3. Belle
Belle
Awareness knocks at the entrance of my consciousness, demanding I rise.
I oblige, opening my eyes to the too-bright sun.
It’s like needles scratching against my corneas and threading through my brain.
Birds caw in the distance, and people shout in unidentifiable phrases. It smells like shit mixed with sweat.
This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve awoken from blacking out.
Usually, the morning after comes with self-loathing, regret, and deleting embarrassing texts I never want to see again.
This is immediately different. I am not waking from a self-induced rager.
I’ve been drugged and taken somewhere. Fear pulls me from the fog, allowing me to sit up despite the pain throbbing in my head.
Even in my wildest dreams, I could not imagine my current location, which must explain what’s happening.
I’m still dreaming, because in real life, drugged and kidnapped women don’t wake on a pirate ship.
Okay, sure, maybe that’s not true. Pirates still exist in the modern world, but they carry machine guns and travel in metal, engine-powered boats.
They definitely don’t have wooden decks, complete with sails, barrels tied to the railing, men with peg legs, parrots perched on shoulders, and a steering wheel straight from a children’s storybook.
Did I get taken by some pirate historical tour group?
They’re going to be mighty disappointed when they discover I can’t carry a tune for shit and can memorize facts as well as a toddler.
No one glances my way as they work about the ship, so I force myself to my feet, stumbling to the railing.
Yup. Most definitely a dream, because I'm not sailing on the sea. Below the nautical vessel lies puffy white clouds and an endless blue sky. I fling myself away from the edge, landing on a full burlap sack.
The contents of my stomach race up my throat, and I keel over to vomit onto the deck.
Has bile ever stung the tender flesh of my esophagus like this before in my dreams?
The sun burning the back of my neck feels too real.
Something slides down my neck as I come back up to breathe .
I grab at the smooth metal ring, registering I’m wearing a collar.
Somehow, this odd detail makes everything more real.
“She’s up!” Someone shouts from down the ship. Eyes whip to me—sun-crisped, bearded men, varying with tattoos, bare chests, and nasty scars covering random body parts. The small woman who drugged me jumps from a high platform to the deck.
I don’t examine the group for too long; instead, I plan my defense.
I’m outnumbered, and it’s clear some of these men have fought and survived far bigger threats than me.
I search for a weapon. This ship isn’t well-kept, rags thrown about, empty amber bottles rolling from side to side; surely someone must have left a sword or something lying around.
Lady Luck loves to play games with me, and it seems she’s throwing me a bone, because only a few paces away lies an old-timey pistol.
Have I ever shot a gun before? Nope. But I hope my magic fingers and desperation can fill in the blanks.
Maybe I don’t even have to shoot it, and this airborne crew will give me more time to assemble my escape with my newfound weapon aimed at their chests.
They don’t know anything about me. I could be a regular Auntie Anne for all they know.
Was that the name of that lady who shot really well?
Hell if I know. My historical knowledge is shit, as previously mentioned.
I scramble for the gun and aim. “Stand back!” I yell as the scraggly men swarm closer, clearly not deterred. A wave of chuckling spreads through the mass.
“Go ahead,” the short, dark-haired woman says, pushing herself up to the front. “Try to use it.”
It’s probably out of ammo, or gunpowder, or whatever the fuck these types of things use, but I can’t help trying my luck one more time.
I pull the trigger to see if she’s got it wrong.
Except I can’t pull the trigger. It’s not jammed.
It’s not my limited knowledge of the weapon.
I can’t use my fingers. I drop the pistol and curl my fingers at eyeline level, testing if they still work.
A white-bearded man grabs my wrist, yanking me from my stupor as he pulls me against his wrinkled chest. “Aren’t you a pretty little pixie?
” His breath nearly takes me out, but still, I attempt to slap him across his sun-splotched face.
An invisible force holds my hand in place, just before I make contact with his skin.
What the fuck?
“Won’t be able to do much with that Darling on ya,” the woman says with a sneer, but she pushes herself between the greasy gramps and me, so I can’t dislike her too much.
A man missing an eye wraps his arm around the woman, towering over her by at least a foot, but despite the apparent lack in height, there’s nothing that could make her seem small.
“Ah, Serena, let us have some fun before we’re rid of her.
