by Andrea Jones
“I wasn’t leaving you.”
“Yes, I made sure you stayed. But it doesn’t matter anymore.” He stood, and gestured grandly. “I have been cleaning. There’s not a speck of dust left.”
“Dust?”
“You won’t be flying anywhere from now on.” He snatched the bottle and flung it away. He was still smiling as it hit and splintered. “That was your cure.” He watched the horror transforming her face. “And you should know, it isn’t safe outside any longer. The croc has lost its tick, and it’s smelling around for anything that stinks like a pirate. You’ll have to stay in here. Even the air isn’t safe for you now!”
She had to whisper it. “Peter… what have you done?”
“It’s the magic of fairy dust, Wendy! The last of it. You can’t fly anymore, but my ally the crocodile can! He’ll hunt my enemy down and slay him for me, while I stay home and keep you safe.”
The hideout slid out of focus, Wendy’s ears stopped up. Her stomach contracted again and her eyes burned. But she wouldn’t allow herself to collapse on the bed again; she had to stand. She tried to keep the panic out of her voice. “Then you can untie me now, untie me.”
Peter pulled out his dagger and scooted toward her. She calmed her stomach, concentrating on summoning a smile. It came to her, shivering. Dizzily, she turned her back to him. He sawed at the bonds on her wrists until she reminded him, “You can’t cut fairy fabric like that. You’ll have to undo the knots. Hurry, it’s hurting me.” While he worked. she caught glimpses of his pleasant face over her shoulder. Her own face felt like ice.
When the strip of gauze came free, she drew it from his fingers, hand over hand. “I’ll put this where it belongs. Will you light the nightlight? It’s part of the medicine ritual, you know.” She draped the crumpled swath over her shoulders, catching from the corner of her eye her own shadow mimicking her motions on the wall.
Grinning, he darted to the fire. “You don’t need to disguise Hook’s present with that gauze any longer. The gun makes a nice trophy, doesn’t it? But I’ll put it away soon. Can’t have you using it.”
He crouched to light a twig. Looking above him, she scanned the mantel, her stomach convulsing again. Pistol and pouches, the book and the feather. But the Wendy wasn’t sitting up there yet. When Peter turned again, she was tidying the bed.
He rotated once as he flew to the table, as if to flaunt the power of which he had robbed her. Disregarding the gesture, Wendy crept close to him, watching with all her old affection as he lit the shell, and pressing her fists to her belly. She made sure to stroke his fingers with her own as she took the light from his hands and settled on the bed. “Peter, sit here.” She set it on the table and pulled him down next to her. “Listen.” He folded his legs, ready to hear her story.
“You are clever, so clever. You were right, I do appreciate medicine.” She smiled, teasing. “I’ll be making you take yours, next.”
He grimaced happily and wrinkled his nose. “Too bad I broke the bottle!”
She looped the swath of gauze forward and over his head, to lie at the back of his neck. She cocked her head. “I’ll just have to be clever, too, and think up a way for you to take it.” She drew him toward her, and his shadow complied as well. Her smile was genuine now, as she guided him down her path. “So, you see, I can’t give it to you yet.” Looking down, she played with the sash, crossing it in front of him. “You’ll have to wait until the time is right.” Her eyes were bright and her throat acid. Pulling the ends, she coaxed the cross of the sash toward his neck, laughing. “You made me wait, didn’t you? I waited and waited for the time to be right.” Her insides churned.
A foot shuffled at the top of the tree chute. Peter swung toward the sound, and Wendy sped into action. She launched her body against Peter’s, shoving him back until his head hit the bed post with a crack. Yanking the sash tight, she crossed it around the back of the post and tied it off under his chin. He choked, his hands at his throat first, then grabbing at her, his fingernails scraping her arms as she snatched the dagger from his belt and lay back. She rolled off the bed, spun to the hearth, and seized her gun.
She was standing, arms together, legs apart, aiming at the chute when— boots first and swords drawn— into the hideout rushed Nibs the Knife and Tom Tootles.
Wendy lowered her pistol, breathing a sigh of relief. She wore a wonderful smile.
