Chapter 12
There’s a moment when I’m being swallowed by the tree where I feel the vines reach down into my throat, and take.
I’m not sure what they’re possibly taking, given they accepted me because of the part of myself that’s missing.
Like Michael, I thrash against the wretched plant as it gags me with its tendrils, but after an agonizing eclipse that threatens to last an eternity, it withdraws, releasing my body like vipers fleeing a den.
Gentle golden faerie light floods my vision, and when my eyes adjust, it’s to a room too spacious for the size of the tree trunk. At first I have the absurd thought that perhaps the tree is larger on the inside—which I suppose can’t be that absurd as the tree did just swallow me and force my brother to slice off a finger. But the walls are made of the tangle of roots and earth, not hollowed bark.
We’re not in the reaping tree. We’re underneath it.
Whispers reach my ears. I spot John in the corner, holding Michael to his chest as he rocks him back and forth, fisting his hands at Michael’s chest to put pressure there the way Michael likes.
Instinctively, perhaps because I’m used to it, I prepare to scold whoever’s whispering and giggling about Michael. But when my eyes find the offenders, no one is staring at my brother.
Nine sets of eyes stare directly at me.
They’re children—all of them boys, most of them looking to be about sixteen. They’re of all heights and builds, their skin colors ranging from pale as the beaches back home to as dark as Neverland’s charcoal sand.
“That boy looks funny,” says the youngest, the only one who looks to be about ten. He points directly toward my breasts, which I realize are showing slightly from how my gown has gone askew during flight. I flush, pulling my neckline up to cover myself, at which point a boy—the one with light brown skin and silky black hair—just chuckles.
“That’s cuz that’s a girl, Smalls.”
Smalls, the youngest boy, whose body is rather cushioned around the edges, opens his mouth wide. “No way, Simon. I thought you were making those up.”
Simon grins, though only he seems at all comfortable with my presence. The rest of the boys are glancing at me shyly. Like they can’t tell whether they should greet me or ignore me.
What kind of life these boys have lived so that the youngest has never seen a girl before, I hesitate to even ponder.
“What’s Peter going to do with you?” asks a redheaded, pale and freckled boy whose frame is slender.
Instantly, John tenses in the corner, still holding Michael.
Heat blotches my cheeks and neck.
“I—” I’m not sure how to answer when a clump of roots from the ceiling drifts downward. They soon retreat, setting Peter on the dirt floor. His wings flutter lightly as he shakes the dirt from them. There’s a cacophony of hoots and hollers from the boys. The youngest, Smalls, runs up to Peter, looks like he’s considering hugging him, then thinks better of it and gives Peter a hearty salute.
Simon follows, clapping Peter on the back in a swift embrace.
One by one, all the boys file up to him, beaming like he’s their returned savior. Like he’s a father, home from a long day of work or a faraway journey.
The image of my father’s neck streaked with blood flashes across my memory.
I blink the image away behind muddied tears, focusing back on the reunion before me. When Peter greets the boys, it’s the first time I’ve seen him offer a smile that isn’t a smirk. He uses all the muscles in his face, complete joy written all over his beautiful features as he clasps the boys’ hands like they’re the oldest of friends.
Something threatens to shift in my perspective, but I refuse to let it.
“All right, Pete,” says Simon, once all the boys have gotten a chance to greet the Shadow Keeper. “Who’re the new kids?”
“This, Simon,” says Peter, gesturing toward my brothers, “is John and Michael.”
Interestingly enough, none of the boys comment on the way Michael is rocking back and forth, whispering something I can’t make out.
Simon nudges Peter in the shoulder. “I think you’re forgetting someone.” He winks, his copper eyes glinting in the light of the torches lining the walls.
Peter’s brilliant smile falters a bit, but he regains his casual disposition quickly enough. He spins toward me, bowing low as he nocks a mocking grin like it’s an arrow. “This, boys, is your new mother.”
A chill runs up my spine, confusion at the Shadow Keeper’s words rattling my bones. Is this what the Shadow Keeper has wanted from me all this time? A kidnapped woman only fit for raising this group of boys?
Questions bombard my mind. Do they see Peter as a father figure? Is Peter their father? He certainly doesn’t look old enough to be, but he’s fae. If he’s from any other realm than mine, it’s likely he’s not cursed with mortality, so it’s possible he could be hundreds of years old.
I glance at the faces of the boys, searching for any resemblance to the copper-haired fae who’s haunted me since childhood, but other than the pointed ears I find none. Besides, from what I remember, fae have difficulty procreating. It would be unlikely that Peter had sired all of these boys.
So who are they? And where did they come from?
If I’m flabbergasted by Peter’s expectations for me, then the boys are even more so. A silence settles over the dark space, confusion wrought over each face. Even Simon, who practically exudes confidence, has a smile barely hanging onto his lips.
“What’s got it into your head that we need a mother?” says a solemn boy in the corner. Shadows underneath his eyes provide a stark contrast to his ghostly face.
Even the charming Simon looks concerned and grabs Peter by the shoulder, leaning into him to whisper something into his ear. “Pete, if this is about Tom—”
Peter swiftly removes himself from the boy’s grip. “Don’t get your corset tangled, Simon. I was only checking to see if the lot of you are still as gullible as when I left.”
“That was only a few hours ago,” mumbles the redheaded boy.
