Shadow

by Kara Swanson

  But Tootles grabs my arm and yanks me back inside, smacking a hand over my mouth.

  “Are you trying to get killed?” He spits the words at me. “If you rush after Connor like this”—he lets go of my arm to gesture wildly—“he will destroy you without a second glance. You won’t save Claire that way. Plus, there are things you don’t know.”

  I’ve never seen Tootles lose his cool, let alone the wild, frantic intensity that fills his words. “What else am I supposed to do?”

  “Let me get you safely to the hideout. And then I can teach you how to survive here.” Tootles’s eyes grow very weary. “This isn’t the Neverland you know, Peter. This isn’t your dream world any longer.”

  My head sinks to rest on my knees as I stare at the ground, back pressed against the curve of the rock. I study the thin, dark veins spiderwebbing through the dirt. I hate to admit it, but he’s right.

  Every child visits a dreamland when they sleep. On rare occasions, when reality truly is too horrible for a little mind to bear, sometimes that dreamworld becomes more than a dream.

  I’d been just a tiny boy, crying under my bed, when an impetuous pixie knocked on my window. I couldn’t jump off that sill fast enough. Never looking back.

  But this Neverland isn’t my escape anymore. This place has become the world of Connor’s nightmares, connected to him in the same way it used to be tethered to me.

  And just as my dreams created this place . . .

  Connor’s nightmares are tearing it apart.

  Neverland

  Before

  I never thought I’d see Neverland like this.

  Chained to the Jolly Roger like a caged bird. An iron cuff circles my ankle, with a thick, crusted chain trailing from it. I stare out the muggy window of Hook’s stifling cabin at the arching landscape beyond the anchored ship.

  I never thought I’d see Neverland like this.

  Hollow. Shattered. Dark and foreboding.

  The door to Hook’s cabin swings open, and the tall pirate in the crimson coat steps into the room. Holding that infernal cane with the sword blade hidden inside.

  I kick against the iron clamped to my right ankle. “You have to let me out!”

  I expect him to say what he has every time we’ve had this argument for the past three days. Tell me this is for my best and that at least I’m being fed and safe . . .

  That word makes me want to spit in his face. I don’t want his forced sense of safety—I’m not safe, I’m his prisoner. I’ve been locked in his cabin ever since we docked here in Neverland. He hasn’t even let me see my brother.

  It’s not time yet, Hook keeps saying. It’s not the right time for me to meet Connor, but it will be soon.

  Right.

  “Patience, love,” Hook says as he unlocks the massive bolt tying the chain to the bed, giving me more slack. Without glancing at me, he gestures for me to follow as he strides out of the cabin and clips across the rough deck.

  Cautiously I peer around the doorframe. Hook has taken the chain, tossed it around the mast, and locked it with a rusted old deadbolt.

  Wrapping my arms around my worn, pale blue cardigan, I cross the splintered deck of the Jolly Roger in bare feet. Movement on the ship lessens, and most of the pirates sneer. Slightly sends me a sympathetic look, sweat glistening over his freckled shoulders as he helps move large crates and tosses them into a small dinghy bobbing on the tide. Nibs is the only other Lost Boy not ashore, and he stands with his back to me, unwavering at the stern of the ship. He hasn’t been able to look me in the eye since Hook tied me up.

  The hopelessness is suffocating. I watch Hook move closer, picking up the rope slack in his gloved hand like it’s nothing. Like I’m just some animal he can take for walks.

  Catching sight of the pistol in his waistcoat, I make a desperate grab for it. I’ve attempted to snatch a weapon several times before and know he’s probably too quick for me—but I have to try something.

  Hook easily sidesteps me, waggling a finger. “Now, now, that’s not—”

  He’s interrupted as a massive wave slams into the side of the boat. I’m thrown roughly to the side, and my knees and palms hit the deck hard. The pirates fight for their footing. The water has kicked up without warning, and on the island, the trees tremble so violently several of them snap in half.

  An earthquake?

