy. It seemed none of the ones on the ship were pleased as the small rowboat was lowered to the water.

“Best ye let us come with ye, Cap’n,” one strong voice suggested. “Who knows what yon ruffian has planned for ye.”

“I cannot let anyone come. Everyone must stay with the ship. Peter gave his orders that I am to arrive alone. Take care of the ship in my absence,” the weary-sounding voice of the captain replied.

“But Cap’n…”

“You have your orders, Beckett.”

The one arguing let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Aye, Cap’n.”

She waited until the small boat moved away, heading toward the inlet before she swam up and popped her head above the water. She felt the rough brush of the ship against her back as she watched the captain row toward the island with a sense of urgency. The tide had risen overnight and the waves were having their way with the small boat, tossing it first one way and then the next, but he continued onward as if he was a man on a special quest.

At least he hadn’t left during the night when the tide was down. He would have been crushed against the rocks for certain.

“Yon flying fiend. What I wouldn’t give to fire a cannon at him,” she heard someone mutter directly above her head.

She turned and looked up to see the sour countenance of one old, wrinkled pirate with white hair and a fat nose stare out at the island. She followed his gaze and discovered she’d missed something important.

While she’d been busy watching the captain row his boat, Peter was a distance ahead of him, taunting him.

Nerida stifled the exasperated sigh that threatened to escape her lips. It wouldn’t do to attract the attention of those on the ship. They wouldn’t understand she was only agreeing with them; they’d just shoot another of those metal balls at her.

She slipped back down—so as not to be seen—then muttered the words that she’d been holding in.

“He’s so childish. Peter should know better than to act—”

The sight of rows upon rows of sharp teeth made her forget what she’d meant to say. She dodged below the ship, just as the crocodile’s jaws snapped shut. The ship groaned and creaked as it took the brunt of the attack that had been meant for her.

Racing to the bottom of the sea, she hid between two large, prickly batches of thick coral and waited for him to move on.

But the croc didn’t seem interested in leaving. His attention turned now to the ship, as if he’d just noticed it being there. She watched him turn and swim a short distance before turning and ramming it again. The first time might have been a mistake, but this time wasn’t.

It was then she noticed something missing. Where there should have been a long, powerful tail, there was only a short, red, barely healed nub—and if the current attack on the ship was any indicator, Nerida bet the humans had been the ones responsible for it.

Finally the croc turned toward the inlet and swam away—directly toward the place she’d last seen the rowboat.

Hoping the captain was well on his way to catching up with Peter and was far enough away the crocodile couldn’t find him, she cautiously swam after the green, scaly monster.

The pirates on the ship were making all kinds of noise. At first, she thought they’d decided to shoot at the crocodile, and so she held her breath, waiting for the explosions—but they didn’t come. Instead, she heard the faint whir of ropes and pulleys. Then she heard splashes as more longboats were lowered into the water.

The two stingrays swam in circles around her, obviously trying to slow her down from following the crocodile.

“But the captain doesn’t know he’s being followed,” she argued, trying to push them away. She thought of explaining why she wished to help the man, but found that she didn’t have a reason. “It’s the right thing to do,” she told the larger ray as it stopped directly in front of her face, blocking her. “Sometimes, you just have to help someone, regardless of what happens. You know that.”

She knew they would understand. After all, they were the ones who had kept her alive in the cavern. Instead of moving out of her way, they stayed put. The smaller one came forward and bumped against her, giving her a light shove toward the craggy rock facing.

A sudden swish of movement beyond the rays caught her attention and before she knew what happened, both of them rammed against her, propelling her toward the rocks.

Instinctively, she put out a hand to stop herself from being banged against the facing, but instead her fingers only felt the brush of tiny currents as water whisked past.

The rays may have looked smaller, but they were every bit as strong as the dolphins they’d once been, she realized once she managed to stop herself. They’d managed to knock her through the narrow opening of the same cavern they’d been in when she had seen Peter a couple of days earlier.

Only seconds passed before she saw the long shape of the crocodile swim in front of the opening—so close that she could have reached out her hand and touched the leathery skin on his side.

Her breath caught watching him swim past. If he noticed her, it would be the end. Though the mouth of the cavern was narrow, his long tapered snout would have no trouble entering if he realized she was so close.

She heard shouting voices, followed by popping sounds. The pirates were attacking the crocodile.

She let out her breath. She was safe. His attention would definitely be locked on them now.

Nerida chewed on her lip, wondering if he’d managed to catch up to the captain in the inlet before he’d turned around. She hadn’t heard any screams or splashes, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. The monster was so huge, he could easily have swam to the boat and pulled it under if he wanted to, and the poor man wouldn’t have a chance.

Maybe she could take a quick look. She’d noticed the first time she had been here that the opening to this cavern wasn’t completely submerged. As she ventured farther inside, she found a small crack running up the side that eventually opened up. With luck, she could sneak up to the open air and take a quick look without attracting any attention from either the crocodile or the men hunting him.

The dank air of the cavern felt chilly against her face as she cautiously popped her head above the water and looked around. The waves were smashing against her as the tide rose. There was enough distance above her that she could reach out and barely brush the roof with her fingertips had she wanted to, but it wouldn’t be that way long. The water was rising at a brisk pace. Soon the water would meet the roof.

Fighting against the current, she managed to make it to the jagged crack in the rock. Gripping the side of the opening, she peered outside, looking first for the crocodile.

He’d lured the men in the boats farther out in the sea. As she watched, he rose out of the water, jaws open, and crushed the side of one boat. Bodies flailed, pitching into the sea. Gurgling screams came next, followed by a volley of sharp cracks intermingled with shouts from those on the other boats.

There wasn’t any way she was going to be noticed by man or beast at this point, she decided. She turned her attention in the opposite direction to the inlet and spotted the small slip of a boat the captain had been rowing pulled up on the sand.

The man was nowhere to be seen, but the yawning mouth of a cave sat just beyond the place where the boat sat.

I think he is safe, she thought as another scream rent the air. The others may not be so lucky.

She slid back under the surface and returned to her stingrays, who waited for her to follow them.

“I don’t think I can do it,” she told them sadly. The walls around her seemed to be closing in as if they wished to trap her. She knew it was her imagination, but still expected the rock to come free, form into thin bars and squeeze her tight, trapping her forever in the darkness.

The rays moved forward slowly, inch by inch, trying to get her to move forward.

There is something they wish me to see. Something important.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, realizing that the cloying fear subsided somewhat if she kept her eyes shut. She trusted the stingrays more than anyone—and she owed them this much.

The decision made, she put out her hands, placing one on top of each ray’s head. “Show me what you want me to see.” As long as she kept her eyes shut and they led her, she would be able to follow them.

Slowly they swam forward, ensuring she kept up with them. Nerida knew the cavern was narrowing inch by inch, but still she kept her eyes tightly shut and held her place between the rays.

They had travelled this way for a few moments when Nerida heard the sounds of voices. The first she recognized as Peter’s. His dark laughter bounced against the walls around her.

The other belonged to the captain, who sounded even more distressed than he had earlier.

That realization made her open her eyes and she forgot all about the walls closing in around her as she heard his angry shout, “Let her go or I shall kill you.”

The words of the other pirate echoed in Nerida’s head. Ye’ll be no good to her dead.

Who had Peter brought here? Was it the woman she’d spotted on the ship before?

Nerida couldn’t make out Peter’s reply to the captain, but from the sharp clanging sounds, she was certain he hadn’t freed anyone.

The noise was bothering the rays and they drifted away, presumably to the still, dark water at the bottom of the cavern.

She could go on without them, she decided, spotting a light ahead. The tunnel the rays had been leading her into was widening now and if the light was any factor, soon she’d be out in the open.

The fighting became louder with each second that passed. She was close now.

Then she heard a sudden thunk and all went quiet for a moment, but for the sounds of the water around her.

The tide surged and a sudden, swift current pushed her out of the tunnel and into a wide, open space. The first thing she spotted was the woman tied to a boulder in the center of the cavern. She was submerged in the water from the waist down. The familiar fringe on the dress swayed back and forth in the water.

Peter had stolen away the woman she’d seen on the ship.

Something wasn’t right with her. She was so still. Then Nerida spotted the long, thin blade that had pierced her chest. Blood fell in droplets, then ran quicker in a thick stream, instantly coloring the water a bright crimson, making is hard to see.

“No, no, no, no!” came the anguished voice of the captain. The woman’s body lurched forward.

A quick flash of silver sliced through the bloody water and cut the ropes free. Then the woman was pulled free and a dull clank echoed, as if the sword had been thrown away.

“You will pay for what you have done, even if it takes my death to make it so,” the captain said in a low, deadly voice.

Nerida found herself swimming closer. Curiosity was pushing her forward more than the tide now. Ignoring the now strong, coppery taste of the sea, she stopped just shy of the side of the ledge and peered up through the red-tinted water—and saw Peter.

The look on his face spoke of darkness and reminded her so much of Cassius that she nearly turned away—ready to flee back through the tunnel to the safety of the open sea. But his words stopped her.

“No, it won’t take your death. Not yet. I find myself enjoying this far too much.”

He even sounded like Cassius. That sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the cold water around her. Something horrible was coming. She could feel it.

Then she saw that Peter held the long, thin blade belonging to the captain. The captain gripped the sharp tip that was pointed at him with his hand in an obvious effort to retrieve it.

As she watched, Peter wrenched the blade free, then swung it in a wide arc. It circled, returning on a path directly back at the man’s hand.

An instant later, the severed hand went flying through the air and made a distinct splash not far from her. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, but her eyes never left the scene unfolding before her.

Even through the foamy surf above her she could see the gory blue that ran in thick streams from the man’s wrist. Didn’t humans have red blood—like merfolk? She was nearly certain they did, which made her even more curious about the man she was watching.

Her gaze left the strange blood and centered on the man’s face. From the place he stood, she could make out the fierce determination in his features.

“My blade if you please,” he told Peter coldly, shoving his other arm up in the air.

Peter looked as if he was thinking about chopping that hand off too, but then thought better of it and tossed the sword down. It clanked at the man’s feet, near the woman’s body.

Flying through the opening at the top of the cavern, Peter laughed. It was a happy sound, as if he’d managed to take everything he’d wanted and was quite pleased with himself.

Her attention turned back to the captain, who was staggering to pick up his sword. The blood running from his wrist was pooling into the water now, mixing in with the crimson from the woman.

The captain was out of sight now, thanks to their inky, dark blood clouding her vision, but she heard him fall onto the ledge above her.

He’ll die soon if no one helps him, she realized sadly.

She remembered the dolphins who had rescued her—her two now faithful companions—and pushed herself out the surf and gripped the solid, rock ledge above, pulling herself up.

The man had landed near the woman, the fingers of his remaining hand splayed in her hair as if he’d wished to be close to her in his final seconds of life.

Nerida took a quick look at the woman. Her face had already taken on the waxy dead look of the humans she’d seen before on the ocean floor. From the looks of things, she was well on her way to the Underworld and there wasn’t anything Nerida could do to help her.

She didn’t bother looking at the captain. She didn’t want to see the last signs of life leave his face, too. Instead, she hooked her arm around his chest and pulled him back into the water with her, taking care to leave his head above the surface.

Just as she was getting ready to swim back toward the tunnel, Peter appeared from the top of the cavern and swooped down. He landed in the same place she’d been seconds before and scooped up the captain’s thin sword. Looking down, he noticed her below him.

He smiled, but it looked more to her like a grimace when he realized what she was doing.

Worried that he had come back to finish what he’d started, Nerida began swimming in earnest back to the narrow tunnel, towing the man with her as fast as she could. As she reached the mouth of the tunnel, she turned just in time to see Peter fly back up and out of sight. Apparently, he’d decided not to kill anyone else just this minute.

Nerida sighed and continued onward, carrying the man along with her. It was hard working against the tide. For every inch she pushed forward, she felt as if she slid backward twice as far. The man’s dead weight dragged her down, making it difficult to keep the balance of pushing up far enough to keep him above the water while fighting to go forward at the same time.

I’m the only hope he has. I won’t give up, she thought stubbornly, fighting against the currents. Inch by inch, she struggled until she made it through the tunnel. The tide had risen so much now she wasn’t sure there was much space between the water and the roof of the tunnel. More than once she thought she heard a small thump as the man’s head met the rock above, but still she pushed onward.

Darkness surrounded her and she found herself reaching toward the same walls that seemed to close in on her such a short time before. She trailed her fingertips along the slick surface, using the wall to guide her.

As if they had realized she needed them, she felt the smooth, soft fins of the rays as they brushed past her. An instant later, she felt them giving her an extra push from behind.

Just a bit further. I’m almost there…

Finally, she spotted sunlight sparkling through the water. She focused all of her strength upward the instant they left the cavern to reach the surface.

The warm air took her by surprise and she gasped. She’d expected to hear the captain do the same, but he stayed silent. He hadn’t moved at all during her rescue. With misgivings, she took her free hand and placed it under his shirt and waited, hoping to feel some sign of life.

After a couple of seconds, she felt a small flutter beneath her fingertips, as if his heart had decided it didn’t want to give up just yet. This gave her a renewed sense of urgency. He needed help—now. She’d gotten him this far, but now he needed his people.

She twisted, looking for any sign of the rowboats that had been so close earlier—then she remembered the crocodile. She hadn’t so much as looked before leaving the safety of the cavern. With so much blood clouding the water, they would be sure to attract some sort of unwanted attention.

Fear churning in her stomach, she spun around, looking in every possible direction.

Luckily, she didn’t see any sign of the scaly monster, but she did catch sight of one of the small boats a short distance away—and they saw her.

“It be the same one that came aboard before!” she heard one say excitedly. His words were immediately followed by a sharp click as he raised a long, metal barrel and pointed it toward her. “She won’t bewitch me twice, make no mistake.”

“Wait, ye fool! Can’t ye see she has the cap’n? She be bringin’ him this way.” An old, wrinkled pirate shoved the metal thing out of the way and glowered at the other one. “If ye shoot, I’ll throw ye overboard meself.” He turned his attention back to Nerida and waved her to come closer. “No harm will come to ye, ye have me word.”

She didn’t answer the old man, but swam toward the boat. She hadn’t come this far to give up now. She towed the man as close as she dared, then ducked back under the surface of the water and pushed his body upward so that it would float while leaving her safely below him.

She heard the men in the boat grunt as they pulled his body from the ocean. As they lifted him into the boat, she caught a glimpse of his face. Even though he wasn’t conscious, she caught a look of sadness etched in the lines around his eyes. It tugged at her heart.

Though he still breathed, she was certain his soul had already followed the one he loved.

She’d expected the old pirate to pop his head over the side of the boat and give her a curt “thank you,” or thought maybe one of the others would be trying to catch a better glimpse of her, but they were focused on their captain, and had forgotten about her, though she was merely inches away.

“He’s still living, though how I can’t say,” she heard the old man mumble. “Get us back to the ship quick-like, lads, there be no time to waste.”

She waited until they turned back toward the ship, then she rose far enough out of the water to watch them. She stayed there a few moments, waiting to ensure the captain was safely carried aboard.

She realized she had the eerie feeling of being watched, but not by anyone on the ship. Whatever it was, was with her, here, in the water.

Fighting her instincts to dive straight to the bottom of the ocean, she sank slowly back under the surface, just far enough so that she could see who watched her.

“Cassius,” her words came out in a whispered hiss. She didn’t have any doubt the sound of his name matched the expression on her face.

He seemed every bit as pleased as she. She’d expected to hear a retort of some kind from him, but instead, he looked angry—as angry as the time he’d trapped her and left her to die.

“I haven’t taken on human form,” she said quickly, hoping to diffuse some of the hatred that glowed in his eyes. “And I haven’t gone back to the castle—not even to see Callie.” Even though I’ve wanted to more than anything.

“You may not have taken their form, but you’re saving them, which is the same thing.”

“It isn’t!” she objected. “He would have died if I didn’t help him.”

“Humans die. That’s what they do,” he retorted as he lifted his trident and pointed it at her. “That’s what you’ll do now too, Nerida. If you want to live as one, you’ll die as one. I’ve grown tired of waiting for you to realize you belong below the surface.”

The next moment was a haze of motion that came from every direction. In the instant Cassius’ trident sent a blinding stream of silver light at her, Thespa appeared and zipped directly in its path. She held out one tiny hand, as if she truly expected to stop the sizzling magic aimed at her, but the silver light slammed into her and threw her against Nerida.

Thespa hadn’t stopped anything. The bright flash of power from the trident sizzled through the air like a streak of lightning from the sky and smashed into both of them. Pain shot through every inch of Nerida’s being.

Just when she accepted she was dying, she spotted her two stingrays heading toward Cassius. The largest one began to circle around him in quick, tight loops. Around and around in a dark, endless blur. The motion was managing to distract Cassius. He stopped his assault on her and turned his trident toward the rays.

Every inch of her body screaming in agony, Nerida tried to swim toward the three battling forms, but flailed, unable to help. The trident was pointed at the smaller ray now and any second it would die. As she heard the rumble of power leave the trident’s sharp tips, she screamed, certain it had found its mark.

Then, all went quiet.

The water was heavy with magic, so thick she couldn’t see. Between the bursts from the trident and the glittering silver from Thespa, the sea around her shimmered.

This time, her attempt to move toward Cassius and the rays worked. Closer, she could barely see the outline of the sea king, his trident poised. He twisted, jerking in spasms, then went perfectly still, as if he’d frozen.

Two dark objects flitted toward her from the maelstrom.

They were safe. Her rays were safe. Nerida sighed, relieved, letting them swirl around her despite the pain still wracking through her.

She’d made it close enough to make out the lines of Cassius’ face. His expression was locked in a look of permanent shock. A large hole the size of the barb on a stingray’s tail showed on the side of his neck. Red blood clouded the water around him for a few seconds, then it stopped as if he’d simply ran out of it. As she watched, Cassius dissolved into foam, bubbles floating toward the surface. The trident shattered as if it had been made of glass, then the pieces exploded, as if announcing the end of the sea king’s reign.

Tired of fighting the pain, Nerida closed her eyes and fell.

This is the end, she thought, letting herself spiral to the bottom. At least I know he’s gone.

THESPA LANDED ON the ocean bottom, dropping to her knees on a large, green leaf that sprouted out of the sand. Things had definitely not gone as she had planned. She looked at the still form of the mermaid lying in a crumpled heap a short distance away.

The two stingrays who had once been Thespa’s dolphins settled next to her and took up a defensive stance, their barbed tails ready to attack anyone who came close. The mermaid wasn’t dead yet, but it wouldn’t be long. Thespa could imagine her bubbles rising to the surface.

But they wouldn’t be just the remains of a mermaid—they would be coated with the dust of a water sprite. Shining, sparkling, silver bits that would be the end of not one being, but two.

Thespa struggled to take a breath. The blast of magic from the trident had taken more from her than she’d thought possible. As it drained the magic from her, it had also redirected it back at her so quickly and with such darkness that it overwhelmed her tiny body to the point where it was now dying.

“Thespa?” Bridgette appeared, a look of horror on her round face that only reaffirmed what Thespa knew.

“I’m dying,” she acknowledged in a voice that held a no-nonsense tone. It wouldn’t do to get all mushy and emotional. There were still things that needed to be done and there wasn’t much time left if she was to set things right.

Bridgette nodded slowly and blinked back the tears from her blue eyes.

“I chose the leader of our Lost Ones poorly and should have listened to you. I shouldn’t have given him so much power.” A spasm of pain caught in her chest, causing Thespa to pause. She rubbed the sore place over her heart before she continued. “This one,” she pointed to the still form of the mermaid. “She was the one I should have chosen. She will be the one to save us.”

“Thespa, she’s—”

“There’s still time.” Thespa cut her off, stood, and walked slowly toward the mermaid. “I can give her everything I have left.”

“If you do this, it will change her. And more than that, you’ll die.” Bridgette was wringing her hands now, but she stopped long enough to put a hand on Thespa’s arm, trying to stop her. “The sprites will have no one to lead us if you are gone.”

Thespa turned, gave her a small smile, and took Bridgette’s hand in her own. “You are wrong, my dear Bridgette. They will have you. Now, go back to the sprites, and tell them what has happened.”

She gave her hand a final pat and watched as the sprite reluctantly left. Then, Thespa turned her attention back to the mermaid and moved a strand of long, dark hair from the mermaid’s face, then placed her palm flat on her cheek. “You won’t be the same,” she whispered, “and for that I am sorry. With power, comes a price, but it will be worth it.”

Though the mermaid didn’t open her eyes, Thespa thought she saw her eyelids move, as if she’d heard her. The broken shell of the mermaid’s necklace laid in front of her.

Taking one last breath, Thespa closed her eyes and wished all of the magic she had left into the mermaid’s still form.

The pain eased once it was done, and the glittering silver dust that had been Thespa shimmered around the mermaid as the two stingrays pushed her body up from the sandy bottom to the surface.

8

THE SEA WITCH

THE DREAMS CAME. So many that they overlapped and mixed with one another in a nightmare that had no ending. Faces of the ones she knew, some of those she didn’t, words that made no sense, and bits of memories all wrapped together in an endless swirl. Only one thing stayed the same as Nerida’s foam floated upon the tide—the pain that was a constant companion, reminding her of her last moments alive, reminding her of all she had lost and all that she had been.

So this was what it was to die—to become one with the sea.

She’d once believed it a romantic way to end, for one’s body to mix and forever be joined with what it loved most. Now, she thought this particular death overrated.

The humans die better. It would have been easier to lie on the ocean floor, buried forever beneath the sand, than to become part of the sea.

She felt rough, scratchy things brush against her as she floated on the surface, while whispers of water and creatures with soft fins that reminded her of stingrays pushed at her from below.

“Whatever she is, she be dead, make no mistake. See the way she floats, aye? No need in pulling her up. She be food for the fishes,” a hollow voice echoed, sounding frightened as she bumped against something hard and unmoving.

“Nay, that be the one who saved him, sure enough. I can see her face. Least we can do is pull her up from the sea,” a gruff voice answered the first. “Get to it, Murphy. There be things to do, and no time to wait for ye to dawdle about.”

“But she be a witch, Beckett. Can ye no see her back? Surely ye don’t mean to bring her aboard. ’Tis bad luck for a woman to be aboard. And with her a witch? The ship’ll be cursed for sure—”

“Ye have yer orders, Murphy. Disobey ’em and I’ll show ye how fast ye can join her in the water. Then ye’ll see who’s cursed. Ye’ll wish ye’d thrown the net out and done as ye were told.”

The voices were replaced immediately by the squeaking sounds of metal, and she felt a stabbing pain as something heavy pushed at her from above. A moment later, she felt a cool brush of air whisk past her.

BACK AND FORTH…back and forth…

She was still on the sea, this much she knew. The fact that she wasn’t completely dead was also something that became glaringly obvious. Every inch of her ached, as if she had been beaten against every rock in the Never Sea. Dead things shouldn’t hurt so, her mind told her. It also told her that while her body rocked back and forth in time with the tide, she was no longer in the water.

Maybe I washed up on shore. She tried to open her eyes. They felt swollen, but they opened and she made out a blurry, flickering light on a table nearby. Everything else was lost in darkness.

Wherever she was, it wasn’t where a mermaid belonged. She remembered the voices she had heard last. If the humans had captured her, she might well be as dead as she’d thought before. She struggled to sit up.

“You are safe,” a voice said quietly from a dark corner just beyond the space illuminated by candlelight. “You have my word, no harm will befall you on my ship.”

Regardless of that promise, Nerida pushed herself into an upright position, wrapping the thin cover around her as she brought her knees to her chin. Her eyes never left the corner. She squinted and managed to make out two booted feet, the rest of the man was shrouded in darkness.

“Who are you?” her voice was hoarse, sounding as if she’d swallowed half the sand off the ocean floor.

Silence met her for several long moments.

She was nearly ready to ask her question again when she heard a whisper so soft that she wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined it.

“Why did you save me?”

“I—” she began, then stopped. She’d been ready to say that she didn’t know what he was talking about or even who he was, but as she had started to speak, the man leaned forward and settled his elbows on his knees. Where one hand should have been, a silver hook gleamed in its place.

A memory of a severed hand and dark blue blood raced through her mind.

He leaned forward just close enough that the candlelight danced across his face. His expression was neutral, but there was a hardness to the set of his mouth. “Why did you save me?” he repeated.

Yes, this was the one she had brought out of the cavern—the one who had fought with Peter. Part of Nerida was happy her efforts hadn’t been in vain. He’d survived. The other part of her wondered how much of him still lived. Even though the candle’s flame reflected in his eyes, they still looked cold and dead.

“It was the right thing to do,” her voice sounded as if it had been scrubbed with coral. Because someone once saved me too.

She’d expected some kind of outburst or retort, something to give release to his hidden fury, but he sat still and said nothing more.

They stayed this way for another moment, merely staring at one another, until a quick knock came at the door. Without waiting for a reply, a round-looking man swung the door open and entered, balancing a platter of food, which he settled on the table between them.

“Didn’t know ye was awake, else I’d brought more,” he apologized, giving Nerida a quick nod, before turning his attention to the other man. “Be needin’ anything else, Cap’n?”

“Yes, bring a bucket of water, Boggs.” The captain answered, his eyes finally leaving her.

The one named Boggs chewed on his bottom lip for a second, then asked. “That all?”

“Yes.”

Once the door closed behind Boggs, the captain turned his attention back to her. “My men fished you out of the water days ago,” he gestured to the plate. “You must be hungry. Help yourself.”

Nerida’s stomach gurgled in response. She slid her feet from beneath the blanket and placed them on the floor, fully expecting the stabbing pain that came when her tail was gone. But it didn’t arrive. Days ago. Shouldn’t I be dead by now? she wondered. Still pondering how she was still alive, she stood, clutched the blanket around her and walked to the table, then sat down in the chair directly opposite the captain.

The plate held things she’d never seen before. Though all smelled wonderful, she had questions that needed to be answered.

“Why did you save me?” she asked, repeating his own question back to him, once she’d swallowed.

“I didn’t save you.”

“Why did your men save me?”

“One of them recognized you.”

The door burst open again. Not bothering with knocking, Boggs reentered, carrying a pail of water that he sat down at Nerida’s feet. A look of pity crossed his face as his eyes met hers, but he turned and hurried out without a word. The door clicked shut.

“I suppose I must be getting back to the sea, then,” Nerida said. Something told her something horrible was going to happen. She needed to leave this place. Right now. “Thank you for saving me, but I must be going.”

The captain nodded, but held up his hook as she stood. “There is something you must see before you go.” His eyes grew colder as he looked down at the pail of water. “Though your face is the same, you aren’t the one who pulled me from the cavern. When my men found you, you were a bit…different.”

He stood and took the candle from the table and lit two lanterns on the wall on either side of a large mirror. The darkness in the room dissipated, leaving the room bathed in soft light.

Nerida wanted to tell him that she was definitely the same one who had struggled through that dark tunnel and had saved his life, but some small part of her stopped him. That same part told her he spoke the truth—that something wasn’t quite right. Something had changed.

“Place your feet in the water and you’ll see I speak the truth,” he said, reading her mind.

She placed first one foot into the cool water…then the other, and gripped the side of the table, waiting for her tail to return.

The magic that had once started in her feet and worked its way up her legs was gone. Though covered in dark scales, her feet still looked human. She turned loose of the table and bent forward, inspecting her legs.

“But, but…I can’t be human,” she said in a broken voice. Teardrops fell from her eyes and made tiny splashes in the bucket.

“You aren’t human.” She looked up at the captain to see him gesture toward the mirror.

Nerida stared in shock at her reflection. Black scales covered her chest, spreading outward to her arms and throat. Resting against the hollow of her neck, her broken necklace was once again whole and now sparkled as if it had been filled with magic. Large black wings flexed behind her back, pushing their way out of the blanket. They reminded her of pixie wings. But the similarity ended there, for where the sprites’ wings had brought them beauty, these brought her horror.

“You appear to be human when the water isn’t touching you. The water reveals what you truly are,” he said quietly.

The creature in the reflection stared back at her, eyes dark, cheeks hollow, and body nearly skeletal. The wings fluttered, thick shreds of black moving back and forth in time with the sea of which she was no longer part of. And all the while, her legs stayed the same—her tail forever gone.

Nerida pulled the necklace off her neck and threw it to the ground, but nothing changed. She screamed in frustration and the mirror shattered. The sounds of breaking glass bounced off the walls for what seemed an eternity. Finally, she covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

He was right. She wasn’t human—and she wasn’t mermaid either. She was a monster. Cassius had done something more terrible than taking her life—he’d given her this one. “I’d rather be dead.” She looked into the broken mirror and saw a hundred images of the captain nod.

“I know well how it is, to breathe and still be dead. I am sorry, my dear,” he said quietly. “You are as cursed as I.”

9

CURSED

SHE FELT COMFORTED the instant she stepped on the sandy beach. It was as if the isle didn’t care she was different and welcomed her back anyway. Dread lifted off her as she walked on the shore and watched the billowing white sails of the Jolig Roger as it sailed toward the horizon.

The ship had brought her home; now it was leaving her in peace. As the wind had blown against the ship, they had ended up sailing around the island and what should have been an easy trip had taken several days.

Only the man Boggs had shown her any kindness during that trip and it was for him she stood, watching until the ship disappeared from sight. More than once she’d heard whispered threats while she’d been aboard, mumbled under the breath of the pirates.

One man had even made good on his threat, sneaking into her room in the dead of night. He’d made it as far as pressing his cold blade to her throat. She’d awakened, terrified at first, then grew angry as she realized what he intended to do. She struggled for a couple of seconds and her elbow knocked a glass from the bedside table. When the spilled water hit her skin, a swirl of silver light pulsed around her and an instant later, the shards of glass from the broken mirror flew across the room and sank themselves into her would-be assassin.

A gleam of moonlight played on his shocked face before he fell on top of her, dead. At that point, everything went still and the power in her quieted.

Never had she taken the life of another. Fear had surged through her and she shoved the pirate off and ran out of the room in search of the captain, leaving footprints of sticky blood in her wake.

She found Hook on the top deck at the ship’s wheel. While his face held no emotion when he saw her, the faces of the others did. As they saw her standing there, wings ripping out the back of her blood-covered nightshirt, their fear became so strong, it seemed a real thing that she could have reached out and touched. Immediately, she felt stronger. Apparently her power showed, because none of them dared harm her again.

My father was wiser than I knew, Nerida thought, still watching the place where the ship disappeared. Humans aren’t to be trusted.

She shook her head. No, that wasn’t right, she argued to herself. A few could be trusted, such as Boggs. Boggs was a strange one, even for being human, she decided. Still, he had been kind to her and had sat and talked with her in the evenings as the sun set. Those were the times when the captain’s mood grew darker and he disappeared below to a dimly lit room, his fingers to slide along the lines of maps.

She’d walked in on him only once, but that had been all it had taken. He sat at the table, fingers tracing the lines of maps laid before him with a graceful ease as if his hand knew each inch of the paper by heart. His study of the maps hadn’t been what frightened her—it had been the deep, burning darkness she’d seen in his eyes when he had looked up and saw her standing there. His eyes had been cold and calculating, like a shark circling to attack. Deadly.

“IT NO BE HIS FAULT,” Boggs said, giving her arm a comforting pat once he’d pulled her back from the map room and quietly shut the door. “He has a deep hatred in him, ye see? A bit o’ his soul died the day he lost Tiger Lily. Pan took the parts of him that mattered most and now the empty places in him be full of darkness as can be filled with only one thing.”

“Revenge,” Nerida whispered. Boggs’ words registered, the name of the woman triggering a quick memory of her lying beside the captain in the surf, her dark hair floating in the tide. “Did you say her name was Tiger Lily?”

