by Kara Swanson
She raises her blue eyes to stare at me, the sadness dissipating as her coloring returns to its usual sullen gold. “Yes, and we want her out.”
“I’m working on it.”
She flashes red again. “No! You leave it alone.”
My brow ripples. “What? You don’t want me to save her?”
The tiny pixie laughs at me. A flash of gold skimming the red color. “Everything is not always about you, Peter boy.”
My jaw drops.
She flies a little higher, wings beating quickly, and waggles a finger. “You keep hurting Connor more—and the island.” She darts closer, hovering at eye level, her tinkling light voice taking on a sense of gravity. “You won’t save them with a blade. You can’t heal a wound by making one.”
I stare at her. “When did you get so smart?”
She gives a little twirl and tosses her hair over her shoulder with a snarky grin. But even as I enjoy the comradery, I can’t ignore her words. It’s not just the island and Connor I’ve hurt. I can see the same pain woven through this tiny winged creature. In the way her body is a little too thin, her dust too pale, her light too dull. The pixies have always been easily affected by the moods of those around them. Falling dead when a child refuses to believe in them. And with their connection to the island, I can only imagine the pain they’ve felt from Connor’s desolation and the poison filling this place, pulsing beneath our feet.
No wonder none of the pixies want to see me.
Everything I’ve done so far has just made everything worse.
“All right, Glim.” I rub at the back of my neck. “What can I do?”
She sits cross-legged in the air, tilting her little blonde head at me. Then she speaks in that windchime voice. “The warrior people are in the northern jungle—”
A massive crash of thunder cuts off her words. The ground shakes, the air rent by the sound.
Uh oh.
Glimmer and I both lift our eyes to the sky. The storm clouds are rolling in at an unnatural pace. The wind kicks up, driving away the sweep of mist and pelting my skin with rain. And then there is more thunder as the sky grows dark.
Someone is not happy.
Glimmer races off through the trees, spiraling upward, toward the sky. I race after her, clambering up the tallest spindly tree I can find. “Wait for me!”
My bare feet help propel me up the tree, bark rough beneath my touch as I pull myself up. I reach the top of the tree, crouching to perch and peer out over the sweeping storm. The wind howls around us, driving Glimmer to burrow in the collar of my hoodie. I squint, scanning the dark sky and the flash of lightning that rips through the cloud layer.
I see it at the same time Glimmer does. She launches out of my hoodie, screeching excitedly, gesturing toward the edge of the island that is barely visible from here. The curve of Blindman’s Bluff—
And the gleaming figure standing at the very edge of the cliffs.
I can’t quite make out her shape, but I’d know that glow anywhere.
“Claire.”
How did she even get out?
I grip the frail tree, trying to stretch taller, trying to see her. What does it matter how she got out? She did. I have got to stop underestimating things about this girl.
But the way the whole island has been thrown into this crashing, screaming storm—I’m not the only one who knows. Connor is after her. I doubt she’s been cornered on that cliff of her own volition.
“I have to go help her!” I tell Glimmer, and she looks at me questioningly. “Flying would be nice.”
She darts back, wings beating fiercely against the storm. I turn on my puppy dog eyes, trying the charm that used to work on Tink. “Please? Claire needs my help! You don’t want me to abandon her, do you?”
Her little mouth purses to the side, eyeing me for a long moment. Then she finally gestures to the pistol tucked in my belt. “Fine,” her tiny voice rings. “But you can’t use that! No more hurting, remember? Just help Claire.”
I lift my smallest finger. “Pinkie promise, little mate. I’ll just help Claire. Plus”—I wink at her—“the pistol is empty anyway.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, staring at me again. I know that if she helps me, she’ll be going against the many threats Hook and Connor have laid on the magical creatures of this island for doing so, let alone the fact that the other pixies hate me.
But her love of Claire seems to trump her fear, and Glimmer brightens with determination and then darts toward me. A pulse of excitement swells through me as Glimmer’s pixie dust pours from her in a steady stream. I push to balance on the upper branch of the tree on one foot and spread out my arms.
