by Marie Hall
Betty patted his arm. “Please, please, Trisha…this isn’t scary and I promise you’re gonna love it. Him. You’re gonna love him.”
Her smile was broad and Trisha’s eyes grew wider.
“What the hell is going on here?”
Where was the fire? Shouldn’t they all be drowning in flame by now? Hacking their lungs out as the black smoke filled it up? The air smelled like paint and flowers, wildflowers, the kind of smell that came from standing in a verdant meadow after a good, long rain.
What was going on here? She’d seen fire, she knew she had. But the woman in front of her was smiling at Trisha like she was the crazy person locked up in an insane asylum because she’d completely lost touch with reality. Except in this case, she was pretty sure she wasn’t the one who’d lost touch.
“She needs more time.” Betty clutched her hands together, looking at Danika. “She doesn’t believe us.”
Trisha blinked. And then blinked again, all the while she kept backing up, stopping only because she’d run into a stage prop.
“I’m still asleep. That’s what this is. I’m asleep and that’s why Julie bailed and why Betty’s acting like such a weirdo, and I’m seeing a woman with real wings attached to her back.” She giggled and then slapped herself, frowning when it actually stung.
“No more to give, Hook’s gone and gotten himself tangled up with Tinker. I know that man, he’s setting up his next plan of attack. We’ll bring him Trishelle and he’ll have no choice but to obsess over something else. Though…” she tsked, taking in Trisha’s appearance, “you do understand that meeting him with that get up on will be ironic, to say the least.”
It dawned on her then, she didn’t need to stand here and listen to this. Turning on her heels, Trisha bounded down the steps, thigh muscles flexing and bunching, running as fast as she could toward the door.
Something hard and heavy slammed into her back, but instead of it making her drop like a stone to the floor, she was stunned and frozen. Literally frozen with her foot mid-step.
Eyes going wide she gazed down at her body and saw the rolling undulations of something that twinkled and glowed a faint luminescent pink, completely encasing her.
“Dani!” Betty did something very much like a growl. “No magic.”
Trisha couldn’t turn to see her, but she felt the heat of Betty’s anger roil off her back a second before she planted a hand onto her still frozen shoulder.
“You promised to give us time,” Betty pleaded with someone; Trisha could only guess it to be Danika.
A long sigh was punctuated by a loud pop and then Trisha fell to the ground, scraping her hands and knees on the rough carpet and gasping for breath as Betty enveloped her in a tight hug.
“What just happened?” Trisha stuttered around a swollen and dry tongue.
Rubbing her back, Betty’s lips were grim. “Magic is real, Trisha. Everything I’ve told you, all real. Do you believe me now?”
Her big brown eyes were earnest and sincere and Trisha had no words. Like they had literally crawled out of her head, leaving her with a vast, blank canvas of nothing.
“She’s in shock,” Betty hissed.
Trisha couldn’t follow half of what was going on. What was going on exactly? A friend she’d known her entire life was telling her a place of fairytales existed, a smallish woman with freaking enormous dragonfly wings had just zapped her with some sort of super powered wand, and a man with a hook awaited her at the other side of the rainbow.
It was just too much.
She laughed. Grabbed her stomach, held on for dear life, and let it all out. She’d lost her mind.
Clearly.
“Oh dear,” the woman/bug/Danika thing tsked, tapping her chin with a star tipped wand.
“I told you to give me more time,” Betty grumbled, still rubbing Trisha’s back.
Looking up at Gerard, Trisha laughed harder. He had his arms crossed over his impressive chest and was looking at her with an I-told-you-so look.
Which was so terribly, ludicrous and funny. Not to mention Un-Freakin-Believable.
Shaking her head, trying to shake the incredulity loose with it, Trisha worked up to her feet and then walked toward Danibug (she refused to call her a fairy). There had to be a rational explanation for all this. They were in a theater, props were everywhere. That must be it.
Walking around Danika’s back, she leaned in close, peering through the veiny, translucent wings. Brushing her fingers over them, she gasped when they trembled.
Danika jerked and twisted around. “Do you mind?”
“Where’d you get those?”
Danika narrowed her eyes, nostrils flaring, her tiny rosebud mouth set into a tight, thin line. “I was born with them.”
“Right.” Trisha nodded.
Betty clamped onto her shoulders, pulling her behind her back. “Look, Dani, maybe she’s not ready. Give her more time. One more day at least.”
“To what?” Danika’s blondish-gray brows gathered into a vee. “To convince herself she’s deluded and needs to be in a mental ward?”
Whoa? Trisha narrowed her eyes. “That’s not what I was thinking.”
That’s exactly what she’d been thinking.
Bug lady’s only response was a large roll of the eyes. Then she turned to Betty. “I sent Gerard to you much the same way I intend to send her. There are certain souls who simply cannot accept until they witness it for themselves. Sometimes seeing really is the only way to believing.”