“Aye. The cap’n gave her that name when we first came to this place. I don’t think he cared much for the one her people gave her.”

Nerida shook her head. “That’s strange. Peter gave a young girl on the shore the same name. I believe she was one of the ones who left this ship with her people. He called her Tiger Lily, too.”

Boggs stopped in mid-step and turned back to look at her. His brow lifted. “Is that so, then?” he chewed thoughtfully on his lip for a second, as he mulled over this new information. “Wonder why he’d do such a thing?”

“I don’t know. But he seemed to think a great deal of her. He was trying to get her to leave with him, but she wouldn’t go.”

Boggs stayed silent for a moment, then shook his head. “Good thing she was smart enough not to go wi’ him. Pan’s a strange one, to be sure, and not to be trusted. While he no looks dangerous, he has a darkness to him, too. Methinks that be the reason he took so much from the cap’n. He wanted to share that darkness, so someone else could feel the same as he does. He and the cap’n are more alike than either of ’em knows. Neither of ’em be truly alone, so long as there is that darkness between ’em. It be a strong thing that won’t die until they do.”

Nerida must have looked at him strangely, because he gave her a knowing nod and added, “I know ye think was done is unforgiveable. I understand, aye? But ye must trust me when I tell ye it can be worse. Ye might be changed, but ye haven’t got darkness in ye—no like the flying boy or the cap’n. Ye still have goodness in ye. Hold tight to it and ne’er let anyone take it away.”

NERIDA SHOOK HER head to clear her thoughts. While she might not have a deep-seated hatred or a need for revenge, she wasn’t the same. Now she needed to find out how that difference was going to affect everything. She took off the clothes the pirates had given her and stepped toward the water. She would have been at her isle days ago if she’d been brave enough to jump into the sea and swim here herself, but she’d been afraid. Ever since she’d stood in that bucket of water and watched herself change, she’d been terrified of what she became.

The fact that she hadn’t so much as touched a drop of water proved she wasn’t a mermaid any longer. Her people needed the sea to survive. She didn’t.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. It was time to see exactly what the ocean would do to her. Her feet tingled as the tide splashed over them. Without opening her eyes, she walked into the sea. Once she was completely submerged, she opened them, and let out the breath she’d been holding, expecting water to surge through her nose and drown her, but just as the mermaid she’d once been, she breathed it as easily as air.

A tingle of magic zipped along her skin and she felt the wings come to life on her back. She waited, expecting to sink to the bottom of the sea. Instead, instinct kicked in and she fluttered her wings and stayed in place.

Whatever I am, I am still part of the sea. That thought left her feeling happier than she had in all the days she had spent out of the water.

Two dark forms came up from the ocean bottom and bumped against her legs. Tears of joy filled her eyes at the arrival of her stingrays, who didn’t seem to mind at all she was something different.

They still recognized who she was and didn’t care that she’d changed. Maybe her people would accept her in the same way. Feeling even better, she hurried toward the castle, black wings fluttering as fast as they could possibly go.

SOMETHING WAS WRONG. That much was evident. The first thing she saw when she reached the gardens, was the sight of dozens of her people rushing toward the surface. The expressions on their faces were grim, as if they knew something horrible was about to happen or had already happened.

She spotted Callie swimming up from between the columns at the front of the castle, following the others. Nerida nearly called out to her to wait, but remembered the change in her appearance since the last time her sister had seen her. This wasn’t the way she wanted to reveal herself—not when it seemed something else had everyone worried.

She circled around them and headed up toward the surface herself, keeping a good distance away so no one would see her. Her wings brought her to the shore long much quicker than she ever would have been able to swim. She walked up on the sand slowly at first, still not accustomed to not feeling the pain that used to accompany having human legs. A sharp scream made her hurry.

She was shocked to spot the familiar red head of Annalise—and felt even more surprise at the sight of a familiar human, Black Caesar, his arm firmly around the mermaid’s neck.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that she’d gone to the cavern and found he’d escaped. While she lay trapped, she’d wondered more than once what he had done once he climbed free. Had he been hiding on the island this whole time? She knew he hadn’t gone back to his own people and from the scowling expressions of the men on the ship when she’d asked, they didn’t want him back.

So what was he doing now?

A quick memory of him baring his sharp, pointed teeth flitted through her mind as she ran down the beach toward them.

Annalise was out of the water, two human legs dangling in the air as he held her easily around the neck.

“Stop!” Nerida shouted as she neared them. The man turned, startled, dropping Annalise the few inches it took her feet to touch the ground. Her fingers still clawed at his hands, but now she began kicking at him, and one slender foot found the side of Black Caesar’s knee. The man buckled and his grip loosened. In an instant, the mermaid leapt back into the sea. Safe. She popped her head out of the water and watched Nerida, but didn’t make any move to come back and offer assistance.

Nerida was so intent on watching Annalise as she rushed down the beach, she didn’t notice a branch and went sprawling, end over end, landing right at the man’s feet.

As he was still bent over, rubbing his knee and cursing, she got a great view of the sharp teeth she’d been thinking of earlier. A second later, she had taken Annalise’s place as the man lifted her up in the air by her neck.

He hissed and gave her a quick shake. “Lose one pretty one and find another at my feet. Thank me lucky stars, I will. And here I’d been thinkin’ this cursed island had naught but children and Indians to occupy my time. Lucky for me that one was sitting in the surf, watching the flying boy,” he said with a quick nod of his head toward the ocean where Annalise vanished, “but you, at least ye already came with legs and I didn’t have to watch scales and a fish tail leave.”

He brought her closer to his face, leering at her. Then, he stopped, frowning. “Ye look a mite familiar…”

“I…should…” Nerida managed between gasps of air.

Recognition lit in his eyes and a dark, guttural sound came from his lips that sounded something like a growl. “Ye be the one who took me off the Roger—the one who tried to enchant me.”

“Y-yes,” she said. He loosened his grip just enough that she managed to snag one deep breath, her toes barely touching the ground. “And I should have left you on that ship.”

“But ye didn’t,” he said with a dark smile, “and now here we be. I did warn ye ‘twould be unfortunate should ye find me…”

I wish I could throw you in the sea, Nerida thought angrily as his fingers tightened up even more. Her vision was starting to double from the lack of air, but she was still coherent enough to feel his free hand grope her bare chest. Fury roiled through her. I’d love to see you breathe water.

All at once she fell in a heap onto the sand and heard a startled yelp. Her vision clearing, she looked up to see the tide had come in and a huge wave shaped like a hand had reached out and snatched up the man, dangling him upside down over the water. An instant later, it hurtled him out into the sea. A strangled cry echoed in the air just before the splash.

Nerida struggled to her feet and stumbled a few steps forward. She looked out at the place where she had thrown Black Caesar and felt her mouth drop open in surprise.

Then she realized she wasn’t alone.

Her people had arrived. Dozens of heads popped out of the water looking at her with a look of complete horror. She looked from one familiar face to the next, and the next—and every expression matched the one before it.

They were frightened. As her eyes met theirs, a few of them ducked back below the surface. Some seemed too afraid to move.

There’s nothing to fear now. I’ve gotten rid of him. We’re safe now. Those were the words she wanted to say to them, but they never left her lips. Because just as she opened her mouth to speak, she looked down and saw the shell necklace around her neck, sparkling like silver—and farther down, she spotted the black scales on her feet as the tide washed over them.

She was in the water.

YOU ARE AS CURSED as I. The captain’s voice echoed in her head, bringing on her tears as she fled back to her isle.

Cursed was right.

Anger roiled through her, sending magic to sizzle along her skin. If she was cursed, she would make certain everyone feared her. They’d leave her alone. No one would dare to come to this place.

She stood up and turned around to gaze at her isle. This was the one thing she would claim.

I will make it as dark as I, she thought, watching the land and the sea around it transform. This is my home now.

10

REVELATION

BREATHLESS, BRIDGETTE PLOPPED down on a leaf not much wider than she, and took in her surroundings. While the topside of the isle looked less than hospitable, the mermaid had done a fine job of making the sea beneath look like a thing made of nightmares. Inches from where she sat, tall, winding patches of grass reached up from the ocean bottom, skeletons of tiny creatures wrapped tight in its leaves. Her gaze landed on one rather large plant that sported the illusion of a dead mermaid, trapped within its winding vines, slowly disintegrating into foam.

She arched an eyebrow at this. It seemed the mermaid’s primary intent was to scare away those of her own kind. Something must have happened that Bridgette knew nothing about.

She sighed. She hadn’t meant to take so long to come and check on her, but things had needed tending to when Thespa died. The water sprites hadn’t expected their queen to give her life for another. Such a thing had never been done before. Sprites weren’t known to be selfless creatures, so Thespa’s sacrifice had taken some getting used to. Once that had been accepted, Bridgette had to be recognized as the new queen—no small feat in itself, as many wished to take Thespa’s place.

It had all eventually worked out, though. It had just taken a bit of time—and a jolt of power from the one Thespa had saved. Once the other water sprites realized it would be the duty of the new queen to check in on Nerida, every single one of them had gladly dumped the job back in Bridgette’s lap. While enchanting her isle might have been aimed to keep her own kind away, the sea witch had managed to spark fear in more than one water sprite who had happened to go past her new abode.

As the sea king had held power in his trident, this new ruler held as much power by simply wishing things to be true—and this particular wish, it seemed, was to ensure her a safe place where no other would dare intrude.

Bridgette glanced at the yawning, dark mouth of the cavern a short distance away. More tall grass and seaweed grew around it, and as she watched the leaves and vines turned to the thick, round bodies of sea serpents that twisted and curled, fangs bared.

She sighed and hopped up from her perch, noticing the ocean floor near the entrance was littered with what looked like the bones of humans, as if they had been eaten by whatever lived in that dark cavern, their remains discarded in a haphazard pile at the door.

Small puffs of silver dust colored the water as she shook her head. She had waited much, much too long to check on the former mermaid. Without waiting for more time to pass, Bridgette went to the cavern’s opening. The one inside hadn’t truly wanted to hurt anyone, only frighten them away. Nerida held enough power to change the isle completely and had she wanted to, she could have had real serpents guarding her entrance instead of the translucent mirages of the ones striking at Bridgette now.

As soon as she made it inside, the atmosphere changed. It became lighter and was almost welcoming, as if the one who had created the scary exterior would grant an audience to those brave enough to enter.

The cavern narrowed a bit before spilling out into a large room and there, sitting in the center of it on a large rock, was the one Thespa had saved. Her face held such an expression of sadness that Bridgette’s heart went out to her. She sat with her human legs folded beneath her, her two large black wings curled around her body as if they were trying to protect her from everything in the world.

Bridgette cleared her throat and waited before she went any farther. The girl’s head snapped up and a dark look passed over her eyes. Obviously, she didn’t want any visitors.

“I’ve come to help,” Bridgette told her with a nod, white tendrils of hair bobbing in the current. Ignoring the girl’s expression, Bridgette zipped over to a small rock beside of her and shooed one of the stingrays away. “Off with you, now. I won’t be keeping her for long. There are things she needs to know and I promise to take care of her.”

As if they understood, not one, but both of the rays swam off. Bridgette watched as they moved a good distance away.

“Now then,” she said, settling herself on the rock. She patted her dress around her so it would lay flat and folded her hands in her lap. “That’s much better. I can talk much easier without them swinging their tails at me. I don’t think they’d try anything, but one can never be too safe where dolphins are concerned. Terribly playful at times, you know. It wouldn’t do for them to forget they’ve changed to something a bit more lethal.”

“Who are you?” The dark wings were drawing around the sea witch tighter, as if what she really wished was for the water sprite to go and leave her be.

“My name is Bridgette. I am queen of the water sprites now—and I’ve come to answer every question you have. I do apologize for taking so long to get here.”

There were questions. Many of them. Bridgette could seem them piling up behind her eyes. The sad look had left; for that, the water sprite was beyond grateful. Pixies were more empathetic than water sprites, and Bridgette just didn’t know if she could handle tears or what she was supposed to do, if they were to come.

But the mermaid didn’t seem on the verge of crying, instead she sat still, chewing her bottom lip, as if she was searching for the right question to ask first.

Finally, she seemed to come to a decision and her dark eyes locked on Bridgette’s blue ones. The water sprite expected many questions, but the one the mermaid asked caught her completely off-guard.

“Why did Thespa let him do this to me?”

Bridgette took a deep breath and began. There was only one way to tell her everything, and that was to start at the beginning and tell each and every secret—even those that Thespa hadn’t wanted anyone to hear. Hopefully, the girl before her would understand the power she’d been given. Then, hopefully she would accept who she was.

NERIDA’S HEAD FAIRLY swam with information by the time the water sprite left.

“So Thespa made me a water sprite of sorts. Cassius didn’t do this to me,” she told one of her stingrays that came to settle next to her once Bridgette left the cavern. Something about that knowledge made her even sadder than she’d been before. To hear it told from someone who knew what they were talking about made it final. She really wasn’t a mermaid anymore—and she never would be again. The transformation was irreversible, Bridgette told her. There was nothing to do but make the best of it.

The stingray nudged her as if it knew all too well of being stuck in a form that you hadn’t agreed upon.

On the other side of things, she had found out that her magic was stronger than all of the other sprites. Thespa had given her every bit of power she’d had left in hopes that she’d be able to keep them alive, but she’d done it in a very unusual way.

“The only way the sprites will stay alive is if my people believe in me,” Nerida whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. Magic is only real when someone believes. Your people didn’t believe in us, Bridgette’s words replayed in her head, but they will believe in you. That particular bit of information hadn’t been easy to take. Nerida patted the head of the other stingray as it came to rest on her lap.

Begrudgingly, she remembered the faces of the pirates, and then those of her people when they’d seen her. Their fear made her stronger. She’d never felt more alive than in those moments when she felt their panic.

At least Cassius is gone now. Callie will keep the merpeople safe. She sighed. Her sister would be the one she would miss the most. But she couldn’t go back. That look of fear had been on Callie’s face, too.

“But I’m still me,” Nerida told the stingrays, forcing herself to sound optimistic. “Only a bit different.”

Ye haven’t got darkness in ye. This time, Boggs voice echoed in her head and she found herself smiling.

The thought of the round pirate had her hopping up from her perch, dislodging stingrays, and zipping through the sea toward the surface. A visit with the one who hadn’t been afraid of her was what she needed now—a friend who hadn’t feared her outward appearance.

As she neared the ship, she noticed a smaller, dark shadow and heard the faint splashes of oars.

The pirates are going to hunt on the island, she thought, as the boat passed over her. After watching the direction it was heading in for a moment, she paused, and while the voices from above said that they were indeed going to hunt, it was certainly not for food.

Nerida followed along in the boat’s shadow as it headed toward the mouth of a cave. She heard a bigger splash and turned, looking up to see that another boat had been lowered into the water. The voices coming from this one were familiar. Both the captain and Boggs were aboard this one.

Deciding to follow the second boat, she stopped and waited for it to catch up, then went along in its shadow.

The tide is rising, she realized as she swam below them into the cave. “Cap’n Hook, are ye sure this be the only way?” she heard Boggs say. He sounded worried.

“Yes,” came the cold voice of Hook. “There hasn’t been any other way of catching him now, has there?”

Boggs sighed. “No, Cap’n.”

“Then we wait. He’ll show up for her, I’m certain.”

“But the girl—”

“She’ll be fine.”

“But the tide—”

“You’re worry is misplaced, Boggs. The tide has quite a way to rise before it harms anyone.”

“Aye.” Boggs sounded resigned.

Hook is wrong, Nerida thought, leaving the boat’s shadow. The tide had risen a great deal just in the time she’d been there listening to them talk. Their conversation reminded her of another cavern, not unlike this one, where the tide had risen and she’d fought to bring him out of it.

She crept forward, staying a safe distance below so they wouldn’t notice her, and went in search of the other boat.

The first boat had been much smaller than the one holding Boggs and the captain and it had made it a good deal farther inside the cave, so far that it was hidden from view amongst the large stones jutting up from the ocean bottom.

Once she was certain she wouldn’t be seen, she rose to the surface so that she could get a better look at the two men in the boat. One of them was checking the ropes that bound a young Indian girl to a narrow rock. Nerida’s heart dropped when she realized it was the same girl she had seen with Peter. Boggs had told his captain what she had said and now the girl was being used as bait.

“That should hold ye,” the pirate informed the young Tiger Lily with a wide, leering grin. The girl gave him a dark look, but didn’t bother to answer.

“That be all we have to do, Murphy. Hurry and get to paddling. I don’t like the feel o’ this place,” the other said nervously, smacking his own oars against the surface of the water. “I heard O’Malley tellin’ some o’ the other lads these caves be haunted with bad spirits. Cursed, he says they are.”

That seemed to give the man named Murphy a sudden burst of energy, and soon the two were splashing, dodging their boat around the rocks in an effort to leave.

“Murphy, let the girl go,” the distinctive voice of the captain came loudly enough that Nerida jumped. She turned, expecting to see the second boat a short distance away.

“But I thought we was supposed to leave her here!” Murphy whined.

“Dare you disobey my orders?” came the dark, threatening answer. The sound echoed, sounding strange in the water around her.

“N-no, Cap’n,” the two said in unison, scrambling back to where the girl was tied, looking every bit as puzzled as Nerida felt.

Nerida found a large boulder near the wall and hid behind it, before slowly coming out of the water to take a better look around. Something strange was happening here.

A bit of movement caught her eye a short distance away. There, behind another boulder, hid Peter. He saw her watching him and grinned widely, before peering around the side of his hiding place.

The instant the girl’s bonds were freed, she slipped into the water, her dark head disappearing under the surface.

At least I don’t have to save her too, Nerida thought, watching the girl swim toward the mouth of the cave, only to be stopped by Peter as she passed his rock.

Soft splashes came from the vicinity of the captain’s boat, and Nerida turned to see Boggs and the captain had rowed farther inside. They couldn’t come any closer due to the rocks.

“Murphy, Calloway, have you finished tying her up?” Hook asked.

“Tying her up?” Murphy said, astonished, “Why, ye just told me to turn her loose!”

“I did no such thing,” the captain’s voice sounded cold. Lethal. Dark.

As if he wished to see exactly what his men were up to, he stood up in his boat, shrugged out of his red coat, then dove into the water.

Peter, seeing the captain swim toward his men, decided to have a bit more fun at their expense. “Lads,” he said in a loud voice that sounded very much like Hook’s. “You’ve done a fine job. Once we make it back to the ship, I shall treat you to the best rum there be aboard.”

The two pirates looked even more perplexed than before, but their expressions soon turned to fear when their captain’s hook sank into the top edge of the wooden boat and he pulled himself out the water and up into their boat before the Peter spoke the last two words.

Seeing his game was up, the boy gave a triumphant crow, then grinned once more at Nerida, scooped the girl up, and flew up into the air.

Explosions cracked from the direction of both boats as the pirates shot at the flying boy and the rocks around her made pinging sounds as the bullets ricocheted when they missed.

This will not do, Nerida thought, watching as Peter dodged first one way and then another. She wasn’t all that concerned about him—but what if they were to hit the girl?

Peter had nearly made it out of the cave, when Nerida spotted Boggs take aim. His thumb pulled back a small lever. His brows lowered in concentration.

It would be up to her to break it.

Nerida took a deep breath and spread her wings, letting them carry her just far enough up that her feet brushed the top of the water. “No,” she said, her voice bouncing against the walls.

Boggs started and his hand jerked, the loud pop causing a ricochet in the stone over Peter’s head. Without waiting for the pirate to reload, the boy flew out of the cave, the girl safely in his arms.

Boggs saw her, then looked at something over her shoulder and shook his head sadly. “Ye shouldn’t have done that, lass.”

Turning, she watched Hook pull a pistol out of Murphy’s hand and level it at her.

“I do not take kindly to others meddling in affairs that are not their own,” he said in a calm, cold voice. “Especially when it concerns myself and the Pan. I give you no other warning. Come between us again and I will show no mercy.”

Fury roiled through Nerida. If she hadn’t stopped them, they would have killed the girl and Hook would have thought nothing more of it.

“This is my sea. Everything that happens upon it concerns me.” Vaguely she registered the air around her sparkling like silver. She felt bigger, stronger somehow. The two men in the boat with Hook backed to the far side, cowering, but the captain held his ground. His eyes narrowed as she flew closer. He didn’t fear her—but he needed to. It was time for him to know that.

“From this moment on, I curse any man who dares swim in these waters. The Never Sea will only hold those who belong in it. Those who pay no heed to my warning will pay with their death.” A sharp crack echoed in the air and for a moment, Nerida thought perhaps he’d managed to fire his weapon, but a quick look down proved the sea had turned black, as if every drop of water was busy memorizing her wish.

Something akin to respect moved under the captain’s eyes for a fleeting second and he gave the barest of nods. It seemed she’d managed to make her point.

Nerida turned, realizing that she had been towering above the boats. In her anger, she’d grown larger than life—easily five times her normal size.

“She be a sea witch,” she heard someone mumble.

Yes, that appears to be the way of it, she acknowledged silently, managing to return to regular size by the time she reached the mouth of the cave.

“Lass,” Boggs said, reaching out to her as she passed. His hand grasped her forearm. He didn’t look afraid of her, only worried. “Lass, what of the men on the ship? We be pirates, not hunters. What of fishing? The water from the nets and the boats being pulled up from the sea?”

Nerida nodded and offered him the smallest of smiles. “Only those who are submerged under my waters have anything to fear.”

“Thank ye, lass,” he squeezed her arm.

“Please take care,” she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, “I wish no harm for you, my friend. Never let the sea cover your head. Keep my curse from touching you.”

He nodded solemnly and turned loose of her arm. Without looking back, she dove back under the surface, water glimmering black in her wake.

11

THE CROC AND I

PETER SAT ON an overhead limb that stretched over the water, feet swinging carelessly as he talked to the small golden pixie on his shoulder. “Maybe she’s the new queen of the water sprites, Tink. She must have their magic now. See the black dust coming from her wings?”

The pixie made a few chiming sounds, as if she wasn’t all that impressed.

Nerida ignored them and moved on, anxious to get back to the sanctity of her isle. She’d spent enough time with humans. She was ready to be alone.

“I don’t think she’s that powerful, though,” Peter said in a loud voice. The limb he sat on bounced as he stood and jumped up and down, rattling its branches. “If she was, she’d be able to stop Tic-Tock. No one can stop him.”

The name of the crocodile made Nerida freeze in her tracks. The very thought of him made her want to dive into the sea and head straight into the cold sand at the bottom and hide. But her next thought reminded her that she wasn’t powerless. Not anymore.

“Pity no one can stop him. He keeps eating things he shouldn’t,” Peter added.

Nerida looked up and gave the boy the attention he wanted. The girl he’d named Tiger Lily was nowhere to be seen. He had apparently made quick work of depositing her somewhere safe, then scurried back in record time to catch her as she left the cave.

Peter’s bottom lip was thrust out in a pout, an expression used by a child who hadn’t gotten his way. Noticing that she watched him now, he plopped back down on the branch. “My Neverlings get eaten all the time. Nothing to be done about it, I suppose. I saw Tic-Tock head over there where they were just a bit ago. No doubt I’ll be short another one soon.” He crossed his arms and pointed ahead with his chin to a small cove just around the bend. As if in reply to his words, a sharp cry of terror shrilled in the air. His eyebrows lifted as if to say, See? I wasn’t joking.

Without thinking, Nerida zipped around the bend and found Beetles hunched into a tight ball as if he was trying his best to be invisible to the big green monster who had him cornered. Patch was doing his best to reach over the embankment and grab him, but his arms simply weren’t long enough.

Nerida flicked her fingers at the crocodile, then waited as hundreds of strands of seaweed came up from the ocean bottom and wrapped themselves around the croc. They began at his snout, then circled around his giant body. He thrashed, forgetting all about the boy, who was running past him, making a quick escape.

Seconds later, Tic-Tock lay motionless—completely at her mercy.

The two boys stopped just long enough to look past the crocodile at her, then ran off, disappearing into the forest.

“We need to have an understanding, you and I,” Nerida said quietly, coming to stand in front of the big beast. His big golden eyes followed her, watching her every move. “You see, it is my job now to take care of everything in this ocean—this includes you, of course—and to do this, I can’t have you eating things you shouldn’t. Even if they deserve it.” Peter flew by, gave her an impish grin and disappeared into the same spot where the two boys had gone, his golden pixie leaving a trail of dust behind him.

The crocodile blew out a blast of moist, hot air from his nostrils. He obviously thought all of them deserved eating. Nerida wondered if maybe he wasn’t right.

She sighed. It wasn’t the Neverlings’ fault they had such a poor leader. Peter could have easily swooped down and picked up the boy and saved him. He’d wanted to test her—and she’d fallen for it.

She leaned forward so that she could look the croc straight in the eye. “You don’t eat the young ones, understand? Or any of the merpeople—OR my stingrays.” She noticed a stick protruding out of the creature’s leg. She reached down and quickly pulled it free. Somehow, she didn’t think this particular attack on the Neverlings had been unprovoked. She threw the stick into the water and finished talking to the croc. “If anyone should be so foolish to attack you first, they are yours. Unless they harm you, you must not harm the small, non-flying humans, the merpeople, or the stingrays. If I find you disobeyed me, next time I won’t be so forgiving.”

He blinked, which she took to be a sign of reluctant agreement, so she waved her hand and the seaweed fell away. She’d expected him to at least open his mouth and show off his rows of gleaming, sharp teeth once he was free, but he only sat and watched her until she moved to go. Then he followed her home.

“I’VE PLACED A law that none of our people are to come to the surface again,” Callie said, shaking her head. “I hope they obey it. Perhaps with what they saw the human do to Annalise, they’ll realize that there is danger here, even though we were promised the Never Sea was safe.”

“Perhaps,” Nerida agreed. It felt strange talking about the castle and her people while she sat on the beach of her isle, looking like the humans Callie was trying to avoid. It was better this form than the other, though. As long as the water didn’t touch her, Nerida appeared to be an ordinary human sitting on this beach. She wrapped her arms around her knees and settled her chin on them, thankful for the rough shirt and trousers the pirates had given her. The clothing was large enough that she felt as if she was hiding inside of it like a turtle in a shell. At that thought, she hugged her knees even tighter and hunched farther into the shirt.

“You need to come home.” Callie insisted.

“No one wants me there. The castle is for merpeople. Not for someone like me.”

Callie edged farther up on the isle, going as far up on the shore as she dared, while keeping an eye on the crocodile who sat farther up on the shore, sunning himself, seemingly oblivious to this visit. “I don’t care. I want you there. You’re my sister and you’re all I have left. You belong with me.”

Nerida shook her head and scooted back an inch to stay out of the water, even though it took her away from Callie’s outstretched hand. “I can’t. I’m sorry,” she whispered.

The horrified looks on the faces of her people hadn’t been easy to bear at first, but the longer she stared at them, the stronger she felt. She remembered the pirates and the sheer feeling of power that seemed to feed off their fear. This wasn’t any different; if anything, it was better. She felt invincible.

That feeling changed when her eyes met Callie’s and she found the same horrified look on her sister’s face. Callie’s fear hadn’t given power, it had brought shame.

That expression wasn’t there now, thankfully, but this one wasn’t much better. Callie was ready to cry. Nerida could tell from the small crinkles at the corners of her eyes that tears would be coming soon if she couldn’t find some way to ward them off.

“Callie, you are the queen of the merpeople. You always have our people’s best interest at heart. With you as their ruler, they will be safe. They trust you,” Nerida said in a matter-of-fact voice. And the only thing I see in their eyes for me is fear. A new thought popped in her head. “Will you have to rule with any of Cassius’ sisters?”

Annalise’s face passed through her mind. Out of them all, she would be the easiest to contend with, so long as Cassie knew she couldn’t be depended upon. Annalise hadn’t come to her aid when she knew she was in the cavern, and she hadn’t stopped to help Nerida escape Black Caesar either, even though Nerida had risked her own life to save her.

“Speaking of Annalise,” Nerida frowned. “Why was she on the island and how did everyone know the human had her?”

Callie echoed her frown. “She discovered the yellow flowers that surrounded the castle were poisonous. You remember, the ones Father loved so much when we arrived?”

The memory of Muir, bent over his flowers, flitted through Nerida’s mind and she nodded. Callie continued, “Annalise found out that if you smelled them for very long, they made you groggy, so she and a handful of other mermaids tore them out and then swam up to throw them out of the sea. The flowers kept taking root and wouldn’t die, otherwise. On that last trip, she and the others talked to the flying boy. He was telling them stories of his adventures. They weren’t paying attention and the human grabbed Annalise. The others came back to the castle and told everyone else. She is lucky you were so close. I don’t know that any of us could have lured him close enough to the sea to save her. But as to sharing rule with any of Cassius’ sisters, that won’t be a problem.”

Callie moved, letting the tide pull her the slightest bit back before she twisted, showing Nerida the reason there wouldn’t be any quarrel over who ruled. “There is only one kingdom now.” She patted her slightly rounded stomach. “This child is heir to it. Come back with me, Nerida. Please.”

The shock of seeing Callie pregnant left her speechless for a moment. That short bit of time was all it took for a hopeful expression to appear on her sister’s face. Nerida’s shocked silence had been mistaken for thinking of returning with her.

“I can’t come back to the castle, Callie,” Nerida said quickly, when her sister opened her mouth. “You know that. I’m not the same. I don’t belong there.” She gestured to the trees behind her—to the isle. Her isle. “This is where I belong. This is where I will stay. It’s the only place that I can be me—whoever or whatever that is,” she reached over and grabbed Callie’s hand and squeezed, no longer caring when the water touched her. She felt her wings come alive and she smiled. “But I’ll always be here, whenever you need me. We’ll be sisters forever. No matter what.”

BRIDGETTE STAYED A safe distance away from the isle, keeping an eye on the sea witch. She’d been using magic left and right over the past day. The water was thick with it and just now beginning to look blue again. So far, the magic had been nothing like when the trident had been used. If anything, it had made the sprites stronger.

A few faint, ticking sounds caught her attention just before an enormous, dark form moved on the beach. She hadn’t paid any attention to it until now, thinking it a fallen log. The crocodile, noticing she watched him, opened his mouth wide, giving her an open invitation to fly inside. He’s guarding her, she realized, as he moved a bit to the right, his back to the girl who sat higher up on the shoreline.

Bridgette grinned. For one who was supposed to strike fear in the hearts of all those who crossed her path, she’d managed to make friends with the one creature everyone feared.

The water sprite had worried the last time she saw her and wondered if the sea witch would be strong enough to accept what she was. It seemed that worry had been misplaced.

The girl stood and walked down to splash her feet in the sea, bending over to stroke the tops of the stingrays, a smile on her face. Her wings spread out behind her and fluttered as she laughed. One would never guess that she hadn’t been born a fairy—albeit a large, rather dark-colored one.

Magic agrees with her, Bridgette thought with a smile that was even brighter than the girl’s. Things are finally as they should be. Happy, the water sprite turned and left, the girl’s laughter echoing in her ears.

12

HIDDEN SECRETS

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” Nerida asked the crocodile as he basked in the warm, evening sun. Seemingly unperturbed, one golden eye slit open just far enough to acknowledge her presence, then promptly shut again.

Nerida crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow, knowing full well the croc was much more aware of his surroundings than he was letting on. “You’ve been gone for quite a while,” she told him. “I’ve been worried about you.”

At this, he snorted and opened his eyes, then opened his mouth wide to give her a good view of his teeth as if to say, “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you.”

She didn’t bother answering him, so he huffed and snapped his jaws shut. His big eyes narrowed for a second, then he shuffled toward the water, pausing only long enough to turn and see if she was going to follow him.

