Hook: Exiles of the Realm

by Adrienne Bell

  She cocked her brow up just a fraction of an inch, giving her a decidedly defiant—not to mention adorable—look, before pulling a thick, folded check holder from her apron pocket and letting it land with a thunk on the table.

  “Great,” she said. “Then here’s your bill. You can pay inside.”

  James smiled at her. She scowled at him. Then a second later, she turned and walked away.

  Strangely, he couldn’t help watching her as she went, her spine ramrod straight, hips gently swaying side to side. There was something about the woman that held his attention…something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  After all, there was nothing outwardly spectacular about her. Her form was nice enough. Her eyes lively. She obviously had a spark to her, but he’d seen fires that burned brighter.

  And yet…

  “You were saying, thief?” Fenrir teased him just as the waitress rounded the corner of the restaurant and disappeared from view.

  James snapped his attention back to the men at the table.

  “Something about his only waking thought,” Bron said, crossing his meaty arms in front of his chest as he leaned back in his chair. Open amusement shone in his forest green eyes.

  “And a plan to get back to the Realm,” Geoffrey said. There was no laughter in his voice, just suspicion.

  “Indeed.” James shook his head, trying to clear it. He needed to refocus. “It’s a simple plan.”

  Geoffrey leaned forward. His gray eyes swirled and stormed like thunderclouds in the sunlight, giving the magician a distinctly powerful appearance in this mundane world.

  “Somehow, I get the sense that when it comes to you, James Hook, nothing is ever as simple as it seems.”

  James’ lips tightened as he weighed what to say next. It was impossible to tell just how much Geoffrey Merlin saw with that otherworldly stare of his. Even here in purgatory, without a source of magic to manipulate, it would be dangerous to underestimate the man.

  “You don’t trust me,” James said. It wasn’t a question.

  “Does that surprise you?” Geoffrey asked. “Do you trust me? Do you trust any of us?”

  No, no, and no.

  “I don’t see why that matters,” James said. “The important thing is that we need each other.”

  “To break the final part of the curse?”

  “Exactly.”

  “So you did manage to smuggle out the Key?”

  What? James straightened up in his chair. He wasn’t willing to show all his cards just yet. Not when he wasn’t sure what the exiles might do with the relic. Hell, the way they were snarling they might tear each other apart just to get their hands on its power. Better to keep his secret just a little longer.

  “I never said that,” James said.

  “You didn’t have to,” Bron said. “Why else would you go to the trouble of finding us all?”

  “I already told you,” James said. “We all need to be together to satisfy the final condition of Oberon’s curse.”

  Fenrir leaned forward. An emotion far more dangerous than simple disappointment shone in his eyes. “But what’s the point unless you have a way to unlock the Threshold of the Underworld?”

  “Without the Key we’re as powerless as we were before,” Geoffrey said.

  “Not exactly,” James said carefully as the magician’s gaze sharpened on him. “We may not be able to open the Threshold yet, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t figured out a way to communicate through it.”

  All caution left Geoffrey’s face in a flash. “But that would take—”

  “Dragon magic,” Shay Madrid finished for him, looking every bit as interested as the magician.

  “You’ve found dragon relics?” Geoffrey asked. “Here on Earth?”

  “I have,” James said with a pleased smile. This was the kind of reaction he’d been waiting for. “Wyvern scales to be precise.”

  Geoffrey’s mouth screwed to the side as his gaze slipped to the pavement. “Wyvern relics are powerful, but far more unpredictable than simple dragon magic. They can be dangerous.”

  “Maybe in the hands of a simple man like me,” James said, letting the concern roll off his shoulders. “But not if their magic is manipulated by the greatest magician of all three worlds.”

  Geoffrey lifted his chin just high enough for James to see his glare. “Your flattery won’t work on me, thief.”

  “I don’t see why not,” James said. “It works on everyone else.”

  “Not the waitress,” Fenrir baited him with a laugh.

  James merely shrugged.

