Shadow

by Kara Swanson

  Paige nods. “As agreed.”

  I take a deep breath and go up to Connor, who is still standing at the edge of the bluff, a few feet away from his sister. He is facing me, dark irises burrowing into mine.

  “What do you want to do with the island? With my bond?”

  His gaze visibly clears, and for the first time since I arrived, I can actually see the color of his irises. Blue, like Claire’s. “I want what you had. To forget all the shadows and undo all . . . this.” He gestures to his face and then out at the island around us.

  My brows rise. “That’s actually not a terrible idea.” But something seems off. I try to read my sister’s expression, to filter out if Connor is being truthful, but her face is only a cold, blank slate.

  Well, I guess there’s only one way to find out if things can get any worse.

  You can’t heal a wound with a blade. Glimmer’s words surface. They sound like something my mother would have said—now that I remember her.

  Mother would have liked Glimmer too. She always used to say that even when it may seem impossible, there’s always a way out. That magic lurks in the unexpected places.

  I hope she’s right.

  Turning back to Connor, I slowly reach out a hand to him. His eyes brighten as he grabs it.

  I created this island.

  And to rescue my Pixie-Girl, I may have to lose it.

  But I do have a knack for bringing lost things home again.

  I clasp Connor’s hand hard and meet his hungry gaze. “This is not over,” I inform him.

  Before the surprise can flicker in his eyes, I give the storybook villain everything he wants.

  I close my eyes, reaching deep for that connection to the island. For the hum of magic that has always pulsed in time to my heartbeat. Hello, love, I whisper to Neverland. I know I haven’t always cared for you like I should, and I promise this isn’t the end. I’ve got at least one more trick up my sleeve. I’ll be back. Just always be waiting.

  And with that, I let go. Let go of this place that has been my sanctuary forever. Let go of the island that was like my own reflection where I gave lost things a place to belong.

  Because there’s one Lost Girl I have to save.

  My whole body goes icy cold as the connection wanes and snaps to an end. Part of me wants to go find a tree to hide behind and have a good cry.

  But there’s no time for that.

  I wrench my hand out of Connor’s. He glows with the injection of magic I just gave him. The pelter of rain vanishes, and a huge streak of lightning cuts across the sky.

  I can no longer feel the hum of the island under my feet. But Neverland pitches and bows as Connor stares at his hands, as if seeing something new—and I know he’s definitely feeling it.

  I have a tinge of regret in missing every pulse of my body being a cacophony that this whole island is singing along to. But I shake it off and go quickly to Claire as the vines holding her down fall away. I grab her hand, a thrill racing through me as she looks at me, eyes wide.

  “I can’t believe you did that! But, Peter, they’re not—”

  “Not going to actually let us go?” I wink at her, pulling her close. “I know. That’s why I’ve got another idea.”

  She bites her lip, glancing around me at her brother who has turned his attention on us. “He won’t just let us fly away.”

  “Who said anything about flying?”

  “If not flying—then what’s your plan?”

  “The unexpected.” And with that, I toss Claire over the edge of the cliff. Her shocked cry echoes as she falls and crashes into the water below, avoiding the rocks, but landing a little too close to the croc for comfort.

  I take a step back so that my heels are hanging off the edge of the bluff and mock salute Connor. “Take good care of my island, would you? I’ll be back for her.”

  And with that, I leap backward and plummet after Claire.

  I twist midair just before I hit the surface and sink in feet first. I slice through the water like a human-sized bullet, surrounded by bubbles and icy depths. I kick my feet, hands churning as I try to peer through the icy water as I swim away from the bluff.

  Where’s Claire?

  Suddenly, I see her. She’s a few feet ahead of me, suspended underwater, her hair floating around her. Staring at the face of the massive crocodile.

  It’s submerged just in front of her, large reptilian eyes watching her unblinking. I’ve never seen it so calm with anyone before. Even when I’ve interacted with the beast, I’ve had to remind it who’s boss to keep it at bay. But it seems enamored with Claire as her golden dust ignites the water all around us.