Glimmer spins silken lines of pixie dust around me, circling in graceful swirls as she coats my body in the shimmering dust.
Cor, I’ve missed this. Missed having a little pixie companion.
I don’t know if Tink knew Glimmer, but they would have gotten along.
Neither of them put up with my foolery.
I close my eyes for a moment, feeling the wind on my face and the pixie dust in my hair and the way my body lifts out of the tree. We are still just out of reach of the storm pooling over the bluff—but we’ll have to be fast. The minute the rain soaks us, not even Glimmer’s dust will hold us aloft.
Glimmer is not as strong as Tink was, since she is not as strong as she should be, but it’s enough. We continue to fly higher and higher, until I can hover over the dark storm clouds, and I aim around a small mountain peak and toward the bluffs on the south side of the island.
The pixie burrows into the hood of my jacket, and her dust continues to drift over me as she hitches a ride. Below me, through gaps of the forming storm clouds, I can see the shriveled remnants of jungle, rivers turned to dark ink, and meadows now overcome by spindly veins. I catch sight of a small encampment within a thatch of trees and wonder for a moment why a portion of Lily’s tribe has splintered off. I stop trying to puzzle it out when a flash of lightning splits the clouds far too close to us.
I swing to the left, calling for Glimmer to hang on tight, and watch the bluffs come fully into view. The storm is the worst here, but through the downpour of rain and rush of wind that severs some of the cloud layer, I can make out Claire’s bedraggled form standing at the edge of the rocky cliff. Her dust flows in a steady glow, but even though it’s brighter than Glimmer’s magic, it still feels worn.
But it’s the tall figure standing opposite her that roils my gut.
Connor has already reached her. And he looks about as chuffed as expected.
Although, he does seem to be holding himself back a bit. He hasn’t grabbed at her yet. Desperation is written in every jerky move of his hands and the way he hunches and sways.
She keeps shaking her head, and that seems to only make him more frustrated.
This won’t end well.
Ducking and preparing for a rocky landing, I tuck Glimmer tighter inside my hoodie and drop through the clouds, landing lower down on the bluff where Connor won’t see. I scrape my knees as I tumble to the rough cliff. I check Glimmer and see she’s still hiding inside my hood, peeking out at me and nodding.
I skirt around the opposite side of the bluff, creeping up behind Connor. Long ago, Lily taught me how to walk soundlessly. With the crash of thunder and the heavy downpour, I doubt Connor could hear me anyway.
I take a deep breath, creeping closer and closer until I’m only a few feet away from Connor.
Claire’s attention is locked on her brother, and now I can make out her words: “I won’t. You know I can’t do that. Besides, you left me in that cell for two months! You didn’t talk to me once all that time!”
Her gaze lifts past him as she lets out a frustrated breath—and snags on me. Surprise sparks in those blue eyes, but to Claire’s credit she manages to suppress it as I lift a finger to my lips. She gives the slightest nod and is focused on her brother again.
“I wanted to talk to you,” Connor says, raki
ng a ghostly hand over one side of his face, fingernails catching in the scarred pieces of skin, “but I couldn’t. There were other things we wanted. Other things to do.”
Raindrops streak down his pale skin and trace along the dark, jagged lines. I’m only a foot away from him now, crouching, reaching for the weapon at my side—
Glimmer tenses, but I wink at her, nudging her to trust me.
But then I think I see something. Something in Connor.
Something shifts when he shudders. Like darkness that moves a split second before he does. It might be a trick of the storm, but darkness seems to seep from his skin, hovering around him one minute and then gone the next, dissolved into the inky veins carving out his body.
What was that?
It was almost like a shadow.
I don’t have time to puzzle it out, because Connor is getting more anxious. I can hear the roar of the water on the other side of the bluff churning to life.
Time to get Claire to safety.
And see if old skills still hold.
Pulling the pistol out of my belt, I dart forward and push the barrel against the back of Connor’s head. I imitate the deep, snarling voice I’ve been impersonating for years.
