Page 148 of Losing Wendy

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’ssomething digging into my chest, an anchor that ties me to Peter, pulling me in.

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