  After the waves still, Hook stretches a hand to me, but I avoid it, pushing myself to my feet, dusting off my ragged jeans. He only shakes his head. “As much as you may hate me for it, I’m doing this for your good. Things are unstable. You would not be well received.”

  “So, you’re keeping me prisoner?” This time I do spit on his nicely pressed coat.

  The captain trails his hook down the side of my face. I jerk away, but not before he smirks. “You’ll thank me for this one day, love.”

  Stop trying to placate me.

  Another earthquake volleys through the island, and the ship tosses dangerously again, but I use the moment to spin away from Hook, eyes burning as I blink back angry tears. Thin flecks of gold drip from my skin, trailing down my wrists and leaking from my fingertips.

  I don’t notice my heels rising from the deck until I drift a few inches off the ground. I glide over the deck. For a moment, hope lifts my heart like the whisper of dust lifting my body—but then there’s the sharp tug of iron chafing raw skin. And I’m reminded I’m tied down by metal that I haven’t been able to burn through, no matter how many times I’ve tried. As much as I want to see Connor, perhaps there’s also a part of me nervous of what could be out there that would stay a pirate’s hand and keep them moored so far from shore.

  My heart drops, and my feet hit the ground.

  I sense Hook’s eyes on me, but I ignore him and limp to the edge. My ankle aches from all the times over the past few days I’ve tried to fly. To pull away and get off this blasted ship. But I’ve never been able to, and now, like an animal beaten down so many times it’s lost its fight, all I can do is lean against the rail of the Roger.

  Out of my periphery, I instinctively keep tabs on anyone who might come close. In case any of the pirates want to try poking at the caged birdie again. Thankfully they’re keeping their distance, probably on Hook’s orders.

  The captain has crossed to the stern, where he can still watch me, but is now deep in conversation with Nibs.

  A flash of anger tightens my fists clutching the rail. I glare out over the roiling water. The shore of Neverland is a rocky, spiked landscape so close the spines of haggard trees and the mist coating distant mountains are visible. A faint gray tint of smoke curls over the western end of the island. If I squint, I can make out a flicker of tiny lights darting through the trees. The sky is overcast, the sunlight dim and faded. An echo of a long-forgotten beauty that has since died.

  Even the wind that raises goosebumps on my arms feels haunting and sapped of life.

  But somewhere out there, across that foreboding shore, is Connor. So close.

  If only I could get rid of this chain.

  Another swell of fury ripples through me, and at the smell of burning wood I glance down to find thin, charcoal flakes of dust scattering, leaving charred burn marks across the rail.

  I shake off the dust and try to settle my mind. There has to be a way to burn through this chain.

  But before I can seek out a private place to give it a try, a voice cuts through my thoughts.

  “It didn’t always look like that.”

  I glance up to find Slightly beside me, peering wistfully at Neverland. His freckles stand out against his pale skin, and a shock of hair falls into his eyes. For a moment, I have a flash of what this Lost Boy may have looked like as a child. Carefree and loud and adventurous.

  Slightly is the only Lost Boy who drifted nearer and nearer to me on the trip over, genuinely seeming interested in friendship. He’d sneak me extra food and even bandaged up my hands when I ripped my palms and fingertips raw trying to burn through the ch
ain to no avail.

  He’s the only Lost Boy who doesn’t seem quite as afraid of Hook . . . or as coated in guilt as Nibs is.

  Slightly’s mouth tilts into a reminiscent smile. “It used to be so bright and vibrant. Even on the days that Peter was gone and the cold came, it was nothing like this.”

  “What changed?”

  He blinks rapidly, shooting a glance toward the captain. “Hook is right—believe it or not. He is trying to protect you. There are things here that are far more dangerous than you know. And it’s gotten even worse than the last time we were here.”

  I study him for a long moment.

  “You don’t want to be here either, do you?” I ask. “You’re trapped too, like I am.”

  He presses his lips together, sliding a hand into his pocket, and then darts his eyes around the ship.

  He sidles a little closer. “It’s all become so complicated. But you . . .” He takes something small and slender out of the pocket. It glints in the sunlight. “You can get away if you want. You can just fly away.”

