Shadow (Wendy Darling #3)(35)

“Michael will be coming back from the water soon, I assume?”

Peter perched on the top of a wooden lantern. “Yes. The boys will meet us back here; there is no need to worry. I need to speak with the Generals, so he’ll come up with Oxley. Don’t worry. Ox is the most trustworthy boy on the island.”

Wendy was busy tying back her wet hair into a braid, something Peter watched with fascination.

“And, the others? Abbott and . . .”

“Kitoko. Yes. Good boys, all of them. I can see John fitting in with them quite well. Abbott is my first General, and then Kitoko and Oxley. John can be number four.”

Wendy nodded. “Where did they come from? Where do all the Lost Boys come from?”

Peter lowered his eyes. “The boys come from all over. Sad stories, unfortunately, something all the Lost Boys share. I found Abbott silently clutching the hand of his dead father just outside Berlin. His house had caught fire, both his parents killed, their bodies trapped inside of it. He was only about seven, staring up at the sky with dead eyes.” He shook his head, and tiny droplets of water flecked onto Wendy’s face. “Kitoko was an orphan, raised in a monastery along with a hundred other boys. One day, without warning, the government forced them to abandon their monastery in a matter of hours. Quiet as he is, no one noticed that Kitoko was missing, and he was locked in an empty garden and forgotten. He had been there three days when I found him, on the verge of starvation.”

“And Oxley?”

Peter shook his head. “Oxley has a great story, but I should let him tell it—I won’t do it justice. He makes me laugh.”

“If you don’t mind me asking—what does John have to do with any of those boys? He can’t be . . . a General . . . he’s a child. He doesn’t know anything about battle or even about Neverland! He can’t be involved in anything dangerous, Peter.”

Peter chortled. “Don’t worry, raiding the pirates, especially if Hook’s not involved, isn’t dangerous. It’s . . . how do you say . . . like taking sweets from an infant.”

Wendy laughed. “The saying is, ‘taking candy from a baby.’”

“Ah, I knew it didn’t sound right.” Peter grinned, tossing his red hair back out of his face, and began drumming on the end of the lantern. “Are you worried that I’ll corrupt your brother? John seems hardly naive. He’s bright.”

Wendy frowned. “No, he’s not naive, and yes, he’s actually quite intelligent, but he is somewhat fragile. Back home, he hasn’t any friends.” Papa . . . London . . . the thoughts were so foreign and distant. Wendy hadn’t thought of them in what seemed like days. Peter rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“And why is that?”

Because he’s a prat, she thought, but she considered the more polite response.

“He fears being alone, I think. He wants to be included, wants people to listen to him. I think he uses his wit to deflect actual conversation. He’s lonely.”

She remembered the defeated look on his face when she had slapped him in the nursery, the way he had looked both betrayed and surprised. She felt ashamed, but also infuriated, remembering the things he had said to her about Booth. Looking at Peter, who was absentmindedly running his hands down his tan and lean arms, brushing the moisture off, she felt a sudden flush of shame at the thought of Booth. Why hadn’t she thought of him more? Peter reached out his hand to her, and Booth was instantly forgotten.

“Shall we?”

With a shy smile, Wendy took his hand, and then they were soaring over several different huts and up through tree branches, past the large nests of bright exotic birds and a mosaic snake that slithered silently toward them. They landed on a platform several stories above the Teepee. Peter pushed back several dirty cloths that hung from a gnarled tree branch, covered with dense leaves. Behind them was a wooden door, with a small gold lock on the outside.

“Our camouflage.” He shrugged. “It’s not really necessary, but . . .” He popped the lock open with a tiny golden key, before pocketing it and turning his face to the sky. Then he crowed. Wendy only had to wait for a moment before she heard the loud sounds of the Generals, climbing up the branches, hand over foot, laughing as they went. As they emerged from the branches below, they looked around anxiously.

“Peter? Where are you?” Peter laughed as he mimed a woman’s high voice, looking under a tiny leaf for himself. Abbott paced in a circle, twirling the spear that seemed to be always at his side. John frowned at Wendy.

“Why are you here?”

Peter chose that moment to leap playfully into the air, taking John’s top hat right off his head. To Wendy’s surprise, John laughed joyfully.

“Peter! I say, that’s my father’s hat!”

“Not anymore!” The boys laughed as Peter strutted back and forth on the roof, imitating Wendy, John, and Michael’s father, smoking a branch pipe and rubbing his hands together. “Now see here, boys—and Wendy! You shall be in bed by 7 p.m., exactly! And no running or playing, or climbing trees, or flying, heavens no! In fact, do not behave like children at all! You shall be little adults, and we shall sit in banks and shops all day and discuss the most boring things we can possibly imagine!”

John laughed, a little too loudly. “That does sound like my father.”