Another Pan

by Daniel Nayeri

  The bones of the mummy immediately burst into a fine dust, a shimmering cloud enveloping the lady and all her many insects. There was a shriek. The branded eye shot out a light. Her hands tore at the flesh of her own face.

  “No,” said Peter, rushing up to Wendy. “NO!”

  But it was too late for Peter to save the dust, and it was too late for the goddess of death to escape it. The life trapped in the bones of the fifth mummy had infected her. She stumbled to the floor, like a feeble old woman looking for her cane. She crouched in a corner, twitching, her every movement confirming the fact that death cannot die. That she was only temporarily down.

  Wendy wasted no time rushing to John’s body. She knelt down in the blood to check for a heartbeat. But that was futile, and even she knew it. Peter, too, was hysterical, looking for remnants of the dust.

  “I can’t believe this,” he said, almost screaming at Wendy, who was shocked at this new treatment. “You destroyed the bonedust. That was the whole point!”

  Peter roared with frustration. He put his ear to the ground, looking for any dust particles that might have settled. When he saw the gym bag lying on the floor, he seized it.

  Tina walked over to Wendy, knelt down, and put her arms around her. Cornrow cautiously swatted his way through the now disbanding wall of moths blocking the door.

  “We have to hurry,” he said. “We probably only have a few minutes.”

  “Ah!” said Peter, with relief. “Look at this.” Wendy and Tina looked up to see Peter fishing out a small piece of bone from the bottom of the gym bag. “It’s just enough,” said Peter. “One helping of eternal youth, as soon as I get my hands on that Simon.”

  Wendy barely heard Peter. She looked at John’s helpless form and tried to make sense of the last words he had spoken. The front pocket.

  Peter examined the tiny piece of the fifth mummy. He dropped the gym bag, and Wendy rushed for it, suddenly realizing what John had meant. She unzipped the front pocket and stuck her hand inside, desperately feeling around for an answer.

  Then her hand found something hard, like a baseball bat. Except it wasn’t a bat. Wendy looked inside. “Oh, my God,” she whispered.

  It was the bandaged leg of Marcus Praxis. The fourth bonedust.

  John must have taken it from Simon during one of the afternoons they spent together playing video games or sorting through the exhibit. All that time when Simon thought John was his stooge, his follower, his worshipful disciple. Simon must have left the bone somewhere John could easily have access to it. “Genius.” Wendy marveled at her little brother.

  Wendy felt a breath over her shoulder. She clutched the leg to her chest and turned to find Tina hovering over her. “What do we have here?” Tina said. Wendy was too overwhelmed to speak. “You know,” whispered Tina, “the bonedust can bring your brother back.” Tina nodded in the direction of Peter, who was wrapping the other four bones together.

  Wendy took the leg out of the gym bag so that it was in plain sight. It took Peter only about three seconds to see it and come barreling toward them. “Is that what I think it is?” He grabbed the leg, and without another word, Peter pulled out all the other bonedust. It seemed he didn’t want to wait another second to mix his immortal cocktail.

  “John,” whispered Wendy. She allowed new hope to spring in her heart, and new gratitude, for all that Peter had done. For the way he always seemed to save the day, like John’s favorite heroes. He had saved John’s life once before, and he seemed to always be there for her. Even at a time so crazy and desperate as this.

  Wendy stayed with John’s body, holding his head in her lap, while Peter pulled out the four other bones and began grinding them and mixing them in a glass vial. She watched Peter’s face, furrowed with concentration, as he hovered over his instruments. His sweat had stuck a few curls to his forehead. His jaw was adamant. But even so, he still had that boyish smirk.

  Finally, Peter sat up and said, “Done.” He held up the vial, shaking it a little for show. Inside, it looked like diamond powder. Wendy was almost shaking with joy with the idea that she would have her brother back, that he would be healed right here in this nurse’s office, and that they would grow up together, that she wouldn’t have to go back to her dad and tell him the unbearable news.

  Then Peter stood up, wiped his knees, and said, “All right, let’s get out of here.”

