Wicked as a Pixie (Daughters of Neverland Book 3)

by Kendra Moreno

  Movement from our right catches my eyes and I stare at the two men stepping forward, their great horns curling high. We all grow silent as they move closer. They each hold crude knives, the metal misshapen and handmade by someone with no skills of metal making, but the edges are sharp. We all tense, but when they only turn the blades around and offer them to Wendy, we watch closely. Wendy’s face turns white when they hand over the metal weapons. The intention is clear.

  To open the door, Wendy must sacrifice the brothers she thought she already lost.

  For the first time, I feel pity. Not because Wendy needs it, but because I can feel her pain as the thought weasels it’s way inside her mind, as she realizes the new option. What will be more painful: sacrificing the man you finally found love with or sacrificing the brothers you’ve tried to save over and over again?

  “What are you doing?” Wendy asks.

  The edge grows closer but none of us let our panic interrupt. This isn’t something we can rush. We still have a few minutes, the collapsing edge steady in its fall. We can still make it before the edge starts swallowing our people. In every direction we look, an edge grows closer, coming into the central point of the door. There’s no longer sea where the edge falls away, only unending, thick darkness.

  To save us all, Wendy’s going to have to sacrifice a piece of her heart she never realized she carried. We all watch silently, even the Crocodile who stands off to the side watching everything warily.

  “Do it, Wendy,” John, the one with ram horns says, his eyes focused on his sister. “Do it and break free from your cage.”

  “Do it and save them all.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  WENDY DARLING

  When I first came to Neverland and held a blade, my hand shook hard as I held it out threateningly towards the pirate at my side. I made sure my hands didn’t shake after that, made sure from then on, no one else would ever see me weak.

  As I stand before the brothers I thought were no longer my brothers, as they hand me their knives, my hands shake so badly, I can barely hold onto the blades at all. Tears I’ve been holding back start to trickle over my lashes, slowly, nowhere near what I should be for the situation, but years and years of suppressing the emotions have done their damage.

  “We’re nothing more than beasts,” Michael says, his eyes still the same even with growing up and being Lost. “It should be easy.”

  Their voices are just like my brother’s, and though they’re older now, they’re still the two little boys I fought to save, the two boys I tried to desperately give them a better life. Everything in me revolts against Michael’s words, and though I’m pressed against the door, I’m not sure I can stand on my own without the support.

  “If you were nothing more than beasts, you would have never offered,” I croaked, studying them both closely. Michael, with his great antelope horns reaching for the sky, horns that signify his status among the Lost as one of the highest, stands relaxed. John, with large ram horns taking up his head until I wonder how he balances, looks much the same. Both keep their gaze focused on me, waiting for anything I have to say. “You’ve had plenty of opportunity to kill me over and over again, but you didn’t.” It suddenly dawns on me that my brothers weren’t only Lost. They were The Lost, the leaders of the camp. There’s a reason they were able to hold the others back each time. “And you helped me out of Skull Rock, and then helped Tiger and March when you found out they were my friends.” My eyes focus on Michael, and though he doesn’t smile, I see something flash in his eyes.

  “Did I?” he asks, doing all the right movements to show confusion, but he forgot his eyes. I was always able to tell when Michael was telling a fib, and here he is, technically a beast, still telling lies.

  “I don’t know how you did. I don’t know how your soul was there while you were here, but I know what I saw. I know the difference between the phantoms on Skull Rock and my little brother helping me escape them.” I stare down at the knives in my hands, crudely shaped into daggers. “I can’t kill you,” I whisper. My hands start to shake harder.

  “You must, Wendy,” John says, moving closer. “It’s the only way. Do it.”

  Michael steps forward beside John, both of their eyes trained on me. “It’s what must be done, big sister.”

  Everyone else is silent, watching what transpires between us, watching me battle with myself. The edge grows closer, our time running out, but they don’t rush me. They know this is my battle to be had. Even the Crocodile stands back, not saying a word, probably waiting for his moment to either make it through the door or fall into the blackness.

