Unhooked(65)

I can’t make sense of what I’m seeing, though—this can’t be the Sisters. As the creature rises, its great body coming to the surface, I realize that what I thought had been three mermaids is actually one enormous creature with three torsos and three heads. Its tangled masses of hair hang limp from its three large misshapen faces as it breaks through the surface of the water. Its body is the size of a whale, and it has tentacles that flail about, slapping at the water as it continues to rise up, up above the waves.

One of the giant tentacles rises, high above us.

This is the end, I think. After everything I’ve been through, this is how I will die.

The creature brings its massive tentacle down again, using it as leverage to turn in the water. Away from us.

Toward Pan.

“For the love of all that’s holy, I need you to swim, Gwendolyn.” Rowan’s voice comes to me like a dream as I gulp water and air and try to make sense of what I’m seeing. They are not attacking us. Perhaps they didn’t see us, or maybe they just don’t care, but the Sisters have risen out of the water, a dark mountain of tangling limbs and horrible faces, and they are attacking Pan.

Rowan pulls me along through the water, and this time I don’t hesitate. I force my legs to kick a few times more. I force my arms to crawl after him through the water, and we make it out of the cove—out to sea—before Pan can stop us.





On the count of three, they ran, each crouching low to the ground. As they went, the earth shook, like demons from below were rising to join the battle. The sky was alive, and bullets buzzed like hornets past the boy’s head. It was madness. And in the madness, the boy lost track of his brother. . . .





Chapter 29


BY THE TIME WE REACH A Rocky beach, We are both so completely exhausted that we collapse without any thought of Pan following us. Or anything else, really.

Some time later I wake with Rowan sitting close-by. His legs are pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them, like he’s trying to hold himself together. His eyes are taking in the sun as it sets over the endless sea, and his face is drawn and pale against the white slash of his scar. I have a feeling he’s thinking of Will. Of all the boys he lost today.

He chose me, I think.

Back in the cove, I was so sure he would hand me over to Pan to save his crew. But he didn’t. He chose me. The guilt and the terrible hope that knowledge inspires make my eyes burn and my throat go tight. I don’t understand it. He loves those boys so fiercely. Why would he choose me instead of saving what was left of his crew?

He sees me stirring, but he doesn’t speak or make any move to help me up. We’re on a broad, flat rock that’s still radiating the heat from the day. Around us, the world is quiet and still. With the calm ocean lapping at the shore below, it would be easy to believe that nothing is wrong. That he hasn’t just lost a brother. That I haven’t just abandoned a friend.

“What now?” I ask once the sun has lowered itself into the sea.

“We haven’t much choice. We’ll do as Fiona instructed. We’ll find the Queen and we’ll free her.” He runs a hand through his damp hair, pushing it out of his eyes. “Then we’ll hope for the best and try to get you and your friend back to your world.”

“You’ll help me save Olivia from Pan?” I ask, surprised that he would offer without my asking. Especially after what he’d said before, on his ship.

“Aye, though we’ll have to be waiting until morning, as it’s not safe to venture into the island so late in the day. It should be safe enough to stay here for the night—if Pan hasn’t come after us already, I doubt he’ll venture out in the darkness.”

“He has before,” I say, thinking of the night he came to me on the ship.

“That he has, but he knows now my lads and I had help getting into his fortress. He’ll be more on guard, less willing to trust his safety to Fiona and the lights of her kind for protection.”

I want to tell him that I’m sorry about going with Pan. About the choice Will made. I know words can be powerful things, but I’m not sure there’s a single combination of sounds or syllables worthy of the loss he’s just suffered.

“I’ll build us a fire,” he says after a while. “It should keep us safe enough for the night.”

He sets about his task quietly, leaving me on the warmth of the rock to watch him meticulously gather debris, which he piles in a small mound. Then, using the steel of his fingertip to strike sparks against the dark stone, he carefully feeds the embers bits of dried seaweed until they flicker into flame.

When the fire is burning, he lays his coat and his shirt out on the rock so they can dry in the warmth of the fire, leaving his lean torso bare in the deepening twilight. Muscles bunch and move under his damaged skin, but this time, the sight of his scars isn’t so shocking. Nor is the steel arm, as it glints in the firelight.

Ignoring the heat that has built in my cheeks, I strip off my own damp boots and socks and warm my toes in the heat of the flames. We sit that way until long after the rosy sky has turned dark. Neither of us willing to break the uneasy stillness with words.

In time the fire grows large enough to cast a steady glow, shielding us from the darkness beyond. My toes are warmer now, but I’m still shivering from my wet clothes.