Peter laughed, unfolding his legs. “And what does a lady of society do?” His green eyes rested on Wendy with amusement, and she found it impossible to look away.
“She reads, and sews, and writes a column for the daily paper, and goes to balls and parties,” muttered John, disdainfully. Wendy raised her voice to weakly defend her mother: “She also does a lot of charity work for disadvantaged children and sometimes treats the illnesses of the poor.”
John frowned. “Really, she does nothing.”
“Does she now?” Peter shook his head. “What a sad life that must be!”
Michael was now running in gleeful circles around the bed. “Mr. Peter, can you fly again?”
“There are no misters where I come from, Michael.”
John scampered up closer to Peter. “And where is that? You must be from some strange continent not yet discovered.”
“Hardly.” Peter leapt up from the bed and rose up in the air, unfolding his long arms with a grin. “I come from a place called Neverland.”
“Neverland?” asked Wendy, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Is that near the Pacific Islands?”
The boy gave her a wide grin, curling his lips back to show his very white teeth. “Hardly.” His eyes widened, and the lights in the nursery dimmed just a flicker. “Neverland is an island of dreams.”
Wendy watched as he ran his hands through his hair absent-mindedly, floating idly around the room as Michael followed him from below. She had never seen anyone dressed like Peter before. He wore dark mahogany cropped pants that were so tight they could almost be called stockings—stockings on a boy!—with a hunter green wool-like tunic that belted around the middle. His sleeves were a lighter, almost tweed pattern, interwoven with what looked like the vines of tree roots, running up and down the sleeves. High leather boots were etched with green leaves that her eyes followed upwards, and then . . . Wendy turned and looked away. The pants didn’t leave much to the imagination. Boys in London didn’t dress like him. Her mind darted to Booth for a moment, but then she caught Peter staring at her.
“Do you like my clothing, Wendy?”
She felt a blush rise up her cheeks and turned away. “No. Yes. I mean, it’s perfectly suitable.”
“What are you wearing? What do the lovely women of London wear?”
“Wendy isn’t very fashionable,” John muttered, annoyed by Peter’s interest in her. “She just wears what our mother gives her.”
Peter’s inquisitive eyes never left Wendy’s face. “Well, let’s see it.”
Wendy climbed out of her bed, standing slowly as Peter floated closer and closer to her.
“Why are you wearing a coat over that pretty dress, Wendy Darling?”
“That’s not a dress,” John groaned. “It’s just a nightgown. And she’s wearing a coat because she was sneaking out to see—”
“Be quiet, John! For once, hold your tongue!” Wendy snapped.
Peter moved toward her, covering the distance between them an inch at a time. The control in his flying was incredible. With a ravishing smile, Peter reached out gently and unsnapped the top button of her coat. The wool fell open and revealed the blue nightgown underneath, slipping from her shoulders.
Wendy’s mouth fell open at his forwardness.
“Now that is a lovely nightgown, Wendy.” He steadily backed up as Wendy’s heart hammered against her chest. The buttons on her chest burned.
“Tell us more about Neverland, Mr. Peter!” Michael was now jumping on the bed. Peter seemed to have unleashed some sort of wildness in him.
“Michael!” Wendy admonished. “Calm yourself!”
Peter winked at Wendy quickly before flying over to Michael’s bed. He began bouncing up and down on the mattress, each time getting higher and higher, until his red hair was brushing the ceiling.
“Well, children, what shall I tell you? Neverland is magical! Anything you see there has been kissed by magic! The trees and the soil and the water! It’s a place where boys play endlessly, and we eat whatever we like every day!”
“Like chocolate?” Michael’s eyes were as big as saucers.
“Like chocolate! And cheese! And meat pies!”
“Can everyone fly there?”
Peter’s eyes clouded over for a moment, and Wendy swore she saw them turn from a bright green to a deep navy. He blinked, and they were green again—she must have imagined it. Peter smiled gently at Michael.
“Well, Michael, only the really special people can fly there. But you seem pretty special to me. But don’t let the flying distract you from the mermaids.”
