Veiled in Stars and Silver: A Peter Pan Fairy Tale Romance

Prologue

Wendy held her kiss in her palm—the little acorn button that had saved her life when the Lost Boys tried to shoot her from the sky. She sighed and dropped the acorn, which was bound to the necklace she always kept tucked under her dress, and stared at her cross-stitch, her mouth twisting in disappointment. It had been a year since she’d returned from Neverland with her brothers. She was already thirteen. And yet, some days, she’d give anything to return to the world of magic, to fly through the air with the boy that never grew up.

But she hadn’t seen Peter Pan since the day they’d returned. Not once.

She picked up her cross-stitch and tried to focus on the butterfly pattern. Had he forgotten her? It certainly seemed like it. At first, she’d told stories to her brothers every night, religiously, hoping Peter might return to listen. But as the months passed, and there was no sign of him, she went to her brothers’ room less and less.

It became too painful.

Of course, Neverland wasn’t all fun and games. There was a much darker side to the land of adventure. Pirates, and death, and… Hook. A shiver ran over her skin. But there was no reason to worry about him anymore. The Crocodile had gotten Hook. He was long dead.

And they were all better for it.

A pounding shook her wall, then her desk, coming from the hallway. The dark liquid in her inkwell sloshed threateningly. She rolled her eyes and moved it an inch away from her, then tried to keep a steady hand on her project. John and Michael were playing cricket in the house again. Ever since they returned from Neverland, their activities had become much more rough and tumble. They were driving Mother and Father insane. Not to mention Nana, who chased them around barking on such occasions, as if that would do anything to stop them.

On cue, the low woof of the Newfoundland reverberated through the house’s thin walls. She’d have to do something. Their parents were both in bed with a fever and weren’t up to reigning in her brothers. And Nana’s barks only made the neighbors angry.

She set down her cross-stitch and smoothed her hands over her dress, glaring at her poorly sewn project in triumph. “Guess you’ll have to wait.”

“Watch out!” The shout came too late. The cricket ball rammed into Wendy’s inkwell, the stopper flying off and upsetting the jar. Her heart sank as the liquid spread over her half-finished cross-stitch. A low growl emitted from her throat, and she snatched it up, but it was useless. Her project was destroyed.

Wendy’s breaths came fast as she pictured the caning she’d surely get from her teacher, Mrs. Crowley. Her knuckles were already red and sore from her last beating. She spun toward the doorway where her brothers stood with wide eyes.

“It wasn’t my fault.” John, ten-years-old and ever the coward, pointed at his younger brother, Michael.

“Hey!” Michael shouted, crossing his arms over his small six-year-old chest. His blond hair flopped too long into his eyes. “That’s not fair. You were supposed to catch it! And if Wendy didn’t insist on having her own room, her desk wouldn’t be there, and this wouldn’t have even happened.”

John adjusted his spectacles. “Good point, Michael. I guess Wendy is too grown up for us.”

She threw her cross-stitch onto the floor and let loose a roar of rage, rushing for her brothers. They squealed and retreated down the hallway to their room. Wendy, who was taller, gained on them both. When they cleared the doorway, Michael jumped on his mattress, throwing his covers over his head as if it were a safe place. Wendy tackled John just as he was attempting to clear his own bed to put an obstacle between them. They landed hard onto the carpet.

“Ow, Wendy! Get off! We didn’t mean to!”

“You think Mrs. Crowley cares if you didn’t mean to? What is wrong with both of you? Ever since Neverland, you two have been acting like wild monkeys.”

“And you’re so mature, are you? Always staring at the silly button and crying over your precious Peter.” He fanned his face with his hand, his eyelashes fluttering. “Oh, why won’t he come and visit me? Doesn’t he care about me anymore? What I wouldn’t give to see Neverland one last time.”

Her cheeks warmed. “You little leech. You read my diary!”

He continued to mock her, pretending to cry over Peter. Wendy clenched her teeth. He was doing it to make her appear weak, like a helpless little girl.

She rose and jerked him to his feet. “That’s it, John.” She dragged him over to the window. “You believe you”re such a brave, tough kid? Climb down the hedge. I dare you.”

John trembled, peering down at the lengthy drop to the garden below. “Now Wendy…”

“You think you’re as brave as Peter? You think I’m nothing but a sobbing girl? Do it.”

He squared his shoulders. “Fine. If you insist.” He reached out and grabbed the hedge, lifting his scrawny legs into it. The lattice work groaned. John’s face went white as a sheet, and he scrambled back onto the window’s ledge.

“Are you trying to kill me?”

Wendy gave him a nasty look and climbed out onto the lattice. The wood groaned under her weight. Focusing, she scurried downward. When the lattice pulled from the wall, her heart rose into her throat. She held onto the frame and jumped at the last minute, landing on the cool cobbled stone and leaping out of the way before the lattice hit the ground with a loud crash.

Mother and Father wouldn’t be happy.

“You’re insane!” John shouted at her.

She looked up and shook her fist at him. “If you ever read my diary again, you’ll regret it, John Darling. Do you hear me?”