  “I can’t.”

  “Wendy—”

  “I can’t!” I scream, my fingers spasming around the blades. Tears begin to fall more quickly from my eyes now, turning into crystals before they’ve even dripped from my face, dropping to the ground and leaving small bits of sparkle. I feel as if I’m collapsing in on myself, my heart throbbing painfully in my chest until I can hear it in my ears, until it turns into a roar.

  When a hand gently cups my shoulder, I look over at Hook where he offers his strength. In my mind, I know there’s only one option before us. Sacrifice. The moment the word was spoken, it rang true in my mind. White said I would know when we figured it out, and the moment we started speaking of sacrifice, I knew without a doubt it would take something tragic to open the door at my back.

  I straighten, even with tears free flowing down my face, and take strength from my Star Captain, trying desperately to face this without complete collapse, but I know, if I do this, I’ll never recover. Two sets of Darling blue eyes meet mine, accepting of their fate, perhaps, always accepting. I take a great rattling breath, but I don’t raise my hands. I can’t, not yet. I don’t know if I have the strength for this.

  Another hand joins Hook, and another, and another, until not only Tink and Tiger offer strength, but all the Wonderlanders, anyone close enough to offer strength. Our people stand behind us, raising their hands in the air in the symbol my crew uses to offer support. Hands raised, ring finger down to palm, thumb curled over it, so only three fingers stand. My tears come so fast, my vision grows blurry, but I see everything clearly.

  I see the only path.

  All of Neverland and Wonderland offer me their strength, but still my hands shake violently while I hold the knives in my hands. I understand there will be no picking a brother. It’ll have to be both. I know it so certainly that it can only be knowledge from the Gods who play with us, from the Fate who uses us like pawns. Angry, Flam had called Neverland. I’m starting to think the same thing.

  “You’ve always been so much more human, Wendy,” Michael says, reaching out a steady hand to cover the fist holding the knife before him. “And because of you, we stayed a little human, too.”

  “But we’re still Lost,” John says. “No better than monsters, and we were never meant to leave this rock.” John grabs my other fist, steadying me, until I’m being supported by not only those around me, but by the brothers I’d always thought dead.

  The world begins to buckle and loosen beneath our feet, and though the edge isn’t to our people yet, it’ll be there in barely a minute, those at the ends holding their loved ones and resigned to their fate.

  “You’re running out of time,” John murmurs.

  “You’re still my brothers,” I croak.

  “And we always have been.”

  “We always will be, Wendy,” Michael corrects, something like a smile crossing his face. “But now it’s time for you to spread your humanity in the new world merging. You’re meant to live.”

  “Don’t let this be your last stand,” John adds, tilting his head.

  I take a deep breath, and though I have the strength of everyone around me, though the tears continue to fall from my eyes, something tells me to kneel. Slowly, I lower myself to the ground, down to my knees, and without prompting, my brothers follow. Even with their horns and their twisted features, even with th
e monstrosities they appear, I release the daggers to pull them close, to hug them one more time. It’s been so long since I’ve held them, so long I can barely remember what it’s like without large horns making it difficult, but it unfurls something inside me, something that I know will make this more painful.

  When I lean back, I know we’re out of time, but before I can steel myself, John and Michael urge my hands to take the blades again. There’s no hesitation, and perhaps, that’s because my brothers know I won’t be able to do it alone. Perhaps, they know I’ll kneel here hesitating forever if I’m able to. Either way, they wrap their hands tightly around mine. They’re strong; I’m not sure I could jerk away if I tried, but I don’t. Even if it kills me inside, I know what I must do.

  Michael and John lean back from me, and before I can speak any words, without any sound coming from their lips at all, they jerk me forward, the blades plunging into their chests. Though they’re crudely made, they’re sharp, and there’s no resistance as they slide beneath skin and bone, down to the hearts beating in their chests. Blood wells around my hands as their hands drop from mine. John’s eyes close first, but Michael holds on just a few seconds longer. His cornflower blue eyes meet mine, and though blood drips from the corner of his lips, he manages to speak one more time.

