Pan's Revenge Read online

  PAN’S REVENGE

  by Anna Katmore

  Copyright © 2014 by Anna Katmore

  Smashwords edition

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  GENRE: YA/FANTASY

  Cover design by Laura J Miller, www.anauthorsart.com

  Edited by Annie Cosby, www.AnnieCosby.com

  All cover art copyright © 2014 by Anna Katmore

  Goodbye

  FOR AN ENDLESS moment we just look into each other’s eyes. Bile rises in my throat. Probably in hers, too, because she swallows hard and her lips start to tremble. I reach out and caress her cheek. “No tears. Not tonight,” I whisper. “Let me remember you with a smile, Angelina McFarland.”

  She sniffs and the corners of her mouth tilt up, but it’s forced. Finding a hold on the net behind the crosspiece, she takes a cautious step toward me then flings her arms around my neck. I can’t let go of the net, or we’d both tumble to the ground. It doesn’t matter. I wrap my free arm around her waist and crush her to my chest. “I’ll miss you,” I breathe into her ear.

  “Just don’t forget me, Jamie.”

  “How could I ever?”

  Against the skin on my neck I feel her tears. They break me. I reach for her chin and tilt her face up, brushing the wet trail on her cheek away with my thumb. Then I kiss her one last time. Only our lips touch for a long tender moment.

  As she pulls away from me, I take off my hat and put it on her head. Now I get what I want—Angel’s honest smile.

  Peter leads her to the very edge of the crosspiece where she turns around to face me. Her mien is brave, but her eyes are filled with sadness. Slowly closing them, she takes a deep breath. I swallow against the pain in my throat. Then she tips backward and falls.

  Gripping the net to my right, I rush forward and desperately cry out her name. But it’s too late. Angel drops toward the sea beneath her. Her arms are stretched out at her sides and the skirt of her blue dress is flapping in the wind like it’s waving goodbye. The pirate hat flies off her head. Swaying sadly, it follows in the wake of her fall.

  A moment later, the love of my endless life submerges in the ocean.

  I pray that she gets where she longs to be.

  Peter Pan

  THE WAVES CRASH together over Angel. There was a smile on her lips right before she dove backward into the ocean. I wonder if James saw it, too.

  Against a coal black night sky with only a few stars shining, he stands on the edge of the crosspiece, gazing down. The wind ruffles his fair hair about his face. Horror and sadness war in his eyes. My brother—devastated? This is new. Not only to me, I realize, but also to the rest of his filthy crew. Their heads tilted, they watch him standing there and mumble to each other. Smee’s brows, coppery like his shaggy hair, are knitted together as though he cares more than the others. I never thought him to be more than a mindless wingman to Hook. Now I find myself wondering if my brother actually has a real friend on board the Jolly Roger.

  Something comes to the surface of the sea and catches my attention. Light blue fabric. I draw in a sharp breath. By the rainbows of Neverland, it can’t be Angel’s body floating on the waves? Not thinking, I jump overboard and glide down to the dark water. But it’s not her body. It’s merely the dress she wore minutes ago. Our last plan seems to have worked. If Angel is gone and she left the dress behind, chances are she made it back to her world.

  I fish the gown out of the water and look up at James. His expression is hard. Unreadable. He turns and walks back to the mast in the middle of the crosspiece, then he starts descending. During our many battles in the past, I’ve seen him slide down on a rope, take a reckless jump, or slice through the sail with his dagger to drop to the deck. Tonight he’s climbing down the net, taking one step at a time.

  Also grabbing the black pirate hat with the big feather that bobs sadly on the water, I return to the ship and wait at the bottom of the mast. The captain’s boots clack desolately on the floorboards as he steps down and turns to me. I offer him the drenched dress and the hat, but he slowly shakes his head.

  I miss Angel. She was fun, she was different. She was pretty and she smelled good. But when I look at Hook’s face now, I know my grief is nothing compared to his broken heart. His throat twitches as he swallows and unshed tears glisten in his eyes.

