Planet Neverland: A Space Age Fairy Tale (Star-Crossed Tales)

by J. M. Page

  He'd been so wrapped up in the lost performers, in Hook and keeping the show going, that he'd forgotten what made him love Neverland so much in the first place. Maybe she could help him remember. Maybe her brothers could help him recapture his long-forgotten youthful exuberance. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

  The glass pod drifted lower now, dipping below the highest levels of cloud cover to bring more of the city into view.

  "Wow," one of the boys said.

  "Wow is right," echoed the other.

  Wendy remained silent, her eyes glued to the windows as the glass vehicle coasted down further.

  "Are you going right to the theater?" Tink asked, pointedly pretending there was no one else here besides them. He didn't know what had gotten into her lately, but he was going to have to have a talk with her about it. If they were going to be collecting new recruits — and keeping them — Tink needed an attitude adjustment. Peter wasn't too worried about it, though. She'd always been a fickle one, but loyal to a fault — to him at least.

  They drifted lower and lower and Peter simply gave her a nod as they neared a nondescript square building, a port in the ceiling opening up to swallow them.

  The craft was cast in darkness and there was a noise behind him.

  "Hey, knock it off," one of the boys said, audibly hitting his brother.

  "I didn't do anything," the other argued, joining the scuffle.

  Peter didn't bother to look behind him, he only took a deep breath, wondering what exactly he'd gotten himself into. He'd dealt with many difficult performers in his time, but these two seemed like more of a handful than anything he'd ever experienced. For just a moment, he was really glad Wendy was there.

  A sharp smack sounded once, and then a second time, and when the lights came on in the garage, both boys were rubbing the back of their head scowling.

  "What'd you do that for?" Michael groused.

  Wendy pursed her lips, folding her arms over her chest. "If you two can't behave, I'm sure Peter would have no problem sending us all back home," she said, her eyes catching his across the space. He saw something there — a plea to go along with it — and he had to shove back the giddy grin that bubbled up. Instead, he cleared his throat and tried his best to look imposing and authoritative, straightening his spine and puffing out his chest.

  "Your sister is right. Shape up or ship out," he said sternly. That was a thing grown-ups said, right? Though he'd been an adult for some time, Peter never really had to be a 'grown-up.' That word implied responsibility and stoicism in his mind. Two things Neverland was not about.

  The boys' bickering fell silent and they looked at Peter like he'd just crushed all their dreams. He felt a momentary pang of guilt, but if it helped keep them focused, it was worth it.

  Even if it didn't help keep them focused, it was worth it for the gratitude shimmering in Wendy's gaze as she silently mouthed 'Thank you.'

  The glass elevator touched the ground, making their knees all buckle at once, and then the door opened, revealing a big empty concrete warehouse full of more glass chutes. There was one lone security guard at the door, snoozing with music playing in the background.

  "Aren't they worried about people stealing these?" John asked, stepping out and circling the little pod thoughtfully.

  "Course not. They're programed to stay right here until space opens up at the port authority. Besides, they're pretty useless for anything else. There are better ways to travel around Neverland," Peter said.

  "I'll say," Tink grumbled, testing the ground with a happy sigh. "I'll meet you there, yeah? I need to shake off this heavy feeling," she said to Peter, waltzing past the security guard towards the front door.

  "What did she mean by that?" Wendy asked.

  Peter waved her off. "I'll explain later. For now, let's go show you three the theater."

  Chapter Seven

  Wendy

  They walked through a series of tunnels without ever stepping onto the city street. That in itself was odd enough to Wendy, but when she asked Peter why, he'd given her the same answer as before: 'I'll explain later.'

  Eventually, after every question was met with the same answer, she gave up on asking anything at all.

  Peter stopped before a grand double door. The face of the door was carved with a lush tropical scene that looked so real she could step into it. Gold inlay glittered around the perimeter and the huge door pulls — each one as long as Wendy's arm — gleamed with highly-polished gold as well. He seemed to be pausing for effect, letting them all take in the craftsmanship of the door.

