Never Never

by Brianna Shrum

  IT WAS SOME TIME BEFORE JAMES DECIDED TO VACATE his room. It was unreasonable, James knew, for death to affect him so when his chosen vocation was captain of a pirate ship. But staring a man in the eyes as he dies, particularly when you are the one causing the dying, is not something one gets over quickly.

  He sat on his bed, occasionally relocating to his floor or his closet in the rare moments he decided to change clothes, and he ran his fingers darkly over his sword. Jukes and Starkey came in from time to time attempting to rouse him, Smee delivered him food, and once Cecco came in, offering to clean the blood from his sword. James had refused, rather viciously. He wanted to see it. Wanted to feel it. Wanted to remember the look on that first man’s face and on that of the captain. He pondered the strangeness of taking a man’s life, not a man’s gold or his ship, his life, and what were the implications of that when the man was invented anyway? Did a figment of imagination have a soul? Was it worse for him to murder someone if he did or didn’t have one?

  James didn’t know, and neither did the wine. Nothing made him feel better. So, he allowed himself to wallow for a while.

  But one evening, when the hurt had finally let up and the boredom set in, he lowered himself into the tub for the bath he’d needed for several Neverdays, ran a comb through his hair, pulled on his trousers and linen shirt, and slung a pack over his shoulder. And, to the open jaws and wide eyes of every man on the Spanish Main, he opened the door and stepped off the ship.

  The night was crisp, without the coldness of winter or the warmth of the summer. Generally though, nights in Neverland were always crisp. In fact, when James had first become a resident of the island, he’d wondered often if it had any sort of seasons at all. He concluded eventually that it did not.

  But the crispness of the night mattered little to James at the moment. He didn’t have room in his head for much consideration of the weather. No, with his mind cleared of murderous distractions, he was focusing only on the destination ahead. And that destination consisted of a fire and food, and, he hoped, a beautiful Indian princess.

  The forest in Neverland was always darker than he thought it would be. Always darker and always scarier, as though it would eat him up if he forgot, for a moment, where he was. But, James ignored the lick of fear that trailed up his spine and ventured further into the darkness, toward the Indian encampment. He began to doubt himself as he came closer to it, and when he was so close that he could smell the smoke from the fires in the camp, he stopped, intending on doubling back. Surely Tiger Lily would think him a fool for coming out here. She hadn’t really invited him, had she? If anything, she’d discouraged him from coming. He sighed forcefully and resolved to head back to the Main.

  “Leaving so soon?”

  James started. “Ah.”

  “Indeed.” Tiger Lily raised an eyebrow and chuckled at him.

  He raked a hand through his hair and looked back over his shoulder, toward the beach, and then at Tiger Lily. He chewed the inside of his cheek, corner of his mouth turned up.

  Tiger Lily sighed and shook her head. “Really, James. There’s no sense in coming all the way out here and then leaving all on my account.”

  “Your account?” he asked, smirking.

  “I doubt you’ve walked here to see my father.” A playful glint sparked in her eye, and James quickly forgot how embarrassed he was supposed to have been.

  “No, you’re right. I told you; I’m scouting.”

  He grinned at her and she rolled her eyes, then started to walk in the opposite direction, heading deeper into the forest. The leaves were slow and quiet tonight, silver and blue, and James could not decide if that was ominous or relaxing.

  “Where are you going?”

  She looked back at him, over her shoulder, and raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, ‘Where am I going?’ Follow me, you fool pirate.”

  James snorted, but followed her anyway, more relieved than his masculine pride wished to admit that he had a guide through the black wood. Eventually, they came upon a large clearing, and Tiger Lily sat right in the middle of it. James walked slowly up to her and sat as well, inexplicably uneasy. There was something off about this place, something he could not put his finger on. He peered at their surroundings, but they were so cloaked in shadow, he could barely see anything.

  “What are you looking at?” she asked, burying her hands in the cool grass.

  “Nothing, I suppose.”