“There are mermaids there?”
“Tons of them. They can be a bit mean though, so we try and stay away from them.”
“What else? What else?” Michael was jumping up and down now on the bed like a deranged child, and John was mesmerized by every word that came out of Peter’s mouth, standing rapt by his side.
“Well, there are pirates and . . .”
John’s ears perked up. “Pirates, you say? What kind of pirates?”
“The best kind!” Peter replied, flying to the windowsill. “The kind that have lots of goodies to steal, and then there is the infamous Captain Hook!”
Michael stepped down off the bed to get closer to Peter. “Can we go? Can we visit? Can we come with you? I want to fight Captain Hook!”
“Of course,” he murmured, stroking Michael’s blond hair. “Of course you can visit.”
“But if there are no grown-ups there . . .” John looked confused and excited at the same time as he rubbed his glasses. “Then who is in charge?”
The room seemed to darken as Peter’s eyes lit up. “We are.”
Wendy frowned. “No grown-ups?”
“Oh, there are grown-ups there, but they don’t decide what we do. Pan Island is home to the free. There are no rules, and if there are, we BREAK them!” With that, Peter gave an excited bounce off the windowsill and spiraled through the air toward Michael. He stretched out his hand to the little boy, his earth-stained palm scarred with a dozen tiny cuts. He saw Wendy looking at them and shrugged.
“There are lots of trees in Neverland.” Then he scooped Michael up into his arms. “Do you want to see what it feels like to fly?”
Wendy lurched toward the bed, tripping over an overturned wooden cat. “No! Michael, perhaps this isn’t the best idea.”
“You fret like a mother,” Peter teased. “But don’t worry, Wendy Darling. I won’t hurt him.”
John put his hands on his hips. “Why does he get to fly and I don’t?”
“Well, you can fly too. Come grab his hand!”
John reluctantly walked toward Peter and then grabbed Michael’s hand.
“Yuck! John, you’re sweaty!”
“Shut up, Michael.”
Peter gave a laugh. “Ah, brothers. What a delightful family this is! Okay, boys, are you ready?”
The boys nodded, their faces flushed with excitement. Is this really happening right now? Wendy wondered as she clutched her headboard. Am I dreaming?
“Now! The first rule of flying, at least if you are flying with me, is that you never, ever, let go of my hand or the hand of the person who is holding onto my hand. Do you understand? It’s like a chain, and if you let go of your connection to me, you will fall.”
The boys nodded.
“Okay! Let’s try!” Peter took Michael’s hand in his own. A ripple of air passed through the room, blowing Wendy’s hair back from her face. Then all three rose up inches off the floor. Michael began laughing crazily, and a huge smile, one that Wendy had never seen, cracked the hardened scowl that was John’s face. Peter then flew upward, the boys a second behind him, a miraculous wave. Wendy remained speechless.
“Are we heavy?” John asked, wiggling his legs. “Can you feel our mass against your own?”
Peter gave a grin. “I’m not sure exactly what mass means, John, but I feel no heavier than I did before I grabbed Michael’s hand. I am n
ot carrying you, rather, my gift of flying is passing through my hands to yours.”
Peter maneuvered both of the boys over a massive pile of stuffed animals, towered over by a stuffed white horse.
“Just so you understand . . . John, I want you to let go.”
John looked down. It was a fall of only about eight feet. “But . . .”
“It’ll be fine, John. You aren’t a coward, are you?”
John’s brow furrowed. “No.”
He let go of Michael’s hand and fell promptly into the pile of fluff. With a giggle, he rolled out of it.
“That was actually quite enjoyable.”
“My turn,” Michael crowed.
Peter moved over the bed. “All right, Michael, let go.”
Michael let go of Peter’s hand and tumbled down onto his soft bed.
“Again!” he shrieked, kicking his legs. “Again!”
“It’s Wendy’s turn.” Peter turned his green eyes onto her, and Wendy felt her heart thud fast against the inside wall of her chest.
