Jamison gives me a look. “Quite racist o’ ye to assume otherwise.”
“Well, who were first here then?” I frown.
“Well…” Hook shrugs. “Depending on yer persuasions, the true first people here might be the wee fae.”
“And the animals,” Rye adds.
Hook nods. “And the merfolk, I s’pose, but they’re part fae.”
“Are they?” I ask brightly, and both of them give me a strange look.
Rye blinks twice. “What do they even teach you in schools in England?”
I roll my eyes at him. “Oh, just useful things like maths and English and history and geography and biology—”
Jamison pulls a face. “No’ very comprehensive if they’ve missed a whole fecking planet, is it?”
I give him a long-suffering look before I look back at Rye. “If you’re not originally from Neverland, where are you from?” I shake my head and ask a further question. “What are you?”
“Human.” Rye shrugs.
I roll my eyes, a bit miffed at the evasive answer. “Well, what kind of human?”
“Just human,” Hook answers for him with a shrug.
“But where did you come from?” I stare between them.
They both point to the sky.
“Well, when?”
They both stare over at me before Hook leans over towards Rye and quietly says, “She asks so many questions.”
Rye pulls a face and sort of gives him a nod.
Hook goes on. “It’s all a wee bit annoying, no?”
Rye sniffs a laugh, and don’t think for a minute I don’t notice that neither of them answer me.
“So what brings y’round this part o’ the island?” Jamison asks Rye, but he’s looking at me.
“Daphne wants a tour of the village.”
“Aye, does she now?” Jamison looks at me, smirking. “Odd considering I gave ’er one just a week back—”
I freeze and Rye glances at me, eyes wide and bright with amusement.
“Well…” I clear my throat. “I…um…I mean it was hardly comprehensive.” I look at Jamison. “You were honestly a rather terrible tour guide.”
“I was a grand tour guide!”
“No, you weren’t.”
And then, at the same time, I say, “You killed a man!” and he says, “I killed a man!”
And then our eyes lock, and we squint at each other.
“Midtour,” I remind him.
Jamison shrugs. “Aye, some folk would pay extra for that.”
I give him a look. “Well, not I.” I sniff. “And colour me suspicious, but I don’t trust you at all, in general nor as a tour guide, so…”
“Sure, yeah.” Hook smirks. “Pirate and all.”
“Right.” I give him a stern nod.
“That sounds like quite the tour,” Rye whispers playfully.
“Shut up,” I snap.
I don’t know when it happened or how even—certainly it was without invitation—but Jamison Hook strolls with us through the village market.
He greets people as we pass them, and sometimes I think there’s an audible swoon from girls around us.
An older woman at a fruit stall tosses him an apple, and he catches it with a wink, then offers it to me.
I shake my head, and he takes a bite. The crunch is loud, and the juice of it runs over his bottom lip. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, and I swallow heavy.
Jamison Hook spins around on his heel, and his eyes catch the light and they look a bit like the surface of Neptune, which I know about now because I believe I passed it to get here. Dark and light, like the shifting and moving all swirly blue and ultramarine.
“So.” Jamison clears his throat. “Where’s the Never Boy today?”
I flash him a little look. “With the Never Girl.”
He squints. “Is that no’ ye?”
I give him a tired, amused look. “Not today.”
“He’s with my sister.” Rye doesn’t look up from the gold lamp he’s inspecting.
“Ah!” Hook gives me a pointed look. “How wile* unlike him.”
I roll my eyes and keep walking ahead.
“How’s it going thonner with the wee man anyway?” Jamison calls after me, and it sounds like a sincere question though I won’t trust his sincerity, even if I feel like it.
I like it when he refers to Peter as the “wee man.” It’s so mildly derogatory, so technically inoffensive, yet it would offend Peter so terribly; I do my best not to smile at him for it, squashing it away every time it comes. “I can’t imagine he much likes you calling him that.”