by Kara Swanson
“Connor, wait!” I implore him. “You said you would let me out.” I try to muster some dust to shove myself to my feet again, but none of the golden flakes come. Not even the pale ones that have plagued me since childhood.
What is going on?
Fear and anger fill me as I look at Paige. “Did you do this? Why can’t I create the dust?”
She shrugs. “It’s not a perfect science.”
The alarm bells tolling in my head are deafening. “What have you done to me!”
Paige is nonchalant. “The healer we kidnapped and tortured gave quite a bit of information about this island and the darker sides of magic that could impact it. But even the tribes don’t really know how the bonds work. Without your connection, you’re nothing but a freakish hybrid. Your dust might replenish over time. Or not.”
She turns away, heading for the door. I try to follow, but Hook’s cane juts out and slams against my ribs, knocking me backward.
Panic pushes me back to my feet. “Stop! You promised! You promised you’d let me out!”
Hook doesn’t even look my way as they step. The door shuts, and as Paige turns the lock, her haunting green eyes flash at me through the bars.
“We lied.”
She and Hook walk off, neither flinching as I shriek at them. I throw myself against the door, fingers wrestling with the bars over the small window, screaming at them to let me out.
Connor is the last to leave. He watches me screaming and flailing and slowly shakes his head. “Someday, you’ll understand why it had to be this way.” He turns and starts to walk away, but then his steps slow. A shudder ripples over my brother’s fractured body, and he glances over his shoulder at me. The skin along his face is marbled with the dark veins, chalky and cracked, but his eyes are clear.
“Pay attention,” Connor whispers.
And then his eyes darken again, and with that, he walks away.
I am left forgotten in a cell deep inside Skull Rock screaming until my throat is hoarse.
Lost.
Neverland
Two Months Later
I lose myself inside the cell.
I’ve been here for weeks. Time moves differently here. Trapped inside this harsh place of rock, it seems to wear on forever. I’m allowed a bucket of water for cleansing on random days. My hair had grown long and tangled, and I finally managed to work it out when one of the Lost Boys smuggled me a roughhewn brush. I pull my tangled mane back into braids that hang far past my shoulders. Most of the time I’m curled up in a ball in the corner of the cell.
Wanting to die.
Connor has never come to see me.
And that hollow absence only cuts and shreds open the deep wound created in my heart when he betrayed me. Stripped my magic and left me to rot.
I’ve cried. I’ve screamed. I’ve cursed his name.
But now I just . . . sit hollowly.
As hollow as this island. I can’t even hear the ghostly after-echoes of Neverland I used to.
The only people I see are the Lost Boys who bring me food twice a day.
At first, they didn’t talk to me.
Now, they are the only reason I even bother to eat and not waste away.
I’ve started measuring time by the space between their visits. I’ve found small ways over the weeks to maintain that human connection. Sometimes I tell them scraps of stories through the door. Sometimes they tell me any of the bedtime stories they can remember Peter bringing home all those years ago. Occasionally Slightly will fill me in on the happenings of the island, or the twins will sing me a shanty, or Cubby will sneak me a little pastry he made. They even managed to smuggle in some paints to me once, and I’ve been able to decorate the walls of this cell as best I can.
I rarely see Nibs. When I do, his eyes brim with guilt, and he hardly speaks to me. I’m not sure there’s much to say anyway. I have forgiven him, and he knows that, but I don’t think he can forgive himself.
“Psst . . . Claire.”
At Slightly’s voice, I step back from where I’ve been using a sharp piece of pottery to carve pictures into the circular wall of the cell—nothing particularly impressive, but it passes the time. I stow away the bit of chipping rock and give my little crudely made drawing of Big Ben a once-over before turning to face the door.
“What is it?” My voice is crackly.
He angles closer to the bars. “I have news. And something for you.”
I draw nearer.
He scans the hallway, then shoves a fist through the metal bars. He looks around again, then slowly opens his hand.
