Shadow (Wendy Darling #3)(15)
“Go back to bed, John,” she hissed. “This is none of your concern.”
“It is my concern when you fall to your death outside our window and I’m the only one left to care for Michael. You know how he taxes my nerves.”
Wendy shooed him back with her hand. “John, I am going. You can’t stop me. Please go back to sleep and don’t worry.”
“I can’t stop you? What if I scream for Liza right now? Or tell Papa that you tried to sneak out to see Booth in the middle of the night? What would happen then?” He tilted his head. “They would blame me for not stopping you, and that’s truly not in my best interest.” An honest curiosity crossed his face. “What do you see in him anyway? He’s poor. A bookseller’s son.”
Wendy shook her head. “I love him because he’s the bookseller’s son. Because he’s witty and kind and smart. Booth is even smarter than you, and you know that, which is why you’ve always been threatened by him. How could I ever expect you to understand? Your love is always conditional and only when it suits your needs. I pity you, John.”
The words were tumbling out of her mouth with a surprising cruelty, but Wendy felt relieved. John’s eyes narrowed with anger. “I’m leaving. You can yell for Liza if you wish.” She cinched her coat tight around her and reached for the latch again. Then, as if God’s breath had blown through the room, all the lanterns in the nursery were extinguished.
“Wendy?” John asked, his voice peaking at the curve of her name. “Did you do that?” She barely had time to open her mouth before the chaos began.
Suddenly there was a loud slam against the window, and Wendy tumbled backward off the sill. The sound rang like a shot through the room. Another slam followed, as if a carriage were being thrown against the glass. Wendy leapt backward, her arm reaching for John. His hand was clammy as she curled her fingers around his.
“Is that Booth?” he whispered hopefully. Another slam echoed out from the panes, which were flexing outward, the glass bending as if it were fabric blowing in the wind.
“What the devil?” John cursed. With a wicked snarl, Nana leapt up from his bed and crouched in front of the window, growling ferociously, her hair standing on end. As if pulled by an invisible hand, the curtains were yanked down from the window on their own accord, and the room filled with Wendy’s screams. She rushed back to her bed and picked up Michael, cradling him against her body. John stood paralyzed in the middle of the nursery, his body shaking as he watched the window pulse in and out again, his feet frozen to the floor. The slams continued as the glass began melting, its transparent rivulets running down from the top as if it were made of water. It puddled into a silver mess on the window seat and dripped onto the floor. The violent thudding continued, and with each crash, Michael shuddered against Wendy’s body, his face buried in her neck.
“What is it, Wendy? What is it?” She stayed silent, because not even in her wildest and most terrible imaginings could she guess at what this might be. Then, as quickly as they began, the crashes against the window stopped, and the remaining panes of glass melted to the floor. John ran for Wendy and climbed behind her on the bed, putting her body between the window and himself, his thin arms wrapped around her neck. There was a moment of silence as the Darling children waited in terror. Then an earsplitting whine filled the nursery as Michael began screaming. The pooled glass rippled and then exploded outward, a thousand tiny rounded drops falling into the room. The curtains were whisked out the open window and sent spiraling up into the night sky, where the stars were shining so brightly that Wendy could barely look at them. Chilly London air rushed into the room as the children sobbed. With a whooshing sound, a potent darkness spiraled into the nursery, and then everything was silent, even Nana.
“Wendy, are we dead?” John whispered, a sob climbing up his throat.
“I don’t know,” she whispered back, her arms still firm around a trembling Michael. The children watched in silence as a tiny shadow floated toward them, like a black feather. It lingered over the children for a minute before suddenly zipping out the window and into the starry sky, which exploded into a fragmented whirling blue and purple spiral of light. All three children were struck silent by its beauty, and for reasons she couldn’t fully explain, Wendy stopped being afraid. Nana gave a groan and lay down on the floor, rolling over to show the window her belly.
“Hold Michael,” Wendy ordered John, who, for once, didn’t argue with her. He wrapped the trembling little boy against his thin chest and pulled the blankets around them both. Wendy rose and walked toward the window.
“Be careful!” John hissed. “Wendy!”
The blue nightgown swirled around her legs as Wendy approached the window, a curious ecstasy filling her chest as she reached her fingers out to touch the turbulent light. When her fingers met the translucent rays of color, the light gave a shudder, as if she had dipped her fingers in a pond. With her touch, the spiral began closing in on itself, and as it shrunk, Wendy began seeing familiar glimpses of the London streets below. There was a musical tinkling of notes, a most enchanting melody gracing her ears, and she watched in shock as a dark shape began coming up through the light. The figure moved fluidly, as if it were swimming up toward the nursery. The shape was undoubtedly human. A tiny sliver of dread blinked in her mind as the shape grew larger, and she ran back to the boys. She had barely made it to the bed when she saw a hand emerge from the tunnel of light. Wendy let out a scream and pressed herself in front of her brothers.