It’s so entertaining to see them try to fight against the Darling. ”
She peels off the man’s arm, her face growing red, but before she yells, a voice shouts from the belly of the ship. “Serena, get ‘er ready. We’re nearing port.”
“Aye aye, Captain!” she replies with a salute.
No one’s manning the steering wheel within eyesight of where we’re standing. It turns on its own, yet it seems there’s a captain. Perhaps it’s only a title. My mind flashes with images of the pirate man I bumped into before I blacked out.
“You heard him, get back to work, ye bunch of bilge rats! Prepare for port!”
The men groan, but slowly turn away from us, returning to positions around the ship, fiddling with rope, itching their crotches, looking out to the sea—or sky.
My body cools as the attention drifts away from me, until I catch Serena’s stare, lined with dark, smudgy eyeliner.
Her nose crinkles around a hoop ring as she examines me in a circle. “So you’re the last one, huh?”
“What are you talking about?” I back away from her, regaining my confidence, even if this small woman presents herself in a way that has me more afraid of her than the gaggle of men.
She is the person who drugged me. I’ve already witnessed her strength as it brought me to the ground and into darkness.
She sighs, examining her pointed fingernails, free of polish, but clearly groomed into weapons. “Do you truly not know, or are you attempting to protect yourself? Cause if it’s the latter, you can cut the shit. We’ve already tested your blood.”
I run my hands through my mess of hair, laughing, and stepping back to gather my thoughts.
This is all so ridiculous. I’m kidnapped, aboard a flying pirate ship, unable to control my body, wearing a strange collar, and this woman stands before me as if she’s the master of riddles.
I don’t know whether to yell at her or just stay mute.
I choose an in-between, taking a calming breath before plastering on a smile to address my lady captor.
“Okay, listen, babe. I get that you’ve got this whole badass, pirate, boss-bitch thing going on.
You’re the only woman in a group of men, trying to prove to everyone that you’re not like other girls.
But let’s cut to the chase. Where the fuck am I and why am I here? ”
She laughs. “Funny. Most of our women captives just cry and beg for their safety. Looks like both of us are trying to prove we’re not like other girls, as you said.” She turns away from me, her black ponytail bobbing behind her.
Maybe she’s right. I’m not freaking out as much as I could be, but living a life full of uncertainty conditioned me to grow callous to the unpredictable and traumatic. We are not the same type of woman, though. I did not kidnap someone.
I don’t like the bitch, but so far, she’s the only person who doesn’t look at me as if I’m their next meal, but what am I supposed to do, follow her? Fuck no.
“If you stay here, these dogsbodies will have their way with you, and you won’t be able to do anything about it.”
I sigh, rolling my eyes as I trudge after her.
Breaking away from the back of the ship and into the hustle of the crew getting ready for port, whatever the hell that means, while floating across the sky, makes this feel even less like a dream. I try to catch up with Serena, but my legs are still spaghetti-like from the drugs wearing off.
Serena stands on a crate at the bow, looking over the horizon.
I climb up on the neighboring box to see what she’s looking at.
If I didn’t already throw up all the contents of my stomach, I’d be back at it.
Land comes into view, but how can that be possible?
We’re floating in the sky. It’s idiotic.
Absolutely none of this is possible, making the bustling island approaching actually make sense.
“We’re about to reach Neverhaven.” She turns to me, searching my expression.
“Okay?” I respond, more of a question.
“You really don’t know anything about where you come from?”
“I come from there?” I ask with a laugh. Sure, I don’t know anything about my origins—I was dropped off at a fire station as a baby, but her suggesting I’m from a floating island still seems ridiculous.
She sighs, shaking her head and turning back to the land approaching. “So your mother wanted to protect you from your fate, but didn’t want to stay around. All for nothing, cause here you are, off to what they had planned for you.”
“You know who my mother was?” I lean forward, trying to catch her expression.
She turns to me. “No, but I’ve heard the stories. The last pixie to get away before the blood harvest. Of course, they caught her, too, eventually. But you, you seemed to avoid the nobles. Well, accept for now.”
“Pixie?” Blood harvest is my next question, because God does that sound horrible.
“Oh goddess, don’t tell me, you don’t even know what you are.”