Page 2 of Veiled in Stars and Silver
With that, she marched through the back door of their home and stormed off to her bedroom.
Wendy lay in her bed a few hours later and took in the stars painted on her ceiling, each little pinprick a diamond sparkling in the night sky. If she shut her eyes, she remembered what it was like to fly up and feel as if she could touch those stars. She could do anything. She pulled her heavy, warm comforter to her chin and recalled the destruction she’d caused to the lattice work. Worse than a ball hitting her inkwell. Perhaps Neverland had a lasting effect on her as well.
But John’s teasing had left her seeing red, and she couldn’t let his violation go unchallenged.
The clock next to her bed said it was just past eleven. She turned over. Mother and Father hadn’t even come to check on the commotion in the backyard. A wave of cold worry slithered through Wendy.
A shadow crossed over her window.
She bolted up, sucking in a shaky breath. For a moment, her mind leapt to Peter. But no, the shadow had been much too large to be that of a boy. Closer to that of a man. Her eyes darted around the room as a thick trepidation curled inside her veins. Her sweaty fingers dug into her covers.
She shook her head. She must have been seeing things. Lying back, she forced herself to relax.
What had I been thinking about? Oh, yes, my brothers andthe hedge.
She lay there and watched the window, returning her thoughts to where they belonged. John and Michael. She supposed she shouldn’t be so hard on her brothers. A tentative smile crossed her lips as she pictured Michael hiding under his covers. They were both upset with her for choosing to move rooms and she did feel bad about it, considering everything they had been through together. And yet, having a young lady’s room was part of growing up. Though presently, she would much rather be in the room at the end of the hall with her brothers.
And she supposed John wasn’t that horrible either, despite her anger remaining over the diary. Still, he hadn’t tattled about the lattice work.
Wendy twined the chain with Peter’s kiss on it around her finger. No shadows had passed by her window in the past few minutes. And yet, the disquiet hadn’t fully left her. Perhaps she should apologize to her brothers for acting out today. She kicked off her covers and sat up.
Feeling like a child, she stared at the window. She had chosen to grow up, but sometimes that seemed an awful long time in coming.
A loud banging shook the house. Wendy didn’t move, listening. It came again from her brothers’ room at the end of the hall. And again. She jolted to her feet.It’s John and Michael roughhousing, she told herself. Yes, that was it. And in the middle of the night. What did her brothers think they were doing? Mother and Father were in no condition to—
The sound of shattering glass pierced through her thoughts, drawing out the dread she had fought to suppress.
The screaming started.
John and Michael were screaming.
Wendy careened into the hall, her heart slamming against her rib cage. She gazed into the open doorway at the hall’s end, the nightlights giving off the dimmest glimmer.
And froze.
A man stood in the doorway. She might not have recognized him due to the shadows playing across his face, except that the outline of his left hand curved into an elegant point. The sickly silvery hue glowed in the dull lighting.
Nausea gripped Wendy. That couldn’t be right. Peter had defeated this man. He was supposed to be dead.
And yet he stood there, his form filling the doorway. In one smooth movement, he stepped back into her brothers’ room and slammed the door. Wendy heard the scrape of a large object being moved.
John and Michael continued to scream.
“No, no, no!” Wendy raced down the hall.
Her parents’ bedroom door, next to her brothers' room, swung open. “What is going on? Is everyone all right?”
She barely noticed her father’s words through her terror.
Twisting the doorknob, she threw herself against the white painted wood of her brothers’ door. “It's Hook! We have to get in there, now!”
“Hook? How is that possible?” Wendy’s mother huddled near her father, somehow growing whiter with fear, bracing her weak body against the doorpost to their bedroom.
Her father came up behind Wendy. His shoulders were slumped and illness colored his cheeks a deathly pale. “Move.”
Wendy stepped away, tears gathering in her eyes. Her mother watched, a hand over her mouth, trembling. “My babies, my babies.”
Wendy’s father slammed his shoulder into the door. It didn’t budge. He did it again and again. Over and over, his body shuddered, about to collapse after each hit. The screaming on the other side stopped, but her father continued, determined to get into the room. When the door finally cracked open, he fell to the floor, exhausted. Wendy rushed forward, climbing over him.