“No, I couldn’t. What if Liza hears?”
“Liza can’t hear us,” he said, grinning. “Only children can hear the magic of Neverland. For all she knows, you are happily asleep in your beds.”
Wendy wrung her slender hands. “Well, I suppose.”
Peter flew over to her bed and landed gently beside her. She reached out her hand, and he shook his head, his eyes flashing mischievously in the lamplight.
“That’s no way to treat a possible lady of society, now, is it? Especially not for her first time flying.”
Michael giggled, tossing Giles in the air. “But that’s Wendy. She’s not a lady!”
“Doesn’t seem that way to me.” Peter grinned.
“If I’m not to hold your hand—”
With a laugh, Peter scooped Wendy up into his arms and floated quickly up in the air. With a shriek, Wendy wrapped her arms around his neck as they rose up, much faster than he had done with the boys. Peter’s strong arms held her curled up against him. He smelled like earth and berries, like adventure, and she found herself intoxicated with his warm, glistening skin. They rose up in the cool air of the nursery, so close that Wendy could have brushed it with her fingertips, seeing the view that only the creeping tiny creatures of the world saw, the view of the ceiling and its cobwebs, its dusty secrets. As Peter circled around the room with her, swooping up and down, Michael reaching for her hand and then laughing as she was pulled away from him, Wendy let the smile she was holding in burst free through her pink lips. Then she was laughing, and she knew without a doubt that she wanted to fly forever. As Peter neared the window, the glass panes burst open, and the curtains billowed out into the night sky. The damp air rushed in, and Wendy looked out at London before her, in all its gray stone glory.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Peter asked, his eyes on Wendy’s face. She looked out at the streetlights, at the winding streets, all so romantic.
“Yes. It is.” Her eyes flitted down the street to Whitfield’s. “Beautiful . . .” The window shrunk back as they flew backwards into the heart of the nursery.
“Then come with me.”
She turned to him, her face inches from his. “Come where?”
“To Neverland.” He turned and returned Wendy to the ground beside her bed. When his touch left her, Wendy felt her practical nature return. She laughed.
“We can’t go to Neverland. We live here, in London. With our parents.”
“Yes, but do your parents give you adventures?”
“No,” Michael said glumly, collapsing onto the rocking horse. “They don’t!”
“Can your parents fly?”
“Nope.”
John looked very interested. It made Wendy uneasy.
“They might not give us adventures, but they are our parents,” she protested weakly, but then in her mind she saw her father’s face as he told her she could never see Booth again, the way his eyes became hard and unforgiving. She saw her mother, who would faint at the very mention of him. And then she saw Booth in her mind, waiting for her in the rain, the disappointment in his eyes as he understood that she wasn’t brave, not like him. If she went to him now, would he reject her? The thought was almost too painful to bear. She suddenly felt very trapped, and a cold sweat broke out on her brow.
“We can’t just . . . leave.”
“Yes, you can!” Peter swooped down and trailed his fingers along the floor. “You can just visit Neverland, and then I’ll return you here, safe to your parents, whenever you want. They won’t even know you have gone. Time goes faster in Neverland. You’ll be back before they return from the Ball!”
“Do you promise?”
Peter’s eyes focused in on hers, turning that same shade of navy blue that she had seen before.
“Would I lie?”
He raised his eyebrows at her, and Wendy felt that same thrilling feeling that she had when they had been flying. She did want to fly again, desperately. She had had a sip of wine once at one of her parents’ dinner parties, when her mother stated flatly that she should try it in the presence of responsible adults. After drinking it, Wendy had felt grown-up and full of possibility. That’s what flying had felt like, and Wendy needed to feel it at least once more before this very strange and handsome bird flew their coop. She eyed him skeptically.
“Fine. We will come for just a quick visit. But we’ll need a few things.”
Peter rolled his eyes and laughed.
“You don’t need things from this world in Neverland. Everything you need will be provided for you.”
John turned his head. “What about books?”
