Chapter 28
WENDY
O n the third day since Nolan left, Charlie finds me in our room lying on my back and staring at the ceiling.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed.
“Are you referring to the fact that my husband is gone? That I’ve sealed his ruinous fate? Or that I’m lying on my back, half-dressed, on the floor?”
“Mostly the last one,” says Charlie, grimacing down at the mess that is me.
“None of my clothes fit,” I say.
“It’s a good problem to have,” says Charlie.
I know it’s true. During my time as a captive underneath Peter’s bargain in Neverland, I lost a considerable amount of weight.
Neverland had turned me into a shade of myself.
Only recently have I gotten back up to my previous size, and by that, I mean before Peter took me from Neverland the first time.
It would feel natural—this familiar body shape, my slightly rounded belly and hips—except for the fact that all the clothes I have on the ship were made to fit the half-starved, fully drugged, not-eating Wendy.
“They feel constricting,” I say, “like they’re choking me.”
“I’m pretty sure you can’t choke someone from the waistline,” says Charlie. “Nevertheless, I think I have a solution.”
Within the next hour, we find ourselves a tailor in the town in which we’re docked. Charlie has lent me some pants, along with a belt to keep them up since she’s still a good few inches taller than me. At least the belt keeps them from dragging against the ground.
I’m currently being poked and prodded by a tailor who is fitting me into a gown that Charlie oohed and aahed over from outside the cheerful window display.
“I thought the point of this excursion was to find me some practical clothes,” I say, looking in the mirror.
The dress itself is elegant—a collection of deep scarlet silks that, with the tailor’s adjustments, fit me nicely.
“What do you mean this is impractical?” says Charlie. “It has plenty of room to move around in it.”
“Does it?” I ask, attempting to poke one leg out. It barely budges against the hug of the fabric.
Charlie looks at the tailor. “You can adjust it so that the skirt part breaks away for a pair of pants underneath, can’t you?”
The tailor gives her a scolding look, a pin in her mouth, but she shrugs, conceding, all the same.
“See?” says Charlie. “Completely practical. Besides, I don’t know why we have to sacrifice elegance for practicality, anyway.”
“You’re just trying to make me feel better.”
Charlie smiles at me knowingly. “Well, do you feel better?”
I meet her eye, but her attention has shifted to my reflection in the full-sized mirror.
I don’t exactly feel like smiling today, not when I can’t get my mind off of Nolan.
But even in my sullen state, I can’t help but shift back and forth, admiring the way the lights hanging from the ceiling reflect off the silky fabric.
When the tailor finishes, Charlie asks her if she can have the dress ready by tomorrow.
“What do you think I am, a magic worker?” asks the tailor.
Charlie slips her a pouch full of coins.
“Well, let me get out my tomes then,” says the tailor grumpily, but I don’t miss the way her lip twitches shrewdly as she lets us out the door.
“But really, some practical clothes,” I say, tugging at the waistline of my borrowed pants for what’s probably the fortieth time. “I’m going to have blotches all over my belly from pulling at these.”
After purchasing several outfits, I must admit I feel much better. Though my mind has still been fixated on Nolan, counting the hours until he returns.
“Oh. Do you need any more of your contraceptive?” asks Charlie when we pass by an apothecary storefront.
“I’m glad you reminded me,” I say, realizing that I’m about to run out of what I purchased from the vendor several weeks ago.
We walk into the apothecary store and find a man seated behind the desk. Again, I don’t know why I’m so mortified to ask for it, but Charlie notes my embarrassment and waltzes up to the counter on my behalf.
“We need some of your best contraceptive brew,” she says.
The man looks back and forth between Charlie and me, a knowing look in the way one brow arches. I get the impression Charlie’s not the only friend who’s ever acted as a middleman for this sort of thing.
He goes behind the counter and assembles the brew as we talk—me in a hushed whisper, Charlie slightly louder than I would’ve preferred.
“You’re taking it every day, right?” she asks. “It’s not as effective if you don’t take it, you know.”
“Yes, I’m taking it,” I say flatly. “I am aware of the consequences if I don’t.”
“Well, I know that,” she says, rummaging through the vials on the shelf. “I just know that you can sometimes be a little bit absentminded, is all.”
“Not about this.” It sickens me—the idea that one day I might forget.
Charlie examines a row of potions and vials behind us, and I bite my lip, the carelessness with which she plucks them from the shelf threatening to make me break out in hives. It seems that every time she places a vial back on the shelf, there’s the tink of crystal bottles colliding.
“And you’ve had your bleeding every month, right?” she asks, very much not in a whisper.
I frown. “No. But that’s not all that strange. I haven’t bled since Peter called in his bargain in Neverland.”
What I don’t say is, since John died.
Charlie crinkles her nose. “Really? I mean, I suppose I’m not surprised that you lost it in Neverland, with all the grief and suffering you endured, as well as the not eating.”
She looks down at my body, which from the outside appears back to normal.