“I’m done with your stupidity, boy. I’m taking Claire, and you’re letting me do it.”
The deep, rich croon of the pirate captain rolls off my tongue like it was just yesterday I was hiding in the corner of Skull Rock using his voice to send Smee scrambling to free the Darling children.
And it’s certainly worked many other times.
Of course, the gun helps with overall effect.
My mimic must be pretty good because Claire blinks and manages a “Captain!” that’s half convincing.
Connor has frozen against the feel of my gun at his head, and I can sense him weighing the situation. Finally, he growls, “Hook?”
Got ’em.
“Aye.” I push the muzzle of the empty gun a little closer into his dripping hair. Rain rolls off my nose and down my steady hand. “I’m done playing your filthy games and being one of your dogs. I’m taking the girl, and I’m going back to London—back to my mansion.” I wince, thinking the mansion may have been a bit much. I muster a growl and say the most important bit. “And if you don’t step out of our way, I’ll blow out your brains.”
I can practically feel Connor’s snarl as his body shudders again. “You’re threatening me, Hook?”
I stand my ground. “Not even you are faster than a bullet.”
Claire gulps, staring past Connor at me. “He looks desperate, Connor. And those burns must still hurt.”
Burns? What is she even talking about?
But a look of real fear fills Claire’s eyes, and she reaches for her brother. “Please, Connor. I don’t want him to hurt you. Just walk away.”
Connor’s fists tighten at his sides, but I don’t address him this time. “Good advice, love.”
That seems to sell it.
Connor tries to glance over his shoulder, but I stop him with a poke of the weapon. “Let her go first.”
“I’ll just kill you the minute I have a chance. You won’t get far.”
I set my jaw. “Let her go.”
The moment stretches long, the rain thudding around us—and then Connor lets out a ragged breath and flicks his hand. The vines that were curling around Claire’s feet, tethering her to the ground, slither away.
It’s working!
Connor’s shakes are more intense. The back of his head is reverberating against my gun. “I swear I’ll kill you the minute I can, Hook.”
But his threats don’t matter now. Claire’s dust ripples over her body, and she lifts off the ground, and we’re seconds from being home free—
Then I hear the echo of footsteps behind me.
Oh, blarmy!
Before I can even turn around, or push Connor off this blasted cliff, I hear the click of a real gun pointed at me.
“Game’s up, Peter.”
It’s Hook’s voice. Hook’s real voice.
Dangit.
Furious, Connor raises his hands and vines shoot out, grabbing Claire again and jerking her back to the ground.
Anger floods through me as I spin around, ready to pistol-whip the lout with my empty gun. But instead of the pirate captain, I come face-to-face with a pair of pale green eyes.
She almost seems like an apparition of the storm, the rain running down her deathly pale skin, and her soaking wet hair falling around her face and shoulders like snaky coils. Something about her just seems to fit here, on this stormy ledge. The instant I take her in, a mammoth headache slams into my temples, and I nearly fall to my knees.
“Who—are you?”
But she just shakes her head, icy glare cutting through me.
“You’re so predictable.”
Neverland
It’s Peter.
Despite the rain thundering around us, and the crash of water slamming against the bluff behind me, and the lightning streaking the sky—Peter is here.
His thick curls are drenched, and those green eyes carry more gravity, wincing with how close he had been to pulling off this ruse.
But once again, he’s too late.
Paige has appeared from the mist, and Hook on her heels. The pirate captain strides forward and loops his mangled hook around Peter’s neck, but Peter doesn’t even seem to notice. His brow is furrowed as he looks to Paige and me and back again.
Thunder booms across the sky. Connor’s attention is locked on Peter, filled with an anger that ebbs and flows through the island, like the tide behind me.
“You always ruin everything!” Connor shouts at Peter. The island starts to shake again, and I’m strangely glad for the vines tethering me to the side of the cliff.