  This is probably not the best time to mention that only little girls cry. When James dismisses us all with silence and walks to his quarters, quietly closing the door behind him, I hand the wet clothes to Smee and fly home.

  Chapter 1

  WITH A GASP, I break through the surface of the cold sea. Shaking the water out of my hair as I pedal and twist in the water, the usual disappointment comes over me fast. A few feet away, the Jolly Roger sways gently on the waves in the fading afternoon light. Again, I didn’t make it. I couldn’t follow Angel to London. Neverland doesn’t let me go.

  Smee throws a rope ladder down the ship’s side. As I climb over the railing, he has nothing but a smirk to cheer me up. “How many times are you going to try this, James? Have thirty-eight jumps not been enough?”

  They weren’t jumps, they were falls. The first time, I tried to do everything exactly how Angel had, and then thirty-seven variations of that stunt. I dropped backward, forward, headfirst, stiff like a stick…I closed my eyes, grabbed a happy thought, grabbed a bad thought, a mean thought, no thought at all, but heck, the ocean keeps spitting me out right where I dive in each time. And after five weeks of dropping forty feet and smacking hard on the water, my bones ache like I had an encounter with the ship’s bow. I need a break.

  “You’re right,” I agree with Jack and slip into my boots, not caring about the wet leather pants or the drenched white linen shirt I wear. “Enough trial and error. Bring her back to the shore.”

  Always skeptical, Smee cuts me a sidelong glance from his place by the lowest mast. “What are you going to do?”

  “Having a chat with the fairies.”

  He saunters over to me and gives me my hat before tucking his hands into the pockets of his black pants. “Cap’n, why did you let the girl go, if you can’t be without her?”

  Yeah, why again? I shrug, my lips compressed. But the truth is I’d rather be without Angel than see her crying for her family for the rest of her life and know that I’m the only one who could have changed that. “Sending her back was the right thing to do.”

  “And you’re doing the right things since when?” the familiar voice of a boy mocks me from behind. I spin around and face Peter Pan. Legs spread in a wide stance that is so characteristic of the fifteen-year-old, he has his fists placed on his hips and flashes a white-toothed grin from under a triangle leather hat that clashes with his grasshopper green shirt.

  “Did you come to play pirate, little brother?” I snarl, snatch the hat from his head and toss it over to Fin Flannigan, its rightful owner who’s scrubbing the decks with Scowlin’ Scabb and Whalefluke.

  I haven’t seen Peter since the night that he helped me send Angel back, and I don’t complain about it. We worked together for a good cause. It doesn’t make us friends or bring us any closer than we were before. The only difference—I decided he deserves a break for helping Angel and I’m not trying to kill him…for now anyway.

  Peter rakes a hand through his light brown hair, setting it back to its usual windb
lown look. “I came to ask if you’re still right in your mind.”

  “Oh.” Surprise overrides my annoyance. “And what brings on this question?”

  He reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out my father’s pocket watch.

  Instantly, my interest in having Peter on board returns. “You opened the chest?” I drawl.

  He imitates my innocence. “It seems so.” Then his features turn hard. “Now tell me what this shit is and why you’ve been after it so badly.”

  For a stunned minute, I stare at his face. “You really have no idea, do you?”

  Peter jerks his hand away before I can reach for the watch. I catch a glimpse of the long scar marring his upper right arm. An old wound that was my doing. Regret is a nasty sting in my chest that I don’t care for, so I shove the memory away. Peter flies a few meters backward and stands across the deck on the railing. I know better than to chase him. Instead, I head for the bridge and climb the stairs, feigning nonchalance. “Did you open it?”

  “The watch? Yes.”

  “And what does it say on the inside of the lid?”

  “J.B.H.” His voice is nearer. My plan worked. Peter is following me.

  I glance over my shoulder and see him hovering behind. “Right. J.B.H. James. Bartholomew. Hook.”