With that, she marched through the back door of their home and stormed off to her bedroom.

Wendy lay in her bed a few hours later and took in the stars painted on her ceiling, each little pinprick a diamond sparkling in the night sky. If she shut her eyes, she remembered what it was like to fly up and feel as if she could touch those stars. She could do anything. She pulled her heavy, warm comforter to her chin and recalled the destruction she’d caused to the lattice work. Worse than a ball hitting her inkwell. Perhaps Neverland had a lasting effect on her as well.

But John’s teasing had left her seeing red, and she couldn’t let his violation go unchallenged.

The clock next to her bed said it was just past eleven. She turned over. Mother and Father hadn’t even come to check on the commotion in the backyard. A wave of cold worry slithered through Wendy.

A shadow crossed over her window.

She bolted up, sucking in a shaky breath. For a moment, her mind leapt to Peter. But no, the shadow had been much too large to be that of a boy. Closer to that of a man. Her eyes darted around the room as a thick trepidation curled inside her veins. Her sweaty fingers dug into her covers.

She shook her head. She must have been seeing things. Lying back, she forced herself to relax.

What had I been thinking about? Oh, yes, my brothers and the hedge.

She lay there and watched the window, returning her thoughts to where they belonged. John and Michael. She supposed she shouldn’t be so hard on her brothers. A tentative smile crossed her lips as she pictured Michael hiding under his covers. They were both upset with her for choosing to move rooms and she did feel bad about it, considering everything they had been through together. And yet, having a young lady’s room was part of growing up. Though presently, she would much rather be in the room at the end of the hall with her brothers.

And she supposed John wasn’t that horrible either, despite her anger remaining over the diary. Still, he hadn’t tattled about the lattice work.

Wendy twined the chain with Peter’s kiss on it around her finger. No shadows had passed by her window in the past few minutes. And yet, the disquiet hadn’t fully left her. Perhaps she should apologize to her brothers for acting out today. She kicked off her covers and sat up.

Feeling like a child, she stared at the window. She had chosen to grow up, but sometimes that seemed an awful long time in coming.

A loud banging shook the house. Wendy didn’t move, listening. It came again from her brothers’ room at the end of the hall. And again. She jolted to her feet. It’s John and Michael roughhousing, she told herself. Yes, that was it. And in the middle of the night. What did her brothers think they were doing? Mother and Father were in no condition to—

The sound of shattering glass pierced through her thoughts, drawing out the dread she had fought to suppress.

The screaming started.

John and Michael were screaming.

Wendy careened into the hall, her heart slamming against her rib cage. She gazed into the open doorway at the hall’s end, the nightlights giving off the dimmest glimmer.

And froze.

A man stood in the doorway. She might not have recognized him due to the shadows playing across his face, except that the outline of his left hand curved into an elegant point. The sickly silvery hue glowed in the dull lighting.

Nausea gripped Wendy. That couldn’t be right. Peter had defeated this man. He was supposed to be dead.

And yet he stood there, his form filling the doorway. In one smooth movement, he stepped back into her brothers’ room and slammed the door. Wendy heard the scrape of a large object being moved.

John and Michael continued to scream.

“No, no, no!” Wendy raced down the hall.

Her parents’ bedroom door, next to her brothers” room, swung open. “What is going on? Is everyone all right?”

She barely noticed her father’s words through her terror.

Twisting the doorknob, she threw herself against the white painted wood of her brothers’ door. “It”s Hook! We have to get in there, now!”

“Hook? How is that possible?” Wendy’s mother huddled near her father, somehow growing whiter with fear, bracing her weak body against the doorpost to their bedroom.

Her father came up behind Wendy. His shoulders were slumped and illness colored his cheeks a deathly pale. “Move.”

Wendy stepped away, tears gathering in her eyes. Her mother watched, a hand over her mouth, trembling. “My babies, my babies.”

Wendy’s father slammed his shoulder into the door. It didn’t budge. He did it again and again. Over and over, his body shuddered, about to collapse after each hit. The screaming on the other side stopped, but her father continued, determined to get into the room. When the door finally cracked open, he fell to the floor, exhausted. Wendy rushed forward, climbing over him.

The place was in shambles. Her brothers” sheets were torn and ripped. Feathers lay on the floor from the lacerated pillows, the bedding strewn over toy swords and spears and little painted soldiers. An icy breeze blew across Wendy’s neck, causing her to turn toward the window.

It was shattered to pieces, small slivers of glass glittered in the carpet. Wendy picked her way, needing to make it to the opening, ignoring the shards that embedded into her feet and left bloody footprints. She gazed out the window into the night, wishing against hope she saw some sign of her brothers. That this was some sort of trick. Some sick game thought up by Peter. How she wanted that to be the case so badly.

The frigid air whipped her hair about her face. She wrapped her arms around her middle and tried to stop the sobs that rose in her throat. They drove her to her knees among the wickedly sharp shattered glass, slicing into her shins. She stared out into the night, one name on her lips, ripping out of her in an uncontrolled cry, like a bestial howl.

“Hook!”