Page 45 of The Last Lost Girl

Hook storms away. I hold my breath until he returns with the jar. And then I pray he doesn’t hurl it into the sea to spite my bewildering request, because he looks like he’s considering it.

I talk to the mermaid. “I need you to trust me and not claw my eyes or guts out. I’m trying to help.”

Blood pours from her side through the hand she’s clamped over the wound. She tries to sit up straighter and teeters on the small wooden ledge she’s pinned against, crying out when the ship rocks against a rough swell.

Hook leans down with the jar and there’s a stomach-dropping moment until my fingers grasp it. I twist the lid and tuck it into my pocket, swiping what little gold remains from the sides of the glass until it squeaks, picked clean as a bone. “Move your hand.”

The mermaid peels her fingers from the wound they cover. I drag the scant glittering salve over the wound on her abdomen, then swipe at its match on her back, hoping it will heal from both sides, all the way to her middle.

There’s a tiny shimmer left on my finger, so I swipe it over the other side where the stubborn nail is still embedded. There isn’t enough left for the wound on her back. I don’t see a single sparkle now. But maybe this will numb her skin or ease the pain I’m about to cause.

“Are you ready?” I ask, holding up the hammer. The creature closes her eyes, leans back against the hull, and waits as I position myself. “I need some slack,” I tell Smee. When he provides it, I walk my feet sideways until I’m directly in front of her, looking her dead in the eyes.

“Ava…that is not a good idea,” Hook mutters. “You don’t want to pull too hard and not have a grip on your line.”

“Well, I can’t very well do this one handed!” I yell.

I wince, praying I didn’t offend Hook with my thoughtless outburst. Because he does literally everything with one hand… and he’s only trying to keep me safe.

The hammer’s claw grabs the nail’s head. I press my feet into the hull again and jerk backward so hard, I tilt backward and flip off the plank.

A scream tears from my throat as I begin to fall, and then, I jerk to a sudden stop. The mermaid is free. But with her nails dug into the wood of Hook’s ship, she’s caught me by the ankle. Her eyes dart between the water, me, and Hook, who bellows for her not to drop me. Reminding her that I helped free her. Heal her.

The mermaid’s chest heaves. The sparkling trails over her wounds almost glow in the moonlight now that she has emerged from the shadow cast by the ship’s stem. She reaches a tremulous finger toward her wound and swipes the golden salve onto her finger. Just a touch comes off, but she smears it over the hole in her throat.

Hook climbs to the rail and leaps off, catching hold of the rope and somehow maneuvering the plank to fall flat beneath his polished boots. Smee gives him enough slack to swoop down and reach me. I’m in his arms a moment later, and the last I see of the mermaid is the foam rising from where she splashed into the water.

The crew members who aren’t currently guiding the ship or preparing to, the ones who’ve been watching for other sirens, lean over the rail and watch as we swing back and forth. When the rope steadies, Smee and company begin to hoist us.

My heart sinks when I realize that I lost Smee’s hammer. As my hands tremble around Hook’s neck, I curse. Loudly. “I dropped your hammer, Smee. I’m sorry.”

He helps me over the rail. “Don’t worry. We have another one.”

One other. I feel awful for not taking more care with it. It’s not like they can go to the hardware store and get another one.

Hook climbs aboard and arches that scarred brow in an, I told you freeing the mermaid was a bad idea sort of way.

Softly, I curse again.

It’s met with the low rumble of a laugh welling from deep within the pirate’s chest as he saunters toward me, full of swagger that is ridiculously confident and hot, if I’m being one thousand percent honest. “You have quite the foul mouth, Lifeguard,” he tsks.

He looks at my foul mouth. Studies its swells and valleys for a few long, stomach-clenching seconds. Until Smee notices and clears his throat, then busies himself wrapping the rope around the plank and stuffing it back into the crate from which he’d plucked it.

“You’re going to lecture me on manners?” That’s rich.

He shakes his head, the moonlight limning his smile. “Why on earth would I do that?”

seventeen

When the ship was moored in the west harbor of the ‘town’ everyone was so eager to reach, Hook told his men to lay the gangway and they wasted no time. The ramp is still extended from a gap in the rail down to the weathered dock below. The ship groans and rocks gently in the lapping waves that grace the shore. Some of his crew left as soon as the ramp was lowered to get a jump on whatever chores or entertainment they sought for the evening, and likely to avoid having to watch me free the mermaid that killed their friend.

Paris lingers, though.

He strolls across the deck with his hands in his pockets, wearing a flirtatious grin as he tips his head to me. “If you find yourself craving my company, you can find me at The Ropes, Ava.”

His amused eyes flicker toward his captain before he breezes down the plank. Devin always tells me not to poke the bear whenever our boss is on a tangent. It’s better to keep your head down and lay low sometimes.

Paris is not afraid of poking the bear that is Hook, and he doesn’t seem to be afraid of the consequences in the least. In fact, he acts like he hasn’t a care in the world. The Frenchman whistles as he crosses the first bridge into a town that has been built entirely on the sea. Stilted homes and structures are strung together with draped plank and rope bridges. Candles warm nearly every window. The sea reflects their light, camouflaging the settlement as a vibrant constellation.

---