“Thank goodness.… Pirates!”
And she trusted them to plunder the place while she climbed clumsily to the wood, to find relief for her stomach as well.
She hoped they would rob him of everything.
Even his shadow.
Chapter 23
Workings of a Damaged Man
Hook prowled his cabin, his features wild, his angry tread silenced by the carpets. He’d have Starkey’s back in shreds if the new sailors botched it. They’d sworn their oaths, rather sooner than most, and signed the articles, but that didn’t mean those two boys wouldn’t make mistakes. It was a man’s job. But Pan, hiding in his pit and hoarding his plunder, prevented men from entering his front door. Hook snarled. Hindering men was the point of Pan’s existence.
The sea was dead calm, waiting for Wendy. Not a hint of wind stirred his ship. The men on deck were watchful, but mum. Sunlight jabbed itself into the cabin windows, darting in watery patterns where it bounced off the sea onto the ceiling. Points of light on the desk caught his eye. Impatiently, he brushed the fairy’s glitter into a mound, to be recaptured on Smee’s return. Hook had spilled it trying to fly again, but didn’t bother with the effort of gathering it up. He held absolute control over the creature; he could make her give him more without ever turning its power against her. In any case, the trial had been a failure. He needed her here, belonging to him, to make the magic work.
Under threat of the crocodile, his first instinct had been to pull the girl in, to protect her. Even as he’d shouted the order to Smee, the intensity of his own reaction had surprised him. But that boy had set a monster loose and endangered her, again. Hook could fight that beast, but she was like an innocent playing with fire, and ill prepared for its ferocity. He couldn’t lose her now.
And he couldn’t go after her, either. Enraged again, he swept the mound off the desk with his shirtsleeve, sending a shower of sparks flying to the floor. He stepped on them, resuming his pacing.
His eyes still burned. He’d nearly gutted those Indians where they stood. Flying effortlessly over his ship, light as the breeze, and with that reeking clock! The image they’d conjured of the crocodile, and the crash of his sword on the deck had carried him to the edge of his worst memory, sorely tempting him to breach the accord. But her boys were to remain unharmed. She didn’t have to be happy in order to serve him, but Hook was adamant. He would have her no other way. She was no ordinary girl, and only taken willingly would she suit both his pleasure and his purpose.
Hook paused in his pacing to fix his focus on the sea. A gull swooped and dove, rising again with its writhing prey. He mocked himself, smirking. Only he would think of this particular class of warfare as one of his purposes, to be strategized and pursued like victory at sea, another bountiful ship to be grappled, boarded, and plundered. He had applied his famous wiles to catching this prize, and relished the thrill of every skirmish. But the winnings this time were too precious to be looted and squandered. Following the custom of the legendary Captain James Hook, he sought only the richest, rarest prize. His eyes blazed with their bluest intensity now, their burning gone from them to spread throughout his body.
He had resumed his pacing without knowing it, stopping this time to observe his reflection in the glass of his bookcase, his face superimposed over the leather-bound volumes. Transparent, his image blended with the books. He might be real, or he might be a story. A twisted smile slipped over the titles. She was quite a storyteller. The Pirate King fell in love with her, made her his Queen, took her to Paradise.… Not as simple a tale as it sounded, but he had lured her to t
he brink of Paradise already. She had only to connect the segments and speak the tale. Darkness vanquished. The end.
But a hungry, screaming seabird recalled him to the present. His victory wasn’t accomplished yet. She was out there now, at the mercy of his enemy, her enemy. He had forced her there himself, demanding nothing save the truth, teaching her another lesson. He would be glad to have done with children for good and all. As soon as she removed the final obstacle— and drew blood. Red-Hand. He grimaced, and then he laughed. He had already identified the weapon!
He heard boots on the boards, and Smee’s knock.
“Come!” Hook was already there when the door opened. He didn’t stop, he commandeered her along with her shocked expression and swept her in, kicking the door shut with a crack like gunfire. He felt his arms surrounding her softness, smelled the sea in her shining hair, bent to taste her lips, felt her hands pressing against his chest and her head shaking refusal and he didn’t think again at all until he could finally hear her speaking to him.