  “We’ve never blamed you, big sister,” he chokes. “We only. . .ever loved. . .you.”

  I catch them before they can fall.

  The high keen that rips from my throat isn’t human.

  The feel of my heart shattering in my chest makes sure of that.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  There are many things I realized as Wendy’s high keen cut through the sounds of a crumbling world.

  One: Wendy is indeed the most human of us all, and though I used to think that a weakness, it proves to be her strength. Because she’s always remained in touch with her humanity, because she never gave into the darkness of Neverland, her brothers were able to stay human enough in the end to help her one last time, just as she once tried to help them.

  Two: Wendy is also a Daughter, and though pain of momentous amounts fill her body, though her tears fill to the brim and overflow into crystals at her feet, she tucked her brothers against her, careful of their horns, while reaching back to smear their blood across the bottom of the door.

  Three: Neverland has a cruel sense of humor, because the moment Wendy touches the door with her brothers’ blood, the blood of brothers she thought she lost only to realize they still stayed a little human for her, still the Darling boys, the door cracks wide with a sound like thunder. Light shines through the crack, inviting us to enter whatever waits on the other side.

  There’s no time to wait. Though Wendy still clutches her brothers at the threshold of the door, it’s plenty big enough for us to move forward. Atlas props me against the nearest scorched tree and together with Hook, Tiger, and the others, they shove the large door open, letting more of the light spill out around us, bleeding back the darkness even as the edge crawls closer. Hook glances through the door—to make sure there’s nothing dangerous, I assume—before Tiger takes the place of our hurting sister and begins ushering our people through the opening as quickly as possible, just in time for them to avoid the edge swallowing the island piece by piece.

  Carefully, so slowly it makes me ache, I move to Wendy’s side, falling to the dirt beside her when my energy gives out. I’m careful not to disturb the lifeless forms of her brothers, careful not to stare too long as she closes Michael’s eyes for the last time, hiding the cornflower blue from sight. I know what it’ll be like when we leave, the pain she’ll feel when she looks in a mirror, and it’s the sacrifice she’s given for us to live. Though I’m in physical pain, though there’s a horror at a pixie losing her wings—I avoid the pity in my people’s eyes as they pass—it’s nothing compared to what Wendy is going through. To be the hand that must kill a loved one, and in Wendy’s case, two, is to rip your own heart out and toss it away.

  Atlas stands behind me, making sure there’s a wide berth between us and those rushing through the door to the other side, a silent sentinel watching over us and counting down the minutes before we’re out of time.

  With shaking fingers, I reach out towards Wendy and cup her chin. My fingers are stained with the blood of our enemies, but as Daughters, we’re well acquainted with the crimson color. I lift her swollen and tear-streaked face until eyes darkened to a raging storm meet mine. I let her see everything reflected there, the care I have for her. Through it all, Wendy, Tiger Lily, and I are connected, and I can feel her pain in my chest as much as I feel the crystal heart dying.

  “I’ve never seen you cry so, Daughter,” I murmur, reaching up to brush a few tears yet to crystallize from her cheek. “And I’ve never seen you more human.” I hide my grimace as I shift, the white fire of the wounds in my back shooting through my body. “I know you’re hurting, but we need you to be strong for just a few minutes longer. I’m here to offer you my strength, to lend you my hand so we can leave this place together.” I reach over towards a flower thick with thorns—a product of the Dark Side—and rip it from the ground, uncaring when the thorns rip into the palms of my hands. “When we leave Neverland for good, I’ll sit with you in the darkness and mourn your loss.”

  “As will I,” Tiger says, offering her own strength as she ushers the last of our people through. Only us, Hook, and the Wonderlandians remain now.

  “As will I,” Hook rasps, aching to go to the woman he loves, to take her in his arms and hold her tight.

