Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
The most haunting time at which to see the mermaids is at the turn of the moon when they utter strange wailing cries; but the lagoon is dangerous for mortals then …
Thrashing beneath the surface, I fight and kick, but I can’t shake whatever has its claws around my ankle. Utter terror, the kind that turns your insides to acid and your brain to a yawning black void, takes over, and I foolishly open my mouth to scream again. But I have no air. Nothing is left.
I’m pulled down, away from the barely-lit sky above and deeper beneath the waves.
I can’t fight anymore. Can do nothing but play chicken with my lungs. But I know I’ll be the one to flinch, to try for that single gulp of air that will damn me as water rushes in where it isn’t welcome.
Clawing at the water, I still try for the surface. But that hope fades quickly. My chest hurts so badly I know I’m on the edge of giving in.
That’s when someone grabs my wrist. In one terrifying moment, I’m being pulled in two directions, my ankle twisting as the thing beneath me refuses to let go.
That’s when I panic and open my mouth, when the last tiny bubbles flow away from me and the water burns as it rushes down my windpipe.
I sputter, more water invading me, and then my vision goes dark.
I’m still aware, barely, of being pulled through the water, of the clawed hand releasing my ankle. And then I’m on the beach with the Lost Boys kneeling around me.
“Moira!” Peter’s panicked face hovers over me as he pulls me upright and someone else lands a hard blow to my back.
I cough, water bursting from my lungs as I lean forward and retch up the salty sea. Each time I get more out, I can breathe. My lungs burn, my throat sore, but I can get air. A few more coughs and I sit back, my head spinning as Peter cups my cheeks with his palms and stares into my eyes.
“You can breathe?”
I nod weakly. “It hurts.” My voice is a strangled whisper.
“Fuck!”
I would be scrambling to escape the shore, but I’m still too dazed from whatever just happened in the water.
Peter stands and scoops me into his arms. That’s when I realize I’m still naked, my clothes on the far shore.
I look out at the water that had almost taken my life, and there amidst the lapping waves I see the top of a head with eyes so pale they look white. A mermaid.
“Damn you, Quenith! You almost killed her!” Peter yells.
She rises further in the water, revealing a mouthful of sharp teeth. “I was hungry. I didn’t know who she was.” Despite her face, her voice is beautiful, possibly the loveliest sound I’ve ever heard.
Another mermaid emerges from the water, her hair billowing around her. “We were only trying to drown her,” she says sheepishly.
“Only trying to drown me?” My voice is hoarse, but I’m pretty sure they catch the outrage in my tone all the same.
“My apologies.” Quenith dips her head slightly, her eyes focused on me. “I didn’t know.”
She seems truly sorry, her beautiful voice taking on a mournful timbre. Still beautiful, but now haunting. It gives me chills.
“We’re very sorry,” adds the other one.
“It’s okay.” Did I just tell them it’s okay that they tried to drown me?
Quenith nods again, then she and her friend drop beneath the water as if they’d never been there in the first place.
“Foy, get her clothes. I’m taking her back to the cave.” Peter doesn’t wait for a response as he lifts off from the beach and carries me over the jungle below. I see eyes again, this time in the treetops and farther down below.
“The sun never shines?” I ask. I don’t know why my thoughts are on that oddity, when I’m surrounded by any number of them.
“Not anymore. But I hope to change that.”
“How?”
“Once we kill Hook, I’ll be able to pull back all the magic he’s stolen. Once it’s restored, the island will be as it once was.”
“Does that mean you’ll be young again?” I stare at the hard line of his jaw, the muscle of his shoulder.
“Once all the magic is restored, we’ll be young again, the sun will rise again, and the magic of this place will rule over the entire island.”
“So there’s nothing you like about being a man?” I don’t know why I’m asking these questions. Maybe the near-death experience has loosened the bolts in my brain.
He glances down at me, and his lips quirk up in a decidedly rakish smirk. “There are a few things I’ll miss.”
I quickly look away and hope he can’t see my blush in the moonlight.
I shouldn’t have been hoping for an answer like that from him, but I was.
Because I’m foolish. Because I’ve been kidnapped to Neverland.
Because I’m living in a bizarro dream where mermaids have piranha-teeth and eternal boys have become men.
Not that his answer matters. I’ve never been with a man, and I can’t exactly see myself having my first time with a Lost Boy.
I mean, that definitely seems the same as a fuck boy—immature to a fault and only after one thing—and I avoid those at all costs.
I tell myself all these things, but I still look up at Peter, memorizing the curve of his lips and the way his bare skin feels against mine.
