Chapter 44
CHAPTER 44
JOHN
I haven’t been able to find Tink since the night I almost kissed her and panicked like an idiot. She’s been avoiding the cave where we usually meet, though I’ve been leaving fresh tiles there every day. I wish we’d come up with a symbol for an apology, but as we haven’t, the best I can do is leave her empty tiles and hope she understands that my not knowing what to say isn’t a lack of desire to speak with her.
Still, the weight of what Simon saw that day bears down on me. Bothering me is the combination of three facts: Wendy could see the visions too, she and Simon are both gone, and most concerning of all—Peter seems desperate to keep the rest of us from seeing those same visions.
Which gives credence to Tink’s story about Peter selling Wendy to the captain.
Peter’s been gone on a mission for the Sister for the past three days. I have little knowledge regarding how long it takes for faerie dust to work itself out of the blood, but given the pounding headache I woke with today, I’m assuming it’s out now. The problem is that if Peter’s been gone for three days, it’s likely he’ll be back soon. Meaning I’ll have to return to eating the onions under his watch.
Meaning I’m only guaranteed tonight to figure out what it was that Wendy and Simon saw.
I’ve been mulling it over, and the more I do, the more I’m convinced that Simon killed himself in the same place Thomas was murdered. That would explain why he was yelling for someone not to hurt someone else. I considered trekking there tonight, but I have limited time. And I need to find out what happened to Wendy. And why.
Which means I need to scout two places.
The only problem is that I don’t know if I’ll have time for both.
According to Peter and Tink’s story, Wendy was taken from the beach. But there are several beaches on this island, and I don’t know which one it was. I could search all night and not find the correct location—and that’s assuming that story is true to begin with.
Then there’s the storehouse, where Nettle died while I was unconscious. Everything seems to track back to that night. Whatever it was that Wendy witnessed. Whatever made Simon stop eating the onions. If my hunch that Peter’s willingness to give Wendy away had something to do with Nettle’s death, I have more of a chance of actually finding evidence there.
I’ve been debating all day which to choose.
In the end, I land on the storehouse. If I start with the beaches, there’s a good chance I won’t make it around to whichever one Wendy was taken from. At least with the storehouse, I know exactly where it is. If my hunch is wrong, I can always leave quickly and search the beaches.
The path to the storehouse is as arduous as usual. If only my left hand weren’t useless, then I could climb instead of going the long way around. By the time I reach the top of the cliffs, I’m antsy, already abundantly aware of how much time I’ve killed. Second-guessing my decision. I should have scoured the beaches.
Irritated with myself, I scan the area. If I’m right about the land having imprints of what happened on it, ones Wendy and Simon could see when they weren’t being dosed, there should be imprints of Nettle’s death lingering.
I’ll give myself three minutes to find it. If I’m unsuccessful, I’ll turn around and head toward the beaches.
As I near the empty storehouse, voices fall off the slope and through the leaves, piquing my interest. The closer I get, the more confident I am that the first voice is Peter’s. Strange. He’s supposed to be off on an errand. The other is a woman’s that I don’t recognize.
What’s happening on the cliffside, I have no idea. The trees obscure my view, and I’m hesitant to get any closer, lest I be heard. Part of me—the part that has any sense of self-preservation, says I should turn around. But if Peter is talking to the Sister like I think he is, there’s a chance I’ll find out what’s going on around here that I’ve been missing. Assuming I can get close enough to make out the words without either of them detecting me.
Remaining undetected is arduous in the dark. Twigs have a tendency to want to be stepped on, thorns walked into. But the matter is made worse with my smudged glasses, even with the moon shining in full force—strange that Peter’s back already. He’s usually off running errands for the Sister, especially the night of the full moon.
“This place is incredible, Peter,” says the female. Now that I’m closer, her voice sounds like honey and brass. There’s an edge to it, but the excited sort. Like she’s bouncing about, buzzing with an energy nothing can quite help her shed. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“You mean you’ve never seen trees and water?” says Peter, in a light and lilting voice.