  Flying over my head, Peter lands in front of me, blocking my way to the helm. “This is yours?”

  Although my mother named me after my father, she spared me his middle name Bartholomew. I roll my eyes at Peter’s lack of noticing the obvious and drawl, “Yes, Peter. It’s mine.”

  If nothing else, my wry look and heavy sarcasm get him on the right track. “It’s father’s pocket watch,” he says, the spirit gone from his voice.

  “Hey now, genius.” At my push, he steps aside. Wrapping my fingers around the wheel’s handles, I steer the Jolly Roger toward Neverland. Only the sun’s top curve still peeks above the horizon, its light blinding me. I squint and glance over my shoulder at Peter. “Can I have it now?”

  “What for?”

  “Souvenir.”

  He quirks his brows. “I don’t think so.”

  “I don’t care what you think. Give me the watch.”

  As I spin around, Peter jumps back to safety. “Nuh-uh!” He waggles his finger at me, gliding out of my reach.

  Yeah, it would have been too easy. I heave a sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Listen, Peter. Since you’re nothing but a pain in my ass again, why don’t you just flitter back to the jungle?” Without looking at him, I wave my hand dismissively in the air. “Stick with those guys who can actually stand you.” And stay out of my sight, for God’s sake. I have more pressing matters than breaking that stupid spell anyway. I must find a way out of Neverland and follow Angel.

  During the past few days one thing has gotten clearer and clearer to me: I can’t be without her. I didn’t even have the time to retrieve my treasure from the cave in the rocks north of Mermaid Lagoon. But Peter doesn’t know that I know so for now the treasure is as well safe out there.

  “Ah, the girl’s gone and you’re back in your ever miserable mood,” Peter says. “How could I ever, even for a minute, think that something had actually changed?”

  Pressing my lips together, I give him a tight smile and shrug.

  “However, I can’t do that,” he tells me then.

  “You can’t do what?”

  “Go back to the jungle.”

  “Why the hell can’t you?”

  Peter lands on the railing, sits down cross-legged and props his elbows on his knees, resting his chin in his cupped hands. “It’s boring there.”

  “What the f—” A sudden realization strikes and I rock with laughter. “You damn little bastard. You miss her!”

  “Who?” he snaps, but the way he tenses and his cheeks turn pink proves he knows exactly who I mean, and that I was right.

  “You only came here because you wanted to see if I found a way to bring Angel back.” My laughing ebbs off. “You knew I was trying.”

  “You’re delusional.”

  “Am I?” I step toward him and give him a push he didn’t expect. Knocked backward off the railing of my ship, he drops a few feet but steadies himself in the air quickly and shoots back up. I brace my hands on the railing so we’re eye to eye. “Then tell me why you suddenly prefer to hang out with me of all people, when you could surround yourself with your crazy bear-friends and the sparkling pixie instead.”

  Peter holds my challenging stare for a couple of seconds then flies around me and stands behind the wheel, swaying it gently and correcting our course toward the island. “Do I need a reason?”

  He doesn’t look at me. So much trust is tempting. I could skewer him from the back. Or behead him. My fingers close around the handle of the sword attached to my belt. It only takes a swipe of my arm—

  The devil knows why I don’t do it. My teeth clenched, I loosen my grip on the sword and shove Peter away from the helm to take over, keeping the Jolly Roger parallel to the shore a little outside the port. Brant Skyler drops anchor and, together with Fin Flannigan, he extends the gangplank.

  In search of my first mate, my glance skates across the decks. Jack sits across from Gurglin’ Doug, a barrel placed between them. Their elbows propped on top of the barrel and their faces red like cooked crabs, they arm wrestle. The crew is surrounding them and barks their supports.

  “Smee!” I shout across the length of the ship, dragging his attention away from Gurglin’ Doug who, in that moment, wins the battle. At my beckoning, he rises from the low stool and meets me by the gangplank.

