Page 21 of Losing Wendy

I steel myself, bracing myself with my breath, then scale the next rung. Apparently Michael feels more confident seventy feet off the ground than he did eight rungs up, because he scrambles off my back, climbing up the last few rungs until John practically yanks him from the ladder and catapults him backward onto the platform. Michael’s foot finds the crown of my head on the way, and I have to fight to keep my fingers fastened around the slick metal.

Once Michael’s weight is off my shoulders, I find it easier to climb. By the time I get to the top, John has his hands underneath my armpits, hauling me up.

“You should have let me do that. Should have let me carry Michael.” Though there’s scolding in his voice, my brave younger brother is shaking with the trepidation of having watched us from the top. “Pretty impressive, though,” he admits with a shrug.

I extend my finger vertically over my mouth. John places a hand over Michael’s just in time for a crash to come resounding from the bottom of the tower.

The three of us huddle together on the platform, trying to keep out of sight from below, but the entrance to the platform itself is angled such that if one of the pirates backs up enough to get a good angle…

“Up there,” one of them says. “Stupid children fled up there.”

Do I resent being called a child by a man who attended my betrothal ball? Hard to tell when my siblings and I are fighting not to breathe.

“Well then,” drawls the captain’s menacing voice. “You’d best go and bring them back down.”

The ladder rattles as someone weighty grabs onto it from the bottom. John’s eyes go wide, and since he’s the one holding Michael, he gestures toward the screws holding the ladder in place. I nod, panicking a bit until I remember all the pins hidden in my now-drenched hair. I remove one, ready to detach the ladder and allow the climbing man to enjoy the fall, when something happens that causes the entire platform to shake.

The shadow of the minute hand clicks into place.

Up above us, from within the cogs and cobwebs, a bell sounds.

No.

Part of me expects the shadows to have the decency to wait until the twelfth bell chimes, but the Shadow Keeper has been waiting for me for almost fifteen years now, and he’ll be made to wait no longer.

I feel him before I see him. Strange when I’m talking about a shadow, but his very being crawls up my spine, icy fingertips playing over the ivory keys of my vertebrae. His substance fills me from within, thickening the cloying air.

I wonder then if I have morphed into shadow just to meet him.

But no. I glance down at my hand, still fully flesh as I abandon my task of disconnecting the ladder.

Then I turn to face him.

The Shadow Keeper cocks his head.

At first,the shadows take the form of a cloud, but as the bells continue to chime, the shadows assemble, morphing into the form of a man whose great wings are outstretched from end to end of the clock behind him. He’s perched on the ledge, his limbs catlike as he examines me. Moonlight filters through the glass, backlighting the Shadow Keeper in a violet glow.

“Are you ready, Wendy Darling, for me to take away your pain?” It’s not the voice I’m accustomed to, but the one he used for just a moment last night, when he promised coming with him wouldn’t be so bad.

If only I’d agreed, the masquerade would not have occurred, and both my parents would still be breathing. My brothers would not be orphans.

I swallow that thought and face my fate.

“I’m ready,” I say, though the way my voice shakes indicates otherwise. “I want you to take me now. To be yours. Just please, take them too.”

John goes utterly still, though one glance at Michael in his arms keeps him from protesting.

The ladder rattles.

“You see, that’s the problem, Wendy Darling. You’re already mine.”

My heart is pounding. “Please. I can’t—I can’t let them die. If you’ve ever cared for me at all, just bring them with us. I promise I’ll be a much more amiable prisoner knowing they’re safe.”

The shadow pauses. It’s hard to tell, with only the distorted moonlight highlighting his edges, but it looks as though he glances toward the rattling ladder.

“You don’t know what you’re asking. The freedom of theirs you’re bargaining away.”

I falter, but when I think of my parents, my resolve increases. “My parents did the same for me. Saw I was dying and borrowed time. That time might have come to a close, but I’m still grateful for it.” And besides, I’ll find a way to get John and Michael out of this, I don’t add.

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