Beyond Neverland (sequel to Forever Neverland) Read online

  The glittering yellow line shimmered and pulsed a few times, and then faded into the solidified reality of an actual wooden door, complete with golden knob. Peter reached out and grasped the knob.

  A vision assaulted him.

  It was a flash of a flag, this one red like blood as it shark-finned through the fog.

  Something tinkled and chimed by his ear, and Peter blinked. The vision was gone as quickly as it had come, but was troubling enough that Peter was left wavering, his hand unmoving on the knob.

  Beside him, there was a flash, the faint scent of fresh cut grass and lemons, and Tinkerbell was human once more. She reached around Peter, removed his hand from the knob, and opened the door herself.

  For a half an instant, Peter experienced a cold panic. He had the craziest notion that they would find something wrong on the other side of that door – something alien and frightening. It felt like opening a door in the midst of a nightmare.

  He found himself holding his breath, every muscle in his tall body tensing for a fight.

  But the door opened on a familiar and welcoming environment. The cottage defied logic, existing extra-dimensionally within the few sparse inches of the width of a single red brick. The fairy-magicked illusion allowed for the existence of a two-story cottage on the inside of the brick, complete with small kitchen, bathroom, and even the fire place that now burned warm and inviting, with no need of a chimney.

  There were no windows in the cottage, but the walls were hung with colorful paintings of forests and ocean coves and massive, winding, knotted trees. The paintings were so detailed and realistic, it felt as if you could step through the images and emerge on the other side amidst the nature.

  A bookshelf against the wall was overflowing with Tinkerbell’s romance novels and sea shells they’d found while working on the fishing ship. A round wooden table offered clean empty glasses and decanters filled with fairy dust laced wine, fresh chilled punches, and Peter’s favorite – root beer.

  Peter took a deep breath and shook off the remnants of the shroud of doubt that hung over him. The visions were simply messing with him. He had no idea where they were coming from or why, but they were leaving their inky fingerprints all over his entire existence. He needed to deal with them.

  Later.

  Right now, he just wanted a drink and the cushioned comfort of that couch by the fire. The fire’s flames always flickered the perfect height and never gave off too much heat, always leaving the air inside the cottage a comfortable temperature.

  Peter followed Tinkerbell inside, shrugging off his coat to hang it on the coat rack beside the sturdy wooden staircase. The stairs wound to a small loft above which contained a single bed, a dresser, and posters hung haphazardly along the upper walls. Peter glanced up at the loft now and shook his head.

  “What is your obsession with this Hello Kitty character?” he asked as he headed toward the fire.

  “I can’t get anywhere near real animals,” Tink told him blithely. “It’s like they can sense that I’m only three inches tall. Even when I’m in my human form, I can tell they look at me and see a snack.” She shrugged as she slipped off her green combat boots and kicked them across the room to the wall under the coat rack. “But I like cats.” She glanced up to the bed on the loft. Nearly every inch of it was covered in plush animals, most of them big white marshmallow-esque feline creations with little red or pink bows. “Those ones are safe.”

  Peter didn’t respond. Instead, he leaned forward from his cushion on the couch, and placed his hands before the fire.

  Tink watched him in silence as she headed to the cabinets across the cottage and poured them both a drink. What Peter didn’t know was that she could sense his unease. She could feel it as if he were a pulsing ball of malcontent, radiating uncertainty and fear. What he also didn’t know was that she felt nearly as unsteady as he did.

  One of the things about fairies was that once they’d chosen their favorite human, they would do anything to make that human happy. From that moment on, her pixie dust was his. And there was no way that Tink was going to make Peter’s unease worse by telling him that she, too, could sense something was awry.

  It felt like listening to ice cream truck music that was a little off key.

  Something was definitely not quite right.

  Chapter Two

  Many millions of miles and exactly nine impossibilities away, one James Hook smiled his most charming smile, sipped from the goblet in his right hand, and eyed the crowd with a gaze the color of a calm sea. It was a deceptive calm, for an undercurrent of growing turbulence rode through the sea captain’s veins, setting his teeth on edge.

