Death in Neverland: Book 1 in The Neverland Trilogy (The Neverland Series)

by Heather C. Myers

  Initially.

  Since he had been a young boy, all he wanted to be was a captain of his own fleet. He wanted the power to command hundreds of sailors with a snap of his fingers. And that goal was taken from him by his dying. He had worked hard throughout his short life, and knew he would be promoted, that he was just weeks away from living out his dream.

  Then he died.

  And that dream, that childhood dream, was ripped from the realm of possibility.

  Except, maybe it wasn’t.

  Once he knew what The Underworld was and what it meant for him – he would not age, he would not truly die until he accomplished what he was supposed to accomplish while alive, learn whatever lesson he was supposed to have learned – he decided that perhaps he could be a captain here. He deserved it, after all.

  The Magistrate knew that. After their initial meeting, she took a liking to him. How could she not? He was handsome and proper, his appearance nothing short of perfection. He was polite, determined, and, at times, charming. It was not long before she hired him as her own eyes, to watch over The Underworld and ensure the Law was being upheld.

  “Guards can only do so much,” she had explained to him.

  She had given him power, but not enough. Not the kind of power he had worked so hard for before his life was put out. The Magistrate, too, had a fleet of eyes, and though Peter knew he was her favorite, she had yet to make him in charge of it.

  Peter refused to wait.

  He deserved being in charge of such a fleet now.

  Why should he have to work hard once more, when he already had?

  The Magistrate refused to listen. She promised him that what he desired would come in time if he would just wait. At first, he wanted to refuse. He was about to refuse.

  But something stopped him.

  Perhaps he could acquire this power without having to give up what he already had and without having to work too hard for it.

  And then, the solutions to all of his problems came to him in the form of James Hook, the man who ruled The Other World. He whispered promises in that silky voice of his, promises that granted him all he could ever desire: power, women, riches. Peter had to work for it, but it was so much easier than what the Magistrate wanted from him. All James asked of him was that when he saw souls doing something illegal, instead of turning them into Port Haven, the official jailing house of The Underworld, Peter would take the souls to The Other World. James never explained why he wanted the extra souls, and Peter never asked. Probably because he didn’t really care. Taking souls to The Other World was much easier and more interesting than anything The Magistrate wanted him to do.

  But somehow, he managed to keep his dealings with James to himself. As far as Peter knew, the Magistrate did not know she was being betrayed.

  That was exactly what Peter wanted. He already had a good amount of power through her, and James would grant him even more than he could possibly imagine.

  But.

  Because there was always a but.

  Things started to get boring for Peter.

  A limited amount of power could only get him so far, and the longer Peter continued, the more the absence of what he wanted reminded him that no, he had yet to command a fleet of ships.

  So Peter started to do things differently. Certainly, he continued to keep his hair and clothing in check, and certainly he continued to uphold the Law for the Magistrate while simultaneously shouldering souls to The Other World, even if it was not yet their time to move on. Though how was he to be taken seriously doing errands for those who had the power he wanted for himself?

  He began to terrorize ships that were breaking the Law. Instead of taking the souls to Port Haven, as the Magistrate wanted, or to The Other World, as James wanted, he slayed every single soul on the ship, destroyed the ship itself so it was unrecognizable.

  Despite this new surge of power, there was something that left him wanting.

  In taverns, people were talking of mysterious disappearances, suggesting the most ridiculous explanations for their comrades whom they hadn’t heard from in a while.

  This was not good.

  How would people respect him if no one knew what was really happening? And yet, he could not reveal his identity lest he wanted both the Magistrate and James after him. He knew they would both kill him. And when you died here in The Underworld, your soul was lost.

  And Peter was anything but lost.

  He supposed that was why he got such a thrill of killing souls himself. He was in control of their lives. He got to play God.

  The answer was so simple, Peter actually laughed when he figured it out. From then on, he would leave one survivor in order to tell his tale, to warn other sailors that sailing the sea was not as safe as they had once presumed.

  After his first attack as a changed man, he went into a tavern in Tenedor and already people were talking about it. Gossip spread like wildfire, and Peter found he liked the feeling of his ears burning. Nobody knew that it was he who was responsible for the destruction, the massacre, and Peter got a thrill of participating in the exchange of the story as though he was not involved. His physical description changed with each attack, other than the fact that everything about him was in perfect place, that he looked nothing short of immaculate. Peter was delighted at this. People even started calling him a phantom, a phantom who attacked unsuspecting sailors for no real reason other than he could due to the fact that no one could pin him down.

  Peter continued with the façade.

  Then, a purpose formed and he had reason to attack these innocents. Not only did he want the power and the respect, but now, he was searching for somebody.

  Captain Nicholas Grey.

  The pirate captain in charge of transporting souls to their afterlife.

  He was probably the most important person in The Underworld and the blasted pirate knew it. He was also a pirate and, from what Peter understood, was a pirate back on Earth. Grey had no problem flouncing the fact that he could ignore the Law so long as he did his job.

  Which he did.

  He was also a pirate.

  And Peter’s job was to rid The Underworld of pirates, no matter their importance, no matter how well the occupants of The Underworld seemed to adore him.

