Chapter 18
After sandwiches and ice cream, Stella kept busy preparing the care package booth and gathering supplies and donations for
it. She also spent a lot of time walking around the grounds and the library ensuring everyone had what they needed or fetching
what they still lacked. Dwelling on Jack and discussing their future with Arnie slipped to the back of her thoughts.
As the early evening passed and the sun eased lower behind the pine trees, the sky filled with brilliant swirls the colors
of orange push-up pops and strawberry sherbet. Vendors loaded empty boxes and crates into cars and trailers and drove away
until tomorrow. As a precaution, a squad of Blue Sky Valley police officers had scheduled overnight shifts for guarding the
grounds and the park down the street.
The last of the vendors trickled out of the library, along with the volunteers. The library would close in half an hour. She—with a truckload of helpers and the committee’s top-notch organization—might actually pull off the festival without having Arnie there to keep everything on track.
As quiet settled over the building, Stella’s mind and body finally started to relax. She walked the library’s second floor
to check for any stragglers or messes to clean. Near the women’s fiction section, she paused long enough to sit on the edge
of a study table and exhale a relieved breath. A sudden stabbing pain speared through her chest. The familiar burning spread
through her as though she’d fallen into a bonfire. A neon-violet gooey substance rose from the center of the study table,
forming an amorphous blob on the polished surface. Trembling letters rose from the goop, dripping and revealing their dangling
tendrils. Stella struggled to breathe and pressed her hands to her chest as if that would help. It didn’t.
The words shimmied across the tabletop, and Stella blinked through the pain to read them out loud. “‘But one built from paper
and rich black ink.’”
She gasped as her lungs expanded and the fire in her chest extinguished. Leaning over the study table, she pounded her fist
against the table in frustration. “Is the pain necessary?” she cried to the words.
They wiggled in response.
“Couldn’t you come gently?” She pushed herself upright. “I see you, okay? You don’t have to kill me.”
The words rocketed off the table, skittered across the tiles, leaped over the balcony, and rushed toward the circulation desk
where her journal was tucked away. Stella faltered the first few steps and then regained her balance as she walked toward
the staircase.
A shadow lengthened across the floor in front of her.
Stella turned her head just in time to see a flash of silver and black before she was snatched down an aisle.
She gasped and stumbled sideways. Her cheek crushed into clothes that stank of rum.
She half dangled in the man’s grasp, her feet dragging behind her.
“I thought you had better taste, love. Choosing that soldier over me? Repulsive,” Hook said, pulling her so tightly against
him that she felt the coming bruises.
Stella kicked her legs and struggled to stand. The pirate’s silver hook scraped down her arm. The skin burned as though she’d
leaned up against a metal pole in the summertime. A line of blood rose to the surface through the slice.
“Your fault,” Hook said. “You brought this on yourself, like all women do.”
Stella stilled, staring at the blood oozing from the wound. It reminded her of the way magma pushed up from fractures in bedrock.
Drops of deep red splattered onto the floor, and crimson words writhed and grew out of them. Your fault. Another failure. Disappointment. Her stomach rolled, and she would have pitched forward if Hook hadn’t held her so tightly. Warm blood slid down her arm and
across her palm.
“You’ll be sorry you chose him. After what he did to me, the least I can do is take away what he seems to care about.”
The world tilted beneath her, but she clenched her jaw and fought Hook. Her sudden movement startled him, and he lost his
balance, which allowed Stella to gain hers. She slipped out of his grasp, and he lunged for her, slashing his hook toward
her face.
Stella darted out of the way, but the hook caught on the hem of her shirt and ripped through the fabric. She scrambled away
from him and ran toward the main staircase, overturning chairs behind her.
Hook leaped over the chairs and stopped to pick one up. He hurled it at her. The chair caught Stella in the back of the legs, knocking her forward. She slammed into a bookshelf and desperately tried to grip a shelf’s edge for balance. She pulled herself up and yanked off books to throw at Hook.
He batted them away, until one book caught on his hook. While he tried to sling it from the sharp silver point, Stella lifted
a chair as high as she could and flung it at him. One of the legs cracked against his jaw and spun him away from her.
Her gaze zeroed in on the sword hanging in his scabbard. She recognized it as one that had been encased in the archives—a
mysterious sword of unknown origin discovered in Blue Sky Valley a few hundred years ago. The ruby-studded hilt caught the
light, and the crimson jewels sparkled like warning lights.