“Oh, you know what I mean,” the woman says. “It’s a paradise. Well, the sullen sort. But it’s beautiful. And it’s ours.”
My mind catches on that last word. Ours. Has Peter brought some poor, unsuspecting girl back to Neverland? A replacement for Wendy now that she’s nowhere to be found? My stomach hardens.
“Ours. And the boys’,” says Peter.
I wait for the woman’s confused reaction, but Peter must have told her ahead of time about the Lost Boys, because she says, “I can’t wait to meet them. Especially Simon and Thomas. You’ve told me so many stories. I’m eager to put faces to their names.”
My stomach turns over at the sound of the dead boys’ names. Peter clearly didn’t inform her sufficiently.
Peter chuckles in a fond sort of way. An odd reaction given this woman just brought up that she’d love to meet two dead boys. “You might not be so eager once you get to know them,” he says.
“You’d be surprised at how good I am with kids,” says the woman.
“I thought you said you didn’t have any siblings.”
The girl pauses, but without seeing her face, I can’t surmise why. “Growing up in the…circles that I did,” she says, “well, there were other children who needed looking after. It takes time to adjust to the idea that you’ve been snatched out of your perfectly good life. Even for the kids who were plucked from the streets. You would think they would have liked being fed, but it came at a cost. They no longer had any agency about where they would go, who they’d see and serve. No way out.”
This time, it’s Peter who pauses. “I see what you’re trying to do.”
“Whatever do you mean?” says the woman, playing coy. I can almost see her batting her eyelashes in my mind’s eye.
“You think the boys will have a difficult time adjusting to their new home.”
New home? I frown. The Lost Boys have been in Neverland for…well, I can’t even figure out how long. None of them seem to have any sense of time about them, and I figured it was just this place. But the way they talk about it, you would have thought the Lost Boys had been here for years.
“The possibility hasn’t crossed your mind?” she asks.
Peter launches into an explanation that sounds rather rehearsed. “They didn’t have any dreams back at the orphanage. Not ones that could ever hope to be fulfilled. Their dreams were to get through the night without an unwelcome visit from the warden. So no, I’m not too concerned that they’ll have a dreadful time now that they’re here. All they had to look forward to was being thrown out into the street, then hanging from a noose. That’s where they were headed.”
“Still. It’s the idea that they can never leave…”
“Is this about the boys never being able to leave,” Peter asks, “or you never being able to leave?”
The girl snorts. “Peter, don’t be childish. You know I’d follow you to the ends of the earth. You’re my home. But yes, if you must know, the part about being secluded from the rest of the world wasn’t a feature I would have selected if it were up to me.”
“Then why’d you bother coming?” The familiar apathy in Peter’s voice is back.
“Because I love you. You know that.” There’s hurt in the girl’s response. Something desperate that I haven’t yet been able to detect underneath the general strength of her disposition. “Because I love you, and you love these boys.”
“You’re sure it has nothing to do with me getting you out from underneath the hand of your master?” Peter says, infusing his question with a carefree lilt. Like he thinks teasing her will negate his defensive response. “And now you’re thinking maybe you should have run off when you got the chance?”
The girl must sense the truth behind his question, because she softens. “Peter. All I’ve wanted my entire life was to run. To see the world. And then you waltzed into my life, looking like the world was yours for the taking. And then I realized the world was there in front of me. You held it in your pockets. I just hoped perhaps you would share. No, if I had everything my way, we wouldn’t be secluded on this island from the rest of the world. But it’s not as if anyone else ever treated me like I was worth any more than the dirt underneath their feet.”
“There’s no use in thinking of them ever again. I don’t want you thinking of anyone else, Tink.”
Tink?
My mind sputters to a halt on her name. Strange, it should sound familiar, for how often it wriggles itself into my mind, how often I turn it over and examine it.
But on Peter’s lips it sounds foreign. Tainted.