  Memories spun around him, ghosts of something he thought he’d wanted to leave behind. One could not be haunted by a ghost that was welcome.

  A doubt encased him, hollow and cold. He should not be here. He no longer belonged.

  This was all empty. Something was missing.

  Hook glanced at the fingers of his right hand that played so many instruments and wrote so many words, and though he was more whole than he’d been in countless years, he felt more shattered and fragmented than ever.

  Nonetheless, he played his part well. Ever the gentleman, he obliged the furtive glances of the ladies at the gala, told the requisite high-society joke where appropriate, and bowed out of one too many dances with the utmost grace.

  He did all this even as the gathering clouds overhead had Hook on edge. The stars winked out above one at a time, the air grew heavy, and a phantom ache twinged Hook’s right wrist, arcing into his fingers and tightening his grip on his glass.

  This was the third storm in as many nights. Each had been progressively worse than the last.

  The wet winds and rolling thunder brought more memories clinging to their dark coattails. Memories were often no more than the scars that had been left behind by wounds incorrectly healed. They ached at times.

  His ached unendingly.

  Hook quietly and privately acknowledged this pain – and forced it to the back of his consciousness – as he took in the twirling skirts of the dancers and listened to the laughter and hushed tones of gaiety.

  But as he did, he found himself thinking of a rock far off in another sea, its face carved by eons of crashing waters into the grisly visage of a skull, its highest peaks the burial ground for an ancient and sacred bird. He thought of the dichotomy of the so very real fantasy in his mind… and the less believable, even less desirable reality before his eyes.

  A servant brought another dish and uncovered it at the end of the table. The scent of chocolate and caramel wafted toward Hook, stinging him to the core. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, torturing himself.

  And then he turned away, opening his eyes once more to the celebration.

  As far as any of the revelers at the ball were aware, James Hook had never left their glittering world, not for a single day. He had never pirated the seas of a fantasy land, never fought an impetuous young boy with a sharp blade, and he had never lost his right hand to have it replaced with a wicked, gleaming hook.

  In fact, as far as they were concerned, Captain James Hook was not a captain at all. He was most certainly not a pirate. To say nothing of the king of the pirate council that oversaw the 13 pirate factions.

  Instead, he was known as James Hook, lord of Hook Hall in the south west quarter of the nation, and a high-ranking member of the upper echelons of his society.

  The world Hook lived in spanned the length of hundreds of Neverlands. It was riddled with ancient, enormous volcano craters that created endless waterways the size of oceans. Thirteen were expansive enough to have been labeled the 13 Seas – upon which, the ship’s sail and those who could control it, were king.

  His was a water world, with an oceanic name: Anthetis.

  So many rivers and tributaries spanned the globe, it was more water than ground. There was always somewhere for a ship to go, some avenue down which it could turn and float into new and perhaps un
charted territory.

  Hook was deeply fond of Anthetis. The seas had always welcomed him upon their waves, recognized him as brethren, and he’d ruled their ever blue waters, a captain among captains, a pirate among pirates. He’d kept the law of the sea, bound others to it by blood, and punished those who would break it.

  He was Hook.

  But….

  It had been two years since he’d been returned, two years since he and his crew and the Jolly Roger had found themselves upon one of the Thirteen Seas in the wake of Neverland’s timely destruction. Despite those two years, Hook had not managed to find that space in which the puzzle piece of the man he’d become could once more fit into the slot of what he had once been. There was no match here. Not any longer.

  Hook looked around himself now and recognized faces that should have been as familiar as family. But they were faded memories.

  They hadn’t changed.

  Hook had.

  To them it had been no time at all. To him, it had been forever.

  Hook set down his glass and began to depart, ready as he had ever been to make his leave of the gaiety around him. However, he’d gone not two steps before his path was blocked by a middle aged man in a regal but salt stained uniform of blue and gray. “My Lord Hook,” greeted the man.