  “Because of you, I lost my dinner to Doug in a wager,” he snarls at my face. “So this better be important.”

  “It is. I need your help with something.”

  “Not the fairies!” He lifts his hands, palms up and takes a defensive step backward.

  How those wood women turn my men into whining wimps makes me chuckle. “No. It’s not them. Not yet. I need to get something first.”

  I can’t go to the fairies empty-handed. It was a full moon last night and I still owe them the bathwater of a toddler for the answers they gave me last time—the ones we needed to send Angel home. What the hell are they brewing with bathwater? Their list of ingredients for their crazy potions gets weirder by the day.

  “Fine.” Appeased, Smee lets go of a sigh through one side of his mouth. “But just so you know, I’ll eat your ration of food tonight.”

  I roll my eyes but don’t contradict.

  “Where are you going?” Peter asks, still gliding above my head like a freaking seagull as I fetch my cape from where it hangs over the railing.

  “Running an errand,” I growl. “And since I can’t seem to get rid of you, you may as well come with us. Be useful, for once.”

  Smee’s footsteps sound behind me on the gangplank as we walk down to land. Peter of course prefers to fly. As we near the evening buzz on Main Street, I stop and tilt my head up. “By Davie Jones’ locker, would you get your feet down on the ground, Peter Pan! I’m not walking to town with you hovering above us like a fuckin’ bird!”

  He scowls but sinks to the street and falls in step next to Jack and me. “So what exactly is it you need?” he wants to know. “A new frock for the vain captain?”

  Ignoring his taunt, I tell them about the bathwater for the fairies and my plan to get some. “Women tend to bath their children in the evening, right? It’s almost dark so it’s the best chance we have. One distracts the mother, the others get the water.”

  Smee casts me a wry look. “And how are we to take the water away? Cup it with our hands and carry it all the way through the forest?”

  “Good questions.” I stop and pivot, searching for a jar. Down by the pub, several men dressed in tatters laugh and sing outside. Loaded to the gunwales, they are leaning against each other for support. One of them carries an almost empty rum bottle. That’s all I need.

  Heading toward them with my first mate and Pete
r following me, I slow down and join in their laughter. I lean my arm on the booze buddy’s shoulder and say in an equally slurred speech, “What ye got goin’, men?”

  “Jus’ a li’l celebratin’ with me friends,” the man answers. “Me wife kick’ me out like a mangy dog las’ nigh’!” His breath is foul and thick with rum, his shirt torn and stained with the rests of a greasy meal. Any good woman would kick him out at first chance.

  When he squeezes his blood-shot eyes closed and lifts the rum bottle in salute, I take it from him and slip it under my cape. He doesn’t even notice, so I suppose there’s no need for excuses either and head on with Jack and Peter who were waiting a few steps away.

  As we turn into an alley a little later, we all spy through the windows lining the street. Some of them have drawn curtains and it’s impossible to tell what’s going on behind. They aren’t the kinds of houses we’re going to enter.

  Peter is the first to call, “Here’s what we need!”

  Smee and I join him by a two-story house with crumbling yellow plaster. It has a Venetian balcony on the second floor, and the door stands ajar. In a rundown kitchen on the ground floor, a slim woman with braided black hair and wrapped in a simple gray dress bathes a toddler in a small metal tub that stands on the kitchen table.

  “All right. Here’s what we do,” I inform them. “Peter, you fly up to the balcony. Get inside and make some noise to draw the woman’s attention. Smee, you and I are climbing through the kitchen window and scoop some water once she’s gone.”

  “Aye,” Smee replies and Peter nods. While he flies up, I take the cork of the bottle between my teeth and pull. It comes out with a squeak. Spitting it to the side, I wash down the mouthful of rum that was still in the bottle. “You couldn’t have shared that bit, could you?” Smee scoffs.

  Sharing isn’t in me. I answer with the parody of a smile and down the last drop. My first mate rolls his eyes. Then we hear the sound of glass breaking inside the house.