I hate myself for the venom that excretes into my stomach, the jealousy that climbs my throat. I should be angry on behalf of my sister, and of course I am.
But I’m upset for myself. Almost to the point of petulance.
I can’t help but think of Tink’s flirtations in the cave—more than that, her insistence that she couldn’t speak. Anger rages within me when I consider how I thought she’d better understand Michael than most people. How I’d used my and his language to connect with her, invited her into my world and his.
And it had just been a game to her.
No, that isn’t logical. I’m sure she’s working an angle of some sort, probably for Peter. I’m not sure what she could possibly want from me. Perhaps she’s simply tasked with throwing me off of Peter’s trail.
Something sours in my gut. If Peter and Tink have been working together this entire time, what did they do to Wendy?
My sister has always been strange. Not in personality, but in her affinity for darkness, despite her sweet demeanor. Something about that has always gnawed at me. The Sister had wanted her, back when she made the bargain with my parents. But she must have had her reasons, and I can’t help but believe it has something to do with Wendy’s infatuation with the shadows.
What have they done with her?
No. I shake my head, reminding myself that my feelings are lying to me, distracting me so that I miss important details, wander off on side roads and forgo the logical path.
There’s something strange about what I heard. The way Tink seems so confident that they’ve only just gotten to Neverland.
Think, John.
I tamp down the jealousy threatening to rip me away from logic, and pad closer to the tree line, careful not to make a sound. I’ve almost made it near enough to peek through the brush when another voice stops me.
While Tink’s voice—I’m still rattled by the beauty of it, despite myself—is full of warmth, this female voice is different. Cold. Sinister. Proud.
“Look at what my Shadow Keeper has brought me,” the newcomer says. “Quite the catch, isn’t she? I can see why you wanted to keep her.”
A chill rattles my bones. The voice is too cemented in time not to belong to an immortal. Too bored. Too full of ease and cruelty. Even knowing what I know now about Tink and Peter’s relationship, that she’s been lying to me, playing me for the fool that I am, the urge grasps me to run after her, throw myself between her and the owner of this voice.
But I can’t.
Not when I still need to find out what happened to Wendy.
“Peter?” Tink sounds shaken, her voice warbling for the first time. There’s a snapping of a twig. At first I think I’ve shifted and given away my position, but then I realize it’s Tink backing away.
“Don’t fret, dear,” says Peter. “The Sister is who made this little world for us. She’s the one who gave me the coin to pay off your master’s fee.”
“Thank you,” says Tink, though even her gratitude is infused with wariness.
“You’re more welcome than you know, child,” says the Sister, and I find myself analyzing her voice, her every word, trying to figure out which of the three from the story she is. Assuming the story isn’t fiction, meant to lead mortals astray with our own assumptions.
“I was enslaved to that circus master for years,” says Tink. “With all due respect, I think I do know.”
Though I can’t see the Sister, I feel her smile curl the air. “Very well. Then you’ll understand that I require payment.”
There’s a hesitation there. It’s killing me not to look out past the trees. “We have nothing,” says Tink.
I wonder if she’s looking at Peter for confirmation. When he says nothing, her voice goes soft. “Peter? Tell her we have nothing.”
Peter clears his throat. “Surely there’s another currency you’ll take than the price we previously discussed.”
“You know it is not I who set the price. Trust me, if it were up to me, I would choose something less crude. Something I myself could enjoy. But one does not simply create an entire realm with the snap of a finger. Not unless one is the Creator, which I am not. I already informed you that my power is limited. That I must—utilize other devices.”
“Peter.” His name on Tink’s voice, the subtle desperation with which she says it, wrenches a blade in my gut. “What is she talking about?”
“Oh, did he not tell you, young one?” asks the Sister, tsking. “A realm like this one cannot be held together with Fabric and thread alone. Sure, my Sisters and I can manipulate worlds that already exist, but creating one—well, it can’t be done. Not really. Not in a way that is sustainable. Without a tether to the other realms, this world will unravel.”
