Peter spat down in front of her. “Look at me.” Wendy weakly raised her head, tears streaming down her face. She hated herself for being so weak, so terrified of his power, but the fall . . . she couldn’t even breathe when she thought of it. She looked at him. The wicked Peter seemed to rescind into his face, and he curled his mouth empathetically. “I’m sorry I had to do that. I just had to teach you, I had to remind you, what you have to lose here. And I can do it anytime I want.” He landed softly beside her and reached out to stroke under her chin. “That must have been very scary. But you see, I was trying to help you. I’m trying to protect you, because I’m the only one who can keep you safe here in Neverland. You were meant to be with me, Wendy.” His voice choked up inside of him. “You have to love me. And if you do, I’ll take care of you, I won’t hurt you.”
He spun around to face out to the sea, which raged against the beach. “I shouldn’t have done that, I know I shouldn’t have!” Then with a disturbing calmness, he pulled his fist back and struck himself hard in the face with it, his knuckles leaving a short, jagged cut across his perfect cheek. He sank to his knees beside her, his face twisted up in pain. “Can you forgive me, Wendy, please?”
She looked into his eyes, unable to process anything, anything at all. Her hand clutched her heart, feeling each beat as it hammered inside of her. She was so grateful for her heartbeat, so thankful . . . “I need some time,” she whispered, staring into his red-rimmed eyes. It was all she could manage.
He hopped up to his feet. “Of course. Of course. Women need time. It’s called courting, I believe.”
Wendy bit her lip, drawing blood. She had never wanted anything so desperately as she wanted to be away from him, except maybe to have lived. Still, she considered flinging herself into the ocean, just to put distance between them. Peter took a step away from her. Then, leaning over her kneeling form, he drew a heart in the sand with his finger that stretched all the way around her. Wendy, trapped in Peter’s heart.
“I remember the way you kissed me.” He stood before her, whispering out to the sea. “I know you can love me. I know you can want me. You have your brothers to think about.” He bent over her and gently planted his lips on her forehead. Wendy whimpered, digging her hands into the sand, one hand closing around a rock, but then he was gone, up into the air, back into the deep folds of Pan Island.
Wendy lay down flat on the sand, sobbing loud enough that she was sure even the coming stars could hear her, great gasping sobs. She cried for herself, for her brothers, for her parents, for Booth. The sobs were violent, a ripping of herself, so cathartic and so cruel. She had no idea how long she cried, but she knew that it was a nightmare of reliving the fall, of clouds and water, of Peter’s face again and again.
Time passed. Wendy finally pushed herself up on the beach with a gasp, brushing granules of sand off of her cheek. The Neverland night was still, water lapping mere feet from where her collapse had left a curled form in the sand. She stood up, brushing off the sand from her tattered dress. Then she began walking on the edge of Pan Island. Ten miles, Peter had said once, ten miles around, a jagged circle.
She climbed over boulders, ducked under branches, making sure that her feet never touched the water. She didn’t think. She just walked, clutching at her chest, feeling the breaths leave her body, breathing in the air of life again. When her mind tried to connect with what had happened, she would give her head a hard shake, pushing the image of Peter leering over her far from her mind. She just walked, kept moving, for her sanity, for hours, just walking until the sun began its languid rise over the horizon, the deep green of the main island made florescent by the harsh orange light. Wendy saw Neverland wake itself up in a blaze of peaches and deep reds, topped by an impossibly violet sky. Insects buzzed, and velvety moon flowers gave a shake to raise their heads to the light.
The sun shook Wendy awake too, and she began paying attention to where she was walking. Finally, she made it back to where Peter had left her, the heart he had drawn in the sand around her still there, its very deep groove surrounding the imprint of her knees, her body. Wendy looked down at the heart and then raised her eyes to Pan Island, her head leaning back to take in its great height, from the sea at her feet to Peter’s flag at its highest tip. Fear began to slip back into a recessive corner of her mind, and her eyes narrowed. With her chin raised, Wendy reached out and scuffed the heart back into the sand with her foot, slowly at first, and then feverishly, until there was just an explosion of sand where the heart had been. Her spine straightened, and she felt her resolve become cold. She would not be his. She did not love him, would never love him. He did not own her.
