Stars (Wendy Darling #1)(75)
“Crocodile tears!”
There was a boy quietly throwing up in the corner, and though Wendy longed to comfort him, she also longed to not get vomit on her dress. Besides, he was the first, but he certainly wouldn’t be the last that night. She began passing around some large wooden bowls that she found stacked behind the wall, just so that when the time came, the boys wouldn’t be throwing up willy-nilly all over the place. From the General’s alcove, she could hear Peter laughing hysterically at something Abbott had said, and she heard John and Oxley attempting to sing some form of a pirate song.
“Yo ho ho . . .”
Wendy herself felt dreamy and full, though when she closed her eyes, she had the strangest visions: a finger pointing to the stars, blood, books, a veil blowing in the wind. The smell of rain. Instead, she chose to keep her eyes open, and she kept her eyes on Peter. She watched the way his gray tunic rode up around his arms, showing the tan muscles, his skin the color of ripe honey, the texture of a smooth pebble. She watched the way he laughed easily with the Generals and the way the Lost Boys looked at him with desperation for his approval, which was given often and generously. Peter saw her watching him and gave a friendly wave in her direction; Wendy flushed and raised her hand to wave back. A small, delicate hand wrapped around her own, and Wendy felt a rush of heat gather and pool in her palm, felt its power dripping through her fingers. She turned with a grimace. Tink was standing behind her, her hand wrapped tightly around Wendy’s.
“May I sit?”
Wendy thought that she would rather keep company with a tiger but decided to be polite.
“Of course.”
Tink shrugged and sat beside her. “Quite a sight, isn’t it? All these boys, all this wine. It will be quite the night.”
Wendy stared at Tink as the fairy easily twirled the tip of a wooden fork on her finger, watching the way subtle streaks of liquid gold rippled across her hair when she turned her head.
“Tell me something, Wendy Darling . . .”
Tink reached out and curled one of Wendy’s hairs around her finger. Wendy watched as the stars in Tink’s eyes exploded and shrank, Tink’s cosmic beauty overpowering her own, even now, when Tink was dressed in rags, her wings hidden underneath the brown shroud. Glitter sprinkled the ground at Wendy’s feet.
“Tell me, was it worth it?”
“Was what worth it?”
Tink nodded to the bottles.
Wendy shook her head. “No. No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t worth Kitoko and Darby’s lives for this night of fun.”
Then Tink shook her head. “That’s where you are wrong.” The fairy looked around at all the boys tumbling around them, shrieking and laughing, wine spilling everywhere. Two of them thundered past Tink, stopping to kiss her cheek. She patted them affectionately on their heads, and they scampered off into the tree.
“This life with these boys, without adventures, would crumble like old toast. Bored boys, in a great number, could be very harmful to our way of life. I believe where you come from, they call those wars.”
Wendy stared straight ahead. “You play at war here. Death is death, and I’m not sure I see the difference. Wars are fought for freedom. Kitoko and Darby died for wine.”
“Wars are also fought for treasure. Why am I even talking to you? You couldn’t possibly understand,” Tink snapped before closing her eyes. “Sorry. I am sharp edges.” She took a minute before responding in a much friendlier voice.
“Men where you come from have died for much sillier reasons than wine, I’m sure. Besides, as long as Peter stayed safe, isn’t that all that matters?” Her voice rose when she mentioned Peter’s name, her eyes drifting up to the Generals’ booth. “He is the sun and the moon and everything in between.” She looked at him longingly before turning her eyes back to Wendy.
“I’m sorry for the way I’ve acted since you arrived. I’m sorry about earlier today.” She twisted up her glittery pink lips. “I knew you still had flight. I would never . . .” She looked down, a hint of sadness trembling her features. “It can be quite lonely, you see, being the only one of your kind left in Neverland.”
Wendy’s fingers traced a small circle on the table, feeling the splintering wood beneath her palm.
“What happened to your kind?” Tink blinked back tears, looking surprised. Wendy waved her hand.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked—you don’t have to tell me.”
Tink regained control of her features and began scratching her head, pulling out leaves from her blond bun.
“I am not used to being asked.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper so that the drunken boys dancing past them in a conga line wouldn’t hear. She choked out her words, her hands splayed on the table.
“I was just a young child when the darkness came. I had been sleeping, nestled deep in the dreams and consciousness of our people. It crept down from the mountain, like a black fog. They welcomed it, but their welcome songs turned to screams.” A sob rose in her throat. “Such a cacophony of sounds, the screaming and the singing. There were blasts of white heat, and a singeing black cold, like a burn. I remember the last sound I heard of my people, their voices lifting together before there was a ripping sound, and then there were wings, shredded wings, falling like snowflakes through the air. Bodies falling to the ground, hitting it hard, staying still. I ran and ran, and I hid in a grove of trees, burying myself in some muddy leaves. I was so young and so terrified. I could hear the darkness roaring after me, tearing the trees apart to find me. Our King, Qaralius of the Great Acorn, appeared above me to fight, attempting to draw the darkness away from the last of his race. He was . . . glorious.”