Hooked

by A.C. Wise

His sword—wicked and curved, sharp as a smile—slashes

Then all at once, the boy himself hangs in the air before him. Behind him, the sun blazes so brightly Hook can’t look at him directly; Pan is a hole, an absence, a sharp-edged silhouette pinned upon the day.

Hook thinks of a geode smashed open, a hollowness studded with jagged crystalline shine. That’s what Pan’s eyes remind him of; they are nothing human.

Pan’s gaze snaps to him, delight melting to reveal something colder, crueler—an ancient being behind the face of the child.

Pan. Panic.

The mermaids watch him, silent, waiting to see what he’ll do. They remind him of gulls, placid and stupid, but vicious when there’s food at stake.

Salt-spray drenches him, the water so impatient to drown him it can’t resist leaping onto the deck.