  Wendy was confused. She sat there gaping at Peter, who was obliviously putting what remained of the mummies back in his satchel. The toe he had used for decades was finished, as was the tiny morsel of the fifth bonedust, so only three members of the House of Elan remained. Wendy was still baffled.

  Peter looked from Tina to Wendy and said in a cheerful tone, “Well? Everybody ready?”

  Tina was the first to speak. She took an unsure step toward Peter and said, “Uh, Peter, what about the vial?”

  Then Wendy added, “Are we going to take him to a safe place first?”

  It was Peter’s turn to be confused. “Who?”

  “John,” said Wendy.

  “I don’t know,” said Peter in a reflective tone. He sat beside Wendy and put an arm around her. “How do you want to tell your dad?”

  Peter looked back and forth from Wendy to Tina, trying to gauge whether this was the right answer. But watching him flounder like that, completely unaware of what they expected, was enough to break Wendy’s heart. This whole time she had cradled John, expecting Peter to come to the rescue. The whole time they had known each other, she had become more and more infatuated, letting him further and further in. She knew she had trusted him more than anyone.

  And now Peter had shown himself to be untrustworthy. To Wendy, that was a horrible feeling to have again. That feeling that she was worthless. That feeling that she was so common, so stupid, that no one felt any reason to love her. That feeling that she wasn’t really needed by anyone and that she had left the one guy who cared about her for something entirely physical. Wendy felt her cheeks flush, her eyes bubble with hot tears.

  “Peter,” said Tina, “wouldn’t the vial bring John back to life?”

  “Well, yeah,” said Peter, “but there’s only one.”

  “So?” said Tina, trying to emphasize with her tone the gravity of the situation.

  “So?” repeated Peter. “It’s mine. It wouldn’t be fair.” Peter was gnashing his teeth. He turned to Wendy. “I’m sorry. You know how I feel about you. You know I would have shared it. I even offered once, remember? But there’s only enough for one person, and I’m the one who’s been searching for it all these years. I’m sorry, Wendy.” He tried to hold her against him, but a guttural sob escaped her lips and she pushed him away.

  Peter looked like a little boy, hurt at her rejection and determined to have his way all at the same time. It seemed that he had no idea how big a consequence this was. He looked as though he thought himself innocent, as if he believed that he had acted fairly and that it was he who was being hurt by Wendy’s cruelty.

  Tina tried to intercede. “Peter, he’s —”

  But Peter interrupted her, his voice much harsher than it had been with Wendy. “No. It wouldn’t be fair. We’re leaving.” He took a few steps away from them.

  As Wendy watched the exchange, she felt the betrayal and sadness turn to fury. He actually wanted to leave John dead on the ground. He actually thought it would be the right thing to do. Wendy rose to her feet and walked to Peter with tears still pouring from her eyes. When she reached him, her shoulders were still heaving. Then, in a low rumble, she said, “I trusted you.” Without any fanfare, she slapped Peter across the face.

  Peter just stood there, shocked.

  “But you’re just a childish, selfish son of a —” She slapped him again, then again. It was the only sound in the awkward silence of the room.

  Wendy yanked the vial from Peter’s hand and walked back to John, holding her thumb tightly to seal the top. Peter leaped toward Wendy and grabbed her by the legs so that she fel
l forward and hit her arm hard against the sickbed. All the sweet charm of the previous weeks suddenly vanished. When she was on the ground, Peter grabbed Wendy’s arm and swung her around, so she was facing up, then pinned her down with both his legs. She winced in pain, then pulled away, kicking hard at his legs while holding tight to the vial. She hoisted herself up on her elbows and spat in Peter’s face.

  For an instant, Peter was stunned.

  Wendy broke free from under Peter and crawled the few feet toward her brother, reaching out the arm holding the vial.

  Peter tried to grab the vial away from her. But it was too late. Her hand trembled only once before she hoisted herself up and poured the dust over John’s mouth. She watched, expecting him to revive in seconds. But even though the dust hung in the air, then was absorbed quickly into John’s face, nothing more happened. John still lay unconscious on the floor. Wendy waited and waited for what seemed like ages. She shook him gently. But he didn’t move.