And yet, when she looked up, her piercing fear of the sky remained.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
WENDY MADE HER WAY UP TO HER HUT, wanting to change out of her clothes. Peter had touched them. She wanted to burn her skin off. Lost Boys chatted happily with her on the way, and Wendy acknowledged them but kept moving, her mind elsewhere, her smiles shallow and meaningless. Once she stepped inside the hut, a change in the air was immediate. Someone had been here. The small hand mirror that Oxley had given her was broken in the center, and everything was a bit askew. More than that, it was the palpable heat that filled the room. On the floor was a smattering of dully sparkling dust that trailed across the room and out the window. The sheer curtain was still blowing in her breeze.
“Tink?” In her fear, Wendy had totally forgotten about Tink. All this time, and she had thought Tink was the worst thing to fear. Wendy ran across the room, momentarily forgetting about her hut with its meaningless trinkets. “Tink! Wait!” She climbed out of the window, balancing her feet carefully on a thick branch that ran away from her hut, a trail of dust splashed across it. A large lizard slowly trailed his violet tail through its path.
“Dammit, Tink!” Her father would be ashamed of her for cursing, but Wendy felt she had earned it. Balancing as carefully as she could, Wendy made her way across the branch, grasping at the vines atop her head for balance. The branch spiraled downward before leaping up into a thick brush of thin sticks, rocking back and forth in the slightest breeze, a reedy sound rising out of their throats. Wendy paused for a minute, holding her breath. Directly below her, there was a tiny sound, like the peeping of a new chick. Wendy lowered herself to her knees, her belly across the branch. Below her sat the reedy nest, easily a ten-foot drop. And what was below it? The dimensions of Pan Island were hard to guess. It could be solid ground underneath it—it could be nothing but air.
Wendy heard the sound again, and without thinking, she let go of the branch and dropped feet first into the vertical reeds. It was time for answers. The soft reeds broke her fall, though her body pushed through them easily. She heard a crackling sound, and then there was nothing but air and . . . Wendy was submerged. Water rose up over her head. She felt her feet bounce off a shallow bottom, and she pushed up, kicking and pulling for the surface, which wasn’t far. Sputtering, she emerged, fresh water running over her face. Her dress was a cloud of blue sky around her. With water dripping from her hair and hands, she waded out of the shallow pond, pushing her hair out of her face, scolding herself for being so impulsive.
Above her, reeds silently closed around the body-shaped hole she had left. Wendy looked around her. She was in the middle of a shallow pond, maybe only twenty feet across. The water was perfectly clear—she could see her toenails under the water, being surrounded by curious tiny black fish flecked with silver. She looked up, noting that in fact, everything around her was flecked with silver—the branches, the reeds, the grasses that grew out of the pond, the base of the pond. Wading through the water, Wendy came up to a narrow sandbar made entirely of silver flakes. She moved slowly, her hand outstretched, for Tink was curled upon it, staring silently at Wendy, tears filled with stars leaking out of her eyes and down her cheeks. Her ratty brown shroud was wrapped tightly around her, and her eyes were still as she watched Wendy slowly move toward her.
&
nbsp; “Tink?” Wendy tried to keep her voice as low as possible. “Tink, are you quite all right?”
“Are you?” the fairy asked, her head buried in her knees. Then she sniffed.
Moving slowly, like she was approaching a rabid dog, Wendy climbed out of the pond to sit beside the fairy. The silver flakes of the shore crinkled when she touched them, breaking apart like wafers in tea.
Tink hesitated for a moment before turning her face away with a sob. “Go away, you silly girl!”
Wendy didn’t move—instead, ever so slowly and ever so gently, she brushed a piece of Tink’s impossibly golden hair back to look at her face. Tink’s skin was white-hot to the touch, and underneath its porcelain exterior, Wendy could see the glowing tendrils of flight, tracing off her pores like wisps of fog. When Tink finally turned her face to the light, Wendy let out a cry. Her left eye had a deep swollen bruise underneath it, the size of a quail’s egg. Purple and yellow bruising stretched out from the mark, marred by a deep cut that ran from the side of her nose down to the curl of her lip. On the other side of her perfectly sharp face, an angry red cut protruded from the side of her forehead. Dried blood and sparkling silver dust mingled together.
