Chapter 2
Maggie
“Good morning, all!”
Hazel Broomlin’s wide smile was enough to brighten the entire room.
Earthy green robes hung from her thin hands and fell down her back in a shortened cloak.
She pulled down her dark hood as she stepped inside, ruffling her pixie short brown hair before joining the crowd in the dining room.
Sunny, with his golden tail held high above his head, strode toward the witch without an ounce of fear.
The feline got used to seeing Hazel around after her first few visits, but something told Maggie that the cat didn’t mind her intrusions at all.
Each time Hazel strode through the treehouse, navigating the woody halls as if she had built them herself, Sunny was the first inhabitant to greet her.
After swooping down to tickle the cat’s wispy chin, Hazel stepped into the dining room, her nostrils flaring as she sniffed the air. “Dear me,” she exclaimed, the corner of her lip perking up in an amused smirk. “Don’t you boys think it’s a bit early for a slice of pie?”
Dash rubbed his belly, his mouth smeared with the fruity compote in the middle of the delicious treat. “But it’s rhubarb! That sounds a bit breakfast-y, doesn’t it?”
Despite the comments, Maggie was already spooning the final slice from the tin for Hazel.
The buttery brown crust held its shape nicely as she slid it onto an ornate green plate, one that happened to match Hazel’s entire outfit.
The witch readily took the slice, giving Maggie a beaming smile as she did so.
“It does,” Hazel murmured, already diving her fork through the dessert, “I guess I’ll indulge along with the rest of you!”
Maggie settled back into her seat as Hazel took her own beside her.
Maggie wasn’t at all sure what made her feel so bound to the witch, and she wasn’t in the mind to question it anytime soon.
Something about the older woman simply fit into their odd herd, as if she was always meant to join them at the dinner table all along.
Maggie, who already finished her pie, rested her chin against her palm as she watched Hazel greedily scarf down her slice of rhubarb pie.
Once halfway through, Hazel lifted her head up for a gulp of air, dabbing her mouth with the cotton napkins they used.
She leaned her back against the chair and scooted to get comfortable.
The witch never visited without a reason for doing so, and often discussed the coming and goings of the island with them.
But there was a hesitancy on the woman’s face that early morning, one that Maggie was quick to notice.
Hazel eyed her a few times, careful not to linger enough to garner a question as to why she was being so tight lipped.
As if he felt the same things Maggie ruminated over, Peter pushed his empty plate away, and leaned his elbows onto the table.
“How goes the western woods of Neverland, Hazel?” Peter asked.
Hazel sighed, a smile tugging across her face. Maggie could’ve sworn she saw her shoulders fall in a sense of relief.
“Rather quiet these days,” she reported with a shrug.
“Fairies don’t come my way unless they need to, and more times than not – they don’t need to.
” A quiet laugh rippled across the table.
“That being said, I’m sure you have all felt the sense of unrest passing across the island, like a stormcloud. ”
That caught Maggie’s attention. “What sort of unrest?”
“Well, fear, of course, my dear,” Hazel replied. She reached for her, gently patting the top of Maggie’s hand. “No one has heard from the pirates since they attacked the island a few weeks ago.”
“Wouldn’t that be a good thing?”
Peter spoke up, his sigh as heavy as the stormcloud Hazel referred to.
“Not when it comes to Hook and his crew.” He shook his head without saying anything yet, his brow furrowed at the center of his forehead, creating a ripple of wrinkles along his eyes as he thought.
“They had enough courage to jump out of the shadows. That’s not something to just move on from. ”
“Is it really that unusual for them to attack in broad daylight?”
The question, Maggie realized, was probably not one that Peter Pan needed to be asked.
He stood from the table, pushing back the old wood until everything on top of it rattled and wobbled with uncertainty.
The Lost Boys lifted their plates before it even happened, as though they were familiar with the King’s child-like outburst. Where Maggie thought he was about to put on the show of a laughable angry King, Peter simply let out another sigh before retaking his seat.
His chin fell against his fist irritably, and then his elbow smacked harshly into the table.
“Honestly,” Neverland’s King began in a low murmur, “the entire thing has kept me up at night, it’s bothered me that much.”
Maggie leaned forward. Weeks had passed since their encounter with Captain Hook and his crew, and she had no idea that it burdened him in such a notable way.
And yet, by the way he stared off into a random spot in the table, Maggie figured the problem lingered with him a lot more than she could’ve imagined.
“Rightfully so,” Twitch replied before she could.
“When was the last time Hook dared to attack in the middle of the day? When he knew Peter and the rest of us would be out and about? He must’ve known they wouldn’t have lasted long, at least not with us around!
” He gave a high-five to Dash, who sat with an amused expression to his left.
Peter still seemed troubled. “Hook’s up to something,” he muttered. “And the fact that we haven’t heard from them since that day isn’t a coincidence.”
Scamp shrugged. “Means what, Peter?”
“I don’t know yet,” he replied.
Silence spread across the table. There was an eerie anger hanging around Peter’s aura, one that Maggie could feel from her own seat.
Perhaps he was simply perplexed over their pirate predicament, especially when the key to healing the Everything Plant might just lie within their grasp after all.
Ever since the attack, Peter avoided discussing the artifact he mentioned, the one that had been taken by the pirates some time ago.
Maggie shook her head, the motion so small she didn’t think anyone else caught it.
That is, until she noticed Hazel’s glowing eyes clinging to her.
Maggie cleared her throat as a delicate heat rushed across her cheeks in embarrassment. “What about those who were injured? I remembered hearing about a few fairies who got caught up in the attack. How are they?”
Hazel, who finished her slice of pie, gave her a small smile.