“Hook… Hook— Captain! Don’t kiss me. I believe I’m poisoned.…”
* * *
“Did you see his eyes? Wendy was right. They turn red!” Lightly had tangled with the pirates beside Peter before, but never witnessed the killing fury of the captain.
Rowan flew low to catch a splash of water and rinse his hot face. “I have heard of it from my mother’s tales, but never believed until today. We must bring his warning to the People, before the sun sets.” They veered away from the water and up the cliff.
Lightly touched down at the top and caught Rowan’s ankles as he passed over, pulling him to earth, laughing as they both tumbled and rolled. Their relief at escaping the pirates lent intensity to their activity, and for a time they gave themselves up to it. Clasped in young lovers’ embraces, they brought each other to the edge of the precipice, where the wind shot up and cooled their faces. Below, the sea sparkled and the spume flew high to fall back against the rocks. When Lightly sat up, he was breathless.
“Now that you can fly with me, we are truly twins of the heart, as your mother foresaw in her dream. And it won’t take long to get back up the mountain. Let’s stop and see my mother on the way.”
Rowan picked himself up and offered Lightly an arm. “It is wonderful to be a bird!” Grabbing on with both hands, he swung around, dragging Lightly in a half circle and flinging him off the cliff. Lightly hung on and they both plunged, feeling the wind whipping their faces and whistling in their ears, relishing the freedom of the fall until the last moment, when they threw out their arms, skimmed over the crests, and arched back up to the woods.
They hoisted their packs, and Lightly led Rowan toward the hideout. “We’ll fly over the trees, this time. I don’t care about being seen so much as I care to watch the air.”
“Yes,” Rowan agreed, “We must keep our eyes sharp for both hawk and crocodile.”
“Hawk? Is that what you call Peter?”
“It is the symbol we use for him in magic rites. Again, I am glad I can fly.”
“I’m not afraid. He’s just a boy.”
They dropped down to approach the hideout on foot, looking around for its inhabitants. No sign of life was evident, and no sound of voices.
“They must be lying low because of the pirates.” Lightly called down the tree chute, “Wendy?” Bending to listen, he received no response. He picked up an acorn and sent it rolling down. He didn’t try to slide down himself; he knew he didn’t fit anymore. “Wendy, it’s me, Slightly!” He might have seen a shadow dart by the bottom of the chute, but he heard nothing. “Let’s go. She’s not there.”
Rowan’s eyes became guarded again. “Lightly. The pirates have taken her, as he commanded.”
“I’m not so sure. Peter will keep her if he can.” But Lightly cast a doubtful look at the secret entrance. The place was too quiet to be the home of boys.
Rowan kept silence, hoping for Lightly’s sake Wendy had accepted no green apples today. “Come. We can do nothing here.”
They rose up over the trees, and Lightly pointed to the red plume in the sky. “There it is again, the smoke we saw earlier. It’s coming from Wendy’s house.”
“I know that place.”
But neither of them knew it now. A parrot screeched as they slipped down into the woods. They stole to the edge of the clearing, spying.
Below the flapping of the chimney hat, the Little Men were sweating, their shoulders broadened and their new muscles working as they hauled lumber to the house and stacked it. They squinted in the direction of the parrot, then turned to smile greeting, standing proudly by the structure that was already emerging from their labors. Two native children were climbing in and out, giggling and pretending to fly through the skeleton of a window. Their two mothers could be seen through the open door preparing food at Wendy’s table, and a dark-haired baby slumbered in a basket in the shade, to the lullaby of the singing stream. Its music had changed, along with the house and its inhabitants.
The parrot floundered down to perch on one Little Man’s shoulder. “Do you like our scout? We trained him to do lookout duty. Come see the place!”
Lightly walked toward them, studying the house. “We were just at the hideout, but no one was there. Have you left home, too?”
The Little Men answered in turns. “No, we’ve come home. When we’re done improving the place, there will be plenty of room for our whole family.”