My heart pounds against my chest thinking of Michael being inside a world that might unravel at any moment. It seems even Tink stops breathing for a moment. “You know, then.”
I’m not sure if she’s talking to Peter or the Sister.
Know what?
The Sister speaks next. “Did you think you could keep it hidden?”
“It’s hardly clear to me,” says Tink. “I’m unsure why you thought I’d think it was obvious to anyone else. Perhaps if you explained my condition—”
Peter interrupts her. “Tink.” I can see him shaking his head in my mind’s eye.
“It’s alright, Peter,” says the Sister. “Don’t you think your pet should understand? Don’t you think it will be easier for her if she knows it was necessary?”
“If I know what is necessary?” says Tink. “You need a tether. I assume that’s me. What are you going to do? Spill my blood on an altar? Burn me and bury my ashes in the black sand? What is she going to do to me, Peter?”
There’s such accusation in her voice, I can almost see it blazing in her eyes. I have to do something. I’m not sure what they’re going to do to her, but I can’t let it happen.
“Nothing quite so cruel as that,” says the Sister. Something clicks. It sounds like long nails clacking together.
Peter’s voice is placating. “Tink—”
“Funny,” Tink scoffs. “You didn’t mention how pivotal I was in this process. When you said you needed me, I thought you were being romantic. My mistake.”
A moment passes, then sounds of a struggle. I can’t help but inch closer, trying to get a look through the trees. My heart shouldn’t go out to protect her. Not when in some way she’s been colluding with Peter this entire time. Not when she probably made up the story about Captain Astor taking Wendy to throw me off the truth—whatever that may be.
Was Tink’s attack on Wendy part of a ruse too? One to give Wendy a reason to be patched up by Peter? To grow to trust him? But why would Tink push Wendy toward her lover? And why can’t I help but want to save her from whatever horror is about to befall her?
“Let go of me!” she screams, and it’s like her voice is clawing against my chest.
“Tink. Tink, just calm down. I promise it’ll be over soon.”
I hear her spit on him. “Don’t ever promise me anything again.”
The Sister laughs. “I wouldn’t waste my breath trying to repair your relationship, Peter. But don’t fret. You don’t have to lose her. I’ve crafted this island with a special place you can keep her if she gets to be too much of a problem.”
“Please, you have to understand,” Peter begs Tink, ignoring the Sister’s council. “I had to save them. The boys…”
“Were your initial motivation, yes,” says the Sister. “Despite my warnings that they are not the best place to place your affections. But Tink, may I tell you the truth? Between us girls?”
The Sister must lean in to whisper it in Tink’s ear, because I don’t hear what she says next.
After several moments, Tink’s ragged breaths devolve into sobs. “No, please. Please, Peter. You can’t. How could you?”
My heart breaks. I scramble through my pockets, trying to find anything to attack Peter with. But I’m human, and he’s fae, and he has a Fate behind him. There’s nothing I can do to fight against him. No strength I can muster. And just like with Wendy, there’s no amount of knowledge in the world that I can use in place of strength to protect her.
Yet again, I’ve failed someone I care for by not being strong enough.
But maybe I can distract them. Just long enough for Tink to get away.
It’s stupid and foolish and rather short-sighted, but I’m about to lunge from the brush, readying my lungs to yell.
I don’t get the chance. Because Tink screams, and it rattles me to my very core. It’s the scream of nightmares. The scream of shadows. The kind that haunts you in the middle of the night when you’ve locked yourself in your room, sure that no one can get to you.
Tink screams, and then the sound is cut off. There’s nothing but silence left behind.
I make myself look, dread convincing me that she’s dead, but when I peer around the corner, sure Peter and the Sister will see me, there’s nothing there.
Well, that’s not entirely true. There’s nothing of substance there.
Where I thought Tink, Peter, and the Sister were gathered congregate three shadows, and not like the one Peter takes in his shadow form. Wraiths, I realize. Shadows that have taken on the pain of their environment, soaked it up and come alive. Telling a story of pain that lanced the past with such precision, it can still be seen, heard in the present.