  Peter was still on the floor, panting like an angry beast. He slapped the ground with unveiled ferocity. Then he got up and began to pace the small room, like a lost child without a plan.

  The group must have sat in silence for five minutes or so. No one thought to just leave. They were mesmerized by what Peter would do next.

  Finally, Peter gathered himself together and looked toward John and at Wendy’s expectant face as she sat with her brother. Tina and Cornrow eyed him cautiously.

  Peter turned to Wendy. “It’ll take a little while. Let’s go.” He pointed to Cornrow. “Carry the kid.” Cornrow touched Wendy on the shoulder to get her to notice him and let him take John’s body.

  As Tina helped Wendy to her feet, a low groan made them all freeze. The Dark Lady was twitching more violently now. Suddenly, Tina dropped Wendy’s arm and ran to Peter, pulling him away from the death god. Wendy wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. Even after all this, Tina wanted to help him above all others. She was still willing to put herself in danger for his sake. Wendy thought about the way she had looked down on Tina’s love for Peter, thinking that her own was of such better quality. But Peter hadn’t felt much for either of them, and in the end, it was Tina who loved him unconditionally, even after he had shown himself to be so impossibly selfish.

  The exhausted group silently walked out of the office and into the larger Marlowe attic space. Wendy stayed close to Cornrow, looking for any signs of life in John.

  Whatever this all had been, this supernatural stuff with a book and a labyrinth and mummies and gods, Wendy knew it was finally over. All the stress of being the only ones to know about it, the fear of Simon stealing it all, the terror of darkness enveloping the real world, all of it poured out of Wendy along with her heartbroken tears for Peter.

  And now all she wanted was for John to wake up. And by the time they found a safe spot in the attic to hide from any adults, he did. At first he groaned, then, with a gasp for air, he woke. Cornrow put him down. His feet were unsteady and his shirt was sopping blood, but his stomach was perfectly healed. Wendy laughed at the sight of John rubbing his belly. He nodded to Tina, winked, and said, “How do you like me now?”

  Even Tina had to smile. John would be just fine.

  Peter sent Cornrow to check on the nurse’s office. He came back to the hiding place and said there was no sign of her anywhere.

  “There wouldn’t be,” said Peter. “She’s done. No one can ever use the bonedust to live forever, so she doesn’t have to stick around.”

  Then they all went back to the office to clean up the evidence they’d left there. As they wiped up the blood and swept up the dead moths, John puzzled over every detail of the underworld secrets they’d just uncovered. Why did the underworld disappear? Where did the nurse go? Would she come back? Would Peter recognize her next time?

  “Figures her hideout is up here, though,” said John. “We should have known it was her. Not just the eye and the name, but look at this place. It’s the opposite of the lowest point in the pyramid.” The nurse’s office in the attic was the highest point in Marlowe, just as Neferat’s dark cave was situated at the tip of the upside-down pyramid. And just like that abysmal hole in the ground, the attic surrounding the office was filled with clutter, with boxes and old furniture where sarcophagi had been. Just like all the other places in Marlowe that corresponded to the underworld, this similarity unnerved Wendy — the way the underworld had molded itself to them, the way it had formed a negative Marlowe, a new hellish Marlowe, dark and backward, like an image imprinted on film.

  “The girls’ bathroom is just below the attic,” added John. “I think there are pipes that lead right up from the bathroom to the attic, just like the way the women’s castle was right above the cave, so it led down to Neferat’s lair. See?”

  “Would’ve been easier just to go directly through the nurse’s office,” said Wendy.

  “If we’d known the dowdy nurse was her, I’m sure we would have,” shot Tina.

  As Tina looked around for a mop, Poet charged into the nurse’s office dragging a sloppy wet Simon behind him. When he saw Peter, Poet stood at attention. He held Simon up by the collar and said, “Yo, Pete, check it out.” He clearly wanted his RA to see his handiwork, but Peter didn’t even acknowledge it. He just stomped out of the attic, slapping away Tina’s arm as she reached out to console him. On his way out, he dropped a pile of bones he had collected in Neferat’s cave — a toe, a forearm, a hand — bones from various mummies that he was planning to use to trick Simon, if it came down to that.

