Page 47 of The Last Lost Girl

His eyes no longer burn with fury, but with something far more dangerous, as his head tilts to the side. And his lips… He wets them before he leans in ever so slightly. I turn to see what he will say.

Smee parts us when he emerges from below decks. I didn’t know he had left. He demands that we stop bickering and head into town. “It’s late. It’ll be hard enough to find some of the things we need and some of the people we need to see,” the gentle giant adds.

I pull out of Hook’s hypnotic hold and walk down the ramp to the dock, leaving Hook and Smee to follow me across the first roped bridge, neither knowing nor caring if I’m going in the right direction.

Whatever that was between us, it can’t happen again.

For more reasons than I care to consider, but first and foremost: I can’t afford to be distracted from finding Belle, especially in this place that robs its inhabitants of their memories.

The town is breathtaking, especially when you consider this was all built by hand and with whatever resources people could find. I feel the sting of guilt at dropping Smee’s hammer and my stomach sinks. How long will it take for Smee to forget the incident? How long would it take me to?

I’m going to write down the most important things I know and don’t want to forget. About Belle, our life and home, how I got here, what Hook told me, about the shops and things in this town… Everything.

The woodwork is intricate and sturdy as we traverse bridges and walkways and step into little shops where Smee barters with the merchants who nod respectfully to Hook and eye me curiously.

I’ve seen pictures of Venice, and while this town isn’t crafted from finely stacked floors of stone and plaster and doesn’t boast broad canals peppered with gondolas, it’s charming in a similar way. I peek in every door that’s cracked or propped fully open.

There are small waterways between some of the rows of shops, laid out like undulating streets. I watch in astonishment as residents paddle and steer broad rafts back and forth in the waterways cut between draped bridges.

A trio of musicians sits on overturned buckets at the end of one of the bridges we cross. Smee and Hook pause at its end, ticking off what they’ve ordered to see if they have all that’s needed.

In addition to supplies of food, much of which can be carried and will last several days, there were several negotiations I couldn’t hear. Softly-spoken bargains I didn’t quite catch from the doorways I leaned against. Part of me wishes I knew every word and deal made. Another part is glad I don’t.

I drift closer to the musicians. An older man whose long white mustache cascades into his matching beard strums the strings of a hollow wooden instrument reminiscent of a guitar. A girl with a pixie cut plays a carved wooden flute. A bald man with rich dark skin keeps the beat on an upturned washtub. When he flashes a smile, I can’t help but smile back.

I’m aware of the captain before I turn my head. Hook’s warmth radiates into my shoulder blades as his chest brushes my back.

I expect to see Smee standing beside him, but Smee is gone… My smile falls.

“He went to visit a friend,” Hook tells me. “We’re finished with our business here.”

“Do we need to go back through and collect the things you asked for?” I ask.

A slight shake of his head. “Everything will be delivered to the ship.”

“Is someone waiting on board to receive them?” I hadn’t noticed anyone staying behind.

Hook’s stare meets mine. “Why would anyone need to stay?”

“To guard the ship…?” Surely, the pirate isn’t that trusting. In every pirate movie I’ve ever seen, if the pirates go ashore, someone stays behind to protect the ship and the goods upon it.

The captain grins. “There isn’t a soul in town who doesn’t know what would happen to them if they bothered my ship or crew. But to put you at ease, Sydney stayed aboard. Not that he’ll likely be aware of anything beyond the edges of his cot. He was worn out.”

“You act like you rule by fear, but I see the respect people have for you,” I blurt before thinking better of it.

He looks away. “How do you think that respect was earned, Lifeguard?”

I roll my eyes.

“You should always, always be wary of respect. A talented liar can hide their double-minded nature behind words of praise. Fear is not so easily concealed.”

Before it registers that he even moved, he drags the cold, sharp tip of his hook from the bottom of my ear, down the side of my neck. It catches on my collar bone, biting just a little. Not enough to make me bleed or even leave a mark, but certainly enough that I pay attention to the fear coursing through me. His hand drifts down my back from shoulder blades to its base.

“You’re frozen, every muscle taut. Your pulse flutters, Precious. Darkness has swallowed the lovely gray of your eyes. Now that I know what fear looks like on you, I wonder how you might respond to other sensations…”

“Stop,” I rasp, pushing the hook away from my skin.

“Integrity hinges on one’s willingness to follow through with one’s promises. Even if the promises are merely consequences for those who choose to obliterate the boundaries I clearly mark.”

---