That’s what Wendy and Simon had been seeing.
Wraiths.
When Wendy had visited the storehouse to try to steal faerie dust to get us out of Neverland that first time, she’d almost collapsed after hearing the shadows screaming.
After hearing a woman screaming.
She’d been hearing Tink.
The wraith in the shape of Tink is on the ground, clutching her own throat, convulsing soundlessly.
“They took your voice,” I say, my own croaking. “To bind Neverland.” My mind whirls, searching for an explanation for how this could possibly work, but my parents’ library never contained as much information as I would have liked on magic. It was mostly science, and what wasn’t science was mostly human speculation. We didn’t have many texts written by the fae.
I don’t understand the process behind it, why Tink’s voice is special to them. All I know is that they took it. And that makes me want to scream.
Her wraith weeps silently, knees in the dirt. When Peter kneels to stroke her face, to comfort her, she swats him away. I don’t have to see the missing color in her eyes to know the blaze in them, the accusation in the stare she offers her lover.
“He lured her here and took her voice,” I whisper again, startled by my own realization.
“Tink, it’ll be okay, I promise,” Peter says. “I’ll make it better. You have to understand. I had to do it. For the boys.”
I want to rush to her, to comfort her. But of course I can’t. Because although this Tink is very much real, she’s simply a figment of the past. A memory. Still existing somewhere underneath the calluses of the woman I’ve come to know and care for.
When the Sister’s shadow turns to look at me, a shiver races down my spine. My feet urge me to flee, but I remind myself my fear is lying to me. It’s not actually her. Just a memory. Just a shadow.
A shadow trying to tell me something.
Tink had been in so much pain up on the cliffs when the Sister took her voice, it had made an imprint by the storehouse. Hadn’t Peter come to save Wendy from a nightstalker that evening? According to Wendy’s account, she’d frozen up, the shadows enveloping her.
She’d heard a woman’s scream—Tink’s scream, reaching out to her from the past.
“Do the other wraiths know?” I ask, trembling as I approach the gathering of shadows. “Do you know what happened to Wendy? What happened to my sister?”
The wraith in the shape of Tink peers up at me. She shakes her head, somewhat sadly, and the hope billows out of me.
But then the shadows turn into wisps, then reshape, drifting unnaturally. The shadow version of Tink stands up, though it looks less like her pushing herself up with her legs and more like falling backward.
Like they’re rewinding time.
Tink’s talking again, and the Sister leans in to whisper in her ear. I’m still not close enough to hear, and by the time I draw near, the Sister has already backed away. Tink and the Sister look at me again. I’d assume they were blinking if I could see any semblance of eyes.
This time when the Sister leans in to whisper in Tink’s ear, I’m prepared.
At least, I’m prepared to listen. What I’m not prepared for is the revelation that changes everything.
As the Sister speaks, telling Tink of what’s to come, my legs begin to quake. Tink is breathing hard, but it’s nothing compared to my body’s reaction.
Some get physically ill when they hear dreadful news.
I wish I had that luxury.
My body won’t allow me to let it out. The truth just stays inside me, pressing outward against the inside of my skull, the flesh of my stomach, making me feel as if my skin is going to burst.
When the memory is done recounting itself, it must not think I heard because of my blank expression, my lack of reaction.
So when the Sister leans in again, I have to listen to every horrid detail again. It’s for the best, I have to remind myself. It’s for the best. That way I can memorize it. Recount it all perfectly to Wendy when I finally find her.
If she’ll believe me. That’s the worst part. I don’t think she will. I’m not sure even I believe what I’m hearing.
Until something shifts behind me, tethering me to reality. If you can even call Neverland that.
Whatever is there, I can’t see it. Likely a night creature. Hopefully not a nightstalker, but it reminds me that my mission is not over for the night.
If I’m going to discover the rest of the truth, I need to discover what happened to Wendy on the beach. Given the placement of the moon in the sky, I have less than two hours.