“Yes, well,” I say. “I don’t think it was just that.”
“You think the faerie dust had something to do with it?” she says.
I nod. “I was on it for so long, so consistently. There’s no telling what it did to my body or how long it will take for me to recover.”
“You were off of it for almost ten months before we found you, right?” asks Charlie.
I nod. “You’d think it would have returned after I came off of it. Or at least once I started eating more again. But nothing. That’s part of the reason I felt I could make the bargain with the Sister. Whatever Peter did to me in Neverland by dosing me with that stuff…”
My heart sinks a smidge. It’s a stupid thing to feel disappointed about. Pregnancy is exactly what Nolan and I are trying to prevent. Still, the idea that Peter might have taken away even the physical possibility of conceiving a child causes a sting to swell up within me.
Charlie glances at me with sad eyes, biting her lip. “You’ve been through too much. More than one person should have to go through in an entire lifetime.”
She reaches out her hand and touches mine.
When the man behind the apothecary desk calls us back up to the front and hands us the vial, I frown. It’s clear, made of crystal like the other vials in the shop—but inside is a faint green liquid.
“This isn’t right,” I say, to which the apothecary scoffs at me.
“Are you an expert?” he asks. “If you wish to question my practice, go brew your own.”
“No,” I say. “I’m sorry. That was silly of me. There must be multiple potions that all serve the same purpose.”
“True,” says the apothecary. “But none as effective as this one.”
I frown, looking at Charlie, who speaks up for me this time. “That’s not what we’ve heard.”
“Forgive us, we don’t mean to insult,” I say. “It’s just that the last two apothecaries that we visited gave us a different mixture. One that was supposed to be the most effective.”
The man crosses his arms.
“Come now,” says Charlie. “It’s fair for a customer to validate what they’re getting.”
“Yes, well, perhaps you should have validated what the other two apothecaries gave you. And made sure that they were actually apothecaries, and not simply peddlers.”
“We received the exact same mixture from two separate apothecaries in two separate cities,” says Charlie. “You’d think that would be enough validation. Unless, perhaps, there’s a modern brew you don’t know about.”
The apothecary is fuming, but his ears perk in curiosity. At his heart, he’s a chemist, and no amount of pride can stop that sort from coveting knowledge they believe someone else might possess.
The man sighs, defeated. “If you have any left of the other potion, I’d be happy to look at it for you. See if I can recreate it.”
I nod, rifling through my satchel and handing him the vial.
His eyes perk at the sight of the tar-black liquid, and he extends his open palm. Once I hand it to him, he unstoppers the vial and gives it a sniff, his long nose scrunching in distaste.
Then he restoppers the vial and hands it back to me.
“That’s it?” says Charlie, clearly unimpressed. “That’s what you call looking at it for us?”
“Can you recreate it, though?” I ask, trying to tamp down my friend’s response slightly, lest we lose the privilege of buying any contraceptive from this man.
“I could recreate it, but you wouldn’t want me to,” he says.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because what you’ve got there is essence of mandrake,” he says.
“And?” says Charlie.
The man leans over his desk, resting himself on his forearms as he smirks.
“ And . Essence of mandrake is a fertility enhancer.”
“What?” asks Charlie, swiping the vial from the apothecary. “No, that can’t be right. I was told this was the premier contraceptive.”
For once, instead of my mind blurring with shock, it runs as clear as stream water.
“I’m afraid you’ve been peddled,” says the apothecary.
“No,” I say, and Charlie stares at me, disbelief draining her face of color. “No, a peddler would have given us something innocuous. Sugar water, or nectar. Something that would do nothing.”
“This doesn’t make any sense,” says Charlie. “You’re telling us that not one, but two separate apothecaries in different cities gave us a fertility enhancer instead of a contraceptive?”
“Poor luck, indeed,” says the apothecary. “Have you considered a draft for reversing bad fortune spells?”
“That will be unnecessary,” Charlie says through gritted teeth.
“Charlie,” I say. “The apothecary who sold you the potion in Shrinedale—what did she look like?”
Charlie throws her hands up. “I don’t know. I could hardly see her face. She was wearing a cowl.”
My heart goes cold.
“Ah, purchasing important potions from people who wish to hide their appearance. Wise,” says the apothecary.
“Did she have blue eyes?” I ask. “Ones she lined with kohl?”
Charlie’s cheeks sink as her eyes widen. “Oh, Winds.”
“The Middle Sister,” I say, so breathless I have to lean against the counter.
“I thought she looked like she was made of shadow,” says Charlie.
“She does, and I can’t explain it, but she has to be behind this somehow.”
“Winds, I’m so sorry.”
We make eye contact, and it’s excruciating. Charlie doesn’t have to speak for me to know she’s thinking about our conversation from only a few minutes ago.
“If you’d like,” says the apothecary, “I do have a brew to reveal whether a woman is with child.”
I feel the blood drain from my face.
Charlie reaches into her pocket, pulls out another coin purse, and sets it on the table.