Peter’s eyes widen as his knees go out, and he thuds to the rocky surface of the bluff. His body shudders in time to the fierce quaking of this cliff.
I try to reach for Peter. “You’re hurting him! Whatever you’re doing, Connor, stop it.”
Connor just ignores me, body now rigid as he stands above Peter. “Give me the island. All of it.”
Peter leaps to his feet at that, stumbling backward only to bump into the muzzle of Hook’s pistol. Pan darts a fleeting glance around the small group circling him and then glares at Connor. “Never. There is no way I’m giving you more power.”
Color and emotion drain out of my brother’s face, and darkness seeps into his irises until his eyes are nothing but obsidian holes. “Wrong answer.”
Water slams into the edge of the bluff behind me, growing in violence as it swells. At first, I could just see the whitecaps far below, but now the water is roiling and rocking. Another wave surges up, arching and pounding into the top of Blindman’s Bluff. The spray of water drenches me, and I gasp, but my heart stops when I see the water keep going.
The wave that swept over me thins out into three streaks of water that hurtle forward and bury themselves in Peter’s breast.
The world blurs. I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision and process what I’m seeing. Peter is gasping, gurgling, as blood leaks down his green hoodie. I stare at the slivers of ice protruding from his chest.
I realize Connor is standing in front of Peter, his hand outstretched, and the three lances of ice shifting upward as if having just dripped from his fingertips. Like he commanded them there.
I’m suddenly so nauseous I have to clap a hand over my mouth.
Peter is doubled over on the ground, spitting blood, desperately grasping at the jagged spikes of ice protruding from his chest. He pulls one spike out and utters a ragged gasp through gritted teeth.
“Are you ready to give me the island now?” Connor asks, voice devoid of any feeling. His perpetual tremors have stopped. He’s standing stiffly, but I see something shift beneath that pale skin. The veins that clamber up his face bulge and darken as something skims there. A dark shadow passing beneath a frozen lake, taking all possible warmth with it.
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“C-Connor. Please—”
Connor just shakes his head, and another vine snakes up my neck, spinning around my mouth, silencing me. I gasp, trying to bite at the vine, but it’s useless. But I’m not defenseless.
Angry, biting dust begins to lift from my skin, starting to soak into the vines—
Suddenly Connor flicks his hand. The raindrops splattering around us beat down harder, shifting direction—barreling straight into me with so much force they sweep away the dust as soon as it forms. They soak into my hair and through the vines.
The water cools my dust.
My eyes shoot wide, and Connor smirks.
“Pixies never could fly in the rain.”
I’m left shaking, soaked through and incredulous as my brother’s inky eyes narrow on Peter. “I need that connection.”
Peter spits blood. “I said no!”
The rain has abated but thunder still rumbles above us. Connor stares at Peter for a moment. He lifts his hand toward the edge of the bluff. A spray of salt water hammers up its side, and a rod of water shoots toward Connor, crystallizing to ice as it pours into his hand. It elongates into a jagged, icy spear.
Even Hook takes a noticeable step back when Connor approaches Peter again. His face is still eerily, dangerously passive. He points the spear at Peter, and when he speaks, his tone is hollow. As if any shred of my real brother has dissolved away. “Give me your connection to the island.”
Peter’s eyes are bloodshot and filled with pain, but he still lifts his head and meets Connor’s eyes. “Try your worst.”
Connor doesn’t even blink. “If that’s what it takes.”
Paige has faded to the background, watching like a hovering wraith, a sickening smile on her lips. But when Connor raises the spear, aiming it squarely at Peter’s chest, she suddenly speaks.
“Wait.”
The word stays Connor’s hand. A muscle ticks in his jaw. “What?”
She takes slow, even strides forward, her long brown dress tattered and sweeping her ankles. “We don’t want to kill him, and somehow I doubt torture will work.” She slides a knowing glance Hook’s way. “It certainly never did much for the pirates.” She looks down at Peter. “To him, death is just another adventure. But”—she nudges aside Connor’s spear, crouches beside Peter—“I can make him cooperate.”