“They heal well, if not slowly. But sometimes time is needed for the medicine to truly work its magic.” She pressed her hands against her chest, overlapping the warm space where her heart lay.
“I pray to whatever higher power there is in thanks for their mercy. No lives were taken in the attack, and that is something to be grateful for.”
“You’re right,” Maggie replied with a smile. Her eyes found Peter at the end of the table, who still looked as troubled as before. “Did you hear that, Peter? They heal well and there is much to be grateful for.”
He stared off into space until Dash tapped the table beside his empty plate.
Peter’s sharp eyes snapped up, finding Maggie with a familiar twinkle.
He tilted his head and grinned, acting as though there hadn’t been a thing bothering him before.
Maggie wished then and only then for the ability to peer into another person’s mind, if not for just one single second.
“I’ll drop by soon to check up on them, Hazel,” Peter said. “If that isn’t too much of a hindrance for you.”
“Of course not!” Hazel beamed. “They would brighten at the sight of their King coming to visit them.”
Maggie twiddled her thumbs together as a low chatter took over the table.
Dash and Scamp discussed what pie they would like to see next, Twitch leaned back in his seat with a cloth napkin draped over his eyes, and Dusty was busy giving every ounce of his attention to Sunny – who was in the process of begging for some sort of early morning treat.
Maggie eyed Hazel. The woman picked a few crumbs off her plate, looking rather at ease with herself.
Maggie chewed on her bottom lip. One of the reasons why Hazel visited the treehouse more frequently was because of Maggie’s unlocked memories.
After their encounter with the memory collecting goblin, Maggie often grew distracted over her newfound memories.
They visited her in the late evenings, when darkness shrouded her vision and the moon loomed overhead.
They clung to her in the early hours, when there wasn’t a soul around to distract her from it.
There was only Hazel’s promise to help her understand them that kept Maggie going throughout all the questions, throughout the wondering.
She leaned toward Hazel. “Forgive me if it’s odd to ask,” Maggie began, “but have you given any more thought to my strange memory?” In an instant, it flashed across her vision once more.
A dark storm looming over her. The full moon watching from above.
Wild ocean waves knocking the rusty rowboat in every direction.
The unforgettable and unmistakable wail of a newborn baby.
And a feeling, one that Maggie kept to herself throughout it all.
One that was oddly familiar, one that wasn’t recognizable at all.
She shook her head, swallowing the rising emotion as she faced Hazel hopefully.
The witch stammered, squirming around in her large seat. The anxious silence continued as she chewed on her lip, dark eyes darting in every different direction. Finally, after the attention of the Lost Boys and their King were pulled toward them, Hazel drew in a long breath, and collected herself.
“Yes, my dear,” Hazel murmured. “I very much have.”
From the layers of Hazel’s clothes, she produced an oddly shaped glass bottle. There was a pale brown cork at the top, stopping the emerald colored liquid from spilling all over the table.
“This potion will allow you to uncover whatever other memories lay trapped in your mind’s eye,” Hazel explained, her grip tight around the bottle.
Maggie was already reaching for it, like a hungry and greedy child.
The witch jerked the bottle back the moment Maggie’s fingertips scraped the glass. “Not everything should be downed in one breath, my dear.” Hazel gave her a sweet smile before gently resting it in Maggie’s outstretched hand. “Take my advice, and only drink this when you are sure you’re ready.”
Maggie’s brow furrowed. “If I don’t take it now, how will I ever know?”
The question passed over the table thoughtfully, with the Lost Boys and their King considering it as well. Hazel’s smile only grew, the skin around her eyes crinkling thoughtfully before she spoke.
“You will know,” Hazel murmured. “Trust me.”
As the witch’s hand pulled away from Maggie, she took in a deep breath and excused herself from the table. The Lost Boys waved politely, and Peter rose, giving their guest a thoughtful bow. Maggie was the only one who eagerly leapt from the table after her.
“Thank you, Hazel,” Maggie called out once the woman reached the door. Before Hazel could say anything, Maggie let her arms fall over her in a warm embrace, pulling the small woman tight into her chest. “For everything.”
Hazel pulled out of the hug quickly, the corner of her lip twitching between a frown and an uneasy smile.
The anxiety she carried from before remained with her still, though Maggie was at a loss as to where it had come from.
Hazel murmured incoherent words below her breath as she grabbed the door, already slipping out into the early morning breeze.
“So,” Peter began as Maggie reentered the dining room, “are you going to take it now?”
Maggie lifted the bottle and watched the morning sunlight reflect off the crystallized surface.
The liquid inside sloshed when she rolled it around, and she could’ve sworn that the memories appeared in the emerald colored waves, just mocking her.
Maggie tilted her head, the temptation almost tangible.
But behind every temptation lay the truth, the need for a revelation, for a purpose, for a reason as to why she was there in the first place.
If there was one thing that Maggie was finally coming to terms with, it was that Peter’s efforts to bring a chef to his island was somewhat fated to happen after all.
Somehow, someway, Maggie Hart was always meant to be in Neverland.
All that was left was to find out why.
And as she peered into the contents of the potion, Maggie thought her answers might’ve once lay within it.
She quickly stowed the potion away, watching as the Lost Boys and their King kept their eye on it the entire time.
A smile crossed her face as she stepped forward, hooking one arm around Peter’s.
“I will,” she finally said.
Peter raised a brow. “Why not now?”
“Well good things come to those who wait, doesn’t it?”
His hearty laugh filled the air. “Sure. I guess you’re right. Now,” he looked down at their intertwined arms, “where are you taking me?”
Maggie raised a brow. “We need to talk.”
The Lost Boys let out whooping sounds and low whistles as Maggie slowly steered Peter away from prying eyes and listening ears.