Shadow (Wendy Darling #3)(16)
The hand opened slowly, as if feeling the air around it, and then, almost pulling itself out hand over hand, the figure rose upward. Two arms followed, then the shadow of a head, then a body. It was a boy. The boy, silhouetted in black against the swirling light, rose up out of the tunnel, his feet not touching the ground. The tunnel pulsed once more, lighting the entire nursery up as if it were dawn. The rocking horse threw its shadow over the terrified children as it was rocked wildly by an unseen hand. Nana held her submissive position, looking terrified as she declined confronting the unseen force that rose up in front of the window. The boy snapped his fingers twice. The tunnel quickly faded, pulling into itself until it was only the size of an apple. It floated over to his outstretched hand. The boy hovered in front of the window, gazing at the tiny swirling light for just a moment before stuffing it into his pocket.
At that, all the lanterns in the nursery lit back up, and when Wendy raised her head, the glass and the rest of the nursery had returned to its original form, down to the small wooden soldier that stood by itself in the middle of the nursery. Nana gave a whimper and closed her eyes.
The boy turned to look at them. Closing her eyes against this terrifying creature, Wendy pressed both boys against her tight, and John repeated the Lord’s Prayer over and over again in convulsing sobs. Wendy raised her trembling voice.
“Leave us, please! Please! Go back to whatever hell you came from! Please! We are just children here!”
Through the darkness, an unexpected sound rose up, a low chuckle that grew into the laugh of a maniacal child.
“Oh, my, have I frightened you?”
CHAPTER FOUR
WENDY DIDN’T LOOK UP, afraid to see the face that possessed that voice, that voice that rang with male confidence through the nursery. She felt air push over her hands, her body, and she knew without a doubt that the boy had moved much closer to them. The boy gave a sigh.
“I see I have frightened you. You have no reason to be afraid of me, I promise.”
Wendy pressed both boys’ heads down and with hesitancy raised her own, her wide hazel eyes taking in a sight that she could not believe. Floating over her bed was a boy who looked to be about sixteen years old. What struck Wendy first was not actually that he was floating—which was an unbelievable sight; it was that he was simply the most beautiful boy she had ever seen. His radiant winsomeness beamed out from his grin as he looked down at Nana with a pitying smirk. She snarled in his direction. The boy had blazing red hair, its color the same shade as a lick of flame, which flew out from all sides of his head, curly in some parts, straight in others. He had golden freckled skin, freshly sun-kissed, and peachy pink lips. He was muscular, with tan calves that appeared carved from stone, slender hips, strong forearms, and a strapping, confident chin.
He turned his face to her and smiled, and she felt her heart skip a beat. His lips curled backward to reveal small but blinding white teeth. The smile unnerved her—it was a cocky, cunning grin, the kind that John gave her when he had hid all her underthings or put a worm in her bed. Staring at him from under her raised hand, the boy’s eyes were what brought her back from the uneasy place that the smile had taken her. Wide set and brushed with impossibly long dark lashes, the boy’s bright green eyes, a shade that she had never seen before—like glittering emeralds!—fixed on hers. She lowered her hand and raised her chin into the light. She saw his eyes widen a bit at the sight of her, saw his lips part in confusion. He dropped out of the air, quickly, just for a moment, before flying (flying!) up toward the ceiling again.
“I . . . I’m sorry, I thought you were their mother.”
Wendy found it impossible not to stare at his face, his green eyes holding her captive as he fluttered around the room.
“No, I am not their mother. I am their sister. My name is Wendy.”
“Weendee.” The boy seemed to weigh this on his tongue for a moment before laughing. “Wendy. Yes. You are beautiful! How old are you, Wendy?”
“I’m sixteen.” Wendy tried to calm the heaving of her chest, searching for a clear breath, the fear from his arrival still pulsing through her body. “And your name?” she gasped.
“Peter. I’m Peter Pan.”
“And how old are you?”
“Guess.”
“Are you sixteen as well?”
“You could say that.”
Wendy could feel John pulling away from her, but she wasn’t ready, not yet. She pulled him back against her chest. Michael remained trembling against her lap. Wendy didn’t know how to phrase the question without sounding terribly rude, but she dared anyway.
“How did you . . . how are you . . .?”
“Flying?”
“Yes!”
With a wicked grin, he turned in a circle, like the Christmas ornaments that her mother hung every year. Then he took off, dashing from one corner of the room to another, sailing up and back down. With a sharp tug, Wendy felt John pull away from her and stand beside her.
“Say! How are you doing that?”
“Well, hello, young man!” Peter lazily circled back down and landed beside John, shaking his hand, his luminous eyes sizing up her brother. “And what might your name be?”
John blushed and stammered. “John. John Darling, sir.”
“Well, John Darling, how would you like to go on an adventure?”