  He had actually encountered Captain Grey before he had taken up with James, and managed to brand Grey as a pirate for the rest of his days. The sizzle of his skin as he pressed the fire poker in the form of the snake was a sound Peter cherished more than anything in the world.

  Except, Nick did something to Peter much more worse than a brand on the forearm. He refused to think about, refused to acknowledge that his own arrogance led to Grey’s action. Instead, he focused on what he would do to Grey once – and not if – Peter caught him.

  Suffer was the appropriate word. As was torture.

  It wasn’t long before James came by with his offer, and Peter emerged one of the most powerful people in The Underworld. He continued to sail under the guise as a phantom in hopes to catch the pirate captain and extract his own form of revenge on him, whether the Magistrate or James liked it or not. He wanted to be the one to watch that mischievous twinkle in those eyes burn out. He wanted to be the last person Grey saw alive, so Grey would know that Peter and no one else was responsible for his permanent death.

  And he would get the pirate. Soon enough.

  For now, Peter was content on destroying ships, slaying souls, and listening to what people had to say about him.

  A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts, and as he slipped on his pristine white gloves – tailored to his exact measurements – he told his knocker to come in.

  As Peter expected, it was Lieutenant Leslie Roads. The man was loyal and did whatever it was that Peter commanded him to do. Roads was exactly the type of man he wanted as his lieutenant, because the man always kept his mouth shut about immoral acts Peter might have him participate in. He was not certain if Roads agreed or disagreed with what he was doing, but
Roads was smart enough to keep his opinion to himself and obey without the slightest bout of hesitation.

  “A target’s been spotted, sir,” Roads said once he closed the door behind him. Before Peter could ask, he said, “Not Grey’s, unfortunately, but a merchant ship.”

  “How long?” Peter’s blue eyes gazed down at his fingers clothed in pure white, and felt his lips curl up into a delighted smile. He absolutely loved it when his clothes fit perfectly.

  “They have not seen us yet, sir, but we should reach them in ten minutes, perhaps fifteen.”

  “Perfect.” His eyes flickered over to Roads who was standing straight, with excellent posture and a well-cut uniform with not a spot of dust on it. He held his crew to the same standards as he held himself, and Roads was one of the few onboard who was nearly flawless at maintaining his appearance. “I shall be out shortly.”

  Roads obeyed the silent dismissal, and once he was gone, Peter allowed himself another smile. His gloved hand brushed his trusted sabre – sharpened, cleaned, and polished so it practically sparkled – and then followed Roads out the door.

  It was time to add another tale to his growing legend.

  Chapter 6

  The minute Remy and Giselle walked back on the deck of the Black Star, eight pairs of eyes all snapped in their direction. Remy had been to enough balls and socialized with enough girls her age to know that Captain Grey and his crew had been talking about her. Normally, she let obvious gossip about her roll off her back; it was a nuisance that came along with being a part of the exclusive class she had been in since birth, and from an early age, Remy had learned to deal with it as best as she could. She would not let the gossips know that they were affecting her, even though the only thing she might want to do was run into her bedroom and cry.

  When it came to this particular instance, however, she could not help but feel somewhat curious. Did they know what was happening to her? Did they know how to get her back home and just decided not to? Did they not like her?

  She had no idea why the last question popped into her mind, but even so, she could not help but wonder. Remy had never gone out of her way to get people to like her because people always did – or, at least, they pretended to, because of who her father was. Normally, that did not bother her. She did not particularly like those that put on a façade in order to impress her family and herself, but for whatever reason, she wanted this group of nefarious beings to consider her perhaps not yet a friend, but maybe someone they were interested in getting to know a bit better.

  Especially Giselle.

  As the blonde woman led Remy across the deck and back to the crew, Remy went over their conversation in her mind. There was a good chance Remy had acted nothing short of spoiled. And even though it was what she was used to, she realized that she was in a different setting now, and people did not always appreciate when a person came off as better than they were. It would be difficult, but she could act a bit more humble.

  Like Charlie.

  It hit her like a wall of bricks. Goodness, she missed Charlie. He was the reason why she hadn’t turned out so entirely awful, like Rachel Winters, who thought that everyone, even girls like Remy, were beneath her and could not waste her time on them. The only time Remy ever socialized with her was when forced – through balls and other dances she was required to attend. If she thought of these people, this pirate crew, like she thought of Charlie, Remy was certain that she would not be as judgmental. Hopefully. She could at least try.

  “So how did it go?” Nick asked once the two women had reached earshot.

  “Very well,” Giselle replied.

  In fact, Remy believed she could start being more grateful at this moment. “You have a… quaint ship,” she said.

  Of course she had seen better ships. Much better. If she pointed that out, she might appear to be critical and she was going to try to change that.

  “Quaint?” the red head – Adele – asked with a raised brow.

