An invisible rope had been fastened in her chest, and it was drawing her ever onward, over gnarled roots and down slippery, moss-covered hills. Nothing particularly felt real, not the branches tangled in her hair, not the scrapes on the base of her palms from a not-so-graceful tumble, not the water seeping in through her socks as they trod on damp leaves. All that particularly mattered was that she needed to find the other end of the rope that drew her deeper into the Maine woods.
She had never seen the rough wood lodge before, hadn't known it was there until the moment she looked up from where she had fallen to her knees yet again and saw it through a small gap in the thick trees. She drifted towards the door, hand outstretched, and it gave way easily before her, revealing the most beautiful mirror she had ever seen. The clear glass stood taller than she did, surrounded by a heavily carved silver frame that ended in ornate clawed feet that rested on the spare slats of the floor. As she stepped closer, her surroundings shimmered, the light swelling as the shabby interior transformed into a lavish sitting room that could have belonged in any palace.
Her fingers brushed the warm surface of the glass, stretching it a moment before the barrier disappeared. She should have been startled, even with all her experience with magic in this world and the Enchanted Forest. Instead, she took a solid step through.
Killian whistled as he brought the Roger into port, a playful breeze tossing his hair. He had been out to sea for two weeks this time and had brought back quite a catch. The citizens of Storybrook had been surprised when he had first brought fresh fish into port—honestly, how did people think pirates survived when they were hard on a fat merchant ship and couldn't go into port for fresh supplies?—but, it seems, their surprise had been short lived when they saw the quality of the fish he brought in. Even with as many barrels as he could stock in two weeks, he knew his merchandise would disappear by the afternoon, gone in trade for anything he needed—or wanted—or for that strange paper currency they used in this land. By then, Emma would have heard that he was back and would probably be waiting for him at Granny's, chess board already set and cocoa at least halfway gone.
The morning seemed to crawl by, especially since Killian received fewer customers than usual. Odd, that. He shrugged and added some cod and halibut to Granny's case of tuna, sure that he could sweet talk her into taking a few extra pieces, and finished packing the rest of his things back on his ship. He glanced at the angle of the sun and smiled. He might just beat Swan to the diner this time and get 'the good seat' at their table.
His feet were swift on the pavement despite the heavy case he carried, the lightness in his heart a feeling he was starting to get used to. It was true, this life had fewer adventures for a pirate, fewer uncharted territories to charge into, harsher consequences for living as lawlessly as he was used to, but he was strangely comfortable in his new routine, the spray of the sea harsher in these northern climes, needing a stronger will to know and conquer their currents and swells. Besides, the combination of very eccentric and rather strong personalities in Storybrook made for plenty of small adventures as the inhabitants tried to reconcile their cursed lives and the fairy tale ones—all while trying to keep what little magic still existed a secret from the now not entirely uncommon visitor.
Killian hopped up the few steps to Granny's and pulled the handle, grunting when the door remained firmly in its frame instead of swinging free. He frowned, pulling again, but the door remained shut. He set his case down and cupped his hands against the window, peering inside. It was empty. Granny's was never empty, not unless it was closed—and sometimes even then you could find it packed with her closest friends.
Something wasn't right. Killian set off at a jog towards the Sherriff's station, an uncomfortable lump forming in his gut. Emma could explain, he was sure. She would have everything infuriatingly under control. Her grace under pressure really was…endearing, he supposed. And if he had to cause a little chaos every once in a while so he could see that side of her, well…it was worth the minor amount of trouble it got him in.
Both her small, yellow moving contraption and the larger, more tank-like official vehicle were in the lot. Killian strode into the station, a smile on his lips as he hummed a tune Emma had told him was usually used to herald the dark lord in one of her 'movies.' But the tune died in this throat when he found the station dark and in disarray, a rumpled Charming asleep on the cot of the open cell. Killian strode to him, his hand fastening on the other man's shoulder to wake him.
Charming started, his bleary eyes darting around until they settled on the pirate. "What the hell is going on?" Killian asked, and the prince sat up, running a hand across his features. "Emma is missing."