“We belong with three ladies, now! They treat us a bit differently than Wendy did, but they’re very nice.”
The children stopped their play to stare at the strangers, their pretend wings folded. Rowan joined the others and Lightly gestured toward him. “This is your new brother, my companion, Rowan. We live at the mountain camp, for now.”
Rowan offered his arm to each of them. “I know these women. You are lucky to have found family with each other.”
The women heard, and hurried from the house to greet Rowan with embraces and flashing smiles. One lady sported dimples, the other, long, dark hair. “Rowan, you are here! She is at the stream, getting water.”
Rowan’s gray-glass eyes gleamed. “She is here, as well?”
And then she was next to him, his sister on her back, and Lightly took her pail so she could wrap her strong, soft arms around her first son, and kiss him. But it wasn’t Lily’s nature to stop there; she turned and kissed Lightly, too, and the cold water sloshed over his feet. “Rowan, you have met your twin!” she said.
Lightly set the pail on the ground. “I’m called Lightly now.”
His identical brothers grinned at him. “We have new names, too.”
“We’re called the Little Men.” The parrot flapped its wings as it accepted a nut, and fluttered in a rainbow to its tree.
The first two women looked at the twins sideways, flirting. “Not so little, any more!” And they laughed, shooed the children back to their game, and returned to the house.
“Come, sit down.” Stepping toward the fire pit in the center of the clearing, Lily beckoned the four young men to follow, and they sat on the logs arranged in a circle around it. Rowan lifted his sister from his mother’s back and set her to crawl in the grass at their feet.
“She is growing!”
Lily observed her son, and his three brothers. “So are you all. Your new lives are bringing you up quickly. You are nearly ready for your rituals.” Her eyes lingered on the twins, and the two young men blushed at the admiration in her regard.
Lightly leaned toward them. “Nibs and Tootles have chosen new lives, too. We saw them aboard the Jolly Roger. They’ve joined Hook’s crew!”
The Little Men looked at each other with raised eyebrows. For a moment they pondered, then they turned to Lily, who spread her hands in encouragement, and they made up their minds. “We have joined the Indians…”
“Why shouldn’t they join the pirates?”
Lily looked pleased. “Each must follow his own path to happiness. As you see, even br
others may choose different ways. Yet you remain brothers.”
Rowan had been considering Lightly. “I, too, have seen us growing. As for my sister, look at her red hair! When you come back to the People, Mother, she will be a flame among burnt logs.”
“She already is, Rowan. That is why we are here.” She smiled, and Lightly missed Wendy again.
But Rowan’s features set, and he straightened. “Mother, the council is speaking of her today, and of you.”
“Let them speak. I knew the meaning of my choice.”
The baby began to fret, and Rowan picked her up. “Shall you come back if they invite you?”
“Not to wear ashes and raise her in shame.”
Rowan bounced the little girl, and she sucked on her fingers. A shadow dimmed his face as he watched her, thinking. “You have brought forth life. How does this bring shame to any of us?”
His mother chuckled and reached for the baby. “My Rowan, questioning the elders? You are growing!” She pulled up the waist of her dress and put the baby to her breast, but her smile quickly faded. “Those who look for shame will surely find it.” The red head bobbed as the baby suckled. “Especially in those things that bring pleasure.”
Rowan said hopefully, “The Old woman may yet prevail over the council. But I am glad to find you in a good place.”
“We managed well enough before, but it is better now that the good captain has seen to our needs. I have no worries, except for you.” Her gaze moved to study Lightly, and then she decided. “No, Rowan, I have no worries even for you any longer.”
Lightly was studying Lily, too, uncertainly. “The good captain? Hook?”
“Yes, He of the Eagle’s Claw. We had no true home until he directed us here, to our Little Men. Now we are all under his protection.” The former Lost Boys exchanged glances, confused. Rowan read their expressions and turned to his mother.
“Like your Little Men, Lightly used to be one of the Golden Boy’s pack. His mother is the woman who came to tame the wild boys. She belonged to the boy, as well. Her sons are concerned because the Black Chief has laid claim to her.”