Hook turned back toward her with his fist pressed against his bruised jaw. He glowered, his blue eyes menacing. He yanked
the sword from its scabbard and pointed it at her. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
Stella ran. With her arms pumping and legs aching with effort, she sprinted toward the staircase. Within seconds she realized
the pirate was much faster. He ran up an aisle parallel to hers and rounded the end of the bookshelf, wielding the stolen
sword.
She lurched to a stop, nearly barreling into Hook. With his footing firm, he swung the sword at her head. She tripped over
her feet as she staggered backward, arms windmilling for balance but unable to grasp anything to stop her fall.
Hook slashed the sword down at her as she struggled to crab crawl backward and away from him, pushing her shoes against the
floor as hard and as fast as possible.
The sword hit the top edge of her tennis shoe and sliced off the rubber tip, scarcely missing her toes.
Stella barely got to her feet before the blade whizzed past her head as she ducked to the side.
She gripped the edge of the nearest shelf, panting and feeling as though her heart would crack through her rib cage any second.
Hook grinned. He was playing with her, toying with Stella like a cat batting around a helpless mouse, already knowing the
battle was won. Anger and fear collided inside her, creating a desperate, uncontrollable burst of self-preservation. Fight
or flight. She couldn’t outrun or outfight Hook, but maybe she could outsmart him, catch him off guard.
She ran full speed at him while he raised the sword at his side. At the last second, she bent over to ram him with her shoulder
and barely registered the look of surprise in his eyes before he tripped over his boots and careened out of control. He slammed
into a study table and sprawled out on top of it.
The sword slipped from his grasp, its jeweled hilt glinting as it bounced against the floor.
Stella clambered for the sword as Hook pushed himself to standing with incredible speed. In a mad rush, Stella gripped the
hilt with both hands, groaning as she lifted the cumbersome blade.
She faced Hook just as he dove toward her.
The silver blade shoved itself into Hook’s chest, piercing him all the way through, exiting out his back. Stella stood stunned,
unable to move. Then, realizing what she’d done, she released the hilt.
Hook’s eyes widened as he stared down at the sword protruding from his chest. Stella’s heart pounded so hard that bile rose
in her throat.
Hook stumbled into the second-floor railing, and his tall body pitched backward over the balcony toward the foyer below. A
few seconds later, she heard a grotesque thump and someone screamed. It wasn’t Stella.
She slapped her hands over her mouth and gagged. Then she staggered toward the staircase saying, “Oh my God,” on repeat as she ran. She almost tumbled down the steps as she took them as quickly as possible.
Hook lay on his back, one leg bent oddly and his arms splayed out beside him. His glassy eyes stared toward the ceiling. Blood
pooled beneath him, oozing out from underneath his back. Deep red wetness stained his shirt in a widening circle as he blinked.
The sword had propelled itself out of his body and lay off to the side.
Ariel stood near the circulation desk clutching Percy’s arm. Both stared at Stella, stricken with horror. Stella gulped air
and dropped to her knees beside Hook.
Her whole body trembled. She leaned over Hook and touched his shoulder. Warm blood continued to drip down her own slashed
arm. “Hook, can you hear me?”
He blinked again and turned a slow gaze toward her. His blue eyes seemed unfocused. The pool of blood enlarged beneath him,
staining her knees red.
“I am so sorry,” Stella blubbered. She grabbed his hand, careful not to jostle him too much. “I didn’t mean to.”
Hook closed his eyes, and his right cheek dimpled. “Bravo, love. You’re stronger than I thought. I didn’t think you had it
in you.”
“I don’t,” Stella argued. “I’m not a killer. Don’t die, okay? I can find help.”
Hook surprised her by squeezing her fingers. His exhaled breath gurgled in his lungs. “Not a killer,” he said, his words garbled.
“You saved yourself. Well played, love.” His body convulsed and he groaned.
“Hang in there, Hook,” she said. “I’ll get you back on your feet in no time.”
He grimaced, and his body tightened as his spine stiffened before it relaxed again. His dilated pupils turned his eyes almost
black. “Let go.”
He inhaled one final time.
Then he exploded into ashes. When Stella opened her mouth to scream, soot coated her tongue and covered her entire body. She
coughed and hacked, spitting black ash onto the tiles.