“None of this is real.”
“Still worried about what’s real?” He gives a half smile as we land in the grove of trees.
We re-enter the cave, and he carries me all the way to the bedroom. When he goes to lay me in the bed, I protest, but he ignores it.
A tickle in my throat leads me to cough, and the burn in my lungs returns, though it’s nothing compared to the feeling of breathing in water. Maybe it’s best if I keep to the shore from now on.
“You need to rest. And not in the chair, either.” He steps back.
Which is when I see him. All of him. I clamp my eyes shut, because I’m not trying to be a pervert—not to mention I’m still sort of unsure about whether Peter is an adult or a boy.
I mean, going by what I just saw, he’s all man.
I sink under the blanket, hiding my burning cheeks beneath the surprisingly soft fabric.
Now it’s quiet. I wonder what he’s doing.
Is he standing there thinking about me being naked?
I mean, he was just holding me tightly all the way back here.
And what I saw … What I saw verified that he very much noticed my nudity.
But I’m suffering from oxygen deprivation.
I have to be to even be thinking of Peter Pan as anything other than a figment of my imagination or an outright kidnapper.
Maybe my mind is going just like my mother’s. I rub my eyes at the thought of it. Keep it together, Moira.
Pulling the blanket down, I start to peek over. That’s when I hear stomping and bickering.
The Lost Boys have returned.
I sigh with relief. Maybe I can get back on track now. Tucking the blanket beneath my chin, I avoid Peter’s gaze as the others walk in. That’s when I see they’re still naked.
Under the blanket I go.
“I hung your clothes out on a line by the kitchen. They’re still soaked.” I’ve heard Coy’s voice to recognize it; unless of course, it’s actually Foy speaking.
“Thanks. Does anyone have something I can borrow until mine are dry?” My voice is muffled under the blanket.
“Sure. Yes.” A chorus of voices.
“Oh, and get dressed. All of you.”
They laugh, but I hear them scuffling about and the opening and closing of drawers on the wide dresser.
Something lands on the blanket above me. “Here’s a shirt.”
“Thanks.” I reach up and pull it underneath with me.
After a slight wrestling match, I have it on.
From the looks of it, it falls to mid-thigh.
The front sort of comes down in a ‘V’ with mismatched buttons and little bits of leather to keep it fastened.
I do my best to get it on, then whip the blanket off my head.
“I suppose I’m a Lost Boy now.” I stand.
Peter steps closer, his torso still bare. “Looks good on you.”
“Thanks.” I cough again, my throat still aching all the way down into my chest.
Peter frowns and points to the bed. “Get in.”
“No way. It’s not even bedtime, is it?” I have no idea how long I’ve been awake. The last I saw, the moon was still up, but that doesn’t tell me anything.
“It’s close enough. You should—”
“Brought ‘em.” Slightly strides in, a bowl of neverberries in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “Heard you had a run-in with the mermaids.” He gives me a winning smile, the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling.
“Why did none of you mention their teeth?” I pluck a berry from the plate and chew it. It bursts on my tongue, sweeter than the ones I had earlier.
Peter points behind me. “Get in bed. I won’t disturb you. You can have it all to yourself.”
“What? The whole thing?”
“Yeah. I’ll sleep around the cave or in the tree. But don’t worry, I’ll be close by.”
I have to admit I’m tired. I didn’t sleep great last night, and then swimming—and fighting for my life—seem to have taken a lot out of me. “You sure you can’t make me a bed somewhere else? A regular-sized one? Maybe I can take a bunk or—”
“No.” Peter puts his hands on his hips, the picture of stern. “Get in the bed, Moira.”
I grab a few more berries from the plate and dutifully slide under the covers.
“Can I ask a favor, though, before you fall asleep?” He sits on the edge of the bed and fiddles with my blanket, tucking it in around my legs and making me a burrito—which is wonderful, if I’m being honest.
“What?” I wash the berries down with the cold water.
“Could you tell us a story?”
“Another one?” I settle back onto the lumpy pillow, a luxury compared to the chair in the corner.
“Yes, as many as you’d like.” Peter stops scooting the blanket underneath me, and the others all sit down, some on the floor and others on the edge of their beds.
“Okay.” I feel suddenly nervous. Stage fright, I suppose.
“What sort of story do you want? I know lots of fairy tales.” At the mention of the word, the glowing orb that I now know is Tinker Bell jets into the room and rests on Peter’s shoulder.
The bell is ringing, the sound still slightly offkey to my ears, not that I could carry a tune in a bucket.