  “Well, have you brought anything to make a fire? It’s freezing out here.”

  James opened his pack and pulled out a small piece of flint, which Tiger Lily took from him immediately.

  “Excuse me,” he said.

  “What?”

  James frowned. “How am I supposed to build a fire if you’ve taken my things?”

  She just looked at him for a moment, where he, unexplainably, felt very foolish.

  “Come now, James. How many fires have you built the entire time you’ve lived here?”

  It was a fair question. The answer was, as Tiger Lily had clearly surmised, none.

  James scowled. Tiger Lily just laughed and collected a small pile of kindling from the area where they were seated.

  “Have you got any steel with you?”

  James shrugged and tossed her his sword.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Why?” James frowned, glancing at his sword, back to her eyes, lingering there. “What do you need it for?”

  She shook her head. “I sincerely hope you never find yourself in the Never Wastes. You’d die in a breath.”

  James narrowed his eyes.

  “This will not do good things to your sword if it takes me long, pirate.”

  “Well, then don’t take long.”

  Tiger Lily shook her head, clearly trying to disguise the little smile playing on her lips, and took a small box from the folds of her clothes, in which was some sort of black material. She struck the flint against the sword several times, during which James flinched over and over. She succeeded in drawing a few sparks, and they set fire to the black cloth in the box. Before long, there was a small fire glowing in front of them. James’s sword, however, was a bit worse for the wear.

  James snatched his sword back from her and a jolt of heat traveled up his arms at the little brush of her fingers against his. Tiger Lily warmed her hands, sleeve falling back, exposing her delicate wrist. James looked away. He’d never thought a wrist could be so alluring. Tiger Lily, thankfully, chose this moment to speak and distracted him from the observation.

  “Do you always carry that thing with you?” she asked.

  James cocked his head. “Generally.”

  “Why?”

  James sat up, quite intentionally looking away from her, focusing on the orange flames waving and jumping into the air. “A pirate’s got to have his weapon always, and he’s got to be prepared, lest some ruffian catches him unaware.”

  While he was saying this and staring into the fire, Tiger Lily had gotten up and snuck behind him. He realized this only when he felt the cold of a small blade against his throat and a feminine voice whispering, “Someone like me, you mean?”

  His breath caught and his pulse pounded wildly; he could feel her lips against his ear as she spoke, and he prayed she’d do it again. “Perhaps,” he mustered, swallowing hard.

  “I’d like to see what use your sword would be to you now.”

  The longer she spoke, mouth touching his skin, the hotter his skin became. “Yes, well, I believe we’ve established that I’m quite powerless against you.”

  The blade softened against his throat and he could feel Tiger Lily’s smile on his ear, the pulse in her neck jumping against his. She released him, and he leaned over, elbows on his knees, trying to make up for the breath Tiger Lily had stolen when she’d been so close.

  It was so strange, after so long avoiding her entirely, to be there with her, letting himself feel the buzzing in his veins and the crackling on his skin when she breathed n
ear him. To wish to kiss her and not be concerned what Peter would think about it.

  Tiger Lily cocked her head toward him. “And what would you do if I’d caught you and decided to kill you? Or tortured you for information? If your blade failed you, what would you do then, pirate?”

  “I keep this on me as well.”

  He tossed her a small vial, filled with green liquid. It was a poison he’d dreamed up as a boy, figuring that all good captains must have something deadly on their person, something to drink lest they were caught. It was all very dramatic, but James kept it anyway. An homage to the child who’d died there some time ago.

  “Poison?”

  “Aye.”

  Tiger Lily scowled. “That doesn’t seem very heroic.”

  “It isn’t. It’s a last resort.” He held out his hand, not liking the idea of something so deadly being so close to her. She gave it back without protest, and he curled his long, slim fingers around hers momentarily. When he let go, he swore he saw her blush.

  Desiring to change the topic from death, he asked her, “Why aren’t you back at your camp tonight?”

  Tiger Lily sighed. “Apart from the fact that a rogue pirate stole me away?”