“I didn’t bring you a mother. Wendy’s much too young and beautiful for that. Simon,” he says, taking the dark-haired boy by the shoulders, then nodding toward two others, “Joel, Victor” —I note the boy with shadows underneath his eyes—“you’re hardly boys anymore. And men need mates to look after. I brought Wendy here for the three of you to compete for. Winner gets to make her your bride.”
My stomach turns over, horror wringing my insides as I consider the boys standing before me.
John jumps up from the corner. “You’ll do no such thing—”
Peter releases a whirl of shadows, keeping John in place.
He’s not looking at John. He’s not even looking at the boys, who hardly dare to glance at me, their faces blanketed with mortification. The Shadow Keeper is looking at me. For a moment, it seems the cruelty he apologized for earlier has returned, despite having taken his fae form.
“What do you say, Wendy Darling? You up for a game?”
My mouth goes dry, my tongue too. I want to cry, to hold back the tears. This is a nightmare, the worst sort. It was bad enough when I thought I was being kidnapped as the slave of the Shadow Keeper, but for him to auction me off to adolescent boys…
Peter sighs, his trickster eyes glinting with mischief. “I didn’t think so. You, Darling, and the three of you boys by the looks of you, will be glad to know I’m just teasing. Wendy will live here like the rest of you, and you’ll treat her as one of the Lost Boys.”
Lost Boys?
A set of grumbles fills the room, but Simon at least looks relieved. When he glances my way, there’s a softness in his eyes that makes me feel the tiniest bit safer.
Then, without deigning to acknowledge me any further, the Shadow Keeper stalks through the nearest darkened hallway hewn from the earth.
I stand there stunned for a moment, but I’m tired of being immobile while the world moves around me. Taking me and leaving me at everyone else’s whim.
You’re the type of girl who allows life to happen to her.
I grit my teeth, pushing the swarthy captain from my mind, and shove past the gaggle of boys huddled around, gaping at me.
A few of them whisper, and John starts to follow me, but I shake my head. “Just give me a moment,” I say.
Then follow Peter down the dark hall.
Partof me expects not to find him, anticipates he’ll have already cloaked himself in shadows, blended into the darkness that’s so clearly his natural home. But then footsteps sound in my ears, and I pick up my pace until I’m running. The soles of my bare feet pound against loose roots along the way. I can only hope I don’t step on a vine of thorns.
A turn of the corner, and I slam into a firm, warm figure.
I’d know it was him even if I hadn’t been chasing him. The amber and pine scent of shadows is so distinct, burned into my memory from the flight over Estelle, I would recognize it out of context, a world away.
“Stalking me from the shadows, Wendy Darling?” asks Peter. “I didn’t take you for that type, but I have to admit, I’m intrigued.”
I realize then that I’ve run straight into his chest. He must have heard me coming with that fae hearing of his, and turned around to catch me in his arms. One cradles the small of my back, the other hand follows the path of my shoulder until he’s stroking my cheek with the back of his palm.
He leaves a chill everywhere he touches. Like breathing the fresh winter air after being stuck in a smoking cabin.
“You just left,” I say, and immediately realize it was the wrong thing to say.
Peter cranes his head, an amused smirk flickering on the edges of his mouth. “Perhaps I liked the idea of you following me for once? Just how far into the shadows are you willing to trail me, Wendy Darling?” In horror, I watch as Peter’s wings turn to shadows, wrapping in front of him until they cover my eyes with the gentlest touch. “Do you crave the dark?”
Everything is black, magnifying the feel of his hand against the skin of my face.
“The only thing I crave is the truth.”
From the darkness comes a chuckle that has my spine crawling, a haunting that’s as familiar as the silk of my pillowcase back home. “We both know that’s a lie.”
My throat tightens, my body stiffening underneath his touch. A million questions swirl in my mind. For years, all I’ve expected from the Shadow Keeper is to steal me away. To make me into some melding of slave and concubine. I’ve spent years expecting him to strip me of everything I am, of my identity, my very being, until the memories of who I once was fade away and there’s nothing but a fragment of me left.
But now that I’m here, I’m beginning to wonder if the anticipation of such a fate hasn’t been chipping away at me already. Sanding me down until I’m barely a shadow of the woman I might have become had I been ignorant of my future.
I’ve made peace with the emptiness in my soul. I’ve embraced the nothingness.
“I’d just like to know what I’m to expect from you. Grant me that at least,” I say into the darkness, surprised by how my voice doesn’t shake, even if it does scrape my throat on the way out.
“Whatever do you mean?”
Frustrated with the Shadow Keeper’s fingers stroking my cheek, I pull away, wincing. “I thought—” My throat tightens. I can barely get the words out. This isn’t the type of thing I’ve ever spoken to anyone about. “I was under the impression you wanted me. That I was supposed to be a gift.”
The air turns stagnant. “Is that what you want, Wendy Darling? For me to want you?”
“No.” The word comes out just emphatically enough not to sound convincing. A blush rises to my cheeks, and Peter must sense it, because he retracts his shadows into his back, where they take the solid form of wings once more.
Peter scans the blotches spotting my skin, then says, carefully, “The woman your mother bargained with doesn’t have friends. Only lovers and slaves. Sometimes both. You, Wendy Darling, are no gift.”
When he removes his hand from my cheek, the refreshing chill disappears with it, leaving behind the numbness of extreme exposure to the cold.