  Hook met his deep black gaze, apprehension riding up his spine. He hid it with practiced expertise, planting a congenial expression on his face. “Commodore Branton,” Hook replied, nodding respectfully. “Are you enjoying your time ashore?”

  “I am,” the commodore replied, though his furtive glance to the heavens confirmed Hook’s suspicions that the fellow seaman was as aware of the changing weather as he was. “I wager that the festivities will not last much longer, however.” He looked back down at Hook. “I did enjoy your performance, Hook. I’d heard tale of your musical talents but had yet to experience them for myself until tonight. I must say they were not exaggerated.”

  Hook was far too clever to mistake the compliments for anything but thinly veiled excuses to lock Hook into conversation – to keep him in the commodore’s sights. But he nodded and accepted those thinly veiled excuses with insurmountable grace.

  Though it had been two years plus a thousand for Hook, it had been only two years and a few days for the commodore – since he and his crew had run across the Jolly Roger on the open sea and barely escaped with their lives.

  No doubt there was a part of Branton that recognized the captain of the Jolly Roger, or at the very least had his suspicions. Facial features could be mistaken in the heat of battle. Gun smoke and salt marred a person’s countenance, and the wind and wounds wreaked havoc with a person’s sense of direction. Time, in a battle, became muddled as well. It slowed to a crawl and sped up to a blink, and memories could be formed on nothing but imagination.

  Hook at least in part relied upon this chaos in battle to help maintain his cloaked identity. He always had. He aided the illusion along with a change in clothing and hair style. As captain, his long black curls were left to wind and sea, as open as was the water upon which he sailed.

  On the Jolly Roger, he wore the brocade coats and hats of a pirate. But on land, Hook draped himself in the fineries of those who could afford them. Deep, midnight blue was a favored color; it reminded him of the way the horizon had looked the night Wendy Darling fell from the clouds and landed….

  Landed in his arms.

  Midnight blue was his favorite, so he purchased it in the silks and velvets of a wealthy lord.

  When these things were not enough to maintain his cover, he left nothing to chance. There were bullets in his gun to this end. There wasn’t a man alive who could prove Hook was the notorious pirate captain he actually was. He’d made certain of that.

  Except in Branton’s case. Because even the best shot missed once in a long while. The bullet Hook had assigned to Branton had hit just shy of it’s mark, carving a brand of fortune a mere inch to the right of the commodore’s heart.

  “Well, it was nice to meet you captain,” said the commodore. “I must be heading back to the Dragon now before the clouds let loose.”

  Hook didn’t miss a beat. “I’m sorry commodore, did you say ‘captain’?” he replied with a fairly convincing confused look.

  Commodore Branton’s black eyes flashed. He hesitated a moment, his lips tight. “Ah,” he said sheepishly. “I’m afraid I did. I apologize. You must have reminded me of someone else.” He nodded as if to push the matter aside. Then he tipped his hat. “Good night, Hook.”

  Hook watched the man leave as the distant horizon began to flash with luminescent streamers of the storm’s first strikes. Faint thunder rolled toward the estate grounds.

  Hook made his excuses, much to the disappointed dismay of a dozen young maids, and left the gala. It had been held in the governor’s gardens, and the hosts would no doubt simply move the affair indoors with the changing weather. However, Hook had other plans.

  There was only one thing he wanted in that moment.

  Hook’s long legs took him rapidly down the cobbled stone street. With a quick wave, he called his driver, and the sound of horse’s hooves joined the thunder that drew ever closer.

  Cocoa and caramel.

  However faded it might grow with each passing day, its magic never wavered, never failing to act as a salve on the time-worn edges of his raw soul.

  He tapped on the roof of the carriage, giving the signal to urge the horses on. The driver obeyed with the expertise that comes with a handsome pay and years of service, and the black stallions up ahead tore through the stone streets to Hook’s private destination.