  “Apart from that.” James grinned.

  “They’re having a celebration tonight, in my honor. Again.”

  “That doesn’t seem so horrible.”

  Tiger Lily shifted, focused on the leaves upon the ground, picked at them. “Not by itself. But they have these little parties all the time. Whenever Father believes he’s found someone suitable for me.”

  James felt a hot flash of jealousy, and bit down on his tongue.

  “Of course, every gathering is wasted. I hate them, and then the wedding is cancelled and life goes on as usual ’til the next one. ”

  He glanced up at her. “You don’t wish to get married?”

  “No. Never, not to anyone,” she said, looking out at the darkness over James’s shoulder.

  “Why not?”

  Her eyes flicked to the scar on James’s neck and away again. And then he realized what it was.

  “Because of Peter,” James said.

  Tiger Lily bristled. “Peter? Absolutely not. What would make you say that?”

  “You love Peter.” A muscle twitched in his jaw, but his voice was soft. “It’s all right. Everything on this island does.”

  He looked away from her darkly, not wanting her to see the expression on his face. Then, without knowing why he asked it, he said, “Has he ever kissed you?”

  “Excuse me?” Tiger Lily said, taken aback.

  “I’ve seen him killing Neverbeasts with you, and battling and racing with you and swimming with you. But has he kissed you?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  James felt his pulse spike at that, and he noticed, then, that they were sitting a good deal closer than they’d been at the beginning of the evening.

  Tiger Lily narrowed her eyes. “I suppose you’ve kissed hundreds of women.”

  James smirked. “Not hundreds.”

  Tiger Lily pursed her lips.

  “Only one,” James said. He rather enjoyed the small smile that played at her lips. “Susan Weaver. I was twelve years old, and she was my girlfriend. It was all very romantic and serious.” He smiled. “We didn’t much know what we were supposed to do, being together, so more often than not, we just held each other’s hands or said nice things to each other. But once, she kissed me.” He couldn’t help but notice the spark of jealousy in Tiger Lily’s eyes, and he tried to camouflage the grin in his own. “We kissed quite a bit after that, but I suppose we weren’t very good at it. Anyway, eventually, I caught her in the schoolyard holding Edwin Booker’s hand, and our committed love affair came to a very explosive end. Tragic, tragic.”

  He chuckled, remembering how he’d thought it the end of the world. But, the chuckle faded off quickly, for he realized then that he hadn’t kissed anyone since. It wasn’t the lack of kissing, really, that bothered him. It was the reason for it. There wasn’t much opportunity in Neverland, was there?

  “Where is this ‘Susan’ now?”

  “Back home.”

  He said “home” with such longing in his voice, such pain, that it surprised even him.

  Tiger Lily bit her lip and moved closer to him. “Where is home?”

  “Not here,” was all he said. He feared that if he said the word “London,” he would start to cry, right there, in front of Tiger Lily. That sort of thing was hardly acceptable when one was a little boy. But it was certainly disallowed when one was a grown man.

  “I’m sorry,” Tiger Lily said simply, and she laid her head on his chest. He could smell the sweet perfume of her hair as it spread out over his shirt, and her cheek was touching his skin where his shirt laced open. He was not entirely sure what to do, but decided to lay his arm over her shoulder and hold her as long as she allowed, breathing in the scent of her.

  “James?” she asked, and his heart jumped at the movement of her lips against his chest.

  “Hmmm?”

  “Why did you never battle with me? Or swim or play? All that time, I sometimes wondered if you hated me.”

  James’s breath hitched, and he ran his fingers over her arms, then back over the goose bumps he was quite certain he’d put there. “I don’t know that I can answer that for you. Or that I should.”

  She shifted, then, and mumbled something into his shirt.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “I only said I’d never been kissed before.”

  James moved back, and Tiger Lily sat up.

  “Never? Not even by one of your droves of suitors?”

  She hit him in the arm. “No, not even by one of them.”

