Page 7 of Freeing Hook

As if my thoughts summoned him, roots descend from the ceiling, depositing Peter in the center of the room before unfurling from around his body. He stretches his wings behind him. I search them for scratches, wounds.

As if Wendy would have fought him. As if my sister would have struggled.

Even if she had, Peter heals at a faster rate than humans. Unless she managed to get a blade in his flesh, there’d be little evidence of a struggle left behind on his body.

“Where is she?” I demand.

Peter, back facing me, turns slowly, and I mark the deliberation of his movement. The way he gives himself a moment longer to perfect his response. It must be an impressive lie he has to tell if he didn’t have time to shave off the rough edges while I slept. Especially for a master liar like Peter.

“Taken,” he says, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge.

I tap my foot and have to grit the next question out. “By whom?”

Peter’s jaw pulses. “Pirates.”

Imprinted in my memory, blood drains from my parents’ self-inflicted wounds. It took my father minutes to bleed out, my mother longer. I’d watched as their pulses slowed, trying to remember if the adrenaline brought on by the night’s events would have tempered their pain.

I still can’t remember.

“I take it at least one of these pirates has a name,” I say.

Peter nods, rubbing his forehead. “Astor took her.”

“So your story is that Captain Astor somehow tracked Wendy all the way to Neverland, a realm separate from all realms. What—did he just snatch her off the beach?”

At the breakfast table, the rest of the Lost Boys’ heads dart back and forth, following our conversation.

“It seems that way.”

“It seems, or it is?”

A cool indifference that I’ve come to loathe overcomes Peter’s features. “It is.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “I see.”

I don’t buy Peter’s story. Not for the tick of a pocket watch. The only way Peter would know that it was Captain Astor who came to steal Wendy away would be if he saw Captain Astor. And if he truly witnessed Captain Astor kidnapping Wendy, wouldn’t he have stopped it from happening? Surely he could have managed it with those shadow powers of his.

“Well, how do you intend to get her back?” I ask, only because it would be less than wise to challenge Peter openly. He has the Lost Boys in his pocket. They’ll defend him no matter the evidence against him, just like Wendy did. If I cause trouble, I don’t trust that Peter won’t find a way to silence me.

Another thing the Lost Boys won’t question.

Benjamin taps the fork he carved himself against his plate, his knee bouncing at the same rate.

Simon looks as if he’s going to be sick. I’m shocked the other boys let him eat with them after he killed one of their own. But Peter calmed their apprehensions about Simon, too. He’s an expert in that arena.

Where I expect Peter to scoff at me, to confront my challenging of his care for Wendy, he doesn’t. Instead, he strides over to me and puts his hand on my shoulder.

I have to fight my instincts to squirm out from under his touch. I hate being touched. If someone’s incapable of communicating their thoughts and feelings with words, that shouldn’t have to be my problem. I shouldn’t have to submit to their proximity.

But I don’t pull away. Something tells me Peter knows I won’t be placated by a pat on the shoulder, so I’d better face his power flex instead of cowering from it.

“Trust me, John,” he says, his voice all brotherly affection. “I’m as worried for Wendy as you are. There’s not a night I’ll rest before I find her. I’ll scour the realms to get her back, I assure you.”

His promise isn’t worth much, especially since many of his nights are already spoken for by the Sister and her errands. But we both know that, so I don’t bother mentioning it.

“And if the captain slaughters her first? Like he did our parents?”

Peter examines me carefully. “I think we both know if he wanted her dead, he would have killed her that night.”

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