Unhooked(33)

“You made the right choice, my dear,” Pan says, his voice smooth and sweet as honey.

But I can’t be sure that I have. I’m even not sure there is a right choice in this strange and dangerous world. I close my eyes, not wanting to see the dark water or the ship receding below me, and, as we mount higher into the sky, the relentless rushing of the air echoes my own clawing sense of dread.





The boy grew to hate all of it, but he hated the darkness most of all, for at night, he couldn’t see death coming. That night, like so many others, there would be no sleep. When they called for him to “Stand To!” he wore his fear like a tattered coat. . . .





Chapter 16


THE NIGHT SWEEPS PAST, DARK and thick as ink as Pan flies on. I force myself to focus on the glittering stars above us, because I don’t want to think about the tender curve of a broken boy’s ear. And I don’t dare look down.

Pan’s body is my only warmth against the chilly air, his arms the only thing between me and falling to my death. But his darkened expression is so sure, so determined, I can almost make myself loosen the tight grip I have on his neck.

His face is masked with shadows, but a smile plays about his lips as we fly. I can’t tell if it’s from the satisfaction of besting the Captain or from the pleasure of the flight itself, but it seems like a secret smile. I don’t think it’s meant for me. Still, the longer we fly, the more I find myself drawn to him. The more I find myself wanting him to look at me.

Maybe it’s because he smells like the night, wild and free as the wind whipping through my hair, but it takes all my focus not to let myself lean into him. His is a cold scent, distant and empty as a winter day, but that doesn’t make it any less enticing. I want to breathe him in, and it’s only when he chuckles darkly that I realize I’m doing just that.

Then, before my cheeks can even flush warm with embarrassment, before I can even register how strange it is that I would be so taken by him, we’re falling. Or I guess we’re diving, but when you’re plummeting to earth with no control over the fall, the feeling is about the same. We break through the clouds, the cold dampness of them wetting my cheeks and hair, clinging to my bare arms.

We are still over the endless sea, but the surface of the water is now as smooth as polished glass. It shines pink from the soft morning light instead of the lurid meals of monsters. The clouds and sky glow a rosy amber now, and off in the distance, a sliver of sun is just beginning to peek over the level line of the horizon.

The view from this height is so vast, the feeling of the air rushing across my skin so exhilarating, an overwhelming sensation of freedom rushes through me as Pan glides effortlessly over the water. It’s like when I run, when I push myself enough to quiet the worries and the insecurities until I can only feel. Only this feeling is so much bigger, so much more intense. So much more tempting.

The Captain and his ship are nowhere to be seen, but the island is there before us, rising up from the sea like an angry fist.

Pan leans into the wind and makes a course for those strange shores. We’re close enough now that I don’t need a spyglass to see the wreath of jagged rocks that protect the island. Their dark surfaces rise sharply from the water, like some long-submerged creature trying to claw the sky with its craggy fingers. No wonder the Captain stays so far out to sea—the waters around the island would be deadly to a ship as large as his.

But navigating these dangers is easy for Pan, who glides easily around the peaks that rise unevenly from the water below. I can’t help but think he’s showing off a little with how easily he sails through the island’s gauntlet. He follows the shoreline to where the sea cuts up through a rocky beach and then follows the water farther, through a narrow pass that leads deep into the island’s interior.

I am sure now that I hadn’t been imagining what I saw through the spyglass on the Captain’s ship. Up close, it’s clear the island is moving as though it’s alive. Sharp corners of rose-colored rocks flatten to smooth planes as it continues to move and transform itself.

But even as surreal as it all seems, the beauty of the island overwhelms—the staggering heights of the pink cliffs shot through with silvery veins of glittering crystal, the jeweled green of the jungle growth clinging to the rocky land. The flowers dotting the lush green with bright bursts of color are all more vibrant, more breathtaking than anything I’ve ever seen.

The sheer cliffs of the coastline soon give way to hilltops covered by a thick carpet of impenetrable vegetation. Everywhere below us, the jungle shivers and pulses with life. The broad glossy leaves of the plants ripple in the still morning light, their enormous flowers opening and closing like hungry mouths. But just as unmistakable as the beauty here is a feeling of danger so thick that it stirs in the very air.

Adjusting his course, Pan plunges into the jungle itself. He glides effortlessly along the canopy of trees, and then descends beneath their limbs, continuing along the jungle floor. Branches shift and move, creating a path through the jungle, as though the island is welcoming him home. On and on we fly, until it feels as though there will never be anything more than this green surrounding me, alive and threatening. Eventually, though, the trees ahead begin to thin, and I hear the rushing sound of water.

Pan chuckles at my gasp when we enter a wide clearing anchored by a towering waterfall. He touches down and gently lowers me to my unsteady legs, but he doesn’t release me.