Cherry didn’t get the worst of our father, but she didn’t get the best either.
“I don’t know,” I answer and give her hand a squeeze. “Gluttons for punishment, it would seem.”
One night, in late November, a very long time ago, our father caught me in the stables with one of the servants. “You are an embarrassment!” he shouted and whipped me with his belt. “A shame on this house.” Then he kicked me in the ribs and kept kicking until my ribs cracked.
I can still see Cherry huddled under the table wincing and trembling with each hit.
She was never meant to witness the violence and yet somehow it keeps finding her.
Not that she turned her head and pretended not to see.
Three days later, I caught her drugging father’s brandy.
Father was in and out of consciousness for seven days.
It was arguably the quietest, most restful stretch of our early lives.
“I want to go home, Jas,” she says now.
“Our home no longer exists.”
“I don’t care where it is or what it looks like. I want to go home.”
I think I understand what she’s asking for—a stable place and a place to be loved.
“I’ll find you a home,” I tell her. “A big brother promise to make up for my past transgressions.”
She looks up at me with her big, wide eyes. She has our mother’s freckles and more of our mother’s red hair.
Cherry barely remembers her, but I do.
She too loved someone who hated her.
Maybe that is our legacy. A maddening one at that.
“Don’t break this promise,” she tells me. “I will never forgive you.”
I lean over and plant a kiss atop her head. “I won’t.”
28
ROC
When Holt shows up at Hook’s house, he’s damp from the rain and not the good kind of damp. He’s surrounded by the remainder of his guard, which is not many. Matthieu is by his side.
The younger Remaldi cousin looks like he might have had one too many sniffs of everpowder, but who am I to judge?
When Holt spots me in the barroom, he charges at me, dagger out, then slams me into the wall and places the blade at the pulse point in my throat.
“You fucking traitor.” His eyes are bloodshot. Was he crying or is he sleep-deprived? He always wanted the throne and now he has it by right. He should be thanking me. Not that I had anything to do with his sister’s death.
“If you’ll kindly remove your blade,” I tell him.
“Or you’ll what?” A vein throbs on his forehead.
“Or I’ll eat you.”
His nostrils flare. He can’t tell if I’m joking. I’m not.
The pressure disappears and he staggers back.
I straighten my borrowed shirt. “Holt, if you want to win back your shadow and secure your throne, stop acting like a jilted little boy and start acting like a king.”
The fae queen’s wings flutter behind her as she watches the room.
What was it I said about underestimating everyone on Neverland? I may have done the same with her.
She’s tenacious. And possibly more observant than reckless.
She’s been fighting Peter Pan just as long as Hook. But neither have won. Proof is harder to ignore.
“If you’ll have a seat,” James says and nods at one of the round tables.
Several of his pirates are dotted around the room, several at each entrance and exit. They seem to have varying degrees of capabilities unlike the fae queen’s warriors who aren’t quite sure if they showed up for war or an early breakfast.
The queen must be having doubts. She’s ill-equipped for this war and that’s becoming glaringly obvious with every passing day.
She reminds me a bit of Giselle. A woman in power who has to work twice as hard as the men to keep it.
The question is, does she deserve to keep it?
Holt gives the hem of his tunic a sharp yank and then takes a seat. Matthieu stays standing just behind him.
James sits across from him, then the fae queen joins them.
Smee and I take the remaining seats next to one another. She brings with her the scent of her cigarillos, a bit of sweetness and earthiness.
“Vane has been wounded,” Hook says, and Tilly and Holt’s expressions immediately shift, registering the surprise and shock.
“How?” Holt asks.
“Not important,” James says. “If you want your shadow back, now is the time to strike.”
“And James and I plan to help you deal with Peter Pan under one condition.”
The Captain glares at me. I can practically see the steam shooting out his ears because we never discussed a condition.