“Hello,” she said and waved, but failed to get them to stop discussing whether to send her now or later. “Hello!” she tried again and then smiled proudly when they broke apart startled.
“I’m right here, and don’t I get a say in this?” She touched her chest.
They started to shake their heads and she shook her finger.
“Okay, actually you misunderstood me. I wasn’t really asking permission here. Betty, I love you, but right now I’m seriously pissed. So hands off.” She jerked out of Betty’s reach. Eventually she’d forgive her, because that’s what friends did, but not right now. Right now she had to get away from them, all this, needed time to breathe and think and gather her scattered thoughts into something that made some sort of sense again. “As for you bug lady…”
Danika huffed and twin splotches of red crested her pale cheeks, but Trisha plowed on, not giving her a chance to retort.
“…the answer is a big, fat hell no. I’m not going anywhere, except maybe to bed. Today sucked, no thanks to the both of you. Betty, you can call me tomorrow, I’m sure by then I’ll be less moody. Tonight I have a date with Leonardo and Kate and better nobody interrupt my I’m-the-king-of-the-world moment, thank you!”
With a decisive nod, she turned on her heels and started sauntering proudly toward the door.
“Bloody hell, every time. Some days being a godmother is a pain in my bubbly ass,” Danika muttered and that was the last thing Trisha heard. The next thing she knew she was reaching for the door and instead of stepping out into the familiar sights and sounds of Lebanon, Missouri, she was now falling through a tunnel of stars.
Chapter 4
Hook stared at the strumpet lying on the bed. The powdered wig she wore lay skewed on her head, revealing a hint of frizzy brown beneath. Her painted face, with the fake mole over her top lip, and doxy red pout made his stomach curdle.
Drink made him do stupid things.
Shaking her shoulders roughly he woke her up. “Get out,” he growled the moment she opened bloodshot eyes.
“Wha-”
Curling his lips, he slipped his boots back on. “Out. Now.”
“But…but…” she sputtered and he turned his back on her.
“Woman, I’ll give you two seconds to gather your unmentionables and get out of my cabin. Should you not heed my kind warning…I’ll toss you overboard.”
Pure bluff, but he had a massive ache in his head and didn’t care to be nicer about it.
Mou
th gasping open and shut, she grabbed a green dress two sizes too small for her and covered her breasts with it. “But, James…I thought we’d had such a lovely—”
His lip curled. Damn he hated when they clung. “Madam tramp—”
She sucked in a sharp breath, cheeks bulging in the process with her disdain.
“—I’ll not ask again. Out now. Or I’ll have my man Smee toss you to the croc. Your choice.” His lip curled into a self-satisfied smile.
Nostrils flaring delicately, she shot to her feet and shoved the dress over her bony frame. Hairpins pinged to the floor as she yanked it over her head, causing the already floppy wig to plop pitifully beside her foot looking like some furry tarantula.
He should help her, but he was afraid that if he did she’d take that as invitation to stay. He knew her kind well. So he pretended not to care as he leaned back in his chair, and grabbed a crystal tumbler and a bottle of scotch, proceeding to pour himself two fingers worth.
She flounced toward the door, her bustle tripping her up. He merely lifted a brow and sipped. The piece of hair lay where it’d fallen.
“Your wig, madam,” he drawled and gestured toward it with cup in hand.
Narrowing flinty gray eyes, she huffed, caught up her hair and marched out, shoving past a curious looking Smee. Dressed in tan breeches and a cream nightshirt, his first mate looked anything but the deadly pirate he actually was.
Smee always had a gentle look about him, with his sandy blond hair and inquisitive blue eyes. The man looked better suited to parliament then aboard the vessel of the most villainous pirate ship Neverland had ever seen. But as innocent as he looked, Smee was as bloodthirsty as the rest, some days, more so.
“Captain,” his slight Irish tinged voice inquired, glancing over his shoulder once more before turning back around, “I was going to ask whether you both wanted to break your fast?”
“As you can see, Smee, she has left. Bring me one tray, toast and tea. That is all.”
“Jam, sir?”
“I’ve no wish for jam. Should I want it, I should ask. No?” He knew he was being gruff, but he felt wretched and hung over. He’d give him a bauble or some other form of trinket later, now he simply wanted his space, waving him off he turned back to his drink when a thought settled in his head.
“Smee,” he said, quickly clearing his throat.
“Yes, captain?” Smee quickly turned back around, clipping his head.
“I’ve grown tired of this village. I wish to set sail at the witching hour. How are the clouds?”
“There’s a fine easterly wind. Any particular destination in mind, sir?” Smee scratched the back of his neck.
James clinked his hook against the glass while tapping a discordant rhythm on the desk with his other hand. Danika had told him to return to Seren, perhaps he should. He hadn’t been there in years. But maybe it was finally time to stop fighting and face the demons. Soul weary, he decided it was now or never.