I gasp. A tiny pixie sits on his palm.
She stares up at me with wide eyes, rustling her small dress made of a plush daisy.
She mustn’t be seen.
“Quick, hide!” I tell her, reaching out. But she darts away from my hands and flies up to burrow into my braids, instantly disappearing in the thick weave of my dusty hair.
Well, guess that works.
Tears prick my eyes as I look at Slightly, knowing how much he’s risking bringing me this little friend of light and color. “Thank you.”
He flashes a quick smile and then leans in even closer. “And now for the news.”
My throat tightens. I have no idea what this could mean. “Yes?”
“Some of the boys saw something today. Someone fall from the sky.”
I freeze. The world freezes.
Slightly’s voice is more hushed. “They think it’s him, Claire. They think Pan is here.”
I gape at him, and for the first time in what seems like an eternity my heart feels alive again. Its pulse beats wildly through me.
Slightly leaves as quickly as he appeared, as I remain standing there, staring out the bars that for so long have stood in my way. But I don’t see the harsh panes of metal or the grungy rock walls that sap so much light.
My mind’s eye is filled with a redheaded boy wearing a dimpled grin.
Although I’m not sure if I trust Peter Pan any more than I did when I boarded that ship with Hook, he may be my best chance of getting out of here.
I walk over to the corner of the room and the ragged blankets I’ve collected over time and thrown together into a makeshift bed. I lean down, shuffling under the corner of the pile, and withdraw a little scrap of material fashioned into a bound sack. It practically floats out of my palm, but I hold it in place. With my free hand, I reach up and nudge the little pixie from her hiding spot.
“Hello there, little one.” I smile as she lands on my hand, perching at the edge of my knuckles. Her big green eyes peer up at me, her coloring a little duller than is healthy, but there’s a spark of tenacity here too.
I like her already. That only makes the loneliness ache a little more, but I take a deep breath and gently extend the little bag toward her.
“I so wish I could keep you here to keep me company. But I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment.” I shake the bag a bit, it almost sounds like the rustle of sand. “There’s pixie dust in here—my pixie dust. It has taken me a very long time to gather even this much, so take good care of it . . . okay?” My voice breaks, and the pixie tilts her head at me. Not quite understanding.
But she flaps her little wings and reaches forward to grab the bag of dust, rising a bit into the air.
“I need you to fly far away from here with this. Can you take good care of it and go out and find someone trustworthy?” I take another deep breath, eyes smarting. “Can you give them this dust and then tell them to fly back to Earth?”
Her shocked little voice is like chinking wind chimes. I nod my head firmly, trying to set her at ease. “Yes, I’m sure. Please find someone trustworthy,” I repeat, “that will go back to Earth, because they need to get a message to very specific people.” I crook a finger, drawing her closer. She flits nearer. “You need to tell this person to go find Jeremy Darling and Tiger Lily, and tell them . . .”
Her round, twinkling green eyes are riveted on me. I bite my li
p and whisper the words that Slightly relayed to me first.
“Connor wants to kill Peter Pan. And if Peter dies—so does Neverland and everyone on it.”
Neverland
“Peter, there’s something you need to know . . .”
There’s a heavy note in Tootles’s voice. I finish putting several small handmade bundled explosives that Tootles had stacked in a corner into a threadbare sack. Careful not to jostle them too much, I glance up at him. “Yeah?”
He talks as he works on quickly fashioning breathing tubes from several small, hollow reeds and curved metal pieces. “First of all, the plan is good and it should work. I’ve been preparing for this for a long time . . .”
I heft the bag. “I’ll say. How long did it take you to put all of these together?”
“It gave me something to do over the past few weeks.” He shoves back his floppy hair. “But, Peter, there’s more. I told you that Hook has Claire hidden away deep inside Skull Rock. Now that the tide is up, our best bet will be to sneak in by swimming up through the lower entrance of the rock that is now underwater.”