  She reaches out and gently places a hand against its muzzle. The same massive jaw that I’d fed Hook’s hand to nuzzles closer to her hand, and the creature gives a little murmur.

  Well, blarmy. Claire’s got herself a pet croc.

  Suddenly, a webbed hand grabs my wrist. I look down to see a familiar pair of round eyes and dark, seaweed-like hair crossing her face. A dozen other sirens suddenly come into view, filling the water around us with their obsidian scales and swishing tails. Several reach for Claire, and her expression fills with panic.

  I wave, trying to gesture for her to calm down.

  The crocodile eyes the sirens but gives them space. My lungs are beginning to scream, but suddenly the sirens are grabbing Claire and me and dragging us through the water. Deeper and deeper.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were dragging us to our watery deaths.

  Thankfully, the sirens are here for an entirely different reason.

  Nyssa’s grip on my arm grows tighter as she tilts her head to bare her sharp teeth at me. “You owe us, Pan.”

  That’s where she’s wrong. If I can actually pull this off, this whole bloomin’ island is going to owe me.

  Neverland

  At first I’m afraid the sirens are trying to drown us.

  I shiver at their glassy, too-large eyes. There’s something familiar about the depth in those round orbs. One of them drifts nearer, purses her lips together, and blows out an air bubble. It bobbles in the water, sort of bluish tinted—and then the siren gestures to my mouth with a webbed hand.

  They want me to eat it?

  I reach out and hesitantly plop the bubble inside my mouth. It immediately pops—and I can breathe. It’s as if there’s a strange coating that fills my mouth and crawls up my throat to my nose. When I inhale water, it’s like breathing oxygen.

  What kind of weird magic is this?

  There are two sirens on either side of me, and they grab my arms once more, nodding at me, before they’re swimming again. They pull me along at an amazing speed, ripples streaking past us through the onslaught of water. As I let them pull me, I take in these incredible creatures.

  I thought seeing the pixies for the first time was incredible, but seeing the sirens is unreal.

  Their bodies are covered in a graying skin, with slender, shimmering dark scales that skim over their forearms and up their shoulders. Gills are visible on their necks, when their long, wavy hair that moves with a life of its own shifts enough to see them.

  These eerie creatures are breathtaking. Glossy dark scales ripple down the curves of their tails, rimmed with thin ridges and tapering into wide, flickering fins at the end. They swim with such languid, forceful movements that it’s almost hypnotic.

  They feel so familiar somehow.

  My mind must be boggled to have not connected it immediately.

  I’m half siren.

  I gasp underwater. The sirens glance back at me, and I muster a little smile. They whisk us through the depths, changing directions a few times through the seemingly never-ending expanse of dark Neversea, and finally we are near the island again.

  They aim upward and toward the lightening water above. We break the surface, cresting with small waves that break over our heads. I wipe saltwater from my eyes and try to orient myself. One of the sirens lets go of me,
the other has a webbed hand around my waist and is pulling me forward.

  We’re in some kind of small inlet. Steep cliffs circle around us, and we are hedged by tress and dangling vegetation that hides this little lagoon from sight of anyone traversing the island.

  Little lagoon . . .

  The siren pushes me toward one of the outcroppings of rock that juts from the sea floor, and I scramble up to sit on the flat plateau. While I take in a deep breath of pure air and feel that odd coating fading from my mouth, I finally survey the surroundings.

  The mermaids’ lagoon.

  Or the sirens’ hidden cavern.

  The curve of the inlet is made from some kind of gleaming clay. Instead of the reddish color I expect, this has an opaline sheen and almost looks purple. The sirens have certainly made use of it.

  They’ve carved small seats out of the towering face of clay, dozens of little nooks and crannies where they can sit with their tails dipping in the water as they sun themselves. But it’s not just the little alcoves and small clay slides that are etched into the clay walls. There are also beautiful murals. Polished rocks and seashells and gleaming scales and fish bones have been pressed into the purple surface, making an expansive work of art that curves around us. I gaze at the shapes of curling tails, massive sea creatures I don’t recognize, and various underwater seascapes.

