Darling Girl: A Novel of Peter Pan(94)

Lightning fast, he reaches over and pinches Tinker Bell’s arm. She opens her eyes and squeals. Peter laughs, but Tink stares at Holly, and her look is full of warning. Tell him nothing.

Holly tries to parse what’s happening. Peter doesn’t know that Tink’s been in contact with Eden. That much is clear. For the first time, Holly thinks that Tink could truly be an ally. That she’s gotten so tired of carrying Peter’s malevolence, his greed, that she’s switched her allegiance.

But Peter is studying her intently. If he figures out that Tinker Bell knows something, who knows what he’ll do—how he’ll hurt her to ensure that she tells him.

“If you’ve been watching, you must know that Eden hasn’t chosen to stay with me,” she says as calmly as she can. “What makes you think she’ll come back? I don’t even know where she is.”

He flips a hand dismissively. “Mothers and daughters fight, don’t they? It’s what they do. ’Course she’s bound to come back. Isn’t that the way the story goes? Children always go back to their mothers. They choose them over Peter every single time. And mothers always choose their children.” He pauses, and his voice turns bitter. “?’Cept, of course, for mine.”

The way he’s talking . . . his speech is slowing, a tiny bit slurred, as if he’s struggling to find the words. And the cadence is off. Something’s wrong, but what? Holly studies him. That strand of gray in his blond locks—she’d swear it wasn’t there earlier. And the wrinkles on his face seem more pronounced. She can’t be certain, but it’s as if he’s aging in front of her eyes. She sneaks a glance at Tink for confirmation, but quick as a snake, Peter grabs her wrist.

“Even you. Quite sure I invited you. But you chose the boy.” He sneers. “You could have stayed young forever. You could have stayed with me.”

The urge to writhe, to pull her arm away, is overpowering. She forces herself to relax her muscles. “You said it yourself, Peter. Mothers always choose their children. Jack was hurt. He almost died. I couldn’t leave.”

Peter runs his free hand through his hair, tugs at the gray lock. His eyes are huge and wild. For a split second, something akin to pity stirs in Holly. It must be terrifying to feel life slipping away not minute by minute, like most people, but in great gulps of time. And it will be the same for Eden. Unless Holly finds a solution.

Her emotions must show on her face. Behind Peter, Tink shakes her head no, a warning, but it’s too late. Peter twists Holly’s wrist hard, and she gasps in pain. He grins.

“That’s right. Don’t go thinking you know what’s in my head. Don’t you dare feel bad for me. Wouldn’t have wanted you anyhow. You’re useless. All tosh. Like the others.” His eyes are calm again and he lets her go. “Just find the girl. Our Eden.”

“And if I do?” She won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her rub her wrist.

“What, no tears? Good. I’ve seen tears before. They were interesting once, but they bore me now.”

“What do you want with her?”

Peter leans back in his chair. “A nice chin-wag over a cuppa. A chance to give her a bit of daddy-daughter advice. What do you think? Just hold her there. I’ll know. And I’ll come.”

“And if I don’t?”

He steeples his fingers, gazes at the ceiling. “He’s comfortable now, your boy,” he says, his voice serious. “He’s in that sweet spot between waking and dreaming, the golden place. But it won’t last. After a while, the dreams turn to nightmares. And you can’t wake up.”

There’s a noise like a dry rattle as Tinker Bell stands. In the shadows of the room, her golden wing tattoos peek from beneath her halter top, appear to flutter. She leaves the room without a word, but behind Peter’s back she gives Holly a long look.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Peter calls. “If you’re up, the least you can do is fetch me a pint.” Tinker Bell doesn’t reply. And she doesn’t return.

Peter turns back to Holly. “Stupid cow. But it’s time for you to go as well. I have things to do. People to see.” He smiles, and she knows he means Jack.

“You’re telling me to choose, aren’t you? To choose between the two of them, Jack and Eden. But Peter, I can’t,” she says, desperate. She’s shaking again, and this time she can’t control it. “I won’t.”

“You have to,” he says. He crosses to the door and opens it, then stands there waiting for her to leave. “That’s what mothers do. They choose, remember? So choose. Or I will.”





Chapter Thirty-Six



The ride home passes in a blur. Somehow Holly finds herself standing in the alley in front of the fence, slipping through the hidden spot. The roses on the other side tug at her clothes, slice her skin, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t even notice the thorns.

In the twilight the garden is no longer a flower-covered fairyland. The white topiary form of Wendy is a ghost, fleeing unknown terrors, and Peter’s statue leers malevolently. Fear-fueled rage bubbles through Holly. She’d destroy it if she could, but she needs this energy to fight the real Peter. Instead she shoves the statue as hard as she can as she passes it. It sways on its wires, creating dark shadows that reach for the house.