Chapter 27
T he Gentle Hand Asylum for Wayward Youth, fifty years earlier…
Peter stepped into the mess hall and made a beeline for the giant pot of gruel, letting out a sigh of relief.
The workday was done. His hands stung from the lye, and his back ached, but there was a chance he might get to see Tink later tonight, and that made everything— any thing—bearable.
He spooned a helping of gruel into his bowl, then headed over to the table where his friends were already eating. “Any good?”
Jack nodded eagerly, “A bit of salt in it today.”
“Headmaster was happy because we did such a good job cleaning this morning,” Peter said as he shoveled a bite of the gluey slop into his mouth. Sprinkling a bit of salt on shite didn’t make it any better in his book, but he wasn’t about to take the wind out of Jack’s sails.
“Except Eddie,” Jack added, his lips pursing in short-lived sadness. “But there’s nothing to be done about that.”
“What’s his sentence again?”
“Three days.”
Peter glanced over his shoulder, fury bubbling in his empty gut as his gaze found the headmaster.
The old man leaned down over one of the younger girls, a skeletal hand shooting forward to snatch the paper she’d been drawing on.
He held it up, face twisting in anger as he chewed her out for “wasting school resources on her nonsense.”
The blood pounding in Peter’s ears reminded him to turn away before he said something the shriveled old bastard would surely make him regret.
It’s not worth it. Just a couple more years, and you’ll be long gone.
Byron Archibald’s job as headmaster was to serve as both parent and teacher, but he somehow managed to fail at both. More tormentor than mentor, the beady-eyed twat seemed dead set on making life a living hell for every orphan here, and poor, simple Eddie had gotten the brunt of it lately.
Jack laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder, bringing him back to reality. “You good?”
“Yep,” Peter replied, slurping a final bite of porridge before pushing his chair back to stand. “I’ll catch you guys in a bit.”
The other boy’s voice dropped to a nervous whisper. “What about your bowl?”
Peter waved the concern aside, looking back to make sure the headmaster was still occupied before dashing the rest of the way out of the room, bowl still in hand. He leapt nimbly over the creaky bottom step, then crept the rest of the way up the stairs.
He turned down the hall, listening for footsteps as he tiptoed up to the bulky, wooden door to the right. A low grumble rose from his stomach, but he pushed the feeling aside as he rapped lightly on the door.
Movement rustled from inside, and a low voice called out, “I’m almost done, sir! Just a few more lines and?—”
“It’s only me.” Peter slid the food port open and pushed the bowl into the slot. “So jumpy.”
The younger boy looked up from the page he’d been scribbling, which was, no doubt, filled with hundreds of blithering apologies—one of The Warden’s favorite punishments to dish out.
His eyes lit up as they locked onto the food.
“Gods, thank you,” he said, dropping his pencil and scrambling over eagerly.
“You need to eat fast,” Peter said, seeing how unnecessary the words had been as the other boy ignored the spoon, bringing the bowl right to his lips and tilting it back to dump in what was left of the porridge.
“The Warden’s been keeping you hungry, eh?
” he muttered, using their nickname for the malicious Headmaster.
The boy pushed the empty bowl back through the port, wiping a glob of gruel from his upper lip with a groan. “Haven’t had a bite since he put me in here. Has he said how long I’ll be here, by the way?”
Peter chewed at his inner lip, pausing for a moment before answering. “Two more days.”
Eddie’s hands shot upward, latching onto his mop of blond hair. “ Fuck .”
Fuck, indeed. The kid’s belt was already on the first hole, barely holding up his loose trousers as it was. If he was here much longer, he’d be nothing but a bag of bones.
Peter squashed down the rising rage and managed a grin for his friend. “I’ll do my best to sneak food whenever I can. Gotta go, or I’m going to wind up sitting right beside you.”
Peter let the port swing shut behind him, beginning his march back down the hall. Probably best to hide the bowl and bring it back la ? —
A loud creak cut the thought short, and terror sent a spike through his chest as he broke into a sprint. But where was there to even go? The Warden would check the common room first, so…
Peter shoved the door to the storage room open, closing it behind him as he crept toward the window. He avoided looking down, sucking in a breath.
No time to waste.
His hand shot upward, latching onto a protruding brick. Fear turned into relief as he yanked on it with everything he had, latching onto the next brick.
