Wendy Darling

by Colleen Oakes

  Peter took a breath and pushed back his crown. “I flew through the tunnel as fast as I could, my feet never touching the ground. I had never feared Hook’s wrath as I did that day. As I flew, the white bats that were nesting on the roof of the tunnel stirred, and they began to attack me, their claws scraping my face and arms, their tiny teeth biting my ears. I barreled toward the entrance, fearing I would never make it there alive. Finally, I exploded through the painted wooden barrier and cartwheeled out into the beautiful Neverland sky. The bats flew out all around me, climbing as quickly as they dared toward the bright moon. From there, I could hear the sounds of Hook screaming my name, and I knew that his hunt for me would only intensify now that I had taken his hand and his father’s beloved ship. I returned to Pan Island and told the boys what I had seen.”

  He shook his head. “Had I only known the cost then, who is to say that I would have done the same?”

  Peter looked devastated, and he turned away from the boys, hiding his face. “Hook’s retaliation was to take Lomasi from me, my princess and the light of her people. She disappeared the next night. I heard from the whores in Port Duette that Hook had thrown her overboard wrapped in chains, a red eye painted on her forehead, a message meant to wound my heart forever. I see her sometimes . . .” He struggled with his words.

  “I see her in my dreams, fish flitting in and out of her black hair, pearls where her eyes should be.”

  Slowly, he regained his composure.

  “After that, the entire Pilvi tribe disappeared, so great was their fear of Hook. I looked for them for weeks, but they haven’t been seen since. They just disappeared.”

  The Lost Boys gasped. “And that wasn’t all. The ship that I was forced to leave behind became the Sudden Night, that ship that has since plagued our existence. I had burned the Jolly Rodger to ash, but the Sudden Night rose out of those ashes, a nightmare that would one day appear on the Neverland Sea, a ship built to kill Lost Boys. A ship that can’t be burned, due to some magical gloss that coats its surface. A ship created . . . to kill me.”

  There was a heavy silence in the room as the mood dimmed. Peter paused, understanding that this story had ended on a somber note. He stood perfectly still, his eyes lingering on each and every face. When they reached Wendy’s, she found herself mesmerized by his unflinching gaze. Finally, after his long dramatic pause, Peter looked up with a naughty grin, his emerald eyes flashing in the moonlight.

  “But at least I know that when Hook comes to take me, he will have to do it with a little bit less.”

  He raised one of his arms, his hand pulled back into his shirt-sleeve, leaving nothing there. The room erupted with cheers and fractious laughter. Peter then gave an exaggerated bow, the leaf crown on his head shifting a bit. When he raised his head, his eyes were navy.

  “And that, my Lost Boys, is the story of how Hook lost his hand.”

  The room erupted with cheers; the lanterns leapt to light with a new, golden energy. The boys swept around Peter, lifting him in the air on their shoulders, someone shoving a goblet of wine into his hand. The crowd carried him out of the door onto the open patio of the Teepee, their vigorous cheers echoing through the night.

  That’s when Wendy saw her. Sitting silently in the center of Peter’s throne was a girl.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  SHE WAS QUITE PETITE, just a bit shorter than Wendy, as narrow as a reed. A messy tangle of thick white-blond hair, matted at its core, was perched on the top of her head, shoved through with sticks, leaves, and dead flowers. She had very pale skin that stretched over immaculately carved cheekbones, her face perfectly symmetrical, flawless in its ethereal construction. Peachy pink and pearly lips that appeared to be just bitten pursed underneath a narrow nose. There were dark circles under her wide blue eyes, so deep that they appeared as bruises at first glance, giving her a hollowed look. Wendy had seen women who looked like this before, in a narrow alleyway on the dodgy end of her neighborhood, their empty eyes searing as they watched her scurry past. They were regulars in that alley, in that town, of that place, that place she used to live . . . Wendy shook her head and gave two long blinks.

  “Trying to remember something?”