“Right behind you,” she answered. She dove into the water just in time to see the croc heading toward the ocean bottom.

She grimaced. She tended to avoid going so far below if she could help it. The farther she went from her isle, the more likely she would be to run into one of her people. While a sudden jolt of fear from them would make her stronger, she didn’t want the shame that was certain to accompany it.

But there wasn’t any time to worry about that now. Even without a tail, Tic-Tock was frightfully fast. If she didn’t keep up with him now, she doubted he would show her his hiding place a second time.

Shrugging off her unease, she followed him as he dropped deeper, swimming farther away from the island. The water became warmer as she trailed after him along the ocean floor.

They swam along peacefully for quite a while, and just when Nerida decided the crocodile must be only taking her for a swim, he dodged under a wide sandy ledge that she’d never noticed before. Sitting at an angle that caused it to blend in perfectly with the ocean bottom, she wondered if anyone else knew of it.

Staying a slight distance back from the crocodile, she followed him into the darkness. Immediately, she knew why he disappeared to this place. The water had warmed several degrees and the farther she went, the warmer the ocean seemed to be.

It would help to be able to see, though, she thought, reaching out to see if she could feel anything around her. I wish the dust from my wings was as bright as the water sprites’. Then I could see if there is anything in here other than myself and the croc.

Unfortunately, her wish didn’t work. Of course, she thought with a wry smile. Silly of me to try. I may not be able to change me, but I can change the water.

Another wish later, and the water shimmered around her as if small strands of silver light had come to life to show her the way.

“That’s much better,” she said aloud as she stopped to take a look around. The ledge was much larger than she had originally thought, opening into a wide crack that seemed to go straight down into the ground. Rock walls rose up on all sides covered in green seaweed that glittered in the light of her magic. There wasn’t anything to be seen here, at least yet.

Tic-Tock wasn’t here now, having apparently not bothered to wait on her. “There isn’t enough air for him to stay in here for days on end,” she said, deciding to travel farther in to see what else the deep cave held. “Something else must be down here.”

The water was beginning to feel more and more like the old ocean the farther she went. Her heart began hammering in her chest and she rushed forward, anxious to catch up with the crocodile.

She saw the nub of his tail a short distance ahead. He had stopped right in a bend of the rock, as if he’d finally chosen to let her catch up with him.

Nerida’s breath caught as she rounded the bend. A wall of water that was nothing like the sea, rippled against the current from the top wall to the bottom, moving as if it were charged with magic. As she watched, Tic-Tock swam through the liquid wall, nonchalant, as if he did this every day and the magic never bothered him in the least. As the last bit of him disappeared, Nerida stared, waiting to see what would happen, fully expecting something. What, exactly, she didn’t know.

Would he come back? What lay on the other side of that wall? Bridgette had supposedly told her all about the Never Sea, but she hadn’t mentioned this strange place. Did she know it was here?

A long moment passed, and when it didn’t seem that anything horrible was going to occur, Nerida slowly went forward to inspect this new magic further, stopping just an inch shy of touching it. The water before her ran in vertical ripples, glowing in muted tones of pink, yellow, and blue—and just through the tiny waves, she could see a distorted view of the ocean beyond.

Home. She was sure of it. This had to be the old ocean! Barely able to reign in caution, she thrust her arm through the wall, instead of swimming completely through it as Tic-Tock had done. The cold chill of magic swirled around her arm, as if it had been caught in an icy whirlpool. It was a cold, familiar reminder of the day Thespa had brought them to the Never Sea. She was certain this was the place the water sprite had brought them through.

We don’t have to stay here anymore. The thought shocked her so much Nerida drew her arm out of the wall’s icy embrace. I have Thespa’s magic. I have the power to take my people home.

Tic-Tock swam back toward her, as if he could see her as easily as she saw him. Without further ado, he came back through the wall. The cold magic hadn’t bothered him at all, if his demeanor was any indication. As he swam past her, one gold eye locked onto hers as if to say, “Well, I showed you my secret. Now are you happy?”

“Yes,” she answered, turning back to look at the wall once more. “Yes. I am very happy you showed me this place.”

And now I have to see if I can do that as easily as you, she added silently, and bravely went through the wall.

She resisted the urge to shake as the freezing water circled her, but she pushed forward and a handful of seconds later, the water warmed and became clear. The instant she came through, the taste and feel of the water were familiar. There was no doubt she was in her old ocean…but where?

The ocean floor had a wide, deep furrow as if something very large had been pulled to the place where she stood. But from the looks of the plants and coral that grew, it had been a very long time ago. She spotted a familiar slab of yellow and green slate poking out of the sand a few feet away—part of the castle’s floor.

Nerida knew then the path in the sand would lead her straight back to the place the castle once sat. But before she followed it, she decided to turn to take a look at the wall behind her. It soon became apparent why none of her people had ever found this magical portal before.

She reached out and touched what appeared to be a large rock. Even though she knew she would feel the icy cold of magic, her fingers still expected to feel the mossy lichens growing on its surface. Satisfied that she could easily come back, she turned and flew down the path, eager to explore her old ocean.

It only took seconds to realize she wasn’t meant to be there. It became harder and harder to breathe the farther she went. It was as if every bit of her energy was slowly draining away. Then, the realization hit her.

I’m not supposed to live in this world. She struggled to get back to the rock. No one believes in me here. Her wings felt like heavy, weighted things, dragging her down. The same things that gave her power in the Never Sea would kill her here.

Fear clutching at her, she desperately tried to return to the rock, but each movement she made felt as heavy as the stone she was trying to reach. I will die here if I can’t make it back.

Bereft of magic, her wings stopped and she fell to the sandy bottom. Nerida struggled to her feet and looked up at the place she needed to be. It was so close, yet so far away. Then, as she watched, the crocodile came through the rock as if he didn’t have a care in the world. In no apparent hurry, he made a wide circle and came up behind her, bumping into her with his long snout.

Wrapping her arms around his thick neck, she held on with what strength she had left and an instant later, he brought them both through the portal.

Her magic returned the second she came free of the cold wall and she turned loose of the crocodile and took a deep, shaky breath.

Tic-Tock stopped long enough to acknowledge she was off him, then he swam away, as if he had no intention of performing any other good deeds on this day.

“Thank you,” Nerida called out in a trembling voice, watching as he disappeared from view.

He must have a bit of his own special magic to be able to move so easily from one world to the next, she decided. She took a few steps back and knelt down to collect her thoughts, watching the magical ripples in the wall.

“I could still bring my people back, if they wished to go,” she said, thinking aloud. She had enough power to do that. She could likely even take the castle back through the portal the same way Thespa had, though the odds weren’t favorable that she would be able to move it very far out from the rock once it came through. It would drain every bit of magic she had. If I do it, I’ll die, she added silently. Then the water sprites would, too.

She chewed on her lip, mulling over all of this information. While she had no problem giving her life for her people, she didn’t want to condemn the sprites to death. Maybe she could convince them to come back through to the old world, too. She frowned as she stood. Something told her that convincing Bridgette to leave the Never Sea would be impossible, but she knew she needed to try anyway.

Nerida swam back through the cavern and into the Never Sea. But first, she needed to talk to Callie. Regardless of what the water sprites decided, her sister deserved to know their people now had a choice in the matter.

A GROUP OF merchildren frolicked in the tall grass on the knoll beyond the castle. Strange, she thought, that grass hadn’t been there the last time she’d come to the castle. The water echoed with the sounds of their laughter as they darted back and forth between the thick, green stalks.

Even though she was on edge of being so near her people, Nerida couldn’t help but smile as she watched them. She counted three of them, two boys and a girl. She found it odd that none of them looked familiar. They zipped around, swimming from one patch to the next, obviously looking for a fourth child. She watched them for another moment, then started to move on to the castle when a small, excited voice stopped her.

“Don’t move, please. They’ll find me, if you do.”

She looked down to see a small green tail sticking out near her feet. Further inspection showed a mop of blond hair in the mass of green grass, its owner’s face peering at her between the blades.

When the sound of the children’s voices moved over the hill, the boy rose out of his hiding place. His silver eyes grew wide as he looked at Nerida.

She closed her eyes, inwardly cringing at what she knew was going to be a shrill scream of terror. When nothing happened, she opened them, and stared into the happy face of the little boy.

His grin was so wide it seemed to take over every inch of his face. “I know who you are. You’re my Aunt Nerida!” he exclaimed happily, rushing over to take her hand.

Shocked, Nerida stared at the child. Aunt? Exactly how long had it been since Callie visited her on the isle? More time than she knew had passed if this child was truly hers. His flyaway blond hair definitely reminded her of her sister. Then, it hit her. While she’d only been in the old ocean for a few moments, more time than that had passed in the Never Sea. How long had she been gone? Long enough for this child to have been born and to have grown large enough to be away from his mother, no doubt. What else had happened in that time? The boy was chattering a mile a minute, excitedly tugging at her hand. He looked up long enough that she caught a good look at his eyes—the same familiar silver eyes that had belonged to Cassius. But this child’s eyes held no hint of the coldness that she had seen so many times before. This boy’s eyes held so much warmth it was as if he held the sun in the center of his being.

He caught her looking at him and stopped talking long enough to give her another huge smile. A huge surge of power zipped into every inch of Nerida’s being. Her eyes widened.

“Aren’t you afraid of me?” she asked.

The boy’s smile faded just enough for a slightly confused look to appear. “No. Why would anyone be afraid of you?”

When she didn’t answer him, he shrugged and continued to chatter away again. He was talking so quickly, she had to concentrate to make any of it out. Still, she was so taken aback that nothing he said made any sense.

“What is your name?” she interrupted.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you knew. My name is Oden,” he said, squeezing her hand tight with both of his small ones. Then, he puffed out his chest, adding, “And Mother will be so happy that I’m bringing you home. No one has seen you in such a long time. Where were you?”

Without waiting for her answer, the little boy began tugging her toward the castle and Nerida let him. As they topped over the knoll, the other three merchildren appeared, their eyes wide as they took in the picture of the small sea prince slowly towing the dark, evil sea witch toward the castle.

Now, the screaming will commence, Nerida thought, but instead of swimming away in terror, the three came up and began firing questions at their small comrade.

“Is this her?”

“Is she staying?”

“I thought she’d be bigger. Doesn’t she talk?” this coming from the little girl, who placed her hands on her hips and studied Nerida carefully.

Oden stopped pulling Nerida and put one hand up, instantly quieting his friends. “This is my Aunt Nerida, and yep, she’s staying,” he told them in a no-nonsense voice. Then he glowered at the little girl. “She’s plenty big enough and she’ll talk when she wants to.”

Nerida bit her lip to keep from laughing as Oden took a firm grip on her hand and began pulling her toward the castle again. As they moved off, she heard one of the boys whisper, “Did you know she tamed the crocodile? He’s her pet and does anything she commands.”

Nerida stifled a snort. Tic-Tock was hardly a pet and definitely not tame by any means. Still, the awe in the boy’s voice sent another tingle of magic along her body.

Two mermaids swam by. Though they both looked wary, each offered her a small smile as they went past. Another bit of magic surged in.

Nerida pulled against Oden as they reached the columns of the castle, forcing him to stop.

“I have to know,” she said, leaning over so that she could look the boy straight in the eye. “Why aren’t any of them afraid of me? Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

“Because you protect us all,” Callie answered for her son, coming through the archway of the castle. “There isn’t any reason to fear you.”

IT TOOK SEVERAL moments for Callie to shoo Oden back out to play, but once the little boy left, Nerida wasted no time in telling her sister the reason for her visit. She told her that while she had enough magic to return them to the old ocean, she didn’t have enough to bring them back again to the Never Sea. If they chose to go back, it would be final.

Callie nodded, sending the long blonde strands of her hair to bob in the current. “It’s good to know there is a way back, I suppose.”

“You suppose? Do you mean you don’t want to go back?”

“We don’t have any reason to go back, Nerida. Everything we need is here. Here, in the Never Sea, we are safe.” Callie reached over and took her hand.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. So long as we have you to protect us, we’ll stay. Nothing bad has happened to any of our people since the day you saved Annalise from the human. Since you’ve cursed the sea, we are safer than we’ve ever been.”

Nerida let out a deep breath. The safety of the merpeople had most likely come from staying safely below the surface instead of anything she’d done. Still, if this was to be Callie’s decision, her sister would need to know everything. She needed to know why Nerida needed the fear of her people to survive.

And so she told her sister of Bridgette’s visit, of why she’d been chosen to keep the sprites alive, and of the part the merpeople played in keeping her magic alive.

“Magic is only real when someone believes,” Nerida said. She felt her wings dip down behind her as if saying the words aloud had somehow sealed her fate. “I felt it come alive when I saw the fear on their faces the day I saved Annalise.”

“Oh, Nerida!” Callie’s smile was as bright as the sun as she leaned over and pulled her into a tight hug, wings and all. “Fear may have been what made you stronger then, but it has changed so much since then. You became a hero that day and none of our people have forgotten it. Don’t you understand? You’re more than a mermaid, more than a sea witch, and even more than my sister. You’re all of those things together and more. Our people believe in you, not because they are afraid of your black wings and your magic. It’s because they know you’ll protect them. They love you, Nerida. And love is always stronger than fear.”

NERIDA FLICKED HER fingers at the enchantment on her isle and watched as the magic changed. Even at Callie’s insistence that the castle was her home, she decided to return to her isle. Though it seemed her sister was correct that she had gained something more than the fear of her people, she still felt anxious and out of place in the castle. The isle was home.

Oden hadn’t taken her decision well and had plastered himself to her legs as she left. The only way to appease the child, was to promise that she would bring him for a visit, which was the main reason for changing the appearance of her home now.

She caught a glimpse of the Jolig Roger’s white sails on the horizon, and adjusted her magic just a bit more. “Only those who truly believe in me, will see my isle as it is. And those who fear me, can just continue to do so.”

She took a step into the water and spread her wings, knowing the pirates would be able to see her soon, standing on an enchanted shore filled with nightmares meant only for their eyes.

Tic-Tock huffed at her side, then opened his mouth, as if he had just spotted the ship’s sails and wanted to help by showing off his most frightening assets too.

Loved by those below, feared by those above, and befriended by a creature hated by them all. I truly am the sea witch, Nerida thought with a smile. But this is what I was meant to be all along. I am different, but I’m everything I need to be.

1

LOST MEMORIES

THE PIRATE FROWNED as he let out an aggravated sigh and plopped down on a barrel. The wood groaned under the sudden assault, but managed to stay whole under his weight. He patted his stomach thoughtfully and eyed Jack with a rare dark look. “Don’t know why ye insist on asking such questions, lad. What does it matter where I got her, eh? The lass be a fine one, no doubt.”

Jack stifled a groan. The lass tattooed upon Boggs’ ample stomach had been one of the first things he had learned about once he had left Peter Pan’s troupe of Neverlings and joined the crew of the Jolig Roger. Though the man was only middle-aged and didn’t have a gray hair as of yet, the rotund cook had been more than happy to share the adventures of his younger days several times over; his most favorite story being that of his rescuing a beautiful woman who had captured his heart so completely that he had gotten drunk shortly after their meeting and had her likeness tattooed upon the largest part of his body.

“Have ye asked Beckett about the ink he has? If ye be wantin’ a tattoo, he be the one ye need to be talkin’ to. Just the other day he inked a lass on his right hand with his left. A right fine sight it is. Good work considerin’ he be right-handed. Beckett be the most steady hand of any ’o us with needles—with exception of Smee, ’o course,” Boggs said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Best the most steady hand belong to the ship’s doctor, don’t ye agree?”

This conversation had veered off course. Attempting to get it back on track, Jack sat on the barrel opposite the cook and looked him squarely in the eye. “Yes, I know Beckett has the best hand for tattooing and that Smee is an excellent doctor.”

“Well, was is it ye be trying to ask then? Needing ideas of what to have inked?” Boggs gave him a sly grin and sat back, pushing his stomach forward in an effort to give Jack the best view possible of the woman tattooed there.

Out of every picture placed upon the skin of pirates on this ship—and Jack knew for a fact there were hundreds—the large, scantily clad woman wobbling on Boggs’ flesh was the last one he wished to place upon his own body.

“I don’t want a tattoo. What I want to know is where you got her. No one on board this ship did this, did they?” Jack fought to keep the desperation out of his voice. The reason for this question was important, but the pirate in front of him wouldn’t understand it—not unless he remembered his life before he’d arrived in Neverland.

Please remember, he begged the pirate silently.

“Well…” Boggs chewed on his bottom lip a moment, obviously deep in thought. “Can’t say as I recall where I got her…”

“Do you remember why you chose her?”

Boggs laughed, the rumble causing his belly to shake and set the tattooed woman to wobbling. “What’s not to choose, boy? Haven’t ye got eyes in that head ’o yers?”

Jack shook his head despairingly, trying to make the old pirate remember his story. “She was someone important to you—someone you wished to keep near you always. You’ve told me the story about her many times, Boggs. She is the one you love. You saved her once long ago in adventure you had in a Spanish port. She was named Natasha, but you named her Nessie. Don’t you remember any of it?”

The pirate’s dark eyebrows met, creasing in a frown as he mulled this new information over. Out of everyone in the crew, Jack knew Percy Boggs would be the last to forget his life before Neverland. If he had indeed forgotten—and it seemed certain that he had—then it was only a matter of time before all hope was lost. It was time to leave the island again, before they became stuck there forever.

Neverland had a way of making you forget. As long as you stayed close to its shore, you would slowly lose pieces of what your life had been before you came—your memories would vanish. The only exception to this so far had been Jack, himself.

Brought to Neverland against his will when he was six years old, Jack had somehow managed to keep all of his memories—and now he was the only one who could remind the others on this ship of the world they once knew. The only way he’d found to do that was to convince the captain to sail away from the island for some reason or the other, but that was getting harder and harder to do. The hatred Captain Hook had for Peter Pan kept the Jolig Roger anchored as close to Neverland as it could be in hopes that the captain could catch a glimpse of the flying boy and find some way to exact his revenge.

“’Fraid I don’t know what yer talkin’ about, lad,” Boggs finally answered. “The lass inked on me must have happened whilst I was havin’ a drink.”

Well, you’ve got that much right. There wasn’t any reason to keep badgering him, Jack decided. The longer he spent sitting here trying to jog Boggs’ memory, the more time would pass…the more everyone would forget. Time to go try to convince the captain to sail around the island again. Jack got up from his perch on the barrel.

“Where ye headed?” Boggs asked. “Stick with me and we’ll have a drink, eh?”

Jack shook his head and smiled. “I have some things I need to attend to. Maybe next time.”

“Yer loss, lad.” He heard the cook chuckle. “Never pass up a nip of never-right I always say.”

The sound of the barrel scooting across the floorboards told Jack that Boggs would soon be on his way to a drunken stupor. He hadn’t said as much, but Jack had caught a glimpse of pain in the pirate’s eyes at the mention of the woman’ name, and while he might not have remembered the reasons for the tattoo or who she had been, her memory was seared into him deeply enough that Jack was certain he’d find his way to the bottom of several tankards of pixie-dusted liquor before the day was done.

“If only we could find some way to leave this place,” Jack muttered, climbing up the steps to the open deck.

“Pritchard!” the familiar voice of John Beckett shouted from the upper deck.

He looked up to see the big pirate with rippling muscles gesturing for him to come to the top deck. Once there, Beckett continued, “I’ve been lookin’ for ye, lad. The cap’n wishes a word with ye below. Methinks he wants to send ye after Pan’s men again. Seems he might have more questions for ’em he forgot to ask last time…” Beckett stopped, then added in a quiet voice. “Take care, lad. He be in a dark mood today.”

Jack held back a sigh. Ever since the day he’d chosen to leave Peter Pan’s troupe and join the pirates, Hook’s mood had grown blacker with each day that passed. Something more than his hand had been lost on that day. Jack often wondered if his soul hadn’t vanished once the hook was placed upon his wrist.

As to questioning Peter Pan’s troupe, Jack was certain they didn’t know anything more than they had last time, or any of the other dozens of times he had brought them aboard. Still, an order was an order, so he turned back around and headed down the steps, making his way toward the captain’s cabin.

Crossing the hold and down another set of steps found him at the captain’s door. He took a deep breath, lifted his hand, and knocked.

Silence met his ears for a moment, then he heard a voice answer in a resigned tone, “Come in.”

He gave the door a push and it swung open easily. The room was dark, but for a single candle sitting on a table in the center of the small space. The thick drapes over the small porthole had been pulled shut, blocking out every evidence that it was morning instead of the dead of night.

“Pritchard, I have been waiting for you.” The quiet calm of the captain’s voice was deceiving. Jack knew better than to move any closer. There was a tension in the air, taut and foreboding, as if a snake lay coiled, waiting to strike, should he go any further. The very atmosphere had changed to accommodate the man sitting at that table and Jack had no intention taking another step.

“Aye, sir. I am here.” The flickering candle sent dancing bits of light to play across the captain’s face and eyes. No warmth, no expression.

“As Pan remains elusive, I would enjoy a visit from a few of his men. Could you arrange this?” It wasn’t a question, rather a polite order. If there was anything the captain had managed to keep of his old life, it was good form, though it could be fleeting at times.

“Yes, sir. I will leave at once.”

Cold blue eyes locked onto his for a full second, then the captain gave him a barely perceptible nod before turning his attention back to the map on the table.

Taking that as a cue of dismissal, Jack spun on his heel and walked out the door, taking care to shut the door quietly as he left. He let out the breath he’d been holding. Beckett was right. Any day the captain sat in near darkness, staring at the maps of Neverland, was a black day indeed, for those were the days his hatred for Peter Pan grew.

In all of the days following the loss of his hand, Hook had searched for Peter’s hiding place. The maps were the result of those searches, days and days of discovering new caverns and exploring the hidden places within the forest.

Still, his hideout had never been found. By Hook—or anyone else. Not even the Neverlings knew where he disappeared to when he wasn’t with them. Only the tiny pixie named Tink knew where he was at all times, and this was because she rarely left his side.

Jack made his way back up to the top deck and found Beckett waiting for him.

“Figured ye’d want to get it o’er with,” he said with a gesture toward the small boat already bobbing beside the Jolig Roger. “He’s no’ in the notion to wait long when he has his maps out.”

Jack didn’t bother to answer. He took hold of the rope trailing down toward the boat and jumped up onto the railing.

“The water was a mite rough earlier. Take care with the boat. Last thing we need is for ye to tip o’er,” Beckett advised as Jack started down. His next words were mumbled under his breath, barely loud enough to be heard. “No need to deal with the sea witch today, too.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but kept his opinions to himself. He wasn’t worried about breaking the rules. Even if he did manage to flip the boat over, he strongly doubted the sea witch was powerful enough to notice that one solitary human had accidentally landed in her ocean. Besides, he told himself, Nerida didn’t want to be bothered with anyone. If she truly cared about what happened in the Never Sea, she would be in it, not hiding within the small enchanted isle at the north of the island.

After a couple more seconds of inward debate on what a sea witch would and wouldn’t do, he settled down into the boat, untied the rope holding it fast, and picked up the oars. He took one long look at the ship beside of him and began rowing, his thoughts moving on to the Jolig Roger.

The ship was anchored in her usual spot in the widest inlet at the south of the island. She hadn’t moved in days—or had it been weeks now? Jack shook his head. He wasn’t sure. The Roger looked the same as she always did. Nothing on her rotted or became old so long as she stayed moored in the same place. She stayed the same, as if she had joined her crew to be forever frozen in time.

They would need to lift anchor and sail her soon though—or else she and all of her crew would be forever stuck there with no memory of who they were.

Jack suddenly grinned and rowed with renewed vigor as an idea struck. The answer to sailing away from the island could very well lie with his bringing a few Neverlings onto the ship. If he could remind the captain that Jack himself had aged once they left the island, Hook might very well try to recreate the same effect on Peter’s men and sail away for a day or two in an effort to make them grow up. After all, Peter Pan most certainly had a healthy dislike for those who were grown.

Happy with his plan, Jack rowed faster toward the island, his mind alive with new ways to keep the memories of the crew whole.

The boat pitched abruptly to one side and before Jack could so much as utter a word, it nearly flipped him into the forbidden waters of the Never Sea, giving him only enough time to wonder what kind of curse Nerida had placed upon the waters. He clung to the side, a hundred possible deaths zipping through his head while he wondered what cursed ending would be his.

As if the boat had taken a mind of its own, it righted itself and pushed a safe distance from the rock he had never even spotted, with Jack still sitting safely inside.

Once he gathered his wits and realized his vessel wasn’t possessed, but rather being guided by something below, he leaned over to see what had saved him. His breath caught as he found himself staring into the most beautiful face he had ever seen. Every thought of curses, forgotten memories, Lost Boys, Peter Pan, and the sea witch left as he gazed into her deep green eyes. In the next instant the face vanished, disappearing into the dark water as if she had only been a figment of his imagination. A wall of bubbles was the only indication she had been real.

A mermaid, Jack thought numbly. I’ve not seen a mermaid since Nerida cursed the Never Sea.

The name of the sea witch brought the realization that if a mermaid was this close, then the witch herself may be nearby watching, so he picked his oars back up and rowed toward the shore in earnest.

2

A VISIT WITH THE HOOK

“RUNT YOU LOOK WORSE every time we find you,” Patch informed him, his hands on his hips. “You’ve got hair growing on your face this time. Quite a lot of it, in fact.”

“It’s his own fault,” Beetles said in an imperious tone. “That’s what one gets for growing up. If he’d stayed with us, it never would’ve happened. Now he’ll be ugly forever. Mark my words, it can’t be undone. Once ugly happens, you’re stuck with it, I’m afraid.” The short, round boy gave Jack a knowing look, as if he was all too familiar with the irreversible repercussions of those who dared to grow up.

Jack rolled his eyes and fought the childish gesture of sticking his tongue out at the boy, resisting to call him by the name Tink had given him—Round. “My name is Jack now,” he reminded Patch, then he glared at Beetles for good measure “—and I’m not ugly.”

“No, you’re still Runt.”

“And yes, you’re ugly. Face hair is ugly, you’ll have to accept that, Runt. You aren’t getting any younger, you know.”

Jack decided to ignore them. Even though he had aged over ten years in his first night as a pirate and now towered over the boys, it didn’t matter at all to them. He knew all too well how stubborn these two Neverlings could be. As the first two boys Peter Pan had brought to Neverland, Beetles and Patch believed themselves to know many things—whether they were true or not.

“Where are Tootles, Morbert, and Scuttle?” The other three of Peter Pan’s troupe tended to be easier to deal with.

“Off building a new house,” Beetles said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Yes, for the mother Peter is bringing,” Patch chimed in.

Peter Pan had been promising to bring a mother to the Neverlings for as long as Jack could remember. In fact, six year-old Jack’s memories had been the reason for Peter’s promises.

“Are you sure he’s bringing a mother?”

“Yes,” they said in unison.

Patch frowned at him. “Why else would he order us to build some place for her to stay if she isn’t coming? Fat lot of good that would do for anyone, I’d say.”

Beetles nodded his agreement and crossed his arms.

Something was definitely happening. Something new. They were right. While Peter was known to make flighty promises all the time, he’d never order his men to do something this concrete unless he had something planned.

“Why did you leave the ship this time?” Patch asked, changing the subject. “Did the Hook send you to collect us again?”

Jack only shrugged. Having done this many times, there wasn’t a need to explain why he had come.

Beetles sighed. “A visit with the Hook beats helping to build a house, I suppose. Maybe if we stay captured long enough, it’ll be finished once we get back,” he said, sounding hopeful. “And you promise to bring pirates for us to capture next, right? Best bring better ones than last time. The last ones were slow. That white-haired one sat on a stump and fell asleep. He snored so loud it was a wonder Tic-Tock didn’t eat him while he slept.”

Constantly in the mood for adventure, the Neverlings always agreed to this exchange. Lost Boys for pirates, then pirates for Lost Boys. However the captured party was treated, the next exchange would be dealt likewise. Jack always made certain the Neverlings were never hurt—no easy feat at times whenever the captain’s mood was dark. In return, the Neverlings waited until Peter was gone before they captured the pirates. Within a day or two, hostages were released and with luck, so far, no one had been harmed.

“I promise different pirates,” Jack said, remembering Smee hadn’t been happy to accompany him last time. It would be in the best interest of everyone involved to leave him on the ship for the next adventure.

“Well, let’s be off then,” Beetles said, marching off in the direction of Jack’s boat.

“Yes, let’s, before the others discover we’re gone,” Patch agreed, running to catch up him.

Jack shook his head and followed. It was a good thing neither the captain nor Peter Pan knew about this arrangement or this game would grow dark, indeed.

HOOK CIRCLED THE two bound boys in what must have been his hundredth trip around the main mast. Regardless of the ship’s ability to stay whole, Jack was sure the floorboards would be wearing out soon if he continued to circle them like a shark out of water. With each step, he tapped his hook against a small knife held in his other hand. Tick, tick. The knife by itself wasn’t nearly as scary as the thin rapier sheathed to his side, but the sound of metal against metal had both boys’ eyes glued to the captain each time he passed by.

“You are certain you have no new information on Pan’s hideout?” Hook’s voice was so calm, one would have thought he was inquiring as to the weather had they not seen the cold, calculating look in his eyes. Tick, tick.

Patch and Beetles shook their heads vigorously. A definite no from them both.

Tick. One final step and Hook stopped directly in front of them and stared.

Jack was sitting a distance away, propped against the side of the ship, watching, hoping Hook wouldn’t lean in any closer with either hook or blade. The boys’ eyes widened, as if they were wishing the same thing.

A long moment of bated silence ensued. The captain turned to fix his cold stare on Jack. “Our guests will stay the night with us. I release them to your watch, Mr. Pritchard. They are not to leave this spot until daybreak.”

Jack gave him a short, curt nod and waited. When they had returned to the ship, he had told Hook of his strange plan to make their captives grow up. The captain had listened, but he hadn’t said anything, only stalked to the upper deck to question the boys.

“Beckett, have the lads take up anchor. We’ll sail away once more from this cursed island,” Hook instructed.

Well, that got a response from the Neverlings. Never had their game involved leaving Neverland and they wasted no time telling Jack as much.

“Runt, this isn’t what we agreed on,” Beetles said, straightening. Though tied to the mast, Jack was certain the boy was attempting to put his hands on his hips, the pose he’d always used to push the other Neverlings around when there was something he wanted.

“He’s right,” Patch said worriedly. “Pan won’t like this one bit if he knows Hook is taking us away.”

Those words brought a slow, dark smile to the captain’s face. “How clever you are,” Hook said, taking a step toward Patch. A gust of wind ruffled the fur on the boy’s hat. Noticing Hook approach, Patch leaned back against the mast, trying to melt into it to evade the gleaming silver hook pointed at him. As his back pressed against the wooden beam, he quivered, sending the two ears on his hat to tremble, giving him the appearance of a frightened rabbit. “The Pan will certainly not be happy that I’ve taken his men,” Hook told him, then his smile widened. “He will be even less enthusiastic about it when morning comes and he sees what you’ve become.”

The two Neverlings waited until the captain turned and headed back below the decks before they began peppering Jack with questions.

“What does he mean?”

“I’d better have everything I came here with.” This, coming from Beetles, who had somehow managed to wriggle so that his hands rested on his hips. “If the Hook thinks he’s taking my fingers or toes off—or anything of the like—he’s got another thing coming!”

Not bothering to answer either of them, Jack stood and grabbed the web of ropes nearby, preparing to climb up to help loosen the sails. There was no way he was going to even attempt to explain that the captain was going to try to take something greater than a finger or toe from them. Or that, if he succeeded, while it was true their leader wouldn’t be pleased, he also wouldn’t let them be his Neverlings any longer. In Peter’s eyes, once you were grown, you were of no importance to him. That was the thing about being one of his troupe. Even though it was never said, you always knew you were replaceable. The only one he truly seemed to care for—other than himself—was Tink.