I bob my head in quick assent. “Yep, got that. And we use your explosives as a distraction to sneak inside.”
We’ve been over this a dozen times. Clearly Tootles has already thought through this plan a hundred times more than that, between the gunpowder he’s stolen from the pirates to fashion clever explosives and the breathing apparatuses he’s making.
So why is he staring at me like he just lost a bloomin’ puppy?
Tootles clears his throat, fiddling with the thin reeds in his hands. “It’s not just that Claire’s trapped in the rock. It’s how long she’s been trapped there.”
I stare at him. “What do you mean?”
He fits several hollow reeds together with small curved metal junctions, then sets the breathing tubes aside. “Peter, how far behind Claire do you think you were when you got here?”
“Dunno. A couple of days, maybe?”
His eyes are heavy. “No, Peter. It was much longer than that. It was months.”
Terror hits me in the gut like a sucker punch. “Wait—what? Months?”
Sweat beads his forehead. “Yes, Connor has had Claire trapped for over three months. If I could, I would have gotten her out a long time ago. No one really knows what they’re doing with her.”
I jolt to my feet. “Claire has been in the clutches of that codfish for months?”
I don’t wait for him to reply. He’s said enough. Who knows what they’ve been doing to her. All I’m suddenly seeing is red. My head is filled with the eerie echo of Claire’s screams.
I race up the steps that lead out of the hideout, shove aside the creaking camouflaged door, and burst out into the spindly jungle.
My feet fly across the dry ground, kicking rocks away and snapping twigs.
Claire has been trapped here for months.
They could have been torturing her for the whole time.
I have to get to her.
There’s a rustle in the jungle to my right, and I catch sight a glint of steel, but I don’t care, just keep barreling ahead toward Skull Rock.
And then a streak of silver cuts through the branches, nicking me in the arm.
I spew a curse, pull up to a stop.
A slender, ornately engraved knife sticks out from the crusted bark of a tree.
I whip around to find a dark face peering at me through the trees. Thin silver constellation tattoos spiral up around the side of the warrior’s features, rimming his ear and the hair cut close to his head. His charcoal eyes bore into me, two more blades spinning between his fingers.
Oh, great.
A hand grabs my arm and jerks me to the side. Tootles moves quickly to stand in front of me and faces the native warrior, hands palm up. “It was an accident to come this way. We swear by the stars we mean no harm. We’ll leave this portion to you.”
The warrior just stares at us, unflinching, but Tootles takes that as some kind of answer. He nearly wrenches my arm out of my socket dragging me back through the jungle, putting as much space between us and the stoic warrior as he can.
“Tootles, I—”
But he hushes me fiercely. He refuses to let me speak until we’ve reached the hideout again, and then he practically shoves me down the tunneled entrance of the craggy old tree.
I land awkwardly on my stomach, knocking the breath from my lungs. I barely crawl out of the way before Tootles comes barreling down.
He lands perfectly on his feet. His eyes are blazing, “Peter! What did you think you were doing? You could have gotten yourself killed! What good would you be to Claire then?”
I’ve never seen the Lost Boy so angry. He’s shaking with fury. “You’re lucky that it was one of the warriors that saw you and not a pirate. If Hook knew you were here, we’d be in real trouble. But not even Lily’s people are in a safe place. Most of them would probably put an arrow in your chest if given the chance.”
I wince. “How charming.”
Tootles rakes his hand through his hair. “This is not a joke, Peter. You can’t just do whatever you want anymore.”
My mouth feels like cotton. “I know that.”
“Do you? Do you really?” He points back toward the exit of our underground bunker. “Because what you did back there was utterly stupid. I told you this is not the Neverland you know. You have to be careful.”
“Oh, trust me,” I assure him. “I know the island has changed. But do you have to be such a wet blanket about it?”