  Simon wheezed, “Can you please call this hooligan off me?” Now that there was no more bonedust and no one left for him to threaten, his voice sounded whiny and pleading.

  They turned their attention to the slimy assistant professor. “How’d it go?” said Tina.

  “We came to an understanding,” reported Poet.

  It was time to go, to sneak back into the crowded hall between classes, as though nothing had happened. John peeled off his bloody shirt and threw it in the trash. He’d probably have to run shirtless to the boys’ locker room to get his gym clothes. But Poet took off his Marlowe shirt and jacket and handed it to John.

  John looked at the clothes, then at the shirtless guy in front of him. “What are you gonna wear?” he asked.

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Poet, smiling, “You’re one of us now, and LBs look out for their own.”

  John beamed. He proudly pulled the shirt over his head. It looked like a dress on him, but that didn’t matter.

  Wendy knew she would have to tell him about what had happened with Peter, but not yet. Besides, somehow, she knew John wouldn’t mind. He hadn’t admired the LBs because of Peter; that was for sure. John had plenty of heroes, but he’d never been foolish enough for Peter to be one of them. In that way, Wendy mused with a little sadness, John had always been right. He’d always been right to suspect Peter.

  Something told Wendy that the shirt, the acceptance, was all that John was looking for anyway. John bumped fists with both the LBs and strutted out of the attic. Wendy and Tina followed, and they immediately split up in the hallway crowd at the bottom of the stairs, each heading her own way.

  When Simon found out that the fourth bone had been stolen, he began to rant and threaten John. But one warning glance from Poet was enough to shut him up. Besides, John didn’t care. John knew when he brought the bone into the labyrinth in his gym bag that he was bringing the five pieces of bonedust together. He knew when he stopped at his locker for the bag that before the night was over, one of them would consume that immortal cocktail; he knew they wouldn’t be throwing the bones out into the girls’ bathroom for Simon to find.

  He just didn’t realize that the person consuming the dust would be him.

  But in all that, Peter was nowhere to be found. He had disappeared as quickly as he had appeared. Wendy couldn’t say she was sorry to see him go. But somehow, she couldn’t say she was sorry to have met him, either. She couldn’t say that it did
n’t make her chest tighten to imagine him all alone again. After all, regardless of how old Peter was, this was still a high-school romance. Even the worst experiences have parts that are really nice to think about. And the other parts, well, Wendy consoled herself, if you’ve got just a couple of happy thoughts in the end, you’ve done all right for yourself.

  All nights, except for one, come to an end. That is to say, there’s always that one night in every lifetime that stands out as endless — the night when all those nocturnal monsters, the creeping, slithering hazards of the dark, with names like shame and sorrow and guilt, grab ahold of you and won’t let you sleep. In Wendy’s case, the culprit was sheer humiliation.

  She sat on her bed and tried to remember what her father had said. She had been so ashamed to tell him about Peter — to finally say out loud how she felt. Her father had said that he could never imagine a smarter daughter, or a braver or more loyal one. Why would someone as gifted as Wendy Darling ever cry over such things? Why would she waste her time caring about someone like Peter? Then he had recounted all the embarrassing Peter stories from his LB days, in hopes of cheering her up a bit. And so, Wendy had decided that she didn’t care anymore about her borrowed house, or her father’s crazy streak, or even the fact that her mother had left. She was nothing like her, and tomorrow she would call Connor. Maybe they could be friends again.

  She barely remembered now what happened after she left the attic. She could see herself stumbling, confused and disoriented, through the halls, ignoring the spoiled gossipmongers who wanted to know about Peter. She kept thinking the same thought over and over again: Peter was going to let John die. Peter had shown himself for what he was, the most selfish boy she had ever met. How could she love him now?

  Before leaving the attic, Wendy had taken the Book of Gates from Poet. She had run home, tears streaked down her face. She burned it in their fireplace when Professor Darling was still in school.