Lost in the Never Woods(94)

“His fears were about losing you. He was afraid of what you might think of him. That you would hate him and never want to see him again if you knew the truth.”

She couldn’t trust what it was saying. Everything it did, it did with purpose, to gain the upper hand. Wendy could see that now, and she wouldn’t let it consume her, even when she felt the panic coursing through her veins. “What truth?” she spat, but it continued on as if it hadn’t heard her.

“His fear gave me strength, and finally, I was able to escape the confines of our bond. But”—it turned back to Wendy—“as long as Peter had his magic, he posed a risk. It was a simple plan, and he fell for it so easily.” The shadow laughed. “To further weaken his resolve, I just had to lead him back to you, and Peter did the rest. He missed you when you were gone.”

Wendy’s throat was tight. She was terrified, but the words sent her stomach tumbling.

“It left him heartbroken, really. He wanted to choose you, Wendy. All I had to do was present him with the opportunity.” The shadow tutted disapprovingly. “So, I led him here, dropped him right in front of you for you to find. Peter’s weakness for you was his undoing.”

Wendy choked on her own breath. The guilt was crushing. The sticky blackness oozed up Wendy’s legs and climbed up her arms. Her brothers, the other missing children, and Peter, ensnared and in pain—it was all because of her.

“Don’t get me wrong, the fear of those children has given me plenty of strength, as well. And I admit, your fear and guilt are especially”—it inhaled a deep, rattling breath—“delicious. You’re such easy prey. All I have to do is lure you into these woods and it just pours from you. The scars of trauma are just so mouthwatering.

“But it’s Peter I’ve been after. He chose you, and, by doing so, he has abandoned the lost children and has been stripped of his magic. So, lost children they will remain.”

Peter’s eyes bulged and glistened, frantic and scared. “No,” he groaned, fighting his restraints with renewed vigor. “I need to go back—I need to help them!” The words rushed from Peter’s lips as he struggled, muttering as if to himself.

The shadow laughed.

Wendy could feel herself sinking deeper into the tarlike blackness, as if it were pulling her through the floor. Wendy’s entire body trembled, her breaths ragged and tasting of salt. Sticky tendrils snaked across her thighs and up her arms. Tension swelled, pushing against her ribs, expanding like a balloon. It ached and burned. It felt like it would break at any moment.

“Where are the children you took?” Wendy demanded, refusing to give in to the shaking creature in her chest. “Bring them back!” She tried to wrench herself free but only sank deeper into the oozing blackness.

The shadow threw its head back. Screeching laughter filled the room. “They were merely pawns to get to you, Wendy! Haven’t you put it together yet? Haven’t you remembered? Hasn’t he told you?” it asked, peering at her through narrowed eyes. Its face—Peter’s face, but cruel and dark and distorted—held sick glee in every sharp angle.

She heard its words, but they didn’t fit together in her head. She couldn’t make sense of it or of the plummeting sensation in her gut, as if it knew before she did. Wendy wanted to rage and scream. “Bring my brothers back!” Her voice quaked and broke.

“Oh, Wendy.” Its grin was cruel, its chuckle amused. “I don’t have your brothers. I never did.”

Wendy froze. What? She shook her head. The shadow was lying, of course it was lying. It wanted her to be frightened. It was trying to mess with her head. Wendy looked at Peter for answers, but he didn’t meet her gaze. His attention was locked on the shadow. The muscles in his jaw bulged.

The shadow leaned in close. It smiled as if reading her mind. Its breath reeked of decaying leaves and the thick must of wet dirt. “Lost children are the souls of children who have lost their way. Peter is their guide.”

“Guide?” Wendy repeated. Confusion and panic ripped through her body. She felt dizzy. She couldn’t breathe. She shook so violently, she was nearly convulsing. It was like her body knew what was coming but her brain couldn’t keep up.

“It’s his job to ease their suffering, to help them become unafraid so they can pass on.”

Her breath became sharp and frantic. Wendy shook her head. “Peter, what is it talking about?” she asked.

But the look on Peter’s face …

This was just a nightmare. She wanted it to stop. She wanted to wake up in her bed and for this not to be real. She thrashed against the tendrils as they gripped her tighter.

“Wendy—” Peter voice was pleading and weak.

“No, don’t,” she said feebly, shaking her head. Wendy tugged, and the tendrils stretched taut as she tried to stand, tried to run away. They purred and flooded over her skin, excited and hungry. As Wendy struggled to her feet, they tightened around her torso and clawed toward her neck.

“You have to understand—” Peter pressed.

“Don’t.” Wendy’s stomach gave a nauseated twist. No. No no no.

“I—” A black gag twisted around his mouth, silencing Peter with a choke. He fought against his restraints with renewed vigor. His back arched and the muscles in his arms strained. His eyes sparked, frantic and rimmed with red.