Unhooked(88)

Then it speaks in that unfamiliar tongue, rough and grating syllables that once sounded like nothing but the wind. But I can’t forget what they’ve shown me, what they’ve whispered to me about who I am. About the choice I have before me. This time I understand what they say.

Pan hadn’t lied. Neverland could truly be my home if I choose it. I could embrace all the Dark Ones have shown me, I could claim what they believe is rightfully mine. For I am both Light and Dark, heir of the Queen and the Dark King. I could balance the power here, reclaim the world and live within it.

But when I close my eyes, trying to think, all I see is the blue-gray gaze of my mother. When I open my eyes, I see Rowan’s unsteady breath, and I know what my choice is. What it will always be. “I need to get them back,” I plead.

I can feel the disappointment rolling from the dark creature, but its faceless head gives a jerk, a nod of assent. Two others come forward, and this time I have no fear of them. I back away as one lifts Rowan effortlessly in its arms. He’s pale and unconscious now, and far too close to death.

“Take care of him,” I plead.

I go to Olivia, kneeling beside her as another Dark One approaches. She looks up at me with a lazy half-lidded gaze, surprisingly calm and unaware of what has just happened or of the state she’s currently in. Her face is covered in a maze of dark lines. Her arms look like cracked porcelain.

“I’m going to get you home, Liv,” I tell her, brushing her hair back from her face.

Weakly, she opens her eyes and looks at me, and I see them go from the soft glassy forgetting of Neverland to the sharp awareness of my friend.

“Liv?” I say, taking her hand gently. Her skin feels fragile as spun glass, but her eyes are still Olivia’s.

“Gwen?” she says, her voice thick with pain and confusion. “What happened?” Her eyes dart wildly around, from me to the monstrous dark Fey lurking above her and back again. Panicked. Frightened. Like she is just waking up, just beginning to remember.

She tries to pull her hand away from me, and I feel pieces of it flake away. So I let her go, and the moment I release her hand, I see her eyes start to go glassy again. All at once I understand. It’s me. When I hugged her that first day, when I touched her out at the End . . . I’m what was causing those moments of clarity in her expression. Because of what I am.

“Liv,” I say, grasping her hand again, refusing to let her go.

Her skin crumbles under my grasp, and she moans in agony. But her eyes are so clear, and I can see the memories flooding back as her expression darkens with horror. “What did she do to me?” she asks, her face contorting in agony.

“It doesn’t matter,” I tell her, my throat tight. “We’re going back now. We’ll fix it. You’ll be fine.”

Panicked, I look to the Dark One, who is waiting for my signal. It comes forward, but when the Fey tries to lift her, Olivia screams as part of her forearm shatters and crumbles away. The Dark One hesitates, and Olivia’s eyes meet mine and there is a look of such horror, such complete fear, that my vision goes blurry with tears.

“Please, Liv. Let him at least try.”

“I can’t,” she rasps.

“I know it might hurt at first, but we can fix this. We’re going back and—”

She stops me by laying a hand on my arm. Her fingertips are so fragile, a couple of them crumble beneath the pressure of her grip. But her eyes—those are horribly clear and every bit the Olivia I’ve always known. “Please,” she whispers. “I can’t. Just go. Leave me. You have to get out of here.”

A sobbing gasp erupts from my chest. “I can’t do that, Liv. You saved me. Now stop being so damn stubborn, so I can save you back,” I tell her, my voice choked by tears as I cling as gently as I can to her hand.

Her mouth tries to smile, but she’s too fragile. Too brittle. When the corners of her lips start to crack, she shakes her head instead, a barely imperceptible motion. Her eyes begin to go dim, and when she speaks, her voice comes out stiff and halting, as though she can barely form the words. “Go,” she says, determined. “Someone has to . . . tell my parents. . . . Make sure they’re okay . . .” Her eyes meet mine, filled with pain and so terribly clear. “Go!” she demands in a dry, brittle version of what once was her voice.

I do cry then. In this moment she is completely my Olivia—whole and real and just as stubborn as she’s ever been.

But I can’t accept this. I can’t leave her to this world after everything that’s happened.

“Let me go, Gwen,” she whispers, her voice like a ragged husk. Her color has all but drained away, and when she speaks, bits of the corners of her mouth crumble, leaving only blackness behind.

I shake my head, even though I know she’s right. There is no way to get her back. The Queen has done too much damage. But I can’t leave her like this. . . .

“Go,” she whispers, her eyes closing as she tries to pull her hand away from me, her skin crumbling beneath my touch.

I don’t have a choice—if I try to keep ahold of her, I’ll hurt her even more—so I let her hand go. “Olivia,” I plead.

But a second after I release her hand, her eyes open again, and the sharpness that had once been there disappears. Her eyes take on that glassy, forgetful look, and when they do, her body relaxes—all panic, all fear, gone.