Shadow (Wendy Darling #3)(29)
Wendy gripped Michael’s hand tightly, her other hand still holding Peter’s, and suddenly they were soaring up through the tree, upward to the tips of Pan Island. Wendy watched as the light brightened as they rose, washing its sea tone all over the thrusting branch tips as Peter pulled them closer to the light. At the tip of the tree were two small huts, separate from the rest, a tree branch snaking through the middle of them, both invasive and supportive. Peter pointed.
“That’s yours, Wendy, and that one there is mine!” They landed with a bump on a wooden platform that ran around Wendy’s charming little bungalow. The small but perfectly round room was bordered on all sides by open archways that let the warm breeze float in and out. Dyed fabrics shuttered the archways, blowing and curling in the breeze. The tree ran through the center of the room, a silent but benevolent giant, a strip of trunk so impassable that it took Wendy ten steps to walk around it. Tethered from the tree to the wall was a single large hammock, bright blue, with hundreds of brightly colored ribbons tied on the bottom. The hammock rocked endlessly as if moved by an invisible hand, the ribbons brushing the floor back and forth with a soothing whoosh sound that made Wendy long to plunge heedlessly into sleep right then and there. In the corner sat a clear bowl made of some sort of translucent shell and filled with water, and next to it sat a small wooden bowl. Wendy curled her lip when she realized its purpose. Peter saw her expression and giggled.
“It’s surely not as nice as your previous home, but there will be a Pip sent up to clean it every morning and evening.”
Wendy didn’t know what to say to that, so instead she reached out and ran her fingers down the hammock, feeling the impossibly soft fibers. She closed her eyes, afraid to wake from this enchanting dream. When she turned back to Peter, his eyes fixated hard on her face, and she felt her skin come alive under his gaze, something inside of her pulling toward his touch. She blushed and turned back to the hammock.
“It’s perfect, Peter. Thank you. We shall see you when we wake, I suppose.”
Peter smiled at her. “And when you wake, we will have a welcome celebration!” Peter saluted them both and began making his way out to the platform. Wendy splashed some water on her face, and when she looked back, he was gone, his absence marked by the sudden longing to see him again. Although—she truly was very tired. Wendy lay down in the hammock, pulling her nightgown tightly around her body. Michael leapt up onto the hammock, his little body causing it to rock wildly.
“Shhhh . . .” Michael immediately curled next to Wendy, his soft breath on her cheek.
“Wendy?”
“Yes?”
“Do you remember my teddy bear’s name?”
Wendy had to think about it for a minute. “Miles, wasn’t it?”
“I think so. I miss him, I think.”
“I know you do. But I’m here with you, and I’ll keep you safe.”
There was a moment of silence. Wendy struggled to keep her eyes open.
“Wendy?”
She groaned. “Yes, Michael?”
“I like Peter.”
“I do as well. Now go to sleep.” She heard the shushed whispers of the ribbons as they dragged on the floor below her, and she felt her consciousness fading into a blissful blackness.
“Wendy?”
“What, Michael?”
“We didn’t say our prayers.”
“You’re right.” She took his little hand in her own and there, in Neverland, they repeated their prayers to the bright afternoon sky, though she struggled to remember the words. Michael was already asleep by the middle of the Lord’s Prayer, and so Wendy was left alone with her own sleepy thoughts, marveling that just that previous evening, she had climbed into her own bed. How could that be? That was a lifetime ago. A lifetime ago . . . she felt Booth’s name was just on the tips of her lips like a hot coal. Her mind whirled on the memory of his face, shutting down, turning in. Just before Wendy fell swiftly into the void, she thought she heard a slight wail carried in on the wind. Faint as it was, she heard it clearly: an unearthly, distinctly female voice crying with a heartbreaking abandon. Who could that be? The cry wove its way deep into her dreams, where stars fell from the sky, each one burning bright with longing.
CHAPTER EIGHT
WHAT A FANTASTIC DREAM.
Wendy woke slowly, her body putting up a mighty struggle to return to slumber. She felt as though she could sleep for a thousand years. Her body was sore, her wrists cramped, and her legs tender and numb. Why was she sore? It couldn’t be real—the flying boy who made her heart race, the emerald island, the face of Big Ben. With a groan, Wendy opened her eyes, a scream catching in her throat. Twelve boys stared down at her, their bedraggled faces all rapt with fascination. Wendy swallowed and let her eyes sweep over the round hut, the open archways letting in the late morning light. One of the boys grinned, a high-pitched voice making its way through a mouth of scattered and grimy teeth.
“MORNING!”
Not wanting to move too quickly, Wendy slowly reached down and pulled the ratty blanket at her feet up over herself. Her body screamed at her for what she had done to it, and she knew it would be a long day of trying to coax it back into its normal state. The boys continued to stare at her as she cleared her throat.
“Hello, boys—may I ask, where is my little brother?”