  Remy frowned. It sounded as though Adele hadn’t appreciated her comment. Remy was not sure as to why that was, but she made herself clench her jaw in order to keep her infamous Cutler pride from leaving her mouth. Instead, she decided to focus on Adele herself, since it was likely that this woman would be her biggest challenge. She was tall, taller than Remy and Giselle. Probably five foot seven, possibly eight depending on the shoes she was wearing. She had long luxurious hair that she did not pull back with ribbon or hide with a bandana. Remy did not blame her. Adele was a beautiful woman, but every woman had one feature that outshined the rest of them, and for Adele, that was her hair. Her eyes were a dark brown, similar to Nick’s own, and she had a light bronze to her skin, probably due to her time on Nick’s ship. She was wearing clothing that was more form-fitting than Giselle’s, and had more color as well. Her tunic was a royal purple color, tucked into a pair of high-waisted breeches. Adele knew what she was doing when it came to dressing herself; the outfit she currently wore showed off her ample curves and tiny waist. Her boots were black, and though it was obvious they were old and used quite used, it appeared that Adele took a good deal of time each morning in order to polish them.

  “You are like me,” Remy murmured before she could stop herself. Her eyes were fixed directly on Adele, and despite the fact that Adele intimidated her, Remy did not attempt to take the words back.

  “I am nothing like you,” Adele replied with a sneer.

  “We come from the same class,” Remy continued. She know she probably should not; by the way Adele was glaring at her, it was not likely the red head was intent on extending an olive branch in Remy’s direction anytime soon. But it did not matter. Remy would not back down. “You come from wealth, a respectable family before you passed on.”

  “I did not pass on,” Adele said sharply. Her dark eyes only got darker as they narrowed at Remy. “My life was taken from me.”

  Remy opened her mouth, ready to tell the woman that the particular nature in how she lost her life did not matter, Adele was still dead and there was nothing she could do about it, but something stopped her. Perhaps it was the way Adele’s eyes looked so fierce, the way her bottom lip jutted out defiantly, as though she were asking Remy to challenge her.

  Closing her mouth, Remy looked back at Nick. His eyes were already on her, scrutinizing her. She shifted her weight, swallowing saliva that was not actually present. The way Nick was gazing at her made her feel uncomfortable, only because she was not sure what he was looking for or what he expected from her.

  “My ship is not quaint,” he told her when he realized she had caught his stare. He blinked once before turning so he could look out at the ocean rather than at the young woman in front of him. “She is grand and beautiful and everything a ship should be.”

  Remy watched as Edward rolled his eyes.

  “What now, Captain?” he asked.

  “We are almost at the Crossroads,” Giselle pointed out.

  “Which means we’re close to Tenedor,” Nick murmured under his breath. His reached up in order to cradle the point of his chin in his palm, his fingertips caressing his lips. “Well.” He looked up, breaking his train of thought with a smile. “You know what that means, don’t you? We need more wind in the sails and our anchor prepared when we reach our destination. Edward, take the helm. Adele, we need our supplies counted and a list made by the time we reach the island.”

  The crew immediately dispersed, as though they each knew their role on the ship and went to go fulfill it.

  “And what of me?” Remy asked. Her voice was delicate, even weary. She was not sure she could belong to a sailing crew, especially one that boasted pirates instead of law-abiding seamen.

  “Yes, what of you?” he said between his fingers. Before Remy could speak, Nick turned on the heel of his boot and proceeded to head to the stairway that led to the second level of the Black Star. “Follow me.”

  Remy had no other option but to listen to him. She hurried her stride in order to keep up. He was m
uttering things to himself, making her wonder if Nick was all there in his head. As she headed down the stairs, the dreadful thought of him locking her up in the brig until he knew what to do with her struck her mind and she tensed. She could not allow that to happen. What if they forgot about her down there? What if they did not feed her, or the food was not edible, or, even worse, what they did offer her was not something she particularly liked?

  Perhaps she could fight him. Charlie had taught her a thing or two about self-defense, but Remy knew that she was not strong enough to pull it off. Even if she did manage to knock Nick out by some miracle, she would have four other people to attend to, probably much more skilled at fighting than she was.

  Instead of continuing downwards were the brig and the canons were, however, Nick walked down the hall and stopped in front of the doors to his quarters. He opened the door and followed Remy in, shutting it firmly behind him.

  “Oh my.”

  Remy was so taken with Nick’s room that she had not realized that she had spoken her thought out loud. In fact, she did not mind that her mouth had dropped open and that she was gaping at the sight before her, though it was not something ladies like her should do. There were too many things to take in, Remy had not a clue as to where to start.

  The first thing Remy noticed was how neat and put together it was. She assumed that rum bottles would be rolling around on the floor and trash would occupy nearly every crevice the grand space had to offer, but Remy was pleasantly surprised. For a pirate, Nicholas Grey knew how to keep his personal belongings well-organized.

  The bed was pushed against the far wall. It was about as big as her own bed back home, but even she did not possess the grand headboard, hand carved with such finesse that she could feel the emotion the carpenter was trying to instill in it. The sheets were crimson and starch-white, with plenty of matching pillows that rested tucked into the covers. The bed was made – something else that surprised the young woman – and the sheets look recently pressed. Why would the man put more attention into bed sheets than his own personal appearance? Remy did not know and was too intent on continuing to explore this room to speculate.