His fingertips brushed the top of his next handhold, and he yanked himself up again, his heart thumping heavily in his ears. One screw up, and he’d be dead, but he’d never felt more alive.
Now this is freedom.
He latched onto the roof, springing upward a final time with a spinning leap as pure joy tingled at his scalp. It wasn’t quite flight.
Not yet, he reminded himself as he landed on the roof with a gentle thud. One day, it would be, and he’d taste true freedom.
A cold gust of wind sent a chill up his spine, and he whirled, grinning. “Tink?”
Light blotted out the stars for the briefest of moments, and he raised his hand in greeting as the love of his life appeared in front of him. She blushed, and her butterfly wings came to a stop as she reached out to cup his face.
“I’ve missed you. How have you been?”
“Great.” And somehow, it didn’t feel like a lie. All the struggle and pain he’d been through in the weeks since their last meeting seemed to fade as it always did, carried away by the wind. “And you?”
She shrugged, ignoring the question as she pulled him toward the chimney at the edge of the roof. “The stars are beautiful tonight.”
Peter nodded in agreement, but his gaze never left Tink. “Not as beautiful as you.”
The light in those brilliant, violet eyes faded and her smile trembled for the briefest of moments before she broke into a giggle.
“You must not be seeing the right stars.”
“Show me, then.”
And she did. For the next hour they lay side by side, hands clasped, staring upward as they named constellations and told stories of distant places far more interesting than this.
And, for that time, thoughts of the orphanage, The Warden, and everything else were the furthest thing from Peter’s mind.
One day, this would be his life.
“Ooh, that one almost looks like a—,” he started, cutting off as he heard a soft snore at his shoulder.
He grinned, pressing his nose into her hair and breathing in the smell of honeysuckle as his own eyes drifted shut.
There would surely be consequences for it tomorrow, but they seemed unimportant compared to this.
He’d wake her first thing in the morning, then sneak into his cot before the breakfast bell.
A soft rustling and a whimper at his side had his eyes snapping open again.
“Tink?” he whispered, going silent when he saw that she was still sound asleep.
And yet…
Her body began to shift and writhe, going fuzzy at the edges. Little craters began forming on her porcelain skin, and her features began pulling closer together, bit by bit.
Peter scrambled back, voice catching in his throat. “T—Tink?! Are you okay?”
She reeled, her now-sunken eyes shooting open in a flash of purple, and she pulled back in panic as her face began to blur once again. “Please tell me you didn’t see. You?—”
He tugged her back, his hand going to her cheek. Most would have considered her true form hideous; he could tell that much. But somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to feel the same. Even if she wasn’t the fairy he’d thought she was, she was still his Tink.
“Shhh. It’s okay, Tink. You don’t have to do that,” he said as her face smoothed out, beginning to return to its normal form. Then he leaned forward, going for a kiss.
And, for a half-second, she moved as if to return it, then pulled back, shoving him away. “No! How is it okay? Don’t you get it. That…that is what I look like. I’m hideous , Peter. Aren’t you angry that I deceived you?”
He laughed softly, a deep peace washing over him. “Look at me.”
And she did, looking terrified and amazed in equal measure.
“I love you for you, Tink,” he said, his hand settling on her chest. “For what’s in here. And no matter what, you’ll always be beautiful to me.”
She stared back at him for a long moment, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes as her chest began to glow with warm, orange light. “You really mean it, don’t you?”
“Of course I mean it,” he said, leaning toward her for another kiss. “You’re still my Tink, and I’m still your Peter.”
Her trembling hand went to her chest, her gnarled fingers pressing right into it, as if it was made of water rather than flesh and bone. And when they emerged, she was holding a glowing ember of pure energy.
“Will you take it?”
He couldn’t speak, or even breathe, so he settled for a nod, and she pressed it into him, as if fusing a tiny piece of her soul into his.
“I am yours,” he managed after a long moment. She was changing back even as he said it, and, this time, he didn’t stop her. She’d already seen that he didn’t mind, but it’d take time for her embarrassment to fade, and that was okay.
“And I am yours.” She paused for a long moment as her face returned to the heart-shaped perfection he knew and then gestured outward into the surrounding city. “So let’s leave this place, then. You should come with me, Peter. We can run off to somewhere far away together.”