The thought of the tiny golden pixie made Jack hesitate. Instead of climbing up the ropes, he stopped, his hand finding the small patch sewn into the bottom of his shirt. The only things he’d brought with him to Neverland were the clothes on his back and a small golden necklace with a charm shaped like a compass. His clothes had been ruined early on. Crawling through underbrush and briars had taken a toll on the nightclothes he’d been taken in, so Peter Pan had fashioned clothing out of animal fur, complete with hat, and outfitted Jack in them. The Neverlings accepted his presence easier once he looked like the rest of them—that is, until they spotted the gold necklace resting on top of the fur shirt. Things had gotten extraordinarily nasty. They had gotten jealous and taken it from him, then taunted him with it, holding it just high enough that he couldn’t reach it. The teasing had lasted a good while before Tink had flown into the fray, snatched the necklace, and zipped away. She’d come back with it that night as he lay crying in a tight ball as the others slept. She patted his hair in an attempt to soothe him, and then set to sewing a small patch on the inside of his shirt that no one else could see, creating a perfect hiding place for his one precious possession. The one thing that was truly, only his.

Then he joined Hook’s crew and grew up. Though some of the pirates sported golden jewelry of some type, Jack hadn’t wanted anyone to know about his necklace. He’d spent far too much time protecting it not to continue doing so, so he had borrowed one of Smee’s needles and sewed another small pocket in his new clothes, and sealing up all of the corners with the necklace carefully tucked inside. The stitches weren’t nearly as tiny and tight as Tink’s had been, but so far they had kept his secret.

Jack patted the small lump at the bottom of his shirt, noticing that a single thread had come loose at the corner. The pocket would have to be re-stitched soon. The last thing he wanted was to lose his necklace.

Tomorrow, he promised himself. Once this business of making everyone recall their memories has been taken care of.

“Standin’ there all day, Pritchard?” someone sneered, bringing him back to the present.

Murphy glowered at him. A ray of dying sunlight caught on a thin cut, scabbed red with dried blood that ran from his forehead, through his eyebrow, luckily skipping across one brown eye to continue its path down his cheek.

When had that happened?

As if he’d read Jack’s mind, Murphy grumbled, “A mistake of being too near the captain and his hook.”

Likely the result of having an attitude with the captain, Jack thought. You’re lucky that is all he did to you. Murphy pushed past Jack and started up the rigging.

“Get to it, Pritchard!” Beckett called down from the upper deck. “Sails won’t loosen themselves while ye stand there and gawk and we don’t have all night to waste.”

“Aye,” Jack answered as he grabbed the lines and started up.

“Murphy, stay up there once ye’ve finished,” Beckett shouted. “Ye be the lucky soul as gets to keep a lookout in the crow’s nest this night.”

A string of curses met Jack’s ears the entire way to the yard arm, then Murphy quieted long enough to concentrate on the task at hand. A moment later the sail was freed and the wind caught, and Jack made his way back down as Murphy made his way to the nest. The cursing resumed and became more colorful, said loudly enough to make it clear to everyone on deck precisely how unhappy he was to be up there.

Jack grinned and kept moving. As wound up as Bob Murphy was now, he’d have no problem staying awake all night. Beckett had chosen the right man to keep watch.

Now that the Roger was on her way, Jack sat back in his previous spot across from the boys, propped up against a large coil of ropes and readied himself to settle in for the night. Within moments, he heard fiddle music coming from below as the crew not on watch began their nightly routine. Even though they’d been trapped in this place for who knew how long, the pirates always managed to find something to celebrate at night. The most common things were the newest attempts at tattoos, and crude jokes made into songs, but each day always ended on a hopeful note of sorts.

Patch and Beetles were quiet, listening to the song being chanted between the thumping steps of a dance. It was different here than on the island. At night, the Neverlings huddled together. During the day, they would fight and quarrel, but at night they stuck together, piling up under a heap of furs to stay warm and safe. There weren’t any songs or dancing—for Neverland was always silent at night.

JACK AWOKE WITH A START, nearly bumping his head against the wooden railing behind him. Somewhere between listening to Smee’s deep baritone voice sing of Maddie Lee and watching the stars twinkle above him like small, sparkling diamonds, he’d drifted off, his dreams taking him back to the night Pan had taken him from his bed—the last night he’d spent as a boy and the first he’d spent as a Neverling. It had been more of a memory than a dream. He remembered the long, soft wisps of his mother’s dark hair as she leaned over and kissed his forehead, her quiet, calm voice reassuring him there was nothing to fear when he bolted up from his pillow, insisting something was just outside the window, watching him.

He’d forgotten the terror he’d felt that night, knowing that something was waiting for him just out of sight. As he remembered it, the memory woke him.

He sat up, his heart pounding in his chest. It had been so long ago, it had faded from his mind, but now the horror of that night was fresh in his head and he felt like the child he had been instead of the young man he now was.

Nothing to fear now. I’m safe on the Roger, he reminded himself. Still, his hand went down to pat the charm nestled like a hidden secret in the bottom of his shirt. He took a deep breath, instantly feeling calmer. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The singing below decks had gone quiet. No doubt the pirates were fast asleep; hopefully their memories returning.

He glanced over at the two Neverlings tied to the mast. They were asleep, huddled against each other as close as they could get, their heads resting against each other. The stars were larger now than they were earlier, as if they’d dropped down from the sky a good distance to bathe the ship in an eerie, magical, silver light.

Something about the two boys looked different. Jack slowly crept toward them on his hands and knees, being careful so as not to wake them. He stopped mere inches from their feet and leaned forward to look at them closer. Beneath the fur caps, their faces had gone translucent and pale. He looked down, searching for some other part of them not hidden in fur, in case his eyes—or the light from the stars—was playing tricks on him. He spotted Patch’s hand lying on his lap, just under the rope, away from the light. He bent down to get a better look. The boy’s fingers looked as if they could pass through the rope. Without thinking, Jack reached out and touched his hand.

Instead of touching, his fingers passed through it. The only thing Jack felt was coldness where his skin should have been.

Stunned, Jack sat back and rested his chin on his knees, staring at the Neverlings, while his mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. Patch and Beetles hadn't grown up as he’d done when the ship sailed away from the island. Instead, they appeared to be fading away.

Jack stayed motionless, his eyes never leaving the boys’ faces. Beetles moved his head into a more comfortable position against the mast, which caused Patch to frown in his sleep. Neither seemed to know that anything had changed.

They aren’t dead, he thought, relieved. Another long moment passed. And they don’t seem to be getting any more see-through than they already are.

Still, he watched them, waiting for any other change.

When it seemed that the two Neverlings were going to be safe and not fade from sight, he looked up long enough to look at Beckett on the upper deck. He looked the same as he had earlier, gazing out at the sea, his hands firmly on the ship’s wheel, seemingly oblivious to the happenings to the children below him on the lower deck, as he guided the Jolig Roger along her course. Jack glanced farther up and caught a glimpse of movement between the sails. Murphy appeared to be fine in the crow’s nest, too.

It seemed the only ones who had changed were the two boys in front of him. Jack wrapped his arms around his knees and continued watching them while his mind wandered, trying to figure out why this trip had affected them so strangely. Who had they been before Peter had brought them to Neverland?

Peter Pan had been the one to name his troupe Neverlings. Tink, however, tended to ignore his name and instead called them her “lost ones.” Jack tended to trust the pixie more than Pan, so he found himself wondering why Tink had named them so. Then he remembered the night Peter Pan had flown into his room and plucked him out of his bed. Tink hadn’t wanted him to take him.

Her tiny, chime-like voice echoed in his memory, fresh, reminding him that he hadn’t really remembered everything that he’d thought he had. His blood ran cold.

“But you can’t take him! He isn’t dead!”

Looking at the two Neverlings now, Jack realized the reason they hadn’t aged.

To grow up, you must first be alive. These two boys weren’t—and they hadn’t been for a very long time.

AS THE SUN ROSE, the stars faded into the sky, and Patch and Beetles began to look like normal boys again. As they woke, the two both yawned, then glared at Jack when they noticed him staring at them. The ship came alive as the pirates below decks came up to begin the day’s work.

Jack watched as each man came up the steps. He was always worried how time would affect the crew once they came back to the island, but they all seemed fine.

The captain arrived, took one look at the faces of the two boys who hadn’t grown up in the slightest, then arched a single brow at Jack before stalking off to the upper deck, shouting orders along his way.

“Bring in the sails! Lay anchor! We have arrived at this cursed island.”

Hook spun, his crimson coat flaring out as he turned and glanced upward. “Why didn’t Murphy call out when he spotted land?”

As if in response to the captain’s query, something tumbled from the crow’s nest. It fell heavily against one sail, slid along the length of it, then plunged to the deck in a crumpled heap, directly beside of Jack. It took a second for reality to kick in.

“Murphy?” Jack gasped. The cut on the man’s face that had been fresh only the night before had healed into thick, white scar that peeked out from beneath the man’s thinning gray hair. If not for that scar, Jack wouldn’t have recognized him at all.

“What be this?” Smee materialized beside Jack, slowly turning Murphy’s body over to take a better look. He brushed the stringy gray hair from the man’s face. “Saint Brendan,” he hissed, his voice catching. “He aged o’er night. If I’d be a guessing sort, I’d say he be ninety years old now.” He looked up, long enough to call out, “He be dead, Cap’n. Don’t know whether the fall did him in or the sudden change, but he be gone, just the same.”

Jack looked from Murphy to Smee and back again. The elderly ship’s doctor hadn’t aged a day, yet one of the youngest of the crew had gained decades in a matter of hours. Fear clutched at him as he thought of the other pirates who hadn’t come up yet. Time always affected the pirates randomly each time they had left, but never had someone died from it.

As if he’d read Jack’s mind, Hook looked past Smee. “Pritchard, head below. Check on the rest of the crew. When you’re done, and if you find nothing amiss, come back up. Our guests will need their escort back to the island.”

THE HUMANS WERE BACK. Lorelei smiled, watching the shadow of the ship pass over her head. She’d woke up first thing this morning, and rushed to the surface, hoping they would return. They always did, but something felt different as she watched them sail away the evening before. It felt as if they were on some special quest—one that might take them away from the Never Sea for good.

She felt silly for thinking that. No one had left Neverland for a long time, but still, she was glad to see them return. Her mind wandered to the one she had saved in the rowboat. He’d had a kind face and didn’t look at all like the monsters that her mother had painted humans out to be.

Still thinking about the man, she swam toward the front of the ship, wondering what adventure he was having now. After she’d righted him from falling into the sea, he’d taken two of the Neverlings from the island and the ship had sailed away. She wondered if he’d brought them back.

The ship slowed as it came nearer the island, its wooden underbelly groaning in her ears, as if the effort to slow down was quite a chore. A sudden loud splash echoed and a hand grasped hers, jerking her forward.

A long curve of metal whizzed by, narrowly missing her. It disappeared into the darkness below as it headed for the ocean bottom.

“Lori, you’ve got to watch where you’re going,” Odin scolded her, giving her hand one final squeeze before letting go. “If that thing would have fallen on you…”

That would have been the end, she acknowledged. She shivered, watching the long, thick chain snake through the water, following the anchor down. The chain pulled taut and the ship above them quit moving. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and a small puff of bubbles rose to the surface.

“What are you doing up here, anyway?” her cousin asked. “The surface is forbidden, you know that.” His brow furrowed and his gray eyes looked serious, as if he was contemplating using his authority as the sea prince to send her back down to the castle, where it was safe.

“I get bored staying below. There isn’t anything new to explore down there.” She shrugged, knowing he’d understand. How many times had the two of them romped through the seagrass on the ocean floor as merchildren, openly wishing for some sort of adventure to find them? Too many to count. “Besides, I needed to get away from her for a while,” she added quietly.

A look of compassion taking the place of the authoritative one on his face. He reached out and patted her shoulder. “Annalise means well, Lori. She just wants to keep you safe. Besides, you’re all she has now.”

Forcing a smile onto her face, she asked, “What are you doing up here?”

Realizing she wished to change the subject, he grinned. “I saw you rushing up here and I wanted to check on you. Now that I know you’re okay and not going to get clonked in the head by humans, I’m off to visit with Nerida for a while.”

Lorelei’s smile faltered and the shiver she’d had earlier came back. A visit with the sea witch on her enchanted, spooky isle was the last place she’d ever want to go, yet Odin seemed to be looking forward to seeing his aunt, who had been cursed by the water sprites.

“Oh, quit worrying,” he chided as he saw the look on her face. “You didn’t use to think she was all that scary when we were little.”

She hadn’t. In fact, she, Odin, and a few other merchildren had been the first ones to see Nerida return from the old ocean. At first glance, Lorelei hadn’t been impressed with the sea witch’s dark, tattered wings that fluttered behind her in the sea like those of a water sprite. Nor by the dark, nearly black, scales that swirled around her skeletal torso while two human-like legs stayed in the place where a mermaid’s tail should be. None of that had frightened her at all as a child.

What did, were her mother’s ramblings of the enchanted isle that held the essence of the sea witch’s soul. According to her, every drop of evil magic possible was trapped in that small bit of land and mirrored the darkness that was in Nerida herself. After listening to her mother for so long, Lorelei found herself staying as far away as possible from the north of the island, evading the sea witch’s isle—and the sea witch herself—at all costs.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” she asked Odin solemnly. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“You know I will.”

“Promise anyway.”

“Okay, I promise,” he said. The current brought his blond hair forward to brush his forehead. “But you have to promise me you’ll be careful if you come up here. I might not be here to save you next time.”

“Okay. I’ll be careful,” she promised.

“Sure you don’t want to come with me?” he joked, brushing his hair back from his eyes.

She shook her head and pointed up at the ship. “I’d rather take my chances here, thanks. I appreciate the offer, cousin.”

He nodded, still grinning. “Okay, I’ll see you later then.”

She watched as he dropped a good distance below before swimming away. As far as she knew, she was the only one who came to the surface anymore. Everyone else was either old enough to be content to stay near the ocean floor or too frightened of the danger that floated on the surface. Her mother had made sure of that.

“Lorelei, you don’t know what the humans are capable of,” her mother had said once when she caught her coming back from the surface, her hair full of wildflowers she’d managed to pick at the edge of the shore. Her mother’s eyes had been wild as she recounted harrowing ordeals of mermaids from long ago, but instead of frightening her, those stories had made Lorelei want to explore the surface even more.

No doubt she’d be in trouble again if her mother found out where she was now. She swam a little closer to the ship and listened to the voices of the humans above her, wondering which one of them belonged to the one she had saved.

She waited a few moments and found herself shivering again. The water was always cooler near the top of the sea, nothing at all like the ocean’s bottom. A stray beam of sunlight made the water in front of her sparkle.

The sun would feel really good if I broke the surface, she thought. But I can’t here or I’ll be seen. The shallows near the island will be warmer. I’ll go there.

Her decision made, she dropped deeper into the ocean and followed along the sandy bottom as it rose toward the island. Odin wouldn’t be happy if he knew she was heading even farther up—and her mother would likely die of fright if she found out—but she’d already broken the rule by being so close to the surface. What would it hurt to sit on the shore and be warmed by the sun?

JACK WENT SLOWLY deck by deck, checking each man he came to. Thus far, everyone seemed fine. When he made it to the last door, he took a deep breath and knocked.

“Aye?” came the irritated voice from inside the galley. “Breakfast will be ready soon enough. Patience be a virtue. Go look fer some.”

All alive and accounted for. Jack let out a content sigh. Then, he stopped. Well, all but Murphy.

The door swung open to show an unhappy, though no older, Boggs, who frowned at him. “Not like ye to loiter about behind closed doors. What is it, lad? If the cap’n sent ye to check on the state of his breakfast, tell ’im I’ll be there presently.”

“No, no…” Jack held out a hand. “He only sent me to check on the crew. He wanted to be sure everyone was all right.”

A look of understanding passed in the man’s eyes. “Who be dead? O’Reilly? Or was it Patterson?”

“Bob Murphy.”

Boggs looked shocked for a moment, as he’d been giving names of the older pirates on board. The expression on his face turned grim. “This cursed island be a mystery. Tell the cap’n all be right as rain here and breakfast will be done shortly.” In response, something on the stove hissed and a boiled over, sending Boggs into a mad flurry of rearranging pots.

Still, Jack wanted to be sure his plan had worked. “Boggs?”

“Hmm?”

“The lady tattooed on your belly. Do you remember who she was?”

Boggs turned back to look at him, in spite of the food threatening to burn on the stove. “Aye, lad,” he said in a voice so soft that Jack had to strain to hear him. “Aye, I do. Not a night passes by that she doesn’t haunt me dreams.”

3

A NEW MOTHER

TINK SCOWLED AS she zipped through the air over Peter’s head. She had the overwhelming urge to pull his hair again, just as she’d done earlier when he decided to bring two more Lost Ones and a mother to Neverland. He’d only been after the mother. Taking the two boys had been an afterthought, once they had all figured out how to fly.

He hasn’t learned anything from the last time, she thought angrily. These two boys most certainly weren’t dead—and neither was the mother girl. Something told her this was going to be even worse than the time he’d brought the smallest Lost One, the one he’d named Runt.

Ugly girl, she fumed, dropping away from Peter’s head to glower at the wobbling girl, who flew like a one-winged bird. Ugly, ugly girl. Peter never should have brought these three to Neverland—especially her. This one was, by far, his worst choice.

I’ve taken care of my Lost Ones well enough without any help. Only the smallest one has grown up. All the others are fine. They have me. They don’t need a mother. To prove her point, Tink had deliberately evaded sprinkling the mother girl with dust for the last half of the journey in hopes that she’d drop from the sky like a rock. So far, it hadn’t worked, though her flying was becoming more erratic by the moment.

Tink looked at the two boys, who were doing much better than their sister. It wasn’t their fault Peter had dragged them along for the journey, so she flew over their heads just long enough to ensure that they would have enough magic to make it to the island safely, then she planted herself directly in front of Peter long enough to stick her tongue out at him.

Once she was sure he knew the extent of her displeasure, she flew ahead, remembering the last place they had left Patch, Round, Morbert, Tootles, and Scuttle. Her Lost Ones might be needing her now and she needed to check on them. She’d been gone far longer than she liked. If the mother girl managed to make it to the island, she’d figure out what to do then, but right now, she had more important things to do.

The clouds below her cleared and the first thing that caught her eye was the ship that sat on the bright blue sea like a small brown dot as it sailed back toward the island. Her smallest Lost One lived there now with the others she’d managed to bring to Neverland, but he wasn’t small any longer. He was as grown up as the others he’d chosen to live with. Grown or not, he was still hers and she liked to check on him from time to time, even if he didn’t look like the little boy he had once been.

I’ll fly over and see if I spot him, she decided and zipped down to the ship for a quick look around. It didn’t take long to find Round and Patch tied to a big, limbless tree in the middle of the ship. She flew down and hovered right in front of their faces. Neither of them looked pleased to see her, in fact, they didn’t seem to see her at all. She flew directly in front of one of Round’s eyes and waved her hand back in forth in front of it. She could see her reflection, but still he didn’t acknowledge her at all. She did the same thing to the other eye, and then flew over to Patch and practiced the same maneuver on him. It was as if they were busy thinking of something else and weren’t there at all.

It wasn’t unusual for them to be on the ship. Adventures were very important to her Lost Ones and she knew they were probably willing to be captured. Such was the way of some adventures. Still, they had never acted like this before. Something had happened while she was gone—something was terribly wrong. She turned. All of the pirates seemed to be busy looking at an old grown up, lying on the wooden floor. That one was so still she wondered if he didn’t have any life in him. It seemed the others were thinking the same thing as they poked and prodded around on him. Luckily for her, they were all so worried about him, she hadn’t been noticed and likely wouldn’t be any time soon.

So Tink turned and patted the two boys’ hair and quietly chimed in their ears that everything would be all right, then zipped back up into the sky as fast as her wings could take her.

She found Peter a moment later, flying slowly as he coaxed the mother girl along as she wobbled and weaved in the air.

“Keep thinking happy thoughts, Wendy. Not much farther now,” Peter said. Ignoring the girl, the pixie flew to the side of his head.

“Round and Patch need our help,” Tink told him, gripping the soft edges of his ear to be sure he heard her. When he didn’t respond to her, she remembered the name he used for Round—“Beetles and Patch need our help!” she clarified. “They’ve been captured!”

He brushed her away. “Not now, Tink. Can’t you see I’m trying to help Wendy?”

The pixie turned loose of his ear, then begrudgingly flew over the girl’s head, dumping a sufficient amount of dust in her long, scraggly brown hair. Immediately, the girl stopped bobbing around in the air and began flying evenly.

“Thank you,” the mother girl said, giving her a bright smile.

Tink scowled in reply, and repeated her chime loud enough that even the pirates far below should be able to hear, “Hook has the Lost Ones. They need us to save them.”

Peter still didn’t seem all that anxious. He shrugged. “Runt will bring them back and turn them loose. He always does. They always play these games when we are gone, Tink. They just don’t think I know about it.”

The pixie pondered this bit of news over for a second, then shook her head. Having an adventure was one thing, but whatever had happened in this game was something completely different. The ship had been silent as the pirates looked at the old one. An idea came to her. There was one thing that Peter hated more than anything else…

“Hook had taken them away,” she told him, crossing her arms over her chest. “He’s making them grow up like he did with Runt.”

Well, that got a response. She fought to keep the smile from her face as a murderous look took over Peter’s. Without a word, he dropped through the sky, heading toward the ship.

“Wait! Wait for us,” the mother girl called out as Tink followed him.

Not likely, the pixie thought. My Lost Ones are far more important than you.

THE FAMILIAR CROW was the first indication that Peter had arrived, the next being the giant slice in the sail that had been in the process of being rolled up.

Jack winced as he looked up from his place in the rowboat. If there was one thing the captain didn’t care for, it was Peter Pan. If there was a second thing, it was anything causing harm to the Jolig Roger. The cut was large enough the boy flew through it. Then Peter Pan swooped down toward the deck, and out of Jack’s sight. An instant later, he popped back up and scanned the deck, as if he was searching for something. Once his gaze landed on Jack and the two boys in the rowboat a short distance from the ship, the dark look on his face left and he laughed. A few crackling shots rang in the air as the pirates began firing at the boy, but the boy dodged around the mast.

When a girl and two small boys dropped from the clouds and hovered above the ship, the shots ceased, whether from the shock of seeing three other flying children or from the worries of shooting more holes in the Roger, Jack didn’t know, but he was sure the lull would be a short one.

A small streak of gold flew down from the deck and hovered in front of him.

“Hello, Tink,” he managed to say before being assaulted with a barrage of chimes that sounded both accusatory and concerned as the pixie zipped from Beetles to Patch to him and back again. No doubt she was worried about the two boys, but she seemed to be inquiring about his well-being at the same time.

“I’m taking them back to the island. They’ll be okay,” he told her. “And I’m fine, too.” Then he glanced up, “You might want to let Peter know that I don’t think his new Neverlings are safe there. If he cares anything for them, he’ll get them away from here before Hook tells the crew to start shooting again.”

Tink stopped for a second and cocked her head to one side, as if she were contemplating whether or not that would be such a terrible thing, then she sighed and took back off in a splash of golden dust, a second later appearing as a small sparkly bit around Peter’s head, no doubt relaying Jack’s words to him.

Peter looked down and gave one solemn nod before flying up to join the children and together they disappeared into the clouds just as another volley of shots rang out.

Once it was apparent that his men were shooting at nothing, Jack heard Hook call for the crew to cease firing. Jack waited another moment to be sure there wouldn’t be another order called out to him and when it didn’t seem there would be, he began the chore of rowing toward the island.

The two Neverlings had been silent ever since they had woken up at their place at the mast. They’d sat there, motionless, as Peter flew above the ship and as Tink flew only inches from them, never so much as uttering a single word. It was unlike them. In fact, Jack couldn’t remember the two boys ever having been so quiet. They’d even gotten into the boat without their usual sarcastic comment of “thank you for your hospitality” to Hook upon leaving. Jack had waited for it, and from the way the captain had paused in front of them, he’d expected it too. But the two said nothing, only took their places and waited to be taken back to shore.

Now the tide was coming in and the water was beginning to get choppy, so he tried to ignore the strange behavior of the two boys and concentrated instead of making sure not to get near any rocks.

It was doubtful the mermaid who had saved him the day before was going to be there to guide him again today, but the unexpected thought of her made him want to peer into the water in hopes of seeing her beautiful face.

He shook his head. It wouldn’t do to get preoccupied with her now. He glanced over his shoulder and spotted a crooked wooden sign hung precariously on one jutting rock at his left. Shallows. Ye be warned, it told him. Each time the pirates had a mishap, they’d gone to making some sort of sign to warn others in the crew. Being as the pirates were a suspicious sort, there were such signs scattered across the island. Jack had seen many of them. Some of them were legitimate, while others were a matter of opinion. Once he’d seen a sign at the bottom of a tree, an arrow pointed up at the branches where a honeybee’s nest sat.

No worth it. Ye be warned. The maker of that particular sign had been Bob Murphy, who had fallen out of said tree and suffered a broken finger.

The thought of Murphy made Jack turn his attention back to Patch and Beetles. In a few more strokes, they would be at the shore, and were clear of all signs of the rocks. The taller boy seemed lost in thought, oblivious to everything around him. Beetles, on the other hand, was staring directly at Jack. “The one Pan brought isn’t right,” he said finally.

The boy startled Jack so badly he nearly dropped an oar. “Beg your pardon?”

“The mother Pan brought today. She isn’t right,” the boy said again. He crossed his arms and hugged his middle, as if he had suddenly gotten cold. “I remember my mother…” He stopped and glanced over at Patch. “…and he does too. Our mothers didn’t look like her.” His gaze locked onto Jack’s. Knowledge and understanding gleamed in his eyes. “We remember who we were when he found us. We know why Neverlings don’t grow up.”

Patch’s voice cut in, quiet yet accusing. “And we know why you did.”

ONCE JACK PULLED the boat onto shore, the two boys got out and disappeared into the copse of trees beyond. He waited for them to ask when he was bringing pirates to continue their adventure, as was their custom, but neither of them said another word to him, only melted into the forest like ghosts.

Jack shivered in spite of the warm breeze brushing against him. All of the other Neverlings had the skill of becoming nearly invisible when they were on the island. Before, he’d always thought it a combination of having camouflaging fur clothing and knowing the right places to hide. Now he wasn’t so sure that it wasn’t so much as a skill, but rather a bit of their former lives showing through. The breeze picked up and something creaked overhead.

He looked up and saw another wooden sign. Giant spiders. Ye be warned. This one was written in childish scrawl, but was so far up in the tree, it was obvious that no one but Peter Pan could have put it there.

The bad part was, as suspicious as the pirates tended to be, Jack had no problem imagining more than one of them believing Peter’s prank. Grumbling under his breath, he trudged over to the base of the tree and began climbing.

It wasn’t as hard to reach as he thought it would be, and a few moments later, he pulled the sign free and flung it down to the ground. He started to turn and climb back down when something in the distance caught his eye.

There, sitting in the surf, between two tall, sandy dunes, was a mermaid. Mesmerized, Jack watched her for a moment as she stared out at the sea. She had to be the same one who had saved him. He was sure of it. Her fiery red hair caught in the wind, swirling around her.

The need to get out of the tree became nearly uncontrollable. He found himself scratching his hands on the branches in his haste to get down. His shirt became tangled and he heard a slight rip before it came free and let him continue his descent. He groaned, noticing the tear in his sleeve. He’d definitely have to borrow one of Smee’s needles tonight. He gave a quick pat to the bottom of his shirt, ensuring that his charm was still safe, and kept going.

It seemed to take forever to get to the ground, but he finally made it. He ran around the hill, all the while hoping she would still be there when he arrived.

And she was.

Her back was to him and she hadn’t noticed him. Not wanting to scare her, he cleared his throat. “Excuse me…miss?”

Her eyes were wide and wild as she whirled around and saw him. In the next second, she leapt further into the sea with a splash, disappearing from sight.

Jack slowly walked over to the place where she had been, and knelt down. “I won’t harm you, I promise. I only wanted to thank you for saving my life,” he said, in case she was still nearby. When there was no response, he stood and searched the waves for any sign of her. Finally, he turned and trudged away from the water’s edge and back toward the knoll. Then he heard a light splash.

“You’re welcome,” a pretty voice replied.

His heart pounding, he slowly turned around so as not to spook her again.

Though she had swam back up on the shore, he noticed that she was keeping a safe distance away. Waves washed over her and she ground her hands into the sand to keep from being swept back out.

He gulped. For some reason all of his words had escaped him. While he’d thought she was beautiful before in those scant seconds he watched her beneath the water, now he realized she was the most gorgeous thing his eyes had ever seen.

“I…I’ve never seen you before,” he managed, finally finding his voice. Mentally, he kicked himself, wishing he could have come up with something better to say.

“The surface is forbidden for merpeople,” she said, dropping her gaze. A flush crept into her cheeks. “This was the first time I’ve ever sat on the shore. The sun was so inviting and the sand was so warm, I couldn’t help it. If the others find out I’m here, they won’t be happy with me. My mother, especially.” As she said those words, she frowned and let the tide pull her a few inches back into the sea.

“Wait,” Jack said, holding out a hand, as if the gesture would keep her there. He gave her a smile, then ran over to a small clump of yellow flowers. He picked one and came back and knelt down a short distance away and held the flower out to her.

“It’s pretty,” she said, reaching out to take it from him. Then she looked up at him and smiled, and Jack’s heart melted. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, sitting down in the sand, as close as he dared to the water. “You know, I think you found the perfect place.”

A questioning look came into her eyes, but she didn’t say anything, only waited for him to explain.

“The surface may be forbidden for you, but the ocean is forbidden to me. I think you’ve found the perfect place where the two meet,” he smiled.

She laughed. It was a light, happy sound and Jack found himself wishing it would go on forever. “There’s another perk with this perfect place,” she told him, letting the tide wash her farther up on the shore so that only her vibrant blue tail stayed in the water. “It’s warm.”

She turned around and sat on the sand as she placed the flower behind her ear. The bright yellow petals stood out in contrast against her dark, wet hair. “Do you mind if I share this place with you for a while? It’s the warmest I’ve ever been.”

Jack smiled. “No. No, I don’t mind at all. Can I ask you what your name is?”

“Lorelei, but you can just call me Lori. If anyone asks, I’ve never met a human before and I’ve certainly never sat with one on a warm beach.”

He nodded. “Well, Lori, my name is Jack. And your secret is safe with me.”

NIGHTFALL WAS NEARING when he rowed back toward the ship. Time had slipped past him as he sat on the shore with Lorelei. Hours had gone by and he hadn’t even noticed. It was the first time since he’d been in Neverland that he hadn’t been trying to think of ways to leave. It was the first day he had enjoyed being here. The thought startled him enough that he quit rowing for a moment.

It was because of her, he realized. They’d talked for the entire day. She told him of her life below the sea, while he told her of his life above it. He’d listened as she told him of her family—of her father who had disappeared when she was young—and of her mother who feared everything because of it. He’d learned she was the cousin to the sea prince, Odin, who was, in turn, related to Nerida, the sea witch.

In turn, he’d told her about his life as a Neverling—and his life now as a pirate. What he hadn’t told her was that every spare moment until this day had been filled with thoughts of trying to find a way to leave. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to tell her, it was simply that he hadn’t thought about it.

