Unhooked(35)

The warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips brings me back to myself and, embarrassed, I pull my hand away like I’ve been burned. My cheeks are hot with the awareness of how strangely forward it was to touch him like that, but even in my embarrassment, something makes me want to reach out again, something pulls me toward him.

I clench my hands into fists at my sides instead. “What are they?” I ask.

“They were a gift from my mother,” he replies with a small smile.

“Your mother did that to you?” I say, horrified.

“She did it for me, Gwendolyn,” he says.

His face is still serene, pleasant even, as he takes my hand and brings it up to his chest again, covering mine with his own. Beneath my fingertips and the raised edges of the carved lines, his heartbeat is slow and steady. His eyes, with their glacial-blue irises ringed by midnight, never leave mine.

“In this world, power requires sacrifice, Gwendolyn. The Queen sacrificed some of her power to bestow these gifts onto me. I accepted the pain, and in return, I received the power they give me. Some allow me to break free from the earth—flight, as you’ve seen. Others give me the power to speak to the island and compel it to obey,” he says, pointing to a different marking.

Then he takes my hand in his, pulling it away from the marks on his chest, and raises it to his lips. Still holding my gaze, he kisses the underside of my wrist softly before releasing it.

I rub absently at the bit of skin that burns where his lips brushed over it. When he smiles again, my skin practically buzzes with heat where his lips touched me. But there’s a memory tugging at me, even through the pleasant haze of his attention. There’s something I’m supposed to be doing. . . .

Olivia, a small voice whispers, reminding me.

I can’t seem to look away. “Where’s Olivia?” I murmur, the words thick and unwelcome in my mouth.

I think I see impatience crash through his expression, but it’s gone so quickly, I wonder if I imagined it. “She’s most likely still sleeping. I thought I would show you my favorite part of the island rather than disturb her so early.”

What I want is to see Olivia, but he looks so hopeful—almost shy and boyish—I can’t seem to make myself disappoint him. “It’s beautiful,” I tell him honestly.

“Come.” He gestures that I should sit at the water’s edge before he lowers himself to the ground, his long, leather-clad legs outstretched comfortably.

The clearing is empty and silent except for the soft rush of water from the falls. No one knows where I am. I don’t even know where I am. Tentatively, I sit, keeping distance between me and the beautiful boy who’s brought me to this place.





On nights such as that one, the boy came to understand that the key to not dying was remembering he was alive. For the world around him was strange, and often it felt like he was dreaming, though wide-awake. So he almost did not trust his eyes when he turned and saw his brother, gray and pale as an apparition, in the dim evening light. . . .





Chapter 17


SO THE STORIES ARE TRUE,” I say, watching the dance of the waters. Maybe the tales weren’t accurate, exactly, but . . . “Neverland is real.” I glance over at him. “And so are you.”

He grins then, a wickedly charming smile that makes my heart kick up in my chest. “It does appear that way, does it not?” he murmurs, his voice soft, coaxing, and again I feel pulled toward him with an urgency I don’t understand.

“It does,” I agree, but I also remember what the Captain told me about stories and the lies they often hide.

Though it’s clear now that the Captain’s stories held lies of their own.

“What did the Captain do to that boy on the ship?” I ask Pan.

Pan seems to ignore my question as he lets the tips of his fingers trail through the water of the pool, making small eddies ripple across the glassy surface. Tiny brightly colored fish swim over to investigate. They look like jewels glinting just below the surface. One of the braver fish stills and then, darting forward, latches itself on to Pan’s finger with an unexpected violence. He doesn’t even flinch. He simply lifts his hand from the water, the fish still dangling from his fingertip.

“We each belong somewhere, Gwendolyn,” Pan finally says, examining the fish. “This creature belonged to the water. . . .” The fish’s scales are a brilliant sapphire-blue and startling purple, too vibrant and bright to belong in the seas of my own world. But as I watch, the colors fade and tiny black lines begin to snake themselves across the surface of its body. The lines remind me of the cracks that appeared in Davey when the Captain drank in his life.

“But when a creature ventures beyond the safety of its own world, often it can’t survive.” Pan flicks the body of the fish from his fingertip, and it falls to the ground, where it crumbles on impact into brittle shards that look like bits of broken glass. Dark blood begins to well from Pan’s finger, but he ignores it. “Your Captain doesn’t belong in this world, Gwendolyn, and so he depends upon the Dark Ones for his life.”

I stare at the blood beginning to drip from Pan’s finger and think of the way the boy’s life drained away from him when the Captain inhaled the glowing thread, and I have a feeling I understand more than I want to.

“You see, my dear, children do well enough here in Neverland. This world is a place for the wild, unruly desires of innocence. But your Captain is no longer a child, and he’s certainly no innocent. Without what he takes from those boys, his body would become as fragile as this poor creature’s.” With a deft flick of his wrist, he brushes the shards of the fish back into the water. The other fish immediately swarm, darting in and out to scavenge the remains of their friend. “As all human bodies become here as they age.”