“Oh, that wonder of yours will bottle nicely.” He nods at Peter, who stares at him unfazed.
“Peter.” I shake my head at him. “Go. He’s awful. He—”
“He’s no match for me, girl,” Peter says with a big grin as he jumps down from the window and waltzes into the room.
Charles considers this briefly. “Potential heir,” he says to himself. “I wonder what powers you possess?”
“More than you,” Peter tells him coolly. He lifts his hand from his side, and then from behind him, water rises from the ocean that seems to be under Peter’s control. I’ve never seen him do this before.
Peter thrusts his hand towards Charles, who’s knocked clean off his feet, tumbling into his precious shelves.
Peter sniffs a laugh and walks over to him casually. He summons the water again, blasting him in the face for what feels like too long.
He’s calm while he does it. Watching on as the man scrambles to try to get away from the water.
“Peter!” I call his name, shaking my head. “Stop!” I tell him, worrying he’s enjoying it.
That gives Charles a chance. He reaches for a jar that’s fallen to the ground—a shimmering, deep blue liquid.
He cracks it open, his eyes eager, and then he drinks it.
Peter looks over at me, confused. Our eyes catch, and honestly (surprisingly?), I feel relieved to see him.
And then something unexpected happens.
The blue shimmers through Charles. Down his throat, through his arms, down his body to his toes, and then he snaps his fingers, and Peter unwillingly flies through the air towards him.
Charles grabs him by the throat with one hand and rattles the empty jar in my face.
“The soul of a wizard.” He gives me a pleasant smile. “A strong one too,” he says before he squeezes Peter’s throat.
Peter starts choking, and I lunge at Charles, but he knocks me back.
I fly across the room, falling onto some of the shelves.
Charles lifts Peter into the air, dragging him under a light, and then he adjusts his spectacles. He looks over at me, and his head pulls back.
“How wrong you were,” he tells me, intrigued and annoyed. “Did you not know, or are you dishonest?”
I stand up with a frown, eyeing him carefully. “Did I not know what?” I ask quietly.
“That he loves you,” the bad man says, and my wide eyes fall on Peter’s.
His are wide too with this horrible fear. It’s not just fear for his life, not fear that a madman is choking him. It’s fear that I now know what was just spoken.
My eyes fall from Peter’s and back to Charles.
“I didn’t know,” I say softly, weakly, maybe.
The man gives Peter’s throat one last squeeze before he slams him to the floor.
Peter sputters a bit. It’s just for a few seconds that he’s down, and then he’s back on his feet again.
“Daphne,” Peter says to me, but he doesn’t move his eyes off of Charles. “Go stand by the window.”
“No, Daphne,” Charles says, then he snaps his fingers, and blue, shimmering ropes spring forth from his hands and tie me to a mast in his room. “Don’t.”
Peter stares over at me, eyes wide and worried like I’ve never seen them before. He looks around, trying to figure out what to do next. He dives for the shelf, grabbing one of the jars, knocking them off, trying to smash them on purpose, and Charles just laughs.
Peter grabs another, trying to open the jar himself.
I shake my head at him. “Only his hands can open them!” I call to Peter, and Charles moves in towards him, smiling.
And then it happens rather quickly. A silver glint and a flash of a smile from Peter, and his sword’s in his hand. With a swift flick of the wrist, he cuts Charles’s hand right off. It falls to the ground with a thud, and Charles cries out in pain, falling to his knees.
Peter grabs the hand, manoeuvres it to open the jar, and then pours it out.
“No!” cries Charles, trying to reach for it, but the shimmery gold spills onto the floor and evaporates.
Peter laughs, pleased he’s found a way to hurt him, then he grabs another and another and another, opening them all.
Charles scrambles after him as he tries to nurse his wound where his hand was severed.
Peter grabs a jar that’s dark green and swirling around. He opens it, tossing it at Charles, and for a moment, it seems he’s swallowed by this cloud of green.
Peter flies over to me, trying to untie my magic ropes, but he can’t.
“Are you okay?” He touches my face. “You’re bleeding.” He pulls out his knife and starts filing away at my binds. He frowns. “It’s not working.”
“Nor will it ever,” Charles tells us with a sneaky grin. “Blood magic. Ties that bind.”
I’m starting to hate magic, I think.
I look back at Peter, try to catch his busy eyes that are alive with the excitement of adventure. “Peter, you need to go. There are things he wants to take from you, really terrible things,” I tell him.
Peter shakes his head. “He’s not getting anything from me.”
“Peter, please.”
“Be quiet.” He gives me a look. “I’m saving you.” He pecks me on the lips, and I blink, stunned, then he flies back to the shelf. “Essence of lightning!” he reads from a jar out loud, beaming. He uses the hand to open it, then shakes the jar empty and onto the ground.
“No!” Charles yells but—
It feels like time and light crack open for a second. The sound of it is unparalleled. I’ve never heard a sound as loud as that. It feels warm. Like someone threw a cup of hot water at me.
When I can finally peel my eyes open, I see that the cabin’s been blown apart.
I’m still tied to the mast, but it’s fallen. One of the shelves fell in the explosion and is pinning me down.
“Peter!” I call for him.
I hear him crow. “Don’t worry, girl. I’ll kill them all and be back for you!”
Then—silence.
Well, not total silence, actually. I can hear something…
Rushing?
Something rushing.
Water?
Water. The ship’s sinking.
I breathe out this sigh that’s partly made of a cry and stare up at the ceiling that’s not there anymore.
It’s just a dark night sky and an impossibly bright moon.
A funny way to die, I suppose.
Magically tied to a sinking ship.
A bit of a metaphor for my last few months, I suppose.
The water’s rising now, rather a lot. I’m still pinned under the shelf.
“Peter!” I call for him.
Perhaps this is stupid to do, alerting or reminding Charles of my presence, but also, it’s my only chance.
Charles looks over at me, pinned with the water rising. He sniffs a little laugh. “I guess you’re drowning either way tonight.”
“Please, wait,” I call after him.
Deep from within the belly of the ship, I hear groans and cracks, and then Charles runs, holding what he can, which isn’t much.
He darts from the room, and I hear Peter crow a laugh from a distance.
The ship groans again and collapses in on itself a bit.
The shelf on top of me shifts but in a worse way, one of the shelves splintering off and driving through my arm.
I let out a cry of pain.