Stars (Wendy Darling #1)(86)

“Wendy Darling.” His voice surrounded her in the small grove that she had stumbled into. The branches were short and squat here, dangling with heavy yellow orbs that emitted soft curls of scent when the wind rustled their leaves. Peter landed in front of her, his feet barely brushing the ground as he reached out and swiped his long fingers through the bush, pulling off one of the yellow orbs. With a devilish grin, he brought it to her lips.

“They taste like sugar. Here, taste it.” All she could think was how completely inappropriate this was, and yet, she opened her mouth and closed it on the strange fruit. The fuzzy texture thickened on her tongue, becoming a bit like the rock candy that Michael was so fond of. It fizzed and then dissolved against one of her back teeth, giving her a rush of energy.

She gasped. “Magic?”

Peter shook his head, his red curls falling charmingly over his face. “Neverland.”

He reached out for her hand. She pulled it back, shaking her head. “Peter, I need to talk to you about something.”

His brow furrowed. “Something serious, I’m guessing.”

“Quite. Peter, it’s just that . . .”

The playful look on his face became serious as his mouth sharpened into a grimace. “You want to go home.”

Wendy’s head jerked up. “Why, yes, how did you know?”

Peter shrugged. “There are very few secrets on Pan Island. This island has ears.”

Wendy looked away from the quiet betrayal on his face. “Peter . . . you must know . . .” She looked up to meet his eyes, but he had stepped backward.

“Let’s not do this. No sad goodbyes, no speeches, no promises. I knew that I had you for borrowed time, and that time is almost up. Tick-tock.” He said it sadly. “I’m sure you will want to make sure you are back in time to beat your parents home from their ball. It’s understandable, Wendy. You have a family.”

A wave of relief washed over Wendy. “Oh, Peter, yes! That would be wonderful. I’m so relieved to hear you say that. I keep having these visions of them crying at the nursery window.”

Peter waved his hand at her. “They don’t even know you are gone.” He turned to her and smiled with his small white teeth. “I promise.”

A dozen Lost Boys ran past them, looking at each other with smug smiles when they saw Peter and Wendy alone together. “I see those looks, boys. Keep moving!” Peter snapped. They scampered past, making their way down through the tree.

“Where are they going?”

Peter pushed his red curls back. “Fishing. They are taking the boats out. I told them whoever caught the most fish would get flight given to him every morning for the next three days.”

Wendy laughed. “You are very good at keeping them motivated.”

“We need to eat.”

There was a moment of silence as they stared at each other. “I’m sad to leave,” she finally said. “I’m sad to leave you, but it’s the right thing to do. You are quite an adventure, Peter Pan.” Wendy stood up slowly, and after a moment’s hesitation, she wrapped Peter in a friendly hug. “Thank you,” she breathed over his neck. “Thank you for everything.” She felt his hand hovering above her waist, and then he was wrapping her against him, curling Wendy into himself. She could smell him, like fresh wood and wine, the smell of sun upon skin, and she could feel herself falling into him with each breath. She pushed herself gently away with a blush.

“Peter. Now, I have one question for you, and that is—”

He gave a naughty grin, a flush on his face, his body seeming to quiver with want before her. “How do you get home?”

Wendy laughed, pushing her brown curls away from her face. “Yes! How do we begin to get home?”

He ran a few feet until he perched out on a branch that hung out underneath the open sky. “Second star to the right and straight—” He laughed joyfully. “Well, why don’t I just show you, Wendy Darling?”

She smiled and held out her hand to him, so relieved at his cavalier humor. Everything was going to be fine. Peter would convince John to come home, and soon they would be lying in the nursery, retelling tales of Neverland to entertain them on winter nights as the wet London snow slapped the pavement. Peter slowly reached out and took her hand. She would see Booth’s face again very soon. Peter was looking down at her, ever so dashing. “Come. You’ll understand.” She slipped her hand into his, and then they were flying up through the tree branches, a sensation that was so thrilling and yet familiar. They lifted up and off Pan Island. As they pulled upward, Wendy looked down and saw a dozen fishing boats, crawling with boys, on the north side of the island. As they rose, the boys became ants, the boats like tiny nutshells rocking in a gutter.

Up and up, Peter flew, his arms cradled around Wendy. She reached out her hand and watched the air move it up and down, the brisk wind caressing the skin in between her fingers. They rose. In between the layered clouds, she could make out the main island, a giant crest of sharp green hills that climbed up out of the water. Whorls of black smoke rose up out of the northern corner of Port Duette—there had been a fire there.

“Peter, do you see the smoke?”

He nodded, his eyes not moving as they flew upward. “Probably drunk pirates, burning down another one of their taverns. Idiots.” They were flying slightly south now, still climbing, and Peter looked on steadily, his hand tightening and loosening on her waist, as if he were trying to knead her.