Once the boat bumped against the Roger, he called out and promptly was rewarded with two ropes. He fixed one to the rowboat and found that he had one extra. He looked up and saw Beckett’s face peering down from the rail.

“Best ye climb on up, lad, and be quick. The cap’n has been waitin’ for ye. He not be in the best of notions as ye’ve been gone all day long. The lads will take care of the boat.”

With a grimace, Jack took hold of the rope and began his climb up, the joy of the day spent with Lorelei immediately quelled with the thoughts of spending the evening with Hook. No doubt the captain wasn’t happy that Patch and Beetles hadn’t grown according to plan, then Peter Pan had shown up, and who knows what else had happened in his absence.

I suppose I’ll be finding out. Once at the top, he crawled over the railing, and made his way to the captain’s quarters.

He gave a quick knock to the door and held his breath, praying that it would go unanswered.

“Come in.”

The door pushed open soundlessly and Jack’s spirits lifted minutely when he realized that there was more than the customary single candle lit on the table. This time there were two. Maybe he wasn’t quite in as much trouble as he’d thought.

One look at Hook’s face changed his mind. That extra candle, Jack decided, had been lit to make sure he knew precisely how displeased his captain truly was.

“Where have you been, Pritchard?” The question seemed lethal, as if an incorrect answer would surely seal his fate.

Inspiration struck. “I was searching for Pan’s hideout,” he lied.

Hook’s eyes narrowed to slits.

He doesn’t believe me… A quick memory of the thin cut that had ran down Murphy’s face flashed in Jack’s mind. Unable to help himself, he took a step back.

“And did you find said hideout?” the captain’s voice was quiet and calm…too calm.

“No, but I did find out from the two Neverlings that Pan has ordered his men to build a house for the girl he brought to Neverland today.”

Hook leaned forward in his seat, the cold, calculating look leaving his eyes as the flame in the candle danced and flickered. “The girl he left today to protect…”

“Yes.” But he only protected her because I told him to.

“He’s never protected any of the others,” the captain mused, sitting back in his chair, his hook tapping thoughtfully against the table.

“No, sir. He hasn’t.” And I should know.

“’Twould be irony that a girl should be his undoing,” Hook said, more to himself than to Jack.

At least, that was how Jack took it, so he didn’t say anything at all. Everyone knew not to mention the woman the captain had loved and lost. Not even her name was whispered on the ship for fear of being heard.

“It’s settled.” Hook slammed his hand on the table so hard and fast that Jack jumped. “Tomorrow at first light, every man able will leave to search for the girl. Surely she will be easier to find than Pan. Once we have her, he’ll come to get her.”

Not likely, Jack thought, but he nodded his agreement anyway. There was a gleam in the captain’s eyes that wasn’t quite right. I’m not going to be the one to tell him that Pan cares for no one but himself.

“Shall I give Beckett your orders, sir?” he asked.

But the captain was already busy spreading maps out on the table. Jack quietly left the room and shut the door behind him. He let out a deep breath as he listened to the muttering behind the door as Hook planned their next searches.

Beckett soon appeared. “Thought I’d best check on ye, lad. ’Twasn’t too sure what he’d do.”

“He wants to start looking for the girl Pan brought tomorrow,” Jack relayed.

Beckett’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “A better plan be to go hunt for game tomorrow instead of kidnapping a little girl dressed in her nightclothes.”

Surprised, Jack looked at the man. No one ever dared to contradict the captain. To do so would break the pirate code—to do so spelled mutiny.

Seeming to realize what he’d said, Beckett shook his head. “Come first light, we’ll hunt for the girl,” he said as he stalked back up the steps.

Jack waited until Beckett was out of sight before making his way toward the surgery to borrow a needle from Smee. No time like the present to do a bit of sewing. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? His thoughts were wry as he instinctively reached to pat the bottom of his shirt. He froze in mid-step when his hand brushed against the loose threads. Frantic, he patted every inch of his shirt before he tore it over his head and shook it.

It had to be here! It has to! It’s all I have left of her! A memory of his mother’s face flashed in front of him, her smile as she placed the necklace over his head on that last night. “So long as you have this, you’ll always be safe,” she’d promised. “Keep it near you always.” Now it was gone, as was she. Both lost to him forever.

Tears welling in his eyes, he crumpled to the floor, his empty shirt in his hands, the sounds of the captain still muttering in the room behind him. This day had been his best day on Neverland—and it had quickly turned into his worst.

LORELEI WAITED UNTIL JACK got into his boat and began rowing back toward the ship before jumping into the Never Sea. She fought the urge to shiver as the chilly water swept over her skin. Even though she’d stayed a safe distance in the surf to keep her tail whole, the cold that brushed over her head and arms was startling. Deciding to ignore it, she swam far enough under the surface that no one would above would see her, and followed Jack as he made his way back.

She hadn’t meant to spend so much time on the shore, but had found herself enchanted with this human. He’d listened to her as she talked, truly listened. No one else, save Odin, had ever done for her before. To the rest of the merpeople she was seen as the daughter of Annalise, the poor mermaid who had been a bit…off…when her husband disappeared. As her mother rambled about the danger of the surface, the others would pass by, some shaking their heads. They looked at Lorelei with pity and nothing much else. They surely didn’t listen to anything she had to say. They didn’t care. But Jack had listened. His eyes had stayed locked on her face as she told him about life in the sea. While sympathy had showed on his face from time to time, there had never been any pity. Occasionally wonder and intrigue, certainly empathy, but never pity.

She found herself not wanting the day to end—but at the same time, didn’t want him to see that she was still watching him, still close. As the small boat neared the ship, she swam up a bit closer, hoping to catch another glimpse of him. Another pirate called out from above and she spotted ropes being thrown down before they splashed in the water. Jack appeared as he took hold of one and climbed up.

Something fell from his shirt and dropped into the sea. It sluiced through the water like a thin golden fish. She rushed forward and caught it before it slipped into the darkness. The thin metal chain still felt warm, as if it held some of the heat from being near Jack’s body. She spread it out on her palm and ran her finger over the small, smooth golden disc. She’d heard of humans who greatly admired such things. Her people told stories of finding sunken ships that held chests of golden treasures in the old ocean. She held the small disc up to take a better look at it. It was well worn, with a picture of what looked like a star with four points on it. She flipped it over. The other side was rough where someone had etched markings on it, as if they wished to claim it as their own.

Lorelei looked back up, but Jack was now out of sight. This small treasure must have been important to him, she decided, looping the chain over her head. The small disc bobbed in the current. I’ll keep it safe for him until he comes back to the island.

Though he hadn’t said as much when he left, she was sure he would come back to the perfect place where the water met the sand, and when he did, she would be there waiting for him.

But until then, she had to go home and check on her mother. She sighed, took one last look up at the place where Jack had been, then turned and swam for the ocean’s bottom.

She grimaced as the water turned dark. She’d never been near the surface when night came and the thought of the things that could well be swimming around her, hidden in the blackness, scared her so much that she swam as fast as she could. Never had she been so happy to see the first bits of light as she neared the castle. The familiar flowers that grew up the sides of the coral walls held a soft glow that welcomed her, chasing away the darkness. They reminded her of the small yellow flower Jack had given her that still caught in her hair. It didn’t glow, but she knew it was just as beautiful as the blue and white ones that curled regally up the castle’s pearl columns.

She swam past the castle to the small caverns etched in the side of the island’s base. The royal family stayed in the castle, and the rest of the merpeople stayed directly behind it; each family in their own small, oval-shaped home. The opening for each was decorated with a variety of flowers and vines that served for both beauty and for light, based on the family’s needs, desires—and their ability to grow the plants. She continued past them all to the very end, where the last cavern sat, poorly lit. Two small flowers grew at the base of the opening, struggling to give enough illumination that one could tell there was a cavern there at all.

This was it. She was home. She braced herself for what she knew would come next, and swam inside.

Her mother was just inside the opening. Even in the dim light, Lorelei could see the frantic gleam in her mother’s eyes as she swam forward and grabbed her arms, pushing her against the rock wall of the cavern.

“You went to the surface, didn’t you?” her mother’s voice was a near shout. “How many times have I told you not to go to the surface? How many times? It’s dangerous up there.”

Staring into her mother’s face was like looking into a reflection of herself. More than once others had thought she was Annalise. Her mother’s auburn hair swirled around her in the water and her eyes looked shocked as she spotted first the yellow flower in her hair, then the gold disc hanging at her neck.

“You’ve been with the humans…” her voice came out hoarse and cracked.

“Mother, I’m fine. Nothing happened,” Lorelei said softly, choosing to look at the cavern floor instead of her mother’s face.

A second later, determination replaced the astonishment and Annalise straightened. “You are forbidden to leave the ocean floor. Never are you to go to the surface again, do you hear me?” She reached out and jerked the golden chain from her neck.

When Lorelei felt it snap, something in her broke. With a broken sob, she snatched the necklace out of her mother’s hand and fled from the cavern.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat in the tall sea grass at the knoll over the castle when Odin found her, but she did know her tears were gone, mixing into the salty sea water long before.

“I was worried about you. You must have had quite the adventure today,” he said, plopping down next to her. “Maybe I should’ve stuck with you instead of visiting with Nerida.”

She crossed her arms and rested her chin on them. “How did you find me?”

“You’ve picked this same spot to hide ever since we were little, Lori,” he said.

It was true. Ever since her father disappeared, she’d ran for the tall grass when she felt like hiding. She hunched over, wanting nothing more than to curl into a ball and cry.

“Hey, are you all right?” Odin asked, placing a hand on her arm.

She winced and pulled away. Immediately, he turned loose, his eyes widening as he took in the bruise on her arm. “Did the humans do this?” he thundered. The water around them seemed to radiate with his sudden anger.

“N-no,” she managed just before the dam broke that sent her melting into a sobbing ball against his chest. “She…did.”

“Oh.” That one word told her that he understood exactly what had happened and he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight. “I’m sorry.”

He sat there and rubbed her back until she quieted. She felt him pick something out of her hair. “What’s this, then?” he asked conversationally, as he cradled the wilted remains of her flower in his palm. “These don’t grow in the sea.”

“It was a gift,” she sniffled, carefully taking her flower back from him. “I met one of the humans today. He wasn’t a monster like she tells everyone. He sat and talked with me for hours.”

“Oh?” Odin clasped his hands together and listened as she told him everything that happened from the time he left her—to the moment he found her. A look of understanding passed in his silver eyes, but there was an edge to them that hadn’t been there before. “I know Annalise has her reasons for wanting to keep you safe and close to the bottom of the sea, but this…” he looked at her arm, “this is taking it too far. Annalise spends every minute in her cavern. She needs to be around her own people more, I think. You should both come live in the castle with us. You have a place there, you know. We’re family.”

“She won’t do it.” Lori shook her head.

“Then you come and live with us. I don’t want you hurt. If you’re close, I can take care of you.”

“I can’t leave her. I’m all she has left now that Father is gone.” She managed a weak smile and reached over and squeezed her cousin’s hand.

More than that, she thought. I’m the reason she’s alone. I’m the reason he left.

4

WHAT WAS LOST IS NOW FOUND

HOOK HAD BEEN as good as his word and the next morning every longboat sat in the water, filled with pirates, the instant the sun’s first rays streaked across the sky. Jack watched, bleary-eyed, as the first boat holding the captain started toward the island. Picking up his oar, he followed suit, attempting to keep time with the others as they rowed.

As hard as he tried, his movements were slower than the others and just a bit off, the result of not having slept well. Nightmares had plagued him in the hours that he did manage to sleep. Ghostlike shapes of children flitted around him like shadows, taunting him as they held a golden necklace out of his reach, all the while he heard his mother’s voice whispering that he should always keep it safe. He had awakened drenched in sweat, and didn’t bother trying to go back to sleep.

Instead, he went up and laid on the deck and stared up at the stars. They blinked like magic above him, chasing away the memory of the nightmare, so he stayed. The night wore on, finally fading away, taking the stars with it, and leaving a captain bent on vengeance to take their place and a day that would definitely prove to be interesting.

He sighed and pulled the oar toward him, digging it as far down into the water as he could. He was fairly certain the captain hadn’t gotten as much sleep as he had and had likely spent the better part of the night with his maps, but he had arrived at the deck at first light and stood directly over Jack and began shouting orders, looking none the worse for wear.

Jack, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to take a nap. He yawned, and pulled the oar toward him again.

Someone in the boat in the third boat yelled and fired a pistol. All thoughts of sleep left and Jack quit rowing, craning his neck to see what had happened.

“Croc!” he heard someone yell, and he caught a glimpse of the crocodile’s dark form as it swam beside the boat.

Jack cringed. Tic-Tock had apparently decided to come out and hunt for a bit of breakfast.

“Heave to, lads! They’ll be needin’ our help,” Beckett yelled over the din as more pistols fired. The crocodile thrashed in the water, having obviously been hit. He disappeared, but not before bumping against the longboat.

One pirate, aptly named Long Jeff for his height, had stood up in hopes of delivering one final shot, but the sudden parting jolt Tic-Tock gave the boat made him lose his balance and the tall man landed headfirst in the Never Sea.

He came up, spluttering, and his crewmates quickly hauled him back in. Then it was silence, but for the man’s coughs that Jack could hear, even though the boat was still a good distance away.

The curse. They were all thinking it, Jack realized. So far, no one had fallen prey to Nerida’s spell on the sea. What would happen to the unlucky crewman?

The man continued coughing, never stopping for breath.

“He be choking to death!” someone exclaimed. “There be blood coming out! Get ’im back to the ship!”

A flurry of motion ensued as the others in the boat picked up their oars and changed their course back to the boat, no doubt in hopes that Smee would be able to save Long Jeff. The ship’s doctor had nearly come with them, but as luck would have it, Hook told him to stay aboard the Roger.

Jack glanced over his shoulder and spotted his white head at the railing. He had seen what happened. At least he would be ready for…whatever the curse entailed.

The longboat passed by, close enough that Jack could see Long Jeff’s arm, the white linen of his shirt flecked with blood. He was quiet now, the coughing had ceased, but somehow Jack didn’t think the worst had come for the man.

“All right then,” Beckett said, getting everyone’s attention. “Best we move on then. The cap’n won’t like it to see us just sitting here.” He nodded toward shore where Hook’s bright crimson coat could be easily seen as he stood on the sandy beach staring out at his crew.

That was all it took for every hand to get back to rowing and a few moments later, the bottom of the boat scrubbed against the bottom of the inlet.

Hook wasted no time giving out his orders once the boat was secured. All of the other boats, save the one that returned to the ship, had arrived before them, the pirates already dispersed, looking for any sign of Peter Pan, the Neverlings, or the girl.

“Take the northern path.” Hook tapped his hook against the map in his hand before handing the parchment to Beckett. “We meet back at the boats at nightfall, unless we find them before then.”

The northern path! Jack fought to keep the smile off his face and stay neutral until the captain turned his back and headed the opposite direction. If he was careful, he would be able to get away from his group and go back to the place he had found Lorelei.

He waited while Beckett gave the pirates instructions, nodded solemnly that he understood his orders when Beckett’s gaze moved over him, and took his place at the very back of the group as they set off.

It didn’t take long to meander off the well-trodden path and make his way to the beach. He caught a glimmer of red by a large rock and realized that while he was trying to get to her, Lori was trying to get his attention.

He rushed to the rock and knelt down as she pulled herself free of the water to her waist, one hand gripping the rock, while the other stayed fisted.

“Jack,” she said with a smile, looking over his shoulder to make sure there was no one else around. “Jack, you dropped this when you got out of the boat.”

He held out his open his hand and she dropped his necklace into his palm. Without thinking he leaned over and kissed her.

She pulled back just the slightest bit, surprised, then gripped his arms and pulled herself up and kissed him back. The kiss deepened and it felt as if Jack were being warmed from the inside out. Every sensation seemed to send ripples of magic along his skin—from the soft brush of her lips to the light scent of flowers that were growing in the crevices of the rock between them. Time stopped and for a moment there was no one else in Neverland—no Peter Pan, no Lost Boys, no pirates. No one bent on revenge, and no one forgetting.

There was only Jack and this beautiful mermaid who had somehow stolen his heart, and for the first time, he couldn’t imagine ever leaving Neverland.

5

TIME TO GO

JACK WASN’T SURE if it had been weeks or months that had passed by, but he didn’t care. Every day that they searched the island, he always found a way to get away from the others and meet Lori in their special place between the dunes.

He didn’t think about leaving Neverland anymore. Instead, he was happy to spend all of his time with her, while the others continued to search. The pirates never found Peter Pan’s hiding place, though they sometimes caught glimpses of the Neverlings in the forest, but the children were always quick and melted away into the shadows before they were ever caught. The Indians in the mountains weren’t quite so quick to disappear, and the crew had accidentally caught one of their children once. The little girl had been quickly turned loose once they realized their mistake and luckily no one was held to blame.

“I be getting bored o’ this,” Boggs grumbled as he got into the longboat one morning. “Every day, same ol’ thing. I should be pickin’ more fruit for my never-right, not chasing after ghosts. At the rate this be goin’, we’ll be runnin’ out soon.” He fixed Jack with a steely eye. “And if I get my way once we get to the shore, ye be comin’ with me. No more runnin’ off, aye?”

And it just so happened that he did end up getting his way. Hook must have understood the plight of his crew and waved Boggs off to the never-fruit orchard, ordering Jack to accompany him.

“Ah, he still has some sensibilities. A happy crew is a crew that still has its grog,” Boggs said with a knowing look as he pulled a large basket out of the boat and handed it to Jack. “Here, lad. Ye be younger than me. You carry it.”

Jack groaned as he slipped his arms into the rungs of the pack basket. He’d not get to see Lori at all today if the cook had his way about it. They’d spend the entire day picking fruit.

“Ach! Quit ye belly achin’,” Boggs admonished. “Beats trampin’ around in the woods all day.”

That’s what you think, Jack grumbled to himself. I’d rather spend time with Lori than I would anything else.

“If ye move this slow when its empty, I’d hate to see ye lug it when it be full,” Boggs frowned as he turned and led the way to the orchard.

Jack sighed. There were worse things he could be doing, he supposed, though at the moment, he couldn’t really think of any. As he followed Boggs, his mind wandered to a set of sparkling emerald green eyes, a swirling mass of red hair, and a soft pair of lips that held the most beautiful smile in all of Neverland.

“Pick up the pace, lad. At this rate, we’ll have to capture a pixie to make a fresh batch,” Boggs’ words brought him back to reality, but just barely. So long as more squashed fruit was added to the mix, the never-right stayed at the right consistency, though it weakened a bit more each time. If they ran out, they’d have to start over and if there was one thing Jack was sure of, it was that a pirate crew without grog would most definitely not be a happy pirate crew.

“Aye,” he replied, shifting the empty basket on his back. “I’m coming.”

Boggs turned, a twinkle in his eye. “The way ye be distracted, if I didna know any better, I’d think a lass had caught yer eye.” He shrugged. “But bein’ as there aren’t any lasses on Neverland, I guess that not be it!” He patted his stomach thoughtfully, then looked down at the tattoo woman. “Too bad. I can’t recall who this one is exactly, but I think she would ’ave been a lass that I would’ve liked to meet.”

Jack’s heart dropped to his stomach. He hadn’t thought of leaving Neverland in all the time that he’d known Lori and now they were all forgetting again. A memory of his mother’s face passed through his mind, her smile filling it. He still remembered her. Didn’t he owe it to the others to help them remember too?

“I HAVE TO find a way to leave Neverland,” he told Lori the next day. “They don’t remember any more.”

She frowned and a tiny crease dented between her brows. Jack wanted nothing more than to take his thumb and smooth it away. “But what if you don’t come back?”

“We always come back. No matter how hard I’ve tried in the past, we always come back to the same place. It’s as if we’re locked here.”

“But what if you don’t come back?” she repeated, her green eyes filling with tears. “What if you find a way back to your world?”

“Don’t cry, Lori.” Her tears were more than he could bear, so he scooted closer to the water and gathered her up to him, letting the surf splash over his legs. “I always come back. I won’t ever leave you. Even if we sail away tonight, I’d be back first thing in the morning.”

He rested his chin on top of her head as she wrapped her arms around him. He felt small wet drops soak through his shirt, proof that he hadn’t stopped her tears after all.

Maybe it was time to let his memories die, he thought. Maybe it was time to stop chasing an old life and begin thinking of the one he had.

JACK SAT ON a bench in the corner of the room. Boggs was busily humming to himself, his head down in a barrel, a wooden paddle in one hand, inspecting his freshest batch of never-right.

He leaned against the wall, listening to the cook hum the familiar notes of Maddie Lee, remembering the last time he’d heard the song was the last time the Roger had sailed away from the island. Smee had sang it then, his Irish accent becoming thicker the farther he’d gotten into the song. How long had it been since they’d gone? Two weeks? Three? A month? A year? Long enough for everyone to forget again—and long enough for him to find a reason to stay in Neverland.

He sighed. It was as if an invisible fog had settled upon the crew, freezing them in time, clouding their minds to anything that wasn’t of Neverland. Normally, by now, he’d already be planning another way of getting Hook to sail away from the island and restore their memories. But now, he wasn’t so eager to do so. He took his pendant out of his pocket and held it by the end of its broken chain, letting the charm spin back and forth like a magician’s favorite trick. Ever since Lori had given it back to him, he hadn’t bothered to sew it back into his shirt. It wasn’t quite as important as it had once been.

Lori’s vibrant eyes and her beautiful smile filled his mind and he remembered the look of disappointment that covered her face when he told her of his plan to leave the island again. He couldn’t imagine life without her now—couldn’t see spending the rest of his time in a world that didn’t have her in it.

Neverland isn’t so bad, he tried to convince himself. Likely we’re trapped here for all eternity anyway. What good is it to remind everyone of the life they had if they can’t go back to it? I have something to live for here now. I have Lori, even if we do have to meet in secret.

Some small part of his subconscious realized Boggs had stopped humming. The sudden silence broke his thoughts and he looked up to see the man staring at him, a look of complete bewilderment on his face. The full tankard Boggs had been holding fell to the floor, rolling end over end, sweet contents splashing across the wooden floorboards. He took a few stumbling steps toward Jack, his eyes locked on the necklace Jack still held, the charm still spinning.

It was as if a haze lifted from the man’s eyes and a passionate look of hurt passed over them, only to be replaced a second later by a hate that seemed to burn hotter with each passing second.

Before Jack could so much as move, Boggs had picked him up by the throat and shoved him against the wall so hard spots appeared before his eyes. The chain burned as it whipped through his fingers as Boggs snatched the necklace from him. Jack jerked forward for an instant before being slammed into the wall again.

“Ye wee thief! Where did you steal it from?! Where?” Boggs demanded. His hand closed around Jack’s throat tighter with each word as if he wished to squeeze the answer out of him. “Never took it off…” he muttered to himself, looking down at the charm. “…never took it off. Always kept it near...” A panged expression painted his face and he winced before turning his attention back to Jack, giving him another squeeze, followed by another shove. “Best ye answer me lad, I’ve no use for a thief!”

Jack gasped, pulling at the pirate’s hand in as much an attempt to get air as to speak. “My….myyy…,” he wheezed.

Seeming to realize he wouldn’t get his answer at the rate things were progressing, Boggs eased his grip only enough that Jack managed to get his breath. He still dangled in the air like a fish out of water. “Did ye get it from Oralee, or Annabelle?” Boggs asked. Jack felt the muscles in the man’s hand quiver, as if it was taking every bit of control that he had not to continue shaking him around like a rag doll. “Margaret O’Malley? Dari Morton?”

How many wenches has he been with? Jack’s brain was a muddled mess, trying to make sense of things. The man had attacked him and was now firing out a different woman’s name with each breath, his eyes becoming wilder with each name he spoke. His didn’t have the crazy gleam in them that the captain’s held, there was something else in them…something anxious.

“My…mother…gave it to…me,” Jack managed to rasp.

“You be lying to me,” Boggs snarled, but he didn’t tighten his grip on his throat again. “She’d never take it off, ne’er give it to anyone.”

“I’m not lying!” Jack had finally gotten enough of his breath back that his temper was beginning to flare. He jerked his necklace out of Boggs’ hand and held it against his chest. He might very well die this night, but he was determined to leave this blasted island with everything he came with, however little it may be. He closed his eyes for a second, then opened them up and glared at Boggs. “My mother gave it to me. If you’re going to kill me, then get it over with!”

Boggs’ eyes widened. “Who…who be yer mother, lad? What was her name?” he asked softly.

“Ana Whaley Pritchard.”

The grip completely loosened on his throat as soon as he said the name and Jack slid the few inches down the wall, his feet finally touching the ground. Boggs took a step back. Then another. He fell backward onto a barrel and sat there, staring at Jack as if looking at him for the first time. “How did I no see it before? My stars, ye have her eyes and I never saw it…and ye have her fiery heart.”

Jack looked at him blankly. “You know my mother?”

“Knew her. Aye, I did.” The pirate rubbed his stomach, a wry expression on his face, as if he was remembering another lifetime. “And loved her more than any one man ever loved in this life.”

Critically, Jack’s gaze dropped to the cook’s round stomach. The woman on it looked absolutely nothing like his mother. His mother was slender, lithe, with a mass of flowing dark hair and a kind smile, even though she did have the temper Boggs spoke of. The tattoo woman in front of him looked like…like a female version of Boggs. As if the tattoo had taken a life of its own, Boggs’ flesh quivered, making the large woman jiggle back and forth. Perhaps Jack had been too quick to judge the man as sane. After all, he’d just spit out the names of more than a half dozen women. More than likely, most of them were acquaintances met in a tavern—and even more likely, the likeness of this tattoo belonged to one of them. Jack crinkled up his nose at the thought, not liking at all where his brain was taking him. “My mother is not Natasha de la Costa.”

“Aye, she was. And though so much time has passed, I pray to all that be holy she still is, for I can no bear the thought of losing her a second time. Used several names, she did, so as not to be caught when we ran from the Duke. We lived as pirates, raiding down the coast, most time wi’ her dressed as a man so as not to raise suspicions. But then she was pregnant wi’ you and ’twas too hard to hide. Besides, a pirate ship be no place to have a babe, so I left her in a safe place and promised to come back once ye were born. Took longer than I thought to make it, but when I came back, she was gone. The woman in the house said she died and the little one with her.” Tears filled Boggs’ eyes, glistening in the glow from the candles. He brushed the back of his hand over his face. “Should’ve known better than to trust ’em. The Duke bought their silence and lies, most like. I should’ve asked for her body. Once we get back, I’ll make it right. The Duke of Cardona won’t be fit for fishes when I be done wi’ him.”

Jack shook his head. There were still too many questions, too many gaps that hadn’t been filled. He stayed still for a minute, trying to get his mind to wrap around it all. His mother had always told him that his father was a sailing merchant. She’d moved them to London after learning the ship he had been on was known to frequent the ports there. He frowned, suddenly remembering his grandfather who had accompanied them on a big ship. He had been the one to buy the house and make sure they were settled. Come to think of it, he did talk strangely.

Boggs nodded and Jack realized he’d been thinking aloud. “Nessie’s mother was English, but her father be Spanish. Tell me, does he have lots of little round scars on his forehead?”

“Yes, they’re like little dots that go all the way up to his hair.”

Boggs gave him a satisfied smile. “Likely under his hair, too. I gave those to him the day I stole Nessie away. Old bugger had it coming for promising her hand to the Duke.” His face grew serious and he got up from his place on the barrel. “Lad, I want ye to know I never would have left her—or you—if I’d known ye were alive. I’d have fought to me last breath to get ye back.”

He reached out and flipped the charm over that still rested in Jack’s palm so that the crude P+N that had been roughly carved into the metal showed. “My own ma gave this to me the day I left for the sea. Told me it would always help me find the way. The day I married Nessie I carved our initials on it and promised her that I would love her until the day I died. I placed it around her neck and from that day, she ne’er took it off.”

“She always wore it until that last night,” Jack said quietly, looking down at the charm. “She gave it to me the night Pan took me away. She promised it would always keep me safe.”

Boggs closed Jack’s fingers around the necklace. “And it has, aye? That small trinket has held many promises and broken none. What say ye we leave this cursed island, son? I’ve left her waiting far too long.”

THE FIRST THING TO DO, according to Boggs, was to restore Beckett’s memory next. “We’ll be needing the lads ready to find ways of leaving. They’ll be needing to remember who they are to do that. John Beckett will know yon charm. He helped to rescue Nessie and he was there when I married her. We met up later on, both signed up to sail wi’ Blackbeard, then he stationed both ’o us to the Roger. Strange, that fate put us on this same ship, eh?”

Nothing should surprise me now, Jack thought with a shrug.

With the necklace held tight in his hand, Jack followed Boggs up to the deck where a lone man stood on the upper deck, leaning against the railing as he stared out across the dark sea.

“John, there be something ye need to see.”

At the sound of his voice, Beckett turned. “Aye?”

Jack came closer and handed the necklace to Beckett. The same confused look passed over his face, then understanding dawned. “Thought she were dead, man! Where did ye find it?”

Boggs gestured to Jack. “The lad here had it. She gave it to ’im before Pan brought him here.”

“Aye, he has the looks of both her and you, poor wee bugger,” Beckett grinned, reaching out to ruffle his hair as he had when Jack joined Hook’s crew as a small boy. Then his face grew solemn and he looked past them, carefully watching to see who else was near. “She be alive. I take it ye be thinking of taking the ship then?”

“Aye,” Boggs answered resolutely.

Mutiny. Jack’s stomach clenched. Only a short while ago, he’d been ready to stop trying to leave the island and accept life in Neverland. Now, he’d somehow managed to make two of the crew remember, gained a father, and had the beginnings of a revolt on his hands.

“’Tis mutiny, sure enough,” Beckett echoed Jack’s thoughts in a hushed whisper. “Even if we convince the lads to take the Roger, there still be the issue of getting ’er home. The cap’n charted every star in this sky and night after night they change. I steered her meself many a time trying to leave when we first arrived and kept the heading sure and true. Every time, we come back to the same place. ’Tis cursed waters we sail.”

“The cap’n ordered us to look for pixies before we began hunting for Pan,” Boggs replied. “I have a feeling that Miss Bell be the one who brought us. Likely she be the only one to take us back.”

“Could be any pixie would do,” Beckett said, scratching his bearded chin. “Methinks it be the dust that does it. Ye notice that Pan’s pixie sprinkled the girl with dust right ’afore we fired. She flew straight and quick, right into the clouds after that. Methinks the Roger flew to this island. We did no sail here. Magic brought us here; magic should take us back.”

“Best we get as many lads to join us as we can. Shouldn’t be all that hard. They be growing restless. If we get ’em to remember how it was before, they’ll be ready to leave again. Still, we have to take care. Should the cap’n hear of mutiny, I’ve no doubt he’ll throw us to the croc,” Beckett grimaced, thrusting his chin out at the ocean to the spot where he’d been watching.

A large dark form slid silently through the water. Instantly, Jack’s thoughts went to Lori and he hoped she was safe—far away from the crocodile. Then he remembered her crying into his shirt and his heart broke.

“We’ll be needin’ Smee. May be he has some medicines that will make the rest of the lads remember, if we can get him to help,” Beckett said thoughtfully, scratching his chin again. A grin bloomed on his face. “And I know how to get him to remember. Follow me.”

Jack fell into line behind Boggs as they made their way back down the steps, across the hold where the pirates were busily singing and playing their nightly tunes, to the empty surgery.

“If ye be wanting to say anything to ’im, we just walked passed Smee,” Boggs informed Beckett.

“Aye, but I be needin’ something to show ’im first,” Beckett said, reaching under a table where a small wooden box sat. He pulled it out and flipped up the lid, rummaging in the bottom. “I seen him staring at this before and he went all misty-eyed…aha! Here we are!” He said, lifting his hand up in the air.

