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

by J. M. Page

  And 'man' was being somewhat generous. The guy at the counter looked like a cross between a rhinoceros — he was tall and bulky, with bulging arms the size of Wendy's waist, and leathery gray skin — a large cat — with high pronounced cheek bones, feline eyes, and long canines that extended over his bottom lip — and a man. He was startling to say the least, but Wendy was on an alien planet, she could hardly be surprised by anything. Though he did make her uncomfortable and she wasn't sure it was because of his appearance.

  "No. I'm here to see Peter," he said in a voice that sounded more like a growl than actual words, but she made it all out and a wash of cold dread spread down her spine.

  Wendy pursed her lips together. "I'm sorry, sir. There's a show currently in progress and Peter will be unable to speak with you until it's over. If you give me your name, I'll be more than happy to tell him you stopped by."

  The rhino-cat-man roared, and slammed his closed fist against the glass separating them. Wendy jumped back, a spiderweb of cracks spreading from where his hand impacted. She swallowed, wondering what the protocol for this was. Were there police in Neverland? How did she contact them? Should she contact them?

  If this was the guy Peter owed money to, contacting the authorities might lead to more problems for Peter and she couldn't bear the thought of that giant fist pummeling Peter's handsome face.

  "Let me in to see him," the man said again, this time a cold threat in his tone.

  Wendy folded her arms, and leveled her sternest 'don't you talk to me like that young man' look at him. "Absolutely not. Perhaps if you were calm and reasonable I would allow you to wait in the lobby, but now you're going to have to come back another time," she said, forcing her voice to be firm despite how much fear and nervousness were making her tremble. She couldn't show him any weakness. She wouldn't cave into threats and demands. Not when so much was at stake.

  The man on the other side of the glass scowled, his eyes flashing with something predatory and fierce. Wendy held her breath, half expecting him to burst through the glass anyway. "Fine," he said. "I'll find my own way in."

  And without giving her time to process that, the man stormed off down the street, turning a corner into the alley that ran alongside their building. Wendy's heart raced with uncertainty and pure dread. Should she chase him down and stop him? Or run backstage to warn Peter? She didn't want to imagine how angry Peter would be if she interrupted the show for this, but he'd surely be much angrier if that thug came crashing in unannounced.

  And one thing was for sure: she did not trust that guy. He was up to no good and she couldn't let him hurt the people she cared about while she sat around and did nothing. She had to stop him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Peter

  Peter groaned and palmed his face as Michael fumbled another stunt, eliciting a round of boos from the audience. This was bordering on a disaster and he hoped they could save it. He needed them to save it.

  Peter hadn't expected anything spectacular from the boys' first night on stage, but he'd expected more than he'd gotten. Their act was doomed from the very beginning. And he'd known they were nervous, he could see the jitters in the way they paced and chattered about nothing. But he'd given them the best pep talk he could manage and told them to knock 'em dead.

  But it wasn't the audience that was in danger. At this point, it seemed like it might be the twins who were in trouble.

  They'd botched the first trick out of the gate, but that wasn't so terrible. The crowd laughed and thought it was part of the act. A seasoned performer would have played into it and made it part of the show, but the boys were too inexperienced to improvise like that and the laughter had only flustered them more. And the more they scrambled to salvage the act, the more the crowd turned on them.

  All the pressure and judgement coming from those hundreds of eyes were probably making their palms sweaty, their hearts racing, their pulse drowning out everything but those terrible nightmare-inducing boos. Peter knew what it was like. He'd been in that position more than his fair share of times and he felt for them, he really did.

  "Come on," he whispered. "You guys can do this. You can still save it."

  But he didn't really believe it. The crowd was too far gone. They were hissing now, in addition to the booing, and throwing their snacks up on stage. Peter waved frantically at the twins, trying to get their attention, to pull them off stage, but they were too distracted trying to bail out a sinking ship. They never even looked his way.

  Peter cursed himself. How could he have ever thought this was a good idea? He peered through a crack in the curtain, looking through the crowd, trying to spot Wendy somewhere among the sea of faces. Maybe if he could get her attention, she could get the boys to look his way or... something. They needed to put a stop to this, but Wendy was nowhere to be seen.

  That realization formed another ball of leaden worry in the bottom of Peter's gut. Where was she? It would have to be something monumentally important for her to miss her brothers' big performance, and that didn't sit well with Peter. What could possibly have pulled her away?

  "God, they're getting slaughtered out there," Tink said from his side, sounding a little like she might be sick on their behalf. Tink wouldn't admit it to anyone, but Peter had a suspicion that she actually liked having the boys around. She certainly seemed to be in a better mood when they were around and she'd thrown far fewer tantrums in the last couple weeks than usual.

  They all cared about these kids, but only one of them could do anything to help them. And suddenly, Peter knew what he had to do, even if he hated the idea.

  He clenched his fist, his face grim with resignation for what he was about to say. "I'm gonna send you out there and I need you to dust them."

  In the dark of the wings, it was hard to see much of anything, but Peter still managed to see Tink's eyes go wide, the whites shining in the darkness. "You can't be serious. That's been illegal for ages..."