  Her voice was high, like the tinkling of bells, though the dripping malice behind it was unmistakable. It was the same voice from the bridge, the same voice she had heard crying on the night of their arrival. Wendy was unsure of how to answer, and so she stayed silent, unmoving. The girl uncurled herself from Peter’s chair and stepped toward Wendy, her features becoming sharper as she approached. Her clothes rustled as she walked, so bulky that they seemed to barely touch her frame. A faded brown dress wrapped around her shoulders and cascaded to the floor, strips of fabric sewn together without care—it was lumpy and unattractive. She had cinched the dress at the waist with a vine, but other than that, there was no color visible. Even with her drab clothing, it was impossible not to notice the shawl that was draped across her shoulders, so long that its ends were hooked around her thumbs, pulling the fabric taut across her back. The shawl was meant to conceal whatever massive feature lumped out of her back, a shape so large that she could as well have been concealing another small girl underneath it.

  Then Wendy understood. The wings. She was concealing her wings. She silently approached Wendy on tiny feet, her steps making no sound, her arms and the shawl wrapped protectively around herself. Her lips up close were cracked and bruised, her dispirited face coming ever closer. When she breathed, her body seemed to give a small shudder, as though the act was painful for her. The word broken flickered through Wendy’s mind as the girl drew up next to her. Without warning, the girl reached out to Wendy’s face, her hand small and delicate, her head level with Wendy’s nose. Wendy didn’t move, not wanting to alarm this creature who had so terrified her on the bridge. The girl looked up into Wendy’s eyes, and Wendy struggled to stifle a gasp. Inside of the fairy’s eyes, resting on the bottom of her irises, small stars lit up and went dark again, one after another, flashes in the dark. This, Wendy thought, is deep magic. Even though the girl was small and slight, the hot power radiating out from her was palpable, and Wendy found herself frozen with fear.

  “Nothing extraordinary,” the girl whispered, running her small hand over Wendy’s cheeks. “Normal face, boring muddy hair, strange purple flecks in the eyes.” She clicked her tongue. “What does Peter see? Nothing I can see, not with my eyes.”

  Wendy didn’t even breathe until the fairy stepped back from her, narrowing her eyes accusingly.

  “I can’t understand; what does he see in you?” She tilted her head sideways. “You’re nothing but a silly, ugly little girl.”

  Wendy tried to remember how to speak, paralyzed as she was. Finally, she stuck out her hand, her voice shaking. “You must be Tink. I’m Wendy Darling. My brothers are John and Michael. I’m pleased to meet you. I’ve never met a fairy before.”

  The girl’s eyes widened. “Yes, my name is Tink. It means heavenly sky, or . . .” she paused, “in other translations, torture. And no, you will never meet another fairy again,” she snapped, turning her head away. “I am the last of my people, the sole fairy of Neverland.”

  “Then I am sorry for your loss,” Wendy said sincerely.

  Tink’s head whipped around to gaze back at her. “What did you say?”

  “I said I’m sorry. That you have no others of your kind. That must be very lonely.”

  There was confusion in Tink’s starry eyes. “How dare you mock me?” She moved toward Wendy, but to Wendy’s great relief, Peter landed back in the room with a resounding thud.

  “Tink! Wendy! My girls! I’m so glad that you are getting to know one another!” Peter opened his arms wide, and Tink scurried into them, faster than Wendy had ever seen a mere human move.

  “Peter!” she gushed. “Your story, it was magnificent! You were so brave! So handsome and so brave!”

  Peter flushed. “Tink. That’s enough. You’ve heard that story a thousand time
s.”

  She looked up at him with adoration, a pink blush rising in her pale cheeks. “Yes, but every time you tell it, it’s like new. Only this time, there were bats!”

  Peter’s face tightened for a second before it dissolved into an uncomfortable smile. With a sigh, Peter reached down and tussled Tink’s messy hair. “Are these zumeria blooms? That must be why you smell so nice.”

  Tink blushed. “I know you love that smell.”

  “I do.” Tink laced her hand around Peter’s and looked over at Wendy defiantly. “What shall we do tonight? I could make the trees sing for you. Shall we count the stars? We could go to our special place and watch the sea glow. You haven’t been there in a long time. Peter. Peter?”

  Peter was staring at Wendy, his green eyes unmoving from hers. Even as he embraced Tink emotionlessly, his eyes never left her face. Tink was getting agitated.