  Wendy rocked on the balls of her feet, the toes of her sneakers sinking into plush emerald carpet.

  "Is this it?" John asked, leaning in close to examine the carving.

  Michael was busy looking around at the rest of the lobby area, eyeing the ticket booth at the front and the velvet ropes blocking off the exit to the street.

  "It is," Peter said. "This space will be where you live, work, and play while you're with me. So, welcome home," he said, pushing the enormous double doors open.

  Michael didn't even wait until the door was all the way open before he darted past Peter and ran around the theater, taking everything in. John entered in a more casual stroll, but Wendy knew him well enough to see the little skip in his step that betrayed his excitement.

  "After you," Peter said, gesturing, and she wasn't sure why, but Wendy hesitated.

  He frowned, letting the door close again. "What is it?"

  Wendy took a step forward, letting her fingers trace the lines of a palm tree carved in the door, following each frond, imagining the papery feel of it, the sharp edges. She sucked in a deep breath before she turned to him.

  "I'm not a performer, you know."

  He nodded. "I know. But there's a first time for everything," he said, grinning. "I still think you'd look remarkable in sequins."

  Though she pursed her lips in annoyance, something else flared up in Wendy, a bit of humor and a warm flush to her face.

  "What I mean," she said, deciding to ignore the comment, "is that I don't really belong in your 'live, work, play here' world."

  Peter's smile melted and he shrugged, rubbing the back of his head, ruffling his russet hair in the process. "Yeah, well..." He trailed off as if that was explanation enough, like that pair of meaningless words would somehow ease her worries.

  Wendy tilted her head to the side, waiting for him to continue.

  His expression fell, seeming disappointed that 'yeah, well...' wasn't good enough for her. Peter blew out a heavy breath and shrugged again. "What do you want me to say? Maybe having you around to corral your brothers isn't the worst idea," he said, each word of concession seeming to cause him great distress. "They are kind of unruly."

  Wendy smiled, reaching for the door pull. "I tried to warn you."

  Peter laughed, the sparkle returning to his aquamarine eyes, crinkling the skin at the corners of his eyes and producing that one subtle dimple that she couldn't ignore.

  "Yeah, well..."

  She giggled as she opened the door and stepped into the theater.

  The first thing she noticed was Tink on stage, directing her brothers who were somewhere offstage in the wings.

  The second thing Wendy noticed about the theater was that it had seen better days. The door had been magnificent, and there was a marvelous chandelier hanging over the audience, thousands of faceted crystals catching the light and sending prisms all over. Those two things contributed to the feeling of awe and wonder when she first stepped in, but if she looked closer, Wendy could see the threadbare seats, the frayed edges of the stage curtains, the worn path in the carpet down the aisle. It wasn't overtly noticeable, but she saw it.

  She looked over to Peter who seemed to know that she saw through the glamor of the place, but he didn't say anything, waiting on her to comment about it.

  She'd never be so callous.

  "Right, so cue five is lights — Peter handles that — and then six is
one of you—" Tink looked from one side of the stage to the other before pointing to her right. "You, toss me my trapeze."

  "This?" Michael's disembodied voice asked as a thin metal rod flew from the wings toward Tink's head. She only just narrowly ducked it, sending a scowl back to Michael.

  "Sorry!" he said, running out to pick it up and hand it to her.

  "So, first things first," Peter said, walking down the aisle toward the stage with a purpose. "You don't run out on stage if you mess up. Listen for your cue, execute your cue, and if something goes wrong, just wait for your next cue."

  Michael looked embarrassed — not a look Wendy was used to seeing on either of her foolhardy brothers — and scuffed his toe on the stage, his face flaming red as he sent a sideways look to Tink. If Wendy didn't know better, she'd think he brother had a little crush. But she couldn't stand the thought of it being that snooty girl who wouldn't acknowledge her presence. Surely Michael had better taste than that. Right?