  They were both quiet for a minute, each very obviously looking away from the other’s face. He slid his fingers over to thread them between hers, over her knuckles on the ground. Then, James looked straight at her and said, in a low voice, “Do you wish to be?”

  Tiger Lily’s mouth fell open, and she blushed. James held his breath and wondered if he’d been too bold. Perhaps he had. Fool. What was he doing chasing Peter’s girl, anyway? He was a dolt, clearly.

  “Tiger Lily!” a baritone voice echoed in the clearing.

  Tiger Lily leapt up. “Put that fire out. It’s my father. I’ve got to go.”

  James tightened his grip on her hand. “Don’t go.”

  “I have to, James. What are you doing? Put it out.”

  He pursed his lips and dropped her hand, then grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it on the barely flickering fire, though it was really more embers than anything at this point.

  “Can you find your way back?” she whispered.

  “I’m not an idiot. Of course I can.”

  She turned to leave, then looked back at him. “Are you still sticking to that ‘plundering my village’ story?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She pinched her chin between her thumb and forefinger and considered him, then smiled mischievously. “Well, then, as Princess, it’s my solemn duty to stop you.”

  “And how do you plan on doing that?”

  She grinned. “I suppose I shall have to sneak aboard your ship in the night and kill you. There’s no other way.”

  James stared at her. “Well, then, I shall be waiting for you.”

  And Tiger Lily disappeared into the dark.

  SIXTEEN

  THE SMOKE DISSIPATED INTO THIN RIBBONS THAT slithered up into the air, little bits clinging to

  James’s clothes and skin. The smell was almost enough to overcome the faint aroma that Tiger Lily had left behind on his shirt, but not quite. For that, he was glad.

  A tiny light bounced and bobbed beside him, and he smiled at the sounds of tinkling bells as the fairy passed him. Soon, more followed, and he found that the vague irritation he usually harbored toward the fairies wasn’t there tonight. They hated him, generally, because Peter hated him, and more often than no
t, when they saw him, they would take turns doing frustrating little things like pinching him or kicking him or biting him before fluttering off. But, for whatever reason, they let him be tonight, and he was able to simply enjoy the music of their laughter and the beauty of their glow as they flew and swirled and darted and bobbed about, looking an awful lot like the stars overhead.

  He allowed himself to watch the little parade for a few moments, then turned to head out of the clearing. But just as he was a step from the edge, he heard a voice. A voice he was loath to hear at this moment, or at any moment.

  “Oh, the cleverness of me!” it shouted.

  The blood in James’s veins turned to ice. No matter how many times he faced the boy, the thought of him would always make him go cold. He shrunk back behind a tree, fingering his sword, holding his breath, waiting for Peter to pass by. But, he did not appear until after the fairies had left. And then came the boy, prancing into the clearing, hopping and flying and tiptoeing in turn, a single fairy fluttering beside him.

  James shrunk closer to the tree that was camouflaging him, suddenly conflicted. A piece of him, inexplicably, found the boy endearing and wanted to smile and to ask him what it was that had him so merry. But, the other part of him was filled with a molten hate. The fury was so consuming he could nearly taste it. It overtook the better-natured part of him, and finally, all he could feel was rage. Rage and a desire for blood. Before he knew it, he was creeping out from behind his tree. And there was Peter, laughing and prancing and unsuspecting.

  James drew his sword to his waist and clenched his fingers tightly around it, every muscle in his body shaking with anticipation and terror and the feeling of being wound as tightly as a muscle could be. He took a step forward and a leaf crunched beneath his foot. He froze. Peter dropped immediately to the ground and cocked his head in James’s direction. James tried not to breathe.

  After a tense minute, Peter returned to his bouncing and bobbing, and James crept out again from his hiding spot, trying to channel Tiger Lily’s ghostly quiet. He followed Peter silently until the boy was almost at the edge of the clearing. Before Peter made his way into the wood, James leapt out and charged into him, knocking him into the dirt.