  “Forget the braggart,” Bron said to Geoffrey. “Can you do it?”

  The magician narrowed his eyes in thought. “Perhaps. Wyvern magic is complex. It requires a vessel whose blood is filled with righteous passion.”

  “And what could be more righteous than our mission to defy a tyrannical king?” James asked.

  Shay slowly shook his head. “But even if Geoffrey can control the magic, where does that put us?”

  “One step closer to getting home,” James answered. “Once I have the wyvern scales—”

  “Once?” Fenrir demanded, his voice loud enough to rattle the remaining glasses on the table. “You mean you don’t have this one either?”

  “I have a plan to steal them next Sunday,” James answered.

  “Another plan?” Fenrir growled. “That’s not very reassuring.”

  “Have a little faith, wolf,” James said, shooting the overgrown creature a glare. “I’m not some corner pickpocket. I’m the best thief this world, or any other, has ever seen.”

  “Is that how you see yourself?” Shay Madrid asked with a dark laugh. “Because from what I’ve heard, the legend of Captain Hook brought to this world by previous exiles wasn’t half as flattering.”

  “It seems to me that all of our stories got a little mixed along the way,” James responded, his charming smile faltering a touch as he met the jinn’s gaze. “Or should I switch out the apartment I found you for a lamp?”

  “How many relics have you actually acquired since landing here?” Geoffrey asked.

  “A few.”

  The magician narrowed his gaze. “How many?”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  Geoffrey’s eyes sparkled. “So many? We should divide them up. It isn’t safe having such an arsenal in one place.”

  “Isn’t safe for who?” James’ jaw tightened. “I assure you everything in the collection is well warded and secure right where it is. Nothing is going to happen. But if it makes you feel any better, I promise to bring you the wyvern scales as soon as I have them in my hand.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” Geoffrey said with a guarded smile. “It might take me some time to figure out how to safely harness their raw magic.”

  “And then what?” Bron asked. “Even if you do manage to communicate through the Threshold with Hades, how can we believe a word the bastard says? Oberon may be bad, but Hades is evil. Have you not heard the stories of the havoc he caused during the war?”

  “Some of us didn’t have to hear secondhand tales, hunter,” Shay said, glancing over at Geoffrey. “We were there.”

  “Then you should know better,” Bron said. “Some opponents can’t be controlled or defeated. They can only be safely locked away. I can only imagine the widespread destruction Hades would unleash on the Realm if he had the chance.”

  “If there were any other way to get back home, trust me, I’d take it,” James said.

  “That was never in doubt, Hook,” Geoffrey said, before turning to the hunter. “Bron, the stories you grew up on were nothing more than Crown propaganda. Hades isn’t any worse than Oberon.”

  “Or any better,” Shay added. “The Lord of the Underworld is no different than anyone else I’ve ever met, a creature looking out for his own self interests.”

  “Which makes our job all the easier,” James said, leaning forward in his seat. “Since all Geoffrey will have to do is convince him that it�
��s in his best interest to help us.”

  “And how am I supposed to do that?” Geoffrey asked with a sneer.

  “Easy,” James said with a smile. “Play to his emotions, same as anyone. That shouldn’t be hard. All you have to do is ask yourself, what would an imprisoned king want most?”

  “Redemption,” Geoffrey answered.

  “Freedom,” Bron said next.

  “Revenge,” Fenrir growled.

  “Exactly,” James said, his smile growing wider by the second. “Fortunately, those happen to be the very things we can offer him.”

  “Not exactly,” Shay said, stopping him cold. “You can’t offer him anything beyond talk. Even if you managed to find every relic that had ever been smuggled into this forsaken world you still wouldn’t have the power needed to unlock the Threshold. Only the Key can do that.”

  Geoffrey’s gaze sharpened. “Yes, it does seem odd that you let the biggest prize in all three worlds slip from your fingers.”

  James shrugged. “I came closer than anyone else.”

  “And here I thought close wouldn’t be good enough for the Realm’s greatest thief,” Geoffrey said.