Jack squinted as he looked over Boggs’ shoulder. It looked like nothing but an old bit of paper, but then he made out the lines of a drawing.

“Who knew there be a Missus Smee?” Boggs wondered. Under the sketch of the young woman was the name Madeline.

No wonder Smee’s accent gets thicker when he sings, Jack thought. Some part of him always remembers.

“All right, well, let’s be off then,” Beckett said triumphantly, waving the picture in the air. “No time like the present!”

They found the ship’s doctor sitting sullenly in the corner of the hold, staring down at the half-empty tankard in his hands. Unlike the others, who were singing and dancing, he sat still, looking both depressed and aggravated. His spectacles had slipped to the end of his nose and his white hair was mussed, some of it sticking up like the quills on a porcupine.

“We be just in time. He looks to be at his wit’s end, aye?” Beckett whispered over his shoulder to Boggs and Jack. “He’ll be thanking us, no doubt, for getting him out of his bad mood.”

Jack took a step back, not wanting to be too near Smee when Beckett showed him the picture. The old man might look like someone’s harmless old grandfather, but he’d seen Smee hack off a man’s leg that had gone rotten. Covered in blood and gore, the doctor had gone straight on to eat his supper, as if nothing at all had gone amiss. Jack had a sudden appreciation—and respect—for the ship’s surgeon who not only wielded a knife better than most of the other pirates, but had a stronger stomach than any of them.

From the way Boggs craned his neck, he knew Beckett had chosen this particular moment to whip out the paper. An instant later, he heard Smee snarl and the paper crackle as it was jerked away. What followed next, he didn’t know, because Boggs was backing up.

“He cut me. Some thanks that be,” Beckett said, his voice a bit too calm. Jack sidestepped his father and got a good view of John Beckett, clutching his hand, blood oozing between his fingers.

Smee glared at him, paper clutched in one hand, knife poised in the other. Then, he looked down at the photo and realized a drop of blood hand landed on it. The knife made a dull thunk! as he dropped it. It stuck into the floorboard at his feet. He carefully dabbed at the blood in an effort to clear it away.

“Maddie,” he said quietly, his eyes going soft and wistful.

“I take it ye remember her. ’Tis good. Now, might ye have a minute to grab a needle and sew this up? Not that I mind another scar. ’Tis just that I think ye might have nicked something useful.” Beckett lifted his injured hand and wiggled his fingers. “Plus, there be some things we’d like to talk to ye about.”

“Aye,” Smee answered, his gaze leaving the photo to lock onto Beckett. “But ye be warned, the next time ye take the notion to riffle through me things, I’ll do far worse than nick ye. Mark me word, next time ye’ll be missing something ye’d rather not part with.”

“Agreed,” Beckett said, then grinned as he looked over his shoulder at Jack. “Next time, I’ll let young Pritchard do it.”

“ALWAYS WRITE THEM DOWN, I do,” Smee said, setting down a thick leather book on the table. “More times than not, the lads always mutter something whilst they are out of their senses. Never know when something they say might be important. It all be written in here. Every time they mumble something, I put it down.”

Beckett leaned over, cradling his freshly cleaned and sewn hand with the other. “So everything we need to make ’em remember is in yon book? Won’t do any good for many o’ us as most of the crew can’t even sign their own name, much less read.”

“Well, I didn’t write it down plannin’ for ye to read it, now did I,” Smee scowled. “’Twas only for me, so as I didn’t have to recall who said what.” He tapped his forehead with his finger. “When ye get to be my age, ye can’t be expected to recollect everything.”

Jack bent over and took a quick look at the page the book had opened to. Being one of the crew who could read, he did so aloud. “Donovan Smithy, ship’s carpenter. Pesticule to the lower leg…” he stopped. “What’s a pesticule? Sounds a bit nasty.”

“Aye, nasty it was. Pus-filled bit of flesh. He’d a sore and it started to rot, so’s I had to lance it. Used his liquor to wash it clean,” Smee pointed to Boggs, who scrunched up his nose, obviously displeased his never-right had been used in such a fashion. “It did no’ work like rum would have.” He sighed. “Pity we’ve run out of rum, I do miss it. Anyhoo, the other stuff was a good bit stronger than it should’ve been and it set the poor man off his noggin’, started talkin’ all sorts of strangeness and I wrote it all down, so’s not to miss anything important. Most of it be about a boy. Methinks it may be his son.” Smee adjusted his spectacles and peered at the book. “Aye. Colin. That be the name he kept sayin’. ‘Colin’s dead, Colin’s dead. O’er and o’er he said it. Had to plug me ears to get any sleep that night. He kept goin’ on and on and on…”

“At least Smithy be better with a hammer than a knife and we won’t be remindin’ him about a woman,” Beckett grinned. “Don’t think I have enough bits of me to slash for the entire crew to have a go at me. Shall we go and see what our carpenter be into this fine evening?”

Smee picked up his book and tucked it under his arm and all three left the surgery in search of Smithy. They found the carpenter nearby, sitting on a bench on the opposite side of the hold where Smee had been sitting earlier, his head bent, long dark hair spilling over his bowed shoulders in ringlets.

Beckett, who had learned from his earlier mistake, stood a safe distance from the man, before yelling over the music, “Donovan, I’d like a word wi’ ye. ’Tis about your lad, Colin.”

That was all it took for the carpenter to lift his head, the haze leaving his eyes. He promptly burst into tears.

“Saint Brendan, ’twas easier than I thought,” Jack heard Smee mumble beside of him. “Tons o’ names in my book, but most o’ the rest belong to a woman. If a lad’s name does this, the whole crew’ll be a sobbing mess. Fine lot of pirates we be.”

Boggs sat down beside the man and patted his shoulder, then leaned over and whispered in his ear. Smithy brushed a hand against his eyes and stood up.

“Send ’em up to the deck as ye finish with each one and I’ll let ’em know what be going on,” Boggs whispered as he passed by Jack, “Won’t do for the cap’n to hear ’em wailing so close to his quarters, aye? He’ll be bound to know something is amiss.”

So, one by one, the pirates left the hold. Some looking miserable, some looking happier to remember what they’d forgotten.

Before long, the belly of the ship was empty and Smee shut the book. “That be all I have. Lucky for us most of the men have had scurvy at some point or other and I’ve treated ’em all for it. More lucky that all of ’em be the talkative sort when Boggs’ drink is in ’em. While it might be a bit strong, ’tis a magic cure for scurvy.” As he finished speaking, he looked at the far side of the ship, to the hallway that led to Hook’s map room and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Only one I’ve never written in me book was the cap’n, though he said plenty in the days he lost ’is hand. Didn’t have it in me to write the things down. I knew I’d ne’er forget ’em. If ever a heart had been shattered, ’twas his. For days he tried to die,” Smee frowned. “Not all that sure he didn’t, really. Aye, he still breathes, but he isn’t the one who came with us to this cursed place.”

“Best we head on up. They’ll be waitin’ for us,” Beckett advised, looking toward the steps. “If there be a chance of convincing the lads to do something about it, it’ll be now that everything is fresh in their heads.”

Smee followed him as Beckett started toward the steps. Bringing up the rear, Jack passed the dark doorway that led to the one pirate they hadn’t had to remind. The little hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He felt as if they had been watched—as if the whole night, someone had known of their plan and still waited in the shadows, watching their every move.

He noticed a small slip of light at the bottom of the map room’s doorway. The captain hadn’t left his room. He was still inside, plotting and planning against Peter Pan. Smee’s words rang in his head. He still breathes, but he isn’t the one who came with us to this cursed place.

THE DECK WAS FULL. Fifty sets of eyes locked onto them as they appeared at the top of the steps. From the looks of things, the crew had already been talking and whatever Boggs had told them, hadn’t convinced anyone.

“So now that we remember who we are, what are we going to do about it?” one asked in a whisper that was loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Forget what. Who be the one daft enough to take command from Hook?” another asked. This, coming from Johnphillip Herring. “The man has a bit ’o darkness in him. He’ll waste no time running any man through who challenges him.”

The look of fear on the man’s face was palpable. Jp Herring was the cook’s mate—Boggs’ helper for the galley. He was more comfortable with a spoon than a knife or a pistol, but he wasn’t the only one afraid. Nearly every head on the deck nodded in agreement. Captain Hook was a formidable captain—and a frightening one.

“Best we wait until he catches Pan,” someone in the back piped up. “Shouldn’t take all that much longer, then we’ll leave. I remember he promised he would.”

Several nodded again and a few murmured that they too recalled such a promise.

“So we should be content to stay here? How long? Days? Weeks? Years?” Boggs asked, the emotion in his voice threatening to become too loud. “I’ve been gone from my woman long enough. Who knows how much time’s passed by? I won’t wait until she’s dead and buried a’fore I make my way back.”

This statement garnered more than a few other murmurs of agreement.

“I will take command,” Jack said, taking a step forward. I am sorry, Lori, he thought. I have to do this. They need someone to lead them. But once they are safe, I swear I’ll come back to you.

The pirates stared at him, as if they hadn’t believed what they’d been told, so Jack said it again, this time just a bit louder and with more conviction so that he knew they would hear him—so he knew they would believe him. “I will take command from Hook.”

I swear to you, Lori, I will come back to you.

Still, he didn’t get the response he’d been hoping for. He’d thought they would rally to him—that they would be ready to take the ship and begin to plan their trip home.

Instead, their eyes only widened, including Boggs’, which he thought was rather odd.

Then he heard the creak on the steps behind him and felt the cold, sharp tip of a blade being held to the base of his neck as a dark, lethal voice spoke.

“Oh, you will, will you, Mr. Pritchard?”

6

THE CURSE

HEART POUNDING IN HIS CHEST, Jack stood perfectly still as the blade pressed to his skin. He felt the prick as the tip pierced his neck. Determined not to show Hook how truly afraid he was, he concentrated on breathing slow.

“Would you care to repeat yourself?” the captain asked calmly.

“I was telling the men that we should be going home.” Jack’s voice sounded surprisingly strong—even to himself. “There isn’t any need to stay here. While we look for ways to satisfy your revenge, the ones we love in the old world wait for us to return.”

The blade pressed deeper into his neck, forcing him to step forward. He took a few steps and Hook walked with him.

“I am the captain of this ship,” Hook said coolly, the tip of his rapier against Jack’s neck, effectively steering him to the side of the ship. “I warned you all that I would not tolerate mutiny.” He was louder now, making certain all of his men heard his words.

Jack stood against the railing, waiting, knowing Hook would make an example of him.

“On the railing,” Hook instructed him as he took the rapier off his neck. When Jack didn’t move, he swatted the back of his shirt with it. Jack heard the swish, and then the rip, as the blade cut through the linen, barely missing his skin.

He’ll flay me if I don’t do as he says, he realized, hopping up on the railing. He teetered there for a second, with nothing to hold onto, but found his balance and waited. Sure enough, Hook turned and looked at his men.

“Pritchard was Pan’s man long before he was mine and it would seem his loyalty still lies with him, so now the task lies to me to punish him. He has broken the code.” Hook paced back and forth as he spoke, his gaze fixed on the faces of his crew. “So there’s only one thing I can think of…”

If I could jump on him—pin him to the deck, I know they would help me, Jack also watched the faces of the pirates, Boggs especially, who was rocking back and forth on his heels, as if waiting for the right time to charge. Just as Jack readied himself to pounce, Hook turned and shoved him off the railing.

He heard the captain’s words as the air whooshed by him. “Terribly bad form, so I suppose we’ll see if Pan will come and save him now.”

He heard Boggs’ yell, accompanied by the sounds of clashing metal. He might not be there to see it, but he knew the pirates had mutinied. He wondered how many more of them would die doing so.

It seemed to take forever to fall into the sea. Everything moved in slow motion, giving him more than enough time to wonder why Hook thought Peter Pan would ever come to save him, followed by wishing the crocodile would be near to finish the job. Smee had given every member of the crew each gory detail of the slow, horrible death Long Jeff had suffered.

The curse…I don’t want to die by the curse.

Not caring what he wanted, gravity finally landed him in the sea and he sank like a stone, heading toward the bottom of the ocean. He flailed for a few seconds, fighting the current that sucked him down, but it was no use. His body ached from the lack of air and thoughts of Lori ran through his head as his lungs begged him to take a breath. Would she find him there, drowned, in her ocean? In the place that was home to her? Somehow he knew she would—and she would never know how he felt about her. She would never know he loved her.

His arms and legs grew heavy as if they had turned lead and his head pounded as if about to explode. Unable to fight a second longer, he took one long, fateful breath of the ocean, knowing it would be his last.

At least the curse won’t reach me, he thought, as everything dimmed. It won’t, because I’ll already be dead.

Darkness surrounded him. Everything reminded him of Lori now, from the current that was hugging him close as it carried him along, to the soft, wispy bits of ocean that brushed against his face. This isn’t so bad. There were worse ways to die. He imagined Lori swimming with him, pulling him up to the surface, her long hair tickling his cheek. As she pulled him, he heard her begging him to stay with her, begging him never to leave.

I won’t leave. I promise I won’t ever leave you now. He smiled as the current carried him away. Yes, there were certainly much worse ways to die.

LORELEI STRUGGLED TO get to the surface. Jack was dead weight and for each inch she moved upward, he seemed to get only heavier.

Not dead weight, I’m just fighting the current, she reminded herself. Not dead. He isn’t dead…not yet.

She moved her hand just a bit and splayed her fingers against his chest just to feel the weak but reassuring beat of his heart. But each beat was fainter than the last.

I won’t live without him, I won’t! He has to live. He can’t drown…

Adrenaline pumping, she thrust every bit of energy she had into swimming as she clutched Jack tight to her and finally, a few horribly slow seconds later, broke the surface. She angled her body so that his head was above the water, starting toward the beach a short distance away.

Fear clutched at her when she realized he hadn’t took a breath. Shouldn’t he have spit the water out by now and taken a deep breath of air?

“Please, Jack. Please live,” she begged, furiously pulling them both to the shore. She ignored the rough sand as it scrubbed her tail and scratched at her stomach when she reached the shallows. She had to get him out of the water. Using the tide in her favor, she alternately pushed and tugged, until at last, Jack lay mostly out of the water, with only the ebbing water licking at his feet.

She pulled herself out of the sea as far as she dared and turned him over on his side, pounding her fists against his back with every bit of strength she had left. Finally, he coughed and took one ragged breath.

“Jack?”

When he didn’t answer, she pulled him onto his back and looked at him. His eyes were still closed and there were dark, bruise-like circles under them she had never noticed before. But even more alarming was the thin line of blood that ran from the corner of his mouth, down his cheek and into the sand. It was as if it had been his own blood that had been drowning him, instead of the ocean.

The curse.

The sudden realization hit her hard. Jack had mentioned one of the pirates falling into the ocean and dying of Nerida’s curse, but he hadn’t gone into detail and she hadn’t asked. She’d only been happy that Jack had come back to her. But now it was happening to him, she was sure of it, and she didn’t know what to do. As she watched his cheeks took on a hollowed look, the bones in his face becoming more pronounced.

He took one shallow, labored breath…and a few seconds later, took another. He was still breathing, but at this rate, he wouldn’t be when the morning came.

I have to do something. I have to find a way to save him.

Her mind scrambled for a solution as she watched Jack’s chest rise uneasily up, then go down. Only one person would be able to break the curse—the one who made it.

She took one last look to make sure the water wasn’t going to touch him while she was gone, brushed a few wet strands of hair back from his forehead, and gave him the solemn promise that she would be back soon.

As soon as I possibly can, she added inwardly. For if there is one creature I have no desire to spend time with, it is the sea witch.

LORELEI CRINGED, SWIMMING backward in an attempt to stay out of the clutches of a large, sticky-looking patch of sea grass. From the looks of things, more than a half dozen other sea creatures had met their end in its strangling vines. Various little corpses and skeletons lay wrapped in the vines.

The worst part was that this was only the beginning. The dark opening to Nerida’s lair was within sight, but far enough away that she would have to pass even more frightening things along the way to gain an audience with the sea witch.

A sudden splash overhead made her look up from the murderous grass in time to catch a glimpse of a dark form on the surface.

The crocodile. Lorelei shivered, hoping the big, scaly beast would stay where he was and not venture down to see what was going on at her level. A few seconds passed and he continued to float along, so she turned her attention back to the task at hand. Jack needed her help. She couldn’t just stay here.

At least I can see what is around me, she thought, looking at a large coral that seemed to be bending at odd angles in an effort to grab her. The sharp ends glowed a soft blue, reminding her of the flowers that kept the ocean bottom illuminated at all hours of the day and night in the caverns around the castle.

She swam carefully past the coral, surprised when she made it safely passed without it touching her. She ducked under a jagged rock that seemed ready to fall on her and ignored the electric eel that slithered across her path.

Before she knew it, she was at the dark hole that lead beneath the island. Dozens of sea serpents crawled and slithered around the circular opening, their bodies sliding over one another, fangs glinting as they struck at the water, daring her to come any closer.

I’ve come this far, I won’t go back, she thought resolutely, taking a deep breath. She darted straight through the small space in the center of the serpents. They hissed, arching their necks before they struck at her.

She kept swimming, expecting the pain of their sharp fangs piercing her body. One serpent was larger than all of the others and it slithered in front of her, its jaws opened wide. She saw it arch its back, then it came at her, fangs poised to sink into her face. She closed her eyes and thrashed her tail harder, waiting for it to strike, but nothing happened.

She opened her eyes. Nothing was there. She glanced over her shoulder. Every serpent had disappeared and the walls and floor of the cavern she had swam into were covered in the same flowers that every mermaid on the ocean floor used. The blooms bathed the cavern in a soft light that led her deeper under the isle. The path narrowed as she went along, widening at the end as it spilled into a large room.

Perched on a large rock, her legs folded under her, sat the sea witch. Nerida’s wings fluttered with the current as she stroked the stingray floating next to her, a smile on her face as she looked down at her companion.

Nerida’s head snapped up as she realized she was being watched, the smile melting away, her eyes narrowing.

“Annalise.” The word sounded as if it was coated in venom.

“N-no,” Lorelei shook her head. Up until now, the sea witch hadn’t looked so frightening, but as she stared into Nerida’s face, she was so afraid that she felt herself shake. “Annalise is my mother. My name is Lorelei.” The sea witch’s gaze traveled over her, from her head to the tip of her tail.

“You have her looks,” she finally remarked. “Tell me, daughter of Annalise, what brings you under my isle? Surely you didn’t come out of curiosity.” Though Lorelei could tell she was waiting for an answer, Nerida’s attention dropped back to the stingray. She ran her fingers lightly down its back.

“I came because I need your help.”

That got a response. Nerida looked up and tilted her head to the side. “No one has ever dared to ask me for help. You have my attention.”

Feeling much more confident, Lorelei swam closer. “I need you to lift the curse from the Never Sea. There is a human named Jack who fell under the surface. He’ll die soon unless you help me.”

Nerida arched a brow. “Is that so, then? I did warn them to stay out of my sea. I told them to fear my curse. They shouldn’t have taken it so lightly. What’s done is done.”

“I believe that it was an accident, or perhaps one of the others threw him from the ship.” Lorelei’s heart pounded in her chest as anxiety took over. Nerida didn’t seem to care. What if she wouldn’t help her? “He’ll die soon. You have to help me.”

She swam directly in front of Nerida and sat in front of the rock, bowing her head. “Please. I’ll do anything you ask.”

There was nothing but silence for a long moment. Wondering what she should do next, she slowly lifted her head and found Nerida watching her thoughtfully.

“You have more courage than is usual for the merpeople,” she said quietly, as if she was thinking more to herself than actually speaking to Lorelei. “Too bad there aren’t more of them like you. Things could have been very different.” She flexed her wings and small bits of glittering black dust sprinkled on the rock around her.

“Please,” Lorelei begged her again. “There isn’t much time.”

Seeming to come out of her trance, Nerida’s eyes locked onto hers. “Only the kiss of true love from a selfless soul shall break the curse of the Never Sea.”

“A kiss? That is all?” she asked, springing up from her place in front of the rock. “A kiss will save him?”

Nerida’s smile was a wry one that didn’t hold any real warmth. “Yes, but be warned. To leave the ocean makes you as human as he. You must ask yourself if his life is worth the loss of your own.”

Lorelei’s mind raced to the place where Jack lay, in their perfect place between the dunes. Unless he had somehow dragged himself farther up the beach, she should be able to reach him without leaving the water. But even if she couldn’t, she knew she would go to him, wherever he was.

“Yes, his life is worth it. I will gladly give my life for his.”

A small smile painted Nerida’s lips. “Then it would seem you love him. I suggest you get started. As you have been so kind to remind me several times in the last few moments, you don’t have much time to waste.”

Whispering a quick “thank you,” Lorelei sped through the cavern’s opening and back toward the island. She kept replaying Nerida’s words in her head. Only the kiss of true love from a selfless soul…

Her heart ached. True love. She knew she loved him. But a selfless soul? She knew what that meant. As much as she loved Jack, she was going to have to let him go. If he awoke and chose to leave Neverland, she knew she had to let him go, even if it meant never seeing him again. To choose life for him would be to choose to live without him.

As long as he lives, that is all that matters.

TINK FUMED, RESISTING the urge to kick the wall and shake more dirt loose. The mother girl had gotten on her last nerve. All day she had bossed the others, telling them they must keep their new house clean and tidy, no small feat when their home was under a tree in a hollowed out bit of earth.

The silly girl had spent the better part of the day moving small piles of dirt around, proudly thinking she was making progress of some sort. She hummed and sang, happily dusting and sweeping as she ordered everyone about, then, after everyone was exhausted, she’d sang and hummed until, finally, every last one of her Lost Ones went to sleep. The whole thing had gone on so long that the pixie’s ears absolutely ached for silence.

She couldn’t take it anymore, Tink decided. She had to get away. She looked over at Peter, who was still busy making noise on his flute-thing in the far side of the room.

A wonder any of them are sleeping through that. She hovered in front of him for a second, but he didn’t so much as look at her, much less offer to accompany her, so she flew up and out of one of the hollow limbs of the tree, intending to get a much-needed breath of fresh air—and a bit of quiet.

She spotted Round sitting at the base of the tree. He hadn’t been pleased today, either. As the house had been built while he had been off having an adventure with the pirates, the other Lost Ones hadn’t built an opening to the house wide enough for him to pass through. He’d gotten stuck earlier trying to get inside, half of him in the house, the other half out. She hadn’t thought they’d ever get him loose, but finally, after lots of pulling and pushing—and threats from Peter to never again feed him breakfast—he popped free, and had been sitting there sulking ever since. Now he was asleep, his head lolling down to his chest. She thought of curling up on his shoulder and going to sleep on the soft fur of his shirt. After all, the ones against this house-and-mother thing must surely stick together, but he took one loud noisy breath and she decided against it. He was snoring and there was no way to sleep with that.

Was quiet too much to ask for? she wondered as she whizzed between more tree branches in an effort to put some distance between herself and all of the racket. She flew, and flew, and flew some more, until she reached the edge of Neverland. It wasn’t quiet here, either, but at least it was a different kind of noise. The water coming in and out on the beach was pretty in its own way, much nicer than the mother girl’s singing or Peter’s attempts at making music, though she’d never admit that to a water sprite. One tree’s limbs hovered over the Never Sea, so she sat on one low branch and curled up on some leaves. This would do, she decided with a yawn. She settled down and propped her head on her hands, watching the hypnotic waves as the tide washed over the beach, her eyelids growing heavy.

Something broke the surface with a light splash. It bobbed in the water for a second, completely disrupting the rhythm of the waves. Tink sat up and scowled, displeased that something else had shown up, likely something that was going to make noise and mess everything up.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the branch, she gripped the corners of her leaf and watched the shape come closer. It hadn’t made any other sound thus far, which was nice, but it had piqued her curiosity enough that sleep wasn’t an option anymore.

It disappeared abruptly in a swell of dark water. Well, that wasn’t going to work, Tink decided. If it popped back up, that huge mountain of sand is going to be in the way. I won’t be able to see it. She sighed, but got up, dusted the dirt off her legs, and zipped around the sand. She flew into the gulley where another sand mountain rose up on the opposite side of the one blocking her view.

Her heart stopped. There, lying on the sand, was her smallest Lost One, the one who Peter had named Runt. He wasn’t moving and didn’t show any signs of being alive. She dropped to the sand near his head and patted his hair as she had done so many times when he was smaller. When he didn’t respond, she moved closer and patted the springy hair on his cheek.

Still nothing. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she plopped down on the sand and leaned her head against his, still patting, though now it was more for herself than for him. He had been one of her favorite Lost Ones, even though she hadn’t wanted Peter to bring him here in the beginning. She stopped patting long enough to wipe her running nose on the back of her hand, then patted some more.

Was this what happened when the grown-ups stayed at Neverland too long? Fat tears rolled down her cheeks as she thought of the other ones on the ship—the ones she had chosen to bring here. Would they be lying still too?

The need to check on her grown-up Lost Ones sweeping through her, Tink gave the one who had been named Runt a final pat and flew over the ocean toward the ship that sat dark, foreboding, and still.

As she flew overhead, she noticed the thing that had been bobbing in the water was one of the fish people. A girl one, from the looks of things. What had the water sprites called them? Ah, yes, mermaids. Well, she had no time to sit and watch the happenings of fish people. They weren’t her responsibility. Her Lost Ones were—and one of them was gone now. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do about it, but she did know that she didn’t intend to lose any others. She continued on her way, sprinkling the water with gold dust until she reached the ship that bobbed on the waves like an enormous piece of driftwood.

There were very few pirates on the top of the boat, but one of them called out excitedly as she zipped beneath his nose in an effort to get a better look at him. He was the big one that usually stayed near the wheel. Happy that he seemed to look as intimidating as the last time she’d seen him, she moved away as he swatted at her. Most of the others were below asleep, she supposed, though she didn’t think they’d be there much longer. Even if they did manage to sleep through his racket, it would be morning soon and they would be up and about—that is, if they hadn’t suffered the same fate as Runt. She shuddered and flew down the steps, bracing herself for what she might find.

She zipped directly to the belly of the ship and dodged around the hammocks, listening to various snores. Thus far, everything seemed to be as it should. She stopped and looked around for a moment, satisfied. Now she only had to check on her favorite grown one—the one that disliked Peter so much.

Knowing he would be in a different room at the end of the ship, she made her way there, trying to be as quiet as she possibly could so as not to wake any of the others.

The small dull glow of a candle flickered in the crack beneath the closed door. Finding no other way to get in, she dropped to the floor and ducked under, scowling when the rough wood pulled at her hair. She knew, unlike the others, he would be awake. The candle told her as much. But even if by some miracle he was asleep, she had every intention of getting him to open the door when she left.

She blew a loose strand of hair out of her face and put her hand up to pat the top of her head and make sure none of it was missing, then froze, her hands still in mid-air. There, sitting at the table, was her Lost One, tied to a chair, his gaze locked on something that sat before him.

Curious, she flew up and landed beside of the candle in the center of the table. The familiar curved hook sat on the scarred wood, and at first she thought he was staring at it. But then she noticed the curled piece of paper propped against it. Slowly, she walked forward to the thing that held her Lost One’s attention so well that he hadn’t even acknowledged her presence. If there was one thing he was, it was polite, and that was what she loved about him most. After the typical rough nature of her small Lost Ones, a quick visit with the one in charge of the ship was always a nice change. Never had he not greeted her and inquired to her well-being. Well, until now, that is.

She walked in front of the curled slip of paper and recognized the drawing of a girl. One of her grown Lost Ones had this picture of her on his arm.. She’d watched him many times looking at her, as if he wished she was real. That Lost One’s name had been Harper. He and Hook had been friends, but Peter had killed him, and in doing so, had broken something in the captain.

Peter never should have done that, she thought. This one used to smile when he saw me. Now he doesn’t even see me at all. She stomped her feet so that a small cloud of gold dust kicked up, blocking his view of the picture so that he would have no choice but to look at her.

Wood groaned behind her, but she didn’t pay any attention to it. She took a step closer to her Lost One and put her hands on her hips as she peered up at him. A long lock of black hair hung in front of his face, so she reached out and moved it back. As if a spell had broken, something moved under the surface of his eyes and a glimmer of recognition sparked.

“Good evening, Miss Bell,” he whispered.

That was all it took for her to chime excitedly in return, asking him if he was all right and why he’d been tied up in such a way. She was just starting to fly behind him and tug on his bonds in an effort to free him, when he looked above her head, farther up than the picture and the hook were.

A strong hand snatched her out of the air and she squeaked in surprise. The grip around her middle was strong, threatening to crunch her wings, so she wiggled a bit and folded them behind her to keep them safe before leaning back to glare at the one who had been so bold as to grab her.

It was the cook who had the picture of the ugly woman on his belly, she noted, though she’d never seen him look so angry before. In fact, the look on his face looked very similar to the one that had been on the captain’s face on that bad day he had lost his hand in the cave. Something was happening with her grown Lost Ones. Something she knew nothing about.

She was just getting ready to forgive the fact that he had grabbed her and ask again what had happened when he tossed her into a tall tankard and placed his hand over the top, just as he had the last time he’d captured her and used her gold dust, shaking her in a cup over a barrel as if she had been nothing more to him than his favorite ingredient.

Oh, no, not again. All thoughts of forgiveness vanished and she got to her feet and pounded against the metal wall of the cup. It made pinging sounds that echoed in her ears, which only made her angrier. Even if something had happened, it gave him no reason to treat her in such a manner. She was a pixie, after all, and she’d been the one who had brought them all to Neverland. She deserved better than this.

“Let me out now!” she demanded, but the cook ignored her and sat the tankard on the table, shoving something over the opening in the brief second that his hand left the top. She thought of shouting all sorts of threats of what she intended to do to him once she was freed, but decided against it when she thought of the echoes that would be bouncing around her ears. Seething, she sat down and hugged her knees to her chest.

“Why do you need Miss Bell?” she heard the captain ask in a calm voice that didn’t really sound all that worried about her safety.

“We be intending to leave this island, Cap’n. She brought us, she can take us back,” the cook replied coldly. “I’ve plans for her, which is more than I can say about you. Lucky, ye be, that I hadn’t killed ye as o’ yet. Only the fear that I’d end up just like ye is all that keeps me from doin’ it this very minute.”

Silence. The pixie could imagine the emotionless stare the round pirate was likely getting. After a second, the cook sighed, proving she had been right.

“I only knew Jack was my lad for one night—only one. So many lost years, so much time gone. Then ye tossed ’im into that cursed sea!” the cook’s voice sounded broken now, as if his heart had shattered.

Intrigued, the pixie placed her ear to the cold metal and listened intently.

“It was mutiny,” Hook replied, indifferent.

“’Twas a wish to go home and nothing more!” She heard the scraping sounds as if a chair was being pushed back and the table jolted and his voice became clearer, as if he’d stood up to lean in closer to Hook. “Now he’ll ne’er get to do that.”

She heard paper crackle and knew the picture had been picked up. “He only wanted the same thing as Harper—wanted to go home. Now we’ll get to go, but Jack won’t.”

Jack! Runt? They were talking about her Lost One? Hook had killed her Lost One with the sea witch’s curse? Well, that explained a lot. Now she knew why he had been lying on the sand and Hook was tied up. It also explained the cook’s unusual behavior.

Tink stood up and paced the short two steps from one side of the cup to the other. Runt had been trying to leave Neverland and go back to the human world, just as the others wanted to do now. She’d always knew he missed his mother fiercely. She’d wiped at his tears and patted his hair too many nights to count. But she’d never thought he would try to leave.