  “Don’t you remember what you said last time? Don’t you remember?” She turned her head to stare up at him, the stars in her eyes brightening when he turned his face to look down at her. Her lips trembled. She reached out to stroke his cheekbone, and he made a disgusted sound. Then, with a grimace, he shrugged out of Tink’s embrace and untangled his hand from her own.

  “I was actually just about to fly Wendy up to her hut for the night. I’m sure the Lost Boys would love to hear you sing. They are down in the Table, probably eating the last of our cheese. Go find Oxley or Darby.”

  Tink’s eyes overflowed with tears, which Wendy noted were also filled with small bursts of starry light. “But Peter, you promised! You said that . . .” Her voice rose to a whine. “You said that you would send them away. You said . . .” Her voice then dropped to a gentle whisper. “You said you didn’t even like her.”

  Wendy’s heart sank.

  “I know what I said, Tink. Now go away, please. I’ll find you tomorrow.”

  The fairy stomped her foot, sending bursts of light curling up her leg. Peter put his hands on his hips.

  “Tink! Control yourself!”

  She looked at Peter with teary eyes. “It’s not fair! She is nothing. Just a plain, stupid, boring girl from London. She’s nothing!”

  London. That’s where she had lived. Wendy repeated the word to herself again and again, hoping she wouldn’t forget it. London. London. London. Peter whirled on Tink.

  “I said leave. Now. Can’t you see that you are upsetting Wendy?”

  Out from behind Tink’s wild hair, lines of curling white heat began to rise from the back of her neck. They lashed toward Wendy.

  “Out!” Peter snapped, stomping his foot at her, as if he were shooing away a stray dog. With an angry cry, Tink sped across the room and leapt out into the darkness, leaving a small trail of glittery dust that lazily circled on the ground after she was gone. As Peter scuffed it toward the door with his foot, Wendy exhaled the breath she had been holding.

  “Peter! Why did you say that to her? I wasn’t upset. A bit intimidated, that’s all.”

  Peter laughed hysterically. “Intimidated? By Tink? You would do better to be intimidated by a flower. She’s harmless. Fairies are by nature flighty and silly creatures.”

  Wendy crossed the room, telling herself that it wasn’t just to be nearer to Peter.

  “She didn’t seem harmless on the bridge.”

  His eyes watched her every step, taking in every inch of her. “She’s been in love with me for as long as I can remember. I have done everything in my power to convince her otherwise, but once a fairy falls in love, it’s for life. I try not to encourage it, but to be honest, it’s exhausting.” Peter stretched his arms over his head with a yawn. “Don’t worry about Tink’s jealousy. She would be jealous of Hook himself if I paid him too much attention. Are you afraid?”

  Wendy shyly circled her fingers around her wrist. “Not afraid. I just don’t want to upset anyone. And . . .” Wendy paused, the words heavy on her tongue.

  “What is it?”

  “Did she mean it? That you didn’t like me?”

  She immediately hated herself for asking but still raised her eyes to meet his own. Peter inched closer to her and took a tendril of Wendy’s brown hair in his hand.

  “Oh, Wendy Darling. Such a sweet, good girl. How was I so lucky to stumble across your window? Of all the stars in the sky, one must have led me straight to you.”

  Wendy stepped backward, unsure of what to do, untrusting of herself in the moment.

  “Thank you, Peter, that’s very kind.”

  A lock of red hair fell in front of his eyes. “One of these days, I will find a way through your wall of politeness and discover the girl within.”

  “Peter Pan!” Wendy blushed at the notion. “That was very familiar of you!” She stared at him; his eyes were unflinching and hungry as he gazed upon her. “While I would wish to stay and talk all night, you should probably take me back to my hut. I’m rather sleepy, and Michael is probably waiting for me.”

  “Ah, yes.” Peter rubbed his chin with an aggravated sigh. “Michael. What an adorable little boy.”

  Wendy smiled. “Not always. Precocious and annoying and yes, adorable. Sometimes. And speaking of the boys, John seems to be fitting in quite well.”

  “Ah, yes, I’ve asked Oxley to take him under his wing. Abbott’s not keen, but then again, Abbott doesn’t really like anyone or anything.”

  “He does seem a bit wary.”