  Peter gave a stiff nod. "Yeah, well, it's that or have the whole place ripped apart by an angry mob demanding their money back... And you know what happens if we don't have that money. The theater's ruined either way. At least if we dust them, we save face and everyone leaves happy."

  Tink's hands went to her hips and she pursed her lips, ready to argue with him, he was sure. Something from the audience came hurtling through the gap in the curtain, landing at Tink's feet with a wet splat. She hopped back just in time to avoid the mess caused by the flying sandwich.

  "We don't have time to discuss the ethical implications," Peter said firmly.

  Tink's face twisted into a look of disgust, sneering at the offending projectile. "Even if I agreed to do it, we don't have any dust."

  Peter didn't say anything, his eyes still trained to the boys and their hopeless attempts at salvaging their act.

  She stepped in front of him, forcing him to look at her, her eyes blazing accusatory fire, her hands on her hips. "Or do we?"

  Peter's mouth was dry, his hands clammy, and he forced himself not to betray how sick this revelation made him. He'd hidden this from her — Tink, his only loyal friend and confidant — for so long. But he didn't have the time or the patience to deal with her reprimands or judgement.

  "In my desk, second drawer on the left, underneath the false bottom. I've got a secret stash for emergencies." Now that the words were out, they hung in the air, echoing in Peter's ear, each repetition driving the guilt deeper until he wanted to double over from it.

  "Peter..." Tink started, her voice thin and brittle.

  He held up a hand. "Save it. I know. I don't need the lecture, I just need to save this train wreck."

  Her face flushed with red hot anger and she growled under her breath, but then she stomped off to his office and returned less than a minute later, readjusting her costume to go back on stage.

  "Alright," she said, syllables still clipped and unyielding, "I'm ready. Kill the lights."

  "Thank you," Peter whispered as he pulled dow
n the slider that made the whole theater dark. He didn't need to be able to see to know that Tink just glared at him in response.

  The sudden darkness threw the audience into confusion, murmurs growing into worried chatter. Then a light came on, high above their heads. A spotlight trained on Tinker Bell. She flew this way and that, doing her flips and distracting everyone. While Tink held the audience's attention, Peter crossed the dark stage and pulled the boys back into the wings where they couldn't be harassed — or do anymore damage.

  Tink had the whole crowd entranced as she twisted and soared through the air, sprinkling the fine invisible dust over the unwitting patrons.

  Soon, the oohs and ahhs that normally accompanied her stunts were met with a stony silence. The dust had done its job and the whole crowd was in a stupor.

  Tink wrapped up her encore quickly and bowed, but there was no applause this time. No excitement.

  "What's going on?" John asked, as confused as his brother.

  Tink stormed past Peter, stopping only long enough to level a venom-filled glare at him. "I hope you're happy. I'm never doing that again." The guilty knife in Peter's gut twisted a little more and he swallowed, watching Tink fume away without another word.

  He knew that she was feeling betrayed, but he just couldn't dwell on her fragile feelings at the moment. Not with a theater full of dust-drones.

  The twins were still trying to figure out what was going on, and asking him questions, but Peter ignored them, going out on stage to thank everyone for showing up. It didn't matter what he said to them at this point. They wouldn't remember it.

  "Please exit through the doors behind you in an orderly fashion," he said. This was not the ending he'd hoped for. The crowd all rose together at his command and left in organized obedience, no more autonomous than a herd of cattle.

  He hated himself.

  But at least they got out of it. And no one asked for their money back, so there was that.

  He headed backstage again, hoping to find a moment to breathe and relax after this unmitigated disaster. He still didn't know where Wendy was, but he was secretly grateful that she hadn't been around to see that. He didn't want her to look at him differently.

  And then, he heard her voice. He tensed immediately, his body still in survival mode, wound tight enough he felt like he'd snap if one more thing went wrong.

  Normally, the sound of Wendy's voice would make him excited, but there was something in her tone that made his heart race in an entirely different way.

  "I told you," she said, sounding like she was physically exerting herself. "He's busy."

  Peter wasted no time in jogging toward the sound of her. When he spotted them, he skidded to a halt. Wendy was going head-to-head with Tormac, one of the big enforcers for the guy he'd borrowed money from. Peter recognized the guy right away and didn't like him being so close to Wendy.

  But it was Wendy that was heading him off. With her palms flattened against his massive chest, she tried to push him toward the door with all her might.

  Tormac didn't budge. He didn't fight back. He just stood there with his arms folded, smirking at how hard she was trying to move him. Even with all her strength thrown into it, Wendy might as well have been pushing against a stone wall.

  Tormac looked Peter's way and inclined his head. "That was a nice trick you pulled out there," he said with a smug grin. A grin that said he knew exactly how much fall-out Peter was going to have to deal with because of his choice. A grin that had zero sympathy for that plight.

  "Real old school stuff. Didn't think you had it in you anymore."

  Peter's hands balled into fists and he took a couple steps forward. "Step away from the lady," he growled.

  At the same time, Tormac held up his hands, showing he wasn't targeting Wendy, and Wendy turned around, her mouth open in surprise, her brow furrowed with an apology.

