Chapter 11 #2
“I’m not going anywhere until someone tells me the truth! What is this boon crap?”
The old lady elbows her way between us. She has long white hair, wears a navy blue dress that reminds me of a maid from a period drama, and looks up at me with deep brown eyes.
“You’re a boon because Pan claimed you from the mainland as his own.
The island gave him a choice, and he chose you, but not in so many words of course.
” She grins, her teeth surprisingly intact despite her age.
“Okay, now we have that all settled, let me show you to your room.”
The island offered me to Peter? I honestly can’t tell if the woman is messing with me or serious. Either way, her answer makes zero sense.
Hook pinches the bridge of his nose, then seems to shake off his irritation. “Clytemnestra, this is Moira.”
“I know. Ari told me all about you.” Clytemnestra pats my hand. “Call me Nessie.”
“Nice to meet you.” I offer her my hand. “Wait, Ari from the town?”
“Ari, queen of the mermaids. Mmhmm. Oh look! Manners, manners.” She takes my hand with a little giggle. “Good manners. I always love good manners.”
Okay, so Nessie is a little batty, but she seems kind.
I can work with that. I glance around the house.
It’s cozy here, the living room dotted with sofas, most of them gathered around the wide fireplace.
The wallpaper is a lively green with vines, and the ceilings are high and white with what looks like ship beams for rafters.
“You can explore later. I’ll show you to your room. Come, come.” She takes my hand. “James, go pound sand. Us ladies need to talk.”
Now it’s my turn for my eyebrows to hit my hairline. I’ve never heard anyone talk to Hook like that. And what’s even crazier is that he just sighs again and strides off somewhere deeper in the house as Nessie leads me up a winding staircase.
“So, are you the housekeeper?” I ask.
“Something like that.” She hits the landing and leads me to the right, past a small sitting room along the front of the house and then down a hallway. “This is yours.” She points to a set of double doors at the end of the corridor. “That’s James. I’m on the first floor.”
“This house is beautiful.” I peer at the stained-glass windows at the back of the sitting room. “It’s not what I’d ever expect of Hook. I mean, I figured there’d be chains everywhere and skeletons, maybe some gaudy feather décor to top it off.”
“People aren’t always what they seem.” She taps the side of her nose then opens the door to my room.
Inside, the walls are painted a deep gray and the ceiling is done in black with golden specks here and there.
The bed is four-poster, large, and covered in a deep purple quilt with silvery pillows.
It’s practically luxurious. Then I spot some marble through a door to the right.
I peek inside and almost moan at the sight of the well-appointed bathroom.
A clawfoot tub greets me, and there’s a water closet as well.
It’s not huge, but it has everything I need. When I pass the sink, I stop.
There’s a mirror here. As I stare into it, I realize I haven’t looked in a mirror since Pan took me.
“Holy shit.” I press my palms to my gaunt cheeks, the dark circles under my eyes like two shiners. The mermaid bite must’ve been even more horrible than I remember. I look sickly, far worse than I could’ve imagined.
Nessie comes up behind me and peers at my reflection as well. “You’ll be back to rights after you see the Spinner.”
“The who?” I lean closer, taking in the drained look that shadows my face.
“The Spinner. At the Fairy Village. She’ll be able to fix what’s ailing you.”
“The mermaid bite?”
“Pish posh.” She cackles. “The mermaid bite was nothing. This is from you giving out your magic like free treats on All Hallows Eve with no mind to the consequences.”
I lean on the sink and feel like I’m well and truly going mad, because everything she’s saying is not computing. “Are you a sphinx? Can you only speak in riddles? I need real information.”
She cackles again, this time even louder. “Yes, I like you, girl. James chose well.” Surprisingly agile, she turns on her heel and toddles away. “I’ll have some clothes for you soon. I’ve got your measurements in here.” She taps her temple then disappears into the hallway.
I press my forehead to the mirror, frustration oozing out of me. “What the fuck? Like, no seriously, what in the ever-loving fuck? What the fuuuuuuck!” I breathe out, my breath fogging the glass.
After a few moments, I pull back. I have to stop looking in this mirror. It’s messing with my head. I leave the bathroom and close the door tightly behind me, then inspect the bedroom.
The furniture is spare, but what’s in here is useful.
There’s a bed, nightstand, a dresser, and a small wardrobe that’s empty.
The windows have top pieces that are done in stained glass, and the bottom panes are wavy but clear.
I open the middle one and let the sound of frogs and chirps of crickets enter the room.
This part of Neverland is like a smaller forest, one that has different sorts of trees than the areas I’m used to.
There are no clinging vines and roars in the bushes, just a lovely little hamlet with stars overhead.
It’s as if this part is self-contained, and given the cliffs we had to scale just to get here, perhaps it’s isolated from the rest of Neverland.
Even if Hook doesn’t appreciate it, Hook’s Hideaway is the perfect name for it.
I sink onto the bed and rub my eyes. My sunken eyes.
Damn, I look like a monster. And Hook had the nerve to say I’m pretty?
When I look like a ghoul? God, what if this is permanent?
What if I’ll always look like I’m two days of sun out from being a full prune?
I snatch a pillow from the bed and scream into it.
And what was Nessie even talking about? Riddle after riddle. Magic? I have magic?
Holding my hand out, I say, “bibbipity fuckity boo” and snap my fingers. Nope. No magic.
“What was that supposed to be?” Widow leans against the doorframe.
“Thank heavens.” I jump up and drag her into the room, then sit her on the bed as I pace in front of her.
“This is nice.” She gives me a quizzical look. “But I rather like the little home I was assigned.” She hitches a thumb over her shoulder. “Running water and everything.”
“That’s great. Okay, you’re going to answer my questions, and—” I hold up a finger. “You will not speak in riddles.”
A wary look crosses her face. “All right. I’ll answer what I can.”
“Why do people keep referring to me as Peter’s boon?”
Her gaze darts away.
“Hey!” I stomp over so I’m in her line of sight again. “Tell me!”
She sucks on a tooth, then shrugs. “I can only tell you what I’ve heard.”
“That’s better than what I’ve got which is a whole heap of nothing.” I put my hands on my hips. “Go on.”
“I’m relatively new to Neverland. Sure, I’m part fairy, but just because I have an ancestor from here doesn’t mean I know a whole lot about the island. I mean, look, my wings didn’t even sprout until I got here—that’s how far back in the line my fairy is. It took the island’s magic to wake it up.”
“You’re stalling.”
“All right, look. This is what I think I know, but I can’t promise it’s the real deal. So take it with a pinch of salt over your shoulder.” She clears her throat. “The island grants wishes.”
I scratch the side of my head. “Okay, so …”
“So, when Peter Pan brought you over from the mainland, we all assumed it was in answer to a wish. It’s extremely uncommon for Peter to bring anyone from the mainland. They say the last time he did it, he brought—”
“My great-great-great grandmother Wendy.” I finish for her.
“Right.”
“Was she a wish, too?”
“I don’t know.”
I glower at her.
She throws her hands up. “I really don’t know.
You’d have to ask Peter. The island’s magic isn’t something people like me understand.
The fae in my blood is too thin for me to even hear the island speaking.
I think maybe the longer I’m near it though, the louder it will become.
I can’t say for sure, but I feel a pull to this place.
Even when I was over on Blackbeard’s Cay, I could sit on the pier and stare into the mist for hours, just wondering what awaits me here. ”
A wish. Peter made it clear I was never allowed to use that word on the island, that wishes were dangerous, especially if they were granted.
It would mean you owed someone something.
Does he owe the island? It’s all so tangled, and the way Widow describes Neverland, it’s as if it’s a living, breathing person.
“Good chat.” She stands and claps her hands. “I should go and see what Cookson is making for—”
“Wait!” I scoot back and block the door. “I have more.”
“One more.” Now she’s the one with the hands on her hips. “Not because I don’t want to help you. I do. But I can already tell that the person you should be asking these questions isn’t me. It’s Pan or Hook. They’re the two people who know the most about the island.”
“Do you know about the shadows?”
“Only rumors about Peter Pan using his shadow like it’s another one of him.” She shakes out her arms as if the thought unsettles her.