Page 9 of Veiled in Stars and Silver
Of Neverland.
I reached into my shirt and pulled out the acorn button. For so long, I’d thought that Peter would come to get me to rescue my brothers. Or at least might have rescued them himself and brought them to me. At first, I’d waited by the window with my dying mother for that possibility. I still waited by the window for that possibility. But if I left to marry some Joe Rafferty, there’d be no hope.
What a pathetic, naïve child. I yanked the chain off my head and hurled it across the room. What was I thinking? Peter wasn’t coming.
The carpet in the room was old, worn. I still made out traces of bloodstains on the rug from that night, when I’d walked across thousands of pieces of tiny glass. I grasped the small bottle of potion I had bought from the woman at the market off my bedside table, popped the lid and swallowed.
I curse James Hook with a rotten, torturous existence,I thought.
It tasted of watered down berry juice. As I suspected. Fake.
Dropping the vial, I moved to the window and pressed my forehead against it, my breath gathering on its panes, and sank to the floor.
The light winked on in the upstairs bedroom of the home across from mine, catching my attention. Through the sheer gauzy drapes, the outline of a woman stepped into the room, followed by a man. Mrs. Blackwell was a widow of several years, but after her husbanddied, instead of remarrying, she’d taken to having various late-night visitors.
He came up behind the woman, wrapping his arms around her. I watched as Mrs. Blackwell lifted her arms, grasping the man’s neck, and rolled her hips. The man’s shoulders fell, releasing tension as she moved against him again. Her knees bent and this time she moved up and down, shoving her backside along the length of his body. The man moved with her, his hips churning with small thrusts.
I expelled another breath and reached for the window, shoving it open. Winter cold blasted my face, but I didn’t care.
They shed each other’s clothes as if they were no more than tissue paper. When they were completely bare, he slid a hand under her chin and kissed her, moving her back onto the bed. Mrs. Blackwell went willingly.
The familiar changes in my body took hold as I watched them rock, thrusting together in an impassioned heat. My heart raced, and an ache built in my breasts, a steady pulsing beating between my thighs. For a moment, I imagined the man inside the curtains looking at me like he wanted me, moving against me like that.
The first time I’d watched Mrs. Blackwell through the window, I’d felt guilty as hell. Not to mention the strange feelings it elicited in me had sent me scurrying to my bed, determined never to look again. But inevitably, my curiosity had gotten the better of me and I’d returned. I tipped my head against the grate, accepting my urges for what they were, letting them run their course, leaving me gutted and hollow.
And so alone.
Ididn't watch every night, even though I half suspected that Mrs. Blackwell had put up the sheer curtains because she wanted to teach me the pleasures of being a woman. I was the only one with such a view. But tonight, I found myself considering an idea for the first time in my life. Maybe I'd run away, stay in London, sell my body for survival. The desire raging in my veins as Mrs. Blackwell and the mystery man made love right in front of me almost convinced me that I could do it.
But I wasn't ignorant. The way Mrs. Blackwell ran things differed greatly from the way I would be treated on the streets. Yes, perhaps I'd end up with lovers like the men my neighbor cultivated, but I'd also have to face brutes like Meaty Hands. Men who thought, if they paid, then they could do whatever they wanted to me. And if I was desperate enough, I'd have to let them.
Still, was what I had awaiting me any better?
He assures me he will keep you in line.Uncle’s words told me that Mr. Joe Rafferty was as bad as my uncle. Or worse. A shudder ran through me. Uncle had been confident when he said that, like this man would be the final thing to break me.
I looked up at the stars where I used to fly. They used to wink at me. They used to be my friends. What I'd give to escape into them now. But they only stared at me as they had every other night. Not winking.
But then, one light moved. I squinted. Perhaps a shooting star? I'd made plenty of wishes on those, to no avail. The light shot toward me, growing larger.
I rose to my feet. If it was a shooting star, it was headed straight for me.
It careened past me and into the room, lighting up the space much brighter than any of the lanterns. A familiar tinkling sound, like bells, drove my heart into my throat.
“Tinker Bell?”
The fairy landed on the top rail of the window grate. Her diminutive figure revealed a form covered in leaves and tree sap. Her hair was twisted up in a bun and she had a tiny pocket and dagger strapped to her waist. The wings on her back sparkled and fluttered with the smallest of movements, as if she couldn’t bear to stand still.
“My god, Tinker Bell. You’re here! My brothers, are they alive? Do you know where they are?”
Tinker Bell made large gestures and tinkled. I had forgotten. I didn’t speak fairy language.
I grabbed my cloak, pulling it on, checking to make sure my throwing knives were in there. Walking over to my bed, I pulled out a belt filled with sheaths designed to hold my knives against my thigh, strapping it on my trousered leg. “I need your dust to get to Neverland.”
The fairy nodded and gathered some dust from her pouch. She blew it, and the golden specks settled around me. It was happening. Before I rose into the air, I walked over to where Peter’s kiss lay on the ground, picked it up, and put it on. He’d sent help. Seven years late, but he’d sent for me.
My chest filled with relief. I was leaving my uncle and his atrocious marriage arrangements behind. Finally, I could go to Neverland. My heart burned with the strength of my desires. I’d find my brothers.
Then I’d kill the captain of the Jolly Roger with his own hook.