She stopped in mid-step, suddenly realizing that she held the answer to all of their problems. She alone could fix everything—she could make it all right. She knew exactly what to do. She ran from one side of the cup to the other, throwing her weight against one wall and then the next until finally the cup toppled from the table and landed on the floor, rolling between the legs of the startled cook.

Freed, she sailed out of the cup, made it under the door a split second before she was recaptured, then flew back toward the island with a sense of determination. The solution to the problem was simple. And, fortunately for her, it would be easy.

Her grown-up Lost Ones needed a mother. And it just so happened that she had a perfectly noisy one under a tree they could have.

7

I WILL TELL YOU A SECRET

THE WATER WAS GLITTERING with small bits of gold dust. Lorelei looked up just in time to see a tiny pixie zip over her head and away. She ignored the little being and swam up to the beach, noticing the line of pixie dust in the water led straight to the place she was going.

She let out a deep breath when she saw Jack lying in the same place where she’d left him. Other than the light, golden sprinkles of dust that covered his hair where the pixie must have flown over him, nothing looked different. He hadn’t moved an inch.

Her breath caught as she looked at him. She was wrong. He did look different. He looked so, so much worse. His eyes had all but sunken in and his face looked skeletal.

Tears threatened to spill over and run down her cheeks as she pulled herself up on the sand next to him. The surf washed over them both as she took his still hand in hers and squeezed, hoping for some sign that he hadn’t died—that it wasn’t too late.

“I love you,” she whispered. “Please come back to me.”

She leaned over him and pushed a lock of his hair back, cupping his face and pressing her lips to his for a long moment. She broke the kiss and sat back up, but nothing happened. He still lay there, silent.

I was too late. She curled up beside him and laid her head on his shoulder. The tears she’d been holding back, rolled down her cheeks and soaked his damp shirt. Her sobs broke free as she buried her face in the soft linen, clutching handfuls of it, as if that alone could keep him with her.

A short raspy breath shook his chest, jolting her.

“Jack!” she rose up and cradled his face in her hands. “Jack!”

At the sound of his name, his eyelids fluttered, and after a few more seconds, opened.

“Lori…”

His voice sounded rough and scratchy, as if he had swallowed the fine sand from the ocean bottom.

“Don’t talk. Everything’s okay now. You’re going to be okay. I love you,” she said, covering his face with kisses.

“Lori…I…” he made a face, then managed to trap both of her hands in his. “…stop.”

Perplexed, she sat back and watched him struggle to get up. He pushed himself up on his elbows and looked at her. Nerida’s spell broken, it was magic watching his body return to normal in just a few seconds. His face filled back out and the first rays of the morning sun glowed on his hair, bringing out the golden dust the pixie had left behind.

He looked confused for a second and she remembered the last words she had said before he made her get away from him.

I love you. Then it hit her. A selfless soul. This was the part where she had to let him go—even though she would give anything to hear him say the words back to her. Unable to say anything else to him for fear of crying again, she gave him a small smile, then turned and started to move toward the surf so that the tide would take her away.

“No, wait!” he exclaimed, when he realized what she was going to do. He launched himself in front of her, seeming not to care that the water could easily wash over him and cause the curse to fall upon him all over again. “You have to listen to me, Lori,” he insisted. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

He’s going to tell me he’s leaving. He’s going to tell me goodbye, she thought, ducking her head. The tears spilled free again.

“No, don’t cry,” he begged, brushing them away with his thumbs. “Look at me, Lori, please? There is something I need to say. I wanted to say it before, and then, when I knew I was dying, that was the only thing that I regretted…not telling you.”

She managed a quick nod and did as he asked. I have to be strong now, she told herself.

He watched as she squared her shoulders, preparing for the worst, then he brushed another tear from her cheek, his eyes going soft. She wasn’t being nearly as strong as she had hoped. Tears kept rolling free, making tracks down her face and, ever patiently, he kept wiping them away, one at a time. Then he trailed a finger down the line of her jaw to her lips and stopped.

“I love you,” he said softly, “more than anyone or anything.”

Her breath caught. He’d said the words! He loved her! Her heart felt ready to burst, she was so happy. She smiled, and her tears vanished.

Jack continued, “I promised myself I’d come back for you when I left Neverland, whatever it took. I know I have to take back the ship and find a way to get the crew home. They’ve lost so much already, they deserve to go back home to the ones they love. I think I know how to get us back home, but it will be different this time. I don’t know if I’ll be able to come back. Time is strange in Neverland. It seems to be frozen here and I don’t know how much time has passed in our world.”

She felt her smile melt away and his next words caught her completely off-guard.

“There is one thing I know for certain, Lori. Life won’t be worth living if I’m there without you. Won’t you please come with me when I leave Neverland?”

This is it, she thought. I have to tell him everything. I have to tell him my secret so he’ll understand.

“I can’t go,” she said, then raised her hand. The questions that piled up in his eyes were going to come out any second. She had to say what she needed to say—before she lost her courage. He had to know why she couldn’t leave.

Understanding dawned and he sat back, waiting.

Here goes nothing.

“You remember I told you about my mother? How she never leaves the ocean floor?” It wasn’t a question really, but he nodded and stayed silent. “There was more that I didn’t say. I didn’t tell you why.”

Lorelei took a deep breath and continued, “Nerida came to the castle when I was young. I was one of the first ones to see her…” Memories of chasing Odin through the tall ocean grass zipped through her mind. She had been carefree and lighthearted then. It seemed so long ago… “She had just come back from the portal that led back to the human world—the same one that the water sprites used to bring us to the Never Sea.”

Jack fidgeted with this information and she could tell he wanted to ask more about the portal, so she continued, “It wouldn’t work for humans. It lies in a deep cave on the bottom of the sea. You would drown before you reached it…and it’s dangerous.”

He frowned and nodded. “Please keep going, Lori.”

She echoed his nod, swallowed the lump in her throat, and did as he asked, though she couldn’t meet his gaze. Instead, she picked up a handful of sand and let it sift through her fingers, watching as the small grains fell back to the ground. “I hadn’t meant to be eavesdropping. It was just that I was curious about her being the sea witch, so I wanted to get close. I overheard her tell Odin’s mother about the portal and when I went home, I told my father. He always had a sad smile when he told me about the old ocean. I could tell he missed it. He asked me all sorts of questions so I told him what I knew. The next day, he went to find the cave—and he never came back.”

Tears filled her eyes, but now the words wouldn’t stop. “It took days before I got the nerve to find the cave for myself. It was deep and dark. It took forever to swim to the bottom, but I finally made it. I didn’t find my father in that cave, but I did watch the crocodile swim back and forth through the portal. It seems he’s a monster that belongs in both worlds.”

Jack didn’t say anything, just reached out and took her hand in his.

“Whether the crocodile killed my father, or if he made it to the old ocean and couldn’t come back, I’ll never know,” she looked up at Jack. “It was my fault, either way—and my mother hasn’t ever forgiven me for it.”

The tears rolled free and Jack pulled her into his arms. “I’m the reason she is the way she is.”

“No,” he said softly, as he cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You have to listen to me. You were only a child and your father’s decision wasn’t yours—just as your mother’s decisions aren’t yours now. If there is one thing that I’ve learned in Neverland it is that you must never give up on what you want. Only you can decide what that is.”

She sat back and wiped her face with the back of her hand to clear the tears away and looked up at him. He looked so hopeful, his heart in his eyes, but there was a sadness in them too, as if he had come to a decision of his own.

“Whatever you choose to do, Lori, I support your decision. What I want is for you to be happy, whatever that takes. If you want to stay, I’ll still love you always. Wherever I am, my heart will belong to you.”

There it was, she realized. This was what true love was. He was willing to let her go—just as she had been ready to let him leave earlier. She knew everything that she had to do.

“I won’t turn into the mermaid my mother has become. The only thing that will make me happy is you. I want to be with you, wherever you are. I love you, Jack—and I’m coming with you.”

8

WENDY DARLING, IF YOU PLEASE

JACK WAS SURPRISED that Lori agreed to leave the only home she had ever known, but the surprise was short-lived, immediately replaced with such happiness that he thought he should surely be flying as easily as Peter Pan.

“I’ve got to tell her goodbye,” Lori told him when they spotted a boat coming to the island. “I can’t let her wonder what’s become of me too. I have to explain why I’m leaving, then I’ll come to the ship tonight.”

After a long kiss goodbye and a promise that she would be with him soon, Lori jumped back into the sea, leaving Jack to walk down the sandy beach in search of his crewmates. As he walked he wondered what had happened after Hook had pushed him overboard. Were they still fighting the captain to take over the Roger? And if so, how many had met their end at the end of his rapier? Questions upon questions piled up in his mind.

He found the pirates a few moments later, having already pulled the boat up and secured it. They were all armed—as was usual for when they went hunting—but all of the weapons were strapped to their sides and every one of them held a small container of sorts. Every question in his brain disappeared but one.

What in the world are they doing? The twelve pirates hadn’t split up into groups as of yet and looked somewhat lost, as if they hadn’t decided exactly what they were going to do after this point.

He cleared his throat to get their attention. Smee was the first to turn around and spot him. His eyes went wide as if he were seeing a ghost. “Saint…Brendan!” he wheezed, clutching his chest.

That had all of the others whirling around, first looking at him with much the same expression as Smee had done, then looked over at the ship’s surgeon, who had flopped down on the sand to take his canteen from his belt.

“It be Pritchard’s ghost!” he heard one of them hiss. Artemis Stewart, from the looks of it, as the man was hurriedly crossing his chest in an attempt to ward Jack’s evil spirit away.

“It no be ’is ghost, ye daft wee idiot,” Smee managed, after taking a gulp. A drop of amber liquid stuck to his white beard and he brushed it away, then patted his chest. “Aye, that be much better,” he said to himself, before glowering at Jack. “And the next time ye come back from the dead and attempt to give me a heart seizure, ye best hope I die from it—or else ye’ll pay.” His eyes narrowed and he pushed his spectacles farther up on his nose as he peered at Jack. As if he’d decided to forgive him for the fright, he got up from his place on the sand and came closer for a better look. “Mind tellin’ us how ye escaped the curse, lad? Long Jeff did no look nearly as good after he was dunked under the water. Is the curse broken, or did the sea witch take it back some way?”

“No.” Jack shook his head. “The curse worked. I just happened to have a friend who helped break it this time.”

“A friend, aye?” Smee asked, obviously wanting more details.

But Jack was saved from telling him about the mermaid who had stolen his heart when a girl and two small boys appeared at the edge of the trees.

“Tink,” Jack smiled, recognizing the small golden pixie who fluttered just over their heads.

At the sound of her name, she zipped over to him, chiming so fast that he had a hard time keeping up with everything she said, but from the affectionate pats to his hair, it seemed that the majority of it was that she was happy he was alive and well, even though the last time she had seen him he had most certainly been dead.

She paused in her nearly incomprehensible chattering to look back at the three children whom Peter had yet to clothe in his usual fur attire.

“I am bringing my grown Lost Ones a mother,” Tink chimed, slow enough this time that Jack understood her. “Do you think she will do?”

Wondering at the strange turn of events, Jack chewed on his bottom lip for a second. “I suppose she will. But won’t Peter miss her?”

“No.” Tink crossed her arms and her lips turned down in a pout. “He won’t.”

Jack hadn’t noticed the pirates had circled him until one of them grabbed Tink and put her in a small cup and slapped on the lid. “Aye, that’ll hold her!” Page said gleefully, giving Jack a quick slap on his shoulder, forgetting that only moments before he had been afraid of him.

“What are you doing?” Jack snatched the cup away and opened it to find a livid pixie sprawled on the bottom.

“Hey! Give that back! She’ll fly away!” Page grabbed for the cup, but Jack, being much taller than the short pirate, held it out of his reach. “How else are we going to get away?”

The pieces of the puzzle clicked and Jack knew now why all of them had some sort of container. They had come to hunt for a pixie to take them home. Apparently, the plan that had been hashed out the night before was still in effect. “If you ask her nicely, I’m sure she’ll come with us,” Jack said as Tink flew out of the cup and went directly to Page to poke at his eyes. Once she was finished with her vengeance, he added, “You’ll come, won’t you, Tink?”

She put her nose up in the air, as if she’d been planning on coming with them all along, then flew over to Jack’s shoulder and sat down. Tiny puffs of gold dust came from her feet as she swung her legs back and forth.

“Excuse me.”

Several of the pirates whirled around, reaching for their pistols. They’d forgotten the girl standing behind them. She walked toward them, holding the hand of each boy. The older one looked to be the same age as Beetles and Patch. A pair of spectacles slid down his long nose and he kept pushing them up only to have them slide down again.

The younger boy clung to his sister’s hand. He couldn’t have been any older than six, Jack realized, the same age he had been when he arrived at Neverland. The boy sniffled, looking as if at any second he might burst into tears. Jack felt a twinge of sympathy and caught himself wanting to go over and pat the boy’s hair as Tink had done for him when he had cried, but then the girl whispered something to the little one and he hushed and put on a brave face as they came closer.

Clearly the oldest and bravest of the three, the girl continued to pull her siblings onward. Though her nightgown was ragged and covered in dirt, but she stood tall and led the boys over to the pirates with a sense of purpose. She stopped in front of Smee, who, from the looks of things, she supposed to be the leader of the group.

“My name is Wendy Darling and these are my brothers, John and Michael. We would like to go home, if you please,” she said in a firm tone. “Our mother will be missing us dreadfully by now. We’ve been gone long enough.”

Smee only looked at the girl and shrugged, as if children regularly asked him to take them back to their parents. “As the cap’n of the Jolig Roger, I suppose we can arrange something or other. Will yer mother pay for passage once we’ve arrived…?” he stopped, then pushed his spectacles a little further up on his nose again. “Where precisely is home?”

“London, of course,” the girl replied easily, as if everyone came from there.

Several of the Neverlings did, Jack realized, including himself. No doubt London was Peter Pan’s favorite place to find more members of his troupe.

“Of course,” Smee muttered thoughtfully, stroking his beard. “I daresay the price for such passage would cost a good bit for ye and the two lads there. All the way from Neverland to London. Are ye certain your mother will pay it?”

Jack rolled his eyes. Tink giggled. Jack caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye as she rocked back and forth, her bell tones filling his ears. Where he was finding this crazy, the pixie was finding this charade humorous.

“Yes, I am certain my mother and father will pay whatever price you decide,” the girl said firmly with a stomp of her foot, as if she’d had enough of his questions.

“Well, let’s be off then,” Smee announced, taking the lead, as if he were indeed in charge of the men on the shore. “Can’t be wastin’ all day just standin’ here now can we.” He marched back to the longboat, crawled in, and positioned himself at the end, obviously waiting for those beneath him to do the hard work of pushing the boat back into the water—with him in it. Then, he pointed to the seat in front of him, indicating his new wards should join him.

More than a few of the pirates were muttering, but they went along with his farce and shoved the boat into the sea, with its proud captain sitting as straight as an arrow in the helm and the three bedraggled children by him. The others hopped in, taking care not to let the water touch them any longer than necessary, and started back toward the ship.

Jack deliberately sat on the opposite end and began rowing. Things weren’t adding up and he needed to know what exactly Tink had told the girl to make her come with her to the shore. Regardless of what the pixie said, he was sure Pan would soon arrive. Who knew what would happen then? There was also the small problem of not knowing exactly what else had been happening on the Roger in his absence. Somehow he doubted Smee had actually taken the position of captain—though one could never be too sure.

“Why are you bringing us a mother?” he whispered, fully knowing the pixie could hear him easily.

“Because you need one.”

“Did you tell her that was why you were bringing her to us?” he nodded pointedly at the girl’s back.

Silence for a second, then, “No, but she wanted to go anyway. You heard her.”

“Tink, we don’t need a mother,” Jack whispered. “We all need to go home.”

“Neverland is home,” she replied airily.

He shook his head. “Not to us, Tink. We belong in the other world. Neverland isn’t our home. It belongs to you and Peter. We need you to take us back, Tink. Please. We don’t belong here.”

The pixie huffed, obviously not happy with him, and flew off his shoulder toward the ship. Her leaving did not go unnoticed.

“Now what will we do?” Page complained. “Ye should have let me keep her in me cup.”

“Be quiet,” Jack muttered. “Keep rowing.”

“But the pixie—“

The boat lurched to one side and Jack got a great look at a green leathery back as the crocodile swam just under the surface. When the beast’s nub of a tail passed by, the boat rocked again as Tic-Tock disappeared beneath it.

Two more hits on both ends of the boat. Jack knew that the croc could easily capsize them if he wished, but for some reason he seemed happy to smack the boat around as if it wasn’t anything more than a toy.

A few of the pirates had laid down their oars and were aiming their pistols at the water in hopes of getting a clear shot. He saw the girl flinch as the croc’s long snout came out of the water, close enough that she could have reached out and touched it.

Pistols fired and the smell of gunpowder filled the air. Tic-Tock, having decided that he was no longer in the mood to play, hit the boat with enough force that everyone smashed into one another, though luckily no one fell in the water this time. Once they rose back up, the pirates immediately went to reloading their guns.

“No, keep rowing!” Jack ordered, completely forgetting that Smee was the supposed captain. “If he sinks us, we’re doomed. We have to get the Roger.”

It only took a split second for them to realize he was right and grab up their oars, rowing with such fervor that the boat tilted even more from their uneven, hurried strokes.

A moment later, the boat bumped against the side of the ship and ropes were thrown down to them.

Beckett’s head popped over the railing. “Back already, aye? Did yon green beastie have ye scared?” he joked. His gaze grew curious as he spotted the children, but then it locked onto Jack, and his eyes widened. “Jack! Lad, I thought for sure ye were gone to Davy Jones’ locker.”

The crocodile smacked against the boat again, none too gently. Grabbing one of the lines, Jack grinned up at him. “Still here and still alive, Beckett. Though I’m thinking things might change if we stay down here much longer.”

“Aye, lad.” Beckett’s smile widened. “We’ll get ye up top and safe. ’Tis a good thing ye be back. I know Boggs will be glad to see ye. A few things be changed now, though. I’ll fill ye in in a bit.”

Once the lines were secured, the boat was pulled up from the sea. Jack heard another loud thwack! as the crocodile hit the ship, apparently none too happy that his smaller toy had been taken away. What hands on the ship that weren’t busy with pulling on the ropes began shooting pistols and loading cannons to fire at the beast as he circled the Roger.

The crow that announced Peter Pan’s arrival shocked the pirates and several of their shots went wild. One dropped to the deck with a scream, his arm spurting blood.

“Cease fire! Cease fire!” An order came from the upper deck. Jack spotted the familiar crimson coat of Captain Hook. With a look that was murderous, the boy flew to the captain, pulling his knife from his belt.

“We shall finish what we started, Hook. You won’t take my Neverlings again,” Jack heard him say. The boy’s teeth were bared, his blade poised, ready to fight as he landed on the deck. He gave a mock bow. “And as you insist on good form, I shall not fly this time either.”

Hook reached for the blade at his side, but struggled for a moment before finally pulling his rapier free. Peter’s ferocious look vanished and he cocked his head to one side, at the unexpected delay—

As it was no secret that revenge was the pirate captain’s sole reason for staying in Neverland, everyone expected him to swiftly free his weapon. Jack found himself mimicking Peter’s gesture. The captain’s hat was pulled low over his eyes so that he couldn’t get a look at the expression on his face, but his hand shook just the tiniest bit as he held the long thin blade up in front of him. “Let’s finish this then,” Jack heard him say.

It all seemed odd, Jack decided as he hurriedly jumped onto the deck. Whatever strangeness Peter had picked up on left and the dark look returned to Peter’s face at the captain’s words. He struck out with his knife and Hook blocked it, somewhat clumsily.

Maybe he took a drink of Boggs’ never-right, Jack thought. That would explain his sluggish reflexes. Hook took a step back, then parried with a move of his own, which Peter easily blocked.

Jack heard a light click and looked over to see Artemis Stewart beside him, his pistol poised, taking careful aim. “No!” Jack hissed, reaching out to push the pistol toward the deck. “You might hit the captain. This is their fight. Keep it fair, aye?”

“It no’ be lookin’ fair,” Stewart muttered as he put his gun away.

He was right. While Peter’s movements were quick and sure, Hook’s seemed uncertain as he swung his rapier at the boy.

He’s swinging it as one would a cutlass. Jack watched the wide, hacking motions with confusion. Something is definitely not right.

With a sudden fury, Hook yelled and rushed at Peter. It caught the boy off-guard and let the captain pin him against the railing. Surprised at this turn of events, Peter clamped his knife between his teeth and used the nearby web of ropes to climb up to the yardarm.

Nonplussed, the captain followed him easily, scaling up the lines as fast as a fox. Jack felt his mouth drop open as the fight continued along the narrow piece of wood and the sounds of metal striking metal filled the air. In all the time he had been a pirate, he had never seen Hook go up the rigging—for anything.

A small streak of golden light above the captain’s head caught Jack’s attention. There, just above the two, hovered Tink, flitting one direction and then the other, distressed by the actions of the two people in Neverland she cared about most deeply.

They fought back and forth along the beam, each of them wobbling. Between the sounds of metal striking were the quick intakes of breath from everyone below as the fight held the audience captive. Jack expected Peter to fly at any second, as such was his way of doing things, but the boy stayed on the yardarm and fought fairly, even when Hook advanced on him.

As he moved forward, the captain’s foot caught awkwardly on a loop of rope and he flailed forward, smashing into Peter. The two spilled into the air, toppling toward the sea. Hook held onto Peter tightly, as if he planned on taking the boy with him into the cursed water, even though the only reason they hadn’t landed there yet was Peter’s ability to fly.

Peter struggled to get free from his grip, but was steadily losing the battle of keeping them both in the air. They dropped a great distance, and just when it seemed they both would be lost to the Never Sea, Jack saw the boy sink his knife into the captain’s chest. Hook turned Peter loose and an instant later, struck the water. A dark shape slid toward the spot where he disappeared as the crocodile darted from his hiding place under the ship.

Jack gripped the railing, watching as the crocodile finished the job Peter Pan had begun. The water turned red. Hook was dead.

Peter landed on the deck near Jack, oblivious to everyone there, his gaze locked on the sea where Tink fluttered over a single shred of crimson fabric, filling the air with heartbroken chimes. Without thinking, Jack reached out, snagged Stewart’s pistol from his belt, and clubbed Peter on the back of the head.

The boy dropped like a rock to the wooden floorboards of the deck.

BOGGS’ EYES WERE as wide as saucers as Jack pushed open the door to the map room. But his weren’t the only ones widening—Jack felt as if his own were getting ready to pop out of his head as he stared at Hook sitting calmly at his table.

“Lad! I thought for sure ye were dead!” Boggs exclaimed, jumping up to swallow him in an enormous hug.

“N-no…” Jack managed in a breathless hiss. “S-still here.”

Boggs backed up enough to look at him, but still kept his hands firmly on his arms as if he was afraid that Jack might suddenly disappear.

“I’m all right,” Jack gave him a smile, then pointed toward the captain. “But I just watched him be killed by Peter, then eaten by the croc.”

At the sound of Peter Pan’s name, Hook’s eyes narrowed and he tilted his head, very much interested in the conversation.

Boggs shook his head. “It were Smithy. Once we had the captain here tied up, we thought it might be best to have someone who looked like him on the deck…just in case Pan were to come by. Didn’t want him to think we were sitting ducks without our captain, aye? We picked Smithy, since he was the right build and had the same type hair.”

Poor Smithy. Jack realized the last time he had seen the man was when they had brought his memory back with the name of his son.

“Aye, at least he be with Colin now, rest his soul.” Beckett’s voice startled Jack and he jumped, twisting around to catch the man grin at him wryly. “A bit jumpy, aren’t we, lad? Ye’d think it was you tied to the mast of this ship instead of Peter Pan.”

“Ye’ve got him?!” Boggs asked.

“Oh, aye,” Beckett replied as he grinned at Jack. “The lad here knocked him out cold. I just came down to ask what the plan be now. His wee pixie is perched on his shoulder, looking fierce at anyone who dares to come close to ’im.” He shrugged. “Don’t see no reason why we shouldn’t be able to go home. It be your call though, as you be the captain.” He looked pointedly at Boggs.

Hook hadn’t said anything, and somehow Jack doubted he would.

“We picked up a girl and two little boys that want passage back to London,” Jack told Boggs. “And I have one more that wishes to come, but she isn’t here yet. She’ll be here by nightfall.”

“Sounds good,” Boggs said, a twinkle in his eye. “A ‘she’, eh?”

“Yeah,” Jack grinned. “I’ll tell you more about her once we’re on our way. Right now, I think I’ll need to convince Tink to help us if this is going to work.”

Beckett grunted. “Best get to it, lad. With the scowling she’s been doing, it might take ye a while.”

HE FOUND THE pixie exactly where Beckett had said, dutifully guarding Peter as the boy slumped over the ropes holding him to the mast. His hair was disheveled and there was a dark sticky patch where Jack had hit him.

When Jack approached, she flew from Peter’s shoulder to directly in front of Jack’s nose, shaking her finger at him and blasting him with chimes so loud and fast that it was no secret she was telling him in no uncertain terms how unhappy she was with him.

“I’m sorry, I had to,” he apologized. “You saw what he did to the captain.”

He didn’t know if she knew about Smithy being in Hook’s clothes, but he knew he had to try to explain. More than once the crew had referred to Tink as “the captain’s pixie.” From the way her face fell, she didn’t know that Hook was alive and well in the belly of the ship. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

“We need to go home—back to our world,” he told her gently. “We can’t stay here anymore. You saw what happened.”

She looked uncertain for a moment and just hovered there, as if she was thinking everything over.

“Besides, think of it this way. If we’re gone, then Peter won’t have anyone chasing him. He’ll be safe here with you and the Neverlings,” he added.

Provided that he doesn’t bring someone else to Neverland who ends up hating him.

“But you’ll take the mother girl back too?” she asked, sounding hopeful as she calmed enough to be understood.

“Yes,” Jack promised. “You have my word. They are safe below the deck. If you take us back, I’ll make sure they’ll get home.”

After what seemed forever, Tink finally nodded, and without so much as a chime, flew over the deck, spreading every inch of it in a flurry of gold dust. Taking up her post back on Peter’s shoulder, she frowned. “Only because you’re taking the mother girl.”

Jack fought to keep a straight face. Lucky for them, the pixie detested the girl for some reason. He turned and walked over to the railing, lest his control slip and he burst out laughing. Lori should be there at any minute. The sun was setting and soon the Jolig Roger would take to the sky.

The water glowed with the last dying rays of light, but there wasn’t as much as a ripple. The Never Sea was still and foreboding. His heart sank. What if she didn’t come? What if she chose to stay in Neverland?

Long moments passed and the last rays of daylight left, leaving the ship to sparkle in the night like bright piece of gold in the sea. He swallowed and fought back tears.

“Boggs says it be time to go,” Beckett appeared at his side. “We can’t wait any longer for her. I’m sorry, lad. We have to set sail if we’re going to go back.”

Jack nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Lori wasn’t coming. She’d made her choice—and he was going to have to let her go.

No, he thought. Her memory would never leave him. He wouldn’t let it. There had been too many lost things in his life. Lori wouldn’t be one of them. I won’t ever let her go. She’ll always be with me, here or there, wherever I am, my heart will only ever belong to her.

THE SHIP WAS quiet as it sailed into the night. For the first time since he had been on the Jolig Roger, the pirates below deck were silent. There wasn’t any singing or dancing and Jack wasn’t sure if it was Smithy’s death, the presence of Peter on the ship, or the fact that everyone knew tonight would be the end of their stay in Neverland. The tension seemed to settle on the Roger as thick as the blanket of fog that had covered the sea.

He lay on the hard deck, pillowing his hands behind his head and watched the boy at the mast. He’d taken it upon himself to watch him throughout the night. Peter still hadn’t woken up, and more than one pirate had passed by, fingers twitching at their side where a blade or pistol could be easily reached. Jack was certain that his presence was the only thing that kept them from finishing Peter off and then throwing him overboard.

Not that he didn’t deserve it, Jack noted, but to kill someone while they had no way of defending themselves was wrong.

When morning came and Peter Pan was awake and his normal cocky self, Jack might very well change his mind. But for now, he was his to watch over. He turned his attention to the sky.

The stars were barely visible, winking between the thinner bits of fog like tiny, silver fireflies high above them. He expected them to lower, evidence of the ship rising into the sky, but their positions stayed the same.

He heard Beckett mutter curses under his breath on the quarterdeck as he carefully steered the wheel, his eyes also locked on the sky.

“Cursed fog,” he hissed. “It be like Neverland knows we be wanting to leave.”

Jack moved up to be closer to Beckett, though he made sure he was close enough to keep an eye on Pan He needed a friend to talk to, someone who could make his thoughts turn to the life he was returning to. Staying close to Peter was only going to make him remember all of the time he had spent as a Neverling and if he got too far away from him, all he would think about would be Lori.

“Beckett, tell me more about Boggs and my mother,” he said, swinging his legs over the side of the quarterdeck.

John Beckett smiled, his eyes still locked on the sky. “Boggs and Natasha. Ye remind me of yer ma a good deal now that I know who ye are, lad. Ye have her looks, but no doubt ye’ve got your fair share of Boggs, too. If ever a man fought for what he loved, ’twas him.”

Jack waited. Beckett was a good storyteller, if you waited for him to sort his thoughts and begin. True to form, after a long moment, he continued.

“I met Boggs first. He was on his way to get her, ye know. The Duke of Cardona had taken her and so Boggs was going along the back roads so as not to be seen.

He found me and a handful of ruffians in a brawl, there in the middle of the dust and the dirt. I’d just gotten off a pirate ship and was meanderin’ down the road with a bit of gold in me pocket and more than a good deal of rum in me belly. Sad I am to say, I was rather drunk when the thieves found me and decided to relieve me of what booty I had left.

They’d pinned me down and were about to stick a sword through me when Boggs came across us and helped me fight ’em off. Two against six was better odds and we beat ’em and they turned tail and run.”

He frowned at the sky and turned the wheel a half a turn to the right. Seeming to be happy that they were once again on the correct course, he continued on with his tale.

“I owed him, so when he told me what he was going to do, I offered to help. We broke in to take her back and had to fight through all o’ the Duke’s men to get to her. We finally got her out, though not before your da fought the Duke and marked him with a long cut to his face and a promise that next time he would do much worse to ’im if he ever came near her again.”

Beckett shook his head and grinned. “Never saw a man fight like that before. Boggs was a man to be reckoned with that day, slashing that cutlass around. No matter what the Duke did, Boggs was ahead of him. It were as if both heaven and hell were on ’is side and the Duke knew it. Blood a-runnin’ down his face, he ran off, coward that he was.”

“Boggs and Nessie were married the next day.” Beckett looked thoughtful, a wrinkle creasing his brow. “I sat and watched ’em promise to love each other to the end of time and lookin’ at their faces, I knew they meant it. What they had was a special thing—something that comes once in a lifetime.”

He smiled wryly, his gaze dropping from the sky for the slightest of seconds to land on Jack. “Two promises were made that day. They made the one to each other, the second I made to meself. Should I ever find a love like what they had, I’d hold onto it tight. What they had was a special thing. Love like that comes one time. If ye ever find it, ye should ne’er let it go.”

The ache in Jack’s heart grew. He’d found that special love Beckett spoke of—and he’d let it go. Now it was too late to make it right.

9

A GAME OF SORTS

“LAND HO!” STEWART called down from the crow’s nest as the first rays of dawn came.

The shout stirred Peter, and the boy groaned and sat up, blinking. His movement woke Tink, who stretched from her perch on his shoulder. Realizing that Peter was conscious and awake, she happily reached over and patted his hair, a huge grin lighting her face.