  James didn’t flinch. “Well, let’s just say that my time here on Earth has taught me to live with disappointment.”

  “And how exactly are you planning to break through the Threshold if you don’t have the Key?” Fenrir asked.

  “The five of us together, we have the sharpest minds, the strongest wills, the most powerful magic this world has ever seen—we’ll come up with something. We’ll find a way.”

  “That’s your plan?” the jinn said with a groan. “Somehow, I don’t believe you dragged us halfway around this world for we’ll find a way.”

  “You’re right. I also brought you here for the magnificent wine.” He drained the last drops out of his glass. “I can’t get enough of the stuff.”

  The jinn didn’t seem to share his amusement…or his love for a fine Napa cabernet.

  “All right,” Bron said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. “Let’s say you’re right, that through some strange stroke of luck we manage to find a way to free Hades. That’s still only half the curse.”

  Fenrir let out a low groan. “As much as I hate to admit it, the hunter is right. We haven’t even spoken about Titania’s clause yet.”

  Now, James laughed in earnest.

  “You mean the bit where we all have to find someone to fall in love with us?” James let out a laugh. “I wouldn’t lose too much sleep over that one, boys. If there’s one thing I’ve noticed about the women of this world it’s that they fall in love at the slightest provocation.”

  Geoffrey shook his head. “Her exact words were that our hearts needed to be thoroughly cleansed by the burning fires of love.”

  “And what do you think that means?” James asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Geoffrey admitted.

  “Of course you’re not,” James said, stretching his arms out as he relaxed back in his seat. “No one is. Look at this world. They’re obsessed with the concept of love. They sing songs about it. Write stories. But ask any one of them to objectively define the emotion, and they falter. That’s because love is intangible. It’s whatever we say it is.”

  “Such a convenient way of thinking,” Geoffrey said.

  “It’s never steered me wrong before.”

  “Is that right?” Geoffrey said. “You really think you can make someone fall in love with you?”

  “Of course,” James answered. “Like I said, it’s the easiest thing in this world.”

  Geoffrey’s brows arched skeptically. “Is that so.”

  “You don’t believe me?” James said. “Fine. I’ll prove it. Go ahead, pick any woman, and I guarantee to have her swooning at my feet before the week is out.”

  “Any woman?” A slow smile spread across Geoffrey’s face.

  “Why not?” James said. “Whatever it takes to convince you that our situation isn’t as hopeless as you fear.”

  “All right.” Without looking, Geoffrey pointed his finger toward the door of the restaurant. “I pick her.”

  James turned his head to see the woman with the thick brown ponytail and the shapely rear standing at a table at the far end of the sidewalk. She turned to head back inside, and for a moment their gazes met. She quickly ducked her chin down, and hurried her step through the door.

  “The waitress?” James asked.

  “Mercedes,” Geoffrey said, drawing out the syllables of her name just like he had done.

  James cleared the sudden block in his throat. “She’s your choice?”

  “That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

  “Of course not.” James snatched the check-fold as he sprung up from his chair. “It’s just for a second I thought you might make this a challenge.”

  Chapter Two

  Mercy Herrera didn’t slow down. She whipped through the door of Ristorante Paradiso and kept going, until she reached the computer station. She pulled her pad from her half apron pocket and slammed it down a little too forcefully on the small pedestal.

  A loud crack sounded and the little cup of pens jumped in the air. Mercy caught it just before it tipped over the edge. She quickly glanced to see if any customers had noticed her little outburst. Thank God, all of them were more focused on their pasta and Chianti than on her.

  The last thing she needed was a customer complaint.

  Another customer complaint, Mercy corrected herself. On top of the one that was already coming.

  At least for that one she had an ironclad defense. No one had the right to grab her.

  No one.

  Mercy kept her hand wrapped around the cool porcelain cup of ballpoints and closed her eyes. She drew in a deep breath. Then another. Slowly, her fingers relaxed.