  "Wendy, why don't you take a seat," Peter said, gesturing to the empty rows of chairs. "We'll run through all the cues and if you spot something off, you let us know, okay?"

  Michael looked relieved to not be the center of attention and darted off toward his side of the stage. Wendy nodded, picking her way through the nearest row of seats, taking a spot right in the middle.

  She watched them run through the show without the performances, just going through the motions, teaching the boys the props, the lay of the theater, and their role in the show. She had to stifle a giggle more than once when something went wrong — a prop gone flying, a curtain crashing down on Peter's head, scenery pieces on wheels careening across the stage from a too-strong push — but they eventually made it to the end of the show.

  "And final cue is house lights to full, the audience leaves and we survived another show," Peter said, collapsing to the stage in a dramatic flounce.

  Tink rolled her eyes and folded her arms, standing over Peter with her lips pursed. "These kids are not cut out for this," she said. Wendy didn't think her brothers heard it, since they were busy resetting everything and talking animatedly among themselves, but she heard it, and she didn't like the disdain she heard.

  Peter stretched his arms out wide, still laying on his back, his knees bent and feet flat on the scuffed black stage. "They'll be fine. Just need some practice," he said, not picking his head up.

  Tink's pout turned into a scowl and she shook her head with an exasperated groan. "I'll be in my dressing room... if you ever find a real crew."

  Boiling rage bubbled up in Wendy, making her clench her fists and grit her teeth at the jab. She wanted to jump to her feet and tell Tink exactly what she thought of her, but she didn't. She took a deep breath and steadied her nerves. Losing her temper never got her anywhere productive.

  Tink stomped off and the boys popped in from the wings, looking furtively between Peter and Wendy.

  Peter picked his head up, sensing they were there and managed a smile despite looking exhausted. "What's up?"

  Michael looked from Peter to Wendy again, his face neutral and flat. He shook his head. "Nevermind, we'll ask later."

  Wendy narrowed her eyes as if that would allow her to see through their caginess to the real issue at hand. "Don't hold back on my account," she said, sitting back in her seat, her arms folded and legs crossed, shaking one foot. This should be interesting.

  John stepped forward as Michael faltered. "Well, we were wondering when we would have our chance to perform."

  "And if we can..." Michael muttered a few more words too quiet for Wendy to hear.

  "What was that?" Peter asked. She had a suspicion he'd heard what it was, because he wasn't that far from them. Also, the obvious gleam in his eye as he said it and looked at Wendy. Wait, was that a wink? She couldn't be sure.

  "We want to juggle plasma," Michael said louder, his fists tight at his sides.

  "And we've got an idea for an act," John added hastily. "If it can include fire..."

  Wendy jumped to her feet. "No!"

  Three heads swiveled toward her, shocked by her outburst. But Wendy didn't care. She picked her way over the seats and ran down the aisle to the stage where she gripped the edge with her fingertips, her chin level with the floor Peter laid on.

  "Can I speak to you?" she asked, her heart racing.

  Peter sat up, considered her carefully, and finally got off the stage, hopping down to meet her. "What is it?"

  She sent a sideways glance to her brothers, both looking betrayed, and sighed. "If you value your theater intact, you will not let them do anything with pyrotechnics. You're only asking for an inferno."

  Peter tilted his head like he was considering what she had to say. Then a slow smile spread his lips and he patted her on the shoulder. "Thanks for the warning," he said.

  She'd barely finished exhaling her sigh of relief when he turned to the boys and said, "Let's see what you've got. Work out an act — feel free to use whatever props we have on hand — and bring it to me when you're ready. If it's good enough, I'll let you put it in the show, but until then, I need you two backstage."

  Wendy's jaw dropped and she couldn't help glaring at Peter like he'd just stabbed her in the back as the twins tittered and bounded off to start working on their act.

  "Don't say I didn't warn you," she finally said, her voice tight and clipped. He made her think he was on her side and just turned around and went against her warning. Ridiculous. Why even pretend at all?

