Chapter 52
Water sloshes against the captain’s boots as he carries me out of the cave and across the beach. I bounce against his back, watching where his boots leave prints in the black sand.
Not that it matters. Once we slip through whatever gap in the Fabric Captain Astor entered through, it’s not as if his footprints will do Peter much good. I struggle and wriggle against the captain’s grip, his fae body hardly affected by the time I spent subtly starving him. Even beating against his firm back ends up being more humiliating than helpful. I’m like an infant, balling my fists in a struggle for power I’m years away from attaining.
So I stop.
I suppose that makes me weak, like the captain often accuses me of, but if these are to be my last moments in Neverland, I’d like to take the time to appreciate my home.
So I steady my labored, panicked breaths with the salty tang of the ocean air. Close my eyes and fill my lungs with its scent, make myself memorize the way it tingles in my nostrils and fills my exhausted body with life.
Then I open my eyes and start counting the pebbles, focusing in on their glossy sheen. My toes long to feel the weight of them pushing up against the soles of my feet, and I mourn the fact that I didn’t linger to teeter on their unsteady surface before. Even the disgusting kelp with their glossy bulbs and monstrous tendrils catch my attention, beg me to mourn them.
Last of all, I crane my neck and glance toward the center of the island, where high above the canopy, one massive tree grows taller than the rest. I know I’m only fooling myself, but I try to imagine John and Michael racing to the top of it, waving to me from its branches, Michael chanting, “Last one to the top’s dead meat.”
I close my eyes again and imagine the earth beneath my racing feet. Let Michael’s laughter echo through my skull. Soak in John’s competitive grin, taunting me as we race through the woods. Just one last time.
And then I let myself think of Peter. Let myself wonder how long it will take him to find me, if there will be any of me left.
My mind conjures a shadowed pair of wings in the distance, just above the treetops. The figure curves, leaning in toward me.
Once we’ve traversed farther down the beach than I’ve ever been brave enough to venture, we reach a bay with sparkling blue water. The kind of cove that looks as if it belongs on a tropical beach, not a frigid place like Neverland.
The water glistens turquoise, drawing on the early morning light. Even the reflection from this stunning cove, ringed by a set of dark, sleek boulders, can’t make the white fog dissipate.
But there’s something that can.
Shadows cut through the fog, poisoning the white clouds with ink. At first, it looks as if I’m gazing upon an oil landscape onto which a child has taken a pen. But then the shadows begin to take shape, and something sharp pokes through the haze.
It’s a woman, or rather, the shape of one. Except she has a tail instead of legs, and shadows for a braid. She’s soaring through the air, too slowly to be natural, her body too still.
But then more shadows follow, and my eyes adjust to what they’re seeing.
The massive hull of a ship breaks through the fog, a mermaid its figurehead. Though only the bow of the vessel is visible, it’s enough for me to gape in awe at the size of it.
The wind blows, and the fog cuts away. The shadows remain.
The ship is impressive. Shadows swarm it, most of them condensing to form its solid shape, from its long, lithe hull to its mast that charges into the heavens. Darkness billows in the breeze, forming the shape of a black, unmarked sail.
“This is yours,” I whisper, hardly able to contain the awe in my voice as I gape at the beautiful structure.
“Darling, meet the—” The captain halts, his shoulders trembling a bit. Maybe it’s the exertion of carrying me all this way after being partially starved for so many days. Perhaps he feels for his ship the same way I feel for Peter, a massive hole in my chest at the idea of being separated.
From the deck of the ship, someone yells, waving both hands. My human ears can’t detect what they’re saying over the waves and wind, but soon other forms appear on the deck, peering over at their captain.
The captain lets out an audible sigh, and I realize the relief isn’t for his ship as much as it is for his crew. “Entry to Neverland was a tad rocky,” he explains. “We arrived in the midst of a storm. I stayed at the helm trying to man the ship and ended up getting thrown overboard.”
“And your crew didn’t bother to look for you?” I ask.
He grunts, amusement tingeing his voice. “I’m not fond of being rescued. They know that. They also knew my orders were to remain hidden in the fog offshore.”
“And if you had died? Would they have waited for you forever?”
“They would have known if I was dead,” is all he says.
I have little time to ponder his unsatisfactory answer, as something barrels into the captain’s side.
The impact sends me careening toward the ocean. Sand smacks against my face, saltwater burning my nostrils as I inhale a mouthful. I come up from the water sputtering, but at least there are no shadows around keeping me from knowing which way is up.
Salt burns at my eyes, but I fight through the dizziness. Dizziness? I place my hand on my skull. When I pull it away, my palm is slick with blood. The sight makes me queasy, but I force myself to watch the scene unfolding ahead.
The captain is upright, but he’s fighting off his attacker with bare hands, weaponless.