“You don’t have need for magical stories in Neverland. There, you’ll create your own.” His eyes rested on Wendy. “There are very big adventures waiting for us.”
Swallowing the uncomfortable feeling churning its way up her chest, Wendy tucked her hair behind her ear.
“How do we get there?”
“Come up here, and I’ll show you.” Wendy and the boys climbed up on the windowsill, each of them clutching an earthly possession: Wendy with her note from Booth tucked into her nightgown, John with their father’s top hat (“Are you really bringing that?” she asked, to which he ignored her completely), and Michael with Giles. Peter swung his body up onto the ledge using the bookcase edge and then proceeded to linger inches above the ground in front of them.
“Well, Darling family, this is it—no turning back. Are you ready to have an adventure?”
Wendy nodded, unsure of what strange intoxication led her to do so. This was so dangerous! This was so exciting! The quieted flame in her mind whispered Booth’s name, and Wendy suddenly understood exactly why she was doing this. Just for a night, she could have a distracting adventure, just for a few hours, before she must decide between the family that she loved, and the boy that she loved. Yes, that was it. Just a tiny escape. Peter reached deep into his pocket and pulled out the swirling ball of lavender light. The children’s eyes went wide as they stared at it.
“Peter, what is that?” John whispered. They clustered around his hand. The light ebbed with each breath from Peter’s mouth. It seemed connected to his skin, to his being. Lavender lights reflected in his eyes as he gazed at it with adoration.
“This, my friends, is a celestial gate to every star cluster and constellation in the universe. It can take you wherever you desire to go.” He grinned and tossed it in the air, catching it lightly in his outstretched palm in front of Wendy’s face.
“I call it the doorway.” He looked proud of himself for explaining it with such clarity. A satisfied look crossed over his charming features. “And it belongs to me.”
Peter pursed his lips together and let out a low whistle, a series of notes that rose and fell. The doorway rose slowly out of his hand and circled in the light, growing larger and larger. Peter flung his hand out, and the doorway flew out the window, climbing up and up until it disappeared into the night sky.
“But Peter . . .” Michael whined.
“Just wait, my little friend. Just wait.”
Wendy held her breath as a great cracking sound erupted through the sky, as if God were crumbling the world in his large hands. A pair of tuxedoed men drunkenly staggered beneath the window, not even looking up as the world shook with such a great sound that the children covered their ears. The cracking sound eventually subsided into a low hum, and Wendy watched in wonder as the stars exploded into a thousand brilliant whirling shades of blue and purple, pulled into the whirlpool of the doorway’s vortex, constellations becoming streams of heavenly light. Peter took her hand lightly and raised it to the sky, her fingers tracing what seemed like ink. She pulled her hand back out of shyness, before realizing that her fingertips glowed.
“Pieces of star,” he murmured. Then he took her fingertips and ran them along his cheeks in two lines. When Wendy jerked her hands away, Peter looked as if he were a warrior, streaked with glowing white light.
“That’s the doorway. We’ll fly up to it, second star to the right and straight on till morning!” he crowed. Reaching down, he took Wendy’s hand in his own, and she began to float off the windowsill.
“John!” John reached out and took her hand and then reached down for Michael. Michael squealed with delight and grabbed John’s hand. All of the children were floating now, rising higher with each second. Wendy felt a rush of fear and delight, equally excited and terrified of what came next. Surely, this was still a dream, so what was the danger? Then she saw Peter’s eyes bearing down into her own, felt the sweat of his palm and the firm way he cradled her fingers within his own, and she knew it was not a dream, for her subconscious could never create someone so beautiful and complex and so completely free. She raised her head to look at him, this strangely childlike man, his eyes focused on the glowing vortex in the sky. She was struck by the sudden need to kiss his chin. She shook her head. Booth! What was wrong with her?
“Remember that you cannot let go of my hand, Wendy, and boys—you cannot let go of each other, or of Wendy. Do you understand? If you do, your parents will have to scrape you off the sidewalk.”
Wendy Darling Page 6