  "Peter, I'm so sorry, I tried to stop him, I didn't want him ruining the show."

  Peter couldn't even stand to look at her. She was so beautiful and innocent and he'd done this terrible thing he couldn't even face. The guilt-knife just kept twisting.

  "It's fine," he said, looking at Tormac instead. "We have business." He glared at the behemoth, knowing that this was the guy who'd trashed his place. Who'd threatened the things he loved and then had the nerve to be smug about his failures. If nothing else good came from this night, he would at least end this.

  Tormac chuckled and simply extracted himself from Wendy, walking around her as she sent increasingly confused and lost looks Peter's way. He hated that look and how it made him feel. Like he'd been deceiving her. Though, the truth was, he had.

  He wanted to explain it all to her, to smooth those worried lines in her brow, but how could he? There was too much she didn't know. Too much he didn't want her to know.

  "I knew you wanted to keep your theater," Tormac said, clapping Peter on the shoulder hard enough to make his knees give. "But I didn't realize how desperate you were to succeed. Dusting the whole crowd in this day..." Tormac whistled and nodded appreciatively. "Takes some guts, I'll say."

  "Peter? What is he talking about?" Wendy's meek voice rose up from the shadows where she'd been left and forgotten.

  Peter swallowed, shaking his head at her.

  "You got my money?" Tormac asked.

  Peter clenched his jaw and nodded. "Yeah. It'll be in the ticket booth. Wendy?"

  He led the behemoth of a man through his theater, out to the lobby, and then waited for Wendy to unlock the ticket booth door. She kept sending him questioning looks, like she wanted to know if she should be doing something else, if they were scheming against this guy, but Peter didn't acknowledge any of them. He needed to get this over and done with. Let there be just one positive thing about this night. He desperately needed that to hold on to right now.

  Wendy unlocked the register and pulled out the cash drawer, handing it over to him with shaky hands and even more questions in her eyes. He wanted so badly to wrap her up in his arms and kiss her and make her understand, but if she understood, she wouldn't want anything to do with him.

  So, instead of saying anything to her, Peter just counted the money, his chest clenching. As much money as it was, and as much good as that amount could do for the theater — for all of them — it still wasn't enough.

  Tormac knew it, too. He knew they were short and didn't even bother to make a show of threatening them or hassling them. He just took the money, tucked it away in an inside breast pocket, and said, "I'll be back for the rest next week."

  Peter watched him leave and locked the doors behind him, realizing the whole theater was finally empty. Not able to bear the weight of his choices any more, he slumped into the only chair in the ticket booth and buried his head in his hands, his mind racing, his heart aching. How could so many things go so wrong in such a short amount of time?

  He knew he had a lot to answer for now, once all the dust settled and the air was clear, he'd have to make right the wrongs he did. Tink was going to hold this over his head for a while. Maybe forever. The boys would need encouragement after all that if there was ever going to be hope of getting them on stage again.

  And there was the matter of money. They still owed almost half the money to his lenders and after how things went tonight, Peter wasn't sure he'd be able to fill the seats again like he had this week. Promoting a show was hard enough work, but now he'd gone and shot himself in the foot.

  With the dust, people wouldn't remember the bad parts of the show, and they wouldn't remember being dusted, but they also wouldn't have any enthusiasm about the show. They wouldn't feel excited or exhilarated. They wouldn't feel compelled to tell their friends to go see it, and the theater relied on that kind of word-of-mouth advertising to pack the house. It was hopeless.

  And then... Then there was Wendy. Peter's throat closed up at the mere thought of her. Sweet innocent Wendy, standing in the doorway. She was too good for him, but he was so glad she was there. Even if she was
just looking at him with that strange mix of confusion and pity.

  "What happened?" she finally asked. She'd been hovering in the doorway for who knew how long while Peter warred with his internal demons and tried to gather his thoughts, but apparently, looking up at her was all the invitation she needed to ask the question that had been on the tip of her tongue all along. Even as she asked the question, Wendy sounded unsure of herself. Like maybe she didn't know whether it was a question she really wanted the answer to or not. Peter knew, though. He knew she didn't want it. Not really. But she deserved it.

  She deserved to know what kind of man he really was.

  He swallowed and took a deep breath, his forearms still resting on his knees, bent forward in the chair, staring at the ground. "The boys' act didn't go well," he said. Wendy took a deep breath and got down to her knees on the carpet beside him, her hand settling on his back, rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades. It felt amazing and Peter wanted nothing more than to forget everything that had happened and melt away under her touch. But he couldn't.

  "I was afraid that might happen," Wendy said sadly. "They've always had a bit of stage fright..."

  Peter tried to laugh, but it came out sounding more like a grunt and he shook his head. "The crowd was turning on them and I couldn't get their attention to pull them off stage, so I did what I had to do..."

  Wendy's hand on his back stilled and he felt her tense beside him. Here it comes, he thought. The moment when Wendy saw him for who he really was and decided she wanted nothing to do with him.

  Her voice was only a whisper when she asked, "What did you do?"

  Peter took a deep shuddering breath, trying his best to suppress his shame and regret. But what choice had he had? He did what he needed to. "I dusted them," he said, his voice hollow.