I pass a few people I’m a bit acquainted with by now; I pass Morrigan, who sneers at me. She hasn’t enjoyed my arrival in town.
I overheard Orson telling Jamison that Morrigan’s “dirt filthy” about me being here, that he heard her wish me dead. Jem scoffed and shook his head, muttered something under his breath I couldn’t hear, but I could tell he was upset about it.
I wish I could go after her and tell her that Jamison and I are running away together, but it seems unnecessarily unkind, because I’ve got him and she doesn’t.
Which then leads me down a rabbit hole of thoughts about what our lives might look like now that we’re running away.
Where would we go?
How long would we be gone for?
Also, if you don’t fly like Peter does, how do you even leave here?
Those are the things I’m wondering when I walk past a corner and hear my favourite laugh in the world.
“And I heard you’ve got a new bedfellow,” says a voice I don’t know. British. Rather proper.
I don’t know why I don’t make my presence known, but I don’t. I probably should have. It’s sort of dishonest that I don’t, but something makes me not.
Instead, I hide behind it and listen.
Now, much can be said about eavesdropping—that one should never do it, that one must understand that if they do, they’re only getting part of the conversation, that one should trust the man they love enough not to feel the need to eavesdrop—but I’m only human. And perhaps a mildly mistrustful one at that.
“Aye,” Jamison says. “Who’d ye hear that from then?”
“That redhead you knock about with,” says the other voice, “said she’s your new obsession.”
I peek around the corner and watch them from afar.
“Well.” Jem shrugs. “A part o’ her was. I got it now.”
My blood turns cold.
The other man—white, shoulder-length hair, pointed nose, brown eyes so dark they’re nearing on black. He has strange glasses on. The glass in them is coloured.
“And what did you get from her?”
I swallow, waiting for him to say something that clears up this mess, makes it all go away.
But then Jamison just gives the man this look. His head pulls to the side, and a little smirk finds its way to his mouth, and I think my heart tumbles down a set of stairs.
The man laughs. He’s kind of old but sort of ageless all at once. Mid-sixties? One hundred and twenty? I can’t tell. His skin doesn’t look old, but something in him looks worn away.
He gives Hook a grin. “How was it?”
“Shite.” Jamison laughs.
Oh my days, I feel like I might faint.
He keeps going. “She d?dnae stop blethering the whole fucking time.”
The man laughs again, and Hook shakes his head.
“You wud hae fucking hated it.”
“I would have.” The man nods.
“Sure, but I did get her kiss though,” Hook tells him, tapping the corner of his mouth in the place where my kiss used to live.
The man looks up at him, interested all of a sudden.
Me? Oh, I just feel like I’m fading away.
“No?” The man stares at him. “Jam, those are a rare find.”
“I ken.”
“Had I known”—the man tucks his hair behind his ears—“I’d have come sooner.”
“Had I known,” Jamison counters, “I’d nae be the one t’ take it. Would hae left it fer ye.”
“Could I take it from you now?” the man asks, eyes looking greedy. “I’d love it for my collection.”
My face balls up, confused.
“I’d say yes.” Hook shrugs. “But I lost it the second she gave it to me.”
I press my hand into my mouth, swallow heavily. Convince myself not to vomit.
The man rolls his eyes. “Highly valued, I see.”
“She’s nothing to me.” Jem sniffs. “And I d?nnae think that kiss meant anything to her.” Jamison scratches his neck. “The girl practically flung it me.”
“Is she heartbroken?” the man inquires.
“No.” Jamison shakes his head. “Maybe she will be, but she’s no’ just yet.”
“Why don’t you go now and break her heart, and then I’ll—”
“Cannae.” Hook shakes his head. “Gave her my word I’d take her back t’ Blighty.”
The man rolls his eyes. “You and your fucking word.”
“It’s about honour,” Hook tells him.