  The glint of the sun ricochets off the water, reflecting off the sheen of the scales and polished murals, and casts the entire lagoon in an array of dancing colors.

  “Wow.”

  “Claire, are you all right?” At Peter’s voice, I find him sitting on one of the little carved-out seats. He runs a finger over one of the shells pressed into the wall behind him. The movement is absent and familiar, like he’s studied these murals and sat among the sirens dozens of times.

  Hoping that the aquatic creatures maintain their streak of being peaceful, I slide off the rock. The sirens circle around, watching closely, but the hungry look I see in their eyes when they look at Peter seems to vanish when it is turned to me. All I see is curiosity and a sense of respect—as if they recognize I belong here too.

  I give them a hesitant smile and strike through the chilly water toward Peter. He sits with his back pressed against the curve of the towering cliff, and from the way his jaw is clenched tight, I can tell the wounds have begun bleeding again. I spot four pools of crimson staining his hoodie. He must be in a lot of pain. Still, he reaches a hand down for me.

  I take it, and he pulls me to sit beside him. I don’t let go right away, though, and scoot a bit closer. We sit side by side on the carved ledge of clay.

  I squeeze his hand. “Peter, I can’t thank you enough for what you did. Giving up your connection to the island was not a small thing. I still can’t believe you did it and”—my voice gets small—“did it for me.”

  He gives me that sideways grin. “I’m not sure I can believe it.” He hangs his head a bit. “But I had to do something, especially after lying to you for so long . . . and everything with Connor . . .”

  I nod, not sure what to say other than, “Thank you.” I hold his chilled hand a little tighter. After a moment, he gently eases away and wraps both arms around his chest.

  Peter has certainly looked better. His skin is far too ashen, and his hoodie is getting even more saturated with blood.

  “Please,” I ask the sirens that have swum up to us. “Can you help him?” This wound is too deep for even my dust to heal. We need to stop the bleeding and patch him up.

  One of the sea creatures flicks her tail and lifts out of the water to rest her arms on the ledge where we sit. Her round eyes regard us.

  “Because you asked—yes.”

  Peter’s eyelids flutter, and he glances down at her. “Thank you, Nyssa.”

  She nods and makes some quick, high-pitched clicking noises to the other sirens. A handful of them disappear beneath the waves, to return a few minutes later bearing some kind of gauzy mesh and a variety of strange underwater plant life.

  “Shirt off,” Nyssa orders Peter.

  “Let me help you.” I kneel on the hard-packed clay and help Peter out of his hoodie and the shirt beneath. His smooth, tanned skin has more scars than I remember. Several look very recent. Four jagged holes are raw and bleeding, most on his abdomen with one on his shoulder.

  “Good. Now move. I’ll do the rest,” Nyssa tells me.

  “You’re sure I can’t help?”

  She shakes her head, dark hair swirling. I glance at Peter, and he nods.

  I slide back into the cold water, teeth chattering, and find another nearby seat cut into the curving clay wall. I watch as Nyssa perches beside Peter and begins treating his wounds. Other sirens glide closer, handing her various things. Her tail swishes as it spills over the side of the ledge.

  “Eat this,” she tells Peter, putting a strange-looking, prickled underwater fruit of some kind in his mouth.

  He bites into it, releasing juices that streak down his chin. He makes a face. “That’s nasty!”

  “It’s for the pain.” She quickly cleans each cut, wiping away blood, and I’m amazed at how fast her webbed fingers are. She fills each puncture with a mottled green mixture and then scrapes a chunk of clay from the wall and packs his wounds with that. The bleeding has been stopped, but Peter’s face is white, body tight.

  She finally wraps his whole chest with a seaweed-type bandage and then leans back to survey her work.

  I lean forward for a better look. “You’re done?”

  Nyssa nods and launches herself off the ledge to disappear beneath the water. I swim over to climb up on the ledge beside Peter. I lean my back against the clay wall, my legs hanging off the end of the shelf.

