Greedy witch.Though he had half a mind to call her another name if she tried to deny him. He already offered her a hefty sum of gold. An average merchant would take ages to gather so much, but perhaps she charged more to pirates.
Smee reached for a nearby bottle.
“Don’t touch that!” the witch screeched, rising to her feet.
He snapped his arm away like the scolded child he was.
The witch’s lips twitched as she regained her seat and smoothed out the falls of silk across her lap.
“Apologies for my friend.” Hook gave a scathing look at the man, who dipped his gaze in apology. “He won’t do that again.”
“No,” she said. “He won’t. State your business or be gone.”
Smee…Hook slid forward in his chair, letting his hook thump onto the edge of the table. “I need to know the location of the scale of Leviathan. Its precise location and how to get there.”
Her eyes widened. “My, you don’t want much, do you?”
“You’ve located things for me before. You can do it again.” Memories from years ago tried to claw their way into hismind, to fester there as they once had—his mother, his hand. Blackbeard’s smirking face. He slammed them back in their box.
“I remember. You went by a different name then.”
“We’re not here to discuss my past.”Not here. Not now.
“As you will.” She shrugged. “Executus!”
The shopkeep rushed to her side and gave a dramatic bow.
“My scrying bowl and the green crystal jar, please.”
He bowed again before sliding through the curtains behind her. Hook stiffened. Another false wall. Smee shifted on his seat, no doubt keeping a hand, or two, on his hidden daggers as he did. Tink was pale, her chest rising and falling. He should have given her one too, an oversight he wouldn’t make again.
The witch’s prying gaze looked them over as the silence stretched. No one dared to break it. Smee barely breathed. The witch knew too much about him already. He wouldn’t give her another word. And she gave nothing for free.
The shopkeep, Executus—he committed the name to memory—returned carrying a heavy pot. A young boy trailed behind with a sparkling green vial, shaped like a teardrop and nearly as long as his arm.
“Careful, boy,” she said as he set the delicate item on the table to her side. “Or you’ll regret it.”
Hook jumped as Tink grabbed his thigh. He glanced to her and the wide-eyed look she shot him.The boy, she mouthed. Yeah, he didn’t like her threatening kids either. Never sat well with him. But they already risked the witch’s ire after Smee’s slipup. He had to know the location of the scale. Everything depended on it. He patted Tink’s hand. When she dug her fingers into his leg again, he squeezed it in return. Later they could help the boy. Not now.
With a wave of her hand, the witch shooed her assistants away. “Now we begin. Hold very still.” Bright, white teeth filled her grin. “Unless you care to be stuck here quite a while.”
Tink pulled her hand away from his. He almost wished she hadn’t.
Hook nodded to the witch.
The moment she pulled the stopper on a black vial, the light dimmed. One after another, the witch added ingredients to the cast-iron pot in front of her from the assortment on the table: one red flower, something that resembled a chicken bone, another that he tried not to look too closely at, a few drops of liquid red as rubies. Finally, she reached for the green crystal vial. The substance that floated into the pot was grainy, like sand but lighter, and it glowed with a faint golden light. His stomach tightened. Like Tink’s wings when he kissed her or she… He shifted in his seat.Can’t think about that now.
Absolute stillness settled over the room, except for the witch, who moved her hands in a smooth, fluid motion over the pot. The light expanded, swelling out of the pot.Run. Run.Everything in him cursed him for staying in his chair. Smee visibly rocked backward. Tink sat eerily still, transfixed at the sight in front of them.
The witch’s eyes drifted shut, and the light faded until near darkness swallowed the room. Hook leaned forward, hand on his dagger. Dark smoke rose from the cauldron as the witch began to speak in a slow, melodic voice that came from everywhere and nowhere at once.
“Follow the second star to the left.
Beyond the veil, the bearded man guides you in.
The wooden trident marks the path.
Fog confuses. Don’t trust it.