Peter, on the other hand, looked baffled. He glanced down at the ropes tying him to the mast, then looked up at all of the pirates standing around him. His usual arrogant smile wasn’t on his lips and the look in his eyes was uncertain.

“Runt,” he whispered to Jack, who sat against the rail, watching him. “Could you tell me what happened? The last thing I remember was flying here for something, though I can’t seem to remember why.”

“Wendy and her brothers wanted to go home,” Jack answered, and left it at that.

“Oh,” Peter answered. “I must have to come to help take them back then.” He frowned for a second. “Are the pirates going home too?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

What is wrong with him? Jack wondered. The boy seemed to have forgotten that he always fought the pirates—that it was one of his favorite games. There wasn’t a bit of the usual anger that Jack expected from him. Instead he seemed very…accepting…of it all.

“We’re at the blasted island again!” Stewart called down, even louder this time.

Jack felt as if a sudden weight had been lifted from his shoulders. They were back at Neverland—back to Lori.

The rest of the crew wasn’t nearly so delighted to have returned. If anything, they looked downright murderous…and as they started toward Peter, he could tell who they were blaming. Blades and pistols were popping out everywhere.

“Wait, wait!” he said, hopping up to jump in front of Peter. Dumb idea. Dumb, dumb idea, he scolded himself. This is the last person in the world I should protect.

And Peter was the first person in the world that every pirate on the Roger wanted to kill.

Jack put his hands out in front of him, hoping to calm the men down. “We need him. Leaving Neverland didn’t work for us, but he will know why. He is always coming and going. He can tell us how to leave here.”

After a painfully long second, the weapons were slowly lowered, and while the pirates still didn’t look happy, they did at least appear to be listening to his logic.

“Is this true?” Boggs had just come up from the steps. Seeing where they were and hearing the last bit that Jack had said, he pushed his way through the throng.

Jack saw Peter nod out of the corner of his eye.

“All right. What say ye we have a bit of a trade then, eh?” Boggs suggested. Jack caught a gleam of mischief in his eye. “Ye tell us how to leave, let yon pixie take us back, and we let ye go.”

As everyone seemed agreeable with this arrangement, Jack moved out of the way to find Peter nodding. “Yes, that sounds good to me too.”

“So what be the secret?” Boggs asked. “Yon pixie covered the ship with dust last night. Surely we should have seen our own seas this morning, yet here we are.”

Peter offered a half-hearted shrug. “It’s easy. It only takes a happy thought. Untie me and I’ll show you how it works. I give you my word that I won’t leave until we are finished.”

Several pirates grumbled, but Boggs held up his hand and they quieted. Then he looked at Jack. “Untie him, but if he flies away from the ship, every one of ye have permission to shoot him.”

That information was received well. Jack worked the knots free on the rope as the crew checked the powder for their guns.

“All right,” Peter said, rubbing his sore wrists. “When I want to fly, all I have to do is think of my one happy thought.” He looked up toward the sky, as if expecting to fly, but then he stopped, a look of sheer terror on his face.

“What is it?” Jack asked.

For the first time in the entire time he had been in Neverland, he saw Peter look truly sad. Tears filled the boy’s eyes. “I can’t fly. I can’t remember my happy thought.”

Jack remembered the last time they had sailed away from Neverland. Patch and Beetles had been with them then, but they had ended up gaining some of their memories back.

Had this trip had the opposite effect on Peter Pan? If he had forgotten—truly forgotten—how to fly, then he would be as helpless as any other Neverling on the island.

Jack found himself hoping that it was true. If Peter spent time with his troupe instead of flying off whenever the mood suited him, he might learn to appreciate them more and care for them.

Boggs was busily chewing on his bottom lip, as if deciding what to do next. “Well,” he said, “we should have enough happy thoughts between the lot of us to get back home. Will ye stand by your word and let the pixie take us back tonight?”

Peter’s bottom lip quivered. “Yes.”

“Then it be settled. Jack here can take ye back to the island. When night falls, send your pixie back to us,” Boggs said. He glanced over his shoulder and addressed his crew. “Ye heard me, lads. Get a boat ready! The rest of ye get the ship to rights. Tonight, we leave this place.”

Once he was certain that everyone was following his orders, he pulled Jack to the side. “Lad, I’ve seen the look in your eye. Whoever she be, ye have until tonight to find her and bring her with ye.” He gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Take me advice. If ye find the one ye love, don’t leave without her, else ye will regret it for the rest o’ yer days.”

Jack gave him a quick, resolute nod before jumping in the boat behind Peter.

“Be back by dusk,” Boggs called out to him as the boat was lowered down to the water.

Either I’ll be back with her—or I’ll never again try to leave this place, Jack promised himself as the boat landed with a splash into the sea. He unhooked the ropes and picked up the oars, gesturing to the other set to imply that Peter should follow his lead.

Now was the time to see if the boy truly couldn’t fly, before they were away from the ship. Peter grasped an oar in each hand and mimicked the motion the Jack made as he dug into the water and pulled.

It was a clumsy attempt, but an attempt all the same. Had he been able to fly, it would be doubtful he would keep up this charade now.

Peter was quiet for a moment as they set off toward the shore, but his words caught Jack completely off-guard when he finally spoke.

“I remember that I brought you here and that you didn’t want to come, though for some reason I can’t remember why. It seems I might have made a mistake. I am sorry for that. I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

Never had Jack thought an apology from Peter Pan would be possible, but there it was. His mouth was hanging open, and likely he looked as Smee would have put it “a bit daft,” but he couldn’t help it. One night on the Roger seemed to have completely changed the boy.

“It’s…all right,” Jack managed. Actually, it wasn’t all right. He’d spent years upon years of his life in Neverland, as far as he knew. He’d lost so much that he didn’t dare think of how many things could have been different if he hadn’t been stolen away. Still, Peter truly did look remorseful and what was done was done. And Neverland hadn’t been all bad. While Jack had lost things—he’d also gained some important ones, too. “Apology accepted,” he told the boy who was now making faces.

But it wasn’t Jack who had Peter’s attention.

“Morbert is over there waving for us. He looks worried.” Peter said, looking toward the island.

Jack turned to look in the direction Peter indicated. Sure enough, there stood the Neverling, jumping wildly on the shore, his fur hat flopping on his back, red hair glowing in the morning sun.

“If I could fly, I could already be over there to see what was wrong,” Peter complained, showing a bit of his usual self. “Hurry up and row, Runt! We haven’t gotten all day to sit out here in this boat. Something is up.”

Jack gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to tell the boy that if he would quit rowing in the opposite direction it would go much faster. His arms ached by the time they made it—fighting the waves while trying to counteract Peter’s unskilled rowing had been tough.

Morbert ran up to them, freckles standing out in contrast to his flushed face. “Good thing I found you. We don’t know what to do with this,” he told Peter, then looked up at Jack. “Good to see you again, Runt.” He crinkled up his nose. “My word, you have hair on your face now. Don’t you think you’ve grown up enough? It’s only getting worse.”

Peter took charge, crossing his arms over his chest. “What is it, Morbert? Where is everyone else?”

The boy’s attention shifted from inspecting Jack’s beard back to his leader. “It’s the mermaid we caught. She…” he frowned, trying to figure out his next words, “…she doesn’t look the same and now we don’t know what to do with her.”

“What mermaid?!” Jack thundered, causing the boy to jump and Peter to take a step back. There would only be one mermaid who would come to the surface—and it would explain why she hadn’t come with him. “Where is she?”

The boy quivered in front of him, and wordlessly pointed to the grove of trees beyond. Jack took off running and soon found the footprints of the Neverlings in the sand—along with a long, deep furrow that showed they’d been pulling something…someone.

He saw Beetles first. The boy had his hands on his hips and was shaking his head despairingly. When he heard Jack’s steps, he looked up and scowled. “High time you showed up! It never takes you this long to rescue your pirates. I was beginning to think we shouldn’t have taken the mermaid, but then, you didn’t leave us any pirates like you promised, so there wasn’t much choice,” he glowered at Jack. “And no one ever told us they lose their tails when you pull them out of the water. Somebody should have told us that! She didn’t have any clothes on. Scared us all so bad that Morbert wet himself.”

The red-headed boy’s face turned scarlet and he flipped his fur hat up over his head in an effort to hide his shame.

Jack pushed past Beetles and found Lori propped up against a tree, buried under a pile of furs. Two slender white feet poked out of the coverings, bound with a strip of fur, proof that everything the boy had said was true. The second her eyes met Jack’s, they flooded with relief.

“Lori, are you okay?” He knelt beside of her.

She shot Beetles a dark look. “Yes, but I’d be much better if they’d left me alone. When you went to join with the others, I came back to the surface just long enough to watch you go. That one,” she nodded at her accuser, “jerked me out of the water and kept me here all night.”

Beetles crossed his arms and looked down his nose at her. “I was upset with Runt from our last visit, though now I can’t remember exactly why. Neverland always seems to make me forget things. But that doesn’t matter. If Runt had played by the rules and left us pirates, I wouldn’t have got you. You’re the one he’s been spending all the time with, so I thought you might be important. Trust me, I won’t be pulling any more mermaids out for anything.”

He gave Jack a knowing look “They’re slippery right before they lose their tails. Then we had to keep splashing water on her or she’d complain that her skin was drying out. Mermaids are naught but trouble.”

The four other Neverlings mumbled their agreement. Apparently it had taken all of them to pull off this particular kidnapping and from the looks of things, none of them had really enjoyed the adventure.

“Pirates are much easier,” Patch explained, his rabbit ears still bobbing around his head. “No more mermaids. Next time play by the rules, Runt, and don’t take so long to hold up your end of the bargain.”

Peter had been leaning against a tree, listening to the exchange, and had gone unnoticed until now. “There won’t be any more pirates after today. They are going home,” he said. “This is the last adventure with them.”

All of the Neverlings went quiet as their attention focused on Peter, so Jack took these precious few seconds to untie Lori. Who knew what the Neverlings would do next? He wouldn’t put it past them to try to tie them both up in an attempt to keep them in Neverland. Once her hands were freed, Lori gripped his arms and pulled him close. “I’m sorry I didn’t come,” she whispered. “I would have.”

“It’s all right now.” He leaned down and kissed her.

That kiss was all it took to break the silence. “Eww!” he heard the Neverlings say in unison.

“He’s too grown up to play anymore anyways,” Beetles huffed. “Just as well that they go, I suppose. We can have our own fun.”

Jack broke the kiss and grinned at Lori. “I believe we’ve been excused. Are you ready to go?”

“Yes. More than ready,” she replied, locking her arms around his neck as he lifted her up, furs and all.

“Well, I guess this is goodbye, Runt,” Beetles said, giving him a quick nod before turning to disappear into the forest.

“Yep, goodbye, Runt,” Patch told him, following the round boy’s lead.

“’Bye, Runt,” Scuttle and Tootles replied at the same time as they, too, headed for the forest.

Morbert was the last to leave, stopping just long enough in front of Jack to say, “I didn’t wet myself. It was sea water that got splashed on me. Goodbye, Runt.”

Jack nodded and the little boy left with the others.

Peter watched them go, then he turned to Jack. “Tell your captain that Tink will come tonight to take them back. I gave my word. They are free to go.”

Without another word or the goodbye the others had given, Peter Pan turned and walked to the place the others had disappeared, his shoulders slumped, as if he was wishing more than ever for the ability to fly again. Tink flew over his head, sprinkling his brown hair with golden dust in hopes that he would remember his happy thought.

Jack waited until they had all gone before starting back toward the boat, Lori still held tight in his arms.

“I think I can walk,” she said, wiggling her toes. “I’ve never had legs before.

“Do you want to try?” he asked, more for the sake of being polite than anything else. Now that he finally had her, he didn’t want to turn her loose for a second more than he had to.

“No, not yet. I’ll have lots of time to walk after tonight,” she laughed and snuggled into his chest. Her next words were muffled, but they pulled at his heart. “I wanted to die when I watched you sail away. I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I’ll never leave you again,” he vowed, placing a chaste kiss on the top of her head. They were almost back at the boat and it was only mid-morning. They’d return to the ship soon with plenty of time to spare. A thought struck him. “You didn’t make it to tell your mother goodbye.”

Lori straightened in his arms. “I know. I have to tell her before I go. Will you wait for me?”

“Always,” he promised, walking slowly for those last few steps in an attempt to keep her with him as long as possible. At the very edge of the ocean with the water brushing over the top of his feet, he put her down.

She smiled at him. “Shall I to meet you at the ship tonight?”

He shook his head. “No, not this time. I’m going to stay right here until you get back. No one else is going to take you away from me ever again.”

The last thing he wanted was for the Neverlings to decide to play one last game and kidnap her one more time, even though they had said they were finished with taking mermaids.

She reached up and brushed a light kiss on his lips. “I’ll be back soon,” she promised.

He set her down so that her the surf washed over her feet. He held her tight for a moment more, then turned loose. Giving him one last bright smile, she turned and dove into the sea.

10

BROKEN

ODIN HAD SEARCHED for Lori for hours. She simply wasn’t in the water—or if she was, she’d found the best hiding place in all of Never Sea. He shook his head. Tiny bubbles escaped from his mouth and spiraled in a flurry toward the surface.

Annalise had come to him late in the night, frantic.

He knew that Lori had spent all of her nights in the tall grass in the knoll over the castle. Ever since that day her mother had left marks on her arm, she hadn’t spent another night with her, choosing instead to sleep in the thick, soft rushes in the open water. Annalise had known it too. He’d seen her sneak up to check on her daughter each night.

“She isn’t there!” she’d cried, pacing back in forth in front of the Mer queen—Odin’s mother—and himself like one crazed.

“It’s all right,” he’d told her, hoping to soothe away her worry. “I’ll find her.”

But he hadn’t, and he’d looked everywhere. Well, almost everywhere. He brushed a lock of blond hair away from his face and looked up. The surface glimmered from the morning sun. It was possible she’d fallen asleep on the shore. He’d spotted her with the pirate more than once and saw the look on her face when she sat on the shore with him. Odin knew she was in love with him.

That’s where she had to be, so that’s where he was going to have to go to find her, Odin decided, swimming up into the cooler water.

A sudden splash on the surface got his attention as something came hurtling toward him in a frenzy of familiar red hair.

There she is! Relief and happiness surged through him now that his search was over. She had indeed been on the shore, the one place he hadn’t checked.

His first real glimpse of her body told him something wasn’t right. Where her beautiful blue tail should have been, there were two human legs.

Odin’s heart dropped nearly as fast as Lori was sinking. He realized her fingers were clawing at the water as if she was trying to swim. As her hair swirled around her, he caught a glimpse of her wide, terrified eyes and the flood of air bubbles that was escaping from her nose and mouth. He rushed up and wrapped his arms around her, swimming toward the surface. The ocean that should have been home to her was killing her.

The human has done this, he seethed. With a couple more thrusts of his tail, he propelled them to the surface and pushed them both above the water.

Luckily for the human, Lori began coughing the instant her head came above the waves, or he would have immediately swam to the beach, grown his own legs, and promptly killed the one responsible for this.

Lori moaned and laid her head on his shoulder for a second before coughing again. He looked down as something warm trickled down his chest. It wasn’t water Lori was coughing up, it was blood.

The ocean is killing her, he realized. I have to get her out of it.

“Hold on, Lori,” he told her, trying to keep his voice calm and even, even though he knew it was on the verge of breaking. “We’ll get you fixed up and everything will be fine.”

“Jack…” he heard her whisper, her voice scratchy. “Jack…the curse.”

The human was responsible for this. Anger roiled through Odin. The human named Jack would pay dearly for what he had done.

“Hey!” he heard a shout and saw the soon-to-be dead man on the shore, waving at him, trying to get his attention.

Odin swam for the shore, not caring when the tide swept him into the shallows and the sand scraped at his tail.

The human ran into the sea up to his knees toward him. Though Odin wanted to grab him and drown him on the spot, the look on the man’s face stopped him.

Tears were running down his cheeks as he reached for Lori. “No, no, no,” he whispered, taking her from Odin as gently as if she were made of some fragile seashell. He stumbled through the water until he made it out of the surf, carefully laying her down in the sand.

Odin followed as far as he dared, wary of the human and of losing his own tail. “How did this happen?” he asked. “What did you do to her?” The last part came out thunderous, but the human didn’t care. He was busy brushing her hair back from her face and wiping the trail of blood that came from her lips.

“The sea witch’s curse did this,” Jack answered him finally. “I should have known and not let her go back in. This is my fault.”

The way the man’s voice broke made it impossible for Odin to stay angry. He loved her, he realized. The pirate had fallen in love with Lori, just as she had fallen in love with him.

He watched as Jack leaned down and kissed her. It was obvious from the way he waited, that he thought the kiss should have done something. When it didn’t, he kissed her again, this time more urgently.

Jack finally leaned back just enough that Odin saw her face. Her eyes had sunk in and her cheeks were becoming hollow and her breath was raspy.

“I’m going to Nerida,” Odin told him. “She’ll know how to fix this. It’s her curse after all, though I don’t think she ever meant for it to do this to merpeople.”

“Odin…” Lori’s eyelids fluttered. “…get…my mother.”

“But Nerida…”

“No...time,” she managed. “Get…my mother…I have to tell her…”

“Okay,” he turned and dove into the sea. He wanted nothing more than to swim straight for Nerida’s isle, but the way Lori’s voice faded had him worried that she was right; that it would be too late by the time the sea witch arrived to set things straight. And if Lori died and he hadn’t done as she had asked, he knew he wouldn’t forgive himself.

He headed straight toward the bottom, different scenarios playing through his head as he wondered what would happen when he found Annalise and she realized her daughter was now human—and dying.

A few moments later, he arrived at the last cavern and called out for her.

She emerged, the same frenzied look on her face that he had seen the night before.

“Where is she, Odin? Did you find her?”

He took a deep breath, knowing that his next words were going to be hard for her to hear.

“She’s on the island—and she needs you.”

He’d expected her to ask questions, but she swam straight past him as fast as any water sprite he had ever seen, and headed upward. She was so fast that he had a hard time catching up, but he finally took the lead to show her where they were headed.

“The humans have her, is that it?” Annalise asked him as they rushed for the surface. “I’ve warned her so many times…”

Though Odin had felt the need to kill Jack only moments earlier, he now found the desire for some reason to defend him. “His name is Jack,” he told her. “And I’m pretty sure they love each other. It’s the curse on the sea that is the problem, not the humans.”

Annalise was silent and Odin didn’t know whether it was a good thing, or a bad thing. Then they were at the surface and he didn’t have time to worry about it.

Jack had pulled Lori farther out of the water, seemingly in an attempt to help her, hoping that maybe if the sea was farther away from her it would help.

Odin watched as Annalise swam right up onto the shore, completely out of the water. Her tail shimmered, then melted away, leaving two human legs for her to use to rush to her daughter’s side, not caring that the sea might very well curse her, too, when she came back to it.

Jack had been cradling Lori’s head in his lap, oblivious to everything around him, but when her mother knelt beside of him, he looked up, tears still running down his face.

Lori was limp, Odin realized as he watched Jack gently move her to her mother’s lap. It was as if every bit of life had drained out of her in those few moments that he had been gone. Her arms and legs were thinner, nearly skeletal and her once shiny, long hair looked dull and matted…and he didn’t hear her raspy breaths any more. Jack arranged the fur that had been covering Lori, so that it covered both her and her mother, then he sat back and wrapped his arms around his knees and watched them.

“My poor sweet girl,” Odin heard Annalise whisper. “I am so sorry for everything.” She stroked her face with her fingertips. “I always thought if I kept you close, you would always be safe, but I drove you away. And now look what has happened. I should have listened to you, and now it’s too late.”

Lori stayed still, unmoving and silent. “I love you, Lorelei,” Annalise whispered as she leaned down and kissed her forehead, then gathered her up close and hugged her daughter to her.

A quick jolt passed in the water, as if it had suddenly been struck with lightning. Odin’s attention left the two mermaids on the beach and he started to look up into the sky to check for a storm when he noticed the water was changing color. While the sea had always held a small tinge of a dark color for as long as Odin could remember, it was now clearing, leaving the water a clear and vibrant blue. It felt different, too, as if something heavy inside the Never Sea had lifted.

Magic, he realized. Somehow the curse had been broken.

“Momma?” Lori’s voice sounded young, weak, and muffled coming through Annalise’s hair. At the sound of her voice, Jack pushed himself to his knees in the sand as he took one of Lori’s hands.

“A kiss of true love from a selfless soul is what was supposed to break the curse. You did it, Momma,” Lori said, her voice getting stronger with each word. “And I love you so very much.”

THEY’D SPENT THE rest of the day on the beach, Lori sitting in the sand with her mother as she told her everything she’d wanted to say, and Jack spending time with the sea prince.

Odin was more of a big brother than a cousin to Lori, he realized. When the merman figured out that Lori was leaving Neverland with him, he’d peppered him with more questions than Jack had thought possible. Finally, after he had answered every one and assured him that he had every intention of loving Lori for eternity, in whatever world she was in, a small gleam of approval showed in the sea prince’s eyes.

“You have my blessing,” he’d said, and even though Jack knew that Lori would go with him, with or without her cousin’s agreement, it was a special thing.

Annalise wasn’t as easy to convince, it seemed, as he overheard her ask Lori why she wanted to leave Neverland.

“I love him, just the way you love Daddy. That’s why I’m going with him. I can’t stand being apart from him.” He saw Annalise reach out and brush a strand of Lori’s hair back.

“Then, I won’t stand in your way,” her mother had answered, though she made sure to look up and fix Jack with a stern look. “But you have to promise to take care of her always or I’ll find you, wherever you are.”

“Yes, ma’am. I promise,” Jack said solemnly.

After a tearful goodbye from Annalise and wave of farewell from Odin, the two dove back into the sea as the last rays of the sun glowed on the water.

Jack took Lori’s hand and helped her into the boat. He looked behind him at the island for one last time, somehow knowing that tonight when the Jolig Roger sailed, they wouldn’t ever come to Neverland again. Part of him felt sad as he stared at the place that had been home to him for so long, but as he looked into Lori’s face happiness overwhelmed him and he couldn’t help but smile.

While he had lost many things here, he had found his true love in Neverland—and that was something he would never forget.

11

HOME

TINK FLEW OVER THE SHIP, looking at the ones standing on the deck. The fish-girl was there, as was Runt, the round cook, the grouchy white-haired pirate, and the big tattooed one.

She felt sad, knowing her favorite grown Lost One had been killed twice, first by Peter, then seconds later eaten by the crocodile. He should have been here with the others, giving Neverland its last farewell.

She sniffled and flew down the steps, zipping to the doorway that had been his. She wanted to visit the room one last time before she took them back to their world. After all, he had been the reason she’d brought the ship full of pirates to Neverland in the first place.

Light flickered in the crack under the doorway. That was strange. Her Lost Ones typically didn’t leave candles lit unless they were in the room with it. She landed and ducked under the door, the wood catching at her hair again.

“Good evening, Miss Bell.” The familiar sound of Hook’s voice filled her with so much joy she didn’t care when the door pulled her hair free from its topknot. Disheveled, she zipped up to the table and hovered in front of him, happily chiming her hello back to him.

He was still bound for some reason, his arms behind his back while his hook rested on the table before him.

“This won’t do!” she chimed, flying behind him to tug on the rope holding him fast. “All the others are ready to go and you’re down here.”

“I don’t want to go back,” he told her quietly. “I have no reason to do so. Everything that makes me what I am is here.”

She stopped tugging for a moment to listen to him. He sounded sad, as if he would miss Neverland once he was gone.

This wouldn’t do, she decided. If he didn’t want to go, she wasn’t going to make him. She looked at the way the ropes crossed each other and picked up the end of one and started pushing it through the loop it was in. It was loose, as if he’d been trying to undo them himself, but had gotten tired.

That was quite all right, she thought. Everyone needs a little help sometimes. She flew to the opposite side and jerked the rope hard so that it would come through. The rope went slack.

“If you want to stay, you’d better get off the ship,” she advised him happily as he shrugged the ropes off and stood, reaching for his hook. Unable to contain her happiness any longer, she zipped over and patted his hair.

“I thank you very much, Miss Bell,” he said with a small smile as he fixed his hook to his wrist and walked over to the door.

Tink knew if he was going to be successful, she was going to have to help him again. There were too many pirates on the deck for him to escape. What he needed was a diversion, and lucky for him, she knew just what to do.

She sailed up the steps and over the heads of the pirates, flipping her wings and kicking her legs in an effort to spread as much pixie dust as she possibly could, covering every surface and pirate that she could reach. The air was thick with dust when she reached the end of the ship, and she was sure she wasn’t nearly as bright as usual—but she certainly had everyone’s attention.

Every head was turned her way, none of them looking at the back of the ship where she spotted Hook’s red coat as he hopped up on the railing. She flew around a bit more, making sure everyone’s attention was locked on her.

“Now,” she chimed as loudly as she could. “You all need to close your eyes and think a happy thought.”

Every eye closed and smiles spread on each face.

No one heard the splash or saw the captain as he swam away in a sea that no longer held a curse.

12

A SPECIAL KIND OF MAGIC

ANA PRITCHARD STOOD on the balcony, gazing out at the sea where a ship had recently anchored. She pulled her shawl tight around her in an effort to stay warmer as the breeze picked up.

They were brave souls, she thought, watching as a black flag was lowered. She hadn’t seen a pirate ship so close in years—and certainly never one who waited until it was so close before hiding its colors. They were either brave, foolhardy, or perhaps a bit of both. Reckless.

Part of her ached as she gazed at the ship. It reminded her of him. She’d done everything she could to find him again—including moving herself and her small son to London when she’d learned her husband had joined Blackbeard’s crew, but even that hadn’t been enough. She’d been too late.

She’d gotten nothing for her efforts. Blackbeard’s ship had been lost at sea, her husband lying on the ocean floor.

And then she’d lost her son.

A tear trekked down her cheek as she thought of Jack. Twelve long years had passed since the night he had disappeared from his bed. Twelve long years of waiting, praying that somehow he would reappear in the place she had last seen him.

Unable to look at the ship any longer, she turned and walked back into the bedroom and sat in the rocking chair, leaving the window open. She always left the window open. Every night. Regardless of the cold, or the rain, or the snow. Every night for twelve years.

Others told her she was crazy and that she should move on and accept Jack’s fate, but she couldn’t. Something held her to this house, to this room, and somehow she knew he would come back to her one night. And so each night she slept in the rocking chair, hoping to awaken and find her son sleeping in the bed by her.

She closed her eyes and drifted to sleep.

She dreamt of a tiny gold pixie filling the room with light and felt the familiar pressure of a hand taking hers. She smiled. She’d had many dreams of Jack taking her hand, though in all of them his hand had fit perfectly inside her own.

“Mother,” she heard a voice say softly. “Mother, I’m home.”

Her eyes sprang open and she looked into the face of the boy who knelt at her side. This dream had gone awry, she thought, because though the face was surely her Jack’s, it was in the face of a young man who smiled up at her. A beautiful young red-headed girl wearing pirate garb stood behind him, a sweet smile on her face, holding his other hand. A familiar golden charm hung on a necklace around her neck.

“Nessie.” The next voice brought tears to her eyes. Her dreams had always been haunted by him, but never had she heard his voice in them.

She looked at the window, where he stood, the moon behind him, and a golden pixie flitting above him, illuminating the space around him, showing her all of the many emotions that crossed his face.

“Nessie,” he said again, his voice cracking, “I’ve finally made it to ye, lass. And I promise on all that be holy that I’ll never leave ye again.”

The dream shattered as she stood up from the chair, gripping her grown son’s hand firmly in one hand, while the other reached for her husband. As he covered her face with kisses, she looked up at the pixie who skipped through the air as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

Ana smiled. She’d always thought that magic had taken her family away. It was a good thing that hope was a special kind of magic—because magic had brought them back again.

TINK WATCHED RUNT, the cook, the fish girl, and the woman make their way back to the ship. The woman mother had thanked her several times for bringing them to her. She was nothing at all like the mother girl, so the pixie somewhat understood why Runt had missed her so. She’d also felt the familiar surge of energy that happened when someone believed in her. Even though all of the pirates believed in her, the woman mother believed in her so much that the magic in Neverland should be strong for a very long time indeed. Maybe there wouldn’t be any need to bring more Lost Ones to Neverland.

Happy that half of her charges were taken care of and that she had more than enough magic to make it safely home, she stopped just long enough by the mother girl’s house to make sure the pirates had kept their word and taken them back.

A window in the upstairs room was lit, so she zipped up to it and spotted the girl’s familiar form and the two little boys who were getting into their beds.

All is as it should be, she decided. The ones who were supposed to be in Neverland were, and the ones who weren’t were back where they belonged, and the pixies had enough magic to keep them alive. Now it was time for her to go home.

The trip back to Neverland was a short one and she found Peter and her Lost Ones not far from where she had left them. When Peter saw her a smile, brighter than any she had ever seen, lit his face.

“I thought you’d left me for good, Tink. You’ve been gone so long and I’m so glad to see you!” he exclaimed as she flew over his head, sprinkling him with dust. A second later his feet left the ground and he flew into the air as easily as he had ever flown before.

I’m his happy thought! I’m his happy thought! she realized joyfully as she watched him zip around in the air, crowing as the Lost Ones below them shouted in excitement.

She still wasn’t sure exactly what family was, the thing that Peter had thought so important when she first brought him to Neverland. She’d wondered about it often, but now, she thought it might be a place—a happy, magical place that might be something like a home. She thought of the place that was home for her. It wasn’t Neverland. It was being with her Lost Ones where she was needed most—and it was on the shoulder of the boy she loved more than anything.

-The End-

MORE STORIES BY K.R. THOMPSON

The Keeper Saga:

Hidden Moon

Once Upon a Haunted Moon

Wynter’s War

Charmed

The Wolf

Be the first to find out about new releases! Visit K.R. on her website and sign up for her V.I.P. mailing list.

http://www.krthompson.net

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

K.R. Thompson lives in southwestern Virginia with her husband and son.

An avid reader and firm believer in the magic of books, she spends her nights either reading an adventure or writing one.

She still watches for evidence of Bigfoot in the mud of Wolf Creek.

Stay up to date with her new releases, book news, and more:

- @writer_kthompsn

- thekeepersaga

www.krthompson.net

Table of Contents

Copyright

Neverland

Pan

1. The Chosen One

2. The Crocodile

3. The Magic of Pixies

4. My Lost Ones

5. Bedtime Stories

6. I am Pan

Hook

1. Bad Form, Indeed

2. Shanghaied

3. We Shall Have Tea

4. So Now Ye Are a Pirate

5. The First Rule

6. What’s in an Island?

7. A Bit of Fairy Dust

8. Enchanted Waters

9. The Challenge

10. The Pirate Code

11. All Good Things

12. Second Star to the Left

13. Mermaids and Neverlings

14. We Be Pirates

15. Unlikely Allies

16. A-Hunting We Will Go

17. A Familiar Star

18. The Pan

19. The Map

20. End Game

Nerida

1. A Means of Escape

2. A New Sea

3. Fallen Kings

4. The Pirate

5. Human You Shall Be

6. Banished

7. Discovery

8. The Sea Witch

9. Cursed

10. Revelation

11. The Croc and I

12. Hidden Secrets

Jack

1. Lost Memories

2. A Visit with The Hook

3. A New Mother

4. What was Lost is now Found

5. Time to Go

6. The Curse

7. I will Tell You a Secret

8. Wendy Darling, if You Please

9. A Game of Sorts

10. Broken

11. Home

12. A Special Kind of Magic

More Stories by K.R. Thompson

About the Author