  I keep my voice low. “Not with this chain, I can’t.” I palm the thick, metal links.

  “But if I unlocked it, you could run. Fly. That’s something none of us can do.” Slightly leans into me. “You can get away, Claire. Fly home. Go somewhere they will never find you. Leave all of this behind.”

  My brow ripples. “Leave? I still need to find—”

  But Slightly quickly shakes his head. “No. No, you can’t stay. You have to get away before Connor finds you. Promise me, Claire. Promise you’ll fly to Earth and never look back.”

  Slightly glances over his shoulder again, and this time Hook stirs, gray eyes narrowed and cold.

  Uh oh . . .

  I quickly bend my leg and balance my foot against the side of the ship, high enough that Slightly can get to the cuff circling my ankle—and the small lock pinning it in place. His hands shake as he slides the slender knife into the lock slot and starts picking it.

  “Promise me that you will fly as far away from here as you can,” he implores.

  He’s too slow with that blade. Hook is only steps away. I nudge the knife aside.

  “Let me try!” I close my eyes, fill my palms with the chain, and unleash the pain. Please, please work. I can feel Slightly trembling beside me, and something about his fear enflames my anger. Nothing about this world is what I expected. This ship is a cage—and I can’t free them if I can’t save myself.

  Fierce determination cannonballs through the ashen specks that pour from my skin. The dark dust burns through the heavy chain in seconds. It falls to the deck.

  But Hook is here.

  Slightly jumps in front of me, blocking the pirate captain.

  Hook raises a dagger, glare locked on me. “Don’t you dare—”

  Too late, you old codfish.

  I catch Slightly’s desperate eyes one last time, and he mouths, “Fly!”

  I leap onto the rail and don’t even bother to glance back at the captain. My future is ahead. I drop off the edge of the ship. Shining, golden dust erupts from me. I’m finally unleashed from my cage, and I’ve never felt lighter.

  Hook shouts orders, and a bullet zings past my ear, but they’re far too late. Every fiber of my being crackles to life. My back skims the whitecaps, and then I spin onto my stomach as dust ignites the air around me. I fly faster and faster, fingertips skimming the water as I zoom toward Neverland.

  I can faintly hear Hook bellowing after me, voice filled with anger and edged with alarm.

  But I pour on more dust and soon leave the pirate’s echoing voice behind as I cross into Neverland. I fly through the thick jungle and am soon swallowed by the spines of dark, charred trees. I don’t stop, don’t slow down, just keep flying faster and faster. Deeper and deeper.

  The island closes in. Shriveled, twisted branches claw out, scratching my face. The sun fades as eerie, thick mist swells around me, and soon I can hardly see. Even my dust feels masked and stifled here. I pour out more to stay afloat.

  I’m not quite sure what I’m flying toward, looking for—but my gut says that whatever lies in the heart of this Neverland will find me.

  I let my feet drop and keep pressing forward, quickly making my way across cracked, craggy ground. I didn’t realize the jungle on this island would be so thick. Strange dark veins spiderweb across the jungle floor. Shrieking howls of animals break the eerie silence every few minutes, but the unnerving sounds are muffled. A shiver crawls over my arms, and as dread sets into my bones, it almost looks like the trees bend in toward me. Like the mist grows thicker. The island gets colder.

  Pulling my tattered cardigan more tightly around myself, I force my mind to clear. To steady. There is no danger here, not yet.

  And with that single thought, as my calloused feet step over snapped twigs and cold ground, the mist thins. Warmth starts to soak in all around me. The trees lean away, this time shifting forward, as if gesturing me onward.

  Almost as if the jungle is reacting to me.

  But that’s not possible . . .

  Right?

  Or maybe Neverland really is a place where the never is possible.

  I slow down, feeling I’ve put enough space between me and the pirates. As I near one of the sharp, angular trees, I reach out to touch it, but before my hand can brush the bark, the tree visibly flows toward me. A thin branch presses into my palm. It’s a slow, languid movement—almost sad. Like a sick puppy nuzzling your hand.

  I stare up at the tree. “How on earth . . . ?”

