Page 115 of Freeing Hook

Think, John.

I tamp down the jealousy threatening to rip me away from logic, and pad closer to the tree line, careful not to make a sound. I’ve almost made it near enough to peek through the brush when another voice stops me.

While Tink’s voice—I’m still rattled by the beauty of it, despite myself—is full of warmth, this female voice is different. Cold. Sinister. Proud.

“Look at what my Shadow Keeper has brought me,” the newcomer says. “Quite the catch, isn’t she? I can see why you wanted to keep her.”

A chill rattles my bones. The voice is too cemented in time not to belong to an immortal. Too bored. Too full of ease and cruelty. Even knowing what I know now about Tink and Peter’s relationship, that she’s been lying to me, playing me for the fool that I am, the urge grasps me to run after her, throw myself between her and the owner of this voice.

But I can’t.

Not when I still need to find out what happened to Wendy.

“Peter?” Tink sounds shaken, her voice warbling for the first time. There’s a snapping of a twig. At first I think I’ve shifted and given away my position, but then I realize it’s Tink backing away.

“Don’t fret, dear,” says Peter. “The Sister is who made this little world for us. She’s the one who gave me the coin to pay off your master’s fee.”

“Thank you,” says Tink, though even her gratitude is infused with wariness.

“You’re more welcome than you know, child,” says the Sister, and I find myself analyzing her voice, her every word, trying to figure out which of the three from the story she is. Assuming the story isn’t fiction, meant to lead mortals astray with our own assumptions.

“I was enslaved to that circus master for years,” says Tink. “With all due respect, I think I do know.”

Though I can’t see the Sister, I feel her smile curl the air. “Very well. Then you’ll understand that I require payment.”

There’s a hesitation there. It’s killing me not to look out past the trees. “We have nothing,” says Tink.

I wonder if she’s looking at Peter for confirmation. When he says nothing, her voice goes soft. “Peter? Tell her we have nothing.”

Peter clears his throat. “Surely there’s another currency you’ll take than the price we previously discussed.”

“You know it is not I who set the price. Trust me, if it were up to me, I would choose something less crude. Something I myself could enjoy. But one does not simply create an entire realm with the snap of a finger. Not unless one is the Creator, which I am not. I already informed you that my power is limited. That I must—utilize other devices.”

“Peter.” His name on Tink’s voice, the subtle desperation with which she says it, wrenches a blade in my gut. “What is she talking about?”

“Oh, did he not tell you, young one?” asks the Sister, tsking. “A realm like this one cannot be held together with Fabric and thread alone. Sure, my Sisters and I can manipulate worlds that already exist, but creating one—well, it can’t be done. Not really. Not in a way that is sustainable. Without a tether to the other realms, this world will unravel.”

My heart pounds against my chest thinking of Michael being inside a world that might unravel at any moment. It seems even Tink stops breathing for a moment. “You know, then.”

I’m not sure if she’s talking to Peter or the Sister.

Know what?

The Sister speaks next. “Did you think you could keep it hidden?”

“It’s hardly clear to me,” says Tink. “I’m unsure why you thought I’d think it was obvious to anyone else. Perhaps if you explained my condition—”

Peter interrupts her. “Tink.” I can see him shaking his head in my mind’s eye.

“It’s alright, Peter,” says the Sister. “Don’t you think your pet should understand? Don’t you think it will be easier for her if she knows it was necessary?”

“If I know what is necessary?” says Tink. “You need a tether. I assume that’s me. What are you going to do? Spill my blood on an altar? Burn me and bury my ashes in the black sand? What is she going to do to me, Peter?”

There’s such accusation in her voice, I can almost see it blazing in her eyes. I have to do something. I’m not sure what they’re going to do to her, but I can’t let it happen.

“Nothing quite so cruel as that,” says the Sister. Something clicks. It sounds like long nails clacking together.

Peter’s voice is placating. “Tink—”

---