Wendy felt tears of empathy fill her eyes. “He did this to you. Peter.”
Tink turned her head. “I deserved it. I tried to poison you.”
Wendy uttered a sob. “Yes, you did. But no one deserves this. Not ever.” She reached down and tore a huge strip of fabric off her dress, then walked over to dip it into the edge of the pond, wringing it out the way she had seen her mother do a dozen times for the boys’ endless injuries. As she walked back toward Tink, the fairy flinched. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you,” said Wendy softly.
Settling beside the girl, Wendy carefully reached out and began wrapping the cool bandage around Tink’s head. She winced and whimpered. “It hurts.”
“I know, I know.” Humming a gentle Christmas tune, she began carefully tending to each of Tink’s wounds: wrapping the bruises in the cool cloth, splinting the arm that Peter had wrenched, wrapping the legs that had been kicked again and again. When Wendy finally raised her head to wipe the sweat off her face, she saw that Tink was staring at her with tears running down her pale cheeks, tears filled with bursting stars.
“Why are you doing this?” She let out a strangled sob. “I tried to poison you! I kicked you off the walkway!” She took a deep, labored breath. “I hate you!”
Wendy shook her head. “It’s not me that you hate.”
Tink scoffed and then winced at the effort. “I love Peter. More than anything. He is the moon and the stars and everything in between.”
Wendy blinked. “I believe that you think you love him. But love and fear aren’t the same thing.”
Tink sneered as Wendy smeared some mud on a bruise. “He doesn’t love you, you know. He only thinks he does. Because you’re his shiny new toy.”
Wendy remembered falling. “Then Peter has a strange way of treating his toys.” She gently touched the bruises on Tink’s shoulder. The fairy shuddered, her shrouded wings giving a shake of dust.
“I messed everything up. He did this because I tried to poison you. It was me. Stupid, stupid Tink!” Tink reached out and struck herself hard before Wendy grabbed her hand.
“Stop that! Right now! Peter does not have a right to hurt you, do you understand? Ever.”
Tink dropped her eyes. “You don’t understand anything.”
Wendy let out a sigh. “I’m tired of being told that. Tell me. What do I need to understand?”
Tink looked around and then bent to the ground. A creamy flower with drooping lips leaned (leaned!) toward her. Tink whispered something to the flower and then turned her head to hear a soundless reply. Then she turned back to Wendy with wide eyes. “Peter and I are linked, forever. My power is his, and his is mine. You can never come between us, not ever. I can never be extracted from him, not while I live.” Her eyes narrowed. “He loves me. I belong to him.”
Wendy looked over at Tink, her heart breaking for this sad creature, a piece of herself, forever shattered. “You belong to no one. He cannot own you.”
Tink shook her head. “All I want him to do is love me. We are going to be together forever, he and I, my Peter Pan.”
Wendy let her fingers cinch a knotted bandage on Tink’s ankle, swollen and bruised. She thought about how Booth looked at her, so worshipful and respectful all at once. “You should believe me because I’ve known real love. And it doesn’t come with bruises.” Wendy remembered the fury in Peter’s face when she had rejected him. She had thought Peter was a consuming fire, but it turns out he was just the flame, turning her skin to ash. She was so afraid of him. “Here, let me help you.” Tink lifted her arms, and Wendy managed to drag her to the edge of the pond, silver shale slipping down the small bank. She dipped Tink’s swollen ankles under the water, then used her palms to wash the dried blood off Tink’s arms, legs, and face.
Tink began crying. “I can’t understand why you are helping me.”
Wendy leaned forward and kissed her white-hot burning forehead, her lips feeling that same wave of heat that she had on the bridge. Remembering the powerful Tink and seeing this pathetic, broken creature who clutched at her arm tore at Wendy’s heart and hardened her growing hatred for Peter.
“I do it because that’s what my mother taught me to do. I forgive you for the poison and the walkway.”