  The others repeat the words, offering our strength where we’re able. The Crocodile still stands off to one side, watching, not daring to rush for a door he’d never make it through with so many of us still here.

  I hand her the flower and she takes it. Though it’s a cruel, beautiful thing, she shifts until her brothers are laying opposite, their heads resting on each other’s shoulder, before laying the thorny bloom on Michael’s chest. When I hand her another, she does the same for John. She stares at them as if they’re not the monsters they became, but rather, the boys they once were, the men they could have been had Neverland not warped them beyond repair. Never again would they be monsters in Wendy’s eyes. I don’t think they could be monsters in any of our eyes after what we witnessed.

  “It’s only us left,” Tiger murmurs, nodding to the Wonderlandians. “You all should go through.”

  March scowls. “And not make sure you can step through the door? I know what you’re doing, Pretty Lily.”

  She frowns and looks at the door, hesitates, before taking a single step over the threshold. Neverland lets her, and we all breathe a sigh of relief as she steps back again. There’d been the thought that we might not be allowed to leave. As Wendy would say, a captain always goes down with her ship. I feel weak with blood loss and the heart dying of Neverland, but I don’t feel on the verge of death. Perhaps, it’s only our link that will be severed and nothing more.

  “Go,” Tiger orders. “We’ll be right behind you.” When her eyes flick to the Crocodile, I understand why she waits even as the edge grows closer and closer.

  March presses a fierce kiss against her lips, almost angry. “If you don’t step through that door, Pretty Lily, I’ll dive right back after you.”

  “I know,” she murmurs, pressing her forehead against his briefly. “I’ll be right there.”

  Atlas narrows his eyes on me. “Do you have enough strength to walk through?”

  “If you help me up, at the very least, I can fall through the opening.” I mean it as a joke, but Atlas doesn’t smile.

  “I’ll help her,” Tiger says. “Can you watch Aniya until I come through? She has Bear and her creatures, but I’d feel better with someone as powerful as you minding her.”

  “Of course.” Atlas reaches down strong arms and lifts me without effort, letting me brace myself on the frame of the door, the edges of myself over the threshold even as I stand in Neverland. “Don’t take long,�
� he warns. “You have only a matter of minutes.”

  I know he’s right, the edge crawling closer at a rapid rate now, so I look up at him and smile, even with the pain in my body. “I love you, Berserker,” I rasp, the words spilling from my mouth without hesitation, just in case. Some part of me worries that I could still be trapped here forever, and just in case, I don’t want to regret not saying the emotion out loud.

  His eyes harden, knowing why I say the words, but still, he leans down and presses a quick kiss to my lips. “I love you, too, Pixie. Now get your ass on the other side as quickly as possible. I’ll be waiting to catch you.”

  He steps back into the light, and I have to look away or suffer burned retinas in addition to my shorn off wings.

  Wendy presses against me, her heels over the threshold just like mine, but Tiger stands in front of us, her eyes riveted to the Crocodile where he stands in his human form. His expression is sad as he looks at his sister, agony written there, perhaps every regret he’s ever had filling him just as mine do.

  Tiger looks back and meets our eyes, indecision in her gaze. “He’s monstrous,” she says, “but he could learn to be better.”

  I nod, understanding why she stands between one decision and the next. Even with everything he’s done—though, I suspect he didn’t intend to kill Neverland—Wolfbane is still Tiger’s brother. I know Wendy agrees, would always agree, after watching her own brothers become less monstrous in her eyes.

  “Without the power of Neverland or his bond to the land, he could change,” I croak, my throat thick with pain. “There’s a chance he’s been corrupted by his deal and that leaving this world will change that.” I don’t say the words we’re all thinking, that it could have the same effect it’s had on Peter when he grew up. Sometimes, realizing what you’ve done is a far more brutal darkness than when you live there.

  “It’s your decision to make, Chieftess,” Wendy rasps, her voice so thick, it’s almost hard to understand her.