  Several twists and turns and ducks and covers later, the wary and weary captain exited the carriage that had been pulled into a secret tunnel, tipped his trustworthy driver, and slipped into the shadows.

  It was another reason he favored dark colors. He was, by his very nature, a man in two worlds. Transitioning from one to the other took both skill, and the cover of night.

  By the time the moons were high in the sky behind their blanket of clouds, Captain James Hook once more stood on the deck of his infamous ship. He watched for a brief moment as his men finished locking the row boat into place. The ship’s sails were furled; the Jolly Roger’s crew had done an admirable job of preparing for the storm.

  Hook eyed his men, pondering their loyalty. One would have assumed they’d have run the moment they’d been free of Neverland. But the sea was the sea no matter what world it flowed through, and they’d returned to find that this one had not changed. They were still pirates, the Jolly Roger was still the best ship to be a pirate on, and there was a hell of a lot more loot to be found in Anthetis than there had been in Neverland. So here they remained, under the captainship of one James Hook.

  The only distinct difference was that now they wore finer clothing, and old Skylights had purchased a full set of ivory teeth.

  The Jolly Roger was anchored more or less safely within a cove, protected on three sides by sheer cliff walls that blocked most of the buffeting winds that would otherwise damage a sailing ship. The cliffs created a severe frame for the single outlet that led to open waters. It was this small mouth that Hook had rowed through earlier to get to his ship.

  Lightning slashed a white trail through the darkness of that space now, and thunder was not far behind it. Hook spun, turning away from the sea, and headed directly toward his cabin. As he did, the wind whipped through his hair, bringing with it the scent of salt and rain.

  “Evenin’ cap’n!” greeted Mr. Smee, the first mate, as the rotund and bouncy man sidled up to his captain, shoving his glasses back up his nose as he did so. “How was the party?”

  “Tedious,” replied Hook, his mind dead set on getting into his cabin. “You did a fine job with the Roger, Smee.”

  Smee tilted back on his heels for a moment, as he always did when proud of himself, and shoved his thumbs into the waistband of his pants. “Why thank you, cap’n.”

  Hook ign
ored him, focusing on the key in his hand and the lock on his cabin door. When the door opened, he shoved inside, Smee hot on his heels. Once they were both inside, Smee closed and re-latched the door behind him.

  Mr. Smee was the only man allowed entry into Hook’s private cabin. It wasn’t easy to gain the trust of a pirate captain, but he had.

  “Branton is on to us,” Hook told his first mate as he shrugged off his coat, pulled off his gloves, and tossed everything onto the curtained bed in one corner. His blue eyes settled on the trunk against the wall, zeroing in as if it were an X on a treasure map.

  Smee made a derisive sound, pondered that for a bit, and then said, “I’ll speak with Mr. Starkey about it, cap’n.”

  Hook nodded and strode to the chest. Then he slowly knelt before it.

  Lightning struck nearby, accompanied by a crack of thunder that laid right over it. There was a shout from above, one of the men taking extra precautions, followed by the sound of several footsteps on the stairs that would take the crew down to the galley and mess area. Protected or not, it would be wet on deck, and that was never pleasant.

  “Can I pour you a bit o’ tea, cap’n?”

  “No, Mr. Smee. Please see to the others. I wish to be left alone.”

  But Smee had already been on his way toward the door. A first mate who knew his captain as well as Mr. Smee knew Hook was hard to come by. “Aye, sir. I’ll be seein’ meself out. Just give a shout should you need anything.”

  Again, Hook ignored him, not even turning as the door opened and closed once more, leaving Hook alone in the hollow richness of his quarters. With deliberation, he curled his fingers beneath the ridge of the trunk’s lid and slowly lifted. As he did, something dark and sparkling caught the light of his lamps, reflecting like glitter.

  Hook paused, hesitating. His blue gaze narrowed on the dark sparkles. They littered the edge of the lid near the lock – and had not been there before.