I’d sent out the letters the day before, but not in any way we used to send mail back in my world. The Daughters and Leaders have a connection. All it takes to send a letter for me is to write what I need to say, close my eyes, and project it out into Neverland. It always delivers and there’s no mistaking who it’s from. It’s a handy power we all seem to have.
Slowly, the fog begins to roll across the water around us as we draw closer to the main mass of Neverland. There are other islands off the main one, some inhabited by other creatures, some not, but by far the most terrifying one of all is Skull Rock.
Nothing grows on the small island. There are no living creatures there. It’s just a large mass of gray rock, and nothing else. The only feature on the entire island is a cave. A glow always seems to illuminate from deep within, an orange light that pierces through the fog like a beacon. I’ve never had to go inside, thankfully, but I know the stories. The mouth of the cave serves as a depiction of a skull, jagged rocks forming sharp teeth. There are even eyes to complete the look, the glow shining bright no matter the time of the day.
It’s impossible to dock in the cove without passing by Skull Rock, so we always have to suffer the screams.
Before I came to Neverland, before Daughters and Leaders were chosen to keep the peace, Neverland’s magic was kept alive by blood. Within the caves of Skull Rock, there’s an altar where sacrifices were made every quarter moon. Too many lives were lost to useless prayers, and those who died in vain haunt the island. The souls of those who died scream as you pass, begging you to come on land, to go away, to save them, to let them swallow you whole. There have been rumors that a few have been brave enough to explore the island; none have survived. Even as long as I’ve been in Neverland, Skull Rock still terrifies me, and I’ve never urged my crew to go there. It’s best to let some evil lie.
The problem is, evil isn’t just within Skull Rock. Evil is in the very make up of Neverland, and although things are changing with our appearances, it still feels as if Neverland wants to eat us all and make our deaths swift.
Slowly, carefully, we sail past the haunted island, the fog growing thicker even though the sun still penetrates and helps light the way. Once on the main landmass, it’ll be as if it’s permanently night. I don’t know how the Tribes and Tink’s Coven handle it. I would miss the sun too much.
“Land ho!” Whirlpool Walter shouts from the crow’s nest. I have no idea how he received the name, already dubbed the moniker before I arrived, but he’s a good crew member. He also has the sharpest eyes of the crew and perfectly suited to the crow’s nest. “Ship ho!” he shouts just as quickly, and I twist around, searching.
I see it nearly thirty seconds after Whirlpool Walter does, the massive ship dropping from between the clouds, the glittering underbelly passing right over us and falling gracefully towards the water. My ship is normal, meant to sail the seas, but this one is meant to sail the stars, the sails giant billowing balloons rather than sheets. I’ve always wondered how it steers, how it flies, but have never been curious enough to ask the Captain.
The ship, perfectly named ‘The Star Chaser’, dips into the sea before us, not only touching down but blocking the way to Neverland. If they don’t move, we can’t get to the meeting. My lips twist into a snarl before I can help it. It’s just like him to play games.
I raise my hand, pissed The Star Chaser has already taken a position for battle. I won’t be intimidated by them. “Smee,” I hiss. “Ready the cannons just in case.” It’s not unheard of for us to attack each other. Sometimes, it chases the boredom away. Other times, I really just want to fuck up their day.
The Jolly Roger rumbles with movement as my crew readies the cannons, prepared to fire if The Star Chaser fires. Besides the slight noise, no other sound comes from either ship, both crews standing silently and watching.
We’re close, close enough that if we were to fire on each other, there might be deaths. I won’t let my crew die for a petty game, so I’ll make sure to fire first if necessary.
“Well, well, well,” a deep voice calls across the distance between us, and my blood runs hot as I both recognize and don’t the man who steps up onto the balustrade. “If it isn’t a little Wendy Bird, all grown up.”
My crew and I aren’t the only ones who have aged. The last time I saw Captain Hook, he was still the cocky, infuriating nineteen-year-old I met when I first came here. Now, he’s a man, his long hair flowing around his shoulders, his brocade military coat glittering in the small light. He appears closer to thirty now, but he still has the same sharp jawline, the same scruff there, the same star-colored eyes. His signature hook replaces his right hand, a small glint coming from the metal.
My mouth drops open slightly at his appearance even as his eyes trace down my body, appreciation in his gaze.
He meets my gaze again and winks, and I damn near swallow my tongue.
Fucking pirates.
Chapter Four
CAPTAIN HOOK
I watch Wendy standing on the Jolly Roger, her shoulders back, her head held high, and her eyes fierce as she clutches her pistol at her side. Her crew all stand ready for a fight, their own weapons raised, their cannons prepared just in case I have some sort of devious plans up my sleeves. There’s really no need. They should know by now I won’t fire on the ship while Wendy is onboard, even if she can’t die. We tend to avoid bloodshed from our crews.
The last time I saw Wendy Darling, she was sixteen, still just as fierce, but very much a girl. Now, she stands before me a woman, her curves tempting beneath her loose shirt and tight pants. Her saber hangs from her hip, the feminine floral tattoo on her shoulder and arm standing out in sharp relief against her skin. She’s glorious in her Captain’s tricorn, the purple and white feathers dancing in the wind. I can tell she’s just as surprised by my appearance, as if she wasn’t certain whether I would have aged as she has. No special treatment here. I’m certain all of Neverland has suffered the same fate. I can’t really complain, though, as I stare at the woman who haunts my dreams.
“Are you planning on starting a war, Wendy Bird?” I call across the distance, the plank I stand on vibrating with the waves. Having spent forever on ships has given me permanent sea legs. I don’t even tilt as the ship sways. I look at the cannons on the Jolly Roger pointedly. “After you invited us here to begin with?”
She frowns at me for a moment but raises her hand. Every single one of her crew lowers their weapons, but the cannons aren’t immediately put away. Wendy isn’t ignorant. If she senses a fight, she won’t just bow down. Her crew still stands ready with their muskets and pistols at their sides, just in case. Her men have always respected her, and she earned it far faster than I did my men. She rules her ship with compassion and care, rather than fear. She never punishes without due cause, never harming them in anger. It was a lesson I learned from her, though I’ll never tell her that; she’d never let me live it down.
“So, what does the Captain of the Seas want with the Captain of the Stars?” I ask, meeting her pale blue eyes, the same color as the night dress she’d arrived in Neverland in so long ago. I wonder if she realizes I still remember the night clearly, the moment Peter dropped her on my ship, scared, unprepared, and completely disillusioned about what to expect. Peter hadn’t brought her immediately to my ship. No, he’d been curious and kept her for himself for a short time, torturing her in some way she’s never spoken about, but like always, Peter grew tired of her and dumped her on The Star Chaser. I’d never wanted to strangle the boy more than that moment. If I’d been any less than a gentleman, there’s no telling what could have happened to Wendy that night. It had been so long since a new girl had been brought to Neverland, Peter should have made certain she was okay. Fucking Pan. I’d love to wring his neck for that alone, not to mention all the other idiotic things he’s done over the years. The sea could have claimed Wendy that night. Hell, the mermaids aren’t the only terrifying creatures in the water, but I’d made sure she was okay, was comfortable, and became smitten the first time she’d been frightened and yet still held a knife up to me with shaking hands and no idea how to use it. Wendy Darling has come a long way from the frightened sixteen-year-old girl.