  Sirens still surround us, more than I can even make out from the overcast sky and the way they blend effortlessly into the water. But I can see their soaked, stringy dark hair and dark and reflective eyes as their webbed hands keep them afloat.

  Peter rallies enough energy to pull his hoodie back on over the strange poultice and stretchy, mossy substance packing his wounds.

  “Are you feeling any better?”

  He rubs a hand over his cheek, wiping off some dried clay that has stuck there. “Still hurts like blazes, but yeah, it’s a little better.”

  “Good.” I lean in and look right into those green irises. “Because I have a lot of questions, and this time you are going to be completely honest with me.”

  There’s a spark in his half smirk. “Yes ma’am.”

  The windchill has begun to get to me, so I pull my knees to my chest and muster a bit of pixie dust to warm myself. I can hear the swishing fins as the sirens drift in a little closer. Their eyes gleam as they’re transfixed by my show of dust.

  But it’s Peter who has all my attention.

  “First off, how did you get here? Secondly, is Paige really your sister? Why does she hate you so much?”

  He winces, but not from his freshly treated wounds. “I was a blasted idiot for lying to you so bloomin’ much in London. I honestly thought that if you knew the truth, you’d never help me. More than that”—his shoulders slump—“I couldn’t bear to tell you about Connor. So, I lied.” He squints at me, waiting for a response, but when I can’t muster one, he sighs. “To answer your questions: Jeremy had some pixie dust—just enough to get me here. And Paige . . .” He takes a deep breath. “Paige is my sister.”

  I rub at my shoulders to generate some warmth. “I was stuck in that cell for a long time, Peter. And it gave me time to think.” His eyes deepen and he starts to speak, but I hush him. “I don’t entirely trust you, but I think I understand. I honestly don’t think I can fix any of this without your help. I’m . . . out of my depth.” I lift my hand out for him to shake. “So, if you promise no more secrets, I guess I’ll consent to being partners.”

  That lights up his whole face. “Absolutely! Yes, yes.” He practically shakes my arm off. “Tellin’ truth—that’s my new middle name.”

&nb
sp; I actually laugh at that. “All right, well, now’s a good time to start.”

  And so he does. He quickly explains about the pixie dust from Jeremy, finding Tootles, and the insane series of events that led him to me. When he gets to Paige, his whole expression changes. I can’t place it—it’s like a mixture of bewilderment and pain and yearning.

  “I honestly couldn’t remember her before, but it’s all trickling back now. Especially without my connection to the island—nothing to lock it all away anymore. And I have a blasted headache to prove it.”

  “So . . . what happened to her?”

  He doesn’t answer for a long time. Instead he rubs the back of his neck, glancing anywhere but at me, gaze skimming the lagoon filled with sirens still watching us, tails swishing beneath inky water.

  “No secrets? Even the bad ones?”

  I nod and take his hand, trying to pour some of my warmth into his clammy skin. “No secrets. I can handle it all.”

  When did I become so gentle with him? When did all the anger I’d been storing up for months suddenly disappear?

  I know the answer. When Peter gave up his whole island for me.

  He’s growing. That realization sends shockwaves through me.

  Peter takes in a deep breath, stares down at the water, and his voice is quiet but rough as he speaks. “Paige was my older sister. Four years difference. She came to Neverland with me the first time, all those years ago. She was the first Lost Girl. She helped me create the island and was connected to it too. Kinda like you and Connor.”

  “What happened?”

  He rubs his temples. “She fell in love with Hook. Though he was just James back then, one of the first and oldest of the Lost Boys. She fell for him and started to grow up, and so did James. I hated that.”

  I sit completely still, watching his pale, freckled face intently. “I had a big argument with Paige and James. So I tossed James in the water and fed his arm to the croc.” He blinks quickly, like he’s fighting back tears. “Paige screamed at me to stop. Said he couldn’t swim. But I was too brassed off to care. So I stormed away, and my anger sent the whole island into a monsoon. The waves from the Neversea were huge.”