“This is life and death, Peter! It’s the only way I’ve survived for so long as the only Lost Boy not on Hook’s leash.” He swept his arm in a circle. “Even back before all this, I was the first of the boys to even have an idea of consequences. All those years ago when I first shot Wendy out of the sky.”
I glance at him, surprised to even hear him talking about Wendy Darling.
Tootles’s eyes grow more intense. “Although it was an accident, I almost killed her back then. That’s when I first began to realize that your way of doing whatever you wanted and forget the consequences didn’t work. Instead, it was dangerous. And when everything went to heck with Connor and the rest of the Lost Boys taken captive by Hook, I was able to escape. I’ve stayed out of his grasp for all these years because I’ve been careful.” He blows out a long breath, eyes fixed on me. “So, call me a damp squib if you want, but if we are going to rescue Claire, we’re doing it my way. It’s the only way we’ll even get close. Understand?”
I hold his gaze for a long moment, as his words sink in, all clever quips gone, and then give a solemn nod. “Understood.”
After all, he’s managed to survive here for years on his own, with threats on every side.
Respect where it’s due.
Tootles stands a bit taller. “All right. Grab that bag of explosives while I get the breathing devices. Then follow me.”
I give another nod and heft up the bag of small charges. Tootles collects the rest of his gear. He’s gaunt and on edge, always alert and poised to run like a nervous prey animal. So different from the boy I grew up with who was a little clumsy and always had the worst luck—frequently the last to a fight or missing out on our romps. A quiet boy with a shine in his eyes who just wanted to be one of the gang.
Just wanted to please me and make Tink happy.
This Tootles is different—aware and intentional, but still with a good heart.
And he has survived.
“So, I just breathe like this?” I stick the curved apparatus of hollowed-out reeds inside my mouth.
Tootles nods, hefting the waterproof pack over one shoulder, and then puts in his own breathing tool. He steps off the bank of dark sand and wades into the choppy water. Just past him, Skull Rock rises above the churning waves. It looks just as creepy as it ever did.
Not sure if Shadow would have been much good on this mission, but the chap took off on his own before we even had the chance to ask. Figures.
> Tootles was right, the tide is up and has submerged the lower portion of the skull-shaped rock, the yawning mouth, soundly underwater. Two massive eye holes glare at us from above water, with the strange curve of a nose hole resting just below. I just hope Tootles is also right that diving straight into the mouth of that gigantic, gaping cadaver is our best way in.
He has already waded into water so deep that it is up to his shoulders. He’s using both his arms to swim forward and only pauses long enough to glance my way. He gestures for me to follow and then dives under.
The slender top of the breathing device is the only thing slightly visible as he swims forward, and to any unknowing eye, you’d just think it was a stray twig in the water.
I shift my attention from Tootles back to Skull Rock one last time, taking in the mist that swirls around it and the climb of ivy up the steep curve of the rock. Then I take a deep breath, plop the breathing reed into my mouth, and dive in after him.
Here goes nothing.
The water is so cold my whole body almost locks up once I’m submerged, but I shove onward with stubborn determination. The more I swim, taking in drags of air through the reed, the more I warm up. It seems like the water calms too.
After all, I still have some connection to this island, no matter how frail it may be.
I’m also pretty bloomin’ thankful that the sirens stay well away from Skull Rock on account of the pirates. Not something we need to deal with right now.
It takes what feels like an eternity of Tootles and I battling the cold water and the choppy distance before we finally draw within a few feet of the towering rock. Tootles pops his head up, and I follow suit.
Salty spray of seafoam ricochets off the massive rock, and those gaping eye sockets glare down at us. I gasp for air as foamy spray slams into my face, but at least the spray provides cover. The distant shore is now just a ripple of mottled colors behind us.
I swim closer to Tootles, “Okay, so what now?”
He blinks back the water drenching his features and points toward the lower portion of the rock where the brunt of the foamy wash forms. “The entrance is below there. We’ve got to dive down and swim through that.”