  “Ever since he was a little boy, he has had a jaded heart. Can you blame him?”

  Peter laced his hand through Wendy’s, and then they were both floating inches off the ground. “He’s not like you, Wendy. You have a generous heart. I can see it. You will be good for Pan Island.”

  “But we won’t be staying here forever, Peter. We have to go . . . home.” As soon as she said the words, she realized how vague they sounded. Home—where was that?

  He eyed her carefully, his green eyes swirling with navy. “Yes. Home. You can go home anytime you like. But I must know, do you like it here? With me?”

  Wendy nodded her head, noting how Peter’s hair moved ever so slightly even though there was no breeze. It was as if he were a part of the island himself, a creature of nature that moved with the whims of the environment around him. His very being seemed to hum with Neverland. With his eyes bearing down on her with so much intensity, Wendy suddenly felt very shy and unsure of herself in the moment.

  “I should probably turn in for the night.”

  “Yes,” Peter said, obviously not meaning it at all. “First, hold onto me.”

  Wendy wrapped her arm delicately around his waist, and then they were soaring up out of the hut and through the massive branches of the tree that made Pan Island. Golden-hued lanterns shimmered below their feet, and Wendy could vaguely make out the shape of the Lost Boys going to and from various huts, some finding their hammocks, others playing with swords through the tree branches. There was a boy swinging on a rope upside down below them, giggling to himself as he wound vines through his toes. Wendy smiled. There was no bedtime on Pan Island.

  “Come,” Peter whispered as they soared through the night air. “I want to show you something. It will be quick, I promise.”

  They soared upward, passing huts and tree branches, past Wendy’s hut and Peter’s, up and up until they reached the thatched roof where they had landed after their flight from . . . from . . . she couldn’t remember. That place she was from. Peter’s moon flag still fluttered in the air, and beside it, a Lost Boy stood as still as stone, his eyes on the main island, his face never moving—not even as Wendy and Peter flew over him. Then, without warning, he spun around and faced the opposite way.

  “What is he doing?” Wendy whispered, not wanting to disturb the boy who looked like a marble carving of a solider.

  “He’s watching. We can never be too careful at night. Hook is a crafty man, not to mention all the vagrants, rapists, and thieves who live in Port Duette who would love to get their hands on our treasure—and on you. If anyone tr
ied to attack Pan Island, we would see them from here before they ever made it to shore. Not that a ship could ever dock here. The roots are too high.” He gestured to the boy. “This is the cost of being a Lost Boy. You take your watch every few weeks. If you fall asleep, well then . . .”

  “What?”

  Peter shrugged. “Then we find someone else to take the watch.”

  “What happens to them? The ones who fall asleep?”

  “It’s only happened twice.”

  His tone told Wendy that there would be no more questions. They circled around the flagged roof a few more times, the boy never taking his eyes from the sea, and then swirled down through the Neverland night to land with a bump on the floor of Wendy’s hut. She looked around the dark room.

  “I guess Michael is still with John.”

  “What a shame,” Peter remarked with a smile. Wendy turned to him.

  “Peter, I’m worried about my brother on the raid tomorrow. You must promise me that John won’t be in any real danger.”

  Peter looked deep into her eyes.

  “Wendy, what is life without adventure? It is meaningless, like being a piece of seaweed forever drifting.”

  Wendy could think of a dozen better metaphors than that one, but she refrained from correcting this wild boy with a beautiful mouth. Instead, she cautiously allowed an edge to come into her voice.

  “Peter. His safety.”

  “I promise. John will be safe. After all, it’s just a game, really! It’s just a game! Honestly, I’m not sure why you like John anyway. He’s not very nice to you.”

  “No, he isn’t, but he’s my brother. He just wants to find where he fits in, always has. Anyway, thank you for reassuring me.” She gave him a friendly kiss on the cheek, and he involuntarily rose a few inches off the floor before he shook his head and returned to the ground. Wendy took a step toward her hammock, suddenly feeling very alone in a room full of shadows and dark corners. The fear she had felt on the bridge returned, the white heat of Tink’s rage, the stone grip of the mermaid closing around her waist, the rush of blood spooling out into the water. She turned back to Peter, his green eyes glinting in the darkness.