Chapter 64
Chapter Sixty-Four
ALICE
The Bandersnatch doesn't retreat. It's wounded, viscous dark liquid dripping onto the dirt like oil, pooling beneath its massive paws. But instead of falling back like any sensible creature would, it lowers its head, those burning eyes locked onto Hook with predatory focus.
Its body shudders, and the shadows around it twist and reform—like it's stitching itself back together right before my eyes. Because of course it is. Nothing in this godforsaken place can ever be simple.
It's healing.
Oh, hell no.
I can't breathe. My pulse slams against my ribs like it's trying to escape, my hands trembling with that familiar cocktail of fear and adrenaline, but I don't stop.
I can't. If I stop to process this properly, I'm dead.
I'll freeze, and if I freeze, we both die—and I refuse to have "killed by shadow beast" as my epitaph.
Hook is still on one knee, gripping the sword like it's his last anchor to reality. Blood seeps down his leg in crimson rivulets, staining the dirt beneath him, but he doesn't look at that. He looks at me. Even now, the intensity in those steel-blue eyes makes my stomach flip.
For a second, neither of us moves.
The world slows, crystallising into that moment just before impact—that split second when you know you're going down, but you haven't hit the ground yet. When time stretches land everything becomes painfully clear.
That’s now.
The Bandersnatch just has to leap, and it’s over.
Hook knows it. I can see it in the grim set of his jaw, in the white-knuckled grip on his sword.
I know it. The knowledge sits like ice in my gut.
And then—he moves.
He pushes up, sways just barely, but steadies himself with that infuriating grace he somehow maintains even while bleeding. The Bandersnatch snarls, its body flickering between solid and smoke, its glowing eyes burning into Hook as if it's waiting for something.
It doesn't lunge.
Doesn't attack.
What is it waiting for?
Hook adjusts his grip on the sword, jaw clenched so tight I swear I can hear his teeth grinding. He shifts, testing his injured leg, but we both know he's not fast enough. Not anymore.
And the Bandersnatch knows it.
The way we're positioned—Hook is between me and the Bandersnatch, playing hero even now. Stubborn, impossible man. It's just a question of which one of us strikes first.
The Bandersnatch moves.
Slow. Deliberate. Like it's savouring the moment.
One thick paw presses into the ground, its massive weight sinking into the dirt, and for the first time, I see its real fur—black and white, rippling like liquid shadow caught in a midnight breeze.
A thick black collar hangs from its neck.
Something golden dangles in the centre, catching what little light there is.
I act before I can think and throw my hands out, reaching not with my body, but with my mind. I pull.
And I feel it.
The magic. Power, raw and burning, right at my fingertips. It feels like touching a live wire, like grasping lightning itself.
I don't know what it is. I don't care. I'll question this new party trick later.
Because right now, it's real. Like something I can grasp and shape and use.
The Bandersnatch jerks.
Its body tenses, claws digging furrows into the ground, its jaws snapping like it's fighting off an invisible enemy. Which, technically, it is. Me. Though I'm starting to think this wasn't my brightest idea.
Hook's gaze snaps to me, and there's something in his eyes—surprise, certainly, but also something else. Something that makes my heart stutter despite our dire circumstances.
But I don't stop.
I dig deeper, pull harder—I'm flying blind here, working on pure instinct and desperation.
I just know I have to stop this thing. Before it takes Hook. Before it takes both of us.
So I picture it.
Chains.
Thick, unbreakable chains wrapping around its legs, binding it to this spot.
Roots.
Twisting up from the earth, dragging it down, holding it back like nature's own prison.
And as if by command—because apparently, I give those now—
The ground answers me.
Dark vines explode from the dirt, lashing around its limbs like vengeful serpents, tightening around its chest, its throat. They move with purpose, with hunger, as if they've been waiting for this moment.
The Bandersnatch thrashes, claws tearing at the vines, trying to break free—but they don't snap. They hold strong, fuelled by whatever power is coursing through me.
Hook doesn't hesitate.
His face is set, pain pushed aside with that stubborn determination I'm starting to find annoyingly attractive. He charges forward, moving like a man who's decided pain is just an inconvenient suggestion.
The Bandersnatch lets out a roar, its eyes flashing with something close to panic. For the first time, the monster looks afraid.
It tries to pull free, muscles bunching under that shadow-smoke fur.
It can't.
Hook raises the sword—the blade catching what little light there is—and drives it into the creature's chest with all the force of his considerable strength.
The blade sinks deep, piercing through flesh and smoke, straight into its core. The sound it makes—gods, the sound—like metal cutting through static and shadow.
The Bandersnatch lets out a sound—
Not a growl.
Not a snarl.
A scream.
A horrible, piercing sound of agony.
Its body convulses, shadows twisting violently, curling like smoke catching fire. The air crackles with dark energy.
The vines tighten, responding to my fear, my determination.
The ground shakes beneath our feet.
And then—
The Bandersnatch shatters.
A burst of black and red explodes outward, the force knocking me back. The shadows scatter like shards of broken glass, dissolving into nothing.
It vanishes—gone—nothing left but silence and the acrid smell of burnt shadows.
I barely register the moment Hook collapses.
He falls forward, gasping for breath, his hands shaking as the adrenaline begins to ebb.
His sword clatters against the ground—and he goes with it, still holding it, all that grace finally deserting him.
I rush to him, my heart in my throat.
Hook.
He rolls onto his back, his face slick with sweat, his breathing ragged. Even now, even like this, there's something magnetic about him that I can't quite ignore.
For a moment, he just stares at the sky, blinking, dazed. Then he lets out a rough, breathless laugh that shouldn't be as attractive as it is.
"Thanks, love," he mutters, his voice hoarse but warm.
He drops the sword, and the sound of metal hitting dirt seems to echo in the sudden quiet.
"You're an idiot, do you know that?"