At those words, a bit of the angry Tink returned, jerking her head back. “I don’t need your forgiveness. Who are you to forgive me? I am a fairy, one of the oldest creatures in Neverland. The flowers and the trees bow to my song. In fact, you shouldn’t even be here. This is where I come with Peter.”
Wendy nodded. Peter. “Tink, I need you to tell me something.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What?”
“How do I get home?”
Tink shook her head. “I can’t tell you, I’m sorry. Only Peter can open the passage voluntarily. Otherwise, it opens every thirty years. You’ll have to ask him.”
Wendy remembered falling through the air. “I did. And it didn’t go entirely well.”
“Wendy . . .” Tink said hesitantly.
The pond gave a jolt, as ripples of water began parting and rolling toward Tink’s ankles. The two women watched as tiny ripples of water crinkled down the pond, previously so lovely and still. Then they heard the drums. Tink turned her head. “Oh, no. Not again.”
Wendy leapt up to her feet. “What is that for?”
“Peter must be readying the boys for another raid. Or an attack.”
“So soon?”
Tink turned her starry eyes upon Wendy’s face. “What did you do?” She began wringing her hands. “The boys, we can’t lose more of them. Kitoko, Darby . . .”
Wendy stood up. “I have to go, I’m sorry. I’ll come back.”
“Wendy.” Tink was suddenly beside her, her feet brushing the ground. She leaned in close to Wendy, her breath grazing her face, her voice pleading and fractured, confused and discombobulated. “Listen to me. He’ll kill you if you try to leave. He will. Please, you have to believe me. You don’t know him . . .”
Wendy looked Tink straight in the eye. “I know him now.”
Tink turned away from her, her ear tilted to the ground. Then she whirled on Wendy, her voice returning to its normal razor edge. “Get out of here then! You’ve spoiled my haven and my pond with your selfish pity.”
Wendy stared after Tink for a moment before pushing her way past the reeds. Everyone here was insane. To Wendy’s surprise, she ended up stumbling into a cluster of branches that hovered a few hundred feet above the Table. Pan Island was a labyrinth, an elaborate maze of winding branches and concave spaces. She didn’t understand it completely, but she had the feeling that it had to do with the same sort of memory loss that had come upon her once she was in Neverland.
The Lost Boys were gathered in a large circle at the base of Centermost, a teeming heap of
sun-kissed skin, sweat, and dirty clothes. Peter was at the front. Wendy could barely bring herself to look at him, though she felt the weight of his eyes on her, pushing her down into the ground. Peter started strutting back and forth.
“Boys, I’ve decided it’s time. It’s time for a change in our way of life.” The boys fell silent, a relentless tapping of some boy’s foot the only noise in the hushed crowd. “Since Kitoko’s death, I have been doing some soul-searching. I’ve come to realize that taking the pirates’ wine wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough of a lesson. The pirates, they kill us. That’s what they do. We raid their treasure, and they kill us, or we sometimes kill them, right, boys?”
The boys cheered, one boy yelling out, “I love you, Peter!” Peter grinned down at him, but his eyes stayed on Wendy.
“Well, I’ve decided that we need more than wine. We need more than treasure. We need provisions.”
Confusion broke out among the boys. “What does that word mean?” asked one of the boys.
Peter smiled with a glint of malice in his eyes. “It means . . .” He gestured behind him. “Bring ’em up, boys!” Four larger boys were struggling to carry a large linen sack, the length and size of a body. Wendy’s breath caught in her throat, fearing the worst, but when the boys dropped the bag down, there was a distinctly metallic sound. The Lost Boys were climbing over each other to get a look at the package.
With a dramatic flourish, Peter knelt down and flung back the linen corners of the bag and reached inside. He held the musket above his head. “Boys, we have guns!”
The thundering of the cheers shook Pan Island. “But Peter, how?” came another shout from the crowd.
Peter laughed at their excitement. “I visited Hook’s armory late last night. I took the guns and left the rest smoldering, along with a handful of deader-than-dead pirates.” He looked straight at Wendy, daring her to reveal why.
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