The attacker has wings.
Wings made of shadows.
Relief mingled with fear ripples through me. He came; Peter came for me. I watch as he wrestles with the captain. As Peter pulls his dagger from his belt.
I’m not sure why I do it, but my mouth betrays me, and I let out a scream of fright. It’s not a signal, but it’s enough to catch the captain’s attention. Enough for him to glance at the dagger in Peter’s hands and feint just in time to keep the blade from finding a home in his chest.
Panic engulfs me. I don’t know why I did that. It’s going to cost Peter the fight.
Down the side of the ship’s hull, ropes dangle as the crew climbs down the sides of the ship and into the frothy water. I recognize a few of them. The large bald man who tried to steal Michael. Evans, his deep brown skin and beautiful smile, now fused with bloodlust and the thrill of a fight rather than that of a dance. As each of the crew climbs down, my mind doesn’t just see them, but the faces of the innocent suitors, necks bloodied, that fell at each of their feet.
The cove fights against me, weighing down my legs, but I slog toward Peter and the captain with all my might. I don’t know what I intend to do. Halfway there, I realize I should be running toward the Lost Boys. Running toward the Den, toward my brothers, warning John to take Michael and leave Neverland before the pirates can ransack the island.
My mind knows the direction I should be headed, but there’s something digging into my chest, an anchor that ties me to Peter, pulling me in.
So I, weak little coward that I am, rush into the fray.
Peter is surrounded,pirates flanking him on all sides. While he keeps partially to his fleshly form, shadows whip from Peter’s hands, strangling the pirates as they advance, but there are too many of them.
Too many of them for Peter to focus on the captain. Whose dagger is reared back, ready to soar.
I’m not sure what my plan is; I don’t even have Peter’s dagger at my side. But I know my one bargaining chip.
The captain wants me.
I have no idea what for, but nothing else matters at this moment except making sure the captain’s glinting knife gets nowhere near Peter.
“Stop,” I scream.
As if my words are infused with magic, Captain Astor complies, his fingers closing around the hilt of the blade just before it leaves his fingertips. For a moment, I’m stunned he obeyed, but quick as a flame to a dry wick, the captain pivots, lunging for me.
The world around me shifts, and again the sharp blade finds my throat.
Peter stops in his tracks. It’s like watching smoke freeze. “Don’t touch her.”
“Oh, it’s a little too late for that,” says the captain, brushing the place on my neck where my Mating Mark ripples, the same patch of skin he stroked the night of the masquerade ball, causing my breath to hitch. “Should have come for her a tad earlier, if that’s what was important to you.”
Peter glances at the crew, though none of them advance. They won’t until their captain wills it.
“The rest stay in that monstrosity of a tree,” Captain Astor says, nodding toward the Den. “From what Darling here tells me, none of you should have any issues getting in.”
My stomach plummets. I don’t even remember telling the captain where the Lost Boys stay. What the reaping tree requires of each of us. How much information did he siphon out of me when I thought I was the one interrogating him?
“Please, just let them go,” I whisper. “I’ll come with you. Just don’t hurt any of them.”
“I’m getting a little weary of you saying that, Darling,” says the captain, whispering in my ear. “Come now, come up with something a bit more clever. Or at least with a little more fight in you.”
Peter holds out a hand, warily. “What do you want?”
“Drop the dagger and we’ll talk.”
Peter glances toward me, swiftly, then slowly kneels, placing his dagger in the sand.
It should fill me with panic, seeing Peter in a state of surrender, but the part of me that watched my parents slay themselves by their own hands is filled with relief.
“And put those hideous tendrils away while you’re at it.”
Annoyance flashes across Peter’s face, but he does as he’s told, his shadows slinking back into his wings.
“Now then,” says the captain. “I want you to give her to me.”
Peter cranes his neck to the side, then opens his mouth carefully. “From over here, it looks like you already have her.”
“Only because I took her from you,” says the captain. “But I’m afraid that’s not going to be enough.”
Peter breathes out sharply. “You know I won’t do that.” Then, as if regaining his composure, putting up that wall of casual charm, Peter flashes the captain a practiced grin. “I’m selfish with my things, Captain. I suppose it’s an only child thing.”
At that, the blade in the captain’s hand jerks, nicking my neck. I let out a gasp as pain ripples through me, but the captain draws the knife away from my throat quickly, before it can do any more damage.
“Careful with the jokes, Peter,” the captain says, voice warbling. “I’m not in the mood.”
Fear glances off of Peter’s form, and I wonder then if he’ll give himself over to the shadows. If that would make him fast enough to break through the captain’s grip before he can slit my throat. If he would be able to control himself around me after it was done.
I wait for the carnage.
Peter sighs, then a cruel smile overtakes his face. “What’s in it for me?”