  Peter flashed her a grin — any other time, it would've made her legs feel weak and wobbly, but right now, it only incensed her more — and practically skipped up the stairs to the stage still beaming. "Come on, Wen, live a little."

  Chapter Eight

  Peter

  In the next couple of days, the boys' performance improved by leaps and bounds. Even Tink was coming around to having them on the crew, but Peter hadn't mentioned to her that he gave them the go-ahead to create an act. He didn't actually expect much to come of it. They were just kids that wanted to play with his toys — he didn't expect them to create an act good enough for his show, but he didn't mind letting them amuse themselves in the off-hours between rehearsals.

  "I didn't want to admit it," Tink said as they wrapped up another rehearsal, "but I think they might be alright. They didn't drop a single prop this time," she said.

  Peter nodded, all too pleased with himself and how well this was working out. They'd be filling the seats and stealing people back from Hook in no time. "Yeah, John's still a little too quick with the curtain, but we'll get it worked out."

  Tink's eyes flicked over his shoulder toward the stage he had his back to and her eyebrows shot up as she tried to force down a smirk. "Okay, well, I'm going to go change," she said. "You have fun babysitting."

  Peter frowned, not knowing what she meant by that. The boys were capable of taking care of themselves. There hadn't been any catastrophes since they got here — not like almost maiming his ship beyond repair. The sound of a throat clearing behind him brought Peter's attention back to the stage.

  It was the twins, Michael rocking on his heels, John standing with his hands clasped in front of him.

  "Yes?" Peter prompted.

  "We have an act to show you," Michael said, still bouncing on his feet as he thrust his hands into his pockets.

  "If you have time," John amended, clenching his fingers tight.

  Peter let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Oh, is that all? Of course! Let's see what you've got." These women had him worried about nothing. Wendy seemed convinced they were forces of unrestrained destruction and Tink seemed to look at them the same way one would look at a dog that barreled into the house covered in mud only to shake it out all over the brand-new furniture. No one had any faith in these kids, but Peter did. He remembered what it was like to be too enthusiastic and have everyone looking at him like a burden. He wouldn't do that to them, not if he could help it.

  He took a seat in
the third row and propped his feet up on the seat back in front of him as the boys disappeared into the wings.

  When they came back, they were each wearing a matching white lab coat, goggles on their head, twin grins stretching their faces. Peter smirked, folded his arms and sat back to enjoy the show.

  John started, "We don't really have a script or anything — that seemed more your area of expertise — but we've been working on a few tricks we wanted to show you..." He stopped, gesturing to their get-ups. "And we obviously had some ideas for the theme, but you have final say in that."

  Peter nodded, the effort to hold back his pleased laughter almost painful. This whole display was kind of adorably endearing. He could see why Wendy was so protective of them. "Obviously," he said, clearing his throat instead of chuckling. "Take it away."

  Michael looked up, startled like he was suddenly on the clock, and darted off to the wings to wheel out a long table. Atop the table were beakers and burners, flasks and tubing — all manner of scientific accessories that Peter didn't even know they had. He cocked an inquisitive brow and waited.

  "Did you get the—"

  "Yeah, you have the—"

  "Right here," the twins spoke in hushed fragmented sentences, speaking their own language that he couldn't follow.

  "Okay!" John said, lighting one of the burners under a flask. "Today, we're going to be doing a few experiments for your viewing pleasure. In this beaker, we have a harmless liquid, innocuous on its own," he said, swirling the clear green liquid around. He handed the glass container to his brother who took a sip out of it.

  "Harmless," Michael said, then making a face he added, "but not tasty."

  Peter snickered under his breath, glad that he'd turned down the house lights.

  "Now, mixed with the right substances and brought to a boil..." John said, dropping in a bit of red liquid, swishing it, and setting it into the stand above the flame. "Interesting things start to happen." Steam gathered on the surface of the liquid and bubbles erupted.