  But I’m not on Earth. This is a fantasy world. Maybe even the trees are aware.

  I trail my fingertips along one of the thin, spindly offshoots of the branch. It shivers under my touch, and that odd cold soaks into my skin again. “Shhh . . .” I whisper instinctively, moving closer to the tree. Thin drips of gold spill from my fingers.

  As my pixie dust flickers and lands on it, the slender gold flakes soak in, and the tree warms. It stretches, like a haggard old man waking from a years-long nap, and a rich brown color returns to its darkened bark.

  A little smile tugs at my mouth.

  I move my hand along the reaching branch and then place both hands on the trunk. Another flash of chill skims over my body, but warmth again returns as more of my dust soaks into the tree. A faint hint of green starts to flicker at the edges of the branches. Tiny leaves unfurling. Small pink buds, barely the size of my fingernail, press their heads up.

  Relief. I’m not sure if the whisper of sensation is coming from the tree or me.

  Suddenly, a blast of angry wind rips through the jungle, bringing with it a rolling cloud of dark mist. My skin crawls, muscles going tight. The ground shakes again, and I cling to the tree. The color has already been leached from it, the hint of leaves now shriveled and dying.

  The island convulses around me.

  I almost crash to my knees. The ground shakes and rolls beneath my feet. My chest is so tight I gasp for air, eyes watering.

  This feels like a panic attack. But it’s not just me—it’s this place.

  Something is so very wrong here. Something about this island is . . . built into my bones. As if these are more than just trees and ground and mountains. Something deeper. Something unexpected.

  And right now, it’s screaming for me to run.

  I stumble back the way I came, but the ground is rolling so heavily I almost trip. Gasping, I use a bit of dust to keep my footing and run away from the dread that lifts through the icy ground.

  The shadowed mist swallows me, so cold that ice forms on the ground.

  Thud, thud, thud.

  New footsteps. Not running but marching forward determinedly.

  I don’t know if it’s Hook or some other unseen threat, but from the way terror fills my veins, and the way this whole island trembles, it’s not good.

  Not safe . . . not safe.

  I force my legs to move faster despite the stray rocks and scattered sticks cutting at my b
are feet.

  A vine shoots out of the mist and wraps around my shin. Another appears from the opposite direction, and I wince as it wraps around my sprained ankle. Fear spikes through me. No! More dark vines slither like snakes across the ground and spiral up my legs.

  I try to rip them away, but more rough vines wrap my wrists. Shooting up my body and winding around my chest. Holding me in place. My head twists around, frantic to understand what is happening.

  “Let me go!” I cry out. “What are you?”

  Shadows seep all around me. The mist darkens markedly, and a tremor ripples through the ashen trees.

  A figure steps forward, silhouetted by the mist. He lopes closer, the mist clinging to him. The vines wrapping me perceptively shift toward him.

  I struggle against the stiff hold of the thick vines. “Get me out of these!”

  He doesn’t say anything, just glides closer, head bent forward so that his long, pale hair hides his features. Bile rises in my throat, and the island ripples again. His skin is sickly pale, and he seems too thin.

  “W-who . . . ?” I can’t seem to get the word out.

  He steps right up to me. Slowly, painstakingly, he lifts his head, paralyzing me by the haunting expression in those eerily familiar blue eyes.

  I gasp.

  “I’m here, Claire.”

  Neverland

  Present

  This Neverland is twisted and fragmented, everything turned around and wrong. North is south, south is west, and the stars are hidden day and night. Yet as Tootles guides me through the thick, ashen foliage and past the spiral of smoke from Lily’s village, I know where we are going.

  At least, I think so, until the blithering earthquake starts. It spirals through the quivering jungle, and the ground dips and bends like some giant beast waking beneath our feet. The sky darkens, storm clouds moody and thickening. I fight for my balance as thin cracks splinter across the craggy ground underfoot.

  “Peter, just wait—” Tootles begins, but I ignore him.

  This is my island. My chest twists with every ripple underfoot. I don’t know what in the blasted heck is happening to this place, but I refuse to let it hold me back.