“The Seren Seas.”
Smee pulled away from the door, a panicked look in his wide blue eyes. “Sir? Are you certain?”
“Go to town, gather our supplies, and then set sail. Do not question me again, lest I forget we are actually friends.”
“Aye, captain,” he said slowly before turning and walking back up the stairs to the deck.
He hadn’t always been a bastard. Not like this. Smee only had his best interest at heart, and while he mentally understood that, it didn’t make James’ surly disposition any sweeter. Throwing back his drink, he poured himself another, his hand shaking slightly. Time to bury the past. Maybe if he did, he could finally let it go. Opening the desk drawer, James pulled out the locket, closing his eyes as he tucked it close to his heart.
A loud crack, as of thunder, rocked the ship, tossing him and the locket to the ground. The movement was so violent; he accidentally sank his teeth deep into the edge of his mouth. All around the cries of his men rained down as his boat listed and heaved on the violently turbulent waters.
“What the devil?” he muttered, crawling to his knees as he licked the blood off.
It took a moment for him to gather his wits. Rubbing the back of his skull, looking around for whatever may have caused the disturbance, he was wholly unprepared for the sight that met him.
Lying in a small heap not a yard back from his desk was a green tangle of spindly legs and arms. A sliver of blue winked out of existence through the air and immediately he knew what it was—the sealing up of a fae portal.
Lip curling with triumph, he shot to his feet, yanked his sword from the wall, and with sharp, precise movements walked up to the blond haired devil, pointing the tip of his broad sword into the base of the bastard’s neck.
Danika had found Pan for him. She’d told him to wait and not to act rash; she’d had a plan. And it was a bloody brilliant one. She must have convinced Tinker to give the hellion up. Tapping his hook onto his pant leg with anticipation, he licked his teeth.
“Move, and I’ll take your head from your neck, Pan.” He spit, and then laughed as the figure froze, attempting to curl in on himself like the coward that he was.
“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!” the voice screeched, drawing his arms over his head as he attempted to curl into an even tighter ball. “This isn’t real, this isn’t really happening. Oh. My. God.”
James’ eyes narrowed because that voice was not Pan’s squeaky blustering. That sound belonged to a woman.
Who would dare trespass in his room? He should ask her, but he found he did not care, because she was dressed as one of Pan’s boys and so therefore was his enemy. Raising his sword, he prepared for the downward swing when a brilliant flash of twinkling magenta floated through the air like millions of lightning bugs.
“Stop!” Danika waved her hands, zipping in front of the huddled mass. “James, no…this is Talia. You must stop, you must!”
Everything inside him stilled, the world shifted on its axis, and the sword clattered to the floor. Heart seizing, he dropped to his knees and scooped the trembling woman into his arms.
“Can this be?”
Danika’s lips compressed. “There’s a wee problem. Well…” she chortled, “a big…big problem. You see, Hook—”
He was not listening, his eyes devoured the form in front of him hungrily. Her body was small, and covered in forest green—Pan colors and she wore legs. Talia had always wished for legs, but could never transform. There were so many questions to ask, so much he had to know, but right now the only thing that mattered was tasting her again. It’d been so long, too long and she looked scrumptious. His body flared to life, ready to claim his mate and finally make her his.
“My Talia, my beloved,” his voice broke as he ran his fingers through her thick, golden hair. Even that was different; when last he’d seen her, her hair had been the green of leafy kelp. “Look at me, loveliest, look at me.”
But when she turned to him, he hissed and scooted back, letting her drop like a stone to the floor.
Her eyes were green.
Talia’s had been blue as the sea she’d hailed from. Everything looked different because this wasn’t Talia.
“Who the devil are you?” He swore and yanking up his sword, brought it once more to her neck, then eyed Danika hard. “Tell me who she is, or I’ll kill her, I swear it.”
Chapter 5
First thing Trisha noticed was the eyes. So dark they appeared like liquid ink in the candlelit room. Flecks of silver, like stardust, rimmed the irises. She’d never seen eyes like his before, but beyond their color was their shape and the length of his lashes. Lashes a woman would envy, long and curled at the tips and a shade of black that she could only achieve with mascara.
The second was the set of his broad lips. They weren’t full, or too thin, but just right as Goldilocks might have said.
And the third was that he had a sword pointed at her neck and was pushing in hard enough that she knew blood would spill if she even breathed too hard.
/> Heart hammering a wild and painful tattoo in her chest, Trisha could hardly think, let alone speak. What had just happened?
Where was she?
Who was he?
And oh my God, he had a hook. A silver, wickedly curved honest-to-goodness hook.
She blinked.
“James, blast and damnation, man,” devil-bug growled, and then shot a spray of pulsing pink energy from the tip of her itty-bitty wand directly over her head—the power that flowed off it rippled like a shimmering heat wave on asphalt.