  “One of those days?” A sympathetic voice sounded in her ear—Farrah, another waitress who worked the busy lunch shift.

  “God, I hope not.” Everyone who worked with the public knew about those days. Days where it seemed like nothing could go right. Where every table was grumpy and every glass of wine spilled. Days where it felt like the whole world was conspiring against you. They didn’t happen often, but when they did—whew—they were the stuff of nightmares.

  “I don’t think I could handle it today,” Mercy said, entering a new batch of orders into the computer. “I have to take my abuela to a doctor’s appointment the second my shift is over. After that, I need to race over to campus to take a mid-term at six thirty.”

  “You’ll make it. You always do.” Farrah clasped a supportive hand over her shoulder. “Is table three still giving you trouble? Want me to take them off your hands?”

  Mercy thought for a moment before shaking her head. There was no point in passing her troubles on to anybody else. Especially, when she’d seen that their plates were already finished…the ones that hadn’t ended up shattered on the ground that was.

  “You sure?” Farrah asked again. “Cause I still owe you from last Saturday.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” Mercy said without hesitation this time. “They’re just some rowdy tourists. Nothing I haven’t handled before. Besides, I have a break coming up.”

  Now if only the infuriating Mr. Important Business and his band of hot-tempered friends would pay their bill and leave already, so she could enjoy the small respite.

  Mercy slipped her pad back into her pocket and slid to the side so Farrah could use the computer. She swiveled on her heel, and slammed into a wall.

  At least that was what it felt like.

  Instinct took over and Mercy threw her arms out, desperate to grab on to something before she toppled over. Her fingers gripped a set of wide, firm shoulders as she steadied her feet. Once she was stable, she looked up…straight into a pair of obnoxiously bright blue eyes.

  Ones filled to the brim with laughter.

  Mercy ripped her hands away and stumbled back a step.

  “You,” she snarled b
efore she could think better of it.

  “Me,” he answered back in that strange accent. The one Mercy couldn’t quite place. Wherever he was from, there was no denying his voice was dead sexy. Rather, it should’ve been. Too bad the man it came out of was aggravating enough to kill the effect.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “To catch your fall, apparently,” he said, a sly smile spreading across his face.

  Mercy didn’t return the gesture, even though she knew she was probably giving up her last chance at a tip. Instead, she straightened her spine and crossed her arms. Some things weren’t worth the money. Sure, times might be tight, but she still had to fall asleep at night.

  “Anything else?” she asked flatly.

  “To pay the bill, of course,” he said.

  “Johnny can cash you out over at the bar,” she said curtly and stepped around him.

  Much to her amazement, he let her go. He didn’t reach out or say another word as she hurried past him on her way to the kitchen. When she came back out, her arms loaded up with plates of spaghetti and lasagna, she caught a glimpse of him at the corner of the bar, pulling bills out of his wallet.

  Maybe there was hope for this day after all.

  Mercy delivered her plates, and made sure the rest of her tables were happy before coming back inside. She made it two whole steps through the door before stopping in her tracks. It looked like she shouldn’t have spoken so soon.

  Mr. Important was still there, his hip cocked against the edge of the bar…waiting. And it didn’t take a genius to guess what—or who—he was waiting for. His gaze was fixed on her. Those sparkling blue eyes watched every move she made.

  Damn, there was something downright magnetic about his eyes. Almost magical.

  Too bad Mercy didn’t have time for magic, or any other fantastical nonsense. She had a full day to get through. And right now she had a break to enjoy. If she had any sense, she’d just keep moving past him. Refuse to engage. Just walk away and forget all about him for the next ten minutes while she flipped through her phone and snacked on last night’s leftovers.

  That’s what she should do. So why couldn’t she seem to stop her feet from turning toward him? Maybe it was the angle of his chin, or that frustratingly adorable smirk on his lips, but Mercy’s gut told her it didn’t matter if she disappeared for ten minutes or ten hours. This guy would still be waiting out here for her when she got back.