Page 27 of Losing Wendy

When we slip into the distortion, it’s as if the world flips upside down.

Something silky coats my limbs, then something smooth and leathery as Peter’s wings fold around my body, encasing me in their gentle but firm cocoon.

The stars turn into streams around us, breaking into dancing rivulets as we spin.

A cold gust of air, and the world comes back into focus. Except this time we’re underneath a night sky that glows not with stars, but with swirling pinks and greens. It reminds me of the aurora I’ve seen pictures of in science books.

“Entranced, Wendy Darling?” asks Peter.

He hasn’t told me to move, so I’m still cradled in his arms, facing him.

“It’s beautiful,” I say.

“And to think you were frightened of the shadows all this time. Welcome to Neverland.”

“Is it always like this?”

“When it’s nighttime,” he says, though the teasing in his voice hasreturned, replacing the taunting. “You know, this would be more comfortable if you wouldn’t dangle your legs like that.”

I blush, realizing the awkwardness of how I have myself positioned against Peter. I’ve already pulled my legs up, linking them around his waist, tucking my ankles together around his back, before I realize this is much, much worse.

“Your cheeks are reddening,” Peter says, glancing at me with a twinkle in his eyes. I’m taken aback by the change that’s washed over them since entering this new realm. Where before, black ink coated even the whites of his eyes, the darkness has drained away, leaving behind eyes so deeply blue I feel as though I could float in them.

“This isn’t the most ladylike of positions,” I say, conscious of how my ball gown flaps open beneath me, threatening to expose my legs.

“You really wouldn’t have liked it if I’d dropped you, would you?”

Fear contorts my gut, so much so that it takes me a moment to realize he’s joking. He must either glimpse my reaction in the widening of my eyes or the way my thighs tense around his waist, because he leans in conspiratorially.

“You’ll have to forgive my lack of manners out there,” he says, gesturing his head backward toward the twin-star distortion in the sky quickly fading from view as we fly.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“There are certain qualities I find…more tame when I’m not in shadow form,” he says, a casual grin appearing on his beautiful mouth. “I’m afraid the darkness brings out the worst in me.”

Were I the type to speak my snark aloud, I would inform him that this tendency doesn’t exactly make him unique. “But you haven’t been in shadow form since we clasped hands in the clock tower.”

“The effects linger. They take time to wear off.”

That would explain the change in his eyes, the shift from black all over to the sparkling blue eyes that now dance over my features. My stomach twists, considering the wickedness Peter expressedonly moments ago still swarms within him, even if he possesses a tighter grasp on it now.

“Well, as long as you don’t threaten to drop me again.”

Peter leans in. “Only when you ask me to, Wendy Darling.”

I promptly suppress the shiver running down my spine and divert my attention. Instead, I search the sky for my brothers.

When I don’t find them there, panic wells within me, but then Peter nods toward the ground. “Down there. Don’t fret. They seem to have landed safely.”

Indeed, I’m relieved to find the silhouettes of two boys gracing the beach below, their forms filling out as we approach them. Peter lands us on the beach. I must have lost my heels in the clock tower, because my bare feet sink into the gently pebbled sand. It’s difficult to tell in the dark, but I believe the sand itself is the color of charcoal.

The crash of the waves sends water foaming up the shore, issuing a chill between my toes as it soaks the hem of my skirts.

“Wendy, look!” Michael cries with delight as he crosses a section of tiny pebbles barefoot. There’s no telling at what point in the night he alleviated himself of the burden of shoes. I reach out instinctively to snatch him away from the jagged stretch of beach. When Michael was smaller, the servants had to be especially attentive to glass bottles or saucers should they break, lest Michael step atop them. For a while, my parents wondered if Michael struggled to feel pain in the soles of his feet, but over time we grew to understand that he craved the sensation.

As soon as I go to grab Michael, John puts out a hand and stops me. “I already checked this area for glass or debris. The pebbles themselves are fairly smooth. I wouldn’t want to walk across them barefoot myself, but I don’t